#never immune to girls with short hair

[just-another-bored-killjoy]

good evening and welcome back to another episode of do i want to be her or with her

[kaciidubs]

Ass or Tits?

❣ Summary: The question of 'ass or tits' never truly mattered when you had a group of men who loved all of you. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 6.4k ❣ Warnings: Poly! OT8 x Reader, smut, humor, fluff, light Dom/Sub dynamics, creampie(s), squirting, cum play, referenced after care ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Usual first name + pet name references for the members, Reader is referred to as Baby, Mommy, Miss, Princess, Good Girl, Bunny, Bub, Kitten, Jagi, Noona, lightly edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“Hey, Hyune?”

The artist hummed as he sketched away at his desk, “Yeah?”

“What do you like better, ass or tits?”

He froze, dropping the charcoal pencil as your words ran through his head on repeat.

“Your ass or tits?”

There was no way he was about to get caught in an infamous partner discourse, not after years of being immune to other futile debates brought on by a certain freckle-faced fairy.

You scoffed out a laugh, rolling onto your stomach from your resting place on his bed, “I mean, I’d hope you’d be talking about my ass or tits, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin whipped his head toward you, eyebrows pushing to his hairline, “W-Well how am I supposed to know!?  This is one of the questions every person dreads! You’re expecting me to pick one or the other on one of my favorite people in the world? What then? Are you going to ask me ‘acrylic or charcoal’? Because I’ll have you know, those are two very different mediums and-”

“Hyunjin, baby - it’s just a question!” Stifling a chuckle, you shook your head, “It’s not like I’m going to ban you from sex if you pick something I didn’t expect - I’m just curious, you know? All of you have different preferences and even though after two years I can kind of make a good guess, I wanna hear it from the sources.”

His shoulders relaxed, visibly slumping in his chair and running his cleaner hand through his short hair, “You’re stressing me out, muse! Why didn’t you lead with that?!”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m so sorry, my little drama queen - now, pick!”

Dark eyes scanned your figure, his head cocking to the side and if you looked closer you could’ve seen the gears turning in his brain.

“Mm… Tits.”

“I knew it.”

“Wha- What’s that supposed to mean?! Are you calling me basic?”

“No, my prince, I’m calling you predictable,” getting off of the bed, you walked toward him and pinched his cheek lovingly, “you grope Changbin’s chest like it’s your job, and there’s rarely a moment your hand isn’t on my chest when we’re cuddling. Now, go wash up - we’re meeting in Chris’s room.”

With a quick kiss to the crown of his head, you walked out of his room with your phone in hand, thumbs typing away in your group chat.

|❣️: Chris’s room asap 💋

“So… Is there a reason why we were summoned? To Chan’s room, no less?” Minho hummed inquisitively, picking up a small souvenir from the eldest’s dresser and turning it in his hands.

“If this is an intervention about League, I swear I didn’t mean to yell that night - I honestly didn’t think anyone heard me!” Came Felix’s whine of defense, already making himself a home on the California king bed, “Seungmin was throwing the game on purpose and I was losing against this stupid-”

“That’s crazy.” Seungmin gaped, faux shock on his face as he purposefully rolled on top of the Aussie, a muffled groan getting caught in the midst of it all. “I told you not to put too much trust in me!”

“Lixie, hate to break it to you, but this definitely isn’t an intervention, but we’ll come back to that point later.” Clapping your hands, you took in the rest of the members who either piled onto the bed, doubled up in Chris’s computer chair, or stood against the door frame. “Anyways - I called you guys here because I have a question!”

“I’d peel a pineapple for you if you asked.”

The room went silent as all eyes shot to Jisung who was currently seated in Minho’s lap, a triumphant smile on his pretty lips.

“I… No, Jisung, it’s not that question, but I’ll remember your answer when I do ask.” Willing away the confused looks sent your way, you cleared your throat, “The actual question is; which do each of you like better - my ass, or my tits?”

The room broke into an uproar, various voices speaking over one another as some questioned the validity of the question while others argued their respective points.

“Noona, you really think we can just pick one thing to like about you?”

Minho scoffed, “I can - her ass, easily.”

“Oh… Shit, you’re right.”

“Jeongin?! Weren’t you just saying you couldn’t pick?!”

“Hyung, that was before I was reminded of how her ass looks in her pajama shorts - you can’t tell me that’s not the hottest sight.”

“I can because I chose her tits!”

Felix laughed, holding his hand up for an air high-five, “I was gonna pick her tits too, Jinnie!”

“This is the stupidest conversation I’ve ever heard,” Seungmin mumbled, throwing an arm over his face, though it did nothing to cover the redness of his ears.

“Bunny, you know you’re more than just your body parts, right?”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Binnie, I’m well aware - I’m just asking for the fun of it, it’s nothing deeper than that!”

Changbin hummed, fluffy curls shifting with the movement, “In that case, I’m team ass - it’s just so cute and round and-” He lifted his hand, squeezing the air as if it were your ass cheeks with a dreamy sigh, “-god, I love it.”

“Okay but, what if we can’t pick?” Jisung piped up, a soft pout puffing his cheeks, “There’s no way I can just choose one - look at you, you’re fucking sexy, Jagi!”

“The oral fixation says boobs, Han, there’s no way out of it.”Felix deadpanned from his place on the bed, his head turned to nail the man with a mischievous glint, “Trust me, I know.”

The latter’s eyes flicked to your t-shirt, tracing the outline of your breasts in the loose fabric with ease. “Yeah… Yeah, you’re right - her tits are amazing.”

“Alright, Chan and Seungmin, you two are the only ones left - make your choice!” Hyunjin demanded lightly, gesturing his hand toward your body from his seat next to you, “Tits or ass? Ass or tits? Which one is it?”

“I’m not playing this game,” the youngest of the two mumbled, his position unchanged.

“Oh, come on, Seungmin! She said it herself, it’s just for fun, she won’t take any offense to what you choose,” Felix prodded, wiggling his body next to his boyfriend, “and we won’t make fun of you if you pick something we didn’t expect.”

“Yeah, puppy,” reaching down, you threaded your fingers through his black hair, “whatever you pick is fine with me, and if anyone makes fun of you for it, they won’t get anything from me for a week.”

That roused a small chuckle from him as he moved his arm, looking up at you with soft eyes, “Really? You think you could go that long?”

“For my Seungmin? Of course. Now, which is it, baby?”

His lips quivered, struggling between forming words and keeping his solitude until he finally murmured, “I like your thighs.”

“That wasn’t even an-”

You quieted Hyunjin with a glare, “Finish that sentence and that’s the only thing you’ll be finishing near me, Hwang.”

“Aw- I wanna change my answer, her thighs are fucking amazing too!” Jisung all but wailed, practically having a full on meltdown, “When you’re eating her out and she wraps them around your head like earmuffs - they’re so warm but you can’t hear her moans when she does it so it’s just a horrible, beautiful curse!”

“No changing your answer, Sungie, you’re still team tits.” 

Now, all the attention was directed to the only one left; Chris, still leaning against the doorway of his room with an embarrassed flush on his face - nothing preparing him for this conversation that pulled him from the sanctity of his laundry run.

“Well, Chris? What do you like?” You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing, knowing full and well that everyone already knew what their boyfriend would pick.

“Ah- You’re seriously going to make me say it?!”

“Come on, Chan, we all said ours, no matter how obvious,” Changbin sent a side eye in an unbothered Minho’s direction, “some of ours may have been.”

The eldest sighed, dropping his head before bringing it up once again, “I like your ass, baby.”

Scoffing, Felix crawled across Seungmin to get closer to you, “I don’t understand how you guys can pick her ass over these,” his hand quickly found home over one of your breasts, gently squeezing the mound over your shirt and earning a shocked gasp in return, “like, how could you not want to suffocate in them?”

“Especially with how sensitive her nipples are?” Hyunjin chimed in, claiming your other breast with his larger hand, jiggling and watching the ripples from your shirt in response.

“Oh my god- The sound she makes when you suck on them?” The bed dipped with a new weight, Jisung making his way onto the bed, causing Jeongin to crawl over and straddle Seungmin. “You guys are seriously missing out.”

Changbin groaned, “It’s not like we don’t like them, we just love her ass more, there’s a difference, Ji.”

In the meantime, you couldn’t help the small sighs of pleasure escaping you as the duo continued to fondle you over your shirt, Jisung taking the hem into his hands.

“Can we, Jagi?”

You nodded happily, “You can, Sungie.”

Hyunjin and Felix pulled back as he lifted your shirt up and off, tossing it off the edge of the bed without a care in the world - why would he, when your tits were on display for him and the men that admired them?

“Why don’t we all take the chance to really admire our favorite parts about you, my muse?” 

Hyunjin’s sultry voice easily floated through the air, the hidden implications more than enough for the atmosphere to ignite with lust.

“Are you ready, angel?”

You blinked up at Felix with dazzling eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips, “Of course, Lixie.”

In the background, you could hear the familiar sounds of panted breaths and the rustling of clothing, but you wouldn’t dare to turn your head from the scene in front - or, rather, above you. 

Hyunjin took the role of straddling your torso while Felix and Jisung kneeled at the sides of your head without even a hint of the clothing that once covered their bodies.

“Innie, can you pass me the lube?”

Jeongin broke from Seungmin’s lips with a groan, narrowing his eyes, “Why can’t you just spit on it, Hyung? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Because I asked you to? If I felt like spitting I would’ve done it already,” Hyunjin spoke matter-of-factly, catching the glimpse of Jisung guiding his dick into your mouth from the corner of his eye, “don’t be a smartass!”

“Smarta-”

The youngest was unceremoniously flipped onto his back, the black haired singer reaching into the nightstand and tossing over a bottle of lube with a huff.

“Seriously, it was never that big of a deal, you brat.”

Snatching up the tube, Hyunjin wasted no time in squeezing a generous amount between the valley of your breasts, humming out a small apology when you jumped at the cold gel on your skin.

“Forget what I said,” Jisung moaned softly, watching the way your cheeks puffed and hollowed with each drag of his cock, “your mouth is my favorite part.”

Pulling off of him with a pop, you pumped him with your right hand and tossed him a teasing smirk, “You’re still team tits, Sungie.”

Turning your head, you eagerly welcomed Felix’s dick with an eager tongue lapping at the precum beading the tip before taking him in one fell swoop.

“That doesn’t take away from the fact that your mouth is fucking amazing, sunshine.” Felix groaned, bringing a hand to cup your cheek as he lightly thrust into your leisurely bobs.

“Especially for the fact that we’re here for these.” Hyunjin’s lube covered hands squeezed your breasts around his length, the swells positively shining as they sandwiched his cock in an unparalleled warmth.

It wasn’t long until an unplanned rhythm was found between the four of you; alternating between blowjobs and handjobs for the sunshine twins while a certain artist busied himself with a simple rhythm of humping your chest.

In the meantime, Changbin managed to swap positions with Minho for the chair, sitting the second eldest in his lap and littering slow kisses paired with sharp nips along the length of his neck while he watched the show before them.

“Chan, you’re not going to just stand there the whole time, are you?” Minho mused with a raised eyebrow, noting the way the eldest hadn’t even moved a muscle from his spot near the door.

Chris hesitated for a moment before shaking his head, “No, but I’m doing laundry - I don’t wanna get sidetracked and forget about it in the wash, you know?”

There was a disinterested hum followed by a huff he knew all too well, and he found himself pushing off of the doorway with a breathless laugh.

“You have such a way with words, you know that?”

Smirking, Minho shrugged, “I know, it’s a talent.”

Standing in front of the two - and inadvertently blocking the once flawless view - Chris planted his hands on the armrests of the chair before leaning down to catch Minho's lips in a slow kiss, just to part a moment later to do the same with Changbin over his shoulder.

“A-Ah- Tighten your hand a little, Jagi.”

“You have hands,” Hyunjin panted, licking his lips as he watched his pink tip repeatedly disappear and reappear, “help her out- fuck, Lix…”

The blond hummed against his neck, licking at a blossoming hickey, “‘M sorry, just feels so good.”

“Hyune, move your hand a bit.”

Abiding the request, Hyunjin slid his hand to the outer swell of your breast while Jisung licked his fingers before easily finding their way to your nipple, gently rolling the nub between his finger and thumb.

The moan you let out was instantly muffled by Felix’s cock, which in turn made him grit out a shivering groan, “F-Fuck, I’m gonna come soon.”

“M-Me too,” Jisung nodded frantically, eyes trained on the way his hand enveloped yours as he fucked your fist, “gonna paint those pretty tits of yours, Jagi.”

It only took a handful of strokes before Felix was drawing from your mouth with frantic breaths, Jisung slipping from your soiled hand to take over the rest of the job as they both aimed for your chest.

“God, look at how gorgeous they look wrapped around Jinnie’s dick.”

“They were just made to have a dick between them, huh?”

You groaned helplessly, bringing your hands to cover Hyunjin’s and squish your breasts together more, “C-Come on, show mommy how much you love her tits.”

If there was one thing to get them to fall, it was that title - and, like a harp string being plucked, they both came with a sharp gasp and a guttural groan, cum spraying across your breasts and a few drops even landing on your fingers.

Hyunjin shivered above you, eyebrows drawing together with the silver eyebrow piercing catching the glint of the light.

“I can see you’re close, Hyune,” squeezing his hands lightly, you watched as Jisung and Felix flocked to him, hands wandering his chest while lips danced along his shoulders and neck, “come for Miss, my prince, make a mess of me.”

A choked moan fell past his lips as his hips stuttered before he lifted himself onto his knees and came against your breasts, his cum joining the mess of the other two with ease and creating an intricate pattern of white along your skin.

Jisung dipped down to lick a fat stripe through the cum, collecting as much as he could onto his tongue before pulling Felix in for a beautifully messy kiss above you - then repeated the process with Hyunjin, leaving you in a state of horny awe.

“Seungmin, you’re up next.” Felix called happily, swiping his thumb along your breast before presenting it to your lips and watched as you eagerly licked it clean. “You’re so kinky.”

You stifled a laugh, giving the pad of his thumb a soft kiss, “You’re one to talk.”

The trio moved away to make room for the thigh connoisseur, watching as he untangled himself from Jeongin and shuffled between your legs - your pajama shorts and underwear having already met the same fate as your t-shirt moments ago.

“I… I don’t think I’m gonna last long,” he mumbled quietly, a strawberry blush turning his ears as he nudged the leaking head of his cock against the plush of your inner thigh. “Might’ve pushed it a bit too close with Innie.”

“That’s more than okay, pup,” reaching your hand out, you grabbed the lube before handing it to him, “if it bothers you, you can always have a round two later, okay?”

Seungmin nodded dutifully, taking the lube from you while tapping your legs, prompting you to lift them both and lean them on his chest; pouring a generous amount of lube in the palm of his hand to coat around his length.

With a bit of maneuvering, he had both of your calves resting on his right shoulder with his dick nestled in the tight space between your thighs and just above your pelvis - if you focused hard enough, you could feel the heat of his balls against the lips of your pussy.

“M-Mm, fuck…” Wrapping his right arm around your legs, his left hand went down to grip the outside of your thigh, squeezing the flesh as he jutted his hips forward with a quiet moan.

You watched on as he fucked your thighs in quick, sharp thrusts, brown eyes fogged and unfocused as he began to chase the high that was undoubtedly close.

“Good puppy, my good puppy - love my thighs so much, hm? Maybe one of these days I should get you to hump one, would you like that?”

You could clock the faint twinkle in his eye from a mile away, catching the subtle pout of his lips as his body rocked against yours without rhyme but with the sole reason of finishing.

His blush now crawled across his face, tinting the apples of his cheeks as his eyes found yours, “Really?”

Humming, you flexed your thighs, “Really, pup, I’d love to watch you ride me.”

He whimpered, blunt nails digging into your skin as his head dropped to nip at your ankle, “W-Want that, bub - want it so bad.”

“Then it’s yours, Minnie. I’m all yours.”

The next thrust forward had ropes of white streaking up the length of your stomach, breathless moans hidden behind firmly pressed lips as Seungmin shook against your legs, tensing and shaking with each wave until he finally relaxed with a shaky breath.

“You okay, pup?”

Nodding, he gave you a soft smile, “Yeah, but you better not forget your promise.”

You laughed, accepting a kiss to your ankle as a parting gift as he moved away from you and into the arms of a lounging Hyunjin - the comment of him being “disgustingly sweaty”, and Hyunjin’s response of “Then get off of me!”, not going unnoticed in the process.

Turning your gaze to the ceiling, a knowing smile grew on your lips, “Do I even have to ask who’s going next?”

“Nope!” Sliding into view came your darling bread, a smug grin on his lips as his face hovered over yours, “You don’t even have to guess, I’m already here.”

Bringing your hand to his jaw, you lightly scratched your nails under his chin, “Of course you are, maknae - so, how do you want me? Doggy style? Reverse cowgirl? Some secret third position I have yet to learn?”

Judging from the sparkle of his eyes the instant the second option left your lips, he had his decision already cut out and you laughed at his inability to be discreet.

“Alright, I guess this is to make up for slacking on leg day, isn’t it?”

Jeongin rolled onto his back, watching as you straddled him with ease, “You’d have to ask Changbin Hyung about that, Noona - you were the one who suggested it anywa- ah!”

You didn’t need to waste time in teasing yourself as your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, lining it up with your severely neglected pussy before sinking down in one fell swoop - a satisfied moan leaving your lips.

“O-Oh god, maybe this wasn’t a good idea…”

“Oh? And what makes you say that, baby?”

Of course, you already knew the answer judging from the way his calves tensed, his toes curled and - less externally obvious - the way his dick twitched inside of your warm walls.

“Noona, please-”

“Have a little too much fun with Minnie, huh? Got yourself all excited while you were waiting?” Clicking your tongue, you rolled your hips teasingly, “I bet you were touching yourself while Seungmin was having his turn, weren’t you, baby boy?”

He whined, tossing his head back with a groan, “Just- Just give me a minute, I swear I’ll last!”

Humming, you waited a few seconds before shaking your head, “Sorry, Innie, if you come early then that’s just how it is - just lay back and enjoy the view, okay? This is what you wanted, remember?”

With no other choice, the sounds of your joined moans soon filled the room as you rode him with one goal on your mind.

“Fuck, look at that view…” Neither one of you were aware of Changbin’s sudden presence beside the bed as he leaned beside Jeongin, basking in the sight of your ass jiggling with each bounce. “I’ll never get over it.”

“I-” Jeongin whimpered, short huffs of breaths escaping him, “T-This is the first time-”

“-she’s ridden reverse cowgirl?! IN-ah, what were you waiting for?!”

“It’s not that he was waiting,” you laughed breathlessly, though the clench of your pussy earned a moan in its wake, “he was just too excited to try everything else that normal positions were at the bottom of his list.”

“What a shame, wasting his chance like this.”

Lifting your head, you were now met with the sight of Minho directly in front of you, keen eyes unblinking as he took you in with a smirk.

“Is it a waste, Min?” Slowing your bounces to languid strokes, your head tilted prettily to the side, “I’d like to think of it as an introduction to what future chances would be like.”

This time, his smirk reached his eyes, brown irises sparkling with amusement, “You naughty kitten.” His hand cupped your cheek as he dipped down to steal a kiss, nipping at your bottom lip in the process.

You preened at the sensation, but the moan that followed came from the firm grip on the swell of your ass cheek, the hand and the pressure stemming from two different forms of familiarity.

“See? What did I tell you?” Changbin smirked, squeezing his hand over Jeongin’s to tighten his grip on your ass, “You can watch all you want, but the real fun is in touching.”

The younger groaned out a desperate sound, “‘M g-gonna-”

At the hint of his confession, you forfeited the feeling of Minho’s lips on yours for the opportunity to go back to bouncing on Jeongin’s dick without abandon, fisting the sheets to distract from the unyielding burn in your thighs.

“-a-ah- p-please- N-Noona, oh god, I-” He cut himself off with a choked gasp, hips canting as his orgasm took him by storm.

A hum of satisfaction vibrated past your lips as his warmth filled you, stilling to spare him the overstimulation for the time being. “Feels so good baby, you never disappoint.”

Once the incessant twitching of his cock died down, you lifted yourself off of his lap, shivering at the sensation of his load slowly seeping out of you and dribbling back onto his spent dick.

“So,” you breathed, looking between the two men currently surrounding you and shooting a glance toward Chris, “who’s next?”

The answer to that question was a very smug Minho, excitement thrumming through your veins as he nodded his head toward the edge of the bed - the silent command leading you to find yourself to where you currently were now.

“Minho!”

Your nails clawed at the sheets, the mattress rocking along with your body as the black haired man fucked into you like a man possessed.

“It’s only fair that someone gives you your first orgasm of the night, kitten,” he drawled, thumbs digging into the small of your back as he held you impossibly tighter, “why wouldn’t I make sure that it’s me giving it to you?”

Your body couldn’t decide between attempting to run away from his powerful thrusts, or submit yourself to the fiery pleasure that hoped to consume you, until you felt the warmth of his hands sliding up your back, past your shoulder blades, and along your forearms.

Like a slab of clay for him to mold, he maneuvered your arms behind your back and pinned them with one hand, the other going back to its home on your hip as he aimed long, precise thrusts to a spot he was well acquainted with.

The side of your face melted into the mattress, tears of pleasure blurring your vision, as any sound you’d hoped to make dissolved into hiccuped breaths and encouraging mewls.

Minho grunted, clenching his jaw as he felt the telltale signs of your orgasm begin to shine through, “That’s it, kitten, give it to me.”

Your legs trembled, pussy fluttering and clenching with each passing second until your body tensed with a cry of his name falling from your spit-shined lips.

He welcomed the new wave of arousal coating his dick and adding to the already sloppy glide of your cunt, wet slaps sounding through the room as he fucked you through your high with a breathless chuckle.

“There it is.”

Grip tightening on your wrists, his hips met yours a number of times before he pulled out with a gasp, jacking himself off with his free hand and coming along the curve of your ass and thighs - much to your delirious chagrin.

“Why…?” You whined breathlessly, wiggling your hips for further emphasis - not that he needed it.

Minho released your wrists to land a swift smack to your unsoiled ass cheek, a satisfied smile curling his lips from the squeak you let out. “Because I wanted to - you still have two people to fill you the way you wish, kitten, let’s not get too greedy, hm?”

There was a slew of giggles and chuckles from the onlookers, and you tried your best to send them your best glare, though your efforts were in vain as you felt a pair of hands caressing your thighs.

“Get up on the bed for Binnie, bunny.”

You obeyed with no hesitation, already knowing which position you would be set in for the remainder of the session as you turned to tuck a pillow under your chin, bringing your knees up and out to sit your hips high in the air and dip your spine into a fine arch - pretty and presentable.

“God,” Changbin groaned, scrambling to fill in the space behind you as fast as he could, “I’ve been waiting so long to get you like this, bunny, you would not believe.” His firm hands instantly went to cup your ass, spreading your cheeks further and sucking in a breath at your glistening hole. “So fucking pretty…”

“Binnie.”

Your insistent, warning whine hadn’t fallen on deaf ears, and he wasted no time in notching the fat head of his dick to your fluttering walls.

“Alright, bunny, deep breaths for me.”

Of course, you already knew the drill, having grown custom to the mind numbingly delicious stretch only he was capable of giving you, but the reminder never failed to stir the swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

With a deep inhale, your slow exhale was followed by him sinking past your walls, each inch slowly stretching your cunt around his girth.

It wasn’t long until he was fully seated inside of you, and with warm hands kneading the flesh of your ass, he drew his hips back before snapping them forward, punching a moan from the depths of your lungs.

Even if you were still tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, you were still begging for more with each whimpered moan and choked gasp as your body seemed to melt deeper into the arch you had set.

“Look at you, can’t get enough of us, can you?” Changbin goaded, though his tone was soft and warm, “It’s okay, we can’t get enough of you either, bunny.” He lifted his hand to slap the swell of your ass, before gripping the flesh, “You and this ass of yours.”

A shiver shot down your spine as his hand slipped, his thumb caressing the inside of your cheek and just barely grazing your asshole - a temptation that had shown its face among a few of the boys before, but was never fully dwelled on by them nor yourself.

“I’m curious, bunny,” he hummed, slowing his fast thrusts for laxed, deeper ruts, “would you ever let one of us use this other pretty hole of yours?” Sliding his hand further, he pressed his thumb against the tight ring just enough to burn the fantasy into a possible reality, “Would you let Binnie fuck this pretty ass?”

You nodded frantically, your hands gripping onto the poor pillow below you, “Y-Yes! Yes! I-It’s all yours, Binnie - want it so bad!”

His signature, triumphant laugh filled the room as he tossed a glance to his boyfriends, “Hear that? I get first dibs.”

“You can’t just ask her questions like that!” Jeongin groaned, a stern pout set on his lips, “She agrees to anything if you fuck her long enough!”

“Yeah, how else do you think Felix managed to stay up late enough for his Apex tournament that one time?”

“How am I always being brought up here?!” The blond scoffed as he lightly shoved Hyunjin, crossing his arms over his lithe chest, “But, I mean, yeah - three orgasms can get you a pretty good deal.”

Jisung hummed inquisitively, before narrowing his eyes, “But did you win?”

“He won,” Minho huffed, a smirk curving the corners of his lips, “and he gave her head the next morning, I could hear her moans from the kitchen.”

Muted thumps of the headboard began to grow in frequency until a low groan interrupted the riveting conversation - Changbin hunching over your body as his muscles tensed, shivering while he filled you with his seed.

“God, fuck,” he hissed, rolling his hips against yours while your walls fluttered around him, clenching from the orgasm that was just moments away. “You’re too good to us, you know that, bunny?”

You huffed out a breathless laugh, stifling a moan as his hands massaged your lower back out of its arch for a moment of respite, “I-I’ve been told once or twice,” turning your head, sultry eyes landed on the final man of the hour, “but you guys are worth it.”

Chris flushed under the heat of your gaze, just barely catching Changbin’s teasing “Don’t break her back, Chan.”, as he climbed onto the bed and took the space previously occupied by the rapper.

“Think you can stay in this position one more time, baby?” He mused softly, caressing the warm skin of your back before gliding his hand down to the curve of your ass.

Without answering him, you spread your knees and tucked yourself into a deeper arch, wiggling your hips to further entice the man behind you.

“Yeah,” Seungmin chuckled, lazily crossing his arms over his chest, “he’s blowing her back out, it’s over.”

As much as you wanted to turn your head to respond, your train of thought flew out the window as you felt the bed dip slightly, before the pressure of Chris’s blunt tip nudged against your cunt, bumping against your clit tauntingly.

“Alright, princess,” he breathed, dragging the tip along your slit, “why don’t you give them a show for daddy, hm?”

This time, your reply came in the form of an elongated moan as he sunk into your heat, the stretch coming with ease after Changbin’s size, yet the length making your toes curl.

“Oh, god-”

There was no opportunity for a pause, not when you were miles beyond prepped and ready; the orgasm Minho previously gave you, paired with the second one Changbin gently guided you toward yet kept from tipping over, leaving you with a bubble that was ready to burst within minutes.

“F-Fuck, daddy,” you keened, pressing your hips into his own in feigned hopes of getting him impossibly deeper, “please, please fuck me.”

Chris ran his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes glued to the way your pussy wrapped around his length, as he nodded, “Hands, baby.”

A shiver of excitement shot down your spine and you complied almost immediately, using the pillow to keep your head propped up as you worked your arms behind your back, the warmth of his hand easily finding your wrists and pinning them.

With you set up to his liking, he slowly pulled out just about halfway before driving his hips forward with force, the added balance of his right foot planted on the bed adding to his power.

He was definitely going to blow your back out.

It didn’t take long for him to find the perfect rhythm, nor did it take long for the room to be filled with your high pitched moans and gasps, and the slap of your ass against his thighs - the ripples slowly, but surely, turning your limbs to jelly.

“Our perfect girl,” he gritted out, the grip on your hip and wrists tightening marginally, “letting us admire you for the beautiful gem you are - take turns with this gorgeous body of yours.”

It wasn’t news that they were constantly in awe of you, with and without your clothes on - you were the brightest star in their night sky, you were the puzzle piece they finally found to complete their lives separately and together - and they never failed to remind you of how loved you were.

“But, you know you’re so much more than that, don’t you, princess?” Chris tilted his head to catch a glimpse of your face, eyes fogged and unfocused, lips parted with endless moans tumbling through, “You’re so much more than just your body to us.”

“C-Chris!” You managed to choke out between a whimper, his loving sentiments paired with the unyielding strokes of his cock to your deepest, sweetest parts turning your brain to mush, though your body responded in the best way it could.

He hissed at the telltale clench of your walls, a shiver running down his spine as he nodded mindlessly, “Already? It’s alright, baby, you can come for me - don’t hold back, yeah? Give it to me - give it all to me.”

Your body reacted faster than your mind could at his command, your orgasm barrelling toward you at a speed that had your hands balling into fists; every muscle in your body tensing and clenching until the thread snapped with one more well angled thrust. Mouth falling open with a silent scream, the only sound you were able to hear was your own heartbeat as your vision went white.

The first thing to return to you was your hearing, the muffled thumps of your heart fading out into loud, heavy pants - though you knew for a fact that breathing wasn’t just you. The next sense to return was touch, the slightly damp sheets underneath you grounding you back to reality as your eyes fluttered open only to land on an unexpected face.

“Sungie?”

“Jagi, if I swap to ‘Team Ass’ can you do that for me, too?” Jisung’s face was ripe with blush, though his eyes were wide and wild with lust that had your abdomen clench almost painfully.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you frowned lightly, “Do what?”

“You squirted, muse,” Hyunjin murmured beside him, awe laced in his tone, “that was so fucking hot.”

Oh.

It wasn’t until you went to move your arms that you realized Chris was still keeping you pinned - and a second later you realized he was still inside of you.

“Channie?”

“I-I’m okay, I-” Relinquishing his hold on you, his hands instantly went to your hips, thumbs tracing nondescript shapes against your skin, “I just… I need a minute, ‘m sorry.”

“No, no, baby, it’s okay, take your time.” Working yourself onto your hands, your lower back eternally grateful for the relief, you took a quick scan of the empty room, “Where’d everyone else go? Did I genuinely pass out?”

“No - honestly, you were only out for like, a minute, but after you, uh, came, we started the aftercare checklist.” Hyunjin’s hand reached out to wipe away a hint of saliva at the corner of your lips, “Hannie and I are on talk-down duty, Felix is running you a bath, Jeongin’s getting you a washcloth, Seungmin is getting you water while Minho’s starting on dinner, and Changbin is getting the laundry Chan was too fucked out to get himself.”

“I’m not fucked out,” the eldest groaned as he lazily turned his head toward the artist, “it was just a really intense orgasm, alright?”

With enough energy worked up, he pulled his hips away from yours as his softening dick slipped from your pussy, a shared hiss of overstimulation escaping you both in the process.

“Holy shit… Intense is a fucking understatement, she’s dripping so much.”

You bristled at Jisung’s words, though you could feel the reality of the situation currently oozing its way down your clit and undoubtedly landing against the stained bed sheet.

“Fuck, it’s like a river… Am I allowed to be jealous right now?”

“Han, please.” Chris groaned, embarrassment evident in his tone, “We get it, I come a lot, but I really don’t know what you have to be jealous about.”

Ducking your head with a barely contained laugh, you shook your head before meeting Jisung’s stare, “Next time, you’ll be the one almost folded in half and stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey, okay?”

“I got the water, but it’s gonna cost you-” Seungmin stopped in his tracks as he rounded the bed, his eyes locking onto the mess between your legs, “What- You turned her into an overstuffed twinkie!”

“Seungmin!”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @luvyev, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @broken-glowsticks, @j-onedrabbles, @dawninnie, @junglyric, @piercedddriver, @sometimesleeknows, @mahklathekpopqueen

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[videovamptramp]

foolish one

// ellie is one of the biggest players on campus, and reader just so happens to be the only girl immune to ellie’s charm. at least, that’s what she thought. //

warnings: fuckgirl!ellie, reader is a bit difficult, ellie is a simp for r but also a huge womanizer, this is angsty cause ellie and reader are both dumb fucks <3

a/n: part 2 of heaven is not fit to house a love (like you and i) is coming sooon, but until then here’s an ellie fic i wrote a few months ago <3

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

you were known at jackson university for being a good girl. sure, you’ve been to your handful of frat parties, who hasn’t? but you always kept your grades up, and made sure you never hooked up with any of the rich wannabe’s here. not because you thought you were better than anyone, no never that— mainly because you’ve worked too damn hard to get out of your shitty neighborhood to let all of your progress get ruined by a broken heart. so you refused to date or even flirt. you had friends and you were known for being vibrant and kind, but the second someone crossed a line you’d shut them down. you could be colder than ice when you wanted to be, and as sensitive as a baby at times, but you always knew how to keep yourself together. you always kept your heart safe.

maybe that’s what attracted ellie to you so badly. the fact that you weren’t easy, and how unaffected you were by whoever showed interest in you. she’d never heard about any of the jocks or frat boys hooking up with you, and the stories she has heard she knew weren’t true. you are far too much of a good girl for that. that’s exactly what makes ellie want to ruin you. god, she seems to always notice how cute you look in those tight pants, or how beautiful your hair looks each day. she even noticed how you cut it a few months ago; nobody else did because you only cut a few inches, and when ellie complimented you on it, you actually blushed. the interaction gave the brunette hope that she had a chance.

when ellie first approaches you, it’s because she needs help in her english literature class. she normally has excessive skills when it comes to talking to girls; she’s nearly slept with half the cheer team, started drama throughout the schools debate club because she slept with three members, and there were even rumors going around about her and one of the hot professors at the school. you knew ellie williams was nothing but trouble; but there was something in those evergreen orbs that caused you to soften whenever she was near. she’d smile or blush sheepishly, and it would make your stomach flutter in an unfamiliar way that terrified you.

so when ellie asks for your help, you instinctively say yes. that’s how you end up meeting ellie in the campus library every thursday for a study session. though, it’s the fourth session and each time ellie seems to get more and more side tracked. she can’t help it; the weather is getting hotter, and those tight jeans you’ve been alternating between throughout the winter turn into tight denim shorts. that black long sleeve top you’re wearing, hugs your body just right. ellie can’t help but let her eyes roam down. you notice every time. whenever she’d look at you, her eyes would trail you up and down, and then back up to meet your gaze. she’d lick her lips and flash you that grin that made your knees weak. though you had to continuously remind yourself that her grin probably makes every girl around here weak.

“you going to jesse’s party tonight?” ellie asks hopefully, and you shake your head. “no, i have plans with joey tonight.” you confess and ellie tenses up. “joey? frat boy joey?” she asks, and you can hear the clear disdain in her voice. “yeah, he needs help studying. like you. he’s coming here after you leave.” you explain and ellie purses her lips. she doesn’t want you to be alone with joey. the library is empty and her stomach sinks as she thinks about how pretty you look tonight. “maybe i can stay extra, just so you don’t have to deal with him alone.” the offer hangs there for a moment, and it shocks you. “why wouldn’t i want to deal with him? it’s only an hour, and he doesn’t seem too bad.” you say uncertainly, though you don’t want to tell her you’d prefer not to be alone with him. you thought the library would be a little more full tonight, but the fact that there’s a frat party tells you nobody’s going to be worried about studying.

maybe that’s why joey agreed so quickly. “he’s just a creep. i’d rather you not be alone with him.” ellie states and you feel your heart lurch in an unrecognizable way. “careful, williams, it sounds like you care.” you taunt, and she stares at you with those intense green eyes. “what if i do?” she asks, and your breath gets caught in your windpipe as you lose all train of thought. “i mean we’re friends now, right? i’m allowed to care about you.” she blurts out, and you chew on your bottom lip. you’ve never heard about ellie williams being friends with any girls. except for dina who’s her roommate, but she’s dating jesse. you shrug, “i guess we are friends… fine, you can stay.” you give in, turning away before noticing her relieved expression. “but what about the party?” you question uncertainly, and she shrugs, “i’d rather be here.” she admits, and that stupid knot in your stomach returns again.

for the next few weeks you and ellie get ironically close. your library study sessions end up moving to your dorm, and ellie meets your roommate michelle. the blonde is crazy and a party animal, but it turns out you’ve both been friends since middle school. you’re so carefree in your dorm, and the posters and pictures on your wall show ellie you’re actually an extremely outgoing person, regardless of how you try to portray yourself. every time she learns something about you, she falls deeper for you. whenever she makes you laugh, her heart lurches and she can’t help but stare at you. she’s never felt this way with anyone else.

though it doesn’t take you long to bring up all of ellie’s rendezvous. “c’mon ellie, cat and katherine in the same week?? they’re friends! what did you expect?” you ask, giggling mercilessly as she tells you why cat and katherine got suspended last month. she rubs the back of her neck, her cheeks reddening. “i didn’t realize they’d tell each other!” she responds and you raise a brow. “seriously?? girls have bigger mouths than guys when it comes to hook ups!” you tell her, and she smirks. “do you?” she inquires tantalizingly, and you roll your eyes. “i don’t hook up.” you answer simply, causing her to smirk. “or you just don’t kiss and tell.” she points out, your cheeks flushing at the insinuation.

“no, i really don’t hook up. i think it’s pointless to sleep with someone you don’t actually have a connection with. meaningless sex doesn’t sound appealing to me.” you explain, and she blinks a few times. you shake your head quickly, realizing how that sounded. you didn’t want to offend her, so you rush to add on, “not that there’s anything wrong with it!!” you save yourself and she laughs. “hey, don’t stop on my account. i mean hooking up is fun, but that’s all it is; you’re right, it doesn’t mean anything.” she reveals, but she doesn’t tell you how glad she is to know you don’t hook up. she knows how hypocritical that would sound.

“would you at least consider dating?” she asks curiously, and you purse your lips. “probably not.” you respond, “it’d only get in the way of my studies.” you add while she only nods. “oh. so if i asked you on a date you’d say no?” she questions smoothly; your cheeks feel as though they’re on fire. “i’d definitely say no. especially when you were just bragging about ‘bagging’ cat and katherine in the same week.” your face expression is serious, but she can see in your eyes there’s traces of hurt mixed in your orbs. “but those are just hookups. you said it yourself they don’t mean anything.” she counterpoints, and you frown. it means something to me, the words are hanging off your tongue. but it shouldn’t mean anything to me, you think. she shouldn’t mean anything to you. she’s a player. a known player, with a reputation for ruining every girl she touches. why would i even risk it?

“if they didn’t mean anything to you, i certainly won’t either.” you argue, and she blinks at you, staring at you as if you’ve grown an extra head. “what do you mean? you’re different, you’re the prettiest girl at this place.” she admits, and you feel the blood rise to your face, “how many girls have you told that one to? seriously els, let’s get back to studying, this essay isn’t going to write itself.” you try to shut down the argument, and she deflates a bit. it’s not as though she has any more defense to her argument. she knows you’re right, and she knows she made her reputation herself.

“can you believe it, d?? she said she’d say no if i asked her out on a date!” ellie rants at the bar over the loud music. dina raises a brow, traces of amusement laced into her features. “didn’t she say it was because of all the girls you go through? i mean, i know i’m your best friend, ellie, but that’s a valid reason not to get involved with someone.” she shrugs, making ellie’s eyes widen in offense. “seriously?! who’s side are you on??” the brunette asks, making dina laugh in disbelief. “certainly not yours! because of you, rachel and carina were arguing all throughout my sociology lesson.” dina grumbles, and ellie sighs as she lays her head on the bar counter, squishing her forehead against the cool marble surface.

“she’s never going to want me.” ellie groans pathetically, and dina rolls her eyes. “wow, pull yourself together. if you really want her to want you, you need to put in actual effort.” dina starts, her tone stringent and up for no debates. ellie opens her mouth to say something, but the raven haired girl beats her to it. “seriously, this can’t be like all of your half assed attempts at getting into someone’s pants. if you really want her, prove it.” dina says sternly, and ellie sits up, flashing her a questioning look. “what am i supposed to do!? i’ve never done this sort of thing before… i just— i don’t know how to get out of the friendzone. i’ve never been in the friendzone with someone i actually want.” ellie grumbles, and dina hums in amusement. “for one, stop hooking up with every girl you find attractive. being easily accessible to other girls isn’t as hot as you think.” dina slaps ellie’s back a little too hard, causing her roommate/best friend to glare at her.

“ow!” “and actually make an effort to get to know her. text her, ask about her day, her favorite bands and artists. you said she’s smart, does she like books? ask her about her favorite book and major.” dina explains, “what if she doesn’t want to tell me those things? we’ve only been friends for two months, and she literally only talks about studying.” ellie says, her tone laced with insecurity. “y/n is nice. i’ve talked to her a few times at the library. she’ll tell you those things as soon as you ask. all you have to do is put in effort till she notices.” dina assures her, and ellie reaches into her back pocket and pulls out her phone.

“what are you doing?” dina asks uncertainly, “texting y/n about her day and favorite band and all that bullshit.” ellie slurs as she begins smashing her thumbs on the keyboard, and dina’s eyes widen. imagine your surprise when you wake up at midnight to a bunch of texts from ellie, asking you about your day, and your favorite books. the grammatical errors in the message don’t fail to make you smile, and you can’t even fight the way your heart warms.

you: go to sleep, ellie.

ellie: i can’t stop thinking about you.

you: think about me while you sleep. it’s late.

ellie: i was at the bar with dina tonight, just got to my room. gonna dream about you, princess <3

you roll your eyes at her cheesy message. of course she’s intoxicated. you have a small smile on your lips as you type back a single message.

you: goodnight ellie. don’t forget to keep a water bottle by your bed for the morning.

you aren’t sure why ellie williams seems to suddenly be interested in you. it’s a strange feeling to be wanted by one of the most wanted girls in school. you can’t help but wonder if she’s truly interested, or if you’re accusations are correct and she’s just trying to get into your pants. you sigh as you put your phone down and try to go back to sleep. thoughts of ellie plague your mind, and you hate the way her smile makes you feel all warm inside. you’re trying your absolute hardest to not feel anything for ellie williams, but it doesn’t seem to be working out very well for you. especially not when she drunk texts you the cutest things.

the texts don’t stop there. over the next few weeks ellie begins to text you daily, nonstop. she’ll send you memes, or posts that remind her of you. she’ll even send pictures of puppies she sees when she’s out in town. there was a night where you were reading, and ellie sent you a voice memo of her playing guitar and lightly singing a song she wrote. her voice made you feel as though your heart was about to burst right out of your chest. it’s been three and a half months of trying to ignore these feelings in your belly every time the brunette is near. three months of trying to keep your blush at bay, and not laugh at her horrible puns.

“i didn’t know you could sing like that.” you pipe up one day as you’re revising her essay for her english class. her cheeks turn the most adorable shade of pink, and you have to bite your bottom lip to stop from smiling. “i don’t normally let anyone know that i can sing… but you’re special to me.” she clarifies, and you stare at her, getting lost in her emerald eyes. “maybe one day you can come to my dorm, and i’ll sing for you in person.” she flirts, and you just now realized how close she’s sitting. the blood rushes to your cheeks and you have to force yourself to look away, breaking eye contact. “when will your excessive flirting ever end?” you ask her, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

ellie smirks, “when you finally agree to give me a chance.” she declares, and you can’t help but frown. “a chance? a chance at what, ellie? to get in my pants and then never talk to me again?” you ask, sounding slightly upset. ellie shakes her head quickly, “no! y/n you know i’d never do that to you.” she tries, and you sigh. “no, i don’t. the truth is, i like you and it scares me, ellie… but the way you treat girls scares me more.” you whisper, unable to look at her, ellie feels her heart sinking in her chest. she feels herself responding with one of the only few emotions she knows; anger. “no offense, but how would you even know how i treat women?” she asks, and you can hear the clear offense in her tone.

“i already told you that girls talk, ellie. i know what i’ve heard from them, and what i hear from you is no better.” you don’t even look at her as you continue revising her essay on her laptop. “look, you misspelled ‘continuity’.” you say, swiftly trying to change the subject, but ellie doesn’t let up. “the way i treat girls i don’t care about is different. i care about you. i could treat you so well, and take you on dates.” she begins rambling, and you look up at her, your eyes unamused. “have you ever even been on a date, ellie?” you ask unable to contain a chuckle. “well— erm— no, but i bet i could plan one. a better date than you’ve ever been on.” she tells you, leading you to tilt your head to the side in order flash her a curious look. “is that so? well, maybe you should practice by actually taking your next conquest on a date.” you suggest sassily, and she deflates.

i don’t want to date anyone who isn’t you, she thinks, but chooses not to press any further. instead she goes back to her room after you finish revising her essay, and even though she doesn’t text you throughout the rest of the evening, you still receive a goodnight text from her. a simple message shouldn’t make you smile or give you butterflies, but it does. you respond to her, and go to sleep, thoughts of ellie freaking williams on your mind, and you have to continually remind yourself that you’re not the only poor girl thinking about her tonight. you think about the advice you gave her, to take some poor other girl out on a date… but the thought of that makes your heart ache. you don’t want ellie to date or hookup with anyone else, but that’s wrong. ellie can do whatever she likes, you just wish she only wanted to do you.

your disheartening thoughts from last night linger all throughout the morning. you don’t text ellie back, and when she asks to hang out, you don’t even answer. you’re starting to realize the main problem is you’ve been spending so much time with her, and the closer you two get, the more you fall for those freckle coated cheeks, and evergreen eyes. you can’t help how you feel, and you know ellie only flirts with you because that’s the way she is. it doesn’t mean anything to her, and that’s what hurts the worst. to her you’re just some other girl, and to you she’s starting to take up spaces in your mind like she owns it.

it doesn’t take long for ellie to find you on a bench outside of the university after your classes. you’re reading some stephen king novel that’s pretty worn, “you’ve been hard to find.” ellie’s soft voice pulls you out of your thoughts. you look up to see her standing there with a button up collared shirt, and those jeans that make her look cuter than anyone you’ve ever seen. “i’ve been looking for you. and texting you.” the brunette says, and you shrug. “i’ve been busy.” you murmur and she frowns as she takes a seat next to you. “too busy to hang out with me?” she asks, and you shrug. “you’re a little distracting.” you admit as you wave your book at her.

she smirks, and it makes your belly flip flop. “you calling me distracting?” ellie teases, and you let a giggle escape your lips. the delightful sound causes ellie to grin. “yeah, you are. in the worst way.” you joke, and she throws her head back and laughs. she stares at you for a moment, “i have a date tonight.” she admits, and you tense up. “oh really?” you question, trying not to sound too interested. “yup. angela from kappa sorority.” she explains and you chuckle, “a sorority girl?” you ask, and ellie can hear the slight judgment in your voice. “well, the girl i want won’t give me the time of day, and i’m trying to prove i can do more than just sleep with a girl.” she explains simply, and you roll your eyes.

“where are you taking her?” you inquire, and ellie shrugs, “probably maria’s diner downtown.” she says and you nod. “nice. hope you have fun.” you sound pretty genuine, but ellie can see a trace of hurt in your features. you’re trying to ignore the way your stomach sinks at the thought of her smiling at some pretty girl, and paying for her dinner. you hate thinking about it. “maybe we can hang out before? get some studying in?” she asks hopefully, she just wants to spend as much time as she can with you. “can’t. i have to do homework before i help joey and kayla with their project for an english seminar.” you explain, and ellie only nods in a bit of disappointment.

“will you be free tomorrow?” she asks and you shrug, the thought of having to hear about how good her date went doesn’t sound too appealing. “i’ll text you.” you weakly respond and she nods as she stands up, flashing you a questioning look. “uh, okay…” she wants to say something about how upset you seem, but she doesn’t want to press. “i’ll see you later then.” she adds, and you only nod as she walks away. you try not to watch her leave, but you can’t help it. you release a ragged breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. “i’m so screwed.”

throughout the night you ignore ellie’s texts, trying not to think about her date. the next day you begin to avoid ellie as if she has the plague. it doesn’t take her long to notice. you’d leave her on read, and she checked the library but you weren’t there. all of the benches around the university that you’d usually sit at to read were empty, and you weren’t in the cafeteria. that’s how ellie ends up in front of your dorm room, knocking lightly yet adamantly. when you open it you’re wearing a pair of tight flare jeans, a pair of converse, and that cute cropped sweater that fits you well.

“e-ellie what are you doing here?” you ask, obviously surprised to see her. “you’ve been ignoring me. why?” she asks as she pushes her way into your room. your roommate is sitting on her bed, and she raises a brow, “should i give you guys privacy?” michelle asks and you nod, “yes please.” you breathe out, and the blonde nods as she gets up and reaches for her phone and purse. “i’m gonna bring lunch. for three in case you’re still here when i get back.” michelle tells ellie before she leaves you two alone. the atmosphere is tense, and you can’t even look at her.

“how was your date?” you inquire, ignoring her previous question. “is that why you’ve been ignoring me? because i went on a date?” she asks in disbelief, making you scoff. “i haven’t been ignoring you, i’ve been busy.” you lie through your teeth, and now it’s ellie’s turn to scoff. “seriously? you expect me to believe that? every day for the last four months we’ve been hanging out, and now suddenly you’re busy?” she asks, her tone stern and angry. you roll your eyes opting not to respond. this only adds to her frustration, “i mean, what gives? i thought we were friends.” she points out, her tone more fragile now, and it makes you pause. your hard expression falters, but you can only stare at her incredulously. “friends?” you ask, your tone skeptical and hurt, “a friend wouldn’t endlessly flirt with me, and pin me in the same category as every other girl in this school. they don’t say all this stuff that’s supposed to have meaning, and then go on a date with some other girl. friends don’t look at each other the way we do, ellie!” you snap and she’s staring at you with wide eyes, while her breath is lodged in her windpipe.

“you like me.” she blurts out, her tone laced with realization. you blink, “you like me, like me.” she declares, and you release a shaky sigh. “i do. but i can’t afford to, ellie. you’re not the kind of person i’m supposed to be with. i need someone who’s ready for commitment, and who has a whole lot of patience. you don’t have either of those things.” you begin to ramble, and ellie frowns. “why do you always make me seem like i’m a terrible person?? is that really what you think of me? that i’m so shit, i don’t even deserve a chance to show you i can be better?” she asks, and the hurt in those eyes makes you feel tremendously guilty. but you don’t let up, “you’re a wonderful person, ellie. you’re funny, and smart, and you always make me smile… but i don’t think you’d be a good girlfriend. i’m sorry. i think it’s best if we don’t talk anymore.” you say, your voice low and distant.

ellie stares at you in disbelief. “so that’s it?? you’re just never gonna talk to me again?” she questions angrily, and you look down at your shoes. “i’m sorry ellie.” you whisper, and she stares at you with a look of pure betrayal. “you know, i may not know what it’s like to be in love or know how to be a perfect girlfriend, but i would do anything you ask. i would never hurt you intentionally. so, you just lost someone who actually gives a shit about you.” she hisses venomously, as she turns to leave, and you have to clamp down on your bottom lip as you try to ignore the tears that are threatening to leave your eyes.

ellie leaves but you can’t watch her go. you don’t want that memory engraved into your brain. her words are all you can hear replaying in your head, and it isn’t until you can taste the salt from your tears that you realize you’re crying. you haven’t cried over a girl since high school, and now you feel like a fool for letting ellie get so close. you didn’t even let her touch you and you still ended up broken-hearted like her string of other women. but this was different, and it’s taken you this long to realize it. ellie didn’t even try to get into your pants, yet it still hurts just as much, maybe more. you can’t help but feel guilty for being so harsh, but how could you possibly give ellie a chance to break your heart for real? you’re terrified of the way you feel about her.

you: i’m sorry.

ellie leaves you on read after that, and two days go by with you thinking about her consistently. she doesn’t try to show up at your door anymore, or go out of her way to look for you on campus. ellie is now actively avoiding you, the same way you were avoiding her. the guilt and sadness was gnawing you up inside, and you couldn’t fight the urge to make things right. that’s how you ended up at jesse’s frat party. you’re wearing a tight white cropped top that ties around the back of your neck, and light blue denim levi short shorts. your hair was curled perfectly in hopes you’d see ellie tonight and get to make things right. you realize that if you don’t give her chance, you’re going to be heartbroken over all of the ‘what if’s’.

“hey y/n! i didn’t think you’d come tonight!” dina shouts over the loud music, as she stands in front of you, she has a strange smile on her face. she looks almost nervous. you smile back, choosing not to dwell on it. “hey d! yeah, i’m looking for ellie, have you seen her?” you ask and dina’s smile falters, “uh, she’s— she’s around.” dina lies horribly. as if on cue you move a bit to the side, and see what she was covering with her body by standing in front of you.

madeline from one of the sorority houses was hanging off ellie’s neck, and the brunette’s hands were all over madeline. your heart breaks at the sight; you have a few classes with the blonde and she’s on the cheer team. she’s drop dead stunning. that’s when ellie leans in and kisses the cheerleader in a way that cause the final bits of your heart to crack into little pieces. suddenly you feel like an absolute fool for coming here tonight.

“y/n…” dina tries, and you clear your throat, shaking your head, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. “do me a favor and don’t tell her i was here, okay?” you ask pleadingly and dina flashes you a concerned look. “please?” you nearly beg, your voice cracking slightly, causing her to sigh. she nods reluctantly and you rush off, making your way for the exit you just came in through. you try not to cry, and thankfully your roommate/best friend is at that stupid party trying to get laid. you let it all out as soon as you get to your dorm; your mascara’s running, and you’re sure you sound as pathetic as you look. the image of one of the prettiest girls in school hanging off ellie’s neck is now burned into your mind. you should’ve known better than to think you could actually make things work with ellie williams.

[lundenloves]

Dad!Simon reacting to his oldest daughter having a small crush on a boy at school! Overprotective dad!simon having to be scary (ofc not towards his lil family) but in private with Wife!Reader he’s emotional because his little girl is growing up 😭😭 fluff mix with tiny angst

Thx! Love ya Dad Simon series 🖤

dad!simon masterlist | taglist

ANON! This mf would get migraines over the idea of his sweet little baby girl and a boy. I’ve had quite a few asks about this, all along the same lines (crush, boyfriend etc) so just decided to make one of all of them. Unless someone wants something dead specific, shout me!

Everyone grab your binoculars as we observe from a safe distance.

He almost choked on his drink, dropping the glass to the counter with a cringe inducing clink. One that echoed around the now silent kitchen as his eyes caught onto his wife’s. “A what?”

His eldest daughter threw her arms in the air in battle of her mother. “Why would you even say anything to him, oh my god.” She groaned frustratedly, attempting to storm away but cut short when Simon had cleared his throat.

“Why didn’t you tell me.” He leant his palm on the kitchen counter, looking down at the girl who was slowly growing to look like her mother instead of him. “What’s his name?”

“Because you’re like this.” She gestured to him, whining a sigh and turning to her mother. “Tell him, mum. He always gets involved.”

Simon laughed, balling his hand into a fist and habitually hitting down on the counter with his movement. “I’m only asking, love.” His arms then crossed over his chest, feet a length apart from another. “What age is he?”

“See!” She shot a hand toward him, widening her eyes at you. “He can’t help it.”

“Well, I need to know what—“

“Simon.” You held a hand out to silence him, a slight tilt of your head telling him to let go. “Invite him for dinner, darling.” The warmth in your voice made Simon itch from the other side of the counter, a half-hearted glare piercing into you over what you had just asked.

“No.”

“Why?” You knew exactly why.

“Because dad will just fu- interrogate him.” She left the room, walking down the hall as she continued, “Which he doesn’t even get to do. He’s never here anyway!” Her words were spat out and Simon tsked, turning back to you when she had stomped up the stairs.

“He’s her age.” You said quietly.

“You knew?” He whisper-shouted as you took a step toward him.

“Of course I knew.” He humphed when you had wrapped your arms around him, humming into his chest. “That’s what mothers are for.” A long sigh left him at that, pulling back from you and rubbing a hand through his hair and down his face visibly stressed.

“I need a cigarette.”

“It was always going to happen, Simon.” You smiled, following him outside and nudging his shoulder playfully. “Leave her be. What’s the worst that could happen?”

He eyed you through a sideward glance.

“She’s not going to get pregnant.”

“If she’s with a little rat—“

“Stop.”

He lit his cigarette, taking a long inhale before shrugging. “That kid is not stepping one foot into this house.” The smoke escaped his mouth with each word, creating a momentary cloud around him. “Not when i’m here.”

“She’s growing up.”

“Too fast.” Simon shook his head with another long drag, the two of them stood in silence.

Being a father to a teenage girl was a new era of problems. Ones he was yet to even learn about never-mind tackle, and this was apparently one of them. The boyfriend dilemma. He was not immune to the dad feelings, resulting in many a phone call to Johnny who somehow knew everything. The man didn’t even have a family.

“Just invite the kid, see what happens. He’s hardly going to pull out an M9.”

“I’m not having him ‘round.”

“She can go to his then.”

“No she fucking can’t.”

In result, he was invited over. On one condition with his daughter, so was uncle Johnny.

Him and Simon were stood in the kitchen when the scrawny kid walked in. You had convinced your husband that holding his knife wasn’t a great idea, twirling it around his fingers before forcefully sticking it into the chopping board.

“Alright, son.” Johnny slapped a hand onto the kids back, ultimately welcoming him but also shoving him toward Simon.

“Sorry. That’s my uncle.” His daughter would point with her eyes, steering him away from her dad and to the seat furthest away. Many a death-stare had been shot across the table toward her father, all returned of course if it wasn’t for you stomping on Simon’s foot underneath it.

It was a mess, to say the least. Bar Johnny’s flamboyant stories that kept at least a drop of fun.

this was supposed to be a lot shorter but LMAOO you can’t convince me ghost wouldn’t recruit soap in this whole thing. THIS is canon. so many thoughts, such little brain.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @freakonfilm @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @abbugaduu @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog

if you weren’t tagged i couldn’t get your blog!

[lovers-rck]

a guide to (not) sleep

pairing ellie williams and fem. reader

this is something new im trying out. it happens in the tlou universe (meaning: there is an apocalypse happening, but it's not the *main* theme) with some changes like ellie and abby not trying to kill eachothers everytime. wow, the magic of fanfiction!!

the original idea was to do a big long fic but i wanted to do a short version first to test the waters and see how is welcomed.......... so if you like it you can tell me by commenting, reblogging or whatever you want!!!

also the title is the first thing that came to mind so maybe i will change it later? i don't know yet.

ok too much talking. goodbye. enjoy.

☆

love isn't for ellie.

she tried, and tried and tried; it never worked for her.

riley was the first one, but we don't talk about her.

then it was cat; she had short hair, a face sprawled in freckles and a cool gun tattoo machine. ellie and cat lasted a good 3 months.

after cat, dina appear. her big smile and nasty jokes was what got ellie walking on walls for weeks before she had the courage to talk to her, and when she did, they matched perfectly, or that was what ellie wanted to think.

dina was perfect; funny, kind, beautiful, and all the good things, but ellie was not, and that was the problem; they didn't match with certain.... qualities.

that and the fact that jesse was crushing hard over dina.

so that was ellie's panorama; with two (three) failed relationships, she began to accept that maybe -just maybe- love wasn't for her, and that she had to take care of the things she was good at, like killing clickers; riding shimmer; critiquing joel's coffee, among other mundane things.

the months passed, jackson's ice froze and thawed, shimmer's shiny fur revealed among the tiny snowflakes melting in the first warm temperatures after a long, hard - too hard, if you ask her- winter in that new society.

the pages of ellie's journal absorbed every drop of ink that swore how in a world like that there was no place for love, with pretentious adjectives that ellie once read in an old dictionary that maria gave her as a birthday present and has already forgotten the meaning. page after page, clotted ink and textured paper bore witness as ellie swore, with all his life, that dina was the last shot, the last bullet left in that gun, and that ellie had wasted it.

but then you showed up.

ellie began to notice how her body unconsciously gravitated towards yours, seeking your accidental touch and your comforting closeness; ellie sometimes fantasized that it was the lack of vitamins in her body, the last traces of hypothermia showing up in her immune system provoking little hallucinations.

she doesn't know if it was the effects of the poor quality of care she was taking of herself, or if it was something else, but it was enough for ellie to consider that maybe - just maybe - her gun had one more bullet available; one more attempt, timidly hidden among the barn sawdust and tree leaves, waiting to be used.

that and you were fucking fun to be around.

"so, abby came and she hug me by surprise" you say, laughing and smiling at the memorie "i was so scared. i thought it was a clicker"

ellie nods, thinking who the fuck abby is. she doesn't know if she wants to know.

"that's fucked up" is the only thing ellie utters. abby? is abby that red haired girl that is in charge of the improvised supermarket at the end of the -again- improvised street? no. that can't be her.

"right?" you say, eating a piece of cake that ellie did or did not steal from the birthday of her neighbor "i told her that"

ellie ate a piece of it too. she didn't know how cakes tasted before the apocalypse, but she thinks this is okay.

"so what did she say?" ellie asks.

you shake your head, sucking your index finger, wiping off the frosting "she laughed"

maybe it was that girl you taught to ride last month. ellie remembers you said it was a lot of fun.

but what kind of riding were you talking about?

"so who is abby, anyways?" ok. easy. that was good, ellie thought. no one could ever suspect anything.

you looked at her for a second, an expression that ellie couldn't decipher but quickly faded.

"uh... remember that girl who killed two clickers at once on patroll? like, she choked them with her arms at the same time and knocked them down?" you say, the beginnings of your eyebrows coming together in a frown, looking at ellie.

oh, she remembers. she remembered very well.

"mhm, no, not really" ellie acts nonchalant, looking at her short and damaged fingernails.

"she has a braid, a blonde braid" you say, recalling

ellie purses her lips, shaking her head slowly "mh, no, i don't remember her"

she remembers. she remembers so vividly how envy consumed every bone in her body when she heard that news, seeing how your eyes widened in surprise and your smile widened so wide it reached your ears as you listened to the great deed that this abby had done, telling that story like she just found the cure; ellie wanted to roll her eyes so bad.

"dude!" you say, holding out your arms "muscles? like, very big ones?" you ask and ellie shakes her head once again.

"mm, no, sorry, i don't think i know her" ellie mumbles and has to restrain herself from snorting.

"well, whatever" you say "the thing is, i thought i was gonna die right and there"

ellie nods again, and her body slams into the mattress of her bed.

today was a rest day. jackson was resting quietly, some patrols were coming in and out frequently, absurd patrols to just kill the time and pretend to do something productive.

the town was having a good run the last few days, the amount of clickers around the area had almost halved, the injured people had been cured, and while food wasn't in short supply, it wasn't alarmingly scarce either, and that was something to celebrate at times like these.

it was a quiet day in wyoming.

so you and ellie were trying to kill time before getting back to the routine, and the hours seemed to be ticking away.

ellie was too proud of her room; it was comfortable, warm, and hers. on the walls were posters of savage starlight that joel kept getting for ellie on his patrols, warm christmas lights taped up, polaroid pictures with the image too faded from the sunlight coming through the window, sketches and chords of songs.

you loved ellie's room, you thought it was the coolest thing on the planet.

"you going for a nap?" you say, putting the cake away.

"uh, i don't know, maybe?" ellie murmurs, rubbing her face "i don't know what else to do. i'm bored."

"yeah, i could do a nap too" you say "I'm a bit tired"

ellie nods, a bit dissapointed that you go away so early, but she finds herself surprise when you grab her blanket and accommodate yourself in her bed.

ellie will have looked at you for a long time before you feel her eyes on you.

"uh, it's okay if i stay here?" you murmur, looking at her and ready to run away if she tells you to.

ellie finds herself in a trance that forces her to come to her senses as fast as she can "yeah, yeah" she says.

"are you sure? you don't seem so sure"

ellie wants to slap herself on the face.

"no, please, stay. you can stay if you want" she spoke, and regrets immediately by how needy she sounded.

you giggle and nod, curling up against one of her many pillows, the blanket resting on your body like a marble sculpture of a veil "thank you ellie" you smile slightly "have a good nap".

ellie can't seem to find the words so she turns over, afraid to move to much to the point that her bones will fall out of her body as she feels you so close. ellie can feel, hear, how your breathing slows down as the minutes pass, becoming calmer.

she doesnt know how much time passed on, but ellie feels her body take on a cold temperature, so she does what anyone would do; she reaches for the blanket to cover herself.

but she brushes against your body.

ellie's hand, as clumsy as her owner, accidentally brushes against your body as she reaches for the blanket. she doesn't know which part of your body it was, and she has the feeling that it's better this way.

ellie has never been with a woman. oh, well, maybe she is lying because she has, in fact, been with cat, but that was just a few touches right and there, more curious than desirous, nothing too affectionate to make an impact on ellie. but the thing is, she has never been with a woman, never slept with a woman.

like, really sleep, rest, take a nap, rest your eyes -as joel often says-

it was something so intimate that ellie had never been able to do with anyone. it was the moment where she was the most helpless, the most adrift, the most vulnerable. the time where all her baddy personality destroys itself to show her true self.

so ellie thinks, thinks, thinks, thinks and thinks but there is only one question that keeps coming up in different formulations, but it always remains the same:

how is ellie williams going to sleep with you next to her?

[multifandomimagines999]

May I get mark sloan x reader please? Like reader has been on call for like three days straight and is super exhausted. And while charting, reader falls asleep standing up and Mark props them up and takes them to an on call room and makes sure they get some rest ? Thank you so much !

Exhaustion, Mark Sloan x reader

Summary: An exhausted reader collapsed and her boyfriend comes to her rescue...then it all makes sense

Warnings: Fluff, Exhaustion, overworking, throwing up

Note: I tweaked it a bit @theichabbieclub but I hope you still like it! I'm just getting back into this.

"You look like crap," commented Alex as we walked down the hallway.

"Oh thanks. I feel like it too," you admitted, "I've been working a double because we're short staffed on the peds floor as you know. So I've been bouncing around non-stop. I'm exhausted."

"And crabby. Clearly you haven't been able to screw your secret boyfriend too."

"Shut it Karev!" you growled, slapping him in the arm, "I am never going to tell you who it is if you keep making comments like that."

"Fine," he grumbled, "I've gotta get to the Nic-U. What have they got you covering today?"

"I've got a marathon surgery with Robbins, Shepherd, and Sloan on a 6 year old girl with a facial tumor."

"Damn that's rad. Good luck."

"Thanks."

You went into the surgery with a clear head, ready to save this little girl's life. We began and about two hours into it, Mark showed up to help work on the facial reconstruction and repair. His portion of the surgery took about three to four hours. 

"Alright...I'm done here. She's all yours to finish up with."

"Take my tool," you whispered to Avery, suddenly not feeling well.

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

He took it and then immediately everything went black.

3rd POV

"Dr. (Y/L/N)!" yelled Robbins as her resident's body hit the floor.

"That's why she handed me her tool," Jackson realized.

"Can someone please check on them please?" asked Arizona as she continued working.

"I got it!" Mark announced before rushing over to her side. 

Their relationship was still a secret, so he tried his best to hide his romantic concern in the moment. He scooped her up as carried her out of the OR to an empty gurney. He took her to a private room and began examining her. 

--------

You woke up to a flashlight shining in your eyes and a hand on your forehead. As the darkness disappeared, you saw that the flashlight belonged to Mark. You groaned as your head pulsed with pain.

"What happened?" you asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You might want to tell me... You passed out in the OR. I hooked you up to an IV because from the looks of it you're severely dehydrated."

"Mark I-" you were interrupted by a horrible feeling in your gut.

You jerked up, reaching for the bucket before puking. When you were done emptying you stomach, you collapsed back on the bed. You suddenly felt sweaty with hair plastered against your forehead. 

"Dr. Sloan, I may know what's wrong?" Karev jogged in, out of breath, "I heard the news about (Y/F/N). Three of the peds kids just came down with the flu. All three kids were your patients that you've been dealing with during this double shift. And with you being so overworked, your immune system was weaker, so combined with the dehydration, you got sick."

"Well shit."

"Looks like I have my diagnoses," Mark replied, and you just glared at him.

"I hate you right now."

"I know."

"Wait a minute?" Karev questioned, stepping in the room and shutting the door, "Sloan's your secret boyfriend?!"

"You tell anybody, I will kill you. You understand me Alex? I will make sure every girl in this hospital knows what a man whore you are and you will never get laid again. Got it?"

"Yeah yeah, calm your panties. I'll let Bailey know you're so sick with the flu that you can't drive and that I asked Dr. Sloan to take care of you since he's already been exposed. Okay?"

"Thank you Alex."

"Yeah whatever."

***

You laid on the couch with Mark, all cuddled up in sweats and his shirt. While you were hot to the touch, you yourself were feeling cold. Your body ached and your head was still throbbing. You rested your head in his lap while he played with your hair soothingly.

"How are you feeling babe?" he asked, looking down at you.

"Like shit," you admitted, making him chuckle.

"Well you still look cute if that makes you feel any better."

"A little."

"Mark please. You shouldn't see me like this. We've only been together for three months."

"(Y/F/N), we slept together before we started dating and on the first date we talked about our deep dark issues. I think it's okay if I see you with the flu. Now let me please be there for you."

"Fair point."

Anytime you felt you were going to be sick, he was there, holding your hair back and assuring you soothingly. Anything he could do to help you, he wanted to.

Mark held your hair back as another round came up. God this was hell. Physical and emotional hell. When he walked out to go grab something, you laid down on the cool tile. He came back in with a water bottle and some crackers along with a smile.

"What? The tile is nice and cold."

He helped pull you up so you were sitting up against the cabinets, "You know you need to drink to re-hydrate. And these crackers might help."

Your hair was a mess as he brushed it out and sat beside you. He rubbed your back lovingly until your eyes felt heavy and all you wanted to do was sleep.

"Alright. Lets get you to bed," he spoke, sweeping you into his arms.

He placed you into bed and disappeared before coming back with a fresh garbage can. After placing it beside the bed, he climbed in next to you.

"Mark, you don't have to stay with me. You could get sick and-"

"I'm not leaving unless you need me to get something."

"What about work?"

"I'll call in. You're more important."

A smile crossed your face as you rolled over, resting your head on his chest. His arm snaked around you, one around your waist and the other stroked your hair. Finally, you were feeling a little bit better.

"Try to sleep. I'll still be here."

"Thank you," you mumbled sleepily, "I love you."

"I love you too."

[akaridream]

please my prince (vegeta x reader)

tags: vegeta x time patroller! reader, vegeta x saiyan! reader, mentor-mentee dynamic, afab reader

warnings: explicit content, MDNI; he’s kinda mean but not too bad, good girl, princess, bitch... but no spoilers for the fun stuff

Vegeta had loved the female Saiyan battle suits since the day he hit puberty. The briefs left little to the imagination, showing off many warriors’ favorite assets. Though the story was that they allowed the most freedom of movement, attracting the eye of a potential mate was never too far from a Saiyan’s mind. As you stood in front of Vegeta stretching during a lull in your training session together, he admired your cheeky attire. You had the firm glutes and quads of a powerful warrior, after all. Your efforts shouldn’t go unappreciated. And they certainly didn’t.

Though your training sessions were productive, they were always plagued with an air of tension. As noble a warrior as he was, Vegeta was not immune to the wiles of a female, especially one of his own Saiyan heritage. Something inside him stirred at the sight of your tail swishing, hypnotizing him and making him wish he still had a tail of his own to flirt back at you with. His mind-numbing attraction to you made training sessions an exercise in self-control. When was the last time he had even seen a female Saiyan, let alone one of your impressive power? What would happen if he overstepped the line and made a move on you?

Little did he know, you also struggled to maintain your composure around him. With his widow’s peak and chiseled body, he was a living picture of Saiyan perfection. His narrow waist and hips were well balanced by wide shoulders and a tower of wild hair. His silhouette made you claw half-moons into your palms at the sight. How could any man be so fucking hot?

It was quite the privilege to train with him, too. Only a handful of Time Patrollers had adequate power levels to satisfy the prince. You had the honor of becoming his first Saiyan trainee, garnering special treatment, but not with extra leeway or praise. Vegeta’s regimen bordered on cruel, only because he knew you could handle it. He saw the fire, the passion for battle that blazed in your rich black eyes. He felt the immense power behind your blows. He heard the rage of the oozaru in your battle cry.

“Saiyan men crave strong women,” he recalled telling Kakarot once, and there was no denying it. You were strong. And he craved you.

Many shameful nights, he had gone to the locker room showers at the Patroller Academy with a raging erection thanks to you. Too proud to relent, however, he opted for a cold shower rather than gratify himself. Tonight was shaping up to have the same outcome. The sun had set and the gymnasium at the academy had long since cleared out, leaving only you and your mentor to train on the wrestling mats. The air conditioner had kicked off after dark, leaving you to pine over a shirtless Vegeta with drops of sweat racing down his pecs. You breathed deeply into your stretch, closing your eyes and folding forward to touch your toes. Vegeta closed his eyes too, if only to keep them off your ass. He still had plenty of combinations left to drill into you, he couldn’t deal with a hard-on now. There would be no hiding it in his compression shorts.

“Come on, you’ve slacked off long enough,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sick of you wasting my damn time. Run the last combo again.”

You continued to stretch, unperturbed. “I’m feeling tight and trying to avoid pulling a muscle,” you snarled. “Plus, I know you’re enjoying the view.”

Vegeta’s face caught on fire, making him turn his back to you. “Shut the hell up, woman! The only thing I’m enjoying is knocking some sense into that smart mouth of yours.”

The tip of your tail twitched and your heart began to race. If there was one thing a Saiyan loved as much as a physical fight, it was a good verbal spar.

“Yeah yeah, I might take you more seriously if you had landed a solid blow on me today. Pretty sure I’ve blocked just about everything you’ve thrown at me,” you said.

Vegeta scoffed and turned back to you. Annoyed, he kneed you in the butt, knocking you off balance. You squealed and rolled forward into a somersault.

“The fuck was that for?” you asked, peering up from the ground at a smug mentor.

“Didn’t block that one, did you?” Vegeta said, raising an eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes. “I could have swept you if I wanted. But I don’t want to continue to show up my own teacher. He’s got an ego the size of this planet, don’t want to bruise it.”

“Just get off your lazy ass and run the combo!” he roared as he stood over you. “Why the hell I tolerate you, I don’t even know.”

You smirked and got to your feet, wrapping your tail around your waist. “Like I said, you enjoy the view, Prince.”

Unamused, he came at you with a flurry of powerful blows before you were ready. You managed to dodge and block them, then came in with the combination you had been practicing. He blocked then countered with a swift palm strike, sending you flying. You landed on your feet, then launched back at your mentor, throwing in a wicked elbow straight for his head. With almost no effort, Vegeta slipped past you and kicked with a grunt. You barely leaned back in time, watching his muscled calf fly straight past your nose. Before you could recover, he grabbed a fistful of your black hair and smashed your face into the mat, knee on your spine for good measure. You groaned and tried to get up to no avail.

“Pathetic,” Vegeta growled. “Bragging about your blocking ability but you didn’t see that coming.”

“Because that was a dirty move, Jeet.”

He scoffed and pressed his knee harder into your back. “Do you think Frieza fights clean? Or how about Janemba? Or maybe you think Broly will fight honorably?”

You continued to struggle between his weight and the floor but he kept you pinned. You looked up at him over your shoulder as he leaned down to your ear.

“You’re weak. Just admit you can’t handle my training and give up.”

“Fuck you,” you grumbled.

“Huh? Couldn’t quite hear that, sweetheart. You want me to go easy on you because you’re no stronger than an infant earthling?”

Your nostrils flared and you clawed into the mat. Rage bloomed from deep within you and your hair began to glow blonde.

“I said fuck you Vegeta!” you roared as you threw him off and across the mat. A glint of pride flickered across Vegeta’s face as he stood and barreled towards you with another attack.

You traded blow after blow, matching his power and speed. You gritted your teeth as you sparred and he continued to block your every move.

“That’s it! Push it harder! This is your life you’re fighting for! I’ll send you through the roof if you hold back on me!” Vegeta yelled in your face. He watched as your eyes glowed with intensity in Super Saiyan form, hitting your stride as you fought.

You grunted with each strike, crying out in annoyance as he easily deflected you, then gave you a shove just to show how much of a gap there still was between your power levels. Teeming with frustration, you balled your fists and breathed deep, building your energy.

“I’m not holding back!” you barked with a fully charged punch. You caught your mentor on the cheek, but just barely, causing him to stumble for a moment. You lunged in with a swift knee to his solar plexus, driving him straight back and onto the ground. One knee on his chest and the other by his hip, you pinned him to the mat, crossing a forearm over his neck and holding one of his thick biceps down. His eyes narrowed as you panted over him like a raging bull, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“That punch was not part of the combo,” he snarled.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Princess. Did you think I was gonna fight clean?”

“Tch, you damn brat!”

Vegeta’s eyes flashed blue, his hair flaring to a brilliant gold as he quickly reversed your positions, rolling you onto your back. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them next to your head while he straddled one of your legs. His face was dangerously close to yours before you knew what happened.

Your breaths mingled in the thin air between you. Hearts beating wildly, you watched the inky black return to his irises as yours did the same. You unwrapped your tail from your waist and allowed it to brush against Vegeta’s leg. The golden glow faded from you both and you realized just what you were feeling against your thigh.

“V… Vegeta, are you…” you panted.

The look in his eye grew dark as his gaze darted to your lips. Bristling with a different energy, you extended your neck to meet him with a searing hot kiss.

His grip on your wrists grew tight as he mashed his lips back against yours. He allowed his weight to press into you as you kissed, his tongue beginning to explore.

“The hell was that for?” he breathed against your mouth. Your tongue met his and teased him, drawing him into you.

“You were practically begging for it.” He let go of your wrists to tangle one hand in your hair, giving him leverage to attack your mouth just how he wanted. His tongue was hot yet soft, enticing you to chase and play along. Your hands couldn’t stay off his body. You traced down his sides, feeling the dips between his sculpted muscles. You made your way to his hips, then his taut buttocks, gripping and urging him to drag his hardened cock against your leg. Vegeta chuckled.

“A prince begs for nothing, you damn minx,” he growled.

You moaned as his tongue swirled against yours. “Tell me you’ll fuck me, Vegeta.”

He kissed his way to your neck, sucking and nibbling your tender flesh. “Hmph, now who’s begging?”

You whined as his free hand started to explore over your breastplate. “I… I’m not begging.”

“Really?” He chuckled darkly. “Then what do you call those noises, hm?”

You started to move your hips, searching for friction against your throbbing clit. “I’m not some submissive little girl,” you said.

Vegeta stilled your hip and sucked a mark onto your collar bone. “No, you’re just a Saiyan bitch in heat who wants the prince to satisfy her.”

You roughly grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him back to your mouth. “I’m not that desperate, especially not for you.”

He denied your kiss and held your gaze. “Your actions speak louder than your words, woman,” he said, ghosting a finger over your slit. Your throat tightened as he pressed against your throbbing clit, trying not to let him know just how needy you really were. But as he locked his eyes with yours, you couldn’t ignore the intense, pulsing desire you felt for him, allowing a moan to fall from your lips.

“Fuck, so what if I am?” you whined. “What if I do want you that bad?”

He smirked. “You gave in to me so easily. Why the hell should I reward you?”

“Because you want me, too.”

He snickered and graced you with a rough kiss.

“You think you’re that special, huh?” he said.

You gave his lower lip a gentle bite, eliciting a low groan and hard drag of his cock against your leg.

“Not really. But I think I know a horny man when I see one.”

Vegeta smirked and repositioned himself between your legs, humping against your clothed core agonizingly slowly. A hot breath escaped you and your nails dug into his hips.

“Mm, Vegeta,” you moaned.

“You’re going to take me like a good girl, you got it?” he asked, creating a blissful rhythm against you. You nodded. “And you’re going to let your prince use you just how he wants, right?”

You nodded again. “Yes. You can have me Prince Vegeta.” Pleasure was building quickly as he dry humped you. Your whines echoed through the empty gym, reminding you that anyone could walk in at any moment.

Another desperate kiss betrayed the prince’s feelings: he needed you, too. He stripped off your armor, leaving you in a strappy sports bra and your briefs. He rolled you onto your stomach and ran his hands up the backs of your thighs.

“If it wasn’t for this perfect ass of yours, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” he said, thumbs brushing against the bottom of your buttocks. He gave a light smack, making you bite your lip and wiggle your hips.

“I knew you loved it,” you teased. He gave a harder smack as your tail began to flit excitedly.

He removed your briefs slowly, revealed your muscular ass in all its glory. “The fact that it belongs to the hottest Saiyan woman I’ve ever seen doesn’t hurt either.”

You grinned as he tossed your briefs aside, his eyes devouring your drooling slit. Your tail swished with an enticing rhythm. Vegeta couldn’t keep his hands off you and he ran his calloused palms over the developing spank mark before gliding a fingertip over your most sensitive parts.

“Need it, my prince,” you sighed.

His cock ached. “You’ll get it when I decide you’re ready.”

He plunged a finger deep into your velvetty walls, but it only served to make you want more. You craved the deep stretch his cock would provide. Vegeta twisted his wrist as he withdrew his finger, then penetrated back into you with force. The slick, shiny arousal coated his finger and began to drip down his knuckle as it rammed against you. Your tail wrapped tightly around his wrist, urging him to continue.

He positioned you with one leg bent up and your ass arched high into the air, a gorgeous angle to see your aching pussy. Impatient and painfully hard, Vegeta added a second finger, scissoring the pair apart as he pulled out from you. The pressure against your insides caused you to cry out and press your forehead hard into the mat. You balled your fists and moaned his name as he gradually stretched you further.

“Please, need your cock,” you breathed between moans. Vegeta gave a dark chuckle and began removing his shorts. You watched him over your shoulder, his cock heavy and thick as it sprang free. You salivated at the sight.

“Can I have you in my mouth?” you asked, starting to sit up.

He grabbed the back of your neck and returned your face to the mat. “No. I want you like this. Now get your ass up nice and high for me.”

You obeyed, arching your back to display your cunt for the prince. He kept his hand on your neck as he caressed your backside, then allowed his cock to rest against you.

“Good girl. Now take me. Take me like the bitch you are.”

He teased your entrance with his cockhead, dragging it to brush against your clit then back to your awaiting slit. On his knees over you, he firmly started pressing the head into you, watching it disappear, then reappear with your arousal covering it. He moaned your name in praise as he pushed himself in further.

“That’s it, take my cock,” he panted. Your back muscles clenched as he sheathed himself.

“Fuuuuck, you feel so good!” you cried. “Fuck me Prince, please.”

Vegeta’s hips rocked into yours as he bottomed out, giving you the delicious stretch you craved. Your tail instinctively wrapped around one of his thighs as he withdrew. Your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as the prince worked up to a rough rhythm, pounding you into the mat.

“Ahh! Fuck yes, fuck yes Vegeta,” you moaned as your hands clawed the mat for purchase. You dug your elbows in and threw your hips back against him as he fucked you, flesh smacking flesh in a sinful sound that echoed off the concrete walls.

“Your cunt is perfect,” he grunted. “Fucking perfect.” He watched each thrust ripple through your ass, driving his quickly approaching orgasm. Laying over you, he kissed, sucked and bit at your shoulders as he fucked you. His cock drove deep and hard making you whine in delight.

“Keep making those sounds for me, princess,” he commanded in your ear. “Knew you’d be a good girl, knew you’d beg for your prince.”

“Mm, anything for you Vegeta. Wanted you to fill me up for so long!”

His speed and power increased as he neared his climax. His breaths were short, exasperated gasps of pleasure accentuated by groans and moans from deep in his throat.

“You want me to cum in your tight little cunt? That what you want?” he asked, biting at your ear. You couldn’t even form words and only nodded and moaned.

He grunted with a fiery passion as he pounded you with bruising force. He held your hip firmly in place, fucking you like he’d never get another chance. His sounds became more broken, more honeyed until he finally snapped his pelvis against your plush ass with a guttural moan.

“Gahh, ahh ah ahh!” Vegeta cried out, nearly knocking the breath out of you as he came with powerful final thrusts. You whimpered beneath him, squeezing his pulsing cock with your walls. He panted desperately as he came down from his high, collapsing fully onto you while staying sheathed in your heat. As your tail loosened its grip on his thigh, he reached down to twirl it between his fingers. The intimate gesture filled your stomach with warmth as he laid his weight into you. Once the prince caught his breath, he brushed your wild hair away and nuzzled into the back of your neck. 

“Fucking perfect, perfect little cunt. But now that I’ve gotten my way,” his voice rasped. “It’s your turn, my princess.” Your heart jolted at his suggestion.

“Not tapping out?” you chuckled as he played with your tail.

He scoffed. “Just because I come first doesn’t mean you don’t come at all. Need to feel you shaking in my arms.”

Vegeta finally pulled out from your pussy, causing his cum to spill out and onto the mat, leaving you empty, but not yet spent. You rolled onto your back and sat up, finally stripping off your bra. The prince’s eyes grew hungry at the sight of your breasts. Vegeta returned his lips to yours in a slow, sensual kiss, surprising you after how forcefully he had fucked you. His hands roamed all over your neck, into your hair, over your nipples as he lapped at your tongue. You wrapped your arms around his muscled shoulders, pressing chest to chest as you made out, steamy breaths in between kisses.

Vegeta sat back on the mat with his legs wide and invited you to sit between them, back against his firm pectorals and abs. He brushed your hair away and bit your ear before breathing sweet nothings into it.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “So incredibly sexy, it’s been driving me mad.” You sighed as his hands caressed your skin, kneading your thigh and breast as he kissed your neck. “Took you damn long enough to make your move, you know,” he said.

You laughed and melted into his touch like a wilting flower. “Oh, you know Saiyan women. We like to tease. But I just couldn’t keep my hands off you any longer.”

Vegeta licked and sucked your skin, his head dizzy at the soft mewls you let out. His fingers began to tease your sensitive entrance, still slick with his cum. He traced around the perimeter, then upward over your clit. You shuddered and moaned.

“That’s it, princess. Let me make you tremble,” he growled.

He pinched and pulled at your nipple with one hand and worked your pussy with the other, dipping his fingers deep inside and using the heel of his palm to rub your clit. You writhed against his chest and clawed into his thigh while he twirled your tail around his hand. He gave it a light squeeze, sending a pulse of pleasure up through your spine.

“Mnnh, Vegeta, you’re so fucking good,” you breathed as he finger-fucked you. You matched his rhythm with your hips as the intensity began building. You turned your head to the side and kissed him feverishly, moaning into his mouth. The taste of his tongue was addicting. 

His fingers slid into you with the most perfect friction, hitting your sweet spot thrust after thrust. Vegeta wrapped an arm around your waist, as if any space between your bodies was too much. He pressed his head against yours as you chased and humped his hand. You clutched his bulging forearm, guiding him to touch you just right.

Feeling the steady approach of white-hot bliss, you squealed. “Mm! Gonna cum!” 

“Do it. Cum for me. Cum for your prince.”

You called his name, clinging to him tightly as the rush came. “Haaahhh, fuck Vegeta!” you cried out. Your back arched like a cracking whip and shock waves of sweet euphoria crashed over you. Your body quaked just like he wanted, making him chuckle in pride.

“That’s it,” he cooed in your ear as he stroked your tail and nuzzled against you. You clenched his fingers within you as he pressed his palm into your clit, coaxing out more shuddering pleasure. “That’s my princess.”

“Goddamn, that was so good,” you praised, collapsing into him completely as the aftershocks pulsed through you.

He kissed your shoulder, licking the salt of your sweat. “You’re too fucking loud, you brat. You want the whole city to know what we’re up to?”

You laughed and shoved Vegeta to the ground so you could lay on top of him. “I don’t give a shit. They deserve to know who made me cum so hard.”

He smirked and held you against his sweaty chest. “Damn right.”

“And you weren’t exactly quiet either, Prince of all Saiyans,” you teased, feeling his cock had hardened again. You reached down to stroke it, but he caught your wrist and brought it to his lips.

“I have self-control when I need to.” He closed his eyes and kissed your wrist and fingers. “We should hit the showers for the night.”

You hummed and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you made quite a mess of me. Thought you might be interested in another round, but if you don’t have the stamina-”

His eyes shot open and he squeezed your hand. “I didn’t say we should hit the showers separately, did I?”

dbz masterlist

[jaeedraszaerysz]

YOU CANT EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED ☆ JOFFREY BARATHEON

Masterlist

Warnings: joffrey obviously, swearing, mentions of murder and war, mentions of incest.

Summary: being joffrey baratheons cupbearer as the last targaryen in Kings landing was bound to be eventful, just not in the way that pleases you. Until...

Notes: reader is FEMALE also to fit in with the context of this fic, joffrey is around 17-18 and the reader is 19 ish making her 6 years younger than viserys and 4 years older than daenerys in season 1

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☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

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Being born a targaryen was like a game of Russian roulette. You were either blessed with great kindness and gentleness or cursed with madness and cruelty. In your case, it had been the former thankfully.

According to the maesters and other occupants of Kings landing you had been the most peaceful of the three targaryen babies to have been born of aerys II, the mad king. You had never cried or wailed or screamed, only smiled and attempted to befriend any lord, lady, knight or servant who came to cross your path.

But when the rebellion came and your father was dethroned and executed by jaime lannister your life had been flipped. Your brother rhaegar was dead along with all of his children, your other brother viserys and your mother, pregnant with another targaryen had fled, leaving you.

You didn't know why. You were still only a child of 3. No one else seemed to know either. So, Robert baratheon, the new king of the seven Kingdoms, decided to keep you. You were to be raised in Kings landing by a nurse and tywin lannister, having worked on your father's council before his death, made sure that you were educated properly.

By the time you had turned ten years of age, it was almost that your taragryen lineage had been forgotten, except for the obvious snowy hair and violet eyes. But no one that actually mattered seemed to pay attention to it any more.

You had grown close to cersei lannister in your teenage years, despite her being almost twenty years older than yourself. She was nice to you and as you grew, so did her eldest son, Prince joffrey. And then her others, princess myrcella and Prince tommen.

You were a bright girl, smart and kind. You had even been known to summon a smile from the Knight commonly referred to as the hound, sandor clegane. However, you had very little friends and were often seen wandering around or sitting by the flowers in the gardens, staring out into the sea or the city below.

By the time you had turned ten and seven you were truly a sight to behold, having inherited the targaryen beauty of your ancestors. But, as the small council came to realise that marrying off the only targaryen in westeros to a rich or powerful lord may not have been the most amazing idea, the king decided to appoint you as joffreys cupbearer.

You were good for the job, you listened attentively, you were smart and quick. And most importantly there wasn't anything distinct about you that joffrey could complain of and have you removed for.

So that's what became of you. You became his cupbearer and followed him around the red keep, accompanied him on his hunts or his short journeys and poured his wine, brought him his food, or anything else he asked for. Of course you were not immune to his cruelty, the opposite actually. He often mocked your unnatural eyes and Strangely perfect competition, he called you a witch, trying to enchant the castle and accused you of whoring about with the knights although you had never been with anyone.

He overworked you and reprimanded you but you were always there to listen, happy to be given a chance. He noticed this and it aggravated him. To see someone who was supposed to be miserable so joyous at the idea of bringing the king his meals and wine and suffering his abuse day and night for the rest of his or her life.

It confused him, how he had his ways so easily with you but not through fear, anger or blackmail, but through pure loyalty and gratitude that your life had been spared and you had been given a chance and something other than death or imprisonment.

He wasn't stupid. He heard the Lords and ladies whisper as you walled behind him. He heard the knights mock as you passed by. Eventually it grew to anger him slightly whenever your name was put down or insulted.

Only he was allowed to do that. And that in mind, joffrey became rather possessive of you in a way.

You listened to him rant. Listened to his drone on about his parents or the peasants or his siblings. About the food and the weather and the sheets. About everything.

And that is how you ended up here, stood in his chambers, listening to him speak of the lady sansa stark and his new betrothal to her. And listening to him rave about how he was still expected to marry the traitors daughter. And you knew ned stark was no such a man, and you were sure he did to, but you listened all the same.

He paced quickly around the room, hands behind his back, until he was called for a meeting of the small council. He was quite busy as of late, what with stannis baratheons army, renly baratheons army aswell now. And the north's new rebellion, robb stark, son of the late ned, proclaiming himself king in the North and marching closer by the day.

Joffrey was the king now, and he was much more cruel as of late, and you thought about it on your way back to your chambers that night. They had been decent enough to give you a separate room in the servants quarters, what with your family name and the risks of you forming alliances that had become more prominently discussed in the recent months you had noticed.

You had heard that viserys was marrying off your sister to the dothraki khal in exchange for an army but the conversation was dropped a while ago.

You had changed into your nightgown and were now stood, brushing your hair gently and staring out of your window to the crashing waves below. They calmed you, but that calm was interrupted by a harsh collection of violent knocks at your door.

You had set aside the brush and quickly gone to answer. Noticing it was joffrey which was unusual as he always sent someone for you, never venturing anywhere near the servants end of the castle.

"Whatever is the matter, your grac-"

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, burying his head into your neck. He held you in an embrace and you were stunned for a moment, eyes wide and staring at sandor clegane who stood across the hall and shrugged and you.

You had slowly and anxiously returned the hug, moving your hand gently up and down his back as he slowly began to cry. It was almost silent hut you could feel him shaking.

"Your grace, do you-" you let out a breath. "Do you want to come in and sit for a moment?"

He nodded into your shoulder and you guided him into your room, ignoring the silent laughs from the hound as you closed the door, sitting joffrey down on your bed, he rested himself against the headboard, on the side closest to the window.

You had quickly grabbed him a cup of water and offered it to him, he took it and you stood infront of him cautiously.

"Are you alright, your grace?" You asked quietly.

He stopped his slow crying for a moment and looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours.

"I'm a terrible king. I don't know what to do about all the stupid Lords and ladies constantly wanting my attention. I don't know what to do about uncle renly or uncle stannis, about robb stark or my mother or anything."

Your face softened with sympathy for the boy king slightly as you replied.

"You are no such thing, your grace. War is a strange and chaotic thing, no one ever really, truly knows what to do. You're handling it well I'm sure of it, your grace."

He looked down into his lap and them out if the window and into the dark sky.

"Do you really think so?"

"I do, your grace."

He paused and and studied your face, your beautiful eyes and hair, your skin and lips, your figure and everything else about you.

"Why are you nice to me? I am nothing but cruel to you and yet you are happy to serve me. You listen and you don't tire of me. Why?"

"Because, your grace," you spoke softly. "I cannoted ever repay the generosity your family had shown me and I do not find it a chore to listen to you. I do not have any friends, I do not have people to speak to for no one ever wants the risk of speaking to the mad Kings Daughter. But you, your grace, you speak to me, about everything. About your problems, about your feelings. You don't see me as the targaryen girl, you see me as your cupbearer. Nothing more, nothing less, your grace."

You say nervously on the end of your bed, gazing at him. He gestured for you to sit closer and so you shuffled up the bed until you too were leaned against the headboard.

"Your grace, it is improper for someone such as yourself to be laying in such a room, are you sure I cannot escort you back to your chambers, get you some food or some wine?"

He didn't not reply, he just yet again stared out of the window.

"I think of you as much more than that you know." He mumbled.

"I'm sorry, your grace?" You asked, confounded by the statement.

"I think of you as much more than just my cupbearer. Much more."

"Your grace, i am afraid I do not understand quite what you are implyi-"

He lent forward slightly as cupped your check with his hand, his beautiful brown eyes staring into your own vivid, violet ones. He tinged his head slightly and kissed you.

His lips were soft and warm, his kiss gentle. Not at all like you had expected. He pulled away slowly, still keeping eye contact.

"Your grace, i-"

"Joffrey."

"I, I'm sorry i-" he placed a finger over your lips, shushing you softly.

"Just joffrey."

And he kissed you again, this time much more passionately, your lips moving in sync with each other and your heartbeats rising, bodies getting closer and closer.

And that is how you stayed until the morning when cersei found you both, but she never said a word, to either of you, instead choosing to leave quietly.

As she walked back down the corridor, she was joined by tyrion lannister and she looked down at him.

"Well that certainly was not expected to happen any time soon." He stated.

"Well, dear brother, you can't expect the unexpected, can you?

[daggerspare-standingby]

The Chase - Part 1 | Hangman x Reader

Ok ok so I've had this in my works for a while and I couldnt find the guts to post it but here it is... my Jake x Reader Fic. Thanks to @roosterforme for helping me come up with a name :)

Summary: You've got a summer job bartending at the Hard Deck, and every night the same cocky naval aviator comes to the bar and flirts with you. You don't return his advances, heeding everyone's warnings and deciding to play hard to get, but jealousy creeps in each time he leaves with another tag chaser. Leaving you to your nighttime fantasies.

Jake secretly loves the chase you give him, he leaves with the girls but only for a hot and heavy make out session outside the bar. Since meeting you, and seeing the way his flirtatious advances effect you, or lack thereof, he's not able to get you out of his head. Your sassy attitude makes him weak in the knees, and makes his heart beat a little faster each time you give him a smart remark. There's no doubt in his mind, you're the one for him.

Warnings: none that I can think of in this one, smut for future parts, bar and navy inaccuracies for sure

Pairing: Jake x Bartender!Reader

Word count: 2348..

You had never met a more cocky and arrogant person than Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin. From the very first day you met the aviator, he crawled right under your skin with his constant smirk and holier-than-thou attitude. He thought you would simply fawn under his striking green eyes and sparkling white grin. He didn’t expect you to be immune to his advances each night.

When he saw you at the bar the night of your first shift, he was captivated by your long flowing hair and your cute ass in the jean shorts you wore, he sent up a silent thank you for the ac that couldn’t keep up. Then you turned around and he saw the little tank top you were wearing, which showed off a respectable amount of cleavage and he could swear he could pop a gasket right there. You were absolutely beautiful. When you laughed at something one of the patrons said, your smile brightened up the whole bar, he’d stood and admired you, frozen in place (right by the front door to the bar) until Fanboy walked right into his back “hey, watch it Garcia”, Hangman grumbled as he moved to their usual spot by the pool tables. Coyote followed his friend’s gaze, also landing on the pretty new bartender Penny had hired who was singing along to the music playing through the jukebox as she served beverages. “Hangman, let’s go get some beer.” Always the best wingman, Hangman gave him an appreciative nod as they both made their way to the bar, they leaned against it waiting their turn to be approached. 

Each night would be the same song and dance, you would be behind the bar lighting up the dingy floor boards and peeled paint with your smile, Jake and the Dagger Squad as they became affectionately known after their successful mission, would show up after work, order a few rounds and Jake would unsuccessfully flirt with you and try to get your phone number. It irked him that you called everyone by their first names, except for him. You and the squad had developed a friendship like no other, but for Jake, that beautiful smile and long hair was what he wished to see splayed out on his pillow beside him when he woke up. 

He had been flirting with you for months, you’d clocked the aviator a mile away every time he walked into the bar, oozing swagger and confidence. That damn toothpick gripped between those pearly white teeth, which simultaneously drove you mad and made you incredibly horny - especially when he did that thing with his tongue that flipped it around… the first time he did it he was standing at the bar waiting for a drink from Penny, and you couldn't help but check him out, he was attractive, sure you’d give him that. His piercing green eyes meeting yours “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before darlin’,” You straightened slightly, not expecting the attention and having only been hired by Penny a few days ago to help out with the summer shifts “Penny just hired me…” He smiled, “I’m Jake, but they call me Hangman.” Before you could respond, Penny returned with his beers and handed them to him “leave my bartenders alone Hangman” you bit your lip and watched as Jake retreated to the pool tables and his friends, but not before casting you one more glance before starting a pool game. 

He flirted shamelessly with you each time he came to the bar, and you couldn't help the butterflies that erupted in your stomach each time he did. He had done the toothpick trick a couple times and your mind wandered to what else he could with that tongue of his. By the end of your shift, he was long gone, usually with a pretty young thing on his arm, but you were left with thoughts of his steely green eyes, sharp jaw, witty mouth and wicked tongue. You returned to your apartment, shed your clothes and crawled into bed, but you were so keyed up with thoughts of Lieutenant Jake “Hangman” Seresin, that your hands wandered down your body, under your sleep shirt, and into your panties, already soaked with arousal. His honeyed voice echoing in your mind, saying your name to get your attention at the bar, the way he winked at you as he added a few more beer to his tab, and imagining that your fingers currently circling your clit was his tongue instead was what had you clenching around nothing and arching off the bed. 

It was the same, night after night. Jake would come to the bar after his shift, his khaki uniform straining over his biceps and making your mouth water and breath catch. He’d wink at you when he placed his order, and flirt with you shamelessly all night. But you’d seen the way he turned on the charm with every girl at the bar, especially when you didn’t reciprocate his advances each night. He eventually left with them each and every night, and the thought crept into your head that maybe everyone was right - Hangman only wanted one thing, and you didn’t want to be another notch on his bed-post. But that didn’t stop you from circling your clit with your fingers each night, shuddering with his name on your lips as you came. 

One Friday, Penny had an additional hand from Jimmy and gave you the night off to enjoy it from the other side of the bar. You sipped your drink sitting at a barstool, when just after 5pm the door opened with a roar of conversation flooding in, Jake followed by the rest of the Dagger Squad. You watched Jake’s eyes scanning the bar and a ghost of a frown touches his lips as he doesn’t see you working. He orders a beer from Penny anyways and your smirk grows, watching him make his way back to the pool table and dart board as the squad normally does. You sit on your stool opposite the bar, observing, the normal swagger and confidence he exudes is still there, especially when he throws a perfect game again, but his smile as he ribs his teammates doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You can’t hear the conversation, but you hear the rest of the team groan at presumably one of his cocky remarks, you nod Penny over and order a round of beers for the aviators, plus one for yourself and head over with the full tray. 

“Rooster, if you fly the way you play pool you’re definitely going to run out of gas. Make the shot man” You set the tray of cold beers down on a high top table and watch Rooster take the shot and scratch. Taking a beer from the tray you approach the group of pilots, “Can I tag in Roos?” Everyone - including Hangman - straightens up at your arrival. Jake’s grip on his pool cue tightens slightly, not enough for you to notice, but enough for Javy to smirk around his bottle as he brings it to his lips, knowing his best friend is hooked and falling real hard for you. Rooster happily hands you his pool cue and takes the beer from you instead “good luck, you’ll need it to beat Hangman.” Your eyes finally meet the blonde pilots “you’re not gonna go too hard on me, right Hangman?” Jake’s eyes softened slightly at your gaze, oh yeah, he was hooked. “Course not darlin’.” He racked the balls again, trying to keep composure and not give away his feelings about you “you’re not working tonight?” You shook your head as you chalked your cue “nope, got the night off. A girl deserves to have fun every now and again, you naval aviators can’t be the only ones.” The Dagger Squad was watching the banter, keeping their conversation low, but with invested interest. Hangman’s signature smirk grew on his face “You can break darlin’” You nodded, rounding the table and laying out the cue ball, lips pursed in a small smile as you bent at the waist eyeing the shot you were about to make, purposely taking your time, making sure he would take full advantage of your ass basically on display.

Jake inhaled deeply, watching you lean over the pool table and willed his mind to think of anything but the inappropriate thoughts that were trying to push in. “You sure you don’t need a hand there sweetheart?” he made sure to add a little extra bravado in his tone, hoping that it would mask the desperation he felt seeping into his bones at how badly he wanted to wrap his body around yours. You cast him a sideways smirk and took the shot, sinking two right off the break. Standing, to move around the table you brushed right against his chest, his scent overwhelmed your senses, sandalwood and cinnamon, but you kept your chin up “you’re in the way of my next shot Hangman.” Jake’s eyebrows raised, almost to his hairline as he steps out of the way, unable to wipe the grin off his face. Finally, someone who could keep up with him.

This was a welcome change to the flow of the usual evening, the light chatter from the squad surrounding you as you and Jake battled it out over a game of pool. He made a smart alec remark just as you took another shot, causing you to misalign and miss slightly, giving him the upper hand. His grin widened, making the corners of his eyes crinkle “Oh darlin’ that’s too bad. Let me show you how a real winner plays.” You stood back, picking up your drink and watching his confidence come back with each shot he made. Just before he sunk the 8 ball, his eyes reached yours “thanks for the challenge sweetheart.” You rolled your eyes watching as the ball sunk into the pocket “they should call you Hangover, you just give me a headache. Sorry I couldn’t take him down a peg, friends.” You handed the cue stick over to Coyote who took it with a small chuckle and you made your way over to the bathroom. 

The rest of the team returned to their conversations, Payback and Fanboy arguing about which Star Trek rerun was better, Phoenix, Bob and Rooster discussing different flight plans but Jake approached Javi watching your retreating form and let out a small sigh “I’m gonna marry that girl.” Javi looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow “you sure about that man?” Jake turned his attention to Javi with a serious expression “yes! name another girl that can keep up with me.” Coyote shrugged “All I’m saying is, if that’s your plan, stop leaving every night with some tag chaser for a heavy petting session.” Jake frowned, his brows knitting in the middle but the look disappeared as quickly as it arrived when you exited the bathroom and were making your way back towards them. 

You needed a break after being in such close proximity to him for so long, bodies brushing each time you passed each other to make another shot, feeling the heat of his gaze on you the entire time, you retreated to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on the back of your neck and on your cheeks. You knew he was going to leave with another girl tonight, why did you still let him get to you? a small voice in your head told you it was because you hoped that he would leave with you tonight, but did you really want to be another conquest? another name on the bathroom stall under his callsign. Another small voice in your heart told you that the two persona’s were different, and Jake wouldn’t treat you that way, but you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, settling on better never than maybe, and made your way back out to the aviators around the back area of the bar. Seeing some of the usual customers you waved and made some casual conversation as you moved through the space, completely unaware of the way his eyes followed your every move. 

What you were also completely unaware of, was the young officer who had had a little too much to drink, was sloshing his beer all over the place, and knocked into you accidentally, causing you to slip on the spilled liquid and as you squeezed your eyes shut bracing for the pain of hitting the floor, you realized that pain never came. The scent hit you before you could open your eyes, but as you did, you were brought back to a standing position by Jake, his hand firmly gripping your upper arm, which loosened once you stood straight and he briefly ran his eyes over you, giving you a once over “are you ok?” You needed to blink a couple times before words could form on your tongue, but when they did, they sounded too breathless “yeah.” He was still holding your arm, it was almost too much, feeling of electricity running through your system stemming from where his calloused hand was touching your arm. You looked back at how far you were from the pool tables and silently wondered how he had gotten over to you so quickly, your ears were buzzing and he was saying something to Penny, who then quickly turned to ring the bell. You recognized the cheer of “Overboard” Jake turned to look at you and you registered that he was talking to you “stay right here, I’m gonna toss this loser out and then I’ll take you home.” You started to protest but he was gone before you could even get the words out. Coyote and Payback assisted him with tossing out the young sailor and then he was back in front of you “I paid your tab, come on.” And that would be the first time you followed Jake out of the Hard Deck, with him holding onto your hand.

—

Tagging some friends who might be interested?

@djs8891 @blue-aconite @midnightmagpiemama @rosiahills22 @hecate-steps-on-me @cherrycola27 @roosterforme @roosterbruiser @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @paigewinchester67 @horseshoegirl @potatothatcanwrite @theharddeck @thedroneranger @hangmandruigandmav

Let me know if you want to be added or removed or if you can think of someone that may like where this is going! I appreciate it <3

x Brina

[hellfireclubmember]

No More Yarn

summary?: this is all fluff. like all the interactions r fluff and everyone is annoying about ur crush on steve. i'm bad at writing summaries, so basically, u crochet gifts for everyone and then realize ur gift to steve might b a mistake but it turns out to b perfect.

warning(s): not thoroughly checked. Swearing

paring(s): steve harrington x reader

w/c: 2.1k

The smell of your favorite pine-scented candle and Nancy’s nail polish intertwined and flowed together through the air in your room. Music played through the speakers of your sound system, though you weren't sure what it was since the night's music selection was up to Robin. She liked to use girls' night to introduce you and Nancy to new music, trying her darnedest to get you both out of the habit of listening to the same three albums on your rotation. She wanted these hangouts to be fun but enlightening.

"How are the gifts turning out?" Robin asked from her position on the floor. She was on her back with her hand on Nancy's lap.

Your eyes darted from the crochet hook in your hand to the ball of yarn in front of you. The ball of black yarn that had started out quite large was now a fourth of its original size. You were very proud of yourself for going through it so quickly. Of course, you struggled a little with the first few gifts. Your right hand cramped up horribly when you were crocheting Dustin's gloves. But after Max's scarf, it had become almost robotic. The repetitive motion was now muscle memory.

"I'm actually almost done." You looped yarn over the hook. "I'm working on Steve's, and his is the last one."

"You should take your time on that one." Nancy mumbled while brushing black glitter over Robin's nails. "Have to make Steve's extra special."

The looping came to a stop. "I don't know what you're talking about. Why would I make Steve's extra special? You guys are all my friends."

Robin and Nancy shared a knowing look. You never admitted it to them directly, but they knew your feelings for Steve were far more than platonic. Robin had known longer than anyone. She'd watched you pine over Steve since freshman year of high school. She never thought anything of it, everyone had some sort of infatuation with King Steve, so it was no surprise that even her best friend was not immune to the charm that is Steve 'the hair' Harrington. She figured the spell would wear off rather quickly. Adolescent crushes are nothing if not fleeting, and she was sort of right.

The intense crush was nothing but a soft, fizzy feeling in your chest by the end of junior year. You thought everything was over once Steve graduated, but then you spent the summer working at Scoops Ahoy with him and Robin. With every work shift, you could feel the familiar flutter of butterflies in your stomach. The small ruins of the short-lived crush were soon a flourishing oasis.

And anyone that saw you interact could immediately see how pathetically in love you were with Steve. Again, nothing had ever been admitted. As much as Robin, Nancy, Max, and Eleven pestered, and sometimes downright bullied you about it, you never broke.

Same goes for Steve, no matter the amount of annoying whining and questioning he received from the rest of the peanut gallery. If he did like you, that was his business, and he knew the second he opened his mouth to any of the many children he lugged around, it would be everybody's business. They're not ones to keep a secret for too long.

"Yeah, you're right. So what are you making your friend Steve anyway?" Nancy closed the bottle of polish and hopped onto your bed.

"A beanie." You lifted your almost finished work up for her to inspect. It was simple, just something to keep him warm since it had begun to get cold out already.

"You're giving Steve Harrington a hat?" Robin questioned, looking far too confused.

Yeah, I mean, it’s getting really cold, and I want you all to be warm." You began looping yarn into itself again. You didn’t see anything wrong with any of the gifts you were making for your friends.

"(y/n), come on. Steve wearing a hat?" Robin sat on your bed next to you. "When have you ever seen Steve doing anything to mess up his hair?" She was being realistic. Steve was always careful not to ruin his hair. Even at Scoops, he would get written up for not wearing his sailor’s hat all the time. He always said his charm heavily relied on his hair.

You paused. "Oh, no." You put your crochet hook down. "You're right; he's going to hate it. He's going to think I don't know him at all." You shook your head. "I should've just made him a scarf."

"He's not going to hate it." Nancy pinched Robin in the arm while you were looking down at your work. "He'll love whatever you give him, okay? Don't worry about it." She wasn't fully convinced. Nancy knew he wouldn't hate it; she knew Steve would love that you made him anything at all. She just wasn't too sure he would actually wear it.

-

It had been a few days since you finished everyone's gifts. You planned on handing them out the second you were finished, but you were too busy driving around town trying to find more yarn. You wanted to make Steve a scarf so you didn't have to give him the most unthoughtful gift ever, but the only yarn left at the craft store was some ugly puke green and neon orange. You were convinced Mrs. Thistle was behind the shortage of yarn. The last time you saw her, she was knitting a blanket on her porch, all smug.

You were all in Steve's backyard, sitting around the crackling bonfire. It was a nice night to be out, even with the low temperature. The sky was almost bright with all the glittering stars. Will was teaching El how to roast a marshmallow, and you were trying not to freak out before handing everyone their gifts.

"Alright, everyone! (y/n) has something for all of us." Nancy clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. She was already wearing the scarf you crocheted for her, and Robin the sweater. You gave Dustin his gloves when you picked him up. So, there were only a few left.

You stood up and started handing out the crocheted goods. "If you don't like what I give you, well, sucks. There is apparently no more yarn in Indiana."

"Woah, (y/n). Thanks. This is fucking awesome!" Eddie immediately put on his scarf. He posed and modeled it for everyone, earning some laughs and some boos from the crowd. Dustin went as far as to throw a marshmallow at him, which Eddie grabbed from the ground and tried to shove into the younger boy's mouth.

You sat down next to Steve, his gift sitting at the bottom of the gift bag, taunting you. "Is there anything in there for me?" He leaned over to look into the bag, and you quickly grabbed it.

"Of course." You looked around and locked eyes with Robin. She gave you an encouraging thumbs-up. She was feeling pretty guilty for making you so nervous in the first place. "I really hope you like it. You can tell me if you don't; I won't be upset at all. I mean it, not even a little. Whenever Mrs. Thistle stops monopolizing all the yarn, I can..."

“Hey,” Steve put his hand over yours and squeezed. “Of course, I’m gonna like it.” One look into those pretty brown eyes, and you're jelly in his perfect hands. It should make you feel pathetic, but it doesn’t. Nothing you felt for Steve could ever make you feel pathetic.

Without hesitation, you handed him the small, forest green gift bag. With bated breath, you watched as he opened it and reached inside for the plush hat. Robin and Nancy were both watching intently, ready to kill Steve at even the slightest hint of dissatisfaction. But there wasn't any. Once he had the beanie in his hands, he smiled.

“Are you kidding? This is perfect.” He put the hat on his beautiful hair, absolutely no second thoughts about messing it up. Steve was just happy to get anything you spent time making. He thought about you hunched over, working hard with balls of yarn all around you. There was no world out there where he cared more about his hair than he did about you.

“Is Steve Harrington wearing a hat on his beautiful locks? That can’t be Steve, right Dustin? Maybe a clone?” Eddie put his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. “An enchanter from a different time disguised as our little Stevie.”

Mike shot up and stared at Steve. That dumb, confused look taking over him like he’s trying to solve one of life’s great mysteries.

“Shut up, freak.” A second marshmallow flung at Eddie’s head. This time he caught it midair, looking very impressed with his skills. He shucked into his mouth, and with the mouthful of sweetness said. “Yeah, that’s our Steve.”

Just like that, everyone was back to their own conversations. The whole interaction forgotten. Steve, however, turned his attention back to you, the beanie on his head.

“I love it. But you know that would make this even better?” He grabbed the hat off his head, once-neat hair, wild. The kind of wild that was still weirdly perfect, like each strand had been purposefully placed. Your hand itched with the need to run your fingers through it. “Maybe you could add your initials for me.”

Heat immediately traveled up your neck and rested on your face, burning at your cheeks. The chilly, Indiana air did nothing to help. “You… um… you want me to sew my initials on your hat?”

“Yeah.” He gave you that lopsided smile you liked. His eyes focused on you. At the rate things were going, it felt like your heart would just give out in front of all your friends. Steve had always been flirty with you. He was in love with you, and he knew that as a fact. So, he couldn’t help the pet names and the lingering touches. And you didn’t make it any easier, giving him gifts you spent time hand-making for him.

“Oh.” There was a beat of silence as you tried to steady your racing heart. “Right. Yeah, I can do that.” You turned your head forward. You caught sight of Robin and Nancy, both sitting on the edge of their seats. You rolled your eyes so hard your head hurt for a minute. You knew you had to prepare yourself for all the harassment you would have to endure later.

“And maybe when you do, I could wear it on our first date.” He leaned forward. He wanted to get a good look at your face. “How about ice skating?”

Before you could even think up a response, there was a loud bang. "Oh my god! Finally!" It was Robin. She had jumped up so quickly her chair fell out from under her and onto the tiled ground of Steve's backyard.

"Jeez, Robin. What the hell?" Max clutched her chest, her glare now fixed on the older girl.

"Steve finally made a move, everyone!" Robin yelled out to her audience. Her arms were outstretched as if she ran a marathon and came out in first place. She wore the smuggest look you had ever seen on anyone. "Our boy has done it. All it took was what? Like a year and a half?" She turned to Nancy for confirmation.

"Yeah, just about." The curly-haired girl nodded.

"Oh wow, Steve." Dustin stood up and took big steps around the bonfire to get to you both. He patted Steve on the back. "Congratulations. We were all trying to get you to at least admit your feelings to us."

"But you jumped a whole step and went for it." Lucas spoke up from his lounge chair. "Good on you, dude."

"Alright, all of you, and I mean this in the most disrespectful way possible, fuck off." Steve gave a glare to each of your friends, all personalized for the receiver.

"Wow, one confession and now he's all big and bad." Mike whispered to Dustin. They just shook their heads disappointedly. Everyone else tried their best to look like they weren't listening, like they were all extremely invested in their own conversations. But the constant side-eye gave them all away. For a group that kept the biggest secret from all of humanity, they sure sucked at eavesdropping.

The pretty boy sitting next to you didn't care if they were listening or not. He continued as if they weren't. There was no way he was going to let anything get in the way of finally having enough confidence to ask out the one girl he has had serious feelings for since Nance.

When he turned his head to look back at you, you leaned forward and gently kissed his lips. It was quick. So quick, he could almost swear he dreamt it up if it weren't for the wolf whistles and cheering heard all around him.

"I'd love to go anywhere with you, Stevie."

The cheering stopped. "Alright, we get it. You guys are just making me sick now." Eddie yelled out. Soon after, there were about five marshmallows in the air, all aimed at Eddie's head.

taglist: @slashersluttt @slurmp69 @sadbitchfangirll @actual-mom-steve-harrington @stylesyourmine @pennyllanne @johnricharddeacy

[hundredandsix]

inner child headcanons ✩ [ellie williams] ✩

✩ wc: 1.2k

✩ Just thinking about Ellie's inner child and helping her heal it. She's so cute. I want to give her a hug and make her cookies.

✩ cw: none. only fluffy cuteness overload.

✩ As with any happy relationship, you are going to see all parts of Ellie. You will see the newborn whose mother did anything she could to save her, the happy-go-lucky girl that had a useless feud with Bill, the angry teenager who felt betrayed by Joel's actions, and the young woman who got a tattoo to cover her scar. But you will also see the child whose first love was ripped away traumatically and who was manipulated by an evil man who promised to help her.

✩ She obviously had a very fucked up childhood, but she might not register it as that because most people her age went through similar experiences (besides the whole having immunity and almost being killed for it kinda thing). The person that helped her discover her sexuality was taken from her in a very violent way, and she likely had to be the one to kill her. We're not even going to talk about David because he doesn't deserve a second of my thoughts.

✩ So it's kind of obvious to you but she likely wouldn't see it that way. Joel played a part in her healing initially. I don't see him as a parental figure for her, but having an adult that she trusted in her life helped her make some progress. That is until she found out the secret he kept from her. Then she spent so much time running away from it and away from him because she felt it was her fault.

✩ And that's why it's really confusing for her when she gets so attached to you. She never thought of herself as the clingy type, but after you get together, she wants to be with you all the time. This is not to say it's her self-esteem that's lacking, but she feels so safe and validated when she's around you. Like she's useful and needed.

✩ In short, it creates a lot of confusion for her. She doesn't understand why she always falls asleep when you two are alone. She's a chronic insomniac, but even when she feels well-rested, she gets so sleepy from the heat of your body and the curve of your smile. She feels so safe and knows that with you is where she's meant to be. Her nervous system finally relaxes and she gives in to the simple pleasure of your body against hers.

✩ Physical contact is important to her, but it can't be something she feels used for. Touching you in a way that is tender and not at all sexual is healing for her. She can be gentle. She can be soft and loving. You just need to help her prove that to herself.

✩ She's used to the attention being on her for the big things. Like when she found out she was immune and when she finds something useful on patrol. But the way you notice the little things about her sends her heart racing and warmth flooding through her body. You notice when she parts her hair on the other side and when she pulled the string out of her hoodie because she chewed off the ends. You notice when she doesn't eat because she's "not hungry" and when she changes her soap. Those little things drive her crazy because it feels so strange to be noticed on a deeper level like that.

✩ She finds a lot of comfort in what some would consider "childish" activities and hobbies. She collects cards and action figures because these were never things she could keep as a kid. They'd get stolen or broken. So now that she has her own space, she likes having these little items to make it truly hers.

✩ I'm just imagining finding her a little stuffed dinosaur that has mostly survived the elements of the apocalypse. She will pretend she finds it silly, but the fact that you remembered her fascination with dinosaurs and thought of her when you saw something so cute and soft made her feel what can only be described as childlike joy. She names it after you and cuddles it when you're not around. Otherwise, he sits politely on her lopsided couch in her little shack.

✩ Having her own space is very important to her, and she wants to create a shared solitude between the two of you. That being said, sometimes she just wants to be alone and she needs you to respect that. She didn't have this as a kid, so it means a lot to her that she can decorate her space as she chooses and do whatever she wants in it.

✩ She doesn't understand that she's seeking someone that comforts her inner child like this, and she may never realize it. She's just so angry about the childhood she never got to experience and the parents she doesn't know how to miss. So finding someone that knows how to hug the hurt, exhausted little girl who doesn't want to be alone would be monumental to her.

✩ She's great with kids. It almost feels like they seek her out because they just have that innate understanding between them. Ellie knows what it's like to feel unwanted and hopeless and she never wants any other child to feel like that.

✩ She finds spending meal times with you so comforting. Sometimes, she feels like she can actually get something down. You help take her mind off of the texture of the food and how it feels. It's just so intimate because she's used to eating on the go, but being vulnerable in front of each other and talking about your days makes her so happy.

✩ She gets so lost in her thoughts that she needs you to physically pull her out of them sometimes. Whether it's grabbing her hand or running your fingers through her hair, she needs that distraction. Ellie needs someone to remind her that going over a thought, again and again, is not going to change the outcome.

✩ She won't show it, but words mean a lot to her. She is the type of girl that will think about arguments for hours afterward and roll the conversation over her mind, thinking of what she should have said. She can take things very literally, so she might misunderstand what you are saying as something hurtful. That seems to be the default to her, so that's what she expects from others.

✩ When she feels safe with you, she will rant to you. She's so quiet at first, but once you've established that sense of trust, she wants to tell you about all her interests, and what she found on patrol, and the joke Jesse told her yesterday. She has no problem reciprocating this. She wants to listen to you rant and rave as well. But if she even gets the slightest idea that you are growing annoyed or irritated at her words, it'll be hard to get her to open back up again.

✩ She looks most at peace when she's sleeping. Her face relaxes and the years of running and scavenging seem to disappear. It makes you want to cuddle her deeper into your arms and never let her go <3

[an0nfr0mth3d3n]

As a sapphic myself, how could I not write a bit about the cutest lesbian couple (almost) on the qsmp?

The day Bagi got picked for Team Soulfire was one of the best days of her life, that she remembered at least. That Eye guy must really be homophobic because Bagi was going crazy with not being able to see the adorable girl that had so captured her heart.

Bagi picked the last of her supplies into her backpack, shouldering it quickly. There was no telling when her former teammates who had got chosen for Red could show up, and she wasn’t keen on finding out if the Green Gay spirit would grant her immunity from her former team.

Plus the sooner she saw Tina the sooner she could find happiness in this cruel horrible world of Purgatory.

Bagi smiled as the sun beat down on her face, soaking up the sounds and smells of the jungle one last time. The spicy hint of cacao, the distant squawk of a parrot, the gentle mist kissing her face, the earthy loam beneath her feet, and the far off crashing of waves against a sandy shore.

With spirit determined, she marched forwards towards the sounds of the waves.

Admittedly, she did in fact tense up a little bit when she saw the terror of the island Badboyhalo, who was doing figure eights in a motorboat (on the beach), but considering she already knew he was coming down to pick her up she wasn’t too surprised.

“BAGIIIII” Bad yelled when he saw her coming from the dense woods.

“BADDDDD!!” Bagi couldn’t help smiling at the sight of her dear friend, and she jogged forward to greet him.

Bad’s eyes narrowing in a manner that Bagi had come to associate with mischief, and as she approached, she noticed him type something out on his communicator.

Bagi stopped in front of him, leaning her hand on her hip. “Ok, whaaat are you typi- OOF”

Her sentence was cut short with a loud impact to her back, causing the Brazilian to fall onto the sand. The confusion only lasted a few seconds because with the impact came a high pitched happy squealing and even though it had been a week, Bagi would know that sound anywhere. “TINAAAAAAAAAAA”

The weight on her back shifted, and Bagi turned over in the sand, not minding the beach sand that was getting into her hair. In front of her, was her beloved-

Woah wait were those abs????

Bagi gawked at the crop top exposing Tina’s midriff. Where once was soft squishy belly, not that Bagi was specifically ever checking Tina out haha never…, were now sharply defined and well tanned muscles.

Bagi could hardly breathe as she tore her eyes away, face bursting into heat. It really didn’t help that as she did so she caught sight of the lean muscle now attached to Tina’s arms, and the pretty tan that the other girl had gotten.

Speaking of the other girl-

“Oh my god. What was I THINKING. Why did I DO that? I literally do not even know why I did that Bagi I am SO sorry. Ohhh god this is so embarrasssiiinngggg. Oh my god let me help you up.”

As Tina talked anxiously, Bagi could feel her senses returning, and briefly registered the shi- the muffin-eating grin on Bad’s face.

“Wow Tina I can’t believe you ATTACKED poor Bagi! I’m so sorry, I guess she doesn’t want you on our team!” Bad said far too cheerfully.

“Shut up you FREAK!” Tina yelled at the…vampalien?

“Freak??” Bad scoffed pompously, “I take offense to that! Bagi get your dog under control!”

“YOU’RE THE D-“

BONK

“OW!”

“DON’T MESS WITH TINA!”

Bad grumbled, rubbing his head, expression that of a kicked puppy. “Such violence! I cannot believe you would hit me, and with a cooking pot of all things!”

Bagi hefted the weight of the pot in her hands “Yeah, well I don’t have my frying pan, so this will do!”

“Wait, you have a cooking pot? Oh my god we should totally make a dinner for each other tonight!” Tina said, grasping Bagi’s arm with stars in her eyes.

Bagi stared. Tina’s face, while slightly cut in bruised from the trials of literally existing in purgatory, was gorgeously sun kissed, a faint tan spread evenly across her complexion that spoke tales of working in the sun.

“Um. Errrr. Yeah. Do you have any ingredients?” Bagi managed to get out.

Tina smirked proudly. “Ingredients? Girl, I’m like, the co-leader of the entire farm! I could get you anything! Anything for you Bagi!”

Bagi grinned, heart fluttering. “Then let’s have a nice dinner tonight. Might as well enjoy something in this hellish place!”

“Could I co-“

“No.”

[tyrelpinnegar]

Rabbit Hole by Tyrel Pinnegar

Paranormal Horror - 14,800 Words

This is the story of a lonely girl with an affinity for the macabre. Although she had never been the type to believe in ghosts, she couldn’t help but indulge fantasies of romance beyond the veil. However, when a cocksure spirit with a dangerous infatuation drags her deep into a private purgatory of blood and decay, what was once an innocent fantasy quickly becomes a precarious negotiation that could cost the girl her life.

Download Rabbit Hole for free at TyrelPinnegar.com, or read the full story under the cut:

Chapter 1

This story begins in a cemetery. A proper cemetery.

Nowadays, proper cemeteries are vanishingly rare. A proper cemetery is old enough to have been forgotten. At least, to a degree.

The last time you visited a cemetery, it was likely to pay respects to the recently deceased. Someone whose memory is still fresh enough to spark pain. You may have noticed, while you were there, that the cemetery was not entirely dissimilar from a suburban backyard. A neatly manicured, monocultured lawn, devoid of any weeds, or insects, or interest. Sterile, wasted space.

The only thing that set it apart were the grave markers. Little, x by x inch polished granite slabs that lie flush with the ground, and weigh so little you could pick them up and carry them away, if you were so inclined. Each one computer-engraved with a stock image chosen from a catalog. Some may have even been engraved with a customer-supplied digital photograph, as if they were some sort of mall kiosk knick-knack.

There’s a reason these grave markers lie flush with the ground. It’s so the groundskeeper can run a lawnmower over them. A matter of convenience. It’s easier, and therefore cheaper, to trim the grass when the stones that mark the graves are easy to ignore. Isn’t it something, that the lawn seems to take precedence over the dead?

Cemeteries like these serve their purpose I suppose, in a dull, soulless sort of way. But they hardly instill reverence.

This cemetery instilled reverence. It was overgrown. Unkempt. The tall, dried autumn grasses had gone to seed, forming not a lawn, but a meadow. The fallen leaves that littered the earth had already decayed down to the veins, reclaimed by detritivores and fungal mycelium, leaving the old, gnarled oaks that had shed them as skeletal silhouettes against an overcast sky.

None of this is what makes a cemetery a cemetery, of course. Only graves can do that, and this cemetery had no shortage.

This cemetery contained hundreds of graves, some older than the oaks themselves. A person could have spent a lifetime studying the lives of the people buried in that soil, and still barely have scratched the surface.

And save for a few that had crumbled to nothing over the centuries, each of these graves had a marker. Some were towering mausoleums, elaborate sculptural monuments to a life of privilege and means. Others were simple headstones, heartfelt labors of love, chiseled from whatever stone could be found.

Neither the rich nor the poor are immune to the rasp of time, however. Many of the older markers had been rendered nigh unreadable by lichens and erosion. Identities wiped away, leaving only death’s heads and other memento mori.

One of the deceased had chosen a more practical memorial. A dark, heavy, granite bench. Perhaps they themselves had once found comfort in visiting the cemetery, and wanted to make it easier for those that came after.

It was clear that their gesture did not go unappreciated, as there was someone sitting on the granite bench. A girl, with dusty, cornflower-blue hair, loosely braided into twin pigtails with white twine, and a short, feather-duster of a ponytail in the back.

She wore a thick, pale, turtleneck sweater just a few shades lighter than the color of her hair, and a pair of oversized, circular, white-rimmed glasses. The lenses were fake, for if they’d been prescription, they’d have been far too heavy to remain on her face. Secretly, her amber eyes functioned perfectly well.

And although the cemetery was old, this girl was not. Her birth date was decades more recent than any death date on the gravestones that surrounded her. She was not exceedingly young either, however. She was an adult by most definitions, though she rarely felt that way.

This girl was not there to pay her respects, but to surround herself with death. She had an affinity for the macabre. It might not have been immediately obvious from her appearance, but a peek inside her sketchbook would have left no doubt.

It was brimming with the Gothic. The romantic. Ghosts and phantoms, spirits and specters. Skeletons and apparitions. Wilted roses and tender, affectionate embraces. Why she drew such things was a mystery, for she was not the type to share her work with others. Her sketchbook was a place of privacy. A refuge for feelings and thoughts that would have otherwise been bottled up.

And yet, despite her efforts to keep her drawings hidden away, someone was admiring them now. Even as she sketched.

A presence.

Invisible.

Immaterial.

The girl shivered. There had been no wind, but the air around her suddenly felt cold. She shut her sketchbook and held it close to her chest.

If she had turned around in that moment, she might have seen something resembling a pair of eyes. Concave hemispheres, as if someone had dissected the tapeta lucida from behind an animal’s retinas and rendered them intangible. Each one, a reflection without a surface.

But she didn’t turn around, and they vanished as quietly as they had arrived.

The girl had just begun to reopen her sketchbook, when she felt a chill brush her cheek. Not a breeze, but a gentle caress. She let out a small yelp and staggered to her feet, glancing about nervously.

Her breathing became tense. She wasn’t the type to feel uneasy in an empty cemetery, but somehow this cemetery didn’t feel so empty anymore. Eventually, she turned to leave.

It was then that something seemed to tickle her earrings. The feeling of surgical steel against cartilage sent a violent shiver up her spine. She ran.

The girl scrambled her way down an old footpath, clutching her sketchbook tightly. She felt that if she could only reach the entrance gate, she’d be safe.

All of a sudden, she felt something shove her sternum with startling force. She staggered backward and began to lose her balance, only to be caught by unseen hands and tipped back upright. She stumbled forward, then swiveled around in a panic.

Silence.

The girl took a moment to catch her breath.

Then, she felt a sudden, sharp jab at her side. Then another, and another. An incessant jabbing, at her kidneys, her rib cage, her spine. She recoiled, repeatedly and involuntarily. The jabbing became shoving, and the shoving became herding. She shut her eyes tightly and waited for the ordeal to be over.

And then… it was. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes.

UNKNOWN SKELETON 9-24-62

Those were the words on the headstone the girl found herself standing before, deeply engraved in crystal white granite.

It was a very plain stone. A simple, upright, rectangular slab, slightly wider than it was tall. No grass grew nearby. The ground was bare save for a few stunted weeds, as if the earth surrounding the stone had been salted.

The burial vault had collapsed long ago, leaving a hole in the ground near the base of the stone. The hole was dark, and deep, and just narrow enough to dissuade exploration.

The girl simply stared at the stone a moment, chest heaving.

A sound from behind. Like the snapping of fingers, echoing in a way her surroundings shouldn’t have allowed. She swiveled around and stared into the distance. Listening.

Behind her, something emerged from inside the collapsed burial vault. A snare on a swivel, fashioned from thin, braided steel cable. It flared open slowly, without even the faintest sound, and came to a rest on the ground.

The girl’s heart was racing. She could feel it in her chest. Hear it in her ears. She stood her ground.

But nothing came.

Her heartbeat began to slow. Her breathing, began to calm. Her muscles, loosened. Her jaw, unclenched. And for just a moment, she let herself relax.

Something blew a sudden puff of icy air into her face. She took a step backward.

Deep down in the darkness, bones assembled. The snare zipped tight around the girl’s ankle. With a sharp yank, she was flat on the ground. And with a steady pull, she was

dragged

down

the

hole.

Chapter 2

Hello rabbit.

Those were the first words the girl heard. They were spoken in a raspy, feminine voice that seemed as if it were both breathed into the crook of her neck, and reverberated inside her skull. It was dark, and she couldn’t see their speaker.

The girl uttered a pitiful whimper in response, but there were a set of cold, arachnodactyl fingers wrapped around her face, clasping her jaw shut.

Sh-sh-shhh… Don’t speak.

A moment passed as the presence verified she’d been heard. She had been. She unclasped her fingers from the girl’s face, affectionately stroked one of her cornflower blue braids, then retreated into the darkness.

One by one, crudely formed candles began to light. But they didn’t burn with fire. They burned with something unfamiliar, something that seemed to suck color out of existence.

As each candle was lit, it faintly illuminated a skeletal hand, which then retracted back into the shadows. As if it were setting the candles alight by pinching their wicks.

Eventually, the candle lighting ceased. The girl could just barely make out a figure looming above her. A skeletal silhouette, nearly indiscernible in the dim, unearthly light. She strained her eyes, trying desperately to decipher what she was looking at.

Then, the figure ignited. Forcefully, like an antique propane stove burner, lit a few seconds too late.

And there she was… An uncanny, luminous silhouette in a well-worn sheepskin aviator jacket. The girl simply stared at her a moment, dumbfounded.

The spirit looked as if she had been diaphonized, and immersed in glycerin. A semi-corporeal matrix of decellularized tissue, lit from inside by luminous teal bones.

She moved as if she were immersed in glycerin as well. An inquisitive cock of her head sent her ethereal white hair drifting, like eelgrass.

The girl averted her eyes, trying desperately to wish herself awake. But the spirit placed a finger beneath the girl’s chin, and raised her eyeline to meet her own.

In this state of coerced eye contact, the girl finally peered deeply into the eyes that had stalked her in the graveyard. Concave, hemispherical eyes, mottled with iridescent teals, blues, and golds.

The spirit grinned impishly. Her skull was kinetic. Each bone moved freely, independent of the others. It looked as if the bones of a human skull had been teased apart at the seams, and their edges whittled smooth. Scraps of bone carved into an intricate, emotive mechanism. It was almost piscine, like the skull of some ancient Devonian fish.

The spirit took hold of the girl by the jaw, rotating her head from side to side. Studying her. Finally, she released her grip, affectionately tapping the girl on the nose with a finger.

The spirit laughed. It was a harsh, gravelly laugh, and it rattled the girl’s teeth in their sockets.

The spirit’s cavernous maw contained no teeth. Instead, her jaws formed a bony, jagged, shearing edge. Scissor-like, as if she’d been mindlessly grinding maxilla against mandible for ages.

Her laughing ceased. She stared at the girl expectantly. Almost playfully. The girl remained silent.

You’re a quiet one, aren’t you rabbit?

The girl reminded the spirit that she had told her not to speak. Her words were whispered, and just barely escaped her lips.

A pharyngeal snicker pushed the spirit’s ethereal white tongue from her throat. She pinched it betwixt the cusps of her bladed jaws, but it did little to conceal her amusement.

The girl surveyed her surroundings. She was in a burrow. A spacious burrow, but a burrow nonetheless. Fine, pale roots hung from the ceiling, and the walls were a rich, loamy soil.

The floor of the chamber was a deep, humid layer of finely shredded wood. Tweezed apart fragment by fragment, like a bored parakeet shreds paper. The girl briefly wondered where it had all come from, but her curiosity was quelled by the sight of rusty coffin nails blended into the mulch.

There were holes in the walls of the burrow, just a few inches across. Too narrow for a person to pass through, but wide enough for a human skeleton, if it were done bone by bone. Where they led, she had no way of knowing.

Over her shoulder, the girl spotted a larger tunnel. This one was wide enough for a person to wriggle through, with difficulty. But no wider than that. The girl feared how far it might extend before it reached the surface.

Not that it mattered. It was the only way out of the burrow. The girl side-eyed the spirit surreptitiously. The spirit was distracted by the girl’s sketchbook, admiring her work with a delighted grin. Relishing the eerie, Gothic romance of it all. She licked a finger and turned the page.

This was the girl’s chance. She bolted for the tunnel, and began to scramble inside.

Ah-ah-ah…

She felt the spirit grab hold of her ankles with long, icy fingers, and yank her violently back into the burrow. She gripped the girl tightly by the shoulders, and rolled her onto her back.

What are you running from, rabbit?

The girl shouted at the spirit, demanding that she stop calling her rabbit.

The spirit was taken aback, but only for a moment. She let out a short, harsh laugh. She seemed almost thrilled by the girl’s newfound pluckiness.

Why? I caught you in a snare, didn’t I? You live in a hole.

The girl exclaimed crossly that no, she did not, in fact, live in a hole.

The spirit glanced about the burrow, rather facetiously. She grinned widely and looked the girl directly in the eyes.

You’re sure about that, are you?

The girl gave the spirit an uneasy look.

The spirit extended an arachnodactyl hand. After considerable hesitation, the girl reached out and grasped it. The spirit’s touch was intensely cold against her bare skin.

The spirit hoisted the girl upright, and she found herself seated quietly on the soft, wooden mulch.

The girl rested her head in her hands. She was still very much struggling to process her situation. She raised her head meekly, and asked the spirit, rather bluntly, what she was.

A disquieted expression flitted across the spirit’s face, so subtly as to be nearly imperceptible. She was quick to recover however, flashing a fabricated grin.

That’s a good question, rabbit. If I ever find out, you’ll be the first to know.

The girl then inquired, her tone exceedingly wary, about just what it was the spirit wanted. The spirit’s playful demeanor returned.

I want for naught, rabbit. I have everything I need.

The girl then requested, if the spirit did indeed have everything she needed, that she let her go. She struggled to mask the growing indignation in her voice.

Oh, I can’t do that, rabbit.

The girl stared crossly at the spirit, awaiting an explanation.

If I did that, I’d want for something again.

There was an extended silence. The girl wasn’t quite sure what was supposed to happen next.

So she asked.

The spirit cocked her head just a little further than one might expect possible, and smiled at the girl. Almost sweetly. But she did not speak.

The girl scoffed. Averted her eyes. She didn’t want to give this ghoul the satisfaction.

But the spirit was patient, and eventually, the girl’s eyes wandered back. She found herself staring intently at the spirit’s heart. It was visible through her unzipped aviator jacket, nestled snugly within her rib cage. It beat softly between a pair of nearly imperceptible lungs, visible only by the cartilaginous rings scaffolding their various passageways. Inhaling and exhaling with a surprising tranquility.

The spirit’s heartbeat seemed to have an almost sedative effect on the girl. Her mood became still, and serene.

Would you like to touch it?

The girl looked to the spirit, and to her own surprise, she nodded… she did want to touch it.

The spirit descended from her mid-air perch, and delicately grasped the girl by the wrist. The girl inhaled sharply. She knew the spirit’s touch would be cold, but somehow it still caught her off guard.

The spirit looked the girl in the eye, as if awaiting some sort of signal. The girl’s silence seemed to suffice. The spirit plunged the girl’s hand deep into her abdomen.

The girl gasped, and by reflex, attempted to withdraw her hand. But the spirit was strong, and held steady.

A moment passed, and the girl began to recover from her initial shock. She flexed her fingers experimentally. The spirit’s entrails were so faint as to be nearly invisible, but they could be felt. They were cold, and fluttered with a rhythmic peristalsis.

The girl could feel them intersecting her flesh. Seeping between her cells like syrup through a sieve. To feel something so visually insubstantial provide such tactile resistance was an uncanny sensation.

The spirit slid a hand along the girl’s arm, and braced her elbow with the other, guiding the girl’s hand up and into her rib cage. The girl resisted ever so slightly, but the spirit resisted in return, slowly pulling the girl’s arm deeper into her chest.

Her fingertips intersected the spirit’s lungs, and she could feel a freezing wind within. She could feel the spirit’s heartbeat, sending ripples through the tissues surrounding it. Her breathing began to quicken.

The spirit’s breathing ceased entirely. There was no more freezing wind. Just stillness. Silence.

The girl could see her own curled fingers, just millimeters from the spirit’s softly beating heart.

She extended her fingertips, and the two intersected.

Immediately, the girl felt the warmth vacate her body. It began with the surface of her skin, and crept steadily toward her core. A coldness she never would have thought possible in a body with a pulse. She began to struggle.

The spirit released her grip, and the girl tumbled backward onto the damp mulch, shivering violently. The spirit watched with interest.

Oh rabbit… are you getting cold?

She asked this with an inquisitiveness, as if it were a novel concept to her. She received no immediate response.

The spirit removed her sheepskin aviator jacket, and hung it gingerly over the girl’s shoulders. The girl held the jacket tight to her skin, but it did not warm her. In fact, it only seemed to make her colder.

A few minutes passed. Eventually, the girl had recovered enough to speak. Through chattering teeth, she asked the spirit where the jacket had come from.

I stole it.

The girl quietly examined the worn leather, and aged wool. The jacket appeared well-cared-for, but it was obviously very old.

The girl noticed that her thinking seemed slower than it had before… Sluggish. Strenuous. But eventually, a second question began to percolate through her mind. She asked the spirit who the jacket had been stolen from.

A pilot. Don’t worry… they weren’t using it anymore.

The girl decided not to question any further. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what the spirit had meant by that.

Again, a few minutes passed. The girl found herself focused on the flickering of the candles that lit the burrow, wondering if they might provide some modicum of warmth.

She attempted to reach for the candle nearest to her, only to find her muscles had stiffened. It felt as if her body had become waxy. Every movement, met with a distressing resistance. Yet somehow, she managed to grasp the candle, and bring it close.

But the candle provided no warmth. Passing her fingertips through the uncanny flame felt no different than passing them through thin air. Even touching the burning wick itself provided no sensation.

It took a disquieting amount of effort, but the girl finally managed to form a coherent question in her mind. She asked the spirit where the candles had come from.

I made them.

The girl pondered this a moment, before realizing that the spirit’s answer clarified very little. From what did she make them?

There’s plenty of wax to be found in a graveyard, rabbit.

It was only after the spirit spoke that the girl realized she must have wondered her question aloud. However, she was no longer cognizant enough to decipher what the spirit had meant.

She awoke suddenly. She had only slipped into unconsciousness for a moment, but to regain consciousness without any memory of losing it was jarring. She shook her head.

The girl felt something sickly and wet soaking into her clothing. An opaque, crimson liquid was seeping from the walls of the burrow, and pooling in the mulch beneath her.

Repulsed, she attempted to stagger to her feet, only to find her previously waxy muscles were now rigid, and immovable. She began to panic.

Something the matter, rabbit?

The girl told the spirit that she was stuck. That she couldn’t move. There was a genuine, unmistakable fear in her voice.

The crimson liquid continued to pool beneath her, like an incoming tide on an exceptionally shallow beach.

She pleaded for help. The spirit sank slowly to the floor, and knelt in the pooling liquid. She began to run her fingers through the girl’s cornflower-blue hair.

The girl’s ribs began to seize. It was becoming difficult to breathe. She tried to express this, but her breath was restricted enough that she struggled to form the necessary words.

Nevertheless, the spirit understood. She lovingly brushed the girl’s cheek, staring deeply into her eyes.

Oh rabbit… don’t worry your pretty little lungs about it.

The rising liquid met the girl’s lips, and began to flow down her throat. The spirit embraced the girl tenderly.

You’ll never have to breathe again.

Chapter 3

A thought entered the girl’s mind. A casual inkling that perhaps this was death.

She felt weightless. Adrift in a vast abyss. The barrier between her body and the fluid that surrounded her felt vague. She wondered if perhaps she was dissolving into it… unspooling, like gossamer threads. She couldn’t deduce the position of her limbs, or the temperature of her skin. Or whether her eyes were open or closed. There was no light. No sound. To someone who had always found the world a little too bright, and a little too loud, it was a welcome relief.

With nothing to upset her senses, the girl quietly became aware of her own heartbeat. She could feel it pulsing gently through her veins. Hear it flowing through her ears. If this was death, she thought, perhaps she didn’t mind it so much.

Her lips parted slightly. Fluid seeped between them, caressing the tip of her tongue. It tasted metallic… like a nosebleed.

The taste of blood sent the girl into a panic, fracturing any sense of tranquility as if it were glass. Once again, she felt cold, intact, and desperate to breathe.

She struggled to wake her sleeping limbs. Flexing the pins and needles from her ragged nerves, she swam weakly in a direction she desperately hoped was upward.

Thin air. A gasp for breath. Coughing violently, the girl clambered onto the surface of a vast, crimson lake. Somehow, the lake’s surface bore her weight. As if, despite everything, the lake was only millimeters deep.

The girl simply lay there, in a film of blood, trying desperately to catch her breath.

Shivering and terrified, the girl rose to her feet. Her clothing was saturated with blood, and weighed heavy on her shoulders. She stumbled slightly. Whatever lay beneath the lake’s surface felt almost spongy beneath her feet, like the saturated soil of a peat bog. Eventually, she found her footing.

She surveyed her surroundings. The air was as still as the surface of the lake itself. The vast blood flat might have appeared mirror-like, if there had been a sky to reflect. But there was no sky. There was nothing but a deep, dark, velvet void.

Staring into the distance, she tried to locate the edge of the lake. On the horizon, she saw what appeared to be dead trees. Branchless. Pale. Needle-like. Pointing steadfastly toward that abyssal nothing of a sky. Reflected in the glassy surface of the lake itself, like a grove of cedars, flooded a century ago.

That’s what they looked like to her, at least. They seemed so far away, it was difficult to tell.

She focused carefully.

A pair of arachnodactyl hands clasped the girl’s shoulders from behind, and a facetious whisper in her ear sent a shiver inching up her spine.

You’ve soiled my jacket, rabbit.

With a single swift movement, the spirit yanked her sheepskin aviator jacket from the girl’s shoulders. She slipped her own arms through the sleeves, and shook off the excess blood, like a starling in a birdbath.

Droplets of blood spattered the girl’s face. She felt her hairs bristle, and her temper flare. She snapped. She screamed at the spirit, demanding that she let her go.

For a fleeting moment, the spirit appeared almost startled. A careful observer might even have glimpsed something resembling a second thought flicker across her face. However, it was quickly brushed aside by a cocksure smile.

The spirit circled the girl, so swiftly and smoothly that by the time the girl had noticed, the spirit was already behind her.

The spirit hooked an arm around the girl’s neck. The girl tried to protest, but was silenced by the spirit pressing an icy finger to her lips.

Hush now, rabbit… You’re safe with me.

In another context, from another individual, this sentiment might have brought comfort. It was spoken in a calming tone, after all, and with a loving inflection. But this was a very specific individual, in a very particular context, and the girl didn’t find it reassuring at all.

The spirit nestled her chin in the crook of the girl’s neck, nuzzling her blood-stained cheek with an unnerving affection. The girl inhaled sharply. Exhaled with a shudder. The sensation was deeply uncomfortable.

The girl attempted to wriggle free, but the spirit’s vise-like grip only tightened. She felt the spirit’s thigh creeping up her own. She saw an opportunity, and struck.

She reached for the spirit’s femur, plunging her fingers through ghostly layers of muscle and sinew. She gripped the bone tightly in her fist, and attempted to wrench it from its socket.

Startled, the spirit instinctively released her grip. She panicked, and began batting at the girl’s cranium with open palms. The girl, in turn, twisted the spirit’s hip ever more forcefully.

She could feel the joint failing. Gripping the bone tight with both hands, she gave it one final twist.

The bone popped from its socket with such force that the girl lost her balance, falling backwards into the shallow lake and landing on her coccyx.

She winced in anticipation of pain, but the marshy substrate managed to soften the blow. She gave her head a shake, and stared at the bone in her hands.

It was no longer luminous. Outside the confines of the spirit’s ghostly flesh, it resembled any other stray bone. Dull, and dusty, and stained with tannins.

Yet, something felt off. It was weighted oddly… heavier toward the hip than toward the knee. A closer look revealed a tarnished stainless steel hip replacement, cemented tightly to the bone itself.

Give that back! It’s mine!

The spirit’s voice was shrill, and furious. The femur obviously wasn’t hers. It was stolen, and the girl said as much.

Of course I stole it, that means it’s mine!

The girl stumbled to her feet. It was clear from her stance that she had become fed up with the spirit’s games.

She glimpsed a flicker of hesitation in the spirit’s eyes. A fleeting moment of uncertainty, interrupted by a hollow bark of aggression.

I said give it BACK!

Her words were hissed, as if they had been puffed through the throat of a brooding mute swan. Yet the girl stood her ground.

The spirit stared daggers into the girl’s eyes, then glanced briefly at the femur. The girl took notice, tightening her grip on the bone defensively.

The spirit shivered with frustration. She shrieked like a jealous gull, and lunged at the girl.

The girl swung the femur with all her might, wielding the steel implant as a blunt weapon. The spirit dodged the attack, and lunged a second time.

Again, the girl swung her improvised war club. The spirit heard it whistle past her skull, at a proximity she immediately deemed too close for comfort.

The spirit quickly backed off, and held out an open palm, signaling the girl to stand down.

She did, a little.

The spirit began to approach the girl, palm still outstretched. The girl abruptly dropped to one knee, and braced the femur over the other, threatening to snap it in half if the spirit came any closer.

The spirit drew back apprehensively. It was clear she took the girl’s threat seriously.

A moment passed, and a thought crystallized in the spirit’s skull. Its conception was apparent on her face, if only for a split second. She breathed what appeared to be a sigh of relief, then locked eyes with the girl.

Alright rabbit…

She smiled, casually brushing back her ethereal white hair. The girl stared warily, ready to act on her promise.

I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot… let’s take a few steps back.

The spirit began circling the girl, slowly. Deliberately. The girl instinctively rose to her feet and took a step back, unsure what the spirit was playing at.

Not literal steps, rabbit.

The girl scoffed. She knew perfectly well what the spirit had meant, and she knew the spirit knew it as well.

Figurative steps. Let’s figure out where this all went… sour.

A whiff of something rancid prickled at the girl’s olfactory nerves. An oily, iridescent film had begun to form on the lake’s surface. The spirit snapped her fingers, recapturing the girl’s attention.

You do like it here, don’t you?

She could feel the spirit edging imperceptibly closer with each circle she made. A gradual, encroaching spiral.

Of course you do… it’s quiet. Peaceful. Just like that graveyard you spent so much time in, right?

A low-pitched burbling. The girl turned to identify its source, but by the time she saw it, all that was left was a ring of concentric ripples in the lake’s surface, dispersing into nothing.

Right. So what is it that’s upsetting you, rabbit?

Another burbling sound. And another. The girl saw them this time, from the corner of her eye. A pair of large bubbles, rising from the surface and bursting, as if from a volcanic mudpot. It dawned on the girl how thick and dark the blood had become. It was… coagulating.

Spit it out, rabbit. Nothing I’ve done, surely?

The bubbling gradually became more persistent, overlapping frequently enough that the girl quickly lost count. She began to choke, and sputter. The gas rising from the lake smelled of decay. Of putrescine and cadaverine. An anaerobic slurry, breathing rancid puffs of hydrogen sulfide.

Speak up rabbit, I can’t hear you!

The surface of the lake had begun to form a froth. A putrescent scarlet seafoam that shuddered and trembled with each bursting bubble. A feeling was welling up in the girl’s abdomen. An unbearable nausea unlike anything she had ever experienced.

Use your words, rabbit! Enunciate!

The poor girl was retching. Her abdominal muscles contracted rhythmically. Violently. Forcing the feeling up into her chest, into her throat, into the very sinuses of her skull.

The spirit was close now. Close enough that she was practically whispering in the girl’s ear.

Thaaat’s it rabbit… let it out.

The girl doubled over. Vomited. The spirit delicately plucked the femur from the girl’s fingertips as she fell to her knees.

Oh rabbit… It’s the smell, isn’t it?

She popped the femur back into its socket.

Don’t worry. It’ll pass.

The girl simply knelt there. Breathing labored. Staring at the mess. Gradually, the bubbling began to subside, and the sickly stench no longer seemed quite so unbearable. Now that her gut was empty, the endorphins began flowing through her bloodstream, gently quelling her nausea.

Instead, her nausea had been replaced by a burdensome pressure in her ears. The atmosphere felt constricted, as if it were held taut inside a latex balloon. She swallowed, attempting to equalize the pressure inside and outside her skull, but it didn’t seem to work.

The girl felt ten slender fingers slide beneath her arms, along her rib cage, and begin to lift her to her feet.

Alright rabbit. Up up up.

There was effort in the spirit’s voice, as she hoisted the girl’s dead weight. The girl groaned softly. Her abdominal muscles still ached from the strain of retching.

The girl teetered slightly, then stumbled. The spirit gently corrected her balance. She patted the girl affectionately on the head. Began stroking her hair. Comforting her.

The girl lashed out, pushing the spirit away. Warning the spirit not to touch her. To never touch her.

The spirit winced. Noticeably, as if the girl’s words had inflicted a sharp and sudden pain. An ice pick to her chest. For a fleeting moment, there was hurt in the spirit’s uncanny, iridescent eyes.

Her diaphanous muscles tensed. Her arachnodactyl fingers balled into fists. A quivering, guttural growl of frustration forced itself up through her trachea, and she turned her back to the girl.

There was a long, inelegant silence. The girl began massaging her forehead and temples with her fingertips. Her patience was wearing thin, and the pressure in her ears was becoming uncomfortable.

She was interrupted, however. By a sound. A deep, omnipresent hissing, almost too low-frequency to hear. It began quietly, then slowly grew louder, eventually becoming a fleshy, infrasonic sputtering that rattled her core. Both the girl and the spirit alike surveyed the sky apprehensively.

A deafening eruption. A sudden decompression. A violent, stinking windstorm, and a sharp ringing in the girl’s ears. Where once her eardrums had been pressed uncomfortably into her skull, she now felt them bulging outward.

The wind roared like whitewater, and the girl struggled to remain upright on the soft, slippery muck beneath her feet. She leaned into the gale, desperate not to lose her footing.

The spirit watched calmly as the girl struggled. She seemed almost unaffected by the storm, save for her fluttering, ethereal white hair. She nearly found herself reaching out to help the girl. To break her inevitable fall.

But instead, she paused. Let her arm fall to her side. The wind faltered, and the spirit watched as the girl fell face-first into sludgy, clotted blood.

Chapter 4

The velvet black sky had collapsed, crumbling like gold leaf, raining down like ash, and dissolving like candy floss.

In its place was an overcast sky. A featureless, unbroken sheet of mist, diffusing a cold, sterile light.

The girl sat cross-legged in a thick, liver-colored mud of congealed blood. She watched absentmindedly as little somethings scuttled about on its surface. She couldn’t quite call them flies. They moved too erratically to identify, and only seemed to sit still in her peripheral vision. A glance, and they would take to the air, leaving behind tiny clusters of carefully deposited eggs.

At least, she assumed they were eggs. To her, they resembled miniature tapioca pearls, only a millimeter or two across.

Suddenly, the girl piped up. She asked, rather casually, what it would take to convince the spirit to let her go.

The girl looked skyward. Roughly fifteen feet up, directly above her, the spirit hung motionlessly in the air. Balled up. Back to the ground. Hiding ineffectually behind the thick leather of her sheepskin jacket. She spoke drearily into her folded arms.

There’s nothing you can do to convince me, rabbit.

Her voice was coarse, dry, and disillusioned. A prickly static in the girl’s ears.

The girl thought on this a moment, before abruptly proposing a bargain of some sort… a trade, perhaps?

You have nothing to trade, rabbit.

Not on her, the girl admitted. But if the spirit were to let her go, she could retrieve something. Anything the spirit wanted.

The spirit sighed softly. Too softly for the girl to hear. The girl waited patiently for an answer, but she did not receive one.

How about a favor then? A task to carry out? Surely there was something the girl could do in exchange for her freedom?

The spirit balled up tighter, burying her face in her knees. She hung silently in the air, save for the gentle creaking of leather against leather.

Again, the girl prodded. What was it going to take? She was willing to make a deal with the devil.

The spirit uncurled, slowly. She swiveled around. Body first, with her head lagging behind. She squinted at the girl.

I’m not a devil, rabbit!

The spirit’s voice was saturated with incredulity.

I’m not a demon!

I’m not a fiend, or a monster!

I’m not trying to hurt you!

I’m not trying to make you unhappy!

The spirit lurched forward with each statement. She reached out toward the girl with one hand, resisting the urge to touch. Her fingertips hovered mere inches from the girl’s cheek. Her hand trembled with frustration, then snapped into a fist.

Wh…

The spirit inhaled softly, her jaw trembling. She tilted her head in genuine, wounded confusion.

Why do you hate me so much?

Now, this was a question that caught the girl off guard. This spirit really had no idea. She was naive. Completely naive. Naive to the way people work. How they think. How they feel. Naive to pain. To empathy. To human suffering.

This spirit had never conceived of a point of view that ran contrary to her own. Never had any inkling of the existence of an outside perspective. And now that she was face to face with a girl who embodied this concept fully, her worldview and confidence were beginning to corrode.

The girl simply stared at the spirit. In disbelief. In pity. All she could think to do was ask her: What did you expect?

The spirit’s breathing began to hasten, and shallow. Huffing quietly through her open mouth like a dying animal. She averted her eyes. Not in shame, but simply to allow herself time to think. She raked her fingers awkwardly through her drifting, ethereal white hair. Swallowed an uncomfortable lump in her throat.

The spirit began wagging her index finger, as if she were trying to summon a thought from deep in the folds of her brain.

You and I, w-we were supposed to…

She retracted her finger. Bit her lip betwixt her bladed jaws.

We were going to be happy together. I th-th-thought…

The girl squinted narrowly, watching in silence as the spirit, for the first time, struggled to find words.

I-I thought you would fall in love?

This was not worded as a question, but it was certainly spoken as one. It was less of a question for the girl, and more of a question the spirit was asking herself.

The girl answered it nonetheless, with a question of her own. A question that caused the spirit’s diaphanous muscles to tense, and her heart to visibly palpitate: With you?

The spirit appeared reluctant to look the girl in the eye, but the penetrating silence slowly forced her hand.

The girl shook her head in disbelief, uttering a question so blunt and direct as to fracture bone: How could you possibly have thought that?

The spirit remained quiet for a moment. Her thoughts seemed distant, and her psyche fragile. She chattered her mandible rapidly, a strange tic that caught the girl off guard.

She was thinking.

Eventually, the spirit drifted a ways away. She rolled up the sleeve of her sheepskin aviator jacket, reached deep into the congealed blood, retrieved the girl’s sketchbook from the muck with an unpleasant suction noise… and rose silently into the air.

The girl returned to her pondering. The little tapioca pearls peppered the ground now, like tiny hailstones after a brief and gentle storm.

A closer look revealed something moving inside. Nearly imperceptible threads, wriggling about wildly like little stop-motion dancers. The girl watched them intently, for there was little else to do.

Over time, she began to grow almost attached to them. She watched as they turned from a pale, translucent white to a deep, oxygenated crimson, and grew from the width of a silken thread to that of a horsehair plucked from a violin bow. She watched as they grew increasingly snug in their little gelatinous wombs, and wondered what they must be thinking. Or if they thought of anything at all.

One of the pearls burst, splitting along an invisible seam like a wine grape squeezed between two fingertips. Its occupant wriggled free of the deflated pearl, and out onto the vast expanse of gelatinized blood.

Why do you draw these, rabbit?

The girl was yanked suddenly from her thoughts. She apologized. She hadn’t quite heard what the spirit had said.

Why do you draw these?

Again, she asked the spirit to clarify.

The spirit turned a page of the girl’s sketchbook. The pages were delicate, and saturated with blood. Yet the graphite drawings were still clearly visible, and the spirit’s fingers were nimble enough not to tear them.

These… romances.

The spirit’s voice was wistful. She caressed the cheek of one of the figures on the page. It was a girl, not entirely unlike the one who drew it, in a passionate embrace with a spirit, not entirely unlike herself.

The girl briefly pondered why she drew such things, but she quickly brushed those thoughts aside, convincing herself that she didn’t know. In the silence that ensued, she became vaguely aware that she may have whispered her thoughts aloud.

She shook her head dismissively, assuring the spirit that they were just drawings. That they didn’t mean anything.

The spirit tore the page from the sketchbook, wadding it up like a wet paper towel. She squeezed the excess blood from the page, and tossed it into the girl’s lap.

Look again.

The girl uncrumpled the drawing. Stared at it. Reminisced on the feelings that had spurred its creation. If she were being honest with herself, this drawing had come from a place of longing. Of loneliness.

There are a hundred drawings just like that one in this book of yours, rabbit.

The spirit snapped the book shut with a wet slap, brandishing it in one hand as if to draw attention to it.

You spent time making these.

The girl asked the spirit what her point was, in a tone both sheepish and standoffish. She knew as soon as the words left her mouth that she had failed to mask her embarrassment.

My point is, rabbit, that you’re a liar.

The spirit tossed the book in the girl’s direction, and it landed in the sludge with a sickening splat.

You say these drawings mean nothing. It’s not true.

The girl gathered her sketchbook and held it protectively to her chest. She stared at the spirit, brow furrowed.

They must mean something!

The spirit’s tone was accusatory, that was undeniable. But it betrayed a desperation. The staredown that ensued made it clear that behind the posturing, and the arguing… the spirit was pleading with the girl.

But the girl refused to back down. Her eyes were intense, and their contact, unbroken. How long this lasted, neither could say. But it felt an eternity. The spirit began to squirm.

She shuddered violently, as if she were struggling to tamp down an outburst that was welling up inside her. But instead, she swiveled around, and went silent.

The girl rested her palms on the ground behind her. It was more worms than blood at this point. The tapioca pearl eggs had long since hatched, and their occupants grown, consuming and replacing their curdled blood substrate. All that was left were tangled clots the color of red wine, undulating gently, and contracting suddenly when disturbed.

The girl wondered where the time had gone, and why the sensation of sitting cross-legged in writhing worms didn’t seem to bother her as much as she thought it should.

She closed her eyes, and exhaled.

Do you know why I chose you, rabbit?

The girl inhaled sharply. The spirit’s voice had come from directly over her shoulder, and it startled her.

I’ve watched people wander that graveyard for decades. They’d come with expensive cameras. They’d come with rolls of paper, and colored wax. Occasionally, they’d come with flowers, if they were very old. But not you, rabbit… You came because you were lonely.

The girl began to fidget uncomfortably. She assured the spirit that was not the case. Why would she go to a place so empty if she were lonely?

You’re lying again, rabbit. I know what loneliness looks like.

The girl sighed softly, her lip quivering.

You sat on the same bench, time and time again. Drawing ghosts, and spirits. Each day I’d watch you draw another. Another daydream. Another intimate fantasy.

The girl’s cheeks flushed red with blood, and she turned her face away from the spirit’s voice. The spirit sidled closer. Close enough that the girl could feel her cold breath in the crook of her neck.

When you came to that graveyard each day, you were hoping, secretly, that a phantom would sweep you off your feet… weren’t you, rabbit?

The girl cringed in embarrassment. As silly as it sounded when spoken aloud, the spirit was correct. She had hoped for that. Precisely that, in fact. Of course, she never believed that such a thing might actually happen.

There was a long, lingering silence. The spirit swiveled around, turning her back to the girl’s.

Anyway, rabbit. That’s why I chose you.

The girl muttered under her breath. You can’t just choose someone. They have to choose you back. A nearly imperceptible grimace flitted across the spirit’s face.

So I’ve learned.

And with that, the spirit kicked off the ground, ascending quietly back into the sky.

Had she? The girl wondered this question aloud. The spirit drifted to a halt, and hung in the air. She swiveled around, and gave the girl a quizzical look.

The girl repeated herself: Had the spirit learned?

Are you deaf, rabbit? I’m not going to say it again.

The girl insisted that if that were true, and the spirit really had learned from her mistakes, then she should just let her go! Find someone else, who actually wants all of this!

The spirit began to sink lazily back to the ground, headfirst, like a salted baitfish through glycerin.

In the distance, there was a deep groaning sound, followed by a cracking, and a splintering. The pale, branchless, needle-like trees on the horizon had begun creaking, and toppling, their trunks the last thing to be consumed by the matted expanse of worms.

The spirit snapped her fingers, so as to attract the girl’s attention without touching.

Their eyes met, and with that, the two were face to face. The girl, right side up, and the spirit, hanging upside down, as if from an invisible thread.

The spirit’s expression was almost tender.

I can’t let you go, rabbit. You’ve been without oxygen for several hours. You don’t have an intact enough brain to go back.

The girl was struggling to understand. The spirit could see it in her eyes. She put it more bluntly.

You’ve begun to decay, rabbit.

The gravity of the situation finally began to dawn on the girl. What had once been an idle thought was now cementing itself in her mind as an irrevocable truth. This really was death.

She began to breathe heavily. Her larynx began to ache. No. The girl repeated herself. No no no no no. This couldn’t be happening. She stumbled to her feet. Began pacing.

Listen, the girl said. Listen. She told the spirit she didn’t need a body. Just let her go. She could live with being a ghost.

The spirit shook her head dismissively.

There’s no such thing as ghosts, rabbit… once a soul dissipates, it’s gone.

The girl couldn’t believe what she was hearing. What was the spirit, if not a ghost?

I’m just me, rabbit.

No. No no no no. She pleaded with the spirit. There must be something she could do to fix this! There had to be some way to undo what she had done! Please!

Listen, rabbit. The hocus-pocus it would take to unrot that brain of yours would literally kill me.

In the distance, another tree began to creak, and fall.

Your program is running on my hardware, rabbit.

The spirit tapped her temple knowingly.

So get used to it.

Chapter 5

A cocoon bounced off the girl’s forehead, and tumbled to the ground, disappearing amongst an endless expanse of others exactly like it.

The blood had long run dry, and the worms had coiled tightly, pupating inside a thick, leathery shell of dried mucus. If the girl had been bothered to look around, she might have compared them to beans in an endless silo.

Here and there, one would split at the tip, with a nearly imperceptible click, and a pale, pulsating ptilinum would peek through the crack.

A second cocoon hit the girl’s face, this time bouncing off her cheek. She flinched, causing the dried blood on her skin to flake off, and drift to the ground, like dandruff.

The air smelled of mold. Of mildew. Of dust and must. It bit sharply at the girl’s nose, but she didn’t seem to care.

A third cocoon, and a fourth.

Cat got your tongue, rabbit?

The spirit hung miserably in the air, flicking cocoons in the girl’s direction.

The girl didn’t respond.

You’re stuck here forever, rabbit. The least you could do is try to hold a conversation.

The cocoons continued to split at the tip with a click, creating a quiet cacophony not unlike the desynchronous ticking of a clockmaker’s workshop. The early risers had already wriggled free of their leathery shells. They were soft, and pale, and their legs flailed wildly as they struggled to find their footing.

The spirit twirled a cocoon in her fingertips while she waited, visually tracing the spiraling imprint left behind by the liquefying worm inside.

She touched the cocoon to the tip of a bony, tooth-like cusp, and applied pressure, impaling it. She sneered distastefully, tonguing it back off the cusp, and spat it at the girl.

The cocoon landed in the girl’s hair, and stuck there. She shuddered involuntarily.

A handful of the pale, scrambling dipterids that peppered the ground around her had begun to harden. To blacken. To pump their crumpled wings full of hemolymph, and air them out to dry.

The spirit watched the girl, waiting for her presence to be acknowledged. But the acknowledgment never came.

The spirit cast her remaining fistful of cocoons at the girl.

Why won’t you speak to me, rabbit?!

The cocoons bounced off the girl’s skin, and rattled as they hit the ground.

You couldn’t keep your mouth shut before!

The girl’s lip quivered. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, and she was trying desperately to prevent their escape.

I’ve been alone in that hole for sixty years, rabbit! Do you have even the slightest idea what that feels like?! Any idea at all?!

The girl’s breathing became unsteady, and agitated. Yet somehow, she found herself unable to muster the energy to move. To speak. To do anything at all.

The spirit kicked a filthy clod of cocoons at the girl. The handful of flies that were capable of flight took to the air with a pitiful buzzing, settling back to the ground only a few feet away.

Look at you! You can’t even bring yourself to look at me! Am I that repulsive to you, rabbit?! Is the prospect of my company so distasteful to you that you’d rather just wither away?!

The girl was crying now. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. The spirit’s screaming had triggered a paralytic panic attack, and the spirit knew it. Yet somehow, the girl’s upset only seemed to provoke the spirit further.

So she continued. She continued until her voice was hoarse, and the ground had turned to a thick carpet of flies. Crawling on the girl’s skin. Buzzing in her ears. Swarming her nostrils to the point where she could barely breathe.

You can hate me all you want, rabbit! It won’t make a difference! Nothing you do will make a difference!

The spirit’s voice was strained, and her chest tight. And although there were no tears in her eyes, she breathed as if she were sobbing.

You’re never leaving me, understand?!

You’re MINE, rabbit!

The spirit quivered with rage. With frustration. She clenched her fists, and screamed at the girl. It was a primal, guttural scream, that caused vast clouds of flies to take to the air in wild murmurations. A droning, thickening darkness that blackened the sky.

It was in this fleeting moment, after the suffocating carpet had lifted, but before the flies had choked out the last glint of light, that their eyes met. Only then did the spirit finally grasp the depth of the girl’s pain. The weight of her suffering.

And then, everything went black.

Chapter 6

I’m sorry.

That’s what the spirit would have said to the girl, if the lump in her throat hadn’t plugged her larynx like a cork.

The swarming flies had long since dispersed, leaving the two of them sitting silently in an endless expanse of bone, as flat and smooth as a pebbled beach tumbled by the tides.

The girl ran her fingertips along the exposed blade of a pelvis, discolored and stained by blood reduced to soil. It had been halfway buried beneath carpals, and tarsals. Maxillae, and mandibles. Scattered teeth and disarticulated fragments of skull. She wondered if perhaps these were her own bones, repeated to infinity.

To the spirit, the girl seemed strangely at peace. A state of mind that the spirit envied, for her head was absolutely swimming. She felt guilt scratching and scraping at the folds of her brain, and regret prickling at its stem. A frightening and unfamiliar sinking feeling in her chest. A deepening awareness of the unforgivability of what she had done.

Again, the spirit tried to force an apology through her aching trachea, but her tongue stoppered her throat, and all that escaped was a pathetic croak.

The girl looked at the spirit a moment, and sighed softly. It was a sigh of quiet acceptance. It seemed foolish now, that she ever expected anything more from this spirit.

In time, the sun began to peer over the horizon, turning the sky from a paper white to a gentle sky blue.

In the warmth of the sunlight, the bones began to whiten imperceptibly. In time, they became old, and dry. Cracked, and weathered. Chalky, and pale.

And all the while, not a single word was spoken.

From between the sun-bleached bones, tender blades of grass began to emerge, reaching desperately toward the sunlight, and rooting themselves deeply into the soil beneath.

The spirit snuck a furtive glance at the girl, her head bowed meekly. The girl was simply sitting there, watching the grass grow.

It was no wonder the girl hated her. After what she had done, she deserved her hate. She had taken the girl’s freedom. Her life. Without hesitation, or thought. There was no redemption for her.

She was selfish. Ghastly. Loathsome and cruel. The fact that she had ever thought highly of herself now filled her with a stomach-churning embarrassment.

She was unworthy of the girl’s love. Of anyone’s love. She was an unsightly stain on creation, and the world would have been a better place had she not been a part of it.

Eventually, the endless expanse of bone became a verdant meadow that rippled in the breeze like ocean waves, though the spirit failed to notice. She simply picked at the grass, unconsciously. Compulsively.

And thought.

Chapter 7

The girl was not breathing.

Her heart no longer beat. Her skin was cool, and pale. Her muscles, rigid. Her amber eyes had sunken in their sockets, and her corneas had become clouded, and tacky. Like those of a discarded fish head left too long in the open air.

This was the body of a person who was unmistakably, unequivocally dead.

The spirit’s sheepskin aviator jacket was still draped over the girl’s shoulders. Her handmade adipocere candles had long burned down to stumps and snuffed themselves out. All that was left to light her burrow were her own luminescent bones.

And although her bones still radiated a diffuse teal light, it was no longer as vivid as it was before. No longer as intense. It was a dim, sickly light.

One of the spirit’s ribs fell from its cage, landing softly on the mulched coffin wood beneath them.

The spirit shivered and twitched. The nictitating membranes that had shuttered her sleeping eyes trembled momentarily. She was deep in the dream. A dream that had long since ceased to be pleasant.

The spirit, in her unconsciousness, only seemed to squeeze the girl tighter, nuzzling her face deeper into the crook of her neck. As if, for the first time, it was the spirit who was succumbing to the cold.

A second rib fell to the ground. The girl’s index finger twitched, nearly imperceptibly.

Chapter 8

The girl inhaled, sharply and suddenly. As if the tip of an icicle had been run up her bare spine. She turned to the spirit, dumbfounded.

“What did you just do?”

The spirit refused to acknowledge the girl’s question. She simply sat there, and continued to pick at the grass. The sun had slowed to a halt in the sky. Its stillness was too subtle for the girl to perceive, but the spirit knew.

“You’ve changed something. What’s going on?”

The spirit assured the girl that she had changed nothing. That she was being paranoid. The sun began to reverse direction. Again, too slowly for the girl to perceive.

The girl watched the spirit closely. She was up to something, and the girl was determined to find out what it was.

The grass began to retract. The girl could sense that something was off, but she struggled to pinpoint exactly what it was. The girl’s frustration grew, and she needled the spirit further.

“What are you playing at? Tell me. Now.”

The spirit snapped at her. She was up to nothing, and the girl should drop it, rabbit.

What seemed like hours passed, without a word spoken. In time, the girl’s suspicions became obvious. The grass was several inches shorter than it had been before. And not only that, it was speeding up.

But the girl said nothing. She simply watched. She watched the spirit, sulking in her little divot in the grass. She watched the sun as it inched back toward the horizon. And she watched the grasses retreat back into their seeds, and ungerminate.

The bones around them began to darken.

“Tell me what’s happening. Please.”

The spirit averted her eyes.

“I deserve to know.”

The spirit asserted that it was rude to look a gift horse in the mouth, rabbit. The girl briefly pondered the spirit’s slight misunderstanding of this phrase, but it was clear the spirit was offering something she considered a gift.

The girl backed off.

The gentle blue sky above them was long gone now, having faded to a stark paper white. The spirit coughed an ectoplasmic mucus from her lungs, and swallowed it back down her translucent esophagus.

“Okay, no. That’s enough. Explain yourself.”

The spirit struggled to suppress her hacking and sputtering. The girl rose to her feet and approached the spirit. She knelt down and began tapping the spirit’s skull repeatedly, forcing her to pay attention.

The spirit screamed at the girl. She screamed that she was trying to undo her mistake, rabbit! That she should be left alone to concentrate!

A string of mucus was hanging from her mouth. She wiped it from her chin and rose into the air, embarrassed. But it wasn’t long before she fell back to the ground with a bony clatter.

She coughed up a thick wad of mucus onto the ground. The girl approached her from behind, and placed a warm palm on the spirit’s shoulder, gently brushing her hair aside.

“How can you possibly undo your mistake? You told me that if you tried to unrot my brain, you would die…”

The spirit looked the girl in the eye, her jaw quivering. She looked as if she were about to cry.

Chapter 9

The air was black, and thick with flies. A ceaseless, thunderous buzzing battered the girl’s eardrums. There was nothing she could do, except wait for it to pass.

Eventually, the clouds of flies began to thin. Enough, at least, for the girl to stand, and attempt to find her bearings. The swarm was still thick enough to stifle her breathing, and her vision was impaired by the flies that fought incessantly to drink from the corners of her eyes. But the girl remained undeterred, swatting them away as best she could manage.

It took time, but the girl eventually found the spirit, sitting silently on a bed of empty, leathery cocoons. She was carpeted with flies. They drank freely from her open eyes. Lapped the phlegm from her mouth, and throat. The girl could see them, scuttling about deep inside the spirit’s trachea. An intrepid few had even wandered into her lungs themselves.

The spirit’s eyes shifted subtly in their sockets, as she sat, and thought. The end of her life was fast approaching, and she was taking the time to process that thought. She could, of course, have turned back at any time. And yet, for reasons she was still struggling to comprehend, she didn’t.

Was this really what she wanted?

“Is this really what you want?”

The girl’s voice snapped the spirit gently from her stupor. She was suddenly acutely aware of the insects in her chest, and began coughing violently, spewing clouds of flies into the air, followed by another thick, gelatinous wad of mucus.

She attempted to wipe the mucus from her chin using the sleeve of her jacket, with little success.

“You don’t have to go through with this, you know.”

The spirit insisted that yes, rabbit, she did have to go through with this. There was an audible irritation in her voice. A deliberate and precise articulation clearly intended to dissuade the girl from questioning her further.

The flies in the air around them began to fall to the ground, one by one, as their wings softened, and their bodies paled.

“You don’t. Not for me. I can stay here, if I need to. I’ll find a way to manage. Neither of us has to die.”

The spirit reminded the girl that she was already long dead, and rotting in a hole. She had killed her herself, rabbit.

The girl gave the spirit a withering look. That was not what she had meant, and the spirit knew it.

The spirit grinned smugly at the girl. It was a grin meant to taunt. To antagonize. But it was clear that it was masking an intense frustration.

The fact that the girl was willing to throw away her life for her sake was infuriating to the spirit. Somewhere along the line, this girl had got it in her head that her life, and that of the spirit’s, were of equal worth.

She was wrong.

The girl had a full life ahead of her, and she deserved every minute of it. She deserved the love, the hate, the pleasure and the pain. Everything that life had to offer, was hers to experience.

The spirit, though? There was nothing left for her in this world. The time she had spent with the girl had made that fact crystal clear. She had nothing, and deserved nothing.

The flies were dropping, as the colloquialism goes, like flies. Feverishly squeezing their soft, pale bodies back into their cocoons, which snapped shut around them as if they had never split in the first place.

The girl sat among the clicking cocoons, thinking quietly to herself. A very particular thought crossed her mind, and she looked to the spirit.

“You’re the only one, aren’t you?”

The spirit’s neck turned as if on a swivel, and she glared cautiously at the girl.

“You’re the only one of your kind.”

The spirit retorted, rather curtly, that perhaps that was for the best, rabbit. The girl insisted otherwise.

“No. I can’t sit back and let the last of anything die. I refuse to have that on my conscience.”

The girl approached the spirit, and placed a palm on her shoulder. The spirit recoiled from her touch.

“You’re a tiger. A predator. Even if someone dies, you don’t kill the last tiger for doing what comes naturally.”

The spirit became even angrier. A tiger? She wasn’t a tiger, rabbit! She was lonely, and selfish, and stupid! What she is doesn’t excuse what she’s done!

She clutched a fistful of cocoons so tightly they burst, and threw them in the girl’s face. She began to rise into the air, screaming every vicious insult she could muster. The girl was an idiot! An imbecile! A simpleton and a fool!

The girl scrambled backward, before clambering to her feet and retreating into the distance. She heard the spirit hacking, and choking, and the rattling of cocoons as she fell back to the ground.

By the time the girl turned around, the spirit was doubled over on the ground, wheezing, and gasping for air.

The girl simply stood there, watching the spirit struggle.

Eventually she took a seat.

Perhaps she should let the spirit die. As far as the girl could tell, it might be her only chance to do so.

The spirit had told the girl that she had been alone in her burrow for sixty years. So she was at least that old. Probably much older. She wondered if perhaps, once a person reaches that age, it feels like enough?

The spirit had also told the girl that she would be, quote: stuck here forever, rabbit. To the girl, forever seemed like a very long time to live. Too long, to be honest. For a person or a spirit.

Maybe this was for the best.

The last fly clicked back into its cocoon, and the world went utterly still, and utterly silent. The only remaining stimulus of note was the musty, fungal smell left in the wake of decay.

So the girl sat.

And waited.

Chapter 10

The girl stared absentmindedly at the skyline, where wine-red worms touched paper-white sky. She watched as the branchless trunk of an ancient cedar rose from the lake. It rose slowly, like a buoy lifted by an incoming tide.

With time, the tree stood upright, and reattached itself to its stump with an unsplintering, an uncreaking, and an uncracking.

The girl had never heard anything uncrack before, but now that she had, she knew immediately that it wasn’t a sound she’d be able to describe to anyone.

Not that any of this was something she was planning to talk about, once this ordeal was over. She’d witnessed an impossible event, and she knew better than to relay the impossible.

All she would be able to do is forget this ever happened. A task easier said than done, of course, but at the very least, the notion was comforting.

A second tree unsplintered. Uncreaked, and uncracked.

The spirit’s sickness was worsening. Her once drifting, ethereal hair was now knotted and tangled, clinging to her semi-corporeal skin like wet gauze, and her shimmering, concave retinas had become clouded with a sickly bacterial film.

The spirit’s body was not the only thing that had fallen ill. Her mind was sick as well. Sick with doubt. Sick with guilt. Sick with fear. The finality of death, once unfamiliar, was beginning to dawn on her, and she was scared.

In the distance, the trees continued to unsplinter, and uncreak, and uncrack. One by one, like the ticking of a clock.

There was a numbness in the spirit’s fingertips. She could feel her heart fluttering, a tightness in her throat, and an aching in her chest, caused not by the flies that had wandered too deeply into her lungs and passed away, but by a stagnant and suffocating dread.

A tree cracked, and creaked. Splintered and fell. The girl snapped to attention. These were sounds she recognized. But despite their familiarity, she was not happy to hear them. The trees were supposed to be uncracking. Uncreaking. This break in the pattern was, frankly, alarming.

She swiveled to face the spirit.

“What are you doing?”

The spirit didn’t answer. Instead, her breathing became rapid, and shallow. Like a mouse with its pelvis caught in a rat trap.

“Don’t play coy. Tell me what’s going on. Now.”

The spirit began to shake her head. Whisper nonsense into her own ears. Anything to drown out the sharpness in the girl’s voice.

The girl rose impatiently to her feet.

“You promised you’d put me back in my own head! What’s with the backpedaling? Are you toying with me?!”

The girl could hear the spirit’s pitiful whimpering. The way she chattered her jaw, like some sort of idiot toucan.

“You’ve decided to keep me prisoner after all? Is that it? You’ve decided to make me your little pet?!”

The girl cocked a middle finger against a stiffened thumb and struck the spirit between her sickly, half-blind eyes with an audible thwack.

“Hey! Answer me, dipsh—!”

The spirit shrieked at the girl. She’s scared, rabbit!

The girl’s aggression withered in an instant.

“What?”

She’s frightened, rabbit! She’s afraid to die!

The spirit’s words hit like a battering ram to the chest. The girl felt a hot wave of guilt wash over her. A surge of embarrassment and shame so searing that she feared the blood flushing her cheeks might cauterize her veins.

The girl began to tremble. Her fists balled, and her lips pursed tight as a thumbscrew. She felt her eyes welling, and her neck bristling, as her emotions wrestled violently with one another.

She growled in frustration. Swiveled around and stormed off. But of course, there was nowhere to hide. She kicked at the sludge beneath her feet, swore fiercely, and fell to her knees.

She braced an elbow against a knee. Her forehead against a thumb and forefinger. She could smell the coppery stink on her skin, and feel the worms dissolving back into coagulated blood and seeping through her knitted leggings.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of her turtleneck sweater. In the distance, she heard another tree creak, and splinter, and fall.

The spirit was panicking inside. Her eyes darted about as she struggled to think, and she didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. They floundered aimlessly, seeking to grasp at something that simply wasn’t there. Eventually they stumbled upon her mouth, and her breath hissed between her quivering fingers.

Another tree began to creak. The spirit reached out toward it. As if her subconscious mind thought she might be able to tip it back upright, if only she could reach it.

It crashed into the lake.

As the approaching ripples lapped at her shins, the spirit began sobbing. Apologizing tearfully. Profusely. She was so sorry. She was trying, rabbit. She swore she was trying.

The girl buried her face in her knees. Pressed her wrists to her ears. Anything to muffle the spirit’s mournful cries. She was trying, rabbit. She was trying…

“I KNOW you’re trying! I’M SORRY!”

The spirit went quiet, her breath trembling. The girl swiveled to face her, tears streaming down her cheeks. She stared into the spirit’s clouded, sickly eyes.

“I’m sorry…”

The spirit’s jaw began to quiver. She wrapped her spindly fingers around her face, and began to cry.

The girl rose to her feet. She approached the spirit. Took a seat alongside her. And in an act that surprised even herself, she placed her head gently on the spirit’s shoulder.

In time, the coagulated blood began to thin, like oil paint in turpentine. Gradually settling back into a shimmering, mirror-like surface. In the distance, the trunk of an ancient cedar rose from the lake. Stood upright. Unsplintered. Uncreaked. And uncracked.

Chapter 11

The girl sat silently. She stared uneasily at the spirit, lying lifeless in a pool of blood. Her bones no longer luminesced with a diffuse teal light. Her lungs no longer drew breath. Her heart no longer beat.

The spirit was gone.

The girl couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in her gut. The spirit had done this for her. She didn’t like that thought. That the stinking carcass before her was an act of love. She still wasn’t entirely sure she was worth it.

But what was done was done. There was no turning back now. However, as the girl continued to stare, she began to doubt whether there was still a moving forward.

Surely, something was supposed to have happened by now?

The spirit’s mouth hung open like that of a spent salmon, washed up dead on the riverbank after a spawn. Her once ethereal flesh was now sickeningly tangible, and her matted hair clung to it like withered algae to a seaside stone.

The girl could barely bring herself to look the spirit in the eye, although there were no longer eyes to look into. The rot had long since taken them, and where once there had been shimmering teals and golds, there were simply empty pits lined with decaying silverskin.

The girl began to fear that the spirit had not completed the task she had set out to do. Was it possible that the spirit had fallen short of her goal? That her sacrifice had been wasted?

The girl was struggling to shake the awful notion that she might be stuck in this place forever. That at this very moment, her brain was being reclaimed by decay. Its circuitry undone, for a second and final time.

The girl continued to stare at the spirit’s body. Its empty eyes. Its slackened jaw. Her lip began to tremble. Despite her better judgment, the girl was mourning the spirit.

The spirit had truly loved the girl, in her own terrible, misguided way. The proof was lying right in front of her, in an endless pool of blood. And even if that love had remained forever unreciprocated, the girl would have preferred to spend an eternity with someone who loved her, than an eternity alone.

The girl reached out to touch the spirit, but hesitated, just for a moment. Despite her fascinations, she had never encountered death so directly before. At least, not that of a person. She worried that her instinct to touch might not be appropriate.

Yet she did it regardless, touching her fingertips to the crook of the spirit’s neck.

The spirit’s corpse convulsed, like the salted flank of a freshly butchered cod. She gasped for air, but drew no breath.

The girl drew back, startled. She gawked at the spirit, lying limp in blood. As if she were a fish in the bottom of an aluminum boat, trying in vain to flush its gills with water.

The girl watched the spirit struggle soundlessly. Too weary to move. Too ragged to breathe. This was a being teetering between life and death.

The girl approached the spirit cautiously. It was clear to her that the spirit was unaware of her drawing near. How could she have been, with her eyes claimed by decay? For all the spirit knew, she was alone in this place. And despite her vacuous, dead-eyed stare, the girl could tell the spirit was frightened.

“Can you hear me?”

She spoke softly, and calmly.

“Hey, hey. Listen to my voice.”

The spirit twitched in response.

“How are you feeling?”

The spirit flexed her jaw as if she were attempting to form words, but to no avail. Her larynx had long since been reduced to tatters.

The girl couldn’t bear to see the spirit lying in blood.

“I’m going to touch you. Is that okay?”

The spirit’s rib cage expanded breathlessly. The girl reached out and gingerly touched her shoulder. Her mandible chattered.

“You okay?”

The spirit acknowledged the girl’s question with a barely perceptible nod.

The girl took hold of the spirit by the shoulders, and hoisted her upright. The spirit’s entrails spilled from her abdomen, followed by kidneys, liver, heart, and lungs.

Somehow, this didn’t seem to faze the girl. She took a seat across from the spirit, knee to knee, and touched the spirit’s forehead to her own.

The spirit began to shiver.

“Hey, hey. Listen to me. I’m here.”

The girl spoke softly, as if to a frightened child.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

A fragile silence.

“Oh hey, I just realized. I don’t think we were ever properly introduced.”

The spirit’s face twitched erratically. She seemed confused.

“My name’s Wren. Wren Barrows.”

The spirit’s twitching ceased.

“What’s yours?”

The spirit yawned widely, her jaw distending as if she were a sculpin on a fishhook. The girl coaxed it shut with a gentle finger to the spirit’s chin.

“I’m guessing no one ever gave you one, am I right?”

The spirit’s head quivered back and forth, ever so slightly.

“Would you like me to give you one?”

The spirit’s rib cage expanded, despite there being no lungs with which to inhale. The girl closed her eyes, and took a thoughtful breath.

A moment passed before she opened them again.

“How about Adrienne?”

Something stirred within the spirit. The girl could feel it.

“Adrienne Thistle. How does that sound?”

The spirit smiled weakly. One half of her mandible sloughed off and fell to the ground with a wet clap.

“I think Thistle’s a good name. You want to know why?”

The spirit awaited the girl’s answer with bated breath.

“Because you’re a pain in the ass.”

The spirit’s rib cage began to spasm rhythmically. She was laughing. The girl couldn’t help but crack a cheeky smile.

It wasn’t long before the spirit’s laughter deteriorated into heartbroken sobbing. The girl was swift to comfort the spirit. She placed a hand atop the spirit’s head, softly stroking her tangled, withered hair. The spirit tightened her grip on the girl.

The girl quietly returned the gesture.

Eventually, the spirit loosened her grip, and her arms fell weakly to her sides.

The girl let go of the spirit, hesitantly. Poised to catch her should she happen to fall. But the spirit did not fall. She simply sat there, quietly breathing nothing.

The girl stared at the spirit, with an expression of genuine concern. She had a thought, and nearly spoke it aloud… but fell silent when the spirit rolled up a sleeve and plunged her open hand deep into the marshy substrate beneath the lake.

She began pulling. Struggling to uproot whatever it was she had wrapped her spindly fingers around. When her progress slowed, she began to tug, repeatedly. Again and again, until her tugging became yanking, and her yanking became wrenching, and the girl began to fear that the spirit might literally tear herself apart.

The girl reached out as if to stop the spirit. To plead with her to take it easy. But the moment she did, her sketchbook came unbuckled from the muck and the spirit collapsed to the ground.

The girl stared a moment at the sketchbook in the spirit’s hand. And then, at the spirit herself. She was breathing heavily, although at this point it was more out of instinct than function. The girl found herself at a loss. She didn’t know what to say, or how to proceed.

The spirit began to lift herself from the blood, her hair hanging like a starched curtain around her decaying face. The strain she was exerting upon her increasingly fragile body was, to the girl, distressingly clear.

Again, she found herself reaching out to help the spirit. To keep her tendons from snapping, and her joints from dislocating. But there was a hesitation in her movements, as if she feared her fingers might cleave the spirit’s flesh like wet clay.

By the time the girl had composed her thoughts, the spirit was already sitting upright. The girl retracted her arm sheepishly, and felt a twinge of guilt nip the nerves along her spine.

The spirit placed the sketchbook in the girl’s hands. Her struggle was so pronounced that, to the girl, the book appeared unthinkably heavy. But of course, once it was in her hands, it was revealed to be no heavier than one might expect.

The girl stared at the book. The binding was tattered and frayed, as if it had been exposed to the elements for years, and its blood-saturated pages had become so delicate that they would have torn each other apart had she opened it.

The girl held the book tight to her chest. There was a profound sadness in her eyes, as she watched the spirit’s tactile fingertips probe the lake’s surface, searching blindly for any sign of the girl’s presence.

The girl took the spirit by the hand. First her left hand, and then her right. She held them tight. The spirit chattered what little was left of her jaw.

The spirit traced her fingers along the girl’s arms, and placed a hand upon each of her shoulders. With a remarkable tenderness, the spirit leaned in close, and touched the girl’s forehead to her own.

The girl peered sadly into the spirit’s hollow, empty eyes. Her breath quivered softly. She touched her fingertips to her lips. She nearly touched them to the spirit’s as well… but she stopped short, and her fingers curled.

The spirit arched her back. Braced her shoulders. And without warning, plunged the girl deep beneath the blood.

Chapter 12

The girl awoke.

She tried to draw breath, but her ribs were locked. An attempt to flex her fingers revealed they were rigid, and unfeeling. When she went to open her eyes, they steadfastly refused. And where she expected to feel the anxious beating of her heart, she instead felt nothing.

Although the girl’s mind was beginning to stir, her body was still cold, stiff, and dead.

With each thought that passed through the girls head, a modicum of oxygen was burned, and her brain sunk deeper into a desperate suffocation. An unbearable hypoxia, accompanied by an intense and overwhelming urge to breathe.

Finally, the girl’s lungs began to expand, drawing a sickly, rattling breath. And with that breath came a thump, thump, thump in her chest, as thick and stagnant blood began to pulse through her veins.

The girl opened her eyes, but saw nothing. Either she was shrouded in a near complete darkness, or her retinas had yet to regain their function. Although the girl could not have known it, both of these conclusions were true.

Slowly, the feeling began to return to her fingertips. At first, all she could feel were pins and needles. Prickles and stings. To most, an unpleasant sensation, but to the girl, a welcome relief.

With a repeated and conscious effort, the girl began to flex her slumbering fingers. Through the numbness, she could feel the zipper of the sheepskin jacket that hung over her shoulders. It was a jacket she had forgotten was there. The moment of her death felt so distant now, it had slipped her mind.

The girl extended a stiff, waxen arm to the ground. She felt damp mulch. Rusty nails. And loose bones.

Finally, an unobstructed breath. A gasp, spurred by a sharp and sudden realization: These were the spirit’s bones. She attempted to retract her hand, but was met with a distressing resistance.

With time, the girl’s body began to warm. Warmth was an almost unfamiliar sensation, at this point. It massaged her stiffened muscles, loosening them gradually. Dissolving their tension, until they could no longer support the girl’s frame, and she collapsed to the ground.

And there she remained, for quite some time. Not because she was incapable of rising. She was, within minutes. But simply to rest. To recover.

With newfound warmth, came the sensation of cold. The girl slipped her arms through the sleeves of the spirit’s jacket, and bundled herself tightly within its old and yellowed fleece.

What felt like an hour passed.

The girl extended a hand, and began a cautious and tactile exploration of her surroundings. Immediately, she felt something familiar. Her sketchbook. She picked it up and held it close. It wasn’t weathered, or soaked with blood. As far as her fingertips could surmise, it was just as she remembered it.

The girl explored further. She felt waxen stumps, and burnt-out wicks. Fist-width tunnels dug from loamy soil. Thin, delicate roots that hung from the ceiling. And eventually, the burrow’s entrance.

She ran her hands along its perimeter, measuring it carefully. To her, it seemed frightfully narrow. A nervousness tickled the back of her neck. But of course, she had no choice in the matter.

The girl took one last look over her shoulder. It was not an act of logic, but of instinct. In the darkness of the burrow, there was nothing to see.

But the girl did see something. An atlas, glowing with a faint teal light. A glow so faint that in the light of day, it would have been imperceptible.

The girl paused, and stared silently at the bone. A dull, dusty little vertebra that had once cradled the spirit’s skull. Her eyes shifted subtly. To the floor. To the tunnel. Then back to the bone. A moment passed.

Quietly, the girl plucked the atlas from between axis and occipital, and slipped it into her pocket.

Chapter 13

The girl emerged from the hole on a bright autumn morning. The sky was a pale and delicate blue, and the breeze carried with it an invigorating chill. The cemetery was empty, as it nearly always was. She was thankful for that.

The girl took a moment to assess herself. She seemed healthy. Intact. Perhaps a little tired. She had a sketchbook in her hand. A jacket on her back. A bone in her pocket. She felt as if perhaps she were a different person than she had been before, but there’d be time to evaluate those feelings later.

She felt a little jolt upon hearing the sound of an SUV arriving in the parking lot over the hill, and of indistinct conversation as its doors slammed shut. After taking a moment to compose herself, she shuffled off toward the bike rack near the cemetery’s entrance.

The girl fiddled with the dials on her bike lock, and entered a four-digit code: The date she had buried a pet mouse she’d had as a child. She hopped atop her bike, and rode home.

The girl had been missing for nearly seventy-two hours. It wasn’t long enough for someone to have filed a missing person report. After all, the girl was an adult, though she rarely felt that way. But it was long enough for loved ones to worry, and despite the girl’s loneliness, she did have a handful of loved ones.

She made excuses. Told them that it was no big deal. That the jacket on her back had been found in a ditch, and justified its retrieval with a price check online. Indeed, the price of such a jacket was considerable.

In the days, and months, and years that followed, the girl often left peculiar happenings in her wake. By the time they were noticed, the girl always had an explanation at the ready. Never a truthful one, but always a plausible one. Either that, or she had already slipped away, unseen.

No one ever discovered the atlas the girl carried in her pocket, despite it being on her person at all times. Occasionally, she would wonder if she might be able to pass it off as the bone of an animal, should it come to that. But the girl was clever enough that it never did.

Whatever it was the girl was hiding, it remained a secret to anyone but herself. She had decided long ago that no one would ever know. That no one needed to know. And indeed, no one ever did. Not family. Not friends. Not you, or I.

And in the end, the girl was content with that. Her choices were her own. Perhaps she had made the right choice. Perhaps she should have known better. But one thing can be said for certain:

She was never lonely.

[seijorhi]

Undertow

A tokrev purge AU, as a treat :))

Kakucho x female reader, Kurokawa Izana x female reader

w.c 6.4k

tw: murder, blood & slight gore, implied non/dub-con, yandere themes

This is not a test, this is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of the annual Purge sanctioned by the Japanese Government. Weapons of class four and lower have been authorised for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking ten have been granted immunity and shall not be harmed. 

Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for twelve continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m, when the Purge concludes. 

Blessed be our new founding fathers and Japan; a nation reborn.

As the polite, female voice falls silent, klaxons ring out, blaring through the night. 

Seven years now. 

Five, since your brother decided to join the would be Purgers and never made it home. It never becomes normal, you never lose that fear. You do, however, learn the rules. 

Stay home. Lock yourself away behind the reinforced shutters and doors, pretend that everything’s fine, that you can’t hear the screaming and gunshots, the violent chaos being gleefully wreaked outside. You put on some movies, music maybe, sit on your couch, swaddled in blankets with the volume too loud and pray that tonight won’t be the night that someone decides to test just how impenetrable the defences around your home truly are.

Arms encircle your waist, pulling you back against a firm chest. A kiss is pressed against your hair. “Babe, don’t look so worried. We’ll be fine. We always are.” 

–Only this time, you’re not waiting out the Purge by yourself. 

You exhale, Natsuya’s hold easing to allow you to turn and face him. He smiles at the pinched expression on your face, “We’re gonna be fine,” he repeats. “Now will you please come have a drink with me? The others are starting to wonder why my beautiful,” his lips meet your forehead, “smart,” the tip of your nose, “incredible girlfriend’s hiding herself away.” 

He kisses your lips last of all, a sweet, gentle thing. Brushes your hair back from your face. 

“No one’s getting through the security system, and even if they did, no one’s gonna hurt you, I’ll make sure of it.”

Yes, you’d caught an eyeful of the shotgun he’d been cleaning when you’d arrived. His friends undoubtedly have their own weapons stashed away, too. After all – there’s no such thing as a pacifist on Purge night. 

It doesn’t ease your worry any, but you smile and nod for him, letting him tug you back to the lounge room where his friends and sister await. 

Because what else does Purge night call for, if not a party?

Miyano – charming and roguish, long dark hair swept up into a bun – the first to greet you, passing you a shot of amber liquor with an easy wink. “Purge classic,” he tells you, referring to the drink, “it’s tradition – and a secret.”

You knock the shot back, wincing at the burn in your throat as it goes down. “Why does it taste like toothpaste?!”

“Disgusting, isn’t it,” Tomori, Natsuya’s sister and the only other girl present, says with a grimace. 

Miyano looks mightily pleased with himself, Ayumu and Suwabe both snickering good naturedly. The two of them couldn’t be more different from each other. Suwabe’s short and stocky, Ayumu willowy-tall, blond and bespectacled, and yet one’s never far from the other. 

Your boyfriend sneaks an arm around your waist, dutifully accepting his own with a rueful sigh.

“So you guys do this every Purge?” 

Suwabe nods, “Yeah, for the past four or five years. It’s a shit night, we figured we might as well make the most of it together instead of stressing out about it alone.”

“And you’ve never been tempted to…?”

The three of them share a look, Suwabe shrugging, “What, to Purge? Ayumu and I went one year. Not to kill anyone or nothing,” he hastens to clarify at your wide eyed expression, “we wanted to rob his boss’s place.”

“The guy was an asshole. Rich as hell, too. We knew he wasn’t gonna be there, it seemed as good a time as any to try our luck,” the blond elaborates. 

“And how’d that go for you?” 

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yeah, we didn’t even make it onto the property. And it was fucked out there, not something I want a repeat of anytime soon.”

Your brother’s face flashes to mind, a pang striking deep in your chest. He’d made his choice, though, with intentions far less justifiable, and so you shove those feelings aside, tilting your face to meet Natsuya’s, “And no Purging for you?”

Intended as a joke, his fingers, resting comfortably above your hip, inexplicably twitch. “‘Course not.”

“The whole thing’s messed up. Who wants to go out and hunt people for fun?” Tomori snorts, passing you a glass of wine and pouring one for herself. 

“Kind of a necessary evil, though, right?” 

She meets her brother’s gaze with one raised, unimpressed eyebrow, “Oh c’mon, Nats, you can’t honestly tell me that you believe the Purge is in any way a good thing. Those who can afford it lock themselves away, and the poor pay the price. It’s chaos for the sake of chaos, the only difference between now and before is that alongside all the criminals who would’ve gone out looting and murdering anyway, the government’s convinced stupid, entitled dumbasses like those two,” she jerks her chin towards Ayumu and Suwabe, both suddenly fascinated with their drinks, “that killing and stealing and hurting other people is morally upstanding, and worse; fun.”

And so the conversation goes, as it always does. You nod and hum idly along with the others every now and then, nestled comfortably into Natsuya’s side while they argue back and forth, until– “Look, all I’m saying is that anyone who’s dumb enough to get themselves killed on Purge night probably isn’t a great loss to society anyway.”

The change in the air is palpable. Natsuya stiffens behind you, Tomori’s breath catching, her eyes immediately finding yours.

Figures that Natsuya told her. 

And to Miyano’s credit, he seems to realise he’s misstepped even before your boyfriend’s growled, “Dude, shut the hell up.” 

“Shit, that’s not what I– Fuck, I didn’t–” You raise a placating hand, and his mouth closes with an audible click. 

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, I’m not gonna bite your head off,” you chuckle awkwardly, pretending that you don’t see Suwabe’s wince.

Still, his expression looks almost stricken, eyes darting between you and a disapproving Nats, and you feel a slight twinge of… something.

Miyano hadn’t said it to be spiteful. 

What happened to your brother happens to hundreds every Purge – they leave the safety of their houses with the belief that because they’ve got a weapon and a free pass for twelve hours, they’re invincible. 

Usually, they’re wrong. 

“It’s fine,” you repeat with a tight smile, pointedly ignoring Natsuya’s scoff. 

“No, I shouldn’t’ve–”

Whatever he’s about to say falls by the wayside as a loud, pounding suddenly reverberates through the house. 

The front door. 

For a long beat, nobody moves. Nobody breathes. Six pairs of eyes shift to the entry-way, towards the unknown figure waiting on the other side of the door. 

Silence settles over the six of you, thick and uncomfortable, and undercurrent of tension pressing down on your body. Every door and window’s locked and reinforced behind steel shutters, they’re not impenetrable, though. Nothing is. 

Abruptly, the banging resumes, so sudden that you jerk, flinching back against Natsuya’s frame.

“Pull up the security feed,” Suwabe suggests.

There’s a panel with a keypad on the wall by the kitchen, a few clicks of the buttons and the screen comes to life. Split across six sections, the cameras show a near 360 degree view of the exterior of the house. Natsuya taps on the upper left, bringing the view from the front of the house – the man battering down the door – full screen, the audio filtering through. 

“–gonna kill me! You have to let me in! I promise I’m not armed, I swear it, just– help me, please!”

Your stomach flips. 

“I–” you swallow, drawing in an unsteady breath.

The shock of black hair, the jagged scar cut like a bolt of lightning across his forehead, his eyes, one red, the other a milky white, wide and frantic now as he risks another look behind him – they’re not features you’re likely to forget any time soon. “I know him.”

You feel more than see the way that Natsuya tenses, pulling back to study you, a note of questioning in his eyes.

“He catches the same train home, we talk sometimes.” There’s more to it than that; a creep that tried to feel you up and Kakucho’s intervention, but you don’t feel like getting into that now.

Not when he’s hoarse and begging on Nats’ doorstep. 

He hammers his fist against the shutters, strong enough that you swear you can feel the vibrations rattling in your chest. “He’s coming– fucking hell, please!”

Nobody says anything, uncomfortable glances shared between all six of you. 

It’s an exercise in futility begging anyone for help on Purge night. He has to know that – everyone knows that.

And yet your heart’s lodged firmly in your throat, because it’s not just anyone at the door. It’s not a stranger begging for mercy, for sanctuary, it’s Kakucho. 

Kakucho, who stood up for you.

Kakucho, who took the seat next to yours for weeks before he so much as said a word to you.

Kakucho, who looks half crazed – terrified – pleading for his life. 

You barely know him, a kind act and a few conversations on your nighttime commute doesn’t make him a saint, doesn’t mean you have any sort of deeper relationship or trust built between you, but…

“Nats,” you breathe, your hand seeking his. His palm’s warm, engulfing yours, and you squeeze it, “I know him.”

It isn’t a plea, not quite. 

“Dude, are you crazy? You can’t let him in!” Suwabe hisses, smacking his shoulder. “It sucks, but that’s what happens–”

Tomori‘s eyes flash. She folds her arms over her chest, shooting daggers his way, “So we throw him to the wolves? Just leave him to die?” 

“Yeah; that’s the fucking Purge, Mori! He’s banging on your door ‘cause no one else’s stupid enough to let him in!”

“And if it was your friend and not some random stranger, you’re telling me you‘d leave him to the wolves rather than risk opening your door?”

Miyano, up until now silent, exhales, “She’s kind of got a point.” 

“He’s not a friend though, she said it herself!” Suwabe snaps back, jabbing his finger in your direction. He turns to Ayumu, watching the argument unfold with a small frown. “Back me up here, dude, you know I’m right.”

The blond shifts on his feet, fingers tapping an uneasy rhythm against his drink as his gaze flickers between you and Natsuya. And all the while, the pounding outside continues, furious and desperate, layered beneath Kakucho’s shouts. You’re half convinced that any second now, that door’s gonna give way, and your stomach churns. You feel sick. 

He’s a mere step above a stranger; an acquaintance at best. Suwabe isn’t wrong, either. This is Purge, this is what happens. Those who don’t have the means to protect themselves either learn to fight back or pay the price. There’s no helping that and it’s naive to think otherwise.

Right now you’re safe. Barring an all out assault, you’ll remain that way for the rest of the night. 

The smart thing to do would be to hunker down and pretend the world outside the front door doesn’t exist for the next however many hours. That was the plan. That’s always the plan for the Purge. 

Even the harmless looking ones pose a threat tonight. Kakucho, with his stature and scowl, the scar and those frighteningly intense eyes, never struck you as all that harmless. 

So you don’t blame Suwabe for his reticence. You can’t. The smart, rational choice here is as cold and brutal as it is simple; you keep the door locked. 

Yet your hand tightens around Natsuya’s, anchoring yourself in the touch as Ayumu’s eyes flit across yours, considering. 

You won’t beg, you won’t, but–

“It’s your house,” he eventually says, more to Natusya than you. A shrugs then, sliding his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “There’s six of us, we’ve got guns if he tries anything.”

Something looses inside of you, a shuddering breath filling your lungs. 

Natsuya doesn’t look particularly thrilled judging from the clenched muscle in his jaw, the crease between his brows. One glance at Tomori, though, her lovely face set is a mask of determination and that resolve of his weakens.

And shatters entirely. 

“Fine. Fucking– fine. Let him in; 4869.” 

He snatches the shotgun off the table as he says it, drawing you back into his side whilst Miyano – the closest to the door – punches in the code. Suwabe, meanwhile, disappears from the room, reappearing a moment later with a gun in hand. 

Sliding himself into position between Tomori and the door, he cocks the slide with a grim expression. He locks eyes with you – only for a heartbeat – and you find yourself wanting to blurt out that the guns aren’t necessary, that Kakucho isn’t a threat. 

You don’t, though, tongue leaden in your mouth, and he nudges her back as his attention shifts to the door. 

In your ear, low enough that the others won’t hear, Natsuya murmurs, “You don’t leave my side, understand?”

You nod. 

With a heavy clank, the shutters begin to lift.

Your fingers dance by your side, your insides in knots. Inch by inch it goes until finally, Miyano unlocks the door, pulls it open and Kakucho barrels in. 

No one breathes. No one moves as he rights himself, bleeding, panting. 

“Shut the fucking door,” he rasps, and like that, whatever spell everyone’s under is broken and both Suwabe and Miyano snap into action to close off the house once more.

And all the while you simply stare, blinking, unsure of what you’re supposed to say or do right now. Kakucho’s eyes shift around the room, slowly considering each of your friends, tasking them in one after the other, Suwabe’s gun, Natsuya’s, until at last, his eyes fall on you.

Recognition glints. Surprise. His head tilts, almost puppy-ish, brows drawing together. He murmurs your name in that deep, gravelly rumble, and Natsuya goes rigid. 

It’s an instinctual response, you think, because a breath later his thumb rubs soothingly at your hip, slow and gentle, a quiet apology for brutish behaviour. Everyone’s on edge tonight. 

And once again, it falls to Tomori to break the tension.

“Are you hurt? You look like hell.”

Kakucho doesn’t answer her immediately, his attention lingering on you for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Long enough that you have to fight the urge to fidget. Eventually, though, he grunts and shakes his head, turning his head to face her. “It’s nothing. I‘m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” she presses, as gently as she can. 

Dazedly, he lifts his hand to his face, fingers finding the gash on his cheek. They come away wet and shining, glistening with his own blood – he stares at it, almost confused. “It’s… nothing,” he repeats, slower this time.

Tomori rolls her eyes, huffs in a way that’s so similar to Natsuya that under other circumstances you might have laughed. “What is it with men and their bullshit need to act tough all the time?”

None of them, not even Miyano has anything to say to that, and despite the heavy tension still hanging in the air, a wry grin pulls at your lips. 

It only lasts a moment. 

“You guys have a first aid kit, yeah?” Ayumu asks, to which both Tomori and your boyfriend nod.

“In the kitchen, the shelf above the fridge.”

And like that, the boys begin to disperse. Ayumu to fetch the kit, Miyano water and alcohol. Suwabe sticks by Tomori’s side, and when she mentions something about towels for the blood, he follows her out into the hallway. You suspect it’s more to give you a moment with Kakucho – or to escape the thick, awkward atmosphere – but you’re grateful all the same.

With the others gone, Kakucho’s attention turns back to you. Says nothing as you approach, Natsuya trailing right behind you, watching the two of you carefully.

Tomori hadn’t been wrong. Tough act or not, he has to be in pain. Split lip, knuckles grazed and reddened. The gash on his cheek, and blood seeping from a cut on his brow. Mottled bruises darkening his skin. Even his gait is off, his left leg supporting the majority of his weight. You’ve never seen the aftermath of a beating like this before. They hadn’t even let you see your own brother after they’d found him. 

It twists at something inside of you, sends a pang right through your heart. He has to be hurting, yet Kakucho wears the damage like it’s nothing.  

There’s a strange urge – one you steadfastly ignore – to reach out and take his ruined cheek in hand. To see someone in pain, hiding it… you might not be friends exactly, but a lump forms in your throat, your chest tightening. You’ve never felt so uselessly inadequate.

You sigh, eyes searching his, “What happened to you?”

“Let him sit down first, babe,” your boyfriend mutters. 

Kakucho regards him warily. He’s still holding the shotgun, admittedly by his side, his other hand moving to your shoulder. 

A clear message, and you don’t know how you feel about that.

In any case, your cheeks warm, a sheepish laugh – one without much humour – leaving your lips. You’re doing this all wrong. Stupid, stupid. “Of course, it’s probably better if we do this at the table, right?” you ask no one in particular. “Can you walk over or do you need somebody to lean on?”

A faint frown mars his face, “I said I’m fine.” Again, there’s no heat in the statement, the words are dull, robotic almost. 

The others are returning now, Ayumu blowing his blond locks away from his face as he sets the first aid kit down on the table and pops it open. Yet surprisingly it’s Suwabe who pipes up, “Stop being an asshole, she’s just trying to help.”

Well, maybe not that surprising. 

You repress another sigh, shaking off Natsuya’s grip to go and help him, Ayumu clearly having the same thought, when the doorbell rings.

You freeze.

No one dares to breathe, each of you slowly turning to face the door, still locked behind those steel shutters. 

The doorbell rings again, twice in quick succession. 

You hear someone quietly whisper, “Fuck.”

Cold dread sluices through your system, every pound of your heart echoing in your ear as Natsuya chokes on his spit, glances to Miyano. 

And all eyes shift to the security screen. Tomori’s closest this time, Suwabe’s quick to grab her, pull her back as he instead brings the feed to life. Another tap, and the exterior front door once again fills the screen.

Your heart, pounding so violently in your chest that it feels like you’re going to be sick, constricts.

A blond man with striking – deeply unsettling – violet eyes stands at the doorstep, smiling directly into the camera. He’s not much older than you, less than five or so years you’d guess, dressed in an elegant, brocaded red coat. 

“I’m assuming I have your attention,” he begins. His voice is pleasant and smooth, it sends shivers down your spine, the warmth leaching from your blood. 

He waits a beat, still smiling that chilling, awful smile. “Good. Excellent. As I have no intention of wasting my time on this precious Purge night, I’ll make this brief. Nice and simple for you; it’s come to my attention that you’re harbouring something that belongs to me.” You hear Tomori’s breath catch, and hers aren’t the only pair of eyes that shift to Kakucho. “The man – the dog – you’ve inexplicably given sanctuary to tonight is nothing but filth. A defiler. A killer. A menace to our just society, and like all dogs, he must be brought to heel.”

His teeth, straight and white, glint as his grin widens. You can’t breathe, Natsuya’s hand finding yours, tightening wordlessly. You can feel the tension shift in the room, the fear that descends like a blanket at his words. But you know Kakucho, he’s wouldn’t– he’s not–

“By offering him sanctuary, by standing between me and what is rightfully mine, you’ve aligned yourself with those to be Purged. So, again, I’ll make this clear. You may think that behind this security system of yours, you’re safe. That the locks on your doors and steel shutters will keep me out – that is a lie you’ve been sold. I am coming in, it might take five minutes, maybe twenty, but these defences will fall. And if the dog inside hasn’t ripped you all to pieces, rest assured that I will. I suggest you good folks run. Hide. You cannot keep me from what I want.”

Abruptly the screen goes black, and no less than a split second later, the power in the house cuts out, plunging you into an eerie green-lit dimness as the sole emergency light flickers on.  

The sound of your shaking breath feels too loud in the dead stillness. You swallow, and slowly turn to face Kakucho. 

A defiler and a killer, the smiling man had said.

Those things can’t be true, because the Kakucho you know…

He meets your stare. Cold and empty, and that racing, trembling heart of your sinks into the very pit of your stomach. “K-kakucho?”

Two guns lift, Natsuya yanking you back, and in the space of a breath, everything goes to hell. Ayumu’s closest, had gone over to help, and quicker than your eyes can follow, Kakucho lunges forward, a knife appearing in his hand.

One moment, your friend, with that quiet, dry humour and a heart of absolute gold, is standing, the next – Kakucho’s knife is at his throat, and he’s being yanked backwards. “Put the guns down,” he says.

Like his expression, his voice is cold and flat. 

Neither Natsuya nor Suwabe make a move to lower their weapons, Suwabe teeth bared in a silent snarl. 

“Just do what he says, for fuck’s sake!” Miyano hisses, and you’re not imagining the panic lacing his tone. 

The corner of Kakucho’s lips curl, “However fast you think you can shoot, I can guarantee you it won’t be quick enough. Put them down. On the floor.”

“Kakucho, please…”

He doesn’t so much as spare you a glance. Natsuya’s hand tightens, a silent plea for you to keep quiet, and not draw his attention. 

“Do what he says.” It’s Ayumu, his voice a hoarse whisper. Wide eyed, shaking, the knife at his throat pressed so tightly that the movement of his vocal chords causes skin to break, a thin line of blood beading across his neck. “Please.”

“I am not–”

“Do what he fucking says, Suwabe!”

A long silence settles, neither making a move, unwilling to give an inch despite their friend’s desperate plea. And perhaps the terror in the blond’s voice finally breaks through to them, or the cool, detached ruthlessness of Kakucho’s demeanour, but with a heavy reluctance, the two lower their weapons. 

“On the floor,” Kakucho repeats, pressing the blade tighter against Ayumu’s throat. “I’m not asking.”

Suwabe snarls, dropping the pistol. A moment later Natsuya follows suit, the both of them glaring at the larger man. 

Kakucho smirks. Glances at you.

A defiler, the smiling man had called him. A killer.

And too quickly for anyone to stop him, he yanks the knife across Ayumu’s throat and shoves him aside. There’s a ringing in your ears as Tomori screams, Suwabe falling to his knees, scrambling for his discarded gun. Too slow. Kakucho’s sprinting – unhindered by his supposed ‘injured’ foot – disappearing into the darkness of the house, and Ayumu’s bleeding out on the floor.

Gaping and gasping, twitching like a fish out of water. 

You can’t move, can’t hear a thing but the pounding of your pulse in your ears as you stare into his eyes. There’s so much blood, more and more spraying with every dying beat of his heart, pooling beneath his body, splattering the walls, the furniture, everything. And you can’t move.

Ayumu, glasses knocked askew, pretty blond locks falling into his eyes, chokes and gurgles, a trembling, bloody hand stretching out for help – and you can’t do a thing.

No one can.

And just as Miyano jolts out of his stupor and lunges for him, Ayumu’s body falls slack.

The light in his eyes fading away into nothingness. 

Dead.

Suwabe screams, fires two shots blindly down the hallway, howling in rage and agony. Natsuya grips you so tight that it cuts off your circulation, his own eyes wide and horrified, taking in the carnage before him. Tomori lets out a keening sob, and the shutters on the front door screech ominously, as if to remind you all that there are bigger problems at hand. 

There’s no time for grief. There’s a killer in the house, another forcing his way inside. Five of you left, two guns, and another ten or so hours until all of this can be over. 

And suddenly Natsuya’s in front of you, grabbing your face in both hands and forcing you to look at him. You blink dazedly, trying in vain to focus as he speaks to you. 

“–bathroom, lock the fucking door and do not open it until I come back, you understand?”

You blink again, eyes sliding back at Ayumu. His eyes are open, gazing at nothing, empty, empty, empty–

Your fault.

He’d told them it was okay. They had guns so it’d be okay, but you were the one–

“Listen to me!” Natsuya hisses, yanking your attention back to him. “I need you safe, so take Tomori and lock yourself in the bathroom right now. You don’t open that door no matter what, not ‘til I come back and tell you it’s safe, do you understand me?”

You find yourself nodding, a short jerking movement. 

It’s enough for Natsuya, who presses a quick, desperate kiss to the crown of your head and takes you to Tomori. She grips your hand tight and the two of you disappear into the bathroom, one last glance at the three of them, grim faced and vengeful, gathering their weapons under the green glow before the doors shut, and you click the lock into place. 

The two of you sit in the darkness, Tomori’s arm around your shoulders, sniffling into your shoulder as you wait. 

You hold her, a hand running up and down her spine, tears of your own spilling down your cheeks.

Your fault, your fault, your fault. All of this is your fault. 

Tomori flinches with every noise, every muffled thump. There’s a deafening bang somewhere on the floor above you – a gunshot maybe, or something falling, it’s hard to tell. 

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, clutching her closer as she whimpers – the only reassurance you can bring yourself to give her. “It’s okay.”

How could this happen, you think numbly. For months now, you’ve sat next to a murderer, talked with him. Laughed with him.

You thought him a protector. A friend, even.

And you all but begged them to let him inside. 

Ayumu’s blood’s on your hands. You might all die here tonight and it’s entirely your fault.

‘I know him,’ you’d told them. ‘I know him, and it’s okay.’

The look he’d given you, that smirk. Like he knew every thought that was running through your head. Like none of this was accidental, but the pieces of a puzzle falling slowly into place. 

A defiler.

Bile creeps up your throat, and it occurs to you that death might not be the only thing waiting for you and Tomori if Kakucho finds you. 

The tears fall quicker, and you close your eyes and bite down on your quivering bottom lip. 

Locked away in the darkness, time crawls by. Minutes, maybe, or hours – there’s no way of knowing how much time has passed when you hear the tell tale sound of metal groaning, the splintering of wood. Tomori moans in despair, sobbing uncontrollably now as the front door gives way.

“It’s fine,” you soothe, “It’s okay.”

It’s a lie, because while the others – if they’re still alive (they have to be alive, they have to be) – are distracted with Kakucho, all that’s between you and the smiling intruder is a locked door.

Far less indestructible than the one he just broke through. 

And soft as they may be, you hear the footsteps echoing off the wooden floorboards as the intruder leisurely makes his way down the hall. Closer and closer. Desperately, you try to quiet Tomori, but it makes no difference. He comes to a stop on the other side of the door.

Bringing a hand to your mouth, you bite down on the back of your palm in an effort to stifle your breathing. Tomori cringes. 

When the door opens, you’ll attack, you decide. Go for the eyes, or knee him in the crotch – anything to give Mori a chance to run. 

A heavy, pregnant pause, and then–

“I know you’re in there. Hiding away while your friends are getting hacked to pieces.” You can’t see it, but you know he’s smiling, grinning on the other side of the door. You can hear it in his voice. And you hate him, hate him even as paralysing fear claws its way through you, keeping you rooted in place. “That’s fine, I don’t mind. You can stay there for a little while longer, I still have one last thing to take care of, and then we can have some fun, no?”

He laughs then, light and boyish, as if this is nothing more than a game. To him, perhaps it isn’t. 

“I’ll see you soon.”

In any case, his footsteps recede, and you’re left sitting in the darkness alone with your fear once more. 

The thumping upstairs grows louder. There’s a crash and more yelling, a series of gunshots. 

And then the screaming starts. Awful, bloodcurdling howls that have every hair on your body standing on end. Your stomach roils, what little you’d eaten earlier forcing its way back up your throat as you retch into the toilet, shaking and pale. 

“We’re gonna die here, aren’t we?” Tomori whispers, and you can’t find the strength within yourself to try and convince her otherwise. If you survive this, those screams won’t ever leave you. You’ll wake in the middle of the night, gasping for air, unable to shake them. 

“I don’t know.”

Silence, when it falls, feels like a death knell. 

And then come the footsteps. You wait with bated breath, praying that it’s Natsuya. Miyano. Even Suwabe. Any of your friends. 

A knock; the sound ricocheting through you. “Love, are you gonna open the door for me?”

Tomori wails like a banshee, broken and agonised, and you feel that little, tiny spark of hope you’d kept deep within your chest wink out.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her, kissing her hair as you hold her close. “I’m so sorry, Mori.”

And as the door shudders under the force of a kick, you hold her close and pray for a quick end. Another kick, and the wood splinters.

A third, and it breaks open entirely.

That eerie, green light floods the bathroom, the blond man stepping inside. He smiles at you, blood flecked across his face. The blood of your friends. Natsuya’s maybe.

“Ah, I thought there was one missing. She’s in here,” he calls out, glancing over his shoulder.

For a heartbeat, confusion flickers beneath the terror. Did he bring others with him? Maybe that’s how he broke in so quickly, maybe there’s a whole gang of them. 

Your unspoken question, however, is answered when another figure steps into the bathroom behind him.

“She won’t be a problem.”

Your blood turns to ice. 

Kakucho. Tall, broad and looming, he surveys the two of you with interest, his gaze lingering on you. “Are you gonna come quietly or am I gonna have to drag you out?” he asks, a single eyebrow raised.

To your credit, you try to stand. You might not be brave, but you’re not suicidal either. If there’s any chance that compliance gets you or Tomori out of here, even if these monsters killed Natsuya and the others, you’ll do what they ask.

Yet your legs are shaking so bad that you barely make it to your feet before they give out beneath you. Kakucho tuts, sighing heavily – and sweeps in to lift you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing at all, paying no mind to the way that you flinch and shudder.

The blond pads out behind you as Kakucho carries you back into the living room. 

You’re half expecting to be shoved to your knees, the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of your head, but Kakucho sets you down gently on the couch, pats the top of your head twice before retreating back to the bathroom.

The blond stays behind, those violet eyes a sickly colour under the green glow fixated curiously on you. Your hands are shaking in your lap as he draws closer.

“I bought you something,” he says.

You frown, tongue darting out to wet your lips as you mumble, “W-what?”

From the pocket he pulls out a velvet box, pressing into your hands as he settles down beside you. “Open it.”

Swallowing tightly, you fumble with the lid for a moment – until he sighs and takes it back from you, popping it open and handing it right back to you.

And you don’t understand when you take it back, because nestled into the white pillow is a necklace with a pendant, a hanafuda design, matching the earrings dangling from his lobes. 

“Well? Are you going to put it on?” he asks, just as Kakucho returns with a squirming Tomori. Yet rather than setting her down the couch as he had with you, he drops her carelessly onto the floor in a tangle of limbs and retreats again – this time back towards the stairs.

You start to rise with the intention of helping her, only to be stopped by an iron grip around your wrist. “If you get up from this couch, I’ll put a bullet through her brain right here and now, do you understand?”

He says it so mildly, the threat takes a second to register.

When it does, though, you nod shakily and fall back to your seat. He smiles again, a mirthful twinkle in his eyes. “Good girl.” He pats your knee, “Now, put it on for me.”

Casting a quick glance to Tomori, prone and near catatonic on the floor, you do as he bids, lifting the thing chain from the box. It’s long enough for you to slip it over your head without having to fiddle with the clasp – a good thing, seeing as your fine motor skills seem to have abandoned you in your terror. The pendant falls between your breasts, which the blond man takes a good, long moment to admire.

“Suits you,” is all he says as Kakucho returns once more.

And drops another body on the floor.

Your heart seizes in your chest as it moves. Groans and lifts his head, blinking to adjust to the dim light. 

“Nats–” you cry, and forgetting the blond at your side you go to rise once more. This time he snarls, quiet and vicious, seizing your shoulder and forcing you back down.

“Don’t. Be. Rude.”

You draw in a shallow breath, hope and despair warring inside of you as you glance from Natsuya to Kakucho, who manhandles him onto his knees. His face is bruised and bloody, a dark, wet-looking patch you can only assume to be blood seeping from one of his thighs.

He’s alive, though. Put through the wringer but alive.

You almost sob.

Beside him, Tomori’s also being raised to her knees, the dead look in her eyes fading somewhat as she takes in the sight of her brother. 

Your gut clenches. 

Both of them are facing you, Kakucho looming threateningly behind them. Despite the momentary joy, this isn’t a happy reunion. 

The blond at your side hums, leaning in close. With a delicate touch, he sweeps back a lock of hair, tucking it behind your ear. The hand on your knee drifts higher, grazing along the inside of your thigh. 

“You get a choice, think of it as… a going away present,” he says. The warmth of his breath fans across your skin, his hand now slipping beneath your skirt. You shudder, trying to blink back the hot tears that well up in your eyes. You refuse to cry in front of him, you refuse to give him the satisfaction. Amusement and something like glee dances across his face, “One of them dies now; quick and relatively painless. The other…” his fingers brush the seat of your underwear, his tongue darting out to lick at the stray tear that slips from your lashes. His voice dips, “The other gets to watch while the three of us have our fun tonight.”

Natsuya snarls, only for Kakucho to kick him back to the ground and keep him there with a foot on his back. 

“And a-afterwards?” you force the words out.

“Afterwards, Kakucho’s going to beat the other one to death with his bare fucking fists. I wasn’t lying when I told you he was violent,” his lips brush your cheek, featherlight and gentle, “I wasn’t lying about any of it.”

You look to Kakucho then, his eyes bearing down on you with a hunger he doesn’t bother to hide. An obsession.

All those nights, sitting on the train next to him. All the stupid, meaningless conversations you’d had, the night he’d damn near knocked the lights out of that creep. The way he’d begged on the doorstep, and the smirk when his ruse was discovered.

Lies, all of it lies.

You draw in a shaky breath and close your eyes, hands tightening into fists by your lap. 

“So tell me, love,” he continues, fingers once again teasing at your panties. “Which one goes first?”

[arialerendeair]

Happy birthday once again!!!

For lil' drabble ideas, consider this: Hob works at one of those topless/bikini kind of coffee shops (maybe a guy version, so the outfits are scantily short shorts and leather harnesses or maybe he's the token guy at a bikini one so he goes and takes orders from guys that make his coworkers feel unsafe or something)

Dream, who just got a new job and needs a new coffee shop that's on his commute, tries this one out on Desire's recommendation (he should have known, in hindsight.) He goes once (doesn't get Hob this time around) but the coffee is genuinely delicious. And cheaper than others around. So Dream comes back. And then he finally gets Hob and he knows, after seeing how the (bikini top/harness/nothing?) looks on his glorious pelt of chest hair and how warm and inviting his smile is, Dream knows he can't ever go elsewhere.

And if the other baristas notice the largest tips from the hot goth twink always go to Hob, they'll never tell. But they do always make sure Hob's there to take his order instead.

I think my favorite thing about this is that Dream is initially like, "Meh whatever, they have good coffee" and then Hob shows up and BAM.

And Hob is that guy who started doing this to make a couple of extra bucks at school, nothing meant to be long term, and certainly nothing meant to be serious. He doesn't mind the lycra shorts that almost have his asscheeks hanging out, nor the fact that he's got a little bit of love handles hanging over the waistband. Nor does he mind the top/harness thing they're supposed to wear It's kinky, of course, but it doesn't phase him in the slightest.

He spent his entire sophomore college year sleeping with anyone (guy, girl, or otherwise) who looked at him sideways so he knows that despite not being conventionally attractive to some he's wanted by his fair share of people Hob's the type who loves people, so fucking much, and having a job where he gets to cater to that love, and to give people a bit of a show in turn? Well, that's heaven if he ever saw it.

So he keeps the harness as his shoulders broaden and the shorts get a little bit tighter as he goes from scrawny college student to someone closer to their thirties than their twenties, and then someone in his thirties. Hob is well-aware that he has a specific clientele that comes in for him (determined to sit in his section, at least, when he's not working the register) - a handful of middle aged ladies who sport a permanent blush in the shop, a few younger boys who want something that he won't give them, and others who don't give a damn about the overall experience of the shop, they just want coffee.

(The people desperate for their coffee fix are Hob's favorites.)

Which is precisely how Hob meets the wraith of a man he starts calling his Stranger. The man, prior to his coffee, seems to have a permanent scowl etched on his face, but there's this LOOK he gets, after he takes his sip and tips his head back just a fraction that Hob... well. He's certainly not immune to it, and sometimes he's damn glad for the counter between them. It takes more than a dozen meetings where his Stranger just stares blearily at him as he dutifully recites his order, but then It happened.

It was June 7th. It was a Wednesday. It was moderately cloudy outside. Hob was tired. The waistband on his shorts was going, and the harness today was not sitting right no matter what he did. He tugged at it impatiently as he typed in his Stranger's order and heard a sharp, pointed intake of breath. When he looks up, his Stranger is staring at him, and the clear lust in his eyes is enough to have Hob ready to vault over the counter.

There's one beat, two, before his Stranger clears his throat and offers his credit card. Hob takes it and nearly drops it when his Stranger licks his bloody lips and then bites one, all without looking away from where the harness is digging into his skin more than it should be. Hob swipes the card, not wanting the moment to end, but he is at work, and well. The people who looked at him like this weren't ones he usually wanted to devour alive.

He hands the card back and their fingertips brush, and Hob prays he isn't imagining both of them shivering. There's a moment, both of them still staring, and fuck he's going to have to duck into the back room because these shorts really are TIGHT and don't leave anything to the imagination...

"Will..." His Stranger's voice is insanely deep on a good day, but now it sounds half strangled and Hob wants nothing more than to hear it when it's because the man has had his cock down his throat and... he really needed to not think that at work.

"Will you be here, later? I'd like..." His Stranger paused, considering. "To sit at a table in your section."

How the hell a relatively innocent question sounded precisely like a proposition, he had no idea, but his Stranger had managed it. Well-aware that his face was bright red, Hob manages to stammer out that yes, he will be working later, and his Stranger is welcome to one of the tables. He gets one more nod from his Stranger before the man is walking away and Hob knows he is staring at the not particularly substantial ass hungrily, because two of his coworkers make it a point to wolf whistle. Loudly.

Later, when his Stranger sits down with his computer and demands a bottomless cup of coffee, Hob wonders precisely what he is up to. It's only when he brings the check at the end of the night and his skin prickles over with the weight of the stare levelled at him, and his Stranger's hand settles over his as he puts the check down. Hob's heart is pounding as he watches his Stranger struggle for the words, starting and stopping several times over. Eventually, Hob has to save the man from himself, because he wants to climb him like a tree.

"If you're attempting to figure out how to proposition me, I get off work in thirty, I will keep my work uniform on under my clothes and we can go back to your place because I have a roommate and figure things out from there," Hob offered, cocking his hip as he leaned against the table. His forwardness pays off, because his Stranger's mouth drops open and his expression is RAVENOUS. Hob has never wanted to be devoured more.

A single nod is enough to have him grinning, bright and wide. He gives his Stranger a wink and runs his card, before going to clock out. If he made sure that his Stranger saw just how excited HE was as he walked away from the table, well.

No harm in making sure they were on the same page, after all!

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Hi! So, I have an idea for PlusSize/F/She/Her reader being sick, like throwing up like crazy sick & Daryl comes to take care of her because he’s been crushing on her from day 1 & he can’t stand hearing her being so ill all alone. He starts to clean her up, but she’s shy & insecure about her size (of course, she’s crushing on him because COME ON 🥵.) Anywho, he’s super sweet & makes her feel better about herself than she ever has & even though there’s no medicine for her symptoms, he makes her feel better. Basically, lots of comfort & fluff 💗

༉‧₊˚. 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 || 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧

― pairings: daryl dixon x plus size!reader

― era: early season 9

― summary: waking up sick really wasn't on the agenda, but you don't have to worry, daryl will always be there to take care of you.

― warnings: vomiting (so if you're squeemish look away!), that's it!

― wc: 1334

⋆ a/n: thank you so much for your request! i just want to start off by saying that i apologize that this took so long for me to make, but here it is! i did enjoy writing this because you can never go wrong with a sick fic! i feel like i'm slowly getting better at writing his accent.

masterlist | AO3

You knew it would happen eventually, that you'd catch some sort of sickness. It had been the inevitable flu season, even though many of your friends had a strong immune system, you did not. Waking up with the intense need to vomit, you found yourself hunched over the miniature trash can in your room, back against the wall of your room. Your chest heaved, your throat burned, and your eyes bleary. You were sweaty and nauseous, rotating between dry heaving and actually throwing up.

You were supposed to go out on a run with Daryl and a few others, but when you hadn't shown up, Daryl began to grow nervous. You were never late, nor were you someone that overslept, so where were you? His brain was running a mile a minute as he rushed toward your respective home, trying not to break his casual facade despite the speed in his steps. He knocked, silence being the only thing to answer him. He searched around your porch, eyes falling on a potted plant that when he lifted it up, a pretty silver key greeted him. He hastily put in the lock, letting the door creak open. Your house was untouched, there were no signs that you had even braced the threshold of going downstairs.

"_______? 's me Daryl. You alrigh'?" He announced. You answered him with a pained groan, head leaning against the wall. Your heart felt into your stomach, causing your throat to burn with the need to regurgitate once more. Daryl shouldn't see you— no he couldn't see you like this; your hair was a mess, along with the fact that you smelt of sweat and throw up, your shirt drenched in your perspiration, sticking to your chest uncomfortably, your shorts feeling a little too tight around your thighs in that moment. "Yeah, 'm fine." You tried to answer, but your voice was nothing but a pathetic rasp, the extra usage of force sending you over the trash can once more.

Daryl didn't hesitate to continue upstairs, where he stopped in front of your bedroom door.

"Is it alrigh' if I come in?" Truthfully, no, but you knew you needed the help. Ignoring your brain and your heart screaming at you to say no, you let out a whimper that was supposed to sound like an 'okay.' He opened the door, concern written all over his face as his eyes landed on your cowering body.

"What happened?" He crouched down in front of you. "I think," You let out a cough, "I think I got the flu." As you mentioned that, you leaned away from him. "I can't get you sick, they need you." His heart broke at the sight— at the look of helplessness in your eyes. "Hell no, I ain' goin' no where, girl." He pushed some of your sweaty hair off of your forehead. You looked like you had been through hell and back, eyes puffy, lips cracked and dry, body sweltering to the touch.

"Let me help you, please." Your resolve softened. Daryl never begged nor pleaded, but his walls were almost non-existent when it came to you. "Okay, you can help me, D." He gently moved the bin from your clammy hands, placing it aside as his hands cupped your armpits. Your gut twisted in embarrassment, knowing for a fact that he was getting your bo on his hands. "Are you sure you can lift me up?" You whispered, hanging your head in shame. "Ya don't think I can?" He sounded almost a bit offended, looking at you through the hair in his eyes. "No, no, it's not that, I just — I just don't wanna be too heavy, and I'm not strong enough to hold some of it on my own." He scoffed, snatching you up with ease as he allowed you to lean against him.

Your legs felt like jelly, your body aching as he manuvered you to sit on your bed.

"Do ya... Do ya maybe think ya wanna dress down to your underpants? Ya might be a bit cooler. Or do ya got a night gown somewhere or somethin'?" Pink painted his sun kissed skin, the tips of his ears turning an adorable shade of red. You shook, gulping harshly before nooding. "I have a uh— a dress that's in my closet. It's real thin, you'll know it when you see it." You tried your best to keep yourself up, Daryl finding the garment and setting it down.

"Do ya think you should wipe yourself down first? Get all that sweat off ya?" You nodded, attempting to get up, but soon collapsing back as your legs felt as though the weighed you down. There was a beat of silence before Daryl asked, "Do ya want me to help?"

"Yeah." Your voice broke. He kneeled down in front of you, taking your hands in his as he forced you to look at him. "I ain' gunna force you to do anythin' you don' wanna do." His voice was soft, his gut wrenching at the sight of your insecurity. It was obvious, written all over your face. "Ya don' gotta be insecure around me," He took in a deep breath, gathering his courage as he maintained eye contact, "'Cause I think ya're beautiful, inside and out. I still think ya look gorgeous righ' now." You eyes grew wide, disbelief, your trembling slightly ceasing as you desperately searched for a lie in his words, but you came up empty handed.

"I think you're beautiful too." Was the only thing you could squeak out. He let out a deep chuckle, an adorable grin adorning on his face as he looked down bashfully. You grew comfortable and less tense as he got up, placing a quick kiss to your hairline before going to retrieve a rag and wet it with cold water. Once he came back he looked at you for permission to remove your clothes, you smiled at him reassuringly.

As he pulled down your shorts, he kept his eyes trained on the article of clothing, not daring to look at your now panty clad lower body. When he was forced to stand up to remove your shirt, his eyes stayed trained on the ceiling as his hands found the hem of it, lifting up and off of your body. He finally met your eyes, searching for permission once more before laying you down. He gently wiped you down with the cool rag, you releasing a sigh at the relieving feeling. You hadn't realized how sticky you actually were until another liquid had touched your body, it feeling like it was letting off steam as he traveled down. He was careful around your stomach, bravely placing a kiss just below your jawline that caused you to jump at the ticklish feeling of his scruff.

"Dar!" You huffed with a smile, letting out a weak giggle. Daryl's entire mood lightened, continuing to your thighs. As he reached your feet, he made sure to add a little bit more pressure, just in case there were any knots there. Your body was lax by the time he was done, the man pulling you back into a sit up position so he could pull the dress over your head, only pulling you up for a second so the dress would fall down your legs fully.

Helping you rest on your pillows, he pulled the blankets basically up to your chin, practically tucking you in. "'M gonna go make ya some food, 'nd get ya some water." As he went to go leave, you grabbed his wrist. "Stay with me." He gently pried your hand off of him. "'M comin' back. I want ya to get some sleep." You begrudgingly got comfortable, staring at him with suspicion. "Promise?" He leaned over to kiss your head. "Mhm." He grumbled in confirmation. As you watched him disappear, your eyes fell shut, a feeling that you hadn't felt all day settling over your body.

Contentment.

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