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absurdthirst · 2 months ago

Text

Fucking Fungus {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: SEX POLLEN, dub con, post apocalyptic world, scavenging, guilt, shame, desire, Joel having a bad attitude, mentions of periods, rough sex, neediness, unprotected sex, cream pie

Comments: Coming across Wymore, NE, you hoped to find some much needed supplies for the coming winter but you find that the fungus has mutated in dangerous and frightening ways. Needing to insure that there are more hosts to infect in a very basic kind of way.

🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉Happy Birthday @storiesofthefandomlovers!!!! I love you and hope you have the best damn day! In thotty tradition, here is a sex pollen to celebrate another year around the sun!🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉

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|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The world has changed in the past twenty years. None of it for the betterment of humanity. The crunch of the dried leaves grinds under your boots and your head rotates left and then right as you watch, listen. Waiting for any sign of life or more importantly, danger. The weight of your rifle is heavy in your hands, although you hold it down, unassuming but ready to be lifted at a second’s notice.

“I don’t know why you don’t just hook it over your shoulder.” Ellie snorts, her backpack bouncing slightly on her back from the steps that seem so unencumbered by worry. Why should she worry when there are two fully armed adults on either side of her. Her own personal guard in a manner of speaking. “There hasn’t been anything out here for daaaaaays.” She drags the word out like it's the most horrible thing in the world that it’s been peaceful.

Joel snorts, rolling his eyes as you glance over at him and then look back out at the surrounding terrain. “Yeah, that’s why we are on guard.” He grunts, even though his own rifle is on his shoulder. His hand gripped the shoulder sling loosely but he had only just put it up there half an hour ago after you had taken your turn relaxing as much as you can. “it’s too fucking quiet.”

He’s right. After the disasters that had been Kansas City, you had tried to avoid major cities, but even in the small towns, you had come across plenty of cordyceps and clickers. You hate the clickers with a passion.

The isolation can account for a lot of the silence. Miles stretching between remnants of civilization. The crumbling buildings and overgrown roads give the entire midwest a sense of peace. It’s unnerving.

Your grip adjusts, head rolling around your shoulders slightly to try to loosen the knot that builds up in your shoulders after so long. The weight of your pack isn’t as heavy as it should be, the rations not exactly filling since you had to escape that one clicker in Du Bois, Nebraska. Your pack had been ripped and most of the food you had been carrying was lost.

You glance over at Joel, noticing the way his shoulders seem to hang, almost a reflection of the way you feel. “We need to risk a larger town.” You murmur quietly, knowing that his first instinct will be to argue with you. You stumble slightly over a rock and hiss when you feel the hole in the sole of your boots.

“Too dangerous.” Joel snorts, shaking his head even as he watches you regain your footing. “I’ve got some duct tape in my bag.” He reminds you, knowing that you should probably reinforce that shoe before you lose the sole all together.

“It’s not just shoes.” You protest, trying to ignore the way that Ellie groans obnoxiously loud and stomps her foot.

“Come on, man!” She throws her own arguments into the ring. “I need tampons! We could find them if there was jack shit out here, but there’s not. Do you want me to attract wild animals?” She presses, glaring at Joel who looks equal parts horrified and unconvinced. She cracks an evil grin. “Circling us in the wild as I just leave behind a trail of blood? Aaaaand tears.” She adds, lifting her brows. “Periods are really emotional things.”

Biting your lip to keep from snorting, you watch as Joel; normally stoic, no bullshit Joel, can’t seem to string together the words to respond. His eyes slide over to you, almost pleading with you to say something.

Your brows lift in question and he twitches slightly, his dark eyes unhappy with you not immediately jumping in to save him. “We could use the food if we can find any.” You rationalize, smirking when his brows pinch together and he looks like he had just been betrayed.

“Clean underwear!” Ellie adds. “Or….cleaner. And a heavier fucking coat.” She shivers slightly and you can see that is the moment when Joel caves. He acts like a prick most of the time, but he’s got a soft spot for the kid. He won’t admit, maybe not even to himself, but he looks over at the faded and nearly rusted out sign.

You continue walking, not pressing any more and you can hear the grumbling thoughts that are rolling through Joel’s mind. The now half hearted protests about why this is such a bad idea but you wait for the sigh.

Almost even with the sign is when it comes, heavy and it sounds almost pained. Like he is going against everything he believes in. “Stop.” He huffs, shuffling to pull his bag off his back and kneeling down with a groan and the small pops of fifty plus year old knees. Unzipping the pocket where he keeps the Atlas and flips the worn pages to Nebraska. Glancing back at the road behind you and then at the sign before looking at the map. Tracing the route that you had already traveled before looking ahead at the towns that were on highway 77.

Ellie doesn’t say a word but she practically bounces on her toes as she waits for his decision. You know that he’s going to agree, it’s just a matter of which town he chooses. He knows the truth of the situation. Winter is going to come quicker than any of you want, your food supply is low, you could probably all use a new set of boots, and all of you would kill for a halfway decent musty mattress to sleep on. Four walls and a hopefully non-leaking roof over your heads would be the icing on the cake.

“Wymore is coming up in fifty-eight miles.” He taps the map and looks up at you to see what you think.

Ellie shuffles slightly and instead of grinning, you crane your neck to look at the map yourself. “It looks like it’s bigger than the last few towns, but at least it’s not like we are running into Lincoln.” You hum before you nod. “I say we try.”

“Yessssss!” The teenager pumps her fist in excitement and she grins when Joel rolls his eyes. You’ve noticed that like any normal teenager, her favorite activity is annoying any kind of parental unit and pushing boundaries. This applies to Joel whether or not he likes it. “I want to find another joke book too.”

Joel groans but you just turn around, grinning yourself as Joel mumbles under his breath, stuffing the map back in his pack and zipping it up. Joel and Ellie are alike in a lot of ways, especially their penchant for mumbling.

You resist the urge to offer him a hand up, knowing he will be even more pissy if you do. For someone who complains about being older, he gets downright grouchy when he’s reminded of that same fact. “Well then, the quicker we get there, the quicker we don’t have to hear ‘are we there yet?’.” You snort, making Ellie grin shamelessly as she shrugs, knowing she will do exactly that.

“So let’s get going.” She doesn’t wait for anyone, just setting off down the road and leaving the two of you to catch up with her.

****

It takes you nearly three days to get to Wymore. All of you are tired, but Joel is the one who barely sleeps, even when you force him to lay down. It’s as if he cannot stop trying to protect Ellie, and also you, long enough for him to rest. He gets upset when he has to sleep, staying up until he is nodding off. The coffee supply has been exhausted and it’s probably a good thing. He would drink it all day to the point where his hands would shake from too much caffeine. Still he just wouldn’t trust you to make sure that no one snuck up on you for a few hours until he was past the point of being useless.

The first signs of the town are a welcomed relief but it’s also an added source of tension. Each mile that you had traveled had added to the fear that this might be the time that you fail. That something goes wrong and someone else dies. The road here has not been easy and the losses have weighed heavily on all of you. Joel still won’t even mention Tess and you hate it when you wake up in the early morning hours to find him staring down at the broken face of his watch with a look that breaks your heart.

Every approach into a new area can mean danger, either from the clickers or from humans and honestly you don’t know which one you fear more. Your gun is back in your hand, the weight of it familiar and comforting as you pass the first gas station, the windows busted out and dried fungus clinging to the building.

“Fuck.” You hiss, uneasy at the presence of the fungal vines, even if they look like they aren’t active.

“I wonder why it looks pink.” Ellie frowns as she squints at the building. “It’s usually an ugly brown color, right?” She looks towards Joel for confirmation, but he’s busy frowning at the building himself.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” If the cordyceps have spread this far out of town then there’s a possibility there are still active branches closer to the supplies that you are looking for.

“Come on man.” Ellie groans, kicking a dirt clod. “There’s nothing for miles. It’s probably all dead.”

You know that Ellie is probably right, but it’s a risk. You bite your lip, looking over at Joel. “Why don’t we sweep the town and we can see?” You ask, knowing that if everything is dead, you could desperately use the rest. Cordyceps rarely return en masse when the vines have withered and died. It could be a safe place to recharge and for Joel to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time.

You’ve stopped walking as you talk, Joel looking around as he contemplates your alternatives. To be honest, there aren’t many and both of you know it. Not without a lot of backtracking which none of you want to do.

Joel sighs and you know that he’s going to agree. He turns to Ellie. “Don’t fucking touch anything until we say it’s alright.” He points at her for good measure, as if his finger would impress the importance of his words. “Got it?”

“Got it.” She huffs. “Jesus, you act like we haven’t done this before.” You roll your eyes and look away, knowing you shouldn’t encourage her right now.

It takes hours to make your way into the center of town. Not because you are blocked by clickers or avoiding humans, it’s because you are stocking up. It’s like the fungus took over this town and just let it rot. Nothing inside the first few blocks of town is disturbed. No looting has been done here, plenty of supplies to be had.

Both you and Joel have been cautious but slowly optimistic as you’ve found boots and heavy jackets, gloves and hats. A new pair of clothes have been rolled into everyone’s bags and you’ve even grabbed another pack to fill with the mylar sealed packs of camping food from the sporting goods store. It was a miracle that nothing had been ransacked, but it makes you wonder exactly what the fuck happened here. Did the army sweep through and round up all the residents right away? It would make sense, but then why were there dead spores of the fungus here? You haven’t seen one body so far and it makes you nervous.

“This place is a fucking gold mine.” Ellie grins like a kid in a candy store, perhaps because you’ve actually found candy and she has been sucking on the jolly ranchers until the top of her mouth is raw. “Now we just need to find a place to sleep. I want my own room.”

Glancing over at Joel, you expect him to immediately tell her no, but he doesn’t say a word. Continuing to look around like he is expecting a clicker to pop out from the doorway of the local McDonald’s, now completely covered in that strange pink fungus. It’s like he doesn’t even hear her as he frowns at the building.

She takes that as approval and immediately starts talking about how she’s going to spread out. Making you snort when she talks about sitting in her underwear for an hour. There hasn’t been a lot of privacy out here on the road, so you can understand that desire.

“Joel.” You murmur his name softly, knowing that the best thing you can do is to find the motel and get settled down for the night before the sun sets. Even if this town is as safe as it appears on the surface, you would rather not be fumbling around in the dark . He doesn’t look over at you, still staring at the overgrown building as if it’s holding the secret. Maybe it reminds him of the Boston Museum, ominously covered with the tentacles of the fungus and the horrors that you had found inside it. “Joel!”

“What?” His head whips around, body tense as he’s ripped out of his thoughts. Relaxing when he finds you and Ellie staring at him. “We need to find the motel.” You remind him, nodding towards the sun getting lower in the sky. “I think we could all use a good night’s sleep.”

He stares at you for a moment, his eyes searing your face, looking for some hidden meaning beneath your words before he glances over at an eager Ellie. “Yeah, sure.” He agrees, adjusting his rifle to sling it onto his shoulder and adjusts his now much heavier pack on his back. “Probably on the other side of the main drag.”

His new boots thump against the cracked pavement. The roads leading deeper into the town is the guide towards what will hopefully be a comfortable bed and at least eight hours of sleep.

Your own new boots feel pretty good, but maybe a day or so here, going through supplies and really making sure that you can take on the coming winter would be a good thing. Allowing you to break in the shoes without blisters. You’ll have to talk about it with Joel after Ellie sequesters herself for the night.

It’s about another fifteen minutes before you get to the small motel that looks like it will be a good place to spend the night. Half the building is covered in another large cluster of the fungus, the pink hue looking particularly bright in the fading sun.

“We’ll get some keys.” It will be better than breaking down doors, especially since the motel wasn’t equipped with the keycards that the high end hotels had started switching to before society came crashing down.

The bad news is that the motel doesn’t have any adjoining rooms, so Joel and Ellie get into a small spat about her having her own room, Ellie eventually winning after promising that she will block the door with a dresser and he’s allowed to sweep the room before she locks herself in. Half the building is so overtaken by the vivid pink fungus that you swear looks like a big splat of bubblegum thrown over the walls.

She doesn’t even want to have dinner with you and Joel, making the man go through the room and then telling you both goodnight and shutting the door in your face. Making you laugh as Joel frowns at the door, rethinking this entire situation.

“Well, you can have a room to yourself too.” You offer, smirking as he cuts his eyes towards you. You know that Joel would rather everyone sleep where he can keep his eyes on them, so you getting privacy is off the table.

“Shut up.” Joel grunts, walking down towards the next room and kicking it open, watchful even though you’ve both already been in the room and deposited your bags. It’s a nice room, two double beds so each one of you can stretch out and relax.

You laugh quietly and decide to walk down the railing towards the portion of the building that has been overtaken by the fungus. Your curiosity about this variant is finally getting the best of you and you want to get a better look at it.

It’s thick. The tendril that is draped over the metal railing of the second floor, wrapping around it and up the support column. You bite your lip, tilting your head when you see the withered remnants of some kind of flower. What kind of fungus sprouts flowers?

You jump when something touches your back, whirling around to find Joel behind you, holding his hands up. He smirks at you, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Fuck you.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes and he huffs. “What are you doing?” He asks.

Turning back towards the fungus, you sigh. “This is different from any other kind I’ve ever seen.” You comment, stepping closer to it only to feel Joel reach for your arm to pull you back. “It’s dried out.” You remind him, jerking your head towards the husk of the cordyceps. “Have you ever seen anything like this?” You know that he spent a lot of time sneaking out of the Boston QZ, it’s possible he had seen it before.

He grunts, relaxing his hold on you and he shuffles slightly closer, looking at the flower buds that extend from the tendrils. His own suspicions about anything fungus related is deep, but it’s dried. “I haven’t.” He admits after a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly and trying to think if there is any reason why this pink coloring has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

“So it’s something new.” You bite your lip and lean in, feeling the disapproval radiate off of Joel in hot waves but you ignore him. Tilting your head and reaching out to touch one of the dried flowers.

“Don’t-”

The second your finger touches the wilted bloom, it bursts open, spurting you and Joel behind you in a cloud of pink dust. You gasp, holding your breath but there’s no hope for not inhaling the pollen.

“Fuck!” Joel coughs, shaking his head and backing up so quickly he hits the side of the building and reaches out to drag you away from the lingering cloud of dust and starts to practically beat it off the two of you. “We need- we need-” He leans over and starts coughing, obviously having inhaled just as much of it as you had.

“We’re okay.” You gasp, shaking your head and brushing the dust off your clothes. “We- it’s dead. Right?” You hate that you are asking that, but you hadn’t expected that from a dried out fungus.

“It- we should clean up.” Joel blinks, the pollen making his eyes itch and that has to be the cause of the rush of heat that slides over him. It’s just adrenaline. Fear. Anything that would scare both of you would make the slight nip in the air disappear and make you feel like your skin is superheated.

The water is gravity fed. The large cisterns on the roof are still full and while it’s not warm, perhaps a cold shower might be better right now. Joel drags you both to the room and locks the door, although he doesn’t push a dresser in front of it in case Ellie needs you in the night.

In the bathroom, you are shaking as you start to strip down, worrying about how stupid you just were and if you completely fucked yourself. The anxious fear covering the way your skin seems to burn and feel so sensitive to everything. Shuddering when your hand brushes over your thigh as you push your jeans down and kick them off before you pull your shirt over your head and remove your bra.

Clean up. Get the pollen off your skin and cool down. Your body seems to be working on overdrive. Your nipple hard under the cold water and instead of gasping in shock, you moan softly. Enjoying the sensation and reaching for the bar of soap that is still wrapped in plastic.

Hurry up, hurry up. Joel paces around the room, his hands curled into fists. Practically sweating even though the air is cool as the sun sets. His body feels like it’s on fire, like he is battling a sickness.

Over and over again, he goes through the symptoms of the infection of the cordyceps, there’s no veining, he’s stopped and checked his eyes and reflection in the peeling mirror about twenty times in the five minutes you’ve been in the bathroom. And he doesn’t fucking think the fungus makes his cock harder than a fucking rock in his jeans.

He’s not thought about sex in months. Nothing beyond fleeting moments of attraction to you that he swiftly buries under guilt and responsibility. Normally, it is when you’re bent over and your ass is presented to him in such a way that he thinks about sinking into you from behind, or when your shirt pulls tight over your breasts and he imagines cupping them in his hands as you sit on his cock. Immediately dismissed and ignored as he reminds himself of how he had failed Tess, he doesn’t deserve to find warmth and comfort in your arms.

Now, it’s all he can think about. The urge to palm his cock makes his fingers twitch and he almost moves his hand over his crotch before he flinches back to reality and tries to examine his face in the mirror again, wondering if his eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep or if he is infected.

Scrubbing your body is nearly painful, wanting to stop and touch yourself, but you can’t. You need to get this done and get out so Joel can shower. Still, despite the cold water, you feel like you are on fire when you shut off the water and realize that you didn’t bring your bag into the bathroom. You will have to go out there in nothing because you can’t put those clothes back on. Not until they have been washed.

Moderately dry, you hear Joel bang on the door. “Hurry up.” He growls, making you clench your thighs together at the raspy tone and hating how it spears through you. You know Joel isn’t interested in you, hasn’t ever looked at you like that and the crush that you had on the man had been buried deep.

“I’m done.” You don’t have a chance to be embarrassed as you open the door and Joel practically shoves past you into the bathroom and slams it behind him. “Fuck.” Your annoyance cools the heat for a moment, but it’s only temporary.

The water is icy, but still, Joel curls his hands into fists against the shower wall. He’s fucking hard. Harder than he had probably ever been in his entire life, even when he was a horny teenager and would have fucked anyone who let him between their thighs. He’s not felt like this ever. The need to touch himself builds to the point where his hips are rocking into thin air against the spray of the water. Want clawing up his throat and pooling in his stomach in a heavy knot.

You don’t dress, you can’t. Crawling under the covers of one of the beds, you listen to Joel groan in the bathroom, it’s muted over the sound of the shower but it’s sexy. All of his sounds are sexy, from the low grunts he gives when he’s stiff and sore, to the huffs and groans of annoyance. It’s all sexy to you. The rasp of his voice when he’s not spoken for a few hours.

Closing your eyes, it’s easy to give in, to let your hands drift over your skin. He’s not here, you can take care of this frantic need that is swirling inside you. You just need to slide your hand between your thighs and ease it. It wouldn’t take much more than a few swipes of your fingers against your pulsing and aching clit.

Trying to fight it, you concentrate on your breathing, in and out. Inhaling slowly and holding it so you can exhale when the burn in your lungs tells you that you’ve reached your limit. It helps, but not much. Not when you’re imagining Joel in his shower. Touching him. Being free to touch him and having his hands on your body in return.

Your hands slip over your breasts, squeezing them hard enough to moan softly and your legs shift to press together. Clenching around nothing and wishing that you were full while your hands start to move down over your stomach.

The first touch is almost a relief, your entire core quivering as your fingers press against your clit. It’s overwhelming and not enough. You need more, fingertips pressing and rubbing around the puffed up bundle of nerves. You’re already soaked and can feel it dripping down your slit.

Spurred on by that insatiable need, you slide your fingers around your entrance and start to press them inside. Biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning. Imagining that it’s more, that it’s a cock that is starting to break you open and fill that void that is aching.

You are so caught up in the bliss of that first stretch of your fingers that you don’t hear the shower turn off. The quiet curses coming from the bathroom are muffled by the rush of blood in your ears, the feeling of relief coursing through your nerves and taking over. You don’t hear the click of the lock and the turn of the handle. The door opening doesn't even register as you plant your heels on the bed and push your hips up, needing to get your fingers deeper, not quite reaching the spot inside you that craves fullness.

You don’t hear him until he chokes out a sound that is pained and low, like he’s injured. Your eyes pop open as you lurch up off the bed, your fingers ripping themselves out of your cunt hard enough to make you whimper. Fixed on Joel’s towel draped body, tented over his waist.

“Joel, I-” “Fuuuuuck.” He growls, his eyes closing and his hands bunches into fists, one holding his towel and the other by his side. “I’ve tried to not think about you, about touching you.” His words are rasped out, strained against his vocal cords. “I’ve goddamn beat into my brain that you aren’t to be thought about this way and now, I can’t stop.” His stomach clenches and his body twitches as he struggles to keep still.

Your chest heaves and you see his eyes drop down to your uncovered tits. His jaw clenching and his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows. “I - I need to touch myself.” You admit breathlessly. “I - it hurts so bad and I need something inside me.”

Joel groans again, shuddering so violently that you can see him shake from where you are. “I’ve jerked off in the shower twice and it's still hard.” He drops the towel, revealing his hard and leaking cock, making you whimper at the sight and clench around nothing. “I think that- that we- that the flower-” “I don’t care.” You moan, shaking your head and crawling to your knees and shuffling forward. Showing him all of you and so goddamn desperate to touch him that you think you are about to explode. “Touch me, Joel. Fuck, touch me, please.” You beg, your hands on your own body. “We-” He shakes his head and his face changes, morphs into pain.

“Fuck me.” You hiss, watching as his resolve breaks. His cock bounces as he lunges for you, hard and swift, driving you back to the bed with a bounce. Almost as if he is attacking you.

He’s not gentle. His mouth finding yours in a harsh kiss, your permission unleashing the coils of restraint that he had tried to put on himself. His grip bruises as he hauls you up the bed and settles between your thighs.

You’ve always attributed Joel with rough gentleness. The type of man who would make you ache and then hold you close. Groaning in pleasure when you find out that is exactly what Joel Miller is like. His hands spreading your thighs with a desperation that proves he is just as afflicted by this fungal pollen as you are. His cock hard and pressing against your folds as he rocks his hips forward to line up. Almost unable to find the hole with his eagerness to sink into you.

“Joel, hurry.” Your hands shake, holding onto him and urging him closer to you, frantic with need now that you know that you are going to have him inside you.

“Goddamn, I’m trying.” He hisses, hating to let you go so he can take his cock in hand. Rocking into his own grip as he shuttles his hips forward. “I’m fuckin’ trying, sweetheart.”

You whimper when you finally feel him pressing against your entrance, choking out a sound of need that is animalistic. Only to cry out in bliss as he pushes inside you without another delay.

He groans, eyes cinched shut as he slides inside you to the hilt, burying himself in your heat and feeling that coil in his stomach tighten even more now that your walls are around him. Immediately starting to move just as soon as he fills you, driving by that need and burning in his very veins.

It’s exquisite, the pain and pleasure blending and fusing in your stomach, nerves alight and responding to every small movement. You can’t get enough of him, you need more. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you rise to meet his harsh thrusts. Clenching down around him every time he hits that spot deep inside you that you couldn’t reach with your fingers.

He shouldn’t be inside you, he shouldn’t be touching you, but now that he is, he can’t stop. Turning his head, he presses his lips to yours and slides his tongue into your mouth. Needing more. Kissing you like he had imagined a thousand times before. Giving into every urge he has had since the day he met you and repressed before right now. Snapping his hips forward sharply and pulling every groan out of your mouth to swallow down.

Every thrust makes it better, eases that burning in your core, your cunt slick and squelching every time he drives into you. He absorbs every sound you make, almost greedy for them. His hips jarring as they slam into you. Rocking you both up the bed.

“Oh god,” breaking away from the kiss, you moan into his ear. Closing your eyes as he pants and puffs while he fucks you. “So deep, so deep, Joel.” Your nails drag down his back, making him hiss in pleasure and pain.

“Shit.” He groans your name, lost in the rhythm of his thrusts and the building pressure. “You needed this?” He growls, making you clench down around him hard and whimper his name. “Yessss.” You agree, nodding against the pillow. “Needed it so bad.”

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He huffs, burying his face against your neck. Continuing to pound into you, and not letting up even though his back is screaming in pain. His body won’t let him do anything but rock his hips. Driven by a need that overrides everything else.

His words make you burn, making you even more desperate for him. Your hips rock up and legs tightening around his waist even more. Loving how his cock stretches you out and scrubs against every nerve in your cunt. Lighting up your body until you are gasping on the edge of that much needed orgasm.

Every plunge into your body brings him closer to cumming, desperate to feel that emptiness, that wrung out filling once he has filled you. He shouldn’t cum inside you, he knows that, but he’s not going to be able to stop himself. He can barely pull back enough to rock his hips back into you.

His arms have banded around you, holding you into place as he fucks you. Deep and primal, as if he is trying to fuse the two of you into one. His cock punches into the depths of your body that you never imagined anyone reaching, but he touches it with ease. Your body pulsing with that need to come apart.

“So close, I’m so close, baby.” You whine, body starting to tremble underneath him. “So close.” Your nails dig into his shoulder, grounding yourself to him in desperation. “Joel.”

“I gotcha.” He groans, eyes closed and his breath fanning against your skin. “I’mma take good care of you, sweetheart.” He promises. “You’re gonna cum all over my cock, ain’t cha? Just like you wanted.”

His words throw you over the edge, that need built up so tight inside you that it busts on the next thrust. Lights careen and collide behind your eyes, bright and beautiful as your whole body ignites into pleasure like you’ve never experienced before. Crying out loudly and soaking him in a wave of your juices. Cumming harder than you ever have before.

Joel growls your name, his hips stuttering as you come apart around you. Unable to hold back any longer. He buries himself deep into your hot passage and paints your walls with sticks ropes of his seed. Panting against your lips as he empties himself body and perhaps his very soul into you.

Both of you pant, relieved and exhausted from the pure exertion of need as you had taken from each other. Joel presses into you, trying to catch his breath, but the fire is still burning low in his belly, his cock still not softening as it twitches inside you.

“Oh fuck.” You feel that same desire still curling in your stomach, not satisfied by the intensity of the orgasm that you are still coming down from. “Joel-”

He huffs and shakes his head. “Don’t-” he presses his lips to your again, body screaming as he starts to move again. “Shhhhhh.”

The need still burns and both of you are still locked in its fiery grip, not yet free from the desire that washed over you from a burst of pollen.

****

“What the fuck man, open the door!” The thudding on the door finally penetrates the bone deep sleep you had finally fallen into. You don’t know how many time Joel fucked you, or how many times he had spend himself inside you as you blearily open your eyes.

Joel grunts, slowly opening his own eyes and unwinding himself from the tangled together position that you had passed out in. The knocking on the door keeps on. “Joel!” Your name is also shouted, Ellie starting to sound somewhat panicked when neither one of you is immediately opening the door.

“Fuck! I’m coming.” He drags the top blanket off the bed and wraps it around his waist before flinging the door opened to blink into the harshness of the sun. “What?” He growls roughly, making Ellie’s eyes blow wide with shock.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” She demands, pushing into the room and stopping short when she sees you sitting up in the only bed that has been disturbed, the sheet anchored beneath your armpits. “Oh shit, you fucked.” She gasps, turning and shooting Joel an impressed grin. “Way to go, old man, you made a move.” Her grin quickly turns into an expression of mild disgust when she realizes that she’s congratulating you two on having sex. “Uh, I’m gonna go now.” She huffs, wrinkling her nose and pinching it. “It smells in here.” Waving her hand in front of her face, she darts back out the door and Joel just stands there for a moment before he rolls his eyes and goes to shut the door before he thinks better of it. Sticking his head out of the room, he shouts after Ellie. “Stay away from the fucking fungus!”

You snort, grinning to yourself as your body starts to ache. Fucking fungus indeed.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #sex pollen

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love-bitesx · 1 year ago

Note

im word vomiting my headcanon list and id love to hear what you think!

*hobie gifting things that he finds to his partner like a crow. i can imagine they'd just randomly turn up, either on a desk or like they'll just find it in their bag or pocket, or that he'd just walk of and just hand it to them with no word *hobie fell for his partner hard, though he kept it pretty well hidden from everyone except pav starts calling his 'loverboy', eventually the nickname catches on to the point his future partner starts using it as well(either b/c they like it and thay're oblivious or they know exactly whats going on and are teasing him about it) *loves playful banter *nicknames for daaaaaays with his partner *hobie getting serious with a partner would be him gifting them something important, first thoughts are either a guitar pick of his or one of his favorite rings (its the most worn one he has, a simple metal one that you can literally feel the love thats gone into it. somehow it fits his partners finger perfectly)

i may be back with more, until then i salute you!

i agree with ur hc’s so much!! this is how i hc & tend to write hobie so, 100%! pls don’t hesitate if u think of anymore hehe

i’d love to expand! ~

- giving you gifts, to him, is like the ideal expression of love.

- because basically all of them are stolen, it’s a combination of his favourite things; stealing from big corporations, and seeing the beaming, heart-warming smile on your face when you open your bag and see a tiny trinket wrapped in newspaper.

- everytime you would come home, you’d find a new little addition to the house somewhere – notably: necklaces, rings, tiny ceramic statues or wooden decorations, pens, music (cd’s, vinyls, etc.) – especially if he’s been to camden market that day, his pockets would be full for you.

- when he started to fall for you, he low-key thought he was coming down with the flu.

- whenever you were around, his heart would flutter, his head dizzy and palms sweating – he considered getting medicine, until pavitr pointed something out.

- “how are you, loverboy?”

- “eh? you talking to me, pav?”

- “of course, hobie! little loverboy”

- “did you hit your head, bro?”

- pavitr would explain that he’d noticed hobie’s eyes glued to you whenever you spoke, hanging onto every word like gospel, and the way he flustered when you touched him, how he’d do anything in his power to be in your personal space.

- “shit.”

- “no! this is a good thing, my friend! love is the most bea—”

- “shit.”

- days went past of hobie avoiding you, he’d never been in love before, and it was scary to him

- his brain was only thinking of you, and he hated that he liked it. he hated that he wished for every thought to be of you.

- and he hated that he could see your body deflate when he avoided you, hated that your eyes looked sad when he turned away

- he hated that he liked loving you

- until, you caught him on his own one day, he was minding his business, relaxing on his lonesome whilst the others hung out in different dimensions.

- “hey, loverboy”

- a deer in headlights wouldn’t even come close to the shock on his face

- “loverboy?”

- loverboy? you were calling him loverboy?

- “yeah, loverboy, that’s you, isn’t it?”

- in all fairness, you were completely oblivious to the reason behind it – pav had simply just started calling him it when hobie wasn’t around, and it stuck

- “i-i guess so”

- clearing his throat, he willed his confidence back to the surface

- “you can call me anything you want, sweetheart”

- it wasn’t long before you were together, a gentle, but spontaneous kiss after a particularly dangerous mission one day sealing the deal between you both

- he was obsessed with you

- now he could be obvious about his feelings, he took that and ran with it

- his arm was essentially glued to your side, or over your shoulders, or anywhere where he could pull you in close to him

- he’d grab you by the belt buckles, dragging you towards him and welcoming you with a soft peck on the lips

- even in public, almost especially in public

- always have his hands in your back pockets, he says he hates the cliché-ness of it but he likes that he can hold you close whilst respecting your personal space – and he can feel your ass, but he doesn’t admit that outloud

- THE NICKNAMES.

- THE. NICKNAMES.

- this man is born and bred british, and over here we use nicknames more than actual names

- darling, sweetheart, love, lovely, all of those AND more are natural to him, anyway

- but he adds a special little “my” before them all now, now that you actually are his, and so “my darling”, “my love”, etc. are like a second name to you

- in bed, the nicknames would be even better, but i’ll leave that to your imagination…

- when things started getting a little serious, you’d been dating for months, all your friends and colleagues knew about him, your family as well (if you decide to tell them)

- you’re relaxing in hobie’s dimension, laying on his bed with your head on his shoulder, reading a book whilst he strums at his guitar softly. he’s humming a song you don’t recognise, but the sound of his deep melody was enough to lull you.

- “hey, love?”

- you hum in response

- “i wanna give you something.”

- sitting you up, he’d lay his guitar down and face you, grabbing your hand and bringing it to him

- “what are you—”

- he’d fiddle with his own hands for a second, before twisting his favourite ring off his index finger

- “here.”

- “hobie, are you—”

- “i’m not proposing, don’t worry. weddings are just a social nuisance that give us one more way to control each other. no. this is better.”

- you tilt your head and watch him, as he slides his ring onto your middle finger

- “it’s just a promise.”

- “a promise?”

- “a promise that i love you, and that i’m yours, innit.”

- “oh, hobie.”

- you cry a tiny bit

- and he hugs you tightly, kissing your forehead

- that’s when he knew it was serious with you, not only because of how he was so obsessed with you, and his heart melted at your touch, but because when he saw you with the ring on, his ring, his person, it just felt right. he didn’t ever wanna see you without it, or without him.

- “hey, hobie, did you mean what you said about marriage? you don’t wanna marry me one day?”

- “hey, i said i hate weddings. nothing about marriage. not if we do it our own way, you know?”

i love him so much. also pls stick around, couple of one shots & fics will be out this week!!! sorry they’re taking ages hehe

#hobie brown x you #hobie brown #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown x reader #atsv hobie #hobie x y/n #hobie x reader #hobie x you #hobie spiderverse #hobie my beloved #hobie #spiderpunk #spider punk #spider punk x you #spider punk x reader #across the spiderverse #pavitr prabhakar #love bitesx

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ticklygiggles · 6 months ago

Text

Titillatio | Xiao x Aether

A/N: Happy birthday to my birthday twin @eliankrios! I hope you have the loveliest of days, Elian! I'm happy to be friends with you ❤️❤️❤️ *boop paw* I hope you enjoy these babies and I hope they're not too ooc! Enjoy your daaaaaay 💕💕💕💕💕

Summary: Xiao rediscovers something he had long forgotten.

Words: 2k

Xiao never thought that a kiss could make him feel so many things: butterflies fluttering from his throat to his lower belly. In his mouth, the taste of the other person was sweet against his tongue and made him feel light in the head, as if he had drunk too much alcohol. His hands trembled and he always tried to hold on to something so the other wouldn't notice. His knees were weak, as if they were going to fail him at any moment; and a strange heat gathered in his insides and spread to his neck, traveling to his cheeks and ears, making them turn as red as an apple.

His mind went blank, any thoughts that could have been floating around in his head vanished, and he could only focus on the tingling he felt on his lips and the burning pain at the edges of his lungs due to lack of air… but now that he thought about it, maybe it wasn't the kiss itself, but the person who seemed to be trying to devour his lips every time.

“Aether-!” He gasped, his hands on Aether's shoulders, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

The traveler had his arms around his waist, pressing him against his warm body while he kissed Xiao desperately and frantically. Xiao could barely keep up with him; Aether's tongue writhed inside his mouth, tickling the roof of his mouth as he seemed to try to suck on Xiao's tongue. Xiao couldn't deny that, although he felt a little dizzy from lack of air, he had missed Aether's kisses deeply.

The traveler had been away from Liyue for a long time, and even when he returned, Xiao could not meet him right away, as he was busy doing things that a yaksha had to do. Their meeting had happened no more than ten minutes ago, but as soon as they exchanged glances, their bodies were already pressed against each other.

However, Aether really seemed hungry for Xiao. It was no longer enough for him to just kiss Xiao's mouth, Aether's kisses moved down his jaw, seeking the warmth of his neck to sink his teeth in.

“A-Aether, h-hold on. Someone will- haa!”

It was useless, Aether simply wasn't listening and Xiao's nervousness only increased when he felt one of Aether's hands sneaking under the hem of his skin-tight shirt, the other finding that opening on the upper part of his back. Gentle fingertips followed the edge of his shoulder blades, making him gasp and squirm. Aether touched Xiao's skin lighty, tenderly, just like a feather. His soft fingers brushed against the curve on his lower back and something fuzzy started to build in Xaio’s throat.

“Tra-Traveler! You're n-not listening to me, I really- ack?! W-Wahait! That spot-!”

Before he could stop himself, an airy giggle escaped his lips and they both stood still. Aether finally deigned to lift his face from Xiao's blushing neck and Xiao quickly found his golden eyes, his own wide open.

“Wha- what did you just do?” He asked, feeling that almost uncomfortable sensation near his side that made him want to scratch the spot.

His eyes danced from left to right, looking into Aether's, and something funny rose in his stomach when he noticed a glint of playful malice in Aether's amber pupils.

“Are you ticklish Xiao?” A mischievous smile spread across Aether's lips and Xiao frowned.

“Ticklish?” He said the word slowly, as if savoring each letter and listening to how the two syllables sounded together. It was a funny word, if he had to admit it. “What is ‘ticklish’?”

His question only made Aether's smile widen even more and Xiao jumped slightly when Aether's warm hands closed on his waist, making him blush even more. His own hands closed around Aether's wrists and he made an absurd attempt to push those hands away from his body. Aether giggled sweetly and that was enough to distract Xiao and let out a laugh when Aether squeezed his waist. Every hair on his body stood up as he felt that sensation run through him like electric shocks. Even though he really didn't want to, his hands pushed Aether's wrists away from his body and he looked at him with his eyes wide open and his lips trembling with a silly little smile.

“Aether… what are you doing right now- no! N-Nohoho!”

Xiao didn't know how, but Aether had broken free of his grip and his hands latched onto his waist again and he let out embarrassed and uncontrollable giggles as the traveler squeezed the spot over and over. The sensation made Xiao want to crawl out of his skin, those fingers woke up his nerve endings in a weird way, and Xiao couldn't make it stop.

He wasn't sure he had ever felt this kind of sensation in his many years of existence. He was almost sure that he would remember this feeling, and yet, there was some feeling of longing swirling in his chest the more Aether did this… ‘ticklish’ thing on him. It was as if a part of his memory was under a haze, and he certainly couldn't concentrate with Aether's fingers running up his sides until they reached his ribs.

Xiao's giggles turned into more panicked laughter and his knees could no longer support his weight and squirming. He fell into the grass beneath him and Aether followed him, still making him laugh out of his mind as he straddled Xiao's waist. Aether's fingers gently but firmly dug into each of his ribs and a second later, he felt the tips of his fingers vibrating between the spaces of each bone.

Xiao threw his head back and his body shook with the force of his laugh. He desperately gripped Aether's arms, but he felt powerless, his strength had been drained from his body and he could only shriek between laughter what he thought Aether was doing to him:

“W-Witchcrahahaft!”

Aether laughed so hard, he actually had to stop tickling Xiao to hold onto his tummy. “This is not witchcraft! I'm just tickling you, Xiao!”

Didn't he say ‘ticklish’ earlier? Xiao shook his head, breathless. He tried to crawl away, but Aether giggled and grabbed him by the hips, dragging him back and sitting on his lower back. Xiao groaned and laughter poured from his lips again when the tickling started once more, this time Aether's fingers wiggling against his lower back and the window of his shirt. Xiao cackled, arching back and clawing at the ground, trying, in vain, to escape this torment.

Should he call it torment? It really wasn't that bad. The feeling was overwhelming, it numbed his brain and he felt like lightning was rushing through his body with every touch, also his laughter was embarrassingly loud and his tummy and sides were starting to hurt. However, Xiao couldn't say that he was hating it, on the contrary, he was ashamed to admit it to himself, but he was having fun. Although his stomach and sides hurt, it wasn't because of the force that Aether was tickling him with, his fingers were light and skillful, touching places that he didn't know could make him squeal and cackle like that.

It was also nice to hear Aether giggling along him, his laughter was light and happy, like an excited child. To think just a couple of minutes ago he was almost eating him alive.

“How come I didn't know you are so ticklish, Xiao? Hmm? Tell me please.”

“I cahaHAHAn’t!”

He really couldn't. If he dared to speak, he felt like he was going to choke with his own laughter, besides, he really couldn't form any coherent thought at that moment.

“Your back is very ticklish,” Aether giggled and Xiao felt alarmed. There was something in Aether's voice, a tone that made him feel terribly nervous. “I wonder if you're also very ticklish here?”

The sound that escaped from Xiao's mouth did not sound like him, in fact, he had no idea that he was capable of screeching like that, but when Aether pushed his warm hands under his arms and his fingers started to wiggle against his armpits– he just couldn't control himself.

Sweet yet hysterical laughter bloomed past his lips. That maddening sensation felt incredibly intense, and Xiao could only laugh and laugh as his body became useless, his arms glued to his sides in a futile attempt to make the tickling stop or at least, slow down, but it had the opposite effect, for Aether's hands had been trapped and he moved his fingers incessantly.

“Ah, I think I found your most ticklish spot, Xiao!” Aether chuckled above him, speaking fondly. “Your laughter is so cute! I want to listen to more!”

‘Your laughter is so cute… I want to listen to more.’

Oh, now he remembered. As Aether's fingers dug under his arms, a memory came to Xiao's mind: the eldest and leader of the Yakshas, Bosacius, holding both Xiao's wrists with two pair of hands while the other pair nestled into his exposed underarms, tickling him until Xiao was crying with hysterical laughter. Xiao could hear Bosacius' voice teasing him while he mercilessly tickled his armpits, his boisterous laughter almost louder than Xiao's. Xiao remembered looking at his bright smiles and shining eyes through his teary sight. Bosacius was happy and so was Xiao.

A wave of warmth flooded his chest and as he laughed wildly, he finally was able to remember just what this whole thing was.

“Tihihitillahahatio!”

“What?”

“This ihihis, eek, t-tihihitilahatio!”

The tickling slowly came to a stop and Xiao went limp onto the soft grass, breathing heavily and feeling little tears falling down the side of his face. A silly smile pulled at the corners of his lips and he giggled brightly when Aether started poking his back and sides, causing him to roll on his back again.

“What is titillatio, Xiao?” Aether asked, his head tilted to the side like a confused bird. Xiao's eyes looked at Aether fondly, his fingers gently brushing the other's flushed cheek. Aether nuzzled into his hand like a kitten and Xiao smiled warmly.

“Titillatio is… tickling, I guess. That was the name years ago.” Centuries ago. “I didn't know the name had changed. It had been a long while since titilatio was done to me.”

Xiao didn't even remember the feeling, let alone the name. He had spent so many years alone, there was no way his mind was busy remembering insignificant things like that; there was also the issue of erosion in the mind… but be tried to ignore that as much as possible.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed Aether was looking at him intently and frowning. “Was that person… your partner?*

Xiao blinked a couple of times, astonished. Did he hear correctly? “What?”

Xiao raised his eyebrows when Aether rolled his eyes. “The person that tickled you in the past! Were they your partner?”

“What? N-No, of course not. It was just- wait… are you mad about it?” Aether looked away. “Oh, are you jealous?”

Xiao had learned about jealousy the hard way, he now recognized the emotion even in other people and to his eyes, Aether seemed really jealous at that moment. The blonde blushed up to his ears and crossed his arms over his chest, avoiding Xiao's gaze at all costs. He really was jealous, huh?

Xiao chuckled, his hands gently holding Aether's bare waist. “Didn't you say jealousy is bad?”

Aether made an indignant sound and Xiao let out a soft chuckle through his teeth. Feeling a weird wave of playfulness rushing through him, Xiao quickly changed their positions. It was adorably funny to see Aether's confused expression turn into one of pure laughter as Xiao started to pinch and prod his exposed waist.

“X-Xiahaho! Dohohon't!”

Xiao smiled lovingly, thumbs rubbing against the sides of Aether's tummy. The traveler giggled and laughed and squirmed under him and Xiao understood why people liked to tickle others. It was fun to see another laughing because of your gentle touch and if that person was Aether, it was all even better.

“I'm nohohot jehehealous! I prohohomise!” Despite his pleading, Aether didn't seem to do much to make Xiao stop.

“I do believe you're not jealous.” That was a lie. “But I actually have never tried doing titillatio to someone. How is that? Do you like it?” Aether threw his head back with bright giggles and Xiao couldn't help but also chuckle. “Am I doing it right?”

“S-Stohohop teheasing meHE!”

Xiao laughed. Genuinely laughed. He had spent so many years alone, he had forgotten how good it felt to be with someone as kind and bright as Aether. He got to experiment a lot for the first time: having a partner, kisses, jealousy. Tickling... Even love.

Xiao smiled warmly down at Aether's laughing face, his hands weakly pawing at Xiao's hands. All those years of loneliness... perhaps they were just a small punishment to be able to enjoy the happy company of this wonderful traveler.

"You want me to tickle you more?"

"Noho! I'm s-sohohorry!"

Yes, this definitely was his reward.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELIAN! 🎂🎈🎉🥳

#genshin impact #genshin impact tickling #aether #xiao #xiaoether #ticklish!Xiao #ticklish!aether #tickle fic #mia's things #mia's fics #eliankrios #prince elian 💕

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cry4mina · 1 month ago

Text

Pomegranate

(Jeongyeon x fem!reader)

Word Count: 6.3k

Angst/Smallest drop of fluff

Summary: Jeongyeon was coming home from tour and you were going to propose but she comes home later than expected and throws a wrench in your plans.

TW: ANGST. Alcohol and lots of it, throwing up, sad, big sads, panic attacks, the big sads, screaming, mentions of blood (it's in once sentence), food, uh...yeah angst.

A/N: Me 3 days ago: i'm not doing birthday fics. Me right now, HAPPY EARLY JEONGYEON DAAAAAAY! Have a not so happy moment to celebrate! I decided I was going to attempt to do one for her and Momo before I moved soooo ta daaaaa (it's been so long since i've written angst, i'm rusty pls forgive me) @psylocke142 helped me find pictures and let me yap about this (also read it before I posted it to make sure it wasn't ass) <33 thank u fren!

Everyone pls stay safe and have a lovely daaaaay<3

After weeks of preparation and consulting with Jihyo virtually, you were finally ready to ask your girlfriend of 4 years to marry you. Picking up all the components, you rushed home to get ready for what was going to be one of the best days of your life.

Tonight’s the night!

The house is set up perfectly, rose petals from the front door to the living room, a bouquet of roses on the table that are blooming, candles everywhere, and you’re in a brand new fully tailored suit that fits you like a glove.

Preparing dinner was the most tedious part of this. While Jeongyeon was on tour for a few months, you took it upon yourself to take some classes to master her favorite dish so you could make it from scratch for tonight. Even taking it a step further and asking her mother for the recipe she used when Jeong was a child.

Dinner is ready in the kitchen, you check your watch to see it’s 7:13pm. Jeongyeon should be walking through the door any minute, flight having landed an hour ago- she texted you when she landed saying that she was dropping Jihyo off and heading home.

Time sludges on, 7:45pm, still no sign of her.

Then it’s suddenly 8:30pm.

Every minute feels like an hour of nothingness.

No call

No text.

Nothing.

You: I hope everything is okay…let me know when you’ll be home. [9:01pm]

You: I love you. [9:01pm]

Walking into the kitchen, you decide to pack dinner up. Putting all the food in Tupperware and stacking it in the fridge in portions for when your girlfriend got home.

Hopefully, your soon to be fiancé would hurry back to you.

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out the suede box and pop it open, revealing a classic square shaped diamond on a gold band.

Taking in the sparkle of the gem, you reminisce on your favorite memories together. All the soft, tender, silly moments you had with your loving girlfriend and wishing she was here so you could just ask her to spend forever with you.

Checking your phone to see no response from Jeongyeon, you sigh and frown. She usually updated you with what she was up to, so this was out of character for her.

Especially, under the circumstances, she usually hurried home to you.

It had been months since you’d seen her, since the tour was taking up most of her time. It was easy to be impatient. Even with FaceTime dates, phone calls, texts - it wasn’t the same as having her with you. Being able to hear her laugh outside of a speaker and feeling her warmth against you as you slept instead of falling asleep together through a screen.

Taking a seat on the couch and kicking your feet up on the table, you lull off into a peaceful sleep with happy memories of the two of you replaying in your mind's eye.

—

The latching of the door rings in your ears, you hear light footsteps through the hall and into the kitchen.

A deep sigh seeps tension into the atmosphere of your home. The tapping of nails on the counter makes your eyes slingshot open.

She’s home.

Jumping up and almost losing your balance, you grab the roses and bolt into the kitchen to see a teary-eyed Jeongyeon standing there, leaning against the counter.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” immediately putting the flowers on the counter and walking out to hold her.

Jeongyeon halts your movements with a single hand up, palm facing you to stop you in your tracks. Her eyes never leave the floor. Confusion tenses your shoulders and back, concerned at not only the gesture but her demeanor and emotional state.

“Jeongyeon…what’s going on?” the soft nervousness of your tone makes her wince at the words spoken.

“We need to talk.” she’s still unable to look at you. Eyes tracing the grout on the tile, looking for literally anything but you to focus on. Tears trailing down her cheeks, she’s trying to collect herself.

“Okay..?” hopping up onto the counter and placing your hands within themselves, you patiently wait for her to say what she needs to.

“I’m…not happy.” stumbles its way off her tongue and into the air.

The flavor is putrid and sour.

There’s an ache building in your chest, brain and heart trying to process the words you just heard her say.

“…what do you mean?” Unable to grasp what she’s just spoken.

Unhappy?

“I…don’t want to do this anymore. I feel bad being away for so long and it really hurts both of us when you say how much you miss me. I can’t expect for you to just wait around for me to come home all the time. It’s not fair to either of us.” Voice shaking as she explains herself.

Weighed down by a devastating ton of bricks that build the foundation of this relationship, you slide off the counter. Your eyes not leaving her face for the time it takes to approach her.

Watching as your stability crumbles underneath you. You can’t believe this is what she’s saying…

“Jeongyeon…baby, I’d take missing you over being with anyone else…any day. In any life. You’re my everything…” hands now on her forearms, trying to make eye contact so she can see how much care you have for her.

“I’m sorry.” whispered to you through tears.

She still can’t even look at you.

The cracks through your chest are loud enough to make the earth shatter. Lightning shoots through your veins, flashes of heat that immediately run cold inside you.

Trying to make sense of all this as fight, flight or freeze kicks in, you leave the room.

Walking into the living room, you sit on the couch you had just dozed off on. Head in your hands, sobbing into them violently, a physical reaction to your heart being ripped from your chest.

Not even noticing her stepping into the room, you continue to let out the devastating wail, trying to ease the emptiness in your chest from the abrupt pain it was now experiencing.

Her sniffling pulls you out of your hands.

Looking up to see her with matching tears flowing down her cheeks.

Standing up, you pick up the box of tissues on your shared coffee table and hand them to her. She offers a half smile before taking one, you don’t return the gesture.

“Can you tell me what I did?” Through the shivering as you try to regulate your emotions.

“What? What you did?” Jeongyeon is confused by this question, dabbing her tears from under her eyes and trying to compose herself.

“Yes, what did I do to make you want to leave?” Looking her in the eyes and waiting for the reasoning.

“I…I’m sorry, I have to go.” Grabbing her keys and bolting for the door.

Never offering a response, or even a glance back. She left you to your own devices that night in your once shared apartment.

—

3 months later and you can still hardly take care of yourself. The agony of her not being with you, completely ruining every day you’ve had.

Work was always slow and dreadful, not offering any reprieve from the weighted down linger of what was no longer in your life. Leaving you all the time in the world to ruminate and try to make sense of everything that happened.

The scene of her leaving the house that night played in your head over and over again, like a nightmare that never stopped. A broken record that continued to spin, playing the same tune until your ears bled.

Getting mail for her everyday ruined you. Seeing her name on the letters was just detrimental, a reminder around every corner - the entire house coated in the same layer of hopeless despair you found yourself in.

You didn’t even know where she was staying or what her day to day was like. Always wondering if she was feeling these aftershocks of your split.

Turing to alcohol to ease the feelings, you drank alone until you passed out every single night. Blaring music and singing at the top of your lungs while heavily intoxicated was an escape, but it was only temporary.

Isolating was something you did well, never really wanting to let the world know how you were suffering. Jeongyeon was good at pulling you out of that but…she wasn’t here anymore.

Turning down every picture in the house of the two of you together, you were no where near ready to get rid of them no matter how much they hurt to see.

They were little glimpses into the past…tiny portals into a happier time and it was devastating to think she might not share that sentiment. Most of you free time spent on the questions of whether or not she ever actually loved you and whether or not you would see her again.

—

One drunken night, your phone rang. The vibrating against the table startled you out of your dissociated drunken state that was practically slumber.

Picking it up without being bothered to read who was calling, you put your half empty bottle of whiskey down on the table and answer the phone.

“H- hiccup-hello?”

“Hey Y/n! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. How are you doing?” The voice is immediately recognizable.

“I’m alive, Jihyo. If that’s what you’re wondering.” The sulking was dripped off your tone, knowing this was your ex girlfriend’s best friend brought up too many feelings for you, very aware that whatever you told Jihyo would be passed on to…her.

“I was wondering…but I wanted to check in with you.” Her tone seems saddened, worried and hesitant to ask what she really wanted to.

Knowing she was aware of the plan to propose and encouraged you to do it, helping you organize everything - including getting Jeongyeon to the house when you needed her there for the perfect surprise, you had a bond with Jihyo that was strong and she knew that you were not okay.

She couldn’t have known the internal workings of Jeongyeon’s mind, though she did tell her everything. No one expected you two to ever break up in their wildest dreams.

You were meant to together.

Or so you and everyone else thought.

“I’m alive. That’s really all I have to shhay.” Slurring your responses to her, unintentionally.

“Y/n…are you drunk?” Concern now lacing her voice even stronger than before, she knows you’re not much of a drinker so this was worrisome to her.

Hearing keys rattling on the other side of the phone, assuming that Jihyo was about to head over to your house - you shut that down, quickly. Not wanting to see her or even entertain the thought of pretending like you weren’t in the depths of your own dejection.

“I’m fine, Jihyo. Just let me shhuffer in peace.” Hanging up and putting the phone back down on the table.

It vibrates for at least 15 minutes, you choose to ignore the buzzing and take another long swig from the bottle of whiskey. Who needs a glass when you’re just going to drown in your own tears anyway?

Your world lost it’s light. There’s no reason to pretend like you gave a shit about anything, nothing was worth caring about now that she was gone. Yourself included.

A hard knock on the door startles you out of your thoughts.

Looking at the clock, it’s 1:27am.

Who the fuck is at your door?

“Go -hiccup- away!” followed by another swing from the bottle, stinging your throat as it slips down to your stomach.

“Y/n, open the door or I’m coming in!” A stern tone comes through the solid wood that is all too familiar for all the right reasons.

“You and -hiccup- what army?” Standing up and almost falling over but catching your balance on the arm of the couch.

The lock clicks open, knob turning quickly and the door flew open, smacking against the wall to reveal…

Her…

Jeongyeon.

Steppping in to see the house in shambles, she takes in the empty bottles of alcohol everywhere, garbage and empty plates and cups all over the coffee table and the mess that was you, standing next to the wreck with your bottle gripped tightly.

Sighing at the sight, she closes the door behind her and sets her stuff down on the counter in the kitchen. Jeongyeon scans the house, looking around to find any semblance of your old happy life. Seeing the picture frames turned down stops her in her tracks, flipping her favorite on up and leaving it.

“What -hiccup- are YOU doing here?” Slurring and pointing at her before plopping down on the couch, glaring at her for fixing the pictures, not wanting to remember the good times because there wasn’t a light at the end of this tunnel, as far as you’re concerned.

Trying to take a swing from your whiskey, she runs over and snatches the bottle out of your hand.

“HEY! -hiccup- That’s mine! Get your own! I don’t want to share with -hiccup- you.” Reaching for the container again, only for her to push you down by your chest back to the couch, brows furrowed in a mix of confusion and disgust.

“Sit down! I can’t believe the mess this place is…what’s gotten into you?” The anger in her voice shakes the frame of your soul, snapping you as far sober as your body would allow.

“I…don’t think you care anymore.” Tears fall unstoppably, coating your eyes and cheeks with pure grief and misery.

Jeongyeon’s face is made of stone, stoic in nature and unmoving as you cry. This causes you to break completely. Maybe she never really cared…

Laying down on the couch and rolling over to face the back of it, trying to hide your descent into the pit of despair that you were trying to pull yourself out of everyday but with her reactions, she pushed you deeper unknowingly.

You lacked the will to keep up your strength, yet you persisted in your attempts, even if they were futile. Refusing to showcase how thoroughly this had devastated you. It consumed you entirely.

The experience gnawed at your bones, turning your world upside down, leaving behind only a hollow shell of what once was—every trace of love you held for her and for yourself, devoured in its wake.

“Y/n…” the tinge of sadness in the way she said your name caught your attention but you were still stuck in the void and didn’t want to turn over to look at her.

“Y/n…come on…” sitting down at the bend of your legs, rubbing your back in a familiar act of comfort.

“Don’t do that.” Harshly spat at her through gritted teeth, scooting closer to the inside of the couch and farther away from her so she would get the hint and taker her hand off you.

“Y/n…look, I’m sorry okay…I know I shouldn’t have come…I was just worried about you. I heard you slurring and I know you don’t really like to dri-“

“You HEARD me?” Rolling over with fury leaching from your eye to see the shock on her face. She had given herself up and the realization already set in, even though you were inebriated.

“…did you make Jihyo call me to check up on me?” Glaring at her in disbelief, anger boiling in your chest as you waited for her to say something.

Jeongyeon stammers, looking for a good excuse as her eyes shift from left to right. She opens her mouth to try and but ends up just looking at the ground…unwilling to tell the truth even having been caught.

“Get out.” Standing up too quickly and almost falling to open the door for her.

“Y/n, please just let me explain.” Begging for a moment of your time so she can try to fix this.

“You have 2 minutes -hiccup- and then I never want to shhee you again.” Voice cracking as you try to stand by yourself, wobbling and stumbling over to the door, gripping the knob to steady yourself.

“Can we please talk about this when you’re sober? I think that would be better than trying to have a conversation when you’re like this…” Jeongyeon motions her hands at you, tears welling up in her eyes at the disheveled state she found you in.

Taking your hand off the door, you turn around and face her. Letting the tears fall freely from your eyes, taking off the mask you wore to try and hide the suffering. Trying to wipe the destress from your face as you formulate your sentence.

“What’s wrong, Jeongyeon?” stepping up close to her with a frigid demeanor and a spiteful scowl that contradicts the droplets of emotion that fall from your eyes as you step closer to her, inches from her face, giving the final blow.

“Having trouble facing me? Or do you just not like the way you found me?” sniffling through the ending of that sentence, you stumble off to your once shared bedroom, leaving Jeongyeon in the living room by herself.

Falling onto the bed, you rip off your shirt, bra and pants and curl up on her side of the bed. The room starts to spin as you finally laid still and the alcohol took over again. Moaning and groaning to yourself as the minutes pass.

It hits you all at once, the overwhelming sensation of being wasted, the fact that your ex was in the house and the anxiety that ran your life all clashing to create a wave of nausea that you could not escape.

You struggle to get to the bathroom, knocking stuff over on the way before finally sitting down in front of the toilet and purging your stomach.

Retching all the toxic fluid out of your body takes an hour or so. Dizzied by your drunken state, dehydration, and sorrow, you’re unable to stand so you just sit and wait for it to pass like a bad thunder storm.

A small knock at the door, startles you out of a sleep that you hasn’t realized you slipped into while waiting for the room to stop spinning against your will.

“Y/n?…Are you alright?” softly spoken from behind the door, the pit of your stomach falls and you start to cry again.

Not because she left, not because you couldn’t control it but it was the act of her checking in on you that tugged on your oxytocin, giving you another hit of Jeongyeon that you so desperately craved.

Lifting your chin up barely removing it from the porcelain, you muster all the strength you have to produce one malicious, guttural scream.

“GO AWAY!” the words rip from your throat like the sharp blade of a chainsaw, slicing haphazardly through hard wood, splintering and shattering every millisecond it touches your vocal chords and leaves a blood stain of regret and hatred behind.

Not for her.

Never for her.

For yourself.

You hate that she left, but you never blamed her. It’s not like it was unheard of, a break up before a proposal but you never understood why. Always assuming you were the problem there was no solution for.

Jeongyeon cracks the door, peaking in side and seeing you just your underwear hunched over and collapsing to the floor. Rushing over to you, stabilizing you with her hands- she forces you up on your feet.

You are dead weight at this point, leaning on her because your legs just won’t function underneath you. Pulling your arm around her, she practically drags you to the shower and makes you sit in the bathtub with your head against the wall.

Turning the water on you, it’s ice cold. Yelping at the sheer shock of the frozen water hitting you, complaints slurring out of your mouth instantly hushed when she gets into the shower with you. Sitting behind you and letting the faucet soak her with all her clothes on.

Positioning herself sitting with you between her legs, she brushes your hair off your forehead as the water crashed down on you both and shushes the spewing of your sadness and conquers your anger just by her touch.

The peace her presence brings you in this state has soothed the crashing waves of your heart that drenched every fiber of your being. The broken state of your soul was nothing more then a scratch on the surface while she was holding you and soothing you through this horrific break down of grief that was misguiding you to lash out.

Calmly rocking you back and forth with her, you finally gained some sobriety. Jeongyeon stands to turn the shower off and offers you a towel, while grabbing the matching one you didn’t bother to put away.

Taking your underwear off, now completely naked with a towel barely wrapped around you, attempting to dry off and failing miserably, dropping the towel and whining out of frustration. Picking up the towel, you give it another sloppy attempt.

Jeongyeon is just watching you, the smile in her eyes and smirk on her face feels so condescending considering everything that has happened between the two of you.

“What?” snapped at her while you wrap the towel around your body again and make your way to the bedroom to get something to wear.

“Nothing…it’s nothing.” Jeongyeon removes her shirt and pants, standing there in her shower soaked underwear and bra.

“Did you…uhm…are my clo-” softly uttered before hanging the clothes she was wearing on the shower rod for them to dry.

“Yes. They’re still here. I haven’t gotten rid of…anything.” choking on the words as the tears threaten to spill again.

This beautiful woman, standing in front of you had not only gone out of her way to make sure that you were okay and took care of you knowing that you weren’t…

The nurturing nature of her was what sparked the initial fire that set your heart aflame. The gasoline was how sweet she was, and how much she cared about everyone around her.

Her habits of focusing on everyone but herself was to her detriment- always checking in on others and not really checking in with herself…but that was what made your relationship so pure. She was worried about everyone and you were worried about her.

Given the opportunity, Jeongyeon would move the world for those she loved. Fitting herself in a box so small that she would be uncomfortable to make others feel comfortable. The details of her were never lost on you, always letting her express whatever she needed to and making sure that she knew that you would never judge her in anyway. It was so comfortable and perfect, that’s why it stung so much.

When she dropped that bomb on you those weeks ago, it was like a nuke - scorching every single atom that you ever had and what was happening right now was the fallout.

“Y/n…Can we ple-”

“Not tonight…please…no more tonight.” cutting her off again, not to hurt her but you just couldn’t handle another moment of discourse between the two of you, especially while you’re still drunk.

“Tomorrow.” stated to her, not offered to her.

The conversation you had been needing would happen tomorrow…finally. The closure, the end…whatever you want to call it, would be tomorrow.

The anxiety building in your stomach brought on a different kind of nausea. One that wouldn’t go away from just throwing up the contents of your body but only with comfort that you were too nervous to ask for.

Throwing on a big shirt that was hers and a fresh pair of underwear, you crawled into bed and got comfortable. Letting out a big sigh of relief that your sheets were finally consuming you again instead of the alcohol or complete and utter sadness.

Jeongyeon puts on some of the clothes she left behind, a shirt you got her, underwear and a pair of her sweats that she usually only wore around the house.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch…just so I can be here…if you need me…” timid, almost as if she was asking permission to sleep in the house that had her name on the mortgage.

“No.” calm and steady leaves your mouth.

Sitting up in your bed, you look her in the eyes before throwing the comforter off her side of the bed that you had been sleeping in, patting the sheets as a signal for her to come and lay with you.

Even if it was for the last time.

“Are you sure?” her voice is so gentle and lovely.

“Please, Jeongyeon…” throat clenching around the words as you pleaded for what you assumed to be one more sleep together.

Just one more.

Her eyes soften further, the familiar puppy eyed love you had always known crawls into your shared bed and gets comfortable on her side, like she always did.

Fuck, you missed this so much.

Laying on separate sides of the bed, you just take in the feeling of her warmth in the sheets next to you. The sigh she lets out was one of relaxation and ease. It was very hard to miss.

“Jeongie?” breathed so soft it was barely a whisper as you roll from your back to your side to face her. It was what you always called her when you wanted something, she knew what was coming without even asking.

“Yeah?” worry laces her words as she follows your movement and faces you.

“…I miss you.” the cracks in your voice shatter and sprawl out like lightening, cascading down your chest, through the sheets and up to her.

Not the words, not the tone, but the crack of your voice that let the misery you had experienced the three months she’s been gone…

Silence.

Jeongyeon just looks at you, eyes coated in despair as her own emotions display for what you feel like is the first time. Wondering if it’s her own distress or if it’s just pity for you.

A hand comes out of the darkness, placing itself on the small of your back and dragging you into Jeongyeon, so close you can feel her heart beat and feel her breathing - pressed up against her chest in the hug that you needed from her.

Nuzzling into her neck, you silently sob as you take in the smell of her skin and in the comfort of your bed no less. The peace it brings you brings happiness, even if it’s temporary.

Jeongyeon just holds you, rubbing your back and sniffling. Leaning down to kiss your forehead, she coos and sighs as the tension of her back decreases while holding you. Feeling her harms relax and her back unclench was worth every second of devastation that would follow, knowing you could be this for her…one last time.

“I miss you too. So much.” Whispered to you as you finally drift off to sleep in the comfort her arms, finally getting the safety that you had been missing.

—

Throbbing behind your eyes and a massive wave of nausea wakes you up from the deep sleep you were in. The most sleep you had since she left.

Groaning as you rolled over, you reach out to her side of the bed, hoping and praying that she would still be asleep next to you.

She wasn’t.

Sighing at the empty and cold sheets, you wonder if this is all a dream or if she was actually here last night.

Did she really shower with you?

Was it all just…a drunken daydream?

Slowly sitting up, you grab your head as it pounds into your skull. This hangover was the worst one you’d ever had, like a whip cracking against your brain at every movement you made, no matter how slight.

Taking a second to charge your movements and build up the courage to get up out of bed, you sigh again and give up. Rolling over to Jeongyeon’s side and shoving your face in her pillow, just to take in her smell again.

“Good morning” a familiar voice so angelic breaks your concentration on the memories you were reliving before you could fully immerse in them.

Sling-shotting up, you grab your head and let out a wince and a huff at how dizzy you got with the movement, the pounding continued as Jeongyeon giggles.

“With how drunk you were last night, I knew you would not feel great today…” lifting up a brown paper bag, shaking it at you before plopping it in front of you.

The smell of the burger nauseates you thoroughly.

Flinging a hand over your mouth, you jump off the bed and bolt to the bathroom - immediately regurgitating the toxins left inside you until there was nothing left but bile.

“Are you alright?” through the door, you get a flash back from last night and shiver at the unease of her seeing you this way.

Quietly gasping and trying to catch your breath, you spit. An attempt to rid your mouth of the acidic taste that burns from your stomach all the way to your lips.

“Yeah…” winded replies that feed her worry, unintentionally.

“I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a minute” the sentence stole the air from your lungs, still trying to get back to some sense of the word normal and slowly catching your bearings again.

Standing up, you head to the sink, leaving with your palms on the edge of the counter, with your hair in your eyes. Turning on the faucet, you reach into the stream of cold water. Cupping your hand and splashing it on your face trying to wash your hungover sleep filled eyes and bring some self back to you.

The chill of the water wakes you up, the headache not easing but the nausea was dissipating quickly, you were very grateful for that.

By the time you got to the kitchen, the nausea was replaced by hunger. Looking to see Jeongyeon at the kitchen table, already set out the greasy burger and fries, with a tall glass of water and some medicine next to it.

Sitting down with her, you take the meds first and drink half the glass of water. Placing it back down on the table, you look over at her. Jeongyeon’s food is untouched, sitting in front of her still wrapped up on the foil to keep it warm.

“Are you alright?” reaching over to grab her hand, remembering that she is your ex before you touch her, stopping yourself from the intimate contact.

Jeongyeon watched your hand in motion, seeing you stop from touching her and she swallows harshly. You could hear it from across the table.

“Are you ready to talk now?” asked in faint whispers while she toys with her fingers.

Looking down at your own hands, the nervousness returns back to you from the night she left. Rattling every heartstring you had in a vibration that could’ve made angels cry.

“…Yeah…I think it would be best if we did…” immediately biting the inside of your cheek after the statement, drawing a small amount of blood out of the soft flesh.

“I’m sorry.” Jeongyeon is looking up at you, her eyes glazed over in melancholy grief and regret.

“I’m sorry I left. I was scared that you were going to leave me first. I thought you missing me all the time was hard on our relationship and I was worried it was too much for you. I left because I didn’t want you to leave first…I thought you were unhappy.” her voice is cracking and she’s sniffling, panic interweaved in her words as she continues on with her admission.

“That night I came back…and you asked me what you did to make me want to leave…” a deep breath in and back out, trying to self soothe but having a difficult time regulating.

Her hand reaches up to hold your face, her palm on your cheek and the warmth of her on your skin makes you instinctively lean into her, closing your eyes as your body relaxes.

“Nothing. You didn’t do anything except love me so well that I thought I didn’t deserve it…” Jeongyeon is practically having a panic attack at this point, choking on her own sadness and attempting to even out her breathing, blink her tears away, talk to you- overwhelming herself and it’s sending her into a spiral.

Without hesitation, you get up from your chair and sit on her lap. Wrapping your arms around her and pulling her into your chest while running one of your hands down her back, then back up again. Continuing this repeatedly as it’s the fastest way to quell her anxiety.

“Shh Shh Shh…don’t worry, I’ve got you. You’re safe here.” cooed at her while you squeeze her just a little tighter as she choked on her overstimulation.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I will always love you.” through the breath violently hitching and the tenseness of her body.

A long beat of silence.

Your heart stops.

She still loves you…?

“Jeong…” lifting her head so she can see the hangover that was glazing your eyes.

“You really hurt me when you left. I didn’t understand what was going on…I didn’t even know that was a fear you had.” Hand continuing to rub her back.

“I would’ve told you how untrue that was…” brushing a lock of hair from her face.

Her face contorts, holding in her sobs as she lets out the cold, hard truth.

“I don’t think I would’ve believed you…”

That one stung. Though you know it was never anything that you did now that she’s told you. Patting her back lightly, you hatch an idea.

The perfect way to prove it to her.

Getting up from Jeongyeon’s lap, you run into the bedroom and go to your side of the bed. Pulling open the nightstand drawer, you grab the little black box that held the ring you were going to propose to her with that night and make your way back to the kitchen.

Watching you closely as you make your way back to the table and sit down, she doesn’t really know what to expect.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling rapidly, your nerves get to you a moment. Never knowing what her reaction would be to this, you built up as much courage as you could and places the box carefully in front of her.

“I think this might be all the proof you need.” swallowing hard as her shaky hand reaches for the box, popping it open and seeing the ring for the first time.

A gasp echo’s off the walls of your home, the same walls that heard your wails of misery and the same walls that watch you drink away the last three months.

“It’s perfect…”

Every emotion that Jeongyeon has ever felt is displayed on her face for you to see. The heart ache, the love, the regret, and the grief.

“I have so many regrets about that night, Y/n…I would have n-never left if I would have known-” Letting all of her pain flow.

She gathers herself, you look her in the eyes and boldly say:

“You could still say yes, you know?” eyes never leaving her face, trying to judge how that statement blew over.

Frozen in shock as boils over her as she processes what you just said.

“We would have to work on things, of course…that betrayal cut deep…but” taking another deep breath and admitting the truth.

“I’m willing to try and fix this, if you are.” the anxiety in the room was shared between the two of you.

“Really?” disbelief on her lips, the tears sitting on the water line of her eyes threatening to flood down the tracks her previous tears already laid in place for them.

“Really.” nodding your head in reassurance.

Jeongyeon places the box down in front of you, ring facing you and lifts her left hand up with her fingers splayed out, hand shaking from the intensity of the conversation you were having.

Pulling the ring out of the box, you slip it on her finger and admire how it looks on her. Kissing every knuckle she has before releasing her hand and sighing in relief.

“I’m so sorry about leaving…” toying with her ring, looking up at you through her bangs.

“We will get through it…” standing up to sit on her lap again and hug her.

Missing her was an understatement. Being in her arms again made you feel whole in a way that you couldn’t explain, a way you thought was impossible.

It was just her…it was always her.

“…and we will get through it together.” cupping her face and stroking her cheeks with your thumbs.

Leaning in, you kiss her. Soaking up all the love you missed in those three months apart, her lips heal almost every crack in your soul - rejuvenation of your heart in full effect as you lay a few more soft pecks on her lips and then her forehead.

“Together.”

#twice imagines #twice x reader #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #yoo jeongyeon #twice jeongyeon #jeongyeon #jeongyeon angst #jeongyeon x fem!reader #Jeongyeon fluff #but like 4 lines of fluff #twice angst #ANGST

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thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels · 17 days ago

Text

Is it death who comes knocking? (is it a curse to always know?)

Day 1 of The Long Halloween - event masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 7.5k

genre: horror, fluff kinda, hurt/comfort

warnings: mothman damian, crime scenes, lots of vague / symbolic mentions of death, this is kinda a monsterfucker fic but it's sfw as always, reader gets a little stressy a little hysterical

a/n: daaaaaay one I hope we all like it <3 kiss kiss enjoy

"What are you staring at? Come on, move along -"

"What, am I not allowed to gawk?" you snap, making the young police officer in front of you freeze and blink owlishly. "God knows everyone else is." He glances around at your words, letting his eyes flick frantically over the growing crowds that surround the crime scene as the police lights bathe their stricken faces in red, then blue, and then red again.

The officer keeps speaking, trying his best to bark orders and demand that everyone move along and find something else to do other than stand and stare and poke around a crime scene. But you're not particularly listening anymore. Your head, instead, tips back so that you can look up at the night sky and the towering buildings of Gotham.

A shadow flickers somewhere overhead, as black as the darkened sky. You wonder, for just a moment, if it's him.

The Mothman.

"Go on, really," the officer's defeated sigh makes you snap your head back down to look at him. He arches a brow wearily and, after glancing around to confirm that most of the crowd is still gathered, you narrow your eyes at him. "Get lost."

"I'm just standing here," you press. "Just like everybody else."

"No," he crossed his arms. "I've seen you before. Anytime, anywhere some freak accident happens, anytime somebody dies, you're always here, nosing around." You take a step back at his words, pressing your lips together in annoyance. "Maybe," he says pointedly. "Maybe we should bring you in for questioning."

"For a freak accident?" you quip back. "Incredible use of police resources." You hope that he doesn't notice the way that you sweat at his comment, hope that he can't see the way that your heart hammers and lurches as you spin on your heel and march away, knocking shoulders with people in the crowd.

You hope that he can't see the flickering shadow overhead, and hear the faint sound of wings beating over the breeze.

The Mothman.

If you ask anyone, he's a myth, a scary story that you tell when you're out in the dark with your friends and you want to give them a good fright.

He's the omen of death, it's believed, and if you see him, you're sure to die. When tragedy is about to strike, when death is about to reign down, the Mothman will appear on the scene, dark and wild and ready to see it through.

As you begin the long walk back to your apartment, you shove your hands into your pockets to ward off the oncoming chill of night, watching as your breath fogs out in front of your face. Flashes of the crime scene that you'd just left play over and over in your mind, the accident and the death and the Mothman, large and looming and deadly as he stares.

You were so sure… you were so sure that this time, you'd get there quick enough, that this time you'd stop him from killing again.

You go to step out onto a crosswalk, but an oncoming car honks and the sound makes you jerk back as you blink, stepping back onto the safety of the sidewalk as you shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut.

As if it will help.

As if anything will make you stop seeing the things that you see.

They're visions, you suppose - nightmares of the creature and his killings, vivid, painful flashes and glimpses of the myth and the havoc that he wreaks.

But the nightmares keep coming true and there's nothing that you can do to stop them. There is never anything that you can do to stop them. You're always just a bit too late, just a minute too slow.

It's crazy, you tell yourself. It's a coincidence. But you keep your lips pressed firmly together, even now as you cautiously peer both ways before hastening across the busy Gotham streets, your feet surer and quicker than the rest of you has ever been. You keep your mouth shut, because the threat of being thrown somewhere like Arkham is too real and terrifying for you to do anything other than spend your days scrambling, running and running and running and falling just short of anything.

You keep your mouth shut, even at night when the visions creep up and you find yourself plagued with images of things that haven't happened yet - deaths that are soon to occur.

And in every one of these visions, it's the Mothman who appears to carry out the killing. You're sure of it. It's always him.

As you step back into your apartment, flicking on the dull, yellow-hued light and standing in the silent entryway with windswept hair and frozen fingers, you think that surely… surely next time you'll get there fast enough. Next time you'll save a life.

But when you wake the next morning, there have been no visions. No twisting and turning agony, no spiralling panic and gasping, sweating fear. There's just… nothing.

And when you wake the next day, there's nothing.

And the day after that, and after that, and after that. Just… nothing. You think, sort of hesitantly, like a prey animal spotting food in a trap, that perhaps you've found some sort of freedom. Perhaps you've found a way out.

But then you wake, one day, when the sun is just barely cresting over the horizon and beginning to spill golden light onto the twisted, frantic city below, and your heart hammers in your chest as your lungs burn. Images of the dreams that you'd had, of the twisted visions that haunted you come to the surface, flashing through your mind over and over and -

And you grip your blanket with one hand while the other flies over your mouth so that you can muffle your own panicked breathing, so that you can smother any sound that you make.

Because this vision was different. This time… this time you saw him, with clawed hands and feathered wings, climbing through your open window and stepping onto your faded, wooden floors. This time, the Mothman is in your home, and he is going to come to kill you, you're sure.

It's a panicked sort of thing, the way that you rip the blankets off of your frame so that you can launch out of bed and stumble into your living room to reach for the open window. You think frantically back to the visions and remember only the window, wide open like a maw, and spilled water on the hardwood floor, as if something was knocked over on his way in.

This has to be the window, you think to yourself as you slam it shut, locking the latch roughly. This has to be it, you think as you glance at the vase of flowers on the window ledge, the water reflecting the early morning light and shining through the glass.

And then surely, you think as you step back, twisting your hands nervously in front of you, surely he can't get in. Surely death cannot come for me today.

But perhaps you should've learned, by now, that not even you can stop death.

The way that you creep back to your bedroom is careful, and you stop in every other room to close and latch the windows shut - just as a precaution, just as a final safeguard.

The tension that sits in your shoulders and keeps your body taut has begun to ease a bit, and you've begun to feel like you can breathe again for the first time all morning, when you step back into the doorway of your bedroom.

That's when you see it. Your bedroom window has been opened, and the glass of water on your nightstand, right next to the window, has been knocked over, spilling onto the hardwood floor.

So it's then that you realize… you'd gotten the window wrong. He slinks through the shadows, you know, only appearing right before the death. If you'd just stayed in your room… he never would've just climbed into your home right in front of you.

Your hands begin to tremble and your breath freezes in your lungs as you realize that you only thought that you were closing him out, while you were really just letting him in.

And then it really hits you.

There's something in your home, and it's here to kill you.

You stand, frozen, your breath stuttering in and out as you stare at the open window and the cool morning breeze that wafts in, blowing your curtains out into billowing waves. You stand and you wait and you consider all of the places he could be hiding, all of the ways that he could climb out of the shadows and drain the life from you.

But time ticks by… seconds into minutes and nothing… happens. There's no sight of him, no noise of him. It's like he's not even really there. You begin to think, in a rather hysterical sort of way, that perhaps you really have just gone crazy, perhaps there's never been anything here at all.

When your doorbell rings and the sound echoes shrilly through your home, it's enough to make you jump, your heart clenching painfully as you spin around to peer down your hallway and eye your front door. It's not real, you think. He's not real. You go to step out of your bedroom, chanting the mantra over and over in your head, but it's not quite loud enough to distract from the noise that can be heard from somewhere behind you - a rustling, soft sort of thing.

By the time you've spun around to face the window again, it's been… shut. The window's shut and your glass is placed carefully back in its rightful place on your nightstand. And you swear… you swear that you see a blur of bluish-black feathers zipping away out of the corner of your eye.

The days begin to crawl on after that, the city curling in on itself and crushing you in a way that it never has before. You start sleeping with your windows locked, of course, circling the interior of your home day after day to make sure that every latch is secure and every curtain is drawn. But try as you might, there is nowhere for you to run from the visions, and they morph into spiralling images of his large, clawed hands tapping and scraping at the glass of your windows, begging to be let in.

"Look, you really can't be here," the officer's voice is dull in your mind, somewhere far off and vacant.

"Hm?" you acknowledge as you crane your neck to look past him, staring at the yellow tape circling the newest crime scene in a tangled maze-like pattern.

"Just… go home. You shouldn't see this. No one should." That makes you pause, makes you look at the officer and blink and stare until he sighs and wanders off.

No one should have to see this, you think, his words ringing through your mind. But you do see it, nonetheless.

Go home, he says, the weight of it all echoing through you. How could you? When the Mothman haunts your dreams and threatens to claw his way into your home at night? You see it still, every time that you close your eyes - countless swirling images of him in your apartment. They confuse you, and it makes you groan and rub your temples with your fingers as the officer glances back at you where you stand on the sidewalk, ever the onlooker, ever the bystander.

This accident… you'd seen this one too, of course. And you'd seen him, the Mothman. It's the same every time. He appears in your visions, looming like a towering symbol, and then someone dies. Every time. Every time except…

You clear your throat, rubbing a hand over the back of your neck as you stare out through the city, the moon beginning to arch high in the night sky as stars blink in and out overhead.

These visions of the two of you are different. He never kills you, he never hurts you. He comes into your home, time and time again, but it's… gentle. A vicious, clawed hand smoothing delicately over your cheek. Lips pressed against your forehead. His wings wrapping around you as he pulls you close. The two of you in your bed and he -

A car honks somewhere near you, another one of Gotham's near-constant scuffles as tires swerve down the darkened, busy street. It's enough to make you jump, though, ripping you from the daydream that you'd found yourself in.

"Are you alright?"

"What?" you snap, flinching as you find the young officer standing next to you again.

"You look flushed," he points out. "It's like - are you blushing?"

"No!" you all but shout. "I'm going home." He might have responded to you, then. He may have shouted after you, some comment about how that's what he's been trying to get you to do the whole time. But you're not listening, too busy stomping away as images of the hulking, feathered creature plague your mind.

It's that night, of course, that you get a new vision. It's just as confusing as they always are, a tangled mess of images and objects jumbling together in your mind. You catch glimpses of your window - and you're sure that it really is the living room now. You see his clawed, feathered hand slamming against the glass of a window pane. You see the broken shards and the opening that's left behind. You see… a trail of blood on some of the sharp edges and you know that it must be yours.

Fortunately, it's Gotham, so it's not really out of the ordinary to want to install metal bars on your window. When you stumble out of bed just as the sun is beginning to climb up beyond the impossible wall of fog, it's with the intent of sealing your apartment off, closing your home off from the outside world.

The city outside has begun to crush you, and you realize it, in a far-off, unfazed kind of way, when you begin installing bars onto the windows in your home. It's a cursed, entangled sort of place, and you can feel it start to ensnare you, getting tighter and tighter and tighter.

First, it's your bedroom that's sealed off, then your kitchen, then your bathroom. One by one, every opening that you have to something beyond yourself is closed off, shut out, put away, until it's nothing but you and the nightfall and the large, looming presence of your living room window.

Easy to buy, yes, but difficult to install, you realize, as you struggle to wield the hefty metal. It shouldn't be a surprise, really, that one of the bars slips from your grasp and topples into the window. You should've seen it coming, you think ruefully, as you lunge to catch it just a moment too late, watching as it shatters through the glass, instead.

But there's a panic in you now, as the cold night air comes swirling into your home, the window now a gaping maw letting in the city outside and below. You scramble a bit, the alarm of it all making you hazy as you reach for the metal bar, missing it to instead cut your palm on the broken glass of the window.

You find yourself reeling, then, as you stare at the jagged edge that's now glistening with your blood, as you look down to your palm, oozing red and dripping down your arm and onto your floor, and you realize that this is what you'd seen in your vision.

But it's then that you hear it - that eerie, familiar tapping and scratching at the glass. The air freezes a bit more, it feels, as your breath catches in your lungs and your heart stutters. There's a part of you that thinks that perhaps, if you don't look up, it won't be real.

So it's against your better judgement, then, that you lift your head in a slow, shaky movement, letting your eyes trail up and up and up until -

Until you're faced with a huge, feathered hand, blackened claws curling around the broken glass and reaching into your home from the opening that you'd created. Night has truly fallen outside, rendering the world invisible as it's shrouded in darkness. You can't see him, can't make out anything other than the hand stretching out from the impossibly endless night.

But the lamp on your living room end table flickers out a dull, yellow light, illuminating your figure for him. You may not be able to see him, but he can see you, and he reaches with a sharp, curling movement toward you.

It hits you again, in that moment, terrified as you are. In all of your efforts to keep him away, you've let the Mothman right into your home. The further you pushed, the clearer the way in became.

There's some sort of commotion on the road below, then, it seems - some kind of accident, most likely, as there are shouts and honking horns and screeching tires. The noise of it all jerks you into action, makes you jerk back and stumble away as blood drips down your arm and your vision swims with panic.

But it makes the Mothman startle, too, it would appear, as he pulls his arm back to slam his hand against the glass, just like he had in your vision. By the time you've scrambled forward to stare out the window, he's just… gone.

You peer down towards the street from your window and see some sort of situation on the road below, people already gathered around what you're sure has to be a body lying on the sidewalk as police sirens wail in the distance.

It hits you, then, like a cold, dead hand clamping down on your heart. You brought the Mothman here. You gave him a reason to be here, and surely he's killed again right here because of you. The thought makes your knees buckle, and you slide down toward your floor until you're sitting on the cold hardwood as the epiphany of it all slams into you.

No matter what you do, no matter where you go, he finds you. All of the effort that you're putting into keeping him away, all of the walls you're building up and the defences that you're crafting - you seem to actually just be bringing him closer. Somehow, in this twisted, tangled city, you've found a way to spiral around each other endlessly, your hands around each other's throats and doom carved into each other's hearts.

Instead of you haunting him, he's haunting you, now. You can't fight it. You can't stop it. You can't change fate. So you decide, as you sit on your floor with your palm oozing blood and the sounds of Gotham's chaos rolling in through your broken window - you decide, then, that you'll just run away. Surely, you think. Surely, there's only so far that he can chase you.

"Look, really, are you alright?" the officer speaking to you squints at you a bit, eyeing you through the haze of dusk as the sun sets on another accident, another crime scene, another death. "Are you… ok?"

You're trying to listen to him, really, you're trying to nod and smile and tell him that everything's fine. You want everything to be fine. But the problem is the vision that you'd woken up with, the one that had left you gasping and gripping your chest and tearing at your hair.

It was a vision of him, of the young, green officer in front of you who'd spent these past months watching you spiral into nothing. You'd seen him, in vague, spinning flashes, getting into his car and driving home late into the night.

You'd seen the collision somewhere downtown, on one of the large main roads. You'd seen his car, crumpled and smoking as sirens wailed in the distance.

You'd seen him die, you're sure of it.

"There's been an accident," you blurt out, and he raises his brows and glances around.

"Yes," he says slowly. "I know. That's… why we're here. You don't need to be, though."

"No, I -" you pause, searching frantically for something to say, some kind of lifeline to grab onto in this endless, gnawing place. "I mean - a different one. I hear that, uh, a couple of the main roads have been blocked off. Horrible traffic, it would take forever to get through."

"Oh," he says slowly, his hands a bit outstretched towards you, as if he's afraid that you'll suddenly keel over from whatever's afflicting you, whatever is giving you those shifting, panicked eyes and making you shuffle on your feet. "What, in this area?"

"Hm?"

"The accident," he reminds patiently.

"Yes!" you say, snapping your fingers. "Yea, uh, right… right up in, uh, that direction." He turns to follow your pointed finger, glancing down the street as you clear your throat and look at him expectantly.

"Huh," he says, a bit of understanding dawning on him. "Another Tim Drake problem, then."

"What?"

"Drake. You know, he's that guy everyone around here talks about. More money than morals, works near here."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say bluntly before you bite your tongue, cursing yourself as the shadows spiral overhead and the city leers at you, the buildings closing in around you.

"That… must have been what the accident was about, right?" the officer continues, suspicion creeping back into his voice. "You know… you know they say he's trying to find a way to bring back the dead."

"Beg your pardon?" you ask weakly.

"Yea," he responds easily, and you can tell from the sigh in his voice that he doesn't actually believe it. They never do. "He's a real mad scientist."

"You can't," you falter. "That's impossible. What's dead… stays dead."

"Apparently not," he quips back, but at your ashen face and swaying posture, he places a gentle hand onto your shoulder. "Hey, I'm - I'm only joking. He just causes a lot of problems for us, is all."

"Right," you respond shortly, forcing out a laugh that has his concern growing. "It's just, uh, it's just a normal accident up there tonight. Car crash, I heard. You know."

"Hm," he shrugs, pulling his hand away from you to cross his arms over his chest. "Yea, there's a few too many of those these days."

"I just think that, uh," you continue on, your eyes darting around the street, glancing at the towering buildings that loom high up above you. You rub a hand over your forehead roughly when you catch, or you think you catch the flickering shadow of a wing out of the corner of your eye. "I just think that the bridge is a better route to take tonight. If, you know, you - I mean… it's - it's the way that I'll be going… because of, uh, the accident, remember?"

"No," he says gently, his voice slow and a bit halting as he watches you with concern. "I… I don't remember that, because I don't even know… well… uh, thank you. You, um, you be careful out there, alright? Get home safely."

"Hey," you laugh, a hysterical sort of thing as a shadow flashes overhead and you duck a bit. "You be careful, you know?"

"What?" he asks, the bewilderment creeping up on him a bit too much, the unease of it all crawling up his arms and beginning to wrap around his throat as the city curls inward and casts darkness onto the two of you and the sun dips far enough below the horizon that its precious light is lost once more. "No, I - do you need a ride home?"

"No!" you all but shout. "No, sorry, uh, no, my car is just parked around the corner… and I'm leaving now." You spin around at that, walking swiftly down the winding, cracked sidewalk until you find your car, all but ripping open the door to climb in as the officer watches, bewilderment and concern carved onto his face.

You're not sure how long you sit in your car after that, your hands gripping the steering wheel as you place your forehead against your knuckles and force deep breaths in and out of your lungs. Time drips on and you see, out of the corner of your eye, the city continues to darken as night wears on and the crime scene is wrapped up, police leaving in flashes of blue and red and blue again.

But you've done it this time, you're sure. You've been quicker, you've been smarter. You've cheated death of another victim - held back the Mothman, if only for a single night.

It makes sense to you, of course, for you to take the bridge home, yourself. The threat of the Mothman is an ever-present weight bearing down on your shoulders and you can feel yourself scrambling, like a prey animal finally caught in a trap, to try to get away from him. With the memories of your visions still rolling through your mind endlessly, it feels only right to finally settle yourself in the driver's seat and begin to turn away, away from the main roads and the locations of your nightmares and the looming, hulking, shadow of the Mothman.

Surely, you think. Surely, this time, I'll rewrite fate just enough to make it matter. Surely, this time, something will change.

There's a sort of anguish in you, then, when you arrive at the bridge and have to slam on your brakes and bring your car to a screeching halt. It's a misery that burns you, that crawls up your throat and strangles you as the tangled web of the city closes in further.

The police are already there, illuminating the depths of the night with their lights as they circle a car crash. It's a cop car, in fact, that's part of the collision, crumpled and smoking and warped under the endless darkness of night.

And it's his car, that lovely young officer that you'd spoken to so many times. It's his licence plate, as clear as it had been in your visions.

Sirens wail through the foggy air and water rushes under the bridge and your heart hammers so loudly that you swear to god it could beat out of your chest in a minute.

Beyond the accident, beyond the cars and the police that swarm the scene, beyond the death that permeates the air and rots the ground beneath you… beyond all of that stands the Mothman, huge and terrifying and staring straight at you.

No one else can see him, you assume - the idea that you'd toyed with for so long finally coming to life. No one can see him but you. He stands still, unmoving, unbreathing, unflinching, his feet solid on the dark asphalt as his wings spread so wide that they brush against the sides of the bridge.

He stands, like an omen of death, like a symbol of your neverending failures, and he stares at you with glowing, yellow, unblinking eyes.

An officer knocks on your car window and you scream, a short, shrieking noise until you snap your head around to look at him and sigh. He says something as he shines his flashlight into your car, but you just shake your head and roll down the window.

"Pardon?" you ask, your voice cracking. You're not looking at him, though. Your eyes are still trained, instead, on the presence of the Mothman, the mass of black feathers and razor-sharp claws and bright, yellow eyes boring into you.

"You've got to move along," the officer repeats. "We're trying to get the ambulances through here, those drivers need medical attention."

"Medical attention?" you all but shout, ripping your eyes away from the Mothman to stare at the cop who's leaning down to talk through your window. "They're alive?"

"Yes…" he says slowly. "It wasn't a terrible accident. But - please, we really need you to move along. If you need to cross the bridge, that's fine. Just go now and go quickly, will you?" When you look ahead of you again, the Mothman is still there, standing like a statue guarding the tightrope between life and death.

It doesn't make sense, you think as you roll up your window without another word, driving ever so slowly past the officer and across the bridge. It doesn't make sense. If he's not here to kill someone else, then who…

Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly enough that the leather creeks as you pass the scene of the accident, staring at the creature right ahead of you the entire time. You're going slowly, practically crawling over the bridge as the Mothman stares down at you, still unmoving.

It's not until you're close enough to almost hit him that he finally shifts ever so slowly, stepping to the side so that he can watch as you drive past him. You don't look, of course, your breath stuttering as you keep your head facing forward, knowing that his yellow eyes are fixed on you as you drive past. When his wings, still outstretched and menacing, scrape their feathers across the side of your car, you suck in a shaky breath and wonder what it's like to die.

But nothing… happens. You drive on, over the bridge and away from the scene, and the Mothman simply stares, fixed in his spot, as you disappear down the winding, twisting road. Here, on the outskirts of Gotham, the large manor houses loom over you as the city retreats behind you and disappears in the thick, foggy night and the rolling tides of the water. It's greener here, trees sprouting up into forests in tangled, maze-like patterns, and there's something in you that makes you take a sharp turn, heading toward the woods.

He's been following you, you know, trailing after you this entire time. You catch glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye as you drive, seeing the flicker of his shadow overhead, hearing the flutter of his feathered wings. It makes a sort of desperation begin to swirl in you, a panic begin to fester in your mind as you begin to drive into the shadowed forest.

When the trees are too densely packed for your car, you merely park and throw open your door, stumbling as you continue on foot. Any other time, any other person would say that this is crazy, that you're some poor, lost soul stumbling to their death, likely to freeze or starve somewhere in the woods after straying too far from home.

But you've been far too lost for far too long to stop now, and running away, you're beginning to realize, might be all that you really know how to do.

Perhaps you shouldn't be surprised, really, that you run directly into the creature, somewhere deep in the depths of this impossible forest. Perhaps coming face-to-face with him really was always going to happen, and none of the erratic twists and turns you took could have ever prevented it.

Perhaps, you think as he stands in front of you, huge and terrifying and dark as the night, his eyes shining in the haze, perhaps there is really nothing that you can do against fate.

You think that maybe you should run, maybe you should try endlessly to scramble away from this… to defy the inevitable. You're shifting on your feet, bracing yourself to bolt away from him, when he speaks, and the sound makes you freeze.

"You cannot run from this any more than I can," he says clearly, and his voice is a low, smooth rumble. You stare at him, eyes wide as the air leaves your lungs in a punched-out gasp, and he continues. "That is the curse. You cannot run, you cannot hide… you cannot break it."

"Who are you?" you ask weakly.

"You know what I am," is his only response.

"Who are you?" you repeat, your voice louder this time as you step forward. He blinks, his yellow eyes glowing through the night, as you squint at him. "Or is your only name Death?"

"I… am not death," he says slowly, a frown tugging on his lips as you continue to walk toward him. When you get close enough and crane your head back to look up at him, you can even see his face under all of the feathers and shadows, and he looks… he looks almost human underneath it all. "My name is Damian… and I am nothing more than an omen."

You're not sure what possesses you to reach up, leaning onto your toes so that you can reach for his face, brushing feathers away until you can see him clearly. Smooth skin and downturned lips, furrowed brows and his eyes, his bright yellow eyes staring at you through the darkness.

"An omen?" you repeat questioningly. He hums in affirmation, his knees slightly bent and his shoulders and back hunched so that you can let one of your hands smooth across his face.

"I see them, these deaths," he continues in his low, rumbling voice. "I watch, but I cannot change. You… you understand this, do you not?" You huff out a surprised breath at his words, jerking back like you've just remembered yourself and stumbling to create distance between the two of you. He straightens at your actions, watching you carefully as you twist your hands together and feel, as if for the first time, the biting cold of the night.

"You're killing those people," you say harshly, but he merely stares.

"I am not… any more than you are."

"What?" you say, and you feel the air freeze in your lungs. "I'm not - I didn't kill anyone. I just - I keep seeing it and I'm… I'm trying to stop it, I'm trying to save people but I don't -"

"You are not responsible," he speaks over you, and you swear that you hear an exasperated sigh from somewhere deep within him. "That is our curse… you must watch, but you cannot change. It does not ever change."

"Then why…" you falter, searching frantically for some sort of answer, some sort of way out of this tangled snare. "Why were you there? Why are you here?"

"I am an omen," he repeats. "Where death trails through, I am to appear."

"That's it?" you say weakly. "You just… you stand and you watch? Over and over again?"

"You…" he says slowly, "would understand that, I think." You laugh at that, a high-pitched, hysterical sort of noise that makes a bird somewhere nearby squawk.

"Yea, uh, I guess - I guess I would," you say as you rub a hand over your forehead in a harsh way, squeezing your eyes shut. You try to breathe deeply for a moment, try desperately to move the freezing air through your lungs, but there's something in you that's strangling you, that's tugging at your heart and making it beat strangely in your chest.

You're just starting to consider that maybe you really should just be thrown into Arkham when a hand, huge and clawed and ever so gentle, wraps around your wrist and brings your palm away from your face. When you look up at him with wide eyes, he's staring down at you, hunched over so that he can be close to your face.

"Why are you hunting me like this?" you ask quietly, your voice a tired whisper. His brows furrow together and he frowns again.

"I'm… courting you."

"…Pardon?"

"We understand each other, I think," he explains, straightening to look down at you while he keeps his fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist. His wings arc out behind him, blocking out the moon and the small sliver of brightness that it had blessed you with.

"I don't… think we do," you respond hesitantly, but he just shakes his head.

"It is a curse, this life… to see but not speak, watch but not move. It is… lonely, this life. It is lonely to be us."

"So what, we…" you let your eyes dart around as his words wrap around you and make your head spin. "We just… I don't know, what, we're not alone when we're together, I suppose?"

"It is true," he says simply. "We are not alone in this place… you are not alone with me by your side."

"I thought you were trying to kill me!" you shout, pulling your arm away from his grip. He lets you, much to your shock, making a low, panicked sort of sound when he can't loosen his grip fast enough and his claws scrape against his skin. Your hand's already bandaged from the incident with your broken window, and now long, angry, red lines curl across your skin from him.

"I have never killed anyone," he says quickly - firmly. "I have not."

"I thought -," but you cut yourself off, burying your face into your hands to let out choppy, shuttering breaths. The creature makes another pained, whining sort of sound and when you peek between your fingers, he's kneeling in front of you so that you're face-to-face, and his eyes… his eyes look so human as he stares at you with agony.

"I would never hurt you," he says firmly, but then his eyes glance down at the scrapes on your hand and he shrinks back. "Not - not on purpose. I would never lay a hand on you like that." You take a deep, shaky breath and look at him, your breath coming out in foggy gasps from the cold.

"What were you doing on the bridge tonight, then?" you ask firmly. "Why didn't that cop die?"

"I was not there for him," he says simply, frowning at you. "I was there for you."

"Then why did I see it? I saw him die -"

"Did you?" the creature cuts you off gently. "Or did you just… see him crash?"

"Well, I -," you falter, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment as if to try to see the visions again before looking at Damian once more. "I… the visions are always of death. Always except for that one and -"

"And?" he prompts. You just press your lips together, flashes of your visions with Damian running through your mind.

"How can you think that something like this could ever work?" you ask tiredly, a weak distraction as you let your forehead thump against his feathered shoulder and revel in the warmth that radiates from him. He rumbles somewhere deep in his chest and he spreads his wings further to wrap around the two of you, cocooning you in heat and darkness as his eyes bathe you in a yellow glow.

"Is there a reason why it should not?" he asks in return, letting one of his hands find your waist while the other lifts to your cheek so that he can stroke a knuckle across your skin. You huff a bit at his easy demeanour, but with your eyes closed all that you can think of are those visions.

"I - I've seen you," you admit.

"You have?" he asks mildly.

"Yes. I've seen you - us. I've seen…" but you trail off, thankful that the darkness can hide the heat raging in your cheeks.

"You're blushing, beloved," he points out, though, and you curse yourself for not thinking that of course he can see through the impossible darkness of the night.

"Shut up," you respond quickly.

"Not… death visions, then, I suppose?" he asks, and your eyes narrow at the playful, near-smug way that he speaks.

"Not quite," you grit out.

"Well, that is delightful, is it not?" he says smoothly, his voice keeping that deep, low, rumble as he leans back to look at you more clearly. "That you've accepted me?"

"I have not," you say stubbornly, but you bury your face into his feathers again, hiding your face from view while he laughs.

"Well, that is alright," he says soothingly, brushing a hand over the back of your head. "Is this a rejection? If it is not, I'll keep trying." You grumble something under your breath, turning his words over and over and over in your mind. Would it be so bad, you think, to not be alone?

"It's… it's not. It's not a rejection," you say weakly, and when you lift your head to look at him once more, you learn that monsters can still smile.

It's several months later, past the time of year when the cold fully sets in, and then even further past when it begins to thaw - it's then, when the ground shifts as warmth rolls in and fog begins to get muggy and sticks to your skin, that you find yourself curled up on a little fold out chair on your fire escape. You're sitting with your legs propped up on the chair with the rest of you so that you can lean your chin on your knee and stare up at the stars, at the endless pricks of light that sit just beyond the reach of this terrible, cursed city.

It's been one of those nights, where the visions just won't leave and they wrap around you and squeeze until you're tossing and turning and gasping for breath. It's one of those nights where you wonder why it's you who's cursed, why it's you who feels so caught in the tangled thread of life and death that runs through this city.

It's one of those nights where you think, rather desperately, that there must be some way to change what you are and what's laid out ahead of you.

But it is a bit different already, you suppose, as a fluttering shadow stretches overhead and you glance up to see the outstretched wings of the Mothman as he swoops and dives through the darkened night sky.

It is different, because there's a new routine that you and Damian have now, where you catch each other when one of you stumbles and falls.

It is different, if for nothing other than the fact that neither of you face death alone.

"What's wrong, my love?" Damian's voice rings down from somewhere above you, deep and smooth as you feel the warm night air swirling while his wings beat. He's rather graceful as he lands, perched on the railing of your fire escape, the weight of him making the metal groan and creak underneath him.

"What are you doing here?" you quip, but there's no real bite in your voice as you stand and lean into him, letting him wrap an arm around your waist while you press a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Can't you sleep?" he asks in lieu of answering. When you sigh heavily and shake your head, a frown tugs at his lips and his yellow eyes blink down at you.

"Not tonight," you answer quietly, and you shrink in on yourself just a bit. The action is enough to make an empathetic whine sound from his chest before he wraps you fully in his arms and lifts you off of your feet.

"I'll stay with you," he says simply, but you huff a bit in his arms as he settles where you'd been sitting before, letting you curl into his lap while he wraps his wings around the two of you, sealing you into a little hold of safety against the looming horror of the city beyond the two of you.

"Damian, you don't have to…" you trail off, and he looks at you pointedly when you sink into the warmth of his embrace, relaxing in his hold.

"But why wouldn't I?" he asks simply. You do nothing but squirm and shrug a bit, toying with some of the feathers that cover his chest.

"Isn't there somewhere else to be?" you ask quietly. A laugh rumbles from him as you press your face into his neck and bury your hands into the soft, bluish-black feathers.

"Like where?" he asks, a hint of mirth in his voice. "Out there? Staring death in the face? What a thing to do when I have you right here." He says it so simply, always. And you suppose that, really, he's right.

Sometimes life, you suppose, just… is what it is. Sometimes there is no fighting what you are. But why do it alone? Why not do it right here, in the arms of a monster who's learned how to love?

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