#one of you could have done a better job than this

[holdinggrudges]

what's my flavor?

pairing: sam winchester x reader

content: EXPLICIT 18+, oral (fem!receiving), vampire!sam, blood drinking, bloodplay (surprisingly little though tbh), fem!reader (afab anatomy + the word girl used in reference like three times or so), feeding being explicitly referred to as similar to drugs/getting high, mentions of serious illness (made up for plot reasons but still)

word count: 10.5K

summary: Working your way through college, you find a secretary job with great pay and more than enough downtime on the clock to get your coursework done. The only downside is that it leaves you with no choice but to attend night classes. But it's not so bad, especially with Mysterious Hot Guy attending them as well. Oh, and there's been blood bags going missing, but you're pretty sure that's not going to be relevant to your life any time soon.

notes: this was supposed to be pwp. it was also supposed to be posted on halloween. clearly, neither of those things happened. but fuck it, we ball.

crossposted on ao3

You don’t understand how anyone could get through college without a job. You hear about people surviving off scholarships all the time, and you try your first year, you really do. But, God, something has to change. You can’t imagine working your way through school could be any more stressful than the budgeting, and the skipping meals, and the cards declining at the grocery store. 

So you get a job. A good one, too; a secretary job at an office ten minutes away from your apartment, and only twenty minutes away from campus. The job is easy, with plenty of downtime for you to work on your coursework, and the pay is good. Better than good, even. The only problem is the hours; 9-5 is great, generally, but not very convenient when setting up a college schedule. You’re relegated almost exclusively to night classes. Which is fine. Not ideal, but fine. 

You take four classes, two a night, and it leaves your Fridays wide open after work. It would truly be a perfect schedule if it didn’t mean you were on campus until 11 o’clock most nights. But the classes are relatively empty and none of your professors are total hardasses, so it’s not so bad. Actually, you start to really enjoy it. 

You make a little game out of studying the other students, trying to figure them out. The woman who sits in front of you in your statistics class is a stay-at-home mom, you think. The older man a few rows down in english is retired military. It’s interesting, and it gives you a reason to actually make it to class everyday. Well, that and Mysterious Hot Guy. 

Mysterious Hot Guy (or MHG, for short) is in two of your classes: your 6 o’clock political science class on Mondays and Wednesdays sitting a row down from you, and sitting beside you in your 8:30 biology class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He first caught your eye because, frankly, he looks more like he should be on a movie set than night classes at a dinky community college. He’s drop dead gorgeous, and that’s putting it lightly. Even so, that’s not what has you so intrigued. Something about him is off somehow, strange in such a way that it has you completely captivated. Alluring in a way you can’t quite put your finger on, even outside his appearance. 

MHG hardly ever speaks. You’re pretty sure he’s only said one word to you the entire four weeks of the semester so far, and he sits literally a foot away from you every other day. He’s also, apparently, a genius. He never takes notes, never writes a single thing down, he never asks questions and never answers them either, for that matter. Still, you happened to catch a glimpse of his grade on the test your biology professor handed back last week, and he got a perfect score. 

He also doesn’t have a car. Or, rather, he doesn’t have a car of his own. Every Tuesday and Thursday as you’re walking back to your own car at almost 11 PM, he’s climbing into the passenger seat of an absolutely gorgeous vintage Chevrolet Impala that makes you simultaneously green with envy and desperate for him to push you up against the side of it. Or push you down against the backseat. Or the front seat, which you find out is a bench seat after some minor googling. Car like that, you’re not exactly gonna be picky about where. 

Still, even after all your observing, you don’t learn a single useful piece of information about MHG until six weeks into the semester—two weeks out from midterms—when your biology professor announces that you will be choosing your partners for the midterm project. You barely even let the words leave his mouth before you’re turning to your right, pouncing with what you hope is a normal amount of enthusiasm, although you’re so damn intrigued by this guy that all you can do is pray you don’t come across as a total stalker. “Hey. Would you wanna partner up?” 

MHG turns to you, his eyes wide in a way that leaves you a lot less hopeful about how normal your greeting was. “Uh. Me?” he asks, and his voice is…warm in a way you weren’t expecting. He could do audiobooks, or a podcast, or something—he has a nice voice is what you’re getting at.

You laugh. You’re almost a little starstruck—it makes sense; you’ve definitely turned this guy into your own personal celebrity. “Who else?” you respond, holding out your hand for him to shake. “I’m ____.” 

He eyes you for a moment before he clasps your hand and gives it a shake. Jesus, this guy must have anemia or something because his hand is fucking freezing. “Sam. Uh, Winchester. Sam Winchester.” His touch lingers for a moment before he tugs his hand back. “And…yeah. Yeah, we can…partner up.” 

Sam Winchester. Finally, a name to put to the face. No more thinking of him as Mysterious Hot Guy for you; you and MHG are on a first name basis now. “Awesome,” you say softly, and you really, desperately hope your smile looks less manic than it feels. “So. Sam. Would you mind giving me your number or something so we can set up a time and place to meet up?” 

He hesitates, but he does scribble a number down on the corner of his empty notebook page. “I, uh. I can’t do…daytime,” he tells you as he slides it over. 

Okay. Weird way to phrase that, but you assume he’s like you, he works during the day or something. So you shrug and take the proffered paper. “Me neither. I have work.” You pinch it between your fingers with a grin. “We’ll make it work.” 

He smiles at you, a shy sort of thing that makes your chest ache to draw out more. “Yeah. Okay.” 

You plug the number in your phone almost as soon as you get home, but it takes you almost an hour to actually text him. You go through probably a hundred different drafts before you finally land on: ‘hey!! it’s ____. does friday work for you? my only day without classes lol’ 

Once you press send, you figure you’ll probably have at least five minutes to freak out and overthink. Sam doesn’t really seem the type to be glued to his phone. Which is why, you suppose, that you nearly have a heart attack when your phone buzzes with a response no more than 30 seconds later. ‘Friday works. 7 at the library?’ 

‘see you then :)’ You debate over the smiley face for a solid minute and a half before finally sending it and then violently throwing your phone across the couch and screaming into your throw pillow. 

When you do finally work up the courage to pick your phone up again, he’s sent two texts back. ‘See you then.’ And then another one, a small bubble containing two characters: ‘:)’ Embarrassingly, you giggle alone in your living room. Oh, this guy is going to be the death of you. 

You spend the rest of the night googling Sam Winchester and coming up with absolutely nothing. He seems to have absolutely no social media presence at all, not even an old MySpace or a private Facebook account. The only reference you can find to his name at all has it listed as one of two sons of some random serial killer from, like, the 1800s, which is obviously useless. 

You give up your fruitless search with a sigh, closing your laptop and shoving it aside. Your tv is playing on some local news station—doesn’t matter which one, they’ve all been reporting the same story for weeks. You click it off, 100% disinterested in hearing about the blood bags going missing from local clinics for the millionth time this month. 

You go to bed and dream of brown hair and eyes that you just can’t quite place the color of, but you can swear you see them flash red.

Friday finds you at the library almost a full hour early. You’d agonized over your outfit all day yesterday, and for another half an hour after work to boot. In the end, you’d decided to go casual. After all, it is just a study date—and actually, not a date at all! A study meet-up. A study hangout, at best. The fact that you did your make-up and your hair for it is entirely irrelevant. 

It’s 6:45 when a cough draws your attention up from your phone. Sam is standing in front of you with another one of those shy smiles, and two coffee cups in his hands. Coffee cups from your favorite cafe. He shoves one in your direction. “Uh. I’ve noticed that you have drinks from here pretty often. And- I hope you don’t mind, but I…I read one of the cups? So. This is for you.” 

Your eyes flick over him, your heartbeat practically pounding out of your chest. So he’s been watching you too. Or—Jesus, not watching, that makes it sound creepy. Observing is a better word for it. He noticed a pattern in your coffee cups. He read one to find out what it was you were drinking. “Thanks,” you tell him, taking the cup from his hand. Turning it to read the writing, you find he’d gotten it right. Maybe you should find it creepy, actually. As it is, you’re sort of having a hard time not swooning. You beam at him. “I’ll…have to return the favor.” 

For some reason, that makes Sam laugh as he sits down across from you. “Sure.” He opens his backpack and takes out his laptop. “So, this project.” 

Sam, as it turns out, is a genius. Or at least exceptionally smart. A project that would’ve taken you hours on your own is done in record time with him, which leaves the two of you there at 7:30 with a fully completed midterm project and half-empty coffee cups. You don’t want to leave, and it seems Sam doesn’t either, as he closes his laptop and asks, “Why are you taking night classes?” like he’s really, genuinely curious. 

So you tell him. You tell him about trying to get through college on your own, deciding you needed a full time job, how it’s probably the best job you’ve ever had. You ask him the same question, and he tells you about his brother, who is, apparently, the one who drives that fucking awesome car. He drops Sam off at classes, and pretty much anywhere else he needs to go.

The two of you chat for an hour and a half before Sam gets a text that says his brother is literally going to leave him there if he doesn’t shag ass and get in the car pronto. So Sam walks you out of the library. 

“You know,” you blurt out before you can lose your nerve, “I feel like our classes would be a lot easier if we put our heads together like this. You know, regularly. Like, every Friday, maybe.” 

He ducks his head, smiling that same shy smile he’d had when he gave you the coffee. “Sure. Every Friday. Sounds…helpful.” 

You don’t realize until you get home that he never actually told you why he takes night classes. It turns out to be a pattern for him, as the two of you meet up week after week. You simultaneously feel like you know everything and nothing about him, and every week you like him more and more for it. Well, for that and the coffee that he gets you every time. 

It takes a week before he moves seats in your political science class. The Monday after the second Friday you meet up with him, you almost sit in the wrong seat because you’re so used to him sitting two rows ahead of you. Of course, when you realize what’s happened, Sam’s staring at you with an amused grin on his face, like he’s trying really hard not to laugh at you. So, you decide, you are friends, at least. And as far as friends go, Sam’s a pretty good one.

You and Sam text, constantly. Despite seeming relatively unplugged, he responds to you instantly almost every time. You hate to get your hopes up, but by the time finals roll around, you’re starting to really like him. You’re starting to think he really likes you too. 

He finishes his biology final on the last Thursday of classes long before you, but when you leave the classroom, you see him leaning against the wall, waiting. Again, you don’t want to get your hopes up, but when he lifts his head and sees you approaching him, you swear to God, you see his whole face light up.  He looks a little pale, maybe. But it also might just be the fluorescent lights of the hallway.

“How do you think you did?” he asks, falling into step beside you.

And, you think, it’s now or never, now, isn’t it? Classes are over. You may never see Sam again (although, you like to think the two of you are close enough now that you would at least remain friends outside of having classes together, but still, the sentiment remains). So you change the subject and ask, “Would you wanna get dinner with me on Saturday?” 

He pauses, freezes in place pretty much, and you stop to match him. “Dinner, like…dinner?” he asks, as if that question makes any sense. 

You laugh, a little awkward, and adjust your backpack straps. “Uh, yeah. Like, dinner.” You don’t want to explicitly mention it being a date. You feel like he likes you, you really do, but if you’re wrong…that rejection is going to sting. So you don’t say it, not explicitly. 

But still, Sam’s face lights up with a grin. “Yeah. I’d…really love to get dinner with you, actually. I’ll have to—I’ll text you. But…yes, yeah. I’d love to.” 

You’re pretty sure the smile on your face matches his. “Okay. Then, I’ll see you on Saturday. And you’ll text me.” 

“I’ll text you,” he agrees. 

The two of you linger for a moment before parting, and you have never been more excited to say goodbye to someone in your entire fucking life. 

When you get home, you have a text message. ‘I’ll pick you up. Does 7 work for you?’

You have to take a moment to squeal into your pillow before answering that yes, 7 does work for you, and you’re excited to see him then. And then, as an afterthought, your address.

God, you need to find something to wear.

Saturday comes around, and you’re fully ready by 6. Sam’s almost always shown up early, after all. Your TV plays news footage, stating that the clinics have taken to putting up extra security around their blood banks to no avail. You couldn’t care less, too giddy and girlishly excited to even think about the stolen blood bags. 

6:45 rolls around. Sam isn’t there. That’s…fine. He’s not obligated to show up early. You set up a time to pick you up for a reason, right? There’s no reason for the sinking feeling in your gut. 

7:00. No sign of Sam. But that’s no reason to worry. Maybe he got stuck in traffic. People are late sometimes, and you don’t need to panic just because Sam’s never been late before. 

At 7:30, you shoot Sam a text. ‘are you okay? don’t tell me you forgot about me :( lol’ You don’t get a response. 

You don’t change back into lounge clothes until 8, and you don’t take off your makeup until 8:30, and that’s only because you’re pretty sure you’re about to start crying and ruin it anyway. 

The real kicker is that you thought Sam, at the very least, considered you a friend. Or at least friendly enough to let you down easy rather than agree to a date and then stand you up. Clearly, you severely misread the entire situation. You entirely misunderstood Sam in general, if he’s really the type of person to do this sort of thing. 

Wiping hot tears off your face, you cork open your expensive bottle of wine. Desperate times, right?

Two hours and half a wine bottle later, you’ve swung from devastated to angry. How dare he stand you up? You’re a catch! You’re gorgeous, you’re funny, you’ve ignored all of his weird quirks and red flags, and for what? To cry into a glass or five of overpriced wine on a Saturday night? Screw that. You should call him and give him a piece of your mind.

Or…no, you’re pretty drunk, actually, so you probably shouldn’t call him. But you could text him. Yeah. You fumble for your phone, furiously typing out a text and hitting send without a second thought. ‘if u werent interested in me u cldve just said so. didnt have 2 ghost me’ 

Next thing you know, you’re opening your eyes the next morning with a killer headache, a damn near empty bottle of wine, and no response from Sam. While you’re curled over the toilet, the alcohol isn’t the only thing turning your stomach. There’s a worry brewing there too. 

Because the more you think about it, the more that this really just doesn’t feel like Sam. Now that you’re further out from it, you can acknowledge that much. When you ask yourself if you truly believe that the guy who bought you your favorite drink every time you met up, the guy who remembered every single thing you ever told him, the guy whose face totally lit up when you asked him to dinner—when you ask yourself if that guy would stand you up, you truly, honestly don’t believe he would. So the real question is: why did he?

You fight through the worry until about halfway through your shift on Monday when you realize that with finals over, you have absolutely no idea when, or even if you’ll see Sam again. You call him. It rings all the way through until you get his voicemail, and you wish the sound of his voice could calm you, but it only reminds you that he’s not answering. You don’t leave a message, sending him a text instead. ‘seriously, are you okay? please at least let me know you’re not dead.’ You’re not surprised to find you haven’t gotten a response the next time you check your phone, walking to your car at the end of the day. Desperately, heart-clenchingly worried, but not surprised. 

You open your laptop the second you get home, furiously searching anything you can think of. You search for his name again, hoping to find anything that could point you towards family or friends, to the brother he mentioned. You search local obituaries, John Does, anyone who might even bear the slightest resemblance to Sam, but there’s nothing. Nothing, until you accidentally click on one of the articles about the blood theft. There, in a blurry screenshot of footage from the new security cameras one of the blood banks had installed, you see it. You recognize his brother’s gorgeous fucking car. 

Your eyes go wide. Holy shit, you’ve been flirting with a criminal. You scroll up through the article, reading furiously, but it doesn’t even mention the car, focusing instead on the blurry, shrouded figure entering the doors. Is this why Sam went missing? Laying low until he can be sure no one will connect the footage of the car to him or his brother? Why the fuck is he stealing blood bags in the first place? Needless to say, the discovery leaves you with more questions than it does answers. 

The world, unfortunately, does not stop with this revelation. You go to bed. You get up, you go to work, you come home. You think about Sam. You have no idea what you’re supposed to do in this situation. Should you go to the police? It’s not like he’s killing people but…it’s still illegal to steal blood bags. Also morally wrong, probably. Plus, you now have information that could help forward an ongoing police investigation. You’re not entirely sure what counts as aiding and abetting, but you’re not exactly itching to find out where the line is. 

On the other hand, Sam never seemed particularly…criminal-like to you. Strange, sure, but he was nice. Kind, even. You never in a million years would’ve pegged him as some sort of criminal mastermind. That’s got to count for something. Right? At the very least, you think it allows him the benefit of the doubt. So…late Tuesday night, you send him another text, the last one you’ll ever send him. Probably. ‘hey so keep ignoring me if im wrong but are you the one stealing blood from the clinics?’ 

He doesn’t text you back, and you pretend that means you’re wrong. That you can clear your conscience and go to sleep. That you can go to work and stop worrying about vintage cars in blurry security footage. 

Then the sun goes down on Wednesday, and someone knocks on your door. 

The man on the other side of it is unfamiliar to you. He’s wearing a leather jacket, an amulet hanging off his neck. There’s absolutely no reason you should recognize him as quickly as you do. Except that he has this quality about him, something unreal or maybe inhuman, and you’ve seen it before. You can’t quite tell what color his eyes are.

He smiles at you, and confirms it. “You’re ____, right? Sam’s told me all about you.” This is Sam’s brother, the one with the car. The car that you recognized in the blood bank footage. “I’m Dean. Can I come in?” 

You keep your hand on the edge of the door, ready to slam it in his face if need be. “How’d you get my address?” you ask, instead of answering the question. This man could be dangerous. You trust Sam, mostly, but his brother…that’s a different story.

“Sammy had it. Remember? For your little date.” Dean says, taking a step towards the threshold. You take a step back. “Can I come in now?” 

You ignore the fear raging down your spine, the urge to turn tail and run away. Sam carries himself differently than Dean, presents himself in such a way that instead of cowering away from him, you want to keep looking. His strangeness is intriguing, not off-putting. Dean, though, he takes those same qualities and twists them on their head. Dean looks at you, and your entire body screams Danger! Like he’s some sort of predator. “Why are you here?” 

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” he snaps. He takes another step forward, but stays notably on the other side of the door. Just barely. “Sam needs help. Are you gonna invite me in, or not?” 

He could be lying. He could be manipulating the affection you already have for his brother to get you to let him in so he can off you, maybe the only person who’s connected him to his crimes. But, if that was the case, why wouldn’t he have just forced his way in? And also, why the fuck would he go that far just to cover up some stolen blood bags? “What’s wrong with Sam?” you ask, stepping back from the door to allow him inside. When in Rome, right?

His lips press together, like he’s irritated, though you can’t imagine why. You’re letting him in, which is what he wanted. He stares at you for a moment before sighing, world weary, like he’s holding the weight of a hundred lifetimes of idiocy on his shoulders. Jesus, this guy’s dramatic. “You have to invite me,” he grits out. 

Your confusion only grows, but you oblige anyway. “Okay…come in, then.” 

Dean steps into the apartment almost as soon as you’ve said it, like you’ve only just now opened the door. You back up a few steps further. 

“Just so you know,” you say, standing up taller and trying to act less terrified than you feel, “I have a gun. So don’t- don’t try anything ‘cause I’ll shoot you.” You’re completely bluffing, of course, but there’s no way Dean could know that. 

“No, you don’t,” Dean says, like he definitely knows you were bluffing. Well, great. “Besides, I’m not here to hurt you. My brother needs help, you think I’m gonna kill the only person who can help him?” 

He doesn’t look like he’s lying. Then again, you’re pretty sure this man is a criminal, so maybe he’s just a really good liar. “Yeah, you said that before. If he needs my help so bad, why didn’t he just tell me himself?” It’s not like you slammed the door in Sam’s face and told him to leave you alone. You’ve sent him four texts and a phone call since he dropped off the face of the earth last week. He’s had every opportunity to ask for your help. 

“Cause he’s sick,” Dean tells you. He lifts his hands before he approaches you, like you’re some sort of wild animal that he doesn’t want to spook. Embarrassingly, it works. “Really sick.” 

You shake your head, bemused. “I don’t understand—what does that have to do with me? If he’s sick, he needs a doctor. Not…a random college student.” 

Dean nods. “Yeah, he would. But he’s got…it’s complicated.” He pauses in his approach and nods his head toward you. “Can I come closer, or are you gonna shoot me, tough girl?” 

You roll your eyes, but gesture him closer. “Be my guest, so long as it means you’re gonna tell me something that actually makes sense.” You’re tired of the riddles, frankly. If he doesn’t give you real answers soon, you don’t care how terrifying he is, you’re gonna have to do something drastic.

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, I can see why Sam likes you,” he mutters, shaking his head. “See, me and Sam…we’re not exactly normal. If I took him to a doctor, not only would they not be able to fix him, they’d probably kill him.” He stops beside you, forcing you to look up at him as he speaks. He cuts an intimidating figure, even without the air of a predator about him. You really, really wish you actually owned a gun.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask, voice quiet in the face of this hunter. “That you’re not normal?” 

He grins, big and sharp and toothy. And then his illusion drops. Your eyes seem to fail you, like someone’s dropped the floor out from under you and then told you the floor was never real in the first place. His eyes catch your attention first, blood red and striking. And then, of course, you see his teeth—no, his fangs. Two long, sharp, killer fangs where his canines used to be. “Welcome to the night of the living dead, sweetheart.”

Vampires are real. There’s a monster in your fucking living room. This is crazy. You should be screaming. You should shove this man out the door and lock it behind him and maybe never leave your apartment again. Instead, you blurt out, “So that’s why you were stealing blood bags.” Honestly, a lot of things are starting to make way more sense now. You’re almost embarrassed you didn’t think of it before. 

Dean laughs. “Right on the money.” You flinch as he claps you on the shoulder, and he laughs at you again. 

“So…I’m guessing Sam doesn’t just have a regular old stomach bug, then?” You really feel like you should be having a more extreme reaction to this situation. You just found out that not only are vampires real, but you’ve been actively flirting with one. You think maybe you’re in shock. “This is some sort of weird…vampire virus, or something?” 

“Smart girl,” he says, pointing at you approvingly. “Though it’s not exactly a virus, more like…food poisoning. Actually, we call it blood poisoning. Comes from drinking stale blood—bagged blood, for example—rather than fresh from the source.” 

You frown. “Why drink bagged blood, then, if it makes you sick?” 

“Why do people go vegan even though they need protein?” Dean counters. “Harm reduction. Plus, it doesn’t always make us sick. It’s pretty rare, actually. More common now than, you know, the olden times, but it happened back then too. Storing blood in vials, bottles, anything can make blood go stale, but it means you don’t have to hurt as many people getting it. Some things are worth the risk.” 

That much, at least, you can understand. “So this…this stale blood, whatever—it makes you sick,” you repeat, that same worry for Sam from before roiling in your stomach again. “How sick?” 

Dean grimaces, so whatever it is is clearly not good news. “It can kill us. Pretty easily, too. I have to tell you, I don’t know exactly how it works. Sam’s way better at this sort of thing.” He taps his fingers against your coffee table. “But I do know how to fix it.” 

It’s pretty easy to guess. Dean’s here, despite the fact his brother is apparently dying, and there’s really only one thing you have that they don’t. “He needs blood,” you say quietly, beating Dean to the punch. “Fresh blood.” 

He nods and shoots you a stilted smile. “Quick on the draw, huh?” The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he sighs, shaking his head. “Sam hates what he is. Doesn’t matter that he’ll die without it, he won’t hurt anyone. He just won’t.”

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly uncomfortable with Dean’s intense stare, like he can see straight into your soul. “So- so, what am I supposed to do about it?” you ask, your shoulders shrugging helplessly. “I’m still a person. I can’t force him to do something he doesn’t want to do.” 

Dean takes a step toward you, and this time you don’t step back or shrink away. He’s dangerous, sure, but not to you. Not as long as you’re the only thing standing between his brother and certain death. “Look, Sam really likes you. If he knew I was here right now, and he wasn’t on his deathbed, he’d kill me. But I just—I’ve tried. It’s been a week, and I’ve tried so hard—” He ducks his head as he cuts off, his jaw working over clenched teeth. “I know that you care about him, right? I mean, I saw the texts; I know—I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t desperate. I can’t just sit around and watch my little brother die. I had to try. I have to try.” 

Seeing him now, you almost can’t believe you were afraid of him. He looks almost terrified himself. And despite the uncertainty you feel, the fear, well…there’s a clear answer here. Yes, there’s a chance Sam refuses to feed from you, but there’s also a chance to save him. You can’t just stand back and let him die because you’re scared. “Okay.”

Dean’s eyes snap to yours again. They sparkle with hope, and even though the illusion is dropped, even though his eyes are red and his teeth are viciously sharp, for the first time since you first saw him, he looks human. “Okay?” 

“Take me to him,” you tell him, moving past him to grab your coat off the hanger by your door. “Let me try to save him.” 

Dean gives you the key to the apartment and a wish good luck, but stays in the car (which, yes, is just as nice as you imagined, though you wish you’d gotten to experience it under different circumstances). He tells you as you climb out the passenger door, “If this goes the way I hope it does, you two aren’t gonna want me there. Trust me.” 

Apprehension keeps you rooted outside the locked door, biting a hole through your bottom lip. There’s a lot of ways this could go. Quite a few of them could end up with you dead, and you’d be a fool not to acknowledge that. Then again, you’d also be a fool not to acknowledge what you know about Sam, what Dean’s told you about him today. Kind, gentle Sam, who is sick and dying, but apparently still refuses to hurt anyone. Who drinks from blood bags, despite the risk, simply because it means he can live without harming others. He doesn’t deserve to die.

You take a deep breath, and unlock the door. 

The apartment is…Well, it’s a little dingy, but it’s cozy. Homey. There’s clutter and trinkets on every shelf, books that look so old that you fear they’d disintegrate if you touched them. It occurs to you, then, that you don’t know how old Sam actually is. A memory flashes in your mind of his name mentioned in records from the 1800s. Holy shit. 

“Dean?” You recognize Sam’s voice, but it’s thin and croaky. Weak. Really sick, Dean had said. “Are you home?” 

  You follow the sound of his voice into a bedroom, and the stale smell of illness almost makes you stumble back from the doorway. It doesn’t smell bad, necessarily, so much as still and wrong. Sam’s been in this room, wallowing in sickness, for a week. Your heart aches for him. “Not Dean,” you say quietly, hoping not to spook him. You approach the bed, and only just keep from gasping at the state of the man curled up in it. Sam is pale and sunken, visibly weak and malnourished. He’s trembling, shaking all over with chills, maybe, or just tremors in general. 

His face changes when he hears your voice, his brows furrowed in confusion. He opens his eyes and peers up at you over his cocoon of blankets. His eyes, like Dean’s, are red, but unlike Dean’s, they’re glassy and tired, his eyelids fluttering like he’s struggling to keep them open. “____? What…what’re you doing here?” He pushes himself up to sit, and you can see the effort it takes him to do even that, his arms shaking under his own weight. 

You sit gingerly on the edge of the bed beside him. “Dean sent me,” you tell him, ratting Dean out immediately. 

Sam groans, rubbing his hands over his eyes. The veins in his hands are standing out, ugly, mottled red under pale skin. As if the blood really had poisoned him. “I’m gonna kill him.” Wow, Dean hadn’t even exaggerated, huh?

“Not like this, you’re not,” you mutter, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “Jesus, Sam…” He’s ice cold to the touch like he’s been out in the snow for hours. You curl your hands around his, trying to warm him. 

His gaze flicks to them, your hands barely covering his. “Sorry I missed our date,” he says, mournful like he really is repentant, like standing you up is the worst sin he could’ve possibly committed. “It…was a date, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it—I meant for it to be.” You huff out a laugh, sympathetic as you smile at him. “And, you know, somehow I can’t find it in myself to hold it against you.” 

Sam laughs, and for the first time, you catch a glimpse of his fangs. They’re just as viciously sharp as Dean’s, but they somehow look less dangerous on Sam. You’d worry you’d been charmed or something (isn’t that supposed to be something vampires can do? You have to admit, you’re a little out of the loop of vampire lore), if you weren’t certain that Sam would never do something like that. No, not charmed, not in any sort of magical sense. “I’ll die happy then.” 

Wow, you see the dramatics run in the family. “You’re not going to die,” you say firmly, releasing Sam’s hand to brush his bangs out of his face. He’s freezing all over. It makes you want to wrap him up in your arms, make sure he never goes cold again. You settle for pressing your palm against his cheek, your fingers cupping around his jaw. 

“I am, though,” he shoots back, like he’s arguing about who’s answer on the homework is right, not about his actual, literal life. “I’m going to die. But that’s—it’s okay. It’s been a week, so I’ve sort of come to terms with it.” 

“Screw that.” You turn more firmly towards him, pulling your legs under you to kneel on the bed. “Seriously, screw that. I can help you. If you think I’m just gonna- what, stand aside and let you die, then you really don’t know me at all.” 

“Sure. And you’re just gonna fix me, huh?” He shakes his head, turning it away from you with a huff. “All sunshine and rainbows after that. Not like I’ll have to bleed you to get better, right? Oh, wait.” Oh, he’s such a fucking diva, even on his deathbed, apparently.

“Oh, my God—yeah! I sort of figured it wouldn’t exactly be pleasant.” You didn’t spend all that time hesitating at the door because you thought it would be a walk in the park. “But if the choice is between that and letting you die, there’s no contest. I don’t understand why you’re so set on it when I’m sitting here offering you a solution!” 

“Maybe I don’t want to be saved!” His outburst silences you, especially because it seems to take a lot of energy from him to snap at you like that. He stares you down, red eyes meeting yours, and you…you don’t know what to say to that. 

You can lead a horse to water, but… “Sam—”

He cuts you off with another shake of his head. “Dean…he used to tell me that what we are doesn't make us monsters, it’s what we do. And I really wish I believed that, but the thing is, I…am going to die if I don’t feed from someone, like- like a fucking parasite. What is that if not monstrous?” 

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” you tell him. Slowly, cautiously, you reach for his face and replace your hand on his cheek, turning his gaze to meet yours. “I actually happen to think you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. I don’t know what kind of monster would’ve apologized for getting deathly ill and accidentally standing me up.” 

His eyes flick over your face, like he’s searching for something. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” His voice, thin and mournful, is heartbreaking. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know—I’ve never been sick like this before. It’s possible I won’t have a lot of control if I feed on you like this.” 

That’s sort of what you were afraid of. But that’s the benefit of him feeding from you, rather than some random person off the street, right? You know what’s going on. “I won’t let you go too far,” you assure him. “Sam, please. I want to do this for you. Let me…let me help you.” 

His eyes meet yours, and he seems to find what he’s looking for. He lifts his hand and brushes your hair back off your neck. “If I do this—if—it’ll hurt, at first,” he tells you, placing his hand on your shoulder. Just resting there. It sends sparks down your spine all the same. “But not for long. It’ll start to feel good, kind of like getting high. But if I—I’m not going to bite you if I’m not sure you’ll be able to stop me if I take too much.” 

“I’ll stop you. If I have to.” You trust him, mostly. But you’re also aware that he hasn’t fed in a week, so you’re prepared to have to at least alert him to your blood loss. 

His fingers trail along your neck, goosebumps following in his wake. His eyes follow the path of his touch, and his hands may be hesitant, but you can see the hunger in his eyes. Maybe you can make the horse drink, after all. “Are you sure?” he asks, and his hand moves to the back of your head. Bracing. 

“I told you—” you say, your voice coming out almost as quiet as a breath— “I want to do this for you.” 

“Okay.” He leans forward until you can feel his breath on your neck. It’s almost cold, unnaturally so. “Tilt your head a little more, that way—there you go,” he instructs, and that tone in his voice is…yeah. You are definitely glad Dean didn’t come in with you. His lips brush your skin when he speaks next, “Ready?” 

“Yes.” You’re not sure how you manage to get your voice to come out as stable as it does. You bring your hands up to brace on his shoulders, and your grip goes a bit tighter when you feel his fangs press, just barely, against your skin. “Yeah, I’m—go ahead.” 

You’ve never been bitten by a vampire before. You have no frame of reference of whether this is what it’s like every time, or if it’s just a Sam thing. Or if it’s just a you and Sam thing. But the whole process is intensely intimate in a way you weren’t expecting. Even when he first sinks his fangs in and it stings, makes you draw in a sharp breath. He’s a little uncoordinated, you think, and maybe goes in at a weird angle, because he draws his teeth out to sink them in again, but not before his tongue flicks out to catch the blood that drips down the side of your neck. The gasp that escapes you this time is not just from the pain.

He was right, of course. It does hurt at first. But the pain is offset by his hand on your head, his fingers curling just so to grip your hair. You swear you can feel in real time as he gets his strength back. As your blood flushes the sickness out of him. You’re not sure there is anything more intimate than that. 

You think maybe you expected a transition between pain and euphoria, but there is no slow fade. In between one blink and the next, the pain disappears, replaced with a floaty, echoing pleasure that has your fingers clutching at Sam’s shirt. Everything around you goes a little unfocused, fuzzy, except for everywhere Sam touches, where you swear your nerves are lighting up with sparks and ecstasy. You might be making noises. It’s a little hard to tell, your senses dampened as they are. 

“Sam…” You shove a little at his shoulders when you notice your hands start to shake. He hums, and you feel it on your skin. You can see, now, why he likened this feeling to getting high, although you’re not sure it’s the feeding that you can see yourself getting addicted to. You shove him a little harder. “Gettin’ dizzy here.” 

He pulls back from your neck, and your senses return to you in a rush of sound and a pinprick sort of ache where his teeth had sunk into your skin. You watch, full focused vision returned, as Sam wipes at his mouth and then drags his tongue over his hand, now free of mottled veins, to catch the blood that had, you assumed, spilled as he drank from you. Like he can’t bear to waste a single drop. You swallow thickly, your mouth suddenly very dry. 

“You taste like…” He trails off, and then his mouth is on you again, but not biting. No, his tongue drags up your throat, and it occurs to you—vaguely, through the fog of earth-shattering, soul-bending lust that settles over you—that if blood had spilled down his mouth, then it stands to reason that it had made a mess of your neck as well. Not that you’re complaining, if this is the result of a little mess. He makes a soft noise against your skin, his breath hot now in a way it hadn’t been before. “Taste like…” His voice peters off again, distracted or just unable to find the words to describe it.

Yeah, screw this. “Let me find out for myself,” you murmur, your hands moving from his shoulders to his face—and his skin, too, is warmer now, almost the temperature you would generally expect it would be—until you can drag him into a kiss. The answer, as it turns out, is blood. You taste like blood, although you sort of assume it tastes different to him. Strangely, the flavor isn’t as off-putting as you would assume, especially not when he groans and uses his grip on your hair to tilt your head, kiss you deeper. !You lick into his mouth, tasting your actual, literal blood on his tongue, and you…don’t have the words to describe how absurdly hot it is.  

He’s not careful with his fangs, not really, lets them catch on your bottom lip and draw out pinpricks of blood that he soothes with his tongue. It makes the whole thing a little messy; he’s got blood smeared over his lips when you pull back to breathe. Your eyes track his tongue as he licks it up. 

His hand, the one that’s not braced on the back of your head, brushes against the skin of your waist under the hem of your shirt. “Is this okay?” he asks quietly, still so close that you can feel the words on your lips. 

Is this okay? You almost have to laugh at the question. As if you hadn’t wanted him since the first moment you saw him. “Yeah,” you tell him, a little smile tugging at your lips. “It is so absolutely more than okay.” 

At your confirmation, he smiles too, and his hand rests more firmly on your waist, almost grounding. “Well, I didn’t buy you dinner first. Wouldn’t want you to think I was ungentlemanly,” he says, drawing a soft laugh from you. 

“Aw, well. You did try.” You press forward, leaving a short kiss on his lips as your hand shifts from his face to tangle your fingers through his hair. “Plus, I mean…technically, I—”

Sam cuts you off with a kiss, but you can feel his grin against your mouth. “That does not count,” he protests.

“I dunno,” you say, a little sing-song in your voice as you grin at him. “I did quite literally just save your life. I think we might be a little past dinner.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head at you. He’s not annoyed though. You can tell, because his fingers flex on your waist and then move, brushing up your side. “Uh-huh. Sounds to me like I’m slacking.” He ducks his head and presses two short, soft kisses to your neck, right on top of the pinprick aches. “I’ll have to repay you. You did just save my life, after all.” 

Almost subconsciously, your fingers tighten in his hair. Anticipation settles in the small space between you, a space that grows even smaller when his hand presses against the small of your back and tugs your closer. “I did just save your life,” you repeat, your voice significantly breathier than it was before.

He laughs, a little puff of breath against your skin, and his lips drag down your throat in a line of open mouthed kisses until it lands at your pulse point. You swear to God, time slows down as he breathes in, slow and deep like he’s smelling your blood beneath your skin, and then presses his teeth to it until you can feel the points of them, precarious like water pooled on top of a penny. He doesn’t bite down, doesn’t break the skin, but fuck, you almost want him to. It seems like he wants to, too, as he closes his mouth with a snap. “Fuck…” He pulls back and lifts his eyes to yours. “Can I taste you? Please?” 

It takes you a second to understand what, exactly, he means. He’d already tasted you; if he wanted more blood, he could’ve just bitten you again. Then, it clicks, and you…well, what are you supposed to say to that? Sam Winchester, all big, cow eyes and mouth smeared with your blood, so politely asking to eat you out, like you’d be giving him a gift. How could you possibly turn that down? “Yeah. Yeah, fuck, that’s—yeah.” 

You only see his answering smile for half a second before his lips are on yours again, kissing, biting, while his hand caresses over the bare skin of your stomach. His kiss, his touch, is almost overwhelming, doesn’t leave you much room to think about anything else but him. Not that you really want to. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, pulls back just far enough from you to speak, and even then you can feel his lips move against yours as he asks, “Can I take this off?” 

You really do laugh this time, drawing your hands down his neck and over his shoulders. “I appreciate the whole gentleman thing, I really do, but Sam, baby, I’ve wanted you since before I even knew your name. So let’s just assume that whatever you wanna do, I really fuckin’ want it, too.” 

His eyes flick over your face, and you can literally feel the cocky ass grin he gets at that. It is, unfortunately, like everything else he does, ridiculously sexy. “That long, huh?” He’s such a dick. You want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your entire life. He tugs back and drags his gaze down your torso, his hand leaving your hair to join the other in toying with the hem of your shirt. “Guess I shouldn’t keep you waiting any longer, then.” His hands brush against the skin of your stomach as he pulls your shirt up and over your head before tossing it aside, not caring where it lands. You’ll find it later. Or you won’t. 

His eyes lave over your newly bare skin, his hands following shortly behind. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing his palms flat against your stomach and dragging them up your ribs. “Can you lay back for me, darling?” he asks, even as his hands press you back against the mattress before you can respond. 

You go easily, not in the least because the name knocks the breath out of you. “Darling?” you echo, shifting until you’re resting comfortably against the nest of pillows at the head of the bed. 

Sam climbs over you, his knee nudging yours until you spread your legs to make room for his hips to settle between your thighs. “Is that alright?” he asks, ducking his head to press his lips to the hinge of your jaw. 

More than alright, if the fluttering in your stomach is anything to go by. “It’s fine,” you say, playing it cool. Then, because his hands are rubbing up and down the bare skin of your sides and his teeth (the blunt ones, not the fangs, because he has much more self control than you do) are nipping at the skin of your neck, you play it decidedly uncool and continue, “Darling.” 

You feel his answering smile against the skin of your collarbone as he and his kisses and his teeth travel down the line of your neck and chest, pausing at the edge of your bra. He lifts his eyes to meet yours through his lashes as his lips press the softest of kisses there. “‘M gonna take this off, now,” he tells you, his voice deep and rumbling. His hands move up your back, and you arch your spine to allow him room to do so. He undoes your bra clasp without removing his lips from your chest, tugs the garment down your arms and tosses it vaguely in the same direction as your shirt without a second thought. 

“I thought about this, you know,” he says, softly, against the skin in the valley of your breasts. “Getting my mouth on you. How it would feel.” He shifts his attention, his lips closing over your nipple while his hand palms your other breast. It draws a soft gasp from your lips, your fingers twisting in his hair. “How you’d sound,” he continues, his voice a little cocky now. 

“Sam…” His name falls from your lips on an exhale, like you’re breathing him in, like he’s pumping through your veins the same way you’re now pumping through his. 

He smirks. If you thought he was cocky before… “Yeah, pretty much—” He presses that smirk against one nipple and brushes his thumb over the other, and while your head is dropping back onto the pillows with a moan, he laves his tongue over it to make you moan even louder— “just like that.” He's got you so distracted, you almost don't notice his free hand trailing down your stomach, brushing along the waistband of your jeans, not until his fingers undo the button with practiced ease. 

“Oh, God, you are so unfairly hot.” You lift your head to watch as he kisses his way down your stomach until he finally reaches your waistband with his mouth, too, and leaves a nippy little bite there. 

He laughs, glances up at you with that fucking smirk as he drags your jeans down your hips. “Unfair to who? You?” The two of you maneuver a bit until he can tug your pants off your ankles and toss them aside, another clothing casualty lost to the war on your sanity led by the swooping in your gut whenever Sam looks at you like that. 

“Not me,” you elaborate, although it’s hard to do so when Sam’s hands are settling on your hips and his thumbs are rubbing slow circles on your skin and dipping just so under the elastic of your panties on every other pass. “But, like, every other guy. How is anyone supposed to compete with…this?” 

This being Sam motherfucking Winchester, who had spent months shyly testing the waters and cautiously flirting so subtly that you were terrified you’d read him wrong, suddenly suave and confident and practically begging to eat you out. Oh, and also being, objectively, the hottest monster. This man has been terrorizing the dating pool for maybe centuries. You shudder to think how many women’s standards he has completely obliterated. 

Continuing the streak of obliterating your standards, he ducks his head, that shy smile on his lips again. “I mean, I should hope no one is competing with me in this particular instance,” he says, voice hesitant as if there’s a chance on Earth you’d ever turn him down. 

You shake your head, and honestly, you can’t help but laugh because a literal vampire is about to go down on you, and somehow the most unbelievable part of this situation is that he thinks he has an ounce of competition. “Are you actually asking me if I want to be exclusive right now?” you ask, drawing a hand up and through his hair, brushing his fringe off his forehead. “Because I feel like I made it so obvious how much I like you. Obviously, there is no competition.” 

You have the honor of watching Sam blush for the first time, and knowing that you made it possible. Your blood flushes his cheeks, makes his face go the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen. 

 “Obviously,” he echoes, his words brushing against the skin just above your panties. His hands brush down your thighs, and he pulls one of your legs up and over his shoulder so your heel rests against his back. He turns his head, and with your thigh now bracketing his head, it’s easy for him to press an open-mouthed kiss there, and then another, and then another until he’s brought you back practically to panting again. 

“‘M gonna make you see stars,” he tells you, his lips pressed against the crease where your thigh meets your hip. “And then, because I am a gentleman, I’m going to buy you dinner. And I’m gonna be thinking about this—” He nips at your skin, bares his fangs this time and draws a well of blood and a gasp from you simultaneously— “The way you taste; the way you feel—I’m gonna be thinking about it the whole time.” He draws his hands back up to your hips just to tuck his fingers under the elastic of your panties, lifting his eyes to yours as he tugs on it. “Can I take these off?” 

You think you might die if he doesn’t. “Please.” 

His fangs seem to glint in the light when he grins, but he ducks his head before you can look again, a sort of hyperfocus to his posture as he shifts your hips and legs until he can pull your underwear off your ankles, and finally, finally, leaves you bare to him. He doesn’t waste a second, his hands dragging up your thighs and then spreading them further, his eyes roving over you like you’re the most beautiful work of art he’s ever seen. “Gorgeous.” His voice, breathy and sweet, washing over you is the only warning you get before his lips press against you in a surprisingly gentle kiss. 

Your lungs expand on a gasp, and then deflate on a moan as he laves his tongue between your folds, the muscle pressed flat and soft like a tease. Or a preview. You’re not totally sure you’re going to survive this actually. You might die with Sam’s tongue licking over your pussy, and honestly, what a fucking way to go. 

“Taste so good all over, huh?” Oh, holy fuck, he’s still talking. His lips brush over your skin and make you whine, and you’re pretty sure you can feel the vibrations of his voice better than you can hear him. “Feel like I should thank you. Letting me feed from you, and now this?” He makes it sound like it’s some sacrifice to let him go down on you, like you’re not gripping his hair so tight you’re surprised you’re not pulling it out. “You’re perfect.” 

“Oh, my God,” your voice comes out high and tight as he closes his lips over your clit and sucks. Your back arches off the bed, but as your hips shift to press up against his mouth, you find his hand pressed low on your stomach, pinning you down. “Sam—oh, my God.” 

You can feel as much as hear the soft, contented hums he’s making, like he’s never wanted to be anywhere more than with his head between your legs and his tongue drawing circles over your clit. His fangs, sharp and dangerous, are almost artfully pressed against your skin, just barely enough to feel the points of them. His free hand, the one not pressing you down against the mattress, keeps trailing up and down the outside of your thigh, making you shiver and press your heel into his back. And it’s so obvious he’s loving this maybe even as much as you are, his whole body shifting as he grinds down against the mattress, and God, that feels almost as good as his mouth on your cunt does. He’s getting off on the taste of you, on making you squirm and whine and moan.

It’s over the second he presses his tongue against your entrance and his nose smushes against your clit—everything after that is a jumble of sensation. The feeling of his tongue fucking in and out, his nose rubbing against you with every movement of his mouth, his hand grabbing at your thigh and holding your legs open when your muscles go tense and tight and anticipatory. 

He draws his tongue out of you with an obscene slurping sound that just has you hurtling even faster towards the edge, your hands grabbing at his hair for dear fucking life, white knuckled. “Are you gonna come?” he asks, his voice low and gruff and almost fucked out. You squeeze your eyes shut, nodding as if it wasn’t obvious from the constant stream of noises spilling from your lips. “Yeah? Go on, come on my tongue. Give it to me, darling, let me taste it.” 

How could you resist that? His words and his stupidly talented mouth draw you over the edge, your pussy spasming as you do exactly as he asked and come on his tongue. True to his word, he does, in fact, make you see stars, lights sparking behind your eyelids. His mouth works you through it until you’re whining and using your grip on his hair to tug him away, oversensitive as you come down from an explosive fucking orgasm. 

He presses kisses on your inner thigh as he shifts it off his shoulder, your body loose and pliant now. “There you go, good girl.” The words make your cunt give a valiant twitch, even as he draws himself up your body until he’s laying beside you and pressing kisses over your face. “Was that good?” 

You peek one eye open to look at him, incredulous. “Was that good—you’re so ridiculous, c’mere.” You turn your head to draw him into a slow, lingering kiss. Much like the taste of your blood in his mouth, the taste of your pussy on his tongue is, frankly, life-changing. You’re addicted already. 

He draws back with a soft laugh, his eyes traveling over your face with such obvious fondness that you have to press another quick kiss against his lips. “Okay, understood.” He brings his hand up to brush over your face, soft and gentle and such a contrast to the obscene pleasure he’d taken in going down on you that it makes your cheeks go warm. “So when can I buy you that dinner?” 

The question gives you pauses, and your eyes flick down his body, curious. “Did you not want me to…” 

You watch your blood, again, flood his cheeks as he laughs and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s not—I really like giving head,” he explains, as if that is not literally the hottest thing he could’ve possibly said. 

Fuck dinner, you wanna go five rounds with him back to back right now. “Okay,” you say, because he’s very sweet and he wants to be a gentleman and who are you to take that from him? “You can take me to dinner, if you swear you’ll let me suck you off when we get back. Deal?” 

The way his face lights up is worth having to wait. “Deal.”  

“And,” you continue, your hand smoothing over his hair where your grip had mussed it up, “next time you need blood, let’s just skip the whole ‘I’m a monster’ thing. I am more than willing to supply you; I have a vested interest in keeping you around.” 

He rolls his eyes, but the way he kisses you, fangs and all, tells you he gets it.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Overtime

This is the second prize in my giveaway for my follower @l3rittany. I hope you enjoy it! TW: Sexual references, AFAB Reader, Clingy, Missed communication

When Charlie offered you the job, you took it without question, with no idea that your ‘boss’ would be the fearsome radio demon himself. You thought you were just helping out an old friend who has done a solid for you once or twice. No idea that your soul could lay in the balance of another life or even its death. However, you would never revoke your word, so slacks and blouses became your life as the hotel's office coordinator. 

Working under Alastor wasn’t that bad; in fact, it was the best work you had ever had. He was precise and articulate with his needs, allowing you to get things done effectively while maintaining your personal life. Not to mention that the hotel had a cast of colorful characters that helped keep the days light and going, something you were grateful for on the more task-filled days. 

You wouldn’t say you were anything like Alastor; you were the polar opposite, as Charlie felt you would compliment Alastor's style, maybe even loosen him up while he helped you maintain a schedule. However, your differences did nothing to stop the growing butterflies you got as your years working with Alastor passed. Such differences only spurred your dream of a long-lasting relationship with the deer man. 

You knew your desires were nothing more than a dream, but time passed, and familiarity was bread. Before you knew it, you and Alastor worked in a tandem like no other. The seamless work between you two only led people in the hotel, and even hell itself, to assume something more was between you. Who is to say there wasn’t more between you two as time passed? Because what you saw as just Alastor being a gentleman of his time, he saw as courting his prized possession. 

Your hard work, dedication, and steadfast loyalty were all Alastor needed to know you were perfect for him—someone who strengthened his weaknesses and he yours. After a year of working with you, he was pleased when a docile routine started that led to these growing feelings. Alastor wanted nothing more than to hold, touch, love, and be with you—something he assumed you also wanted at the same time. 

Alastor only let you touch him after year two of working together. This was his way of telling everyone he was taken. He even went as far as not letting Rosie be all over him as much. However, you see it as Alastor closing off again. You felt lucky that you were still one of his few trusted companions. 

In year three of working together, Alastor began to buy you small trinkets he thought would better your outfits, compliment your eyes, or even make work easier for you. You were one to believe this was just his way of helping you out. A boss looking out for his best employee. Nothing more or less. 

What finally sent Alastor over the edge was year four when he asked you to accompany him to a formal Overlord event. This was going to be his time to debut you and him. Show everyone in hell who you belong to. He had survived years of you being everything he could want, and here he would let everyone know who his powerful love companion was. However, he didn’t expect to see you outside your usual work attire. 

You had gone all out for the event, wanting to make Alastor proud and fueling the fantasy that he adored you as you did him. You wore a dark red dress. The bodice wrapped around your neck with silver tendrils akin to deer horns. The waist was high, showing your curves that led to a high slit just above your thigh. You wore striking silver heels, which made you the perfect height for him. 

All the effort you put into your look was beyond what he had imagined, and Alastor was foaming at the mouth. He had never had these emotions before you entered his life and was starving for you. He wanted to hold you, kiss you, devour you. Everything he knew he could have after he debuted you tonight—his pretty Doe. 

As you took his arm, he felt at ease, a sense of calm washing over him. He felt complete; for once in his life, someone was there with him, accepting him. Smiling softly at you, he led the way to the party that would change the fate of your relationship for life. 

As you arrived, it was clear to everyone how Alastor was displaying you. He was showing that you were his and not to be messed with. Vox was pissed, Val was confused about how he got such a beauty, and Camilla was just tired of all the pissing contests everyone seemed to want to have. However, it became clear through small talk and idle chatter that maybe you and Alastor weren’t entirely on the same page.

When Vox cornered you in hopes of learning secrets about Alastor, you kept calling him boss and friend. When Zestial talked to Alastor, he called you his partner and lifemate. When Val started hitting on you, you turned Alastor away and laughed it off. Alastor was fuming and promised to make a hit on the moth later. 

Your relationship with Alastor was very confusing for all parties involved. Then came the events behind the party: people bidding on land for their claims. All Alastor cared about was the hotel's land; as he put it, ‘I can take whoever else’s land I please when I need it.’ However, you were guessing you were brought here to help with the budget and make sure he didn’t spend too much. 

As the bidding continued, you kept running off numbers to Alastor, and he was starting to get the bigger picture. You weren’t here to be his date but to be his work partner. Then it dawned on him, even if you had died eons before he did, even if you knew of many different customs and cultures. Was it possible you didn’t realize he was courting you? 

As the realization hit, he began laughing to himself. However, the laughter started to grow as he disrupted the entire ordeal. You had no idea he was in love with you, absolutely infatuated. You knew not of his desire to mate with you for life. He was baffled and honestly not shocked, as this was you he was talking about—his diligent little doe who was so good at work but oblivious to his advances. 

He finally understood why you never returned the advances or reached out for him or got him anything. You didn’t realize he wanted you and you alone. He hummed, satisfied with himself for the deduction. Even if he interrupted the party, he didn’t care because now he had a new goal: to get you home and show you how much he cared about you. 

Time ticked slowly; you had grown worried over the silent and now brooding Alastor. His laughing fit had caused everyone to be concerned, worried he would start an all-out brawl. However, he quit and was silent for the rest of the night. He kept you close to him; however, his arm never left your waist, allowing butterflies to flutter in your stomach. 

Once the evening ended, he didn’t stop there. The gentleman in him led you to your room, a soft butterfly kiss to your writs, palm, and cheek. When he pulled away and was greeted by your red face, that was all the confirmation he needed. You felt the same way; you were too shy to admit you loved your boss. Smirking, he allowed himself into your room. 

“Four and a half long years, Dear, and you are informing me now through your reactions that you finally feel the same. Tsk, Tsk, no, you have always felt this way, haven’t you? You are just too shy to admit it.” He looked at you longingly, craving your touch, which he finally had permission to have. 

“Al, where is this all coming from,” You were shocked, to say the least, a dark blush covering your face as he caged you in slowly into your room. 

“I have given you hint after hint, day after day, year after year, about my affection and adoration of you. However, it seems I wasn’t forward enough. So let me try again, yeah. " That sentence alone was all it took. In your brain, you wanted to shout no, that you are just boss and worker, but in your heart, you wanted to scream yes repeatedly. 

Your heart won over as you nodded subtly to his advances, allowing Alastor the right to do everything for you. He quickly pulled you in and accepted the first of many kisses. He was gentle and soft with you. He wanted to do this right, not rough at first. He heard stories, both alive and dead, about those who rushed in and didn’t appreciate all they had. 

Despite his hate for touch, he needed yours now and more than ever. He needed to feel all of you and know you genuinely knew how he felt. His heart was so full of love for you over the last five years that he needed you to know that you were his everything. This love filled him with a yearning for you and only you.

His lips are gentle against yours, each kiss stealing your breath away again and again. You hoped from here on out that they would always feel incredibly soft when he's wrapped around you like this, arms holding you in a soft but tight embrace. He had you melting in his hands.

His movements were slow, as if you have all the time in the world, an eternity, to make each other feel good. He slowly laid you down on the bed, your dress hiking up with your body. Slowly, he began to spread your legs and place himself between them as he hovered above you.

He was slow to undress you both. He started with you, eager to see you bare before him. To feel your soft skin against his own. He gently slid your dress off with your heels, peppering your body with soft kisses. Soon, he was stripping himself of his suit, leaving him just in his briefs above you. Both of you are enamored at the beautiful sights before you. “May I touch you…I am new to this; I only know what I have heard and seen a few times.” You gave a sweet, simple nod to him as his lips moved downwards to meet with your clit.

He makes sure there’s a pillow under your head so you can remain comfortable under his tongue while you place one under your hips to provide easier access to him. As he dived in, it was a sweet release for you both—the feeling of one another's skin as well as the pleasure building from his menstruations.

You sighed deeply, your hand coming to his head, shoving his face deeper into you. You needed him more, all of him, and Alastor was ready to deliver. He held you close, enjoying your taste, scent, and desire for him—something he was so eager for and so needy for. He wanted to love you right, as any gentleman should. 

“Al…Oh, Al fuck….Al, I am going to,” As you began to cum you could feel his horns grow more. Holding on to them, you rutted against his face, chasing your high. As the white behind your eyes pulsed, Alastor was relentless, ensuring he cleaned you thoroughly before pulling himself up. 

As he hovered above your face, covered in your slick, he held your hands above your head softly. He kissed you deeply, smiling at you, allowing your taste to fill your mouth. His kisses moved from your lips to your cheek to your chest, then your hands, and he peppered you with love and adoration. He was going to worship you and you alone. 

As you whined for me, he couldn’t help but chuckle. Gently, his hands caressed your body as you wrapped yours around his neck. Eager lips conjoined as you two kissed once again. He was sure one day he would devour you, but for now, this, this was his heaven. Maybe Charlie was right. A soul, even one taken by another, could be redeemed. 

Gently he pulls away and removes his briefs, his cock spriging free. He was eager and ready. Inexperienced or not, he knew one essential thing: a woman should always be pleased first. He smiled gently and lined himself up. When you nodded again to him, he slid in, panting with each inch that passed through you. He immediately loses himself the moment he feels your warm, wet, gummy walls squeezing and sucking him in.

"Oh fuck," He breathes, pelvis connecting with yours as he entirely sits inside you.

You're nose-to-nose, chest-to-chest, trapped under him with willowy arms on either side of you, and there's absolutely no space between you once he pulls your legs up to wrap around his hips. He needs you as close to him as possible. Your breaths mingle as he's working your insides, your nose scrunching and eyebrows furrowing with each deep thrust.

You can feel each throb and pulse, the tip of his cock kissing gummy wet walls each time he buries himself inside you. Alastor is enjoying your every reaction, committing each face and sound to his memory for later. Every sigh, gasp, and sweet moan of his name boosts his ego. He's taking care of you because he's making you feel like this. No one else can or will.

"You make me feel so good, Y/N; I need more of you, all of you," He leaned over you, entering you even more deeply. Each thrust hits a new and unexplored spot that sent you squeezing down on him ."You make me feel so good, sweetheart. My Doe.. my sweet Doe."

It's so intimate and romantic that it makes you needy throughout your act. It makes fireworks go off in your stomach. Each kiss is electricity, each thrust is a new breath of air, and each sound is your symphony.

"Alastor-" you hiccup as you look up at him through bleary eyes.

"Yeah, sweet girl? What do you need?" he had all his attention on you, nothing else. All Alastor ever cared about was you.

“More.. please, I need more.” Your pleas didn’t fall on deaf ears as Alastor moaned softly, repositioning you.

His hands quickly move down and grab your hips. He positions them higher, the new angle making him thrust right up against your G-spot, going a little faster than before. As soon as he hears your cries, he falls to a stable rhythm and has your eyes rolling back, gasping for air and making all those perfect sounds.

“Yeah, does that feel good? You like when I’m deep in you like this, fucking you just how you dreamed?” He asks, his voice starting to shake slightly. But you can’t respond. Not when your vocal cords won’t let you, preoccupied with your cute whines and mewls, you do your best not to be too loud for the courtesy of the other hotel residents. All noises resembling speech are mindless babbles, too hung up that you finally have Alastor as much as he had you.

“Shhh, I know. I know, my Doe,” His voice is so quiet and sweet that it almost makes your stomach sick. “Just sit there and take it like the good girl you are. That’s all you have to do.”

The way he is making your pussy flutter makes your stomach flip from hearing his deep moans; he makes your clit ache with need, begging for some friction right about now because all you can think about is cumming around his thick cock. You need to cum so bad, and Alastor, unbeknownst to you, can pick up on it.

 He notices the way you squeeze around him relentlessly, the way you go a little quiet as you try to focus on your orgasm. All gentlemen knew one cardinal rule: Your lady needs to feel good first.

“Open your eyes, dear. Let me see how pretty you look.” You take a moment to process his words before your glossy eyes barely flutter open again. " That’s a good girl. Keep those beautiful eyes on me.”

You feel his hand gripping your hip snake between your legs and down to your wet heat. It was only then that you took notice of the lewd, sloppy sounds coming from the both of you, your combined wetness and sweat creating a loud slap every time his hips met with yours. 

The pad of his thumb gathers some of that slick before pressing against your swollen nub, in turn making you jolt under him. He methodically works your clit in rhythm with his thrusts, and with how worked up you already are, you feel your nether regions burning. You glance down at his hand, working you so effortlessly. The way his cock disappears inside you, taking him so well. Suddenly, you feel so close. So fucking close.

“Please cum for me,” The way he said please and in such a soft tone made you unravel completely. You nodded, the tears welling in your eyes, ready to fall. A grin formed across Alastors face, not his normal one, a new one meant just for you.

“Cum for me, dear; I can feel you are holding back; release for me; let me make you feel good,” He leaned down to pepper small kisses along your soft jawline as his fingers on your clit quickened.

“Al…Al…AL Fuck… I-I’m gonna cum,” You managed to choke out, feeling his hips stutter as your walls pulse around him.

“Let go, sweetheart. Make a mess for me, I’ve got you.” The way he said it so lovingly made you go insane. Was this what you were missing out on for years? You could have had this all along. Why did you wait till now? How foolish were you? 

You feel your hips buck helplessly under him, a cry of pleasure getting ripped straight from your throat as you cum on his cock, your cunt pulsing and gushing around him. Hot tears roll down your flushed cheeks as you bury your face into his neck. Your hearing goes a little fuzzy, but you can make out his lengthy groans as he keeps pounding into you. You writhe in overstimulation below him before his hips stutter again, burying himself inside you with a harsh thrust as his seed shoots out, filling you. 

You sniffle into his neck in the aftermath. You hear him mutter a few soothing words as his lips touch your skin again, but his words fall on deaf ears as you try to catch your breath. Alastor and you were one now; no need for a soul contract. You were just one complete person.

“I love you, Y/N, only you, be my girl,” With a gentle nod from you and a quick soft kiss, those were the last words you could hear before falling asleep in his arms.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Kinktober Day 29 - Masks/Costumes

A/N: Okay so this came about because of a conversation with @jhoneybees and a tiktok about imagining Elvis doing a Calvin Klein advert. This is basically set now, but imagine it's 1969 Elvis, don't ask me how that works it just does.

Pairing: 69!Elvis x photographer!reader

Word count: 2.1K

TWs: This concept is maybe too hot to think about for too long so be careful, masturbation, p in v sex, dirty photos, kinda public sex. There's a mask but honestly I just shoehorned it in there.

Kinktober masterlist

“So if you could just strip down to the underwear, and then make yourself comfortable on the chair. We’ve got some props in the box too.”

Elvis frowns a little at the word “props”, but does as he’s told. He’s nervous about this photoshoot. He never thought he would do anything like this, but here he is. He starts to strip, feeling self-conscious under the hot lights. He’s never really been a big fan of underwear but these new Calvin Klein boxer shorts are pretty comfortable. They don’t leave much to the imagination, though, and he sits awkwardly on the armchair, shuffling his legs about. 

“Can you put one of those masks on, please?”

He starts at the voice. Female, honeyed, with an air of authority. Looking up, he’s confronted by you and your camera. He’d been expecting the female set helpers but not a female photographer. Becoming even more aware of the way his dick looks in his pants, he crosses one leg over the other. He pulls a mask out of the box of props and puts it on over his eyes, feeling like this must look absolutely ridiculous but trying his best to be amenable. The lights are beating down on him and he feels like the entire room of people is staring at him. He’s usually happy to be looked at, encourages it almost, but this is different. He feels naked, exposed. 

“Um… uh… is this okay, honey?”

You sigh. “Uncross your legs. And stop calling me honey, Mr Presley.”

“Ah I-I’m sorry… Miss…” he stumbles awkwardly over the words. “Ya…um… ya don’t have ta call me Mr Presley. Elvis is fine.”

“Uncross your legs, Elvis.”

You watch as he slowly does as you tell him. Men calling you pet names annoys you on principle, but he’s much less cocky than you’d expected. There’s something endearing about the way he stumbles over his words and seems a little unsure of himself. 

“That’s great, thanks. We’ll take a few shots for the lighting now. Try to relax.”

Elvis tries his very best to relax, but he can’t help but feel a combination of terror and arousal. You’re gorgeous but he can’t seem to charm you like he usually would. You don’t seem interested. Maybe you’re just being professional, but it’s still off-putting. He puts a hand on each of the arms of the chair and tries to keep his expression neutral. You take a few shots and ask the lighting technicians to make one or two changes until you’re happy. Then you actually look at his face and realise he looks terrified. 

“Really try to relax, Elvis. You look like you’re about to be eaten by a grizzly bear.”

There’s a moment of silence and then he bursts out laughing. His whole face lights up as he belly-laughs and you grin back, taking a few photos of him looking natural. You take a quick look at them and decide you can do without the mask. It was something that the stylist had suggested for the shoot, and you’d wondered why anyone would want to cover up such a gorgeous face, but they’d done a relatively good job of persuading you. Some kind of eyes wide shut theme or something like that. But it doesn’t work, and you aren’t one to stick to things just for the sake of it. 

“That’s better! Get rid of the mask too, that’s not working for me.”

He smiles, pulling it off and throwing it onto the floor. “This working for you, honey?” He asks, cheekily, leaning back in the chair and spreading his legs wide. 

You find yourself biting your lip to stifle a moan. He looks damn hot. But you have to be professional. You’ve done plenty of these photoshoots with attractive men, and you haven’t lost your cool yet. 

“That’s great. Let’s have a few of you smiling like that and then a couple of serious ones.”

His brain works overtime as he follows your directions. Are you interested? He swears he saw you bite your lip just then, but your voice is even and professional and you’re not flirting back at all. 

You keep snapping away with the camera, directing him and the lighting people until you get what you want. Your eyes are drawn to his hands, the glittering rings and the length of his fingers… you clear your throat. Have to keep things professional. 

“You getting what you need, honey?” His eyes are sparkling and there’s a little smile playing about his lips. 

“What did I tell you about calling me honey? It’s not 1973.”

Elvis raises both eyebrows and then lets them fall again. Does he detect something different in your voice? The tiniest quiver?

“You didn’t answer my question. Are ya gettin’ what ya need?”

He runs his tongue over his lips and you have to work hard not to lose it completely. 

“Yes, thank you, Elvis.” 

Your eyes involuntarily shift to the bulge in his pants. Luckily the camera is against your face so he can’t see where you’re looking, but you just stare. It’s definitely been growing over the course of the photoshoot. 

“Just one or two more. Give me your sexiest look.”

You have no idea why you decided to play with fire like that, and you regret it immediately. He smoulders, blue eyes staring at you as he rests his chin in his hand. Your panties are definitely getting damp now. You take a few more photos and then bite your lip, hard. 

“That’s great. Thanks. That’s a wrap!” 

Elvis blinks. He doesn’t want this to be over. He’s having far too much fun.

“Could ya do one or two more? I’m not sure I gave ya my sexiest look…”

Your stomach flip-flops. If that wasn’t his sexiest look you’re not sure you want to see what is.

“Well, okay, maybe one or two more.”

The lighting technician sighs audibly. It’s well past lunch time. You look over at him. 

“Why don’t you go for lunch? The lights are fine.” You look around at the other one or two people in the room. “You can all go. We won’t be much longer.”

Elvis watches the scene with interest. You’re refusing to make eye contact with him and he swears you’re blushing. Everyone else is just happy to be allowed to go, grabbing their things and making their way out. It’s just you and him now, and the room is quiet.

Elvis breaks the silence. “We won’t be much longer, hm?” 

You look up, awkwardly, suddenly wondering just what you thought you were doing when you sent everyone else for lunch. 

“N-no, just…uh… one or two more shots.”

Elvis chuckles. “Relax, baby. You look like you’re about to be eaten by a grizzly bear. And I ain’t that big.” But I will eat ya, he thinks. 

The tension in the room defuses for a minute or two as you laugh along with him. You pick up your camera again. 

“Okay, come on then. Really give me your sexiest look this time.”

You can hear your heart beating in your ears and feel your whole body getting hot. He runs his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment, and then you watch as they spring open and he fixes you with the most intense stare. Propping his head up again on the back of his hand, elbow on the arm of the chair, without any kind of warning he puts a finger in his mouth and bites on the knuckle. You almost faint on the spot. 

“Fuck.”

His eyes widen and his lips curl into a smile. 

“What’s that, baby?” Noting that’s the second time he’s called you baby and got away with it.

“N-nothing. That’s good. You’re right, that is sexier than what you were doing before.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your panties are ruined and you’re actively suppressing a moan. He can see the effect he’s having and he knows exactly when to strike. 

“Come closer.”

His voice is so syrupy you can’t help yourself, putting one foot in front of the other until you’re standing right in front of him. You shakily move your camera from your face. 

“I-I think I’ve got what I… um… need,” you babble, trying to keep your eyes on his face but finding them wandering down to his boxers again. 

“Nothing else ya need?” He teases, moving one of his hands to rest on his clothed dick. 

You swallow. “N-no, Elvis.”

“No?”

You just stare at him, unable to speak. 

“Nothing else ya want to take a photo of?” 

Part of him can’t believe he’s being this bold, but he finds himself staring right into your eyes as he rubs his dick through the boxers, letting out a little breathy sigh and biting his lip. 

The tension is unbearable. 

“What are you offering?” You whisper, your eyes darting down to his hand on his dick and back up again. 

He smirks. “Just sayin’ ya can take photos of whatever ya like.”

You step back and bring your camera back up to your face, snapping a photo of him with his hand so obviously touching himself through his pants. 

“Take it out,” you find yourself instructing him. 

He grunts, shifting the boxers down a little as he reaches inside them for his dick, pulling it out and stroking it a couple of times.

“Can you… move the boxers down… further?” Your mouth feels dry and you try desperately to swallow. 

He pulls them down a little more and you gulp, seeing his balls exposed under that big, thick shaft. You take a few more photos. Elvis’ chest heaves. 

“Touch yourself again.”

He does as he’s told, slowly moving his foreskin up and down, staring right into the camera as he does it. You adjust the lens, take more photos, squeeze your thighs together. 

Your hands shake as you move the camera away from your face. He looks so good. 

“You got what you need?” He asks, still lazily stroking himself. 

You shake your head, trying to put the camera down carefully before walking the couple of steps it takes to reach him. 

“No. I need your dick inside me.”

He groans, watching as you pull your pencil skirt up around your waist and position yourself on his lap, pulling your panties to the side and sinking down on his length. 

“Fuck,” you murmur, feeling him stretch you. 

“You okay, baby?” He asks, as you gasp at the feeling of him filling you up completely. 

You’re surprised at the tenderness, at the way he pulls you into a kiss when you tell him yes. Your arms snake around his neck and his fingers grip your hips, thrusting up into you from underneath. You lean your forehead against his, panting as you roll your hips too, both of you holding each other. 

“How long have we got?” He asks. 

“I don’t know,” you breathe, cursing yourself for not checking the time when you let everyone else go. “We better be quick.”

He nods, his grip on your hips getting tighter as he fucks you from underneath. You start to bounce on him, matching his pace, both of you moaning against one another’s skin. 

“Baby, you feel so good.”

You bounce faster, your fingers finding their way into his hair. “Fuck me harder,” you murmur. 

His hips snap up obediently, driving his dick even deeper inside you. He can feel himself getting close but he wants you to cum first. 

“You close?”

You nod, pulling one of his hands down between your legs. He doesn’t need any further instructions, his thumb rubbing your clit as he keeps pounding you. Your fingers grip and pull his hair as your orgasm builds in the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” 

Elvis grips you more tightly, feeling how close you are. His thumb rubs harder and faster and you feel yourself start to unravel. 

“I’m cumming… ohhhh….” 

He watches you as you arch backwards, riding him through your high, desperately wishing he could take a picture. Your walls squeezing him tightly push him over the edge too, and without thinking he cums inside you. 

“Fuck. Honey. I uh… are ya on the pill?”

You lean your sweaty forehead against his again, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck. 

You smirk. “Yeah. Don’t worry.” Pressing a kiss to his lips. “But what did I tell you about calling me honey?”

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @another-identityofmine @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978

[guppybibi]

Tattoo artist!Johnny who had already met you a year ago when you made an impulsive decision of getting a tattoo with your current boyfriend's name.

This was nothing new for Johnny having seen this numerous times before, in both men and women, and he knows they'll come crawling back to get them covered up after a nasty breakup. It's been a running game in the shop, all of the workers betting their money on how long it'll take before the customer comes back to cover up the tattoo.

Nothing new, right? Then why was Johnny so surprised when he saw you walk into the shop, the door chimes ringing when you swing the door open to reveal you. Eyes still red and puffy while you sniffled, not doing a very good job on hiding the fact you had been crying. His coworkers shot him a knowing look, recalling the bet from last year.

"Pretty thing, ain't she?" One of Johnny's coworkers commented, looking at the back of your figure as you stepped out of the shop with a huge grin on your face. Probably excited to show the tattoo of your boyfriend's name to him.

"Yeah, too bad she's taken. Lucky man better be treatin' her right." Johnny remarks, noticing the look he was given. "Not for long, I bet. I'm giving them a year max." Johnny blinks once, then again. "Fine, I'm giving them five years." Of course, his coworker was pretty shocked from that. Out of all the people they've bet on, this was probably the longest bet Johnny had ever put.

"Seriously? Don't ya think that's too long?" His coworker asks skeptically, raising a brow at Johnny. "Aye, the gal is lovely. If her boyfriend drops her then that's like committing a war crime." Well, his coworker couldn't really disagree with him on that.

Johnny shoots his coworker a glare that simply said he had more important matters to attend to. Luckily, Johnny was a charmer so cooing a birdie like you into comfort shouldn't be that hard, right?

I mean, it's a break up, not exactly the end of the world here. Plus, you're a gorgeous gal, plenty of fish out there you could probably catch in less than an hour.

"Morning, lass! Welcome back, I see that you've got a little problem, huh?" He points out, seeing you nod subtly. "Alright, I'm assuming it's a cover up for the tattoo you got done a year ago?"

He clearly wasn't surprised when you nodded, having seen this too many times before. He wrote down some stuff, not caring about the paperwork much..before leading you further into the parlor.

The two of you discussed how you wanted the previous tattoo to get covered up, Johnny nudging in to suggest some stylistic choices a few times, which you gladly didn't mind.

Then began the process once you agreed with the design choice, you wanted to get this over with. To remove a past mistake from your life.

Johnny cleansed your skin, disinfecting it with a cold gel. He could see you squirming and struggling not to make a sound. He also does notice another tattoo covered up above your previous tattoo, curiosity swirling around in his mind now.

He tried hushing it, it wasn't any of his business. He's here to do his job, nothing else.

He was quiet for most of the process, aside from some rather awkward small talk about the weather and a few details of what happened between you and your boyfriend. Not that it helped, it really just made Johnny even more curious.

And finally, after who knows how long, the tattoo was covered up now! You seemed to have gotten rid of the nerves from earlier, looking a lot more calmer now.

"Alright, lass. I'm sure y'know how the caring process goes so I'll leave it up to ye." He said, cleaning up all his materials in a snap. He gives in to his curiosity, finding the courage in him to ask you about the other covered up tattoo.

"Uh..before you go lass, mind if I ask ye somethin'? It's about the other tattoo you got 'ere.." You immediately knew which one he was referring to, face reddening in embarrassment as you recalled the immature decision..

"Aah..sure, go ahead." You replied awkwardly, a sheepish smile gracing your face. "Thanks, lass. Mind if ye tell me what was written on there? I- I just noticed that the way it was covered up. The artist did a great job, I'm jealous."

Yeah okay he was just making excuses to get things flowing..never mind that.

"Oo..oh! I don't mind at all, don't worry. That's all in the past..can't really reverse it, you know? It was my ex-boyfriend's name." You answer, shrugging it off. Seems like you were the type of gal to move on from a relationship quick.

"I see, glad you were willing to share that. I wonder if I know who he is." He chuckles, evidently not expecting you to actually tell him who it was. Sure, Johnny was the type to encourage people to loosen up and get comfortable. But..maybe not to this extent.

"His name was Simon, Simon Riley—" And practically everything you said after that was unheard of.

Looks like Johnny needs to pay Simon a visit at the pub tonight.

[cobaltperun]

Darkest Part (4) - Died In Your Arms

Astrid Deetz x female Reader

Summary: You will never, in life or afterlife, if such a thing exists, meet anyone as infuriating, rage inducing, entitled, or frankly awful, as Astrid fucking Deetz. There isn’t a single thing you’d like more than to never be around her, but as your luck would have it, you just can’t stay away from her.

Masterlist / First part / Previous Part

Word count: 5.3k

-Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight, it must've been some kind of kiss, I should've walked away-

This was a good life, hot chocolate, paper taped to the desk as you drew your third sketch of the building you had in mind. Away from all the worries and for a moment free from any obligations.

“How’s it going?” your mom came up to you and leaned over to kiss your cheek.

“Mom, you shouldn’t-“ she didn’t wince, her back didn’t hurt, yeah, it would end soon, and you desperately wanted it to continue. Wanted things to get better, wanted her to be healthy again.

Your phone had other ideas, as the alarm rang and the sound of it startled you awake. Curse your need to constantly change your alarm ringtone, otherwise you’d get used to it and sleep right through it. This new one was ridiculously awful, like someone constantly ringing the bell, but it got the job done. “Am I ever going to wake up well-rested again?” you wondered, feeling like you barely slept a wink. You just couldn’t get used to this house.

Well, considering the tales about it, maybe that wasn’t that strange.

Or it was just the reasonable explanation.

As it was, last night your exhausted body just collapsed onto the bed and you fell asleep, and then got woken up by the chill of the night, because of course you were too tired to cover yourself. What followed was you spending way too long trying to warm up. Winter River indeed, it really was cold. Why couldn’t this be some pleasant warm place, somewhere you could still go around wearing short sleeves instead of already needing several layers of clothing.

The only thing worse than the cold was the Chihuahua that was also in the house. “Why the fuck would I let her be on my mind first thing in the morning?” you slapped your forehead, now even more annoyed. Of all the people you could have thought of at the start your day, it had to be her.

Annoyed, you threw the covers off and immediately came to regret it as the cold air made you shiver. On second thought you should probably stay in bed a bit longer, so you went back under the covers into the warm escape from the chilling cold. You swiftly unlocked your phone and figured you might as well check up on your mom and Alex. You sent each of them a message asking how they were and if everything was fine and put your phone away. It was still too early to call them and if you had to be awake it didn't mean you had to wake them up too.

~X~

Halfway through the day and a lot of packing later, you sat down at the table exhausted with the hot cup of tea in front of you. You really needed that as the warmth of the tea seemed to seep into your very soul. Actually, you also needed a blanket around your shoulders and the nice warm fire accompanied by perhaps movie. It's been a while since you've watched ‘Kill, Baby, Kill’ and you were really in the mood for it after these past few days.

Seeing your favorite movie again would probably make your life a tiny bit better.

No, instead of that you had to deal with someone rather happy getting inside the house with an obvious bounce to their steps. You raised your head, confused and for a moment even terrified that someone actually broke in and just didn't care about making noises. And then that someone walked through the door into the dining room and you would have been a lot happier if it was a burglar.

No. Instead it was the fucking Chihuahua what a wide, frighteningly bright, and happy grin on her face and the world was going to end any moment now. You were fairly sure, and not at all being too dramatic, that Astrid Deetz, also known as Chihuahua, being this obviously happy was one of the eleven signs of the apocalypse.

“Oh, of course you're here. Well, it doesn't matter, not even you can ruin my mood,” she just  walked past you, still happy, and not throwing insults at you. She didn’t do anything! Absolutely nothing! Not even glaring at you and you could not remember the last time you were this frightened.

You scrambled to your feet and rushed outside. “Delia!” you cried out hoping the woman would have some kind of help for you maybe some medicine for hallucinations or a plausible explanation or anything really as long as it helped. You desperately needed someone to convince you that just made what happened up in your head!

It was all in your head. There was no other explanation, which made it even more concerning because Astrid Deetz being in your head and part of your hallucinations was not a good sign for you. Frankly, at this point you had no idea which was worse, Astrid being happy or you thinking about the damn Chihuahua to the point of hallucinating seeing her happy.

~X~

“Damn it Delia, why couldn’t you just get this delivered to the damn house?!” you hissed, a lot like the creatures inside the box you were currently carrying. You knew you had fear of heights before, but apparently you also had a fear of snakes. Which was made a lot worse by the sounds the snakes were making and you were praying that the people Delia bought the snakes from didn't scam her and actually defanged them.

Sure, in theory you were safe. The box was sealed, and safe, but your brain still came up with frightening scenarios. As safe as the box probably was you were still frightened that they would somehow find their way out and bite you and you did not want to die due to snake bites.

‘How many times am I going to risk my life in one single week?’ you wondered, and you really shouldn't have because you had a few more times before the end of this trip.

You finally reached the house and couldn’t have been happier to see it as you rushed up the stairs and set the box on the table for Delia to do whatever she intended to do with the snakes. You really hoped she wouldn't make you go with her because at that point you might actually think staying with Rory would be more pleasant. And just to be safe you immediately turned to Delia when she walked into the room. “I'm done with the snakes, I did my part the rest is up to you,” you urgently informed her before she could get more great ideas.

Delia just laughed. “They are defanged, don't worry,” apparently they were, you weren’t about to check.

You slumped slightly, doing your best puppy eyes to get her to let you stay out of this. “I am still not comfortable around snakes, so please don’t ask me to help you with them,” well at least she didn't look like she would push you to join her as she smiled and patted you on the shoulder.

“Come on, I'm not that cruel,” she smiled at you and then shook her head in amusement at the relief showing on your face. “I thought it would be a good experience is for you to watch, but it’s fine if you don’t. Oh and Y/N, you can rest tonight, you don't even have to go to the wedding,” she was telling you one good news after the other. “We have a few more things to do tomorrow morning and then you can go back home,” Delia surprise you but maybe you should have expected it. She had her moments of kindness and you've been on the receiving end plenty of times, despite all the less pleasant, more dangerous and difficult moments you had with her.

“Thanks Delia, I really appreciate it,” you told her as Astrid joined the two of you.

“Snakes?” Astrid looked at the content of the box, surprised by what she saw and for once you couldn't blame her. Personally, you didn't quite get why Delia got them herself but she wanted them and she got them. Something about Ancient Egypt and Pharaohs from what you understood.

“Actually asps,” Delia corrected her, and you had to admit she actually sounded excited about them.

“Why? Are they a wedding gift for Rory?” Astrid asked, hopeful that the answer would be yes.

“Now that would’ve made it worth carrying them,” you knew that wasn’t their purpose but  no one could force you to stop happily imagining Rory freaking out over the snakes.

For the first time since you've known her, Astrid actually didn't have a rude remark or an insult for you, and actually just rolled her eyes with a smile which was almost freaky but not exactly an unwelcome change.

“Too late they've be defanged, guaranteed harmless! And they're for me.” Delia shattered your dreams well, yours was never even allowed to begin because you knew from the start what she wanted to do with them. Still for a moment you could hope that she would at least use them as a prank. It’s not like they were one se only! She could use them for more than one thing. After all, she already got them, why not just use them on the bastard as a very funny prank. It would not change anything about the snakes, and they could still be used for the ritual thing she had in mind.

Well, you were left with only your dreams.

You left the two of them to check if there was anything left unpacked, you were just about to head back upstairs when Lydia rushed down and you turned around, not sure how to react to the frantic woman.

“You got your wish, we're leaving! Pack up your things, I'm driving you back to school,” Lydia seemed absolutely frantic, like she just saw a ghost, which, well, she was supposed to be able to see them. You watched from the stairs as she went by you and toward the front door

“Wait! What happened” Astrid called after her.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” Lydia denied answering Astrid’s question.  That actually made sense, especially if it had something to do with ghosts, which this house apparently had at one point. So going by their relationship and the issues Astrid had with her mother you guessed it was something paranormal in question.

Delia, however, did not make that connection. “Oh you're calling off the wedding?” she went after Lydia outside and just for a moment you and Astrid exchanged looks do you just shrugged finally realizing that you couldn't even begin to try and have a normal conversation with her. That's how used you were to just fights and banter and insults and everything that came along with this hatred between you.

Eventually you just pointed at yourself then point upstairs and then point at her and outside. The message being clear, you would, rather regrettably, check up on Rory while she would go and check up on her mother.

To that Astrid, just as unsure of how to interact with you like a normal human being, just went and gave you a thumbs up and you both went your separate ways, one up the stairs to the attic and the other outside to talk to her mother.

~X~

Lydia was stuck in the office, just contemplating everything about her and Astrid’s relationship.

Apparently, her daughter was not gay. In fact, she had a date with a boy. Her first date was with a boy, not with the girl as she expected it would be. Did Lydia really mess up that much that she wasn't even capable of seeing how things actually were? Her daughter, who she believed was gay and actually had a crush on you and was just unable to properly act up on those feelings, threw her a curveball and was going on a date on Halloween night with a boy she met 2 days ago.

How did she miss the signs?

Her concerns were now even bigger because, unlike you, this boy was a complete unknown for Lydia. She didn't know his full name, she didn't know his parents, granted she didn't know your parents either but that was beside the point, she didn't know how he spent his time, what his interests were. She didn't know anyone who knew him, and she was now overthinking it and panicking and was getting even more nervous and afraid for her own daughter because this was a mess, and she was disappointed in herself as a mother for mistaking her daughter’s sexuality.

Maybe Astrid was just bisexual. Maybe. Maybe Lydia just got so deep into preparing for a girlfriend that she forgot that there were other options, all equally daunting for her as the mother of a child that would soon start, that actually just stated dating, and find her own love and heartbreak and everything Lydia herself went through all those decades ago.

Also did her daughter actually just tell her that she crashed through the fence and that's how she met the guy? Like it was just something people did for fun? How did that even happen?

Lydia began breathing deeply, huffing and taking very loud, very deep breaths. She could not go down that train of thought.

~X~

He liked her.

Jeremy liked her. Astrid knew that much, she could see signs that he wanted to kiss her, that he really didn't want to spend any time handing out candies to the kids and instead actually wanted to spend time with her.

And she, at least logically speaking, wasn't opposed to the idea. At least it would prove to her that some feelings she may or may not have were, in fact, not real and just her heart playing with her brain so she would kiss him to prove her heart wrong.

Astrid let him approach her, she felt his hands on her, hugging her and she hugged him back, and he held her like he hasn’t been touched in years. Like he was desperate to feel someone’s touch, someone’s kind and positive touch. Astrid could almost feel his breath on her lips and then she just couldn't do it, because there was an infuriating Barnacle plaguing her thoughts at that very moment.

She pulled away, separating from him even though she knew how it looked. “Sorry I just I think we are rushing too fast into this,” she apologized and he seemed understanding at first. At least from the looks of it, he just turned to the window and looked rejected “I'm not saying I'm opposed to kissing you eventually, but we just met two days ago,” she tried to cheer him up but then he turned to face her.

“No, you’re right, I'm- I'm sorry I just got excited because you can see me and for over 23 years no one saw me and I just thought we had something,” she must have heard him wrong but then she looked down and saw it.

He was floating and that's when she realized all the stories her mother told were actually true and she was actually seeing a ghost these past few days

~X~

You were in the living room, with everyone aside from Astrid and Rory, plus Jane, just lazing around on the sofa and texting Alex. You weren’t in a costume, you had no intention of dressing up for the Halloween.

The truth was, you kind of hated Halloween. Well hate might be a strong word, mostly reserved for Astrid and maybe another thing or two. No the actual word you were looking for regarding Halloween was more like indifference brought upon by that's one time you got dressed as a pumpkin and got teased for by your classmates.

It wasn't fun. It was actually horrific and ever since then you just didn't bother celebrating Halloween. So, what if Astrid was currently on her ridiculous date? It had nothing to do with your current mood. Even if you did hated the guy more than you hated her for some reason. You should have felt sorry for him, after all he was the one who had to deal with being on a date with the Chihuahua.

So, no, you did not care about Astrid being on a date with some random dude.

You just realized you’d be all alone. Delia would be at the cemetery doing whatever she seemed to want to do with the snakes and Lydia would be preparing for her wedding and Rory would be giving out the candy. And you were fine with that. You would just be hanging around on the couch in the living room waiting for Delia to sign all the papers and then you could just go ahead and leave, just start packing what little things you brought here and get ready to go back home. Luckily Delia promised she would arrange a car to come pick you up.

“Where's Rory?” Lydia asked out of blue, almost as if she was asking out of obligation, because she should know where he was and not because she actually had to know where he was. Especially since she had Chihuahua’s first date to worry about.

“Supermarket swapping out the candy I bought for carrot sticks, because Rory loves to fun suck everything even Halloween,” of course Delia did not miss a single chance point out the kind of person Rory was, because Lydia apparently couldn’t see him for who he really was. Even if it didn’t change anything you figured she did feel the need to, in her own way, warn her stepdaughter about him because as far as you knew telling Lydia that Rory was not who he was presenting himself as wasn't working. “Gotta run, see you at the church,” she turned back to Lydia and with a hopeful look added. “Unless you're calling off the wedding.”

“No Delia,” Lydia sighed and just noticed Delia was leaving, that was how focused on Astrid she was. “Wait, why are you going to the cemetery?” Lydia asked. It just crossed your mind that she in her panic earlier today did not see the snakes Delia bought.

“To commune with my dear husband spirit,” was all Delia needed to say. She quickly waved at you and was on her way leaving you alone with Lydia and Jane and from the looks of it, Jane was going to leave soon so that would just leave you and Lydia alone in the house for a while. At least until she would go and get Astrid. Oh, and until Rory came back.

Still, it could be fun. You haven't had the chance to be on your own wait the Lydia Deetz and you actually were curious about her. And it had nothing to do with maybe not wanting to be alone while a certain Chihuahua was on a date with a guy she met two days ago, while she spent so damn long hating you. Yeah, that had nothing to do with it.

Nothing at all!

You did not care where that stupid Chihuahua was or how quickly she fell in love like dumb ass.

“The closest we ever got to Disney was when Astrid dressed as Cinderella’s dead mom,” you absolutely did not filter out what Jane mentioned about her daughter and scouts or whatever group her daughter was in and you absolutely did not think Astrid’s costume sounded exactly like her.

Jane said something something fruit salad mortgage something something non triggering and then asked the question that was annoying the hell out of you, that is, she asked where Astrid was.

Lydia had this soft, yet somber smile on her face. “On a date,” she said, like a parent learning to accept their child was growing up. “Her first. I think I'm more nervous than she is. The boy lives over on Jefferson,” Lydia really did sound nervous when she said that, and you guessed between their rocky relationship and all the things that happened Astrid’s first date at this moment wasn’t something Lydia was entirely prepared for.

Something something perfect sales records something something on the market for years something something once more you're pretty much tuning out the words of the woman the Deetz family hired to sell their house. And you were doing good, tuning her out, that is until she said three words: the murder house and you immediately sat up and stopped texting Alex. A sinking feeling inside of your guts was almost telling you to pay attention because you just had a bad feeling about what was going to they said next.

“Murder house? Which house?” Lydia asked now frantic and you sort of pieced together that's maybe the house show left Astrid at wasn't that far off from looking like a murder house. Because if the house looked normal and if Lydia you got to see the parents or that boy she would not be looking this afraid right now.

“125,” James said and just from the look of Lydia's face you knew that was the house Astrid was in and so you jumped to your feet and rushed to get the car keys.

“Fucking hell Chihuahua, what did you get yourself into?” just as you've got the keys you saw Lydia rushing out. “I'm going with you!” you quickly told her and followed after her into the car. The woman was clearly in shock but all she cared about was just getting to Astrid, nothing else mattered.

You did not dare to tell her you would get there in time. You had no idea how all of this worked, sure you believed in ghosts and you've been seeing glimpses of strange things throughout your life. You still had no idea how any of that actually functioned. You had no idea if they could harm Astrid.

If the guy she was with was bad news then she probably was in danger and especially if Lydia, the most competent person to judge if her daughter was in danger from ghosts was also panicking. “He killed his parents 23 years ago!” okay, Astrid was definitely in danger. “If I just didn’t let her into that house, if I just went in with her! What kind of mother am I if something happens to her-“ Lydia was mostly talking to herself.

“Hey, wait, wait, don't go there you couldn't know!” You tried to get her to calm down. “You're the expert but you couldn't know! Just focus on saving her so you can berate yourself later,” you needed her focused because if she wasn't, you had no hopes of getting Astrid back in time. And you really, as much as you didn't like Astrid, did not want her dead or in danger.

~X~

The moment the car began slowing down in front of the house you just ran out, without even waiting for it to stop and ran up the stairs ignoring the for sale sign in front of the house. You ended up bursting through the doors so hard the handle might have gotten a bit damaged because the doors were old.

You stumbled when you entered the house, you felt sick for a moment when you saw the man. But you did not see him clearly, it was like there was a mist around him.

"Astrid!" Lydia yelled and it snapped you out of your confusion. That man was a ghost, mist meant ghost, at least at this stage of your ability to see ghosts. So, you rushed right through the woman going down the stairs.

"Wait! Deetz!" you yelled as loud as you could as you ran up the stairs two steps at a time. You saw the light and broke through the door, but Astrid just walked through something.

"What the? Barnacle?" your eyes met and you reached out to her but the ghost guy grabbed her forearm and pulled her along and the portal closed before you could reach out and grab her hand.

"Astrid!" Lydia cried out, but it was too late as well.

If only she reached out to you. For the first time since you met her you cursed yourself for not being at least civil with her. "Damn it!" you slammed your fist on the old table, right next to some thick book. "What do we do now?"

Lydia grabbed the book on the table, your outburst probably caught her attention. "Come on, I have a crazy idea," you saw uncertainty in her eyes, fear that maybe not even what she had in mind would be enough, but she had to hope. You both rushed down the stairs, every second mattered and you couldn't waste time on just talking. "Can you drive?" she asked, clearly intending to go through the book.

"Of course," you nodded and ran to the car, starting the engine once more as Lydia sat down next to you.

~X~

You had no time to waste, as you drove around the house and parked the car right in front of the entrance to the house, not even caring that you would somewhat block the path for the kids. They could avoid the car, it didn't matter, you just had to be quick and find a way to rescue Astrid, so up to the stairs you drove.

“Y/N?! Where’s the rush? You're nearly drove into the house!” Rory exclaimed as he was on top of the stairs preparing to hand out the candy to the kids, but you just ran past him not really wasting a moment to stop and chat. You didn’t even turn the engine off, just parked the car.

Lydia gave him some excuse or whatever as you both rushed upstairs. She already told you where to go so you just grabbed the crowbar on the way upstairs and started removing the boards Delia and Lydia put there just an hour or so ago. By the time Lydia came up the stairs as well you were almost done and you both pulled the last wooden board out of the way and went into the attic and from that point on you could only watch her as she found the solution.

The first thing that caught your eye was the small scale model of Winter River, done in amazing detail, and if things were any different you would have spent hours studying it.

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” she took a deep breath. “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Beetlejuice!” you had no idea what was going on as she repeated that word? Name? Whatever it was three times.

And then the freakiest thing happened the mist slash smoke surrounding the paranormal vanished from your vision as the zombie-looking guy with green hair and striped suits and rather unhealthy-looking skin emerged from the Winter River model. “The juice is loose,” he said and vanished, only to appear right next to Lydia.

“I need you to tell me what this means,” she skipped the formalities and just showed him the pages of the book she found in that room where Astrid was.

“Let's have a look,” he pulled out a magnifying glass. “Long story short, your daughter is screwed,” well, fuck! “She decided to trade lives with a boy, he gets to come back while she's stuck on the other side, permanently. One way ticket to the Soul Train,” this guy, Beetlejuice, explained and you were just absolutely confused about what was going on. Afterlife actually existed, and people could come back.

More importantly… “She did what?! Why would she do that? Who does that?” you demanded. Astrid was smart! What did that ghost offer her to make her accept giving up her life? Or did he just outright trick her? “Shit, we need to get her back,” you turned away from Lydia and Beetlejuice and ran your hand through your hair, not even sure you would make it in time.

“The Soul Train?” Lydia asked for further explanations.

“That's right! The last stop, The Great Beyond,” he said and you just leaned back against the wall. Was there even anything you could do at this point? Astrid was on the other and you were over here in the living world. But then again Beetlejuice was from that other world. Was that why Lydia called him? Because he could somehow move the two of you into the world of the dead?

Wait, were you about to go into the world of the dead for Astrid? Not knowing the risks, or the consequences, or if it would be dangerous? You knew nothing about it, it was a complete unknown that you weren’t even sure existed five minutes ago!

Somehow you knew the answer was yes. You would take all those risks to take her back, because you plain and simple couldn’t live with yourself if you just let her die.

“Can we go in after her?” You asked as you once more turned toward Lydia and Beetlejuice.

“Quid pro quo, I want something in return,” while he replied to you he was looking at Lydia, as if he would only accept something from her.

Maybe those were the rules? Since she summoned him?

“Of course you do. What do you want?” Lydia asked ready to give him anything he asked for as long as it would save her daughter.

“Well I've got this ex-wife-“ Beetlejuice began and you've spent enough time with Delia and you knew a tangent when you saw one.

“Get to the point!” You exclaimed. Each second could be vital in keeping Astrid alive, and you did not want to waste it on his tangents.

“You want me to marry you,” Lydia knew what he wanted, and you just turned to look at her because what the fuck was that about? How would that even work? All of this was too much and the only reason you were keeping your sanity was because you had a goal in mind.

You weren’t sure you’d be keeping your sanity for much longer as so you watched this Beetlejuice act like getting married was Lydia's idea, like she just proposed to him because she wanted that. And then he made her sign some contract because apparently, he needed that in writing. You were in the most absurd situation possible and you half- expected to just wake up and see that everything was fine. Like this was all just a fever dream and you would wake up go to the work at the library you'd see Astrid there being annoying and being a Chihuahua and getting on your nerves and not on the way to swap lives with a ghost and die.

“What's the plan on getting in?” Lydia had enough of his bullshit as well and just demanded to know how you all would get in.  

Beetlejuice just vanished again and appeared in front of the wall, crouching and drawing a bomb with the fuse. He then just went and lit his thumb on fire. This was all absolutely ridiculous because the drawn fuse just lit on fire and the bomb exploded and instead of looking outside of the house you were looking into some office.

“Deetz, you're gonna be the death of me,” you said, ready to just go through.

“Trust me kid I know the feeling,” Beetlejuice said.

“I did not ask,” fuck it, you were going in, and you were not getting out without Astrid.

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[thefusioncelestial]

Mix 8: The Rugged Pop Star

Anonymous asked:

Hello, Love your stories and I love the merge thing. Now, you see, I've got a huge crush on Charlie Puth and I was wondering if you could merge me with him? That would be awesome to be able to live that. I'm a pretty tall guy, kinda hairy on the chest, black hair and dark brown eyes. I wonder what I would look like after.

Can you help me? Your price will be mine!

Another successful show for the mega successful pop star:

Life is good, life is perfect, it would be.

Charlie found out about prowlers: celebrities born from jealous people forcibly assimilating the target of their ire & living the dream they worked so hard to obtain. He himself was almost a victim to this after a typical LA party. Some preppy kid wanted his fame for himself. Charlie knew that something had to be done. He needed a defense against this phenomenon.

With his money & connections, he able to find out how others are doing it. His heart sank. He would only need to do it once, but he would need to assimilate another. This would give him a natural defense against predation attempts on him, like a vaccine. But who? He would be taking away someone's right to live their life independently & of their own free will.

He heard of stories of celebrities losing it all, after choosing a member of their management team, it meant duties as a star in their field & the behind the scenes work load. He didn't want a super fan, the result could be extreme levels of narcissism, and that has ended the careers of many or destroyed their ability to form relationships.

"Here's your coffee sir," the intern chimed. He was tall, had black hair; lots of facial hair. His clothing choices hid his build, but he seemed a little skinnier than Charlie. Charlie had his choice. He would scope him out first.

The intern was a fan of his, but never confronted Charlie or tried to get an autograph. He was able to separate his own desires from his work. A strong work ethic. He didn't have any outwardly noticeable social media either, no mention that he works for a mega star. A strong work ethic, mature, and not using him for clout. Charlie could dig further and find a more perfect candidate, but he was shaken up. If it were not for the taser gun, someone else would be living his life, and Charlie would be stuck in them forever.

He called this intern to his dressing room. He didn't know what Charlie wanted, maybe to complain about the coffee, but he was happy nonetheless. After he came to the room, he was sat down by Charlie.

The intern was nervous at first, but Charlie explained the situation. He couldn't believe it, Charlie Puth wants me to be a part of him! The intern looked back at his life, university graduated, aside from his job as a part of Charlie Puth's crew, a new addition mind you, he had nothing remarkable going on. That is why he never blasted his job online: he wanted to keep this one. So he worked his hardest & kept his head down. And now he might be mixing his body & mind with his idol.

The intern agreed when Charlie was done. Charlie sighed that this was necessary & thanked him. He informed him that he wanted to do this now. The intern was shocked, now? He blushed. Ok, so be it. Promotion to Charlie Puth.

Charlie went and locked the door. The last thing he needed was for someone to walk in and get grabbed by his transforming self & adding to the result.

Charlie pulled out a flask with red liquid and drank it. He sat down in another chair. He hesitated. He apologized again and with his right hand bid the intern to come.

The intern, overjoyed, took off his shirt and jeans, revealing boxer briefs. He was about to go commando, but Charlie stopped him from doing that.

All they needed to do was touch skin and then press hard into Charlie. Let the process handle the rest. The intern was taller, and had a build similar to Charlie, only more cut. He was hairy too. Like all over. It was intimidating, no going back. Time to invest in better razors.

The intern got on his knees and then pressed his head against Charlie's chest. His head started to go in.

Charlie felt pressure, and a wave of liquid flow into him. Then pleasurable sensations. He didn't let out any moans or groans except from heavy breathing through his mouth. He didn't want to express the pleasures from assimilating others. Even if they consented. His face showed discomfort, like he was going to cry. And then it hit him.

As the intern entered, he liquidized. Within a few minutes his entire being was a slurry of liquid masses swimming throughout Charlie's body. The underwear fell the to ground. The intern entered Puth's brain, his mind. Charlie felt everything the intern was feeling, and so did the intern. As their minds merged, they reconciled their differences. Charlie's apprehension went away, he was at peace. His face changed to calm. He looked as if he was sleeping in the chair.

The mental traits that didn't become a dominate part of Charlie's mind went into his subconsciousness. From the intern's prospective, he was floating in an peaceful abyss. He would hear Charlie's thoughts, feel what he felt emotionally & physically, see what Charlie sees, and on occasion push Charlie's decisions in one direction or another; just a little. He was Charlie Puth now, small part of the whole.

Charlie's body was rife with activity. The liquid mass of the intern moved through out, looking like big lumps under beneath his skin. Pulsating fast and randomly.

The intern's dna latched on to Charlie's. Puth's new dna then fired off. The mass began to settle and in act new changes. Charlie could feel each one, but all he could do was open his mouth wide open & clutch his hands to the arm rest of the chair he was sitting in, and crunch his toes.

He could feel muscles pop, and in other places, his skin constrict. His bones stretch. His hair darken. And then his face morphed. As if a layer of skin toned smooth clay was covering his face, the intern's facial traits settled in. It was if the intern was a sculptor, and with care & precision molded his new face, dyed his hair.

The intern was a hairy man, and when the merger was focusing on his face, hair started to erupt all over. But as if Charlie was standing next to his new body, as if with a pair of scissors, began to cut away the hair. The body & facial hair began to shrink. Finding a happy medium between Charlie's original bare skin & the intern's wall of hair.

The process was over. Charlie let out a deep exhale and closed his mouth. He opened his eyes.

He was a new man.

But what has he become? Can he still sing?

He looked at the dressing room mirror.

He was taller, and more muscular. He wasn't fat or overweight beforehand, but the intern gave him that push. A six pack was more visible, but he kept his mass. His arms were more vascular. Was he a pop star or a bodybuilder?

His arms and shoulders grew too, a thicker neck. Did he really merge with someone, it felt like he just went to the gym more or dieted better. His brushed his hand against his chest.

Body hair?

He had hair on his forearms, on his chest and abs, and in the face. Sideburns that connected to his new beard & mustache. His hair was darker too, & more voluminous.

His mouth was smaller, and his nose moved more upright, but the lower mouth generally followed his original shape. His ears & skull were longer. But his eyes? A mix of his and the intern. More the interns. The signature cut above his right eye was gone.

He wiped his face, scrupled his hair.

The intern's personal history. It was melded to his. He knew partly why he was big now, his was practicing judo beforehand.

He wanted to feel the fresh air now with his new body. He changed into the underwear & shorts of his fusee and then went outside for a jog:

It was exhilarating. He was stronger, faster, had more stamina. He could see why people get assimilated. But this is it. No more. Too many, and the original me will be gone & buried. A monster hunger for more power.

He went back to the dressing room and used the secret shower within. He changed his clothes. Everyone addressed him as Charlie. No one knew the difference. When he asked for the intern & described him, no one knew what he was talking about. Scary.

He went to his vocal coach and tested out his singing voice. He sounded more mature, but kept his perfect pitch abilities. And now he could kick butt too.

[ennn]

Great meta about episode 8 and about Agatha’s feelings. I’m particularly curious about Rio and I agree with everything you said about her feelings and why she lashed out. She finally gave up on Agatha after centuries, she accepted she would always hate her no matter what even if she chose giving Billy up or herself but did that kiss change anything for her? She looked like she was truly grieving her and letting go

I don’t think she knew about ghost Agatha but will that change anything? Do you think she will follow the deal and leave Agatha alone? There is also the issue about Tommy but if you don’t count the twins do you think Death finally decided to move on? Will she be free or with those two, never 😂

Heh, I did leave out the part about the kiss in my meta post didn't I? My brain was so tired lol

The short answer? It's ambiguous.

And I think that's largely deliberate because The Powers That Be (TPTB) haven't committed to where and how they want to use Rio / Death in future Marvel projects.

I think there's definitely enough setup done and opportunity in the story for Rio to come back for an AAA sequel or spin-off — but also enough ambiguity if not.

Story-wise, the kiss is significant because I don't think Agatha's one to directly apologise or walk back what she says. It's a similar thing in episode 4 where Agatha embraces Rio with all that emotion.

I think the kiss is Agatha saying she still does have love for Rio, that she does want her despite all that she said earlier, that she's sorry but she can't let this boy die.

It's very heartbreaking if you consider Rio had resigned herself to Agatha just hating and rejecting her, and she is given this reminder of their love as a goodbye.

But ultimately I think with Agatha's progress – inching her way along her arc – this still marks the end of this chapter of their relationship: these two finally had something of an honest conversation, the baseline of their interactions has changed, and Rio needs to process brand new emotions like grief (which I sure hope doesn't have cosmic consequences ha ha).

That said, the kiss does seem to put Agatha and Rio in a relatively okay place at the end of this chapter. It's a bit of reconciliation. They've shown that they still love each other, but there's still a significant disconnect between them. But as a wise Lilia once said, sad is better than angry.

Now the ghost thing: it's a really interesting change to the dynamic of their relationship but I don't know if Agatha being a ghost encourages or dissuades Rio to go after her. Rio may feel motivated to help Agatha pass on and be with Nicky. Or Rio may take it as Agatha choosing to put distance between them, and from what we see in episode 5, Rio can't really do much about ghosts.

What the ghost thing does do is give Rio some grounds to ignore the first deal because if we look at the letter of the arrangement, Agatha asks for Rio "to stop making her life hell" and to not see Rio's face when she dies. These terms are no longer relevant for a ghost.

And if one argues that the deal has Agatha telling Rio to stop pursuing her, you could argue that Rio's following Billy and trying to deal with the Tommy situation. Agatha just happens to be around all the time while Rio's doing her job.

If we ignore the whole Maximoff twin situation like you say, I think it would actually be up to Agatha to decide whether a new chapter of them begins.

Because while being a ghost is a sacrifice in a lot of ways, it actually gives Agatha more control over the relationship in a way she didn't before, not even with the Darkhold. I don't think Rio can touch her, literally. It's possible Rio can't even sense her.

The good news is, this kind of ambiguity is perfect for fanfiction and fan interpretations. There is a lot of potential there.

[scarletsaphire]

This is my fic for @ecto-implosion 2024 with my artist partner @kaidebat! You can find their incredible art here, go check them out!

---

Phantom comes back to Danny's workshop damaged. Luckily, Danny can fix him. He's the one who built him, after all.

--

Danny did not look up at the sound of metal against metal; that instinct had been phased out of him after spending his whole life around the rumbling of gears and the clanging of pistons. If he jumped at every mechanical squeak in his own workshop, he’d never get anything done.

He did, however, jump at the mechanical hand on his shoulder. He calmed down once he saw Phantom’s glowing green eyes. “How did it go?”

Phantom’s eyes darted down to his other arm in lieu of an answer, and Danny followed his gaze. The arm hung stiff at a 20 degree angle, a metal rod stuck in the elbow and sparks flying off of the shoulder. 

“Poorly, I take it.” Danny let the chain he’d been fiddling with fall to the desk. He could continue working on the project later; he had more important things to take care of right now. “Get comfortable. I just need to grab my stuff.”

It didn’t take him long to find the tools he would need and a small collection of spare parts; the clocktower he’d repurposed into his workshop was smaller than his parents, and he prided himself on being neater than they were. Not that he was complaining about their poor organizational habits; if they kept better track of their stuff, then he wouldn’t have a need for a workshop at all.

Phantom was sitting in one of two chairs, his functioning hand hovering around his throat and his face pointed up towards the inner face of the clock. He smiled at Danny as he set down his tools. 

Danny grabbed his own chair from his work desk and dragged it across the floor. “So, who got you this time?” He sat on Phantom’s right, tracing his finger over the cool metal of his arm. It was normally warmer, just above or below the temperature of a normal human, depending on how hard he’d been fighting. Cold to the touch meant the pipes were being interrupted. That wasn’t good.

Phantom did not reply.

Danny furrowed his brow, glancing up at Phantom’s face. He still had his good arm rubbing lightly at his throat. “You’re not talking.” That also wasn’t a good thing; Phantom was always talking. “Move your hand?”

It fell to his side with a clang, revealing a puncture in the metal. Steam leaked from the gash with a slow hiss, mirroring Danny’s own. “Ouch. Nicked your voice box, I assume?” 

Phantom began to tilt his head in a nod, but Danny grabbed his chin before he could. “Don’t! You could hurt yourself. Just-” 

It was a challenge, holding Phantom’s head still while maneuvering over him. 

Keeping his grip steady while climbing over the armrest was awkward, not to mention getting into a position where he could more clearly see into the gash was a tight squeeze on the small chair. It didn’t matter; he couldn’t let Phantom do anymore damage to himself.

The damage wasn’t as bad as it could be, mostly a surface level scratch. It was a miracle that it didn’t damage more; there was a lot of complicated machinery in Phantom’s neck, and if it had cut any deeper, Danny might’ve needed to do a full emergency reconstruction. 

“I think I can fix this right here.” Danny didn’t look up, reaching between the gap in the chair for his tool box. “You just need to stay very, very… still…” He trailed off as his hand wrapped around what he was looking for. 

There were three things he needed to worry about: the pipe, the voice box, and the surface metal. Danny’s first concern was the pipe. Steam leaked from it slowly but steadily, condensing on the surrounding metal and dripping further into his throat. He needed to take care of it quickly, before it interfered with the other parts. 

“I’m going to need to stop the flow to your head,” Danny mumbled. “I can’t fix this without burning myself otherwise. You okay with that?” His eyes darted up to meet Phantom’s.

He couldn’t talk, obviously. With Danny holding his chin, he couldn’t even nod. None of that mattered; Phantom’s eyes sparkled and Danny knew the answer as clearly as if he had spoken. “I trust you.”

Danny nodded, then got to work. 

It was not an easy process by any means. Having an off switch would’ve been far too much of a risk, what with everything he needed to be doing. In fact, Danny didn’t think there was a way to turn Phantom off, not completely. Even disabling a specific part or pipe was very, very difficult, and ideally no one would be able to get close enough to ever begin to figure it out. 

Danny didn’t need to figure it out. He knew exactly what to do, and exactly how to do it, just like he knew every cog, ever gear, every scrap of metal inside Phantom’s body. He’d spent far too much time building him to know anything less. 

A few moments later and Phantom’s head fell limp on Danny’s shoulder, his eyes still glowing faintly, darting around in the sockets. “You’re okay,” Danny whispered, shifting to once again grab Phantom’s face. “I’ve got you.” He held Phantom’s head up, tilting his head up by the chin to give him better access. “I’ll be as quick as possible.”

With the steam out of the way, Danny could make out the exact problems much, much easier. The puncture in the pipe was miniscule, so small that it would’ve been invisible to the untrained eye. Just enough to cause problems, but an easy one to fix. The voice box was in a worse state, but still manageable. The mechanisms that caused it to vibrate had remained undamaged, but was disconnected from the functional speaker. Tricky, but quick. The gash into the metal of the neck was a nonissue - if Danny had a nickel for every time he had to tear through Phantom’s “skin,” he’d be working with fresh, new metal, not scraps, and that wasn’t even considering how often the other automatons punctured it.

“I’m going to need two hands for this,” Danny said. The back of the chair was ever so slightly shorter than Phantom, which was a blessing; Danny settled his head on the back of the chair as delicately as he could. “Is that comfortable?” 

Phantom’s face remained perfectly still, his eyes staring directly into Danny’s, and the gears in his neck whirred. 

Danny shrugged. “Well, I can’t do much else for you, so it’ll have to do.” He grabbed his goggles from the work desk and a soldering iron from his bag. “Don’t try and talk while I’m working, ok? We don’t need both of us hurt.” He leaned towards Phantom’s neck, and started the repair.

There was something oddly comforting about poking around Phantom’s insides. Nostalgic, almost, which was stupid. Danny had only finished building Phantom a few months ago, and it was dumb to be nostalgic from something so recent. It didn’t change the fact that the inner workings of Phantom’s body were familiar, and working on them again - not just surface level repairs, but actually working in him - felt a little bit like returning home.

It made sense, in a way. Danny had spent more hours in the clocktower than he’d spent in his actual house, even before he’d started thinking of it as his workshop. So much of that time, all meticulously measured by the resounding hourly echoes of the bell, was spent working on Phantom - on blueprints and concept sketches, and then individual parts, all long before he’d ever even began to work on the body - of course it would be more familiar than his bedroom at home.

Thinking about it, Danny couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d spent a whole day in his house. It was before his parents started the construction, that was a given. There’s no way Danny would’ve been able to stay overnight with the racket they’d been making, even before they ever finished the first automaton.

He’d thought it was harmless, at first. The first ones had been. A couple of robots with funny shapes whose only real purpose was to prove that they worked, that through science and mechanical work his parents could create life , or at least a semblance of it. It was only after the fourth one that Danny got worried.

It had taken them months to perfect the shell of a kindly old lady, complete with a warm smile and the smallest of hunchbacks. 

“She’s here to help with meals!” his father had said, his arm thrown over the machine’s shoulders. “Make sure that we all stay fed while your mother and I work.”

“We can’t have our kids going hungry, now can we?” His mother smiled at them, and then the two of them had retreated back into the basement, leaving Danny and Jazz with the automaton. 

For an hour it had stood there, perfectly still, smile stretched across the metallic faceplate. The longer Danny stared at it, the further it went from warm to unsettling. When the clock struck noon, it only got worse.

“I-I-I-I-It’s lunch time!” she stuttered to life, wheels below her fake dress spurring her towards the kitchen. “Children need to e-e-e-eat three square meals a day!”

The two of them sat on the couch, watching from a safe distance as she banged around in the kitchen, making a comical amount of noise for the small sandwiches she brought to the table a few minutes later.

If it had ended there, it would’ve been great. If it had ended at the soup she brought out a little while later, that would’ve also been fine. If it had ended at the salad, or the brownies, or the pitcher of lemonade, that would’ve been excessive, but manageable. The problem was that it didn’t end at any of that. It didn’t end until every last possible ingredient in the kitchen had been used up, and even then it was only because Jazz took a bat to the things wheels when it tried to leave the house to get more food.

That was the problem with automatons. They never knew when to quit. They were created with one task in mind, and they would do anything to reach it, over and over and over again. It was only through destruction, when the damage to their physical bodies was too great for them to continue, that they would stop.

Danny’s parents cared about this problem, of course. It was an issue in their process, a barrier between real life and the artificial one they were trying to perfect. They just didn’t care enough not to make more.

It’s why Danny started designing Phantom in the first place; an automaton to make sure that the others don’t go haywire and hurt somebody. An automaton that wouldn’t stop trying to help people until there was no more help left to do. A protector that doesn’t need to worry about the damage the others could do, because he could be fixed. Because Danny could fix him. 

“Done.” 

He removed his goggles, letting them settle around his neck while he inspected the patch. He’d needed to open the gash further to access Phantom’s inner workings, which meant that it couldn’t just be welded shut. The square of scrap metal was a different color than the rest of Phantom’s body, but not noticeably so; at least, Danny hoped not.  

“Go ahead and say something.”

“Testing, testing, one two three.” Phantom’s voice came through clearly, with only the slightest bit of static from the speaker. 

“It sounds good to me. Is it comfortable?”

Phantom hummed. “Much better than before.”

“Yeah, well, a monkey with a brick could’ve made it feel better than before.”

Phantom’s laugh was warm and crackly, as if the speaker couldn’t transmit all of the feeling in it. “You’re selling yourself short again.”

“Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that.” Danny rolled his eyes. “I’m going to power your upper motor functions back up, and then I’ll deal with your arm. Sound good?”

“Everything you say sounds good.”

The soft thud of flesh hitting metal resounded as Danny playfully slapped Phantom’s shoulder. “I could just turn you all the way off if you want to be like that.”

“But you won’t.” Phantom couldn’t turn his head to look at Danny, but he could feel the automaton’s burning gaze on him anyway. 

He couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across his face. “But I won’t.”

Phantom’s first move after getting powered on was to roll his head, testing the new metal patch. It held, bending with the rest of Phantom, blending into the fluid motion as if it was skin. “It’s good.”

Danny’s smile widened. “Wonderful. Means I can get started on the bigger problem.” He moved to slide off of Phantom’s lap, only to be met by his metallic arm, holding him in place.

"You can fix it from here, can't you?"

Danny was suddenly struck by the warmth emanating through Phantom's body, the subtle vibration of hidden mechanisms working inside of him, and Phantom's hand, settled in the crook of his hip, holding him firm. He’s sitting in Phantom’s lap. He’s been sitting in Phantom’s lap for the better part of an hour now. 

If Phantom were alive, it would’ve been an incredibly intimate position. But he wasn’t alive. He was an automaton, nothing but metal and steam. It couldn’t be intimate.

So why did Danny suddenly feel so warm?

 "Um. I can?

"Then stay." Phantom lets his grip loosen ever so slightly, but he didn’t pull his arm away. The only movement was to gently rub the small section of skin just under Danny’s shirt. "Please."

It was Danny's turn to burn far, far too hot. “I don’t- I-.” Danny swallowed hard, trying to will away the feeling of Phantom’s fingers on his back. “I don’t know if I can… focus very well. Sitting here.”

Phantom looked up at Danny, staring directly into his eyes. “I have faith in you.”

Danny breathed in the smell of the workshop, letting the piercing scent of metal cut through him. He blocked out the feeling of Phantom’s fingertips on his back, the feeling of his cheeks flushed and red, and the feelings rushing through his head far, far too quickly for him to process. Phantom was hurt. He was hurt and Danny needed to help him before he could deal with…whatever was wrong.

Removing the pipe lodged in Phantom’s arm was a clear step one. Ideally, the job would be as simple as grabbing and pulling, but that would depend on how it was bent, and what exactly it was lodged between. Danny bent to the side, reaching into his toolbox on the floor and ignoring the way that Phantom’s fingers slid further up his back. He tightened his grip around his screwdriver and straightened, then got to work removing the arm plates.

Undoing the screws was easy, repetitive, and time consuming, and Danny couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. Something was… off. Not just the weird fluttering in his stomach as Phantom’s hand slowly migrated from his back to his thigh. Something was off about Phantom himself. It was only after Danny had managed to get the first panel unscrewed that he realized what was bothering him.

Phantom wanted something. 

He had wanted things in the past, of course. Upgrades and repairs and disguises and techniques to help him stop the other automatons, or to help repair damage, or a dozen other things. A dozen other things all related to helping . 

That’s why he was created, to help. To help stop the destruction his parent’s experiments wrought, and to help restore what he couldn’t stop, but always to help. As far as Danny had figured, he couldn’t want anything outside of that. 

But here he was. Asking Danny to stay sitting on his lap, even though it would slow the repair. Even though it had nothing to do with a threat. Something was wrong. Or maybe Phantom had a reason for asking, something that made sense within his metallic brain that Danny just couldn’t compute. 

“Tell me about the fight?” That was a safe topic, and Danny could gather information from it. Maybe there was something that happened that caused this weird behavior?

Phantom sighed in a small puff of steam. “Must I? I was savoring the moment.”

Danny’s hands stalled for just a second before continuing their work. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

Phantom was quiet for a moment, his thumb rubbing absentminded circles. “I can if you need me to.”

“I’m more curious about why you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Like I said, I am savoring the moment.” 

Danny turned his eyes to Phantom’s face for a moment, studying it from the corner of his vision. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Phantom was zoned out. That he was telling the truth. But Danny did know better; that shouldn’t be possible.

“Are you okay?”

“Besides the obvious, I assume?”

Danny realized he’d stopped working again, and quickly went back to removing the last arm panel. “Yeah. Besides that.”

“I don’t believe I suffered any other damages.” Phantom frowned ever so slightly. “Have you noticed something I haven’t?”

Danny turned his eyes back to his hands. Should he say anything? Phantom had never lied about his injuries before, and if he said that he didn’t think anything was wrong, he was telling the truth as he knew it. Of course, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t damaged in some way that Phantom didn’t know. If Danny told him, then they could try and figure out what was wrong together. Unless whatever was wrong was messing with his head and had some kind of self preservation built in. 

“You said you wanted me to stay.” He wouldn’t be able to figure out anything if Phantom couldn’t help him, not when so many of these problems lied within internal reasoning. “What purpose does that serve you?”

Phantom tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Does it need to serve a purpose?” 

“Of course it needs to serve a purpose!” The final panel of Phantom’s arm fell to floor with a clatter, punctuating Danny’s statement. “You’re an automaton. Everything needs to serve a purpose. That’s part of what you are, how you work.”

The green glow of Phantom’s eyes burn bright and hot, but Danny did not look away, did not blink in the face of the fire. “Is that truly what you think?”

“I don’t need to think about it, I know it! I know it because I know every inch of you, every cog and gear and piston and screw. I know it just like I know that you’ll be just fine when I do this.” Danny grabbed a hold of the pipe’s top part and pulled, generating a horrible grating metal sound. It finally came out with a pop. “I know you, Phantom. And I know that this isn’t normal, and if something is wrong I can fix it.”

“I don’t think you know me as well as you think you do.” 

“How can you-” Danny was cut off by Phantom leaning forward, metallic lips pressing against his own. 

It was strange. Danny knew these lips, had worked for days and days to sculpt them and make them mobile. Having them pressed against his own, feeling those infinitesimal motions on his skin, the slightest feeling of steam drifting through the space between them? It was something else entirely, something completely foreign and yet so much like home. It was almost instinct to kiss back.

Phantom’s hand, now free from the pipe, raised to the back of Danny’s neck. It made an ugly sound as it moved, slow and sluggish without the final repairs put in place, but neither of them seemed to care right now. When Phantom finally pulled away, Danny was staring at him wide eyed and open mouthed.

“I have wanted to do that for as long as I can remember, and I know you didn’t know that.”

Danny blinked slowly, his own hand raising to his lips, his mind lagging behind his body. “I- I don’t.” He swallowed, trying to buy himself a moment to catch up. “How? How are you…?”

Danny trailed off, and Phantom continued. “How am I like this?” Danny nodded. “I have no idea. I just… am.”

“You’ve always been different.” Danny’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t realize… how much.”

“And I never told you.”

“Why not?”

Phantom finally looked away from Danny. “I was worried. That you would deconstruct me. Try and make me more like them.”

Danny grabbed Phantom’s chin, just like he’d done to fix his neck, but now it had a different air to it. More delicate. More human. “I’m not going to do that to you. Not now, not ever.”

Phantom smiled. “Thank you.” A moment of silence, before, “Now what?”

Danny dropped Phantom’s chin to crack his knuckles. “Now I finish fixing your arm.”

“And then?”

“We’ll figure that out then. Hold still, will you?”

“Whatever you need.” Phantom’s smile grew and Danny couldn't help but return it.

[southtopaz]

PSYCHO KILLER - SCREAM

Summary: in which Iris Morris has to navigate her personal relationships while surviving a psycho.

Warnings: Fem!reader, angst, mention of violence, swearing, mention of death, Tara Carpenter x Fem reader, multiple parts, slowburn.

Word count: +6,5k

A/n: this part will follow the events of Scream 6 but it will take place two years later from Scream 5. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical mistake.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

Iris winced, hissing softly as the antiseptic stung against her busted lip. Mindy was gentle as she dabbed the cotton against the wound, her brow furrowed in concern.

"This fucking hurts," Iris muttered, unable to mask the discomfort.

"I know it does," Mindy replied, her voice soothing yet firm. "But look at the bright side: that guy probably has a broken nose because of you."

Iris couldn't help but let out a small, reluctant laugh. "That made me feel strangely better."

"As proud as I am of you for punching that asshole, maybe next time you could avoid the whole bleeding thing."

"He deserved it,"

"Totally, but you've got to stop acting like a rabid dog. You can't fight everyone that annoys you" Mindy said, setting the used cotton aside and crossing her arms.

"Yes, I can,"

"Jesus, Iris," Mindy replied, exasperated. "We really need to talk about your anger issues."

After a moment of silence, Iris finally broke it, her voice filled with worry. "Do you think Tara is pissed at me?"

"Oh, definitely," Mindy replied, her tone teasing. "Are you going to talk to her?"

"I'm not apologizing for punching him," Iris declared, crossing her arms.

"You definitely shouldn't," Mindy said, nodding vigorously. "That bitch deserved it! But maybe you two could talk about what happened before?".

"Before?" Iris's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah! I'm pretty sure she's more upset that you left her dancing alone than about you fighting that guy," Mindy explained, a smirk creeping onto her face. "Knowing Tara, she probably thought it was hot,".

"What?" Iris exclaimed, her mouth agape.

"Not you acting surprised". Mindy snorted. "Are you having a stroke right now, Ris?"

"I'm just... confused," Iris admitted, shaking her head as if that might clear her thoughts.

"Want me to clarify the situation?" Mindy offered, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "I'm talking about when you two were dancing, definitely not thinking about sleeping with each other!"

"What? We weren't looking at each other like we wanted to do that. Don't be stupid!" Iris shot back, but she couldn't help the flush creeping up her cheeks.

"Then stop eye fucking each other for one second."

"What the fuck? That's ridiculous. We don't do that."

"So you never thought about it?" Mindy pressed, her eyebrows raised in challenge.

"No," Iris replied defiantly, but her tone wavered slightly.

"Oh, come on! You fucking liar, Fifteen-year-old you has a lot of things to say right now,".

"Shut up, Mindy, you're really pissing me off," Iris snapped, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

"Can't handle the truth?" Mindy teased, winking.

"We are friends," Iris insisted, her voice firm.

"Are you though?" Mindy countered, leaning closer. "I'm your friend, and you definitely don't look at me like that. Thank God, by the way!" She rolled her eyes dramatically.

Iris opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Sam in the doorway. She paused, her expression a mix of curiosity and confusion as she took in the scene: Iris with a look of disbelief and Mindy with her signature smug smile.

"Mmm, what is going on here?" Sam asked, her head tilting slightly as she crossed her arms.

"I was just telling Iris how she should talk to your sister so they can stop eye fucking each other," Mindy declared, her tone cheeky.

"WHAT THE FUCK"

Mindy just laughed and winked at them as she left the room, her job clearly done.

A moment of awkward silence settled between Iris and Sam before Sam finally spoke up, breaking the tension. "So..."

"Don't listen to Mindy," Iris quickly interjected, trying to wave away the earlier conversation. "She's on crack"

Sam chuckled softly, stepping closer to her friend. "I just wanted to thank you for today. Seriously, what you did for Tara..."

"It's nothing," Iris replied, shrugging it off.

"Yes, it is! Who knows what could have happened to her if you weren't there?"

"I'll always be there,"

"I know." Sam paused, biting her lip nervously. "But do you think she's right about... you know, the things she said?"

"I mean, Sam..." Iris hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I can't blame you for wanting to protect your sister. God knows I'm just as paranoid. But Tara has a point, at least to some extent."

Sam looked down, nodding in agreement. "I just want her to be safe. She means everything to me."

"I know, but you have to let her live, too," Iris replied gently.

"You think she hates me for being so overprotective?" The vulnerability in Sam's voice didn't go unnoticed.

"You're her sister; she loves you. You two just need to talk it out," Iris reassured her, pulling her into a warm hug. Sam hugged back tightly, grateful for Iris's support. When they finally released each other, Sam turned to leave.

"Oh, and you should also talk to her," Sam added, pausing at the door.

"Yeah, I'm aware," Iris said with a sigh.

"Because you know Mindy was right," Sam said playfully, a smirk spreading across her face. "You two are tiring me out with all this will they, won't they."

"WAIT, WHAT?"

Iris felt a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach as she prepared to talk to Tara.  The tension in the air had been palpable all night, as things had taken a weird turn between them and she knew she had to address it, even if it made her uncomfortable. She tried to block out Mindy and Sam's words; they weren't helping her anxiety at all.

Knowing Tara had likely sobered up but would soon be grappling with a headache, Iris grabbed a bottle of pain relievers from the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, she headed toward Tara's room, her heart racing with each step.

As she reached the door, she knocked lightly, announcing her presence. Tara was reclining on her bed, half-propped up on one elbow, deeply engaged in a conversation with Quinn. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated Tara's features, casting a warm glow on her expression, but Iris could see the fatigue lurking beneath her surface. When they both turned to her at the sound of the knock, Tara's surprise was evident, and Quinn, sensing the shift, quickly rose to her feet.

"I'm gonna go, let you guys... chat," Quinn said, her voice soft as she headed for the door. As she passed Iris, she exchanged a meaningful glance with Tara, a silent communication that Iris couldn't see before the door clicked shut behind her.

"Figured you would need these," Iris said, holding out the bottle of pills and giving it a gentle shake. She stepped into the room, placing the bottle on the small table in front of the bed, feeling the weight of the moment settle around them.

"Thank you," Tara replied, managing a tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You can go back to your room. I'm pretty sure the fighting is done for the day."

Iris couldn't resist a playful retort. "That's a shame; I was ready to throw some more punches." She flexed her arms dramatically, trying to lighten the mood, before sitting next to Tara in the bed.

"Oh yeah? Everyone better start fearing for their lives then,"

"What can I say? I'm just too cool,". They exchanged a silly smile, the kind that made the world around them feel a little brighter. For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, both of them trying to find the right words.

"Thank you," Tara finally said, her gaze drifting down to her feet, the weight of her words hanging in the air. "For not letting me go up those stairs."

Iris shifted closer, their shoulders brushing lightly. She could feel the warmth radiating from Tara, and it gave her a sense of comfort. "It's no problem really. I would gladly punch him again if you asked me,"

"Yeah, but then you got hurt," Tara replied, tilting her head to study Iris's face more closely. Her eyes dropped to the small bruise on Iris's lip, a reminder of the confrontation.

"It's okay, I don't mind. It was just my lip," Iris said with a shrug, trying to brush off the concern. But there was something deeper in Tara's gaze that made her heart race, a mix of gratitude and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. The air felt charged, as if the silence between them was waiting for the right moment to spark into something more.

Tara glanced down at her white shirt, noticing the faint, dark stains that marred the fabric now that she had gotten rid of her tie and suit jacket. A hint of panic crept into her voice as she asked, "Is that blood?" It seemed the mess wasn't limited to just the cut on Iris's lip.

Iris's eyes widened for a moment. "No?" she replied, trying to deflect.

"You're not supposed to answer with a question, Ris," Tara teased, a grin tugging at her lips. Iris laughed quietly, and Tara felt a rush of warmth at the sound. There was something magical about being the reason behind Iris's smile, a feeling that made her heart swell.

"I think I was more messed up than I realized," The shorter girl admitted, the weight of her words sinking in.

"What happened? You don't usually drink like this," Iris probed, concern threading through her voice.

Tara looked away, unable to meet Iris's gaze. It felt as if the truth was etched across her face—how she had drowned her worries in drinks, all to forget the sight of Iris leaving with that boy, Damon. The memory stung, and she forced herself to swallow hard. "I just... had a lot of things on my mind,"

"Anything you wanna share?" Iris nudged her gently in the shoulder, her touch lingering just long enough to send a shiver down Tara's spine.

"Not yet, if that's okay," Tara replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I respect that," Iris said, her understanding evident. "I have a lot on my mind too." The air between them shifted, Tara felt the walls she'd built around her emotions start to crack, and for the first time, she considered sharing the weight of her feelings with Iris. But for now, she simply held on to the fleeting connection they shared, hoping it would be enough.

"Did you have fun?" Tara asked, her voice light, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it.

"I did, especially when I got to dance with you." Iris locked her gaze onto Tara's, the sincerity in her eyes making Tara's heart skip a beat.

"Yeah? You weren't that bad,"

"Maybe we can do that again sometime. I think I still need some practice." Iris wiggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly, and Tara couldn't help but nudge her playfully, a warm laugh escaping her.

"You didn't dance with Damon?" Tara inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Damon?" Iris laughed, shaking her head. "He would rather die than dance with me. Not even his boyfriend gets him to do it."

"Boyfriend? Oh," Tara said, her surprise evident.

"Yeah, why?" Iris asked, tilting her head slightly, curiosity piqued.

"I thought... maybe you two..." Tara trailed off, her voice softening.

"What? No way! He's just my friend, and besides, he is gay,"

"Sorry, that's embarrassing." Tara instinctively put her hands around her head, trying to shield her blush, but before she could hide, Iris gently grabbed one of her hands, intertwining their fingers in a warm clasp.

Iris looked down at their joined hands, the softness of Tara's skin grounding her. "Besides, even if he were into women, I wouldn't go for him either," she said, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Too picky?" Tara asked, her heart racing with an unexplainable thrill.

"Maybe," Iris replied with a slight shrug. "I guess I'm more into brunettes."

Tara's heart raced so fast she thought she might faint. The implication of Iris's words washed over her like a wave, leaving her breathless. "Good choice," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

After a moment of silence, where the only sound in the room was the rhythm of their breaths, Iris finally spoke up, her voice gentle yet firm. "You know, don't be mad at your sister. She loves you and she's just trying to protect you."

Tara sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know, but still, sometimes it feels like too much." The weight of her words hung in the air, thick with unspoken emotions.

"Maybe," Iris replied, rubbing soothing circles on Tara's hand. "But she's just trying to keep you safe. So am I." The warmth of Iris's touch sent a shiver of comfort through Tara. "Even if we both still live with the fears of the past."

"I'm sorry for that," Tara muttered apologetically "I didn't want to be rude. I know how much better you got after therapy."

"It's okay," Iris assured her, a soft smile breaking through. "And yeah, I did. Perhaps you should consider it too." At the look on Tara's face, Iris snorted softly, the sound lightening the mood. "Geez, I'm not saying now, but maybe in the future if you ever need it."

"Is Iris the psychologist talking or Iris my friend?"

"Both?" They both laughed, the tension easing further. "I didn't want to go either, but now I see how much I've improved."

"I see it too," Tara replied, sincerity in her tone.

"Before, I would've never gone to that party," Iris continued, her gaze turning introspective. "I remember being constantly on edge, like someone or something was out there just waiting to attack me." She paused, taking a breath to steady herself. "Don't get me wrong, sometimes I still feel like that, and I think it had become a part of me. But I've learned to embrace it."

"I never told you this, but I'm really proud of you," Tara said, her voice steady.

Iris took a deep breath. "It also helped me not to be scared of love or feelings anymore," she admitted, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "It's funny; I almost thought I would never be able to feel again."

"And do you?" Tara asked, leaning in slightly. "I mean, feel again? Are you still scared of it?"

"I haven't been scared for a while," Iris said, her eyes reflecting a vulnerability that was hard to ignore. "Not when it's the most beautiful feeling." They locked eyes, unable to look away, and the moment felt charged, almost electric. Tara had to look away, her heart pounding, she didn't want to get her hopes up.

"So should I be worried about the line of people that are probably waiting to date you?" Tara teased, trying to deflect the intensity of the moment.

"I highly doubt anyone would wait," Iris replied, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"You'd be surprised," Tara shot back, her heart skipping a beat as she realized they were moving closer to each other, the space between them shrinking without conscious thought.

"It's more probable that I should be the one worried about the people waiting to date you," Iris countered, her tone light but her eyes serious.

"Believe me," Tara said, her eyes tracing every movement Iris made, captivated by her "There's nothing to worry about."

"Good, because you can do so much better than date that perv Frankie,"

"You think so?" Tara whispered, her voice barely audible, as if she were afraid to disturb the delicate moment they were sharing.

"Tara..." She breathed out, struggling to find the right words to convey the depth of her feelings. "You're—" She paused, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her, making it difficult to articulate just how much Tara meant to her. "Everything."

"Anyone would be lucky to have you," Iris finished, her voice filled with sincerity. The words hung in the air, causing Tara to hitch her breath, her heart racing as if it were trying to escape her chest. She took her time looking at Iris, the warmth radiating between them making the world outside seem irrelevant. Her gaze slowly shifted to Iris's lips, a magnetic pull drawing her in. Gently, Tara brought the hand that wasn't holding Iris's to brush against her wounded lip, her fingertips caressing it with a tenderness that made Iris suppress a whimper. The soft touch sent a jolt of electricity through them, both feeling the intensity of the moment.

"Does it hurt?" Tara asked, her eyes searching Iris's for an answer, only to find Iris staring intently at her lips, mirroring her own longing.

"Not really," Iris breathed out, the words escaping in a whisper that felt charged with meaning.

Their foreheads pressed together, the warmth of their skin mingling as they both tried to steady their breaths, the air thick with anticipation. "I'm not messed up anymore," Tara whispered, her voice soft but firm. "Just to let you know."

"Okay," Iris replied, her heart fluttering in response. They leaned in, their faces inches apart, the world around them fading into nothingness. Just as they were about to bridge the gap between them, the door swung open.

"I forgot... my phone," Quinn said, her voice cutting through the moment. But then she stopped short, taking in the scene before her. The two girls, so close together, made Quinn's eyes widen in surprise. She grimaced in apology, Iris and Tara pulled back quickly, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Shit sorry, um—did I cockblock you?" Quinn questioned, her voice cutting through the charged air, making both girls look at her in surprise.

"What did you just say?" Tara blurted out, her tone a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "God," they both exclaimed simultaneously, the embarrassment radiating off Iris as she pressed her hand against her forehead, while Tara's expression shifted to irritation.

"I cockblocked you" Quinn said, her eyes wide as she assessed the situation.

"No," Iris insisted, shaking her head vigorously, desperate to stop Quinn from digging herself into a deeper hole.

"I cockblocked you, didn't I?" Quinn pressed on, oblivious to Iris's attempts to ease the tension.

"Quinn if you continue saying cock im going to kill myself".

"Immediate no," Tara interjected, her voice firm, but Iris stood there uncomfortably, not really knowing what to do with herself.

"Quinn," Tara sighed, looking down at the floor as she tried to gather her thoughts. "What did... what did you need?" Her brows furrowed in disbelief; she couldn't fathom how her day had taken such a turn.

"My phone," Quinn replied, her tone casual as she bent down to pick it up from Tara's desk.

"Don't ever enter a room like that," Tara told her seriously, her voice low but laced with anger.

"I won't," Quinn promised, shaking her head earnestly, though a hint of sheepishness crept into her expression.

"It was rude," Tara continued, her irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

"I'm gonna go," Iris said awkwardly, signaling toward the door as if she were trying to escape the situation. "I think I left my... um, window open." The words tumbled out in a rush, and she turned to leave but paused for a moment. "Talk to your sister, okay? She heard what you said," Iris said, her voice softening just a bit before she slipped out the door.

"Okay," Tara smiled at her, but the moment Iris left, that smile vanished. She turned to Quinn, a steely resolve settling in. "I'm going to kill you."

Quinn's eyes widened in panic. "I'm so sorry, sorry!" she mouthed as she hurried out of the room, leaving Tara alone with her thoughts.

Tara sighed in disbelief, her mind racing with a mix of frustration and lingering hope. As the door clicked shut behind Quinn, she couldn't help but lay back on her bed, a smile creeping onto her face. She let out a giggle, the warmth of the earlier moment with Iris still tingling in her chest. Maybe, just maybe, she was finally on the verge of getting what she had always wanted.

Iris and Tara were sprawled comfortably on the couch, the soft glow of the television casting a warm light across the cozy living room, mingling with the faint hum of conversation from their group of friends nearby. Laughter bubbled up now and then, a lighthearted soundtrack to their evening as everyone made an effort to enjoy themselves, if only for a little while.

Iris leaned back against the cushions, her head tilting slightly as she glanced at Tara, who was curled up beside her with a playful grin. Tara's hair fell in soft waves around her face, and Iris couldn't help but admire how effortlessly beautiful she looked in the low light.

Tara leaned back against the cushions, "What do you want to watch?" she asked.

"Let's just see what's on the news," Iris suggested, reaching for the remote. She clicked through a few channels until the familiar logo of the news station appeared on the screen.

As the reporter started talking, Tara settled down next to Iris, their shoulders brushing together. Iris could feel a familiar warmth spread through her, a reminder of how comforting it was just to be near her. They exchanged a quick smile, but that moment of serenity shattered when the news reporter appeared, his face serious and his voice steady.

"And in other news, a recent investigation has uncovered troubling details related to the events of last year's incident of Woodsboro," the reporter said, his tone grave. Iris's heart felt like it skipped a beat, her stomach twisting as memories flooded back, memories they had tried to put behind.

Tara stiffened beside her, the color draining from her face as she listened intently. "No..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Iris's eyes were glued to the screen, watching as the reporter continued to speak. "I'm standing in front of the apartment building where the mutilated bodies of two students..." They heard the sound of Chad's footsteps thundering after the door, his desperation palpable as he raced to catch up with Sam. Just a few moments later, Sam and Danny walked in, their expressions full of concern as they approached.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, glancing around the room, her eyes wide and searching, with Danny trailing closely behind her, a look of confusion etched on his face.

Quinn, with a sly smile, couldn't help but comment, "Cute boy. Nice," pointing up at Danny, a playful glint in her eye.

But the levity was short-lived as the news turned grim. "Were discovered. Their names have just been released by police. Jason Garvey and Greg Bruckner".

"No," Iris heard Tara whisper in disbelief. In an instinctive gesture, Iris quickly grabbed Tara's hand, squeezing it tightly to offer comfort in the midst of the unfolding chaos.

"Holy shit, that's that chode from our film studies class!" Mindy exclaimed, her finger jabbing at the TV where the breaking news report was streaming. "The ones obsessed with Argento!"

The atmosphere thickened as the report continued. "Also found at the scene were various Ghostface costumes, a character popularized by the Stab movie franchise".

"No way," Iris whispered, her heart racing. Deep down, she had sensed something was off about Jason with his weird interest on Sam going to that party, she didn't want to imagine what was his plan. She could feel Tara's gaze burning into her, a silent acknowledgment that they are both thinking the same thing.

Sam let out a deep sigh. "Pack a bag. We leave in ten," she declared firmly, her voice cutting through the silence in the room.

"Sam! Wait, Sam!" Tara yelled, springing up from her seat to chase after her sister.

"We're getting out of the city," Sam replied, her tone leaving no room for debate.

"I'm not getting stabbed in the name of these fucking movies again!" Iris interjected, standing up with determination. "I'm buying the tickets." The fierce resolve in her eyes made it clear she was serious.

"What?" Danny blurted, confusion and concern mingling on his face.

Chad turned to Danny, gently but insistently pushing him backwards. "Thank you very much, suspicious new guy, but we got it from here," he said, waving him off with a quick flick of his wrist. "Have a good night. Get home safe. Go, go, go." His tone was urgent, he needed to protect their little group.

As Tara sprinted after her older sister, she watched as Sam headed straight for the knife stash, her hands deftly pulling knives from the holder. The glint of steel caught the light, and Tara felt a chill run down her spine as she realized what Sam was preparing for.

"Sam, just wait a minute here—" Tara exclaimed, her voice rising with anxiety. She could already sense where this was heading, and she hated it. "Let's just talk about this!"

"Sam, bring me one!" Iris shouted, her resolve unyielding.

"On it," Sam replied tersely, her focus unwavering.

"No, wait, Iris, not you too!" Tara pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice.

"No, we are leaving," Sam hissed, storming past Tara with two knives in her hands, she handed one to Iris, who accepted it without a question.

"No, wait, let's talk about this for a second!" Tara tried to reason with Sam, her voice softening as she attempted to pull her sister back from the edge of impulsive decisions. "This attack might not have anything to do with us!" Tara's words hung in the air, a fragile hope that perhaps they could find a different way out of this nightmare.

Sam spun around, the sudden movement stopping Tara in her tracks. "Are you serious?" she demanded, her voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

"It's Halloween! Everybody's wearing masks!" Tara countered, her tone defensive as she tried to make sense of the chaos spiraling around them. "You don't know"

"Tara, this isn't a coincidence!" Sam snapped, exasperation spilling over. "You knew those guys!"

"Barely," Tara shot back, her voice heavy with shadows of doubt and fear.

"You guys looked really friendly," Iris interjected, only adding fuel to the fire.

"Not helping, Iris!" Tara retorted, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

"There's no way you think that it's just a coincidence that the guy you met and got close to you, was found dead with a stash of Ghostface costumes" Iris pressed, her tone fierce, eyes blazing with intensity.

"Thank you," Sam said, shooting Iris a grateful glance "Chad, Mindy, back me up."

Chad hesitated, glancing at the floor as he searched for the right words. "It's a little bit..."

"Close to home," Mindy finished for him, still perched on the couch with Anika, who looked equally troubled by the unfolding drama.

"See?" Sam exclaimed, her frustration beginning to morph into a desperate plea for understanding.

"It's better to prevent than die in the process," Iris added, her voice firm.

Tara turned to Iris, hurt flashing in her eyes. "Why can't you be on my side for once?"

"I'm always going to be on your side," Iris replied, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "But not if it ends with you dead."

Tara turned around, her eyes landing on the ginger-haired woman perched on the couch. Quinn sat there, her expression a clear reflection of fear and confusion as she absorbed the tension radiating through the room.

"Quinn, your dad's a cop, right?" Tara asked hurriedly,desperation creeping into her tone.

"Can you call him and find out what's going on?"

She turned around once again to shout at her sister and Iris "Before you two make the unilateral decision to abandon my college education and flee the fucking state!"

Quinn hesitated for a moment before nodding, her brow furrowing with concern. "I'm calling him now," she said carefully, raising her phone to her ear.

"Thank you," Tara replied, her voice softer now, though the underlying anxiety remained.

Just then, the phone rang, and the atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically. Everyone seemed to freeze, wide-eyed and tense as they exchanged anxious glances, the ominous sound amplifying the dread hanging in the air. Iris reached for Sam's phone, her fingers shaking slightly as she glanced at the caller ID.

"Gale Weathers," Iris read aloud, a sarcastic laugh escaping her lips. "I think the fuck not."

With that, she hung up abruptly, placing the phone back on the table with a decisive clatter. Gale had turned their tragic story from the previous year into a sensationalized tale, cashing in on their traumas, and it got on Iris's nerves. She remembered how Gale had twisted their experiences into a narrative that painted Sam as a "natural killer" and Iris as a "naive lover." None of them held the older woman in high regard at that moment.

"Why did everyone just freak out when her phone rang?" Ethan asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"You gotta keep up, my dude," Anika replied, her tone dripping with incredulity as she shook her head at him like he was a dumb child.

"You've never watched the Stab movies?" Iris turned to Ethan, an inquisitive glare piercing through the boy. As he shook his head in denial, she stared at him for a moment longer, watching him struggle to maintain her gaze, his discomfort palpable.

"Sam," Quinn called out, worry etched across her features. "My dad wants to talk to you."

Sam looked up, her expression shifting from frustration to concern as she took the phone from Quinn. "Mr. Bailey, hi"

"Hey, Sam. I was actually just about to call you," he replied, his tone professional yet tinged with urgency.

"Well, my sister thinks I'm probably overreacting," Sam told him, a hint of frustration seeping through.

"No, unfortunately, you're not," he said, the gravity of his words settling heavily in the air.

"What do you mean? What's going on?" Sam questioned, confusion etching lines on her forehead.

"I'm afraid I need you to come down to the station," he said, his voice firm with concern.

"Alright," Sam replied, her mind racing as she processed the sudden shift in the conversation.

Hanging up the phone, she felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Without saying a word to anyone, she moved towards the door, her pace brisk and determined.

Tara and Iris exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. In an instant, they moved to follow Sam, urgency propelling them forward. "You guys stay here. We'll go with Sam," Tara called out. They didn't wait for a reply; they were already at the door, Sam poised on the threshold, ready to step into the night.

"Tara? No, get back inside. Lock the door," Sam called out, turning to face them, her expression unable to hide her frustration. "Iris, go with her and keep her safe."

"Are you serious? Now you don't want to stick together?" Tara shot back, disbelief lacing her words as she crossed her arms defiantly.

"She's right, Sam. You're insane if you think we're leaving you alone," Iris chimed in, her voice resolute as she stepped closer to Tara.

Sam hesitated, glancing between her sister and Iris, her resolve wavering under the weight of their insistence. "I just—" she began, but the look on their faces told her all she needed to know.

With a reluctant sigh, she finally relented. "Fine. Let's go." Together, they started walking towards the station, each step heavy with unspoken fears.

As The three of them walked down the street, Sam's phone began ringing once again. She instinctively glanced at the screen, and her heart dropped. The sight of the caller ID made her freeze in place, rooted to the pavement.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Iris asked, her voice laced with concern as she noticed the shock written all over Sam's face.

Tara, too, stopped walking, her eyes darting between Sam and the phone, a look of disbelief crossing her features. "What the fuck?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. They all could see the name glaring back at them: "Richie Kirsch."

"I...I never deleted his contact," Sam confessed, her voice shaky. "This is coming from his number."

A chill ran down Iris's spine, her instincts kicking in. "Don't pick that up," she warned, urgency rising in her tone.

"Yeah, just let it ring," Tara echoed, glancing around as if expecting someone to jump out from the shadows.

But Sam, lost in a whirlwind of emotions, ignored their pleas. With a deep breath, she pressed the green button, accepting the call against her better judgment.

"Who is this?" Sam demanded as she gripped the phone tightly.

"Hello, Samantha. Did you miss me?" The voice was unmistakable, distorted by the sinister quality of a voice changer, sending shivers down their spines.

"Oh God, I hate this motherfucker". Iris muttered, burying her face in her hands in frustration. Sam, determined to face this threat head-on, switched the call to speaker mode so Tara and Iris could hear as well.

"I want you to think long and hard about whether you really want to do this because the last two people that fucked with us ended up dead" Sam growled into the phone, her voice low but steady.

"You should be thanking me, Sam. Jason and Greg were gonna kill you, your sister and all of your friends" Ghostface replied, his tone mocking and sinister. Just then, the three girls caught sight of a suspicious figure approaching them from down the street, a hood pulled low over his face, obscuring his features.

Instinctively, Iris stepped in front of Sam and Tara, her body tense as she faced the stranger. The man walked past them, his gait slow and deliberate, yet he didn't make eye contact. Iris's heart raced as she glanced back at her friends, trying to gauge their reactions while keeping her eyes on the hooded figure. The atmosphere grew thick with tension, each of them acutely aware that this was far from over. "I gutted them before they had the chance"

"Thanks dude for murdering people in our name".

"Hello to you too, Iris. I can't wait to formally meet you," Ghostface mocked, his voice dripping with amusement.

"I can't wait to meet you either," Iris retorted, her voice steady despite the quaking fear in her stomach. "So you can personally meet my knife" Her heart raced, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she spoke.

Sam sensed the tension building and quickly interjected, hoping to redirect the focus. "So what? You're protecting us now?" she questioned. She wanted to pull Iris back from the brink of confrontation, fearing that provoking him further might escalate the situation.

"Not quite," Ghostface replied, his tone icy and calculated. "I'm going to show the whole world who you really are. A liar and a killer. I'm going to punish you". Each word dripped with a chilling certainty, as though he relished the thought of punish them.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet, asshole" Sam shot back, her anger boiling over.

"Don't be cute. You're gonna pay for what you did. And I'm not gonna stop until I butcher you. You and anyone who gets between us. You and Tara better watch your backs" Ghostface said. "As for you Iris? I'm going to have so much fun watching you beg to end you once I force you to watch the final moments of everyone else".

"You want me dead? Get in line motherfucker"

"You better watch your backs."

"You better watch yours." Sam snapped, her voice laced with venom.

"Tara, behind you!" Iris shouted, her voice slicing through the night air with urgency. The adrenaline surged through her veins as she realized the danger. She had been so consumed by the call that she hadn't noticed Ghostface stealthily approaching.

Before she could even process the situation, a gloved hand clamped around Tara's neck, getting ready to stab her right in the chest. Panic gripped Iris, but there was no time for fear—only action.

"No!" Tara screamed, her eyes wide with horror as she felt the presence of the killer. Iris lunged at Ghostface, her small frame colliding with his. The force of her impact sent them both tumbling into the nearby bushes, leaves and branches scattering in all directions.

"Run!" Sam shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. She grasped Tara's arm, yanking her forward with a desperate urgency. The street stretched out before them, dark and foreboding, but they had no choice. They had to escape.

"In there!" Sam pointed towards a convenience store glowing dimly in the distance, its neon lights flickering like a beacon of hope. The three of them sprinted down the empty street, their hearts pounding in rhythm with their frantic footsteps.

"He's coming!" Iris yelled.

"Help! Somebody!" they cried out, desperation lacing their voices as they dashed for the store. Ghostface was close behind, his presence a looming shadow, ready to strike at any moment.

"Please help us!" Tara shouted once they were inside. They tried to get to the front of the line in order to talk to the owner.

"There's a fucking line here, girls" someone snapped.

"Someone is trying to kill us" Iris yelled defiantly, her voice echoing in the cramped space. "You think I give a fuck?" Just as the words left her mouth, the store door swung open with a jarring creak, revealing Ghostface, who entered with an unsettling calm, his dark figure cutting through the fluorescent lights like a shadow.

"You got a problem here" The guy who snapped at them bravely said as he approached the killer, who in response just tilted his head, the mask obscuring any trace of emotion, before stabbing him in the gut multiple times. Gasps of horror erupted from the other costumers, their panic palpable as they rushed toward the door, desperate to escape the unfolding nightmare. Another guy tried to stop him but that just resulted in him getting stabbed in the neck.

The three girls exchanged horrified glances, their eyes wide as they gasped in shock, instinctively backing away from the scene. The air felt charged with fear as Ghostface began to advance towards them, his movements deliberate and predatory.

"Hey!" The store owner yelled, popping up from behind the counter with a shotgun. He pulled the trigger but it wasn't fast enough as Ghostface dodge it just in time. The man looked appalled as he walked through his store to approach the killer only to find that he disappeared.

"Go out the back!" He shouted at them.

"Thank you!" Tara yelled in response, the three of them not wasting another moment before rushing towards the door.

"Fuck, it's locked," Sam cursed out as she and Iris continued to force the lock in order to open it.

"Keys!" Tara called to the man. "We need your keys!"

The man began searching for the keys and just when he finally found them, Ghostface appeared out of nowhere and used the fact that he was distracted to stab him in the chest. The owner fell into the floor grumbling in pain as he tried to escape the store but it was no use as Ghostface grabbed the shotgun that was on the floor and shoot the man in the head making all the blood splutter into the fridges.

Sam pushed both girls down onto the ground signaling them to keep quiet as they crawled to another aisle.

They could hear Ghostface's footsteps as he fired at the freezer behind them, glass shattering everywhere. He squeezed off a few more shots, but a quick glance told Iris that he was getting closer. Sam seized a can and hurled it to the far end of the store, hoping to divert his attention.

Unfortunately, it didn't buy them much time. They managed to get to another aisle in silence, but then Ghostface turned, locking eyes with Iris for a brief, chilling moment.

Before Ghostface could pull the trigger again, the three girls acted on impulse, shoving the shelves of food onto him with all their strength. Cans and boxes tumbled down, creating a chaotic barrier as they scrambled to escape the scene.

"Run, go!" Sam shouted, her voice laced with panic. The urgency in her tone snapped Iris into action. She grabbed Tara's hand, feeling the tremor in her friend's grip, and urged her forward.

"Tara, we have to move!" Iris cried, noticing how her friend stood frozen, eyes wide with fear. Sam was already darting ahead, glancing back to ensure they were following.

They sprinted toward the door, hearts pounding, Iris let out a sigh of relief when they were finally outside and they could hear Police sirens getting closer to them.The relief didn't last long as once they turned around to look back at the scene, they found the Ghostface mask laying on the ground, which could only mean one thing. He had escaped.

[theagstd]

One Night stand ; 08

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

→ Jungkook x y/n

→ contains smut, fluff and angst

→ Chapter eight ; wc | 3.1 k

primarily on Wattpad

index ⇢ next chapter

I'm glad you decided to show up, an ultra scan can help you understand your body and the baby better." Dr Sohee speaks as she sees you looking at her timidly. She gives you a soft smile and gestures for you to join her to the scan room. you were told to remove your clothing from the waist down and your shirt was raised up.

you lie on the examination bed and look around the room, you're nervous and have no idea what you'll be seeing, what you're supposed to say and do. Sohee sees your state and can tell that you're anxious with the fumbling of your fingers and your closed eyes. "it's gonna be fine Y/n. Don't be tensed."

she applies a cold water based gel on your abdomen and uses her transducer to make contact with your skin as she spreads th gel and monitors the baby from the screen. Sohee's got a soft smile on her face and expects you to have a wider one however you look at the screen with a confused look a rather disappointed look sits on your face.

"do you know what you're seeing?" you shake your head, all you see is a weird shape that doesn't define anything like a baby. "this is the baby's head. at this stage of pregnancy, major organs are developed.

the shape of the face is beginning to form and that you see is the head." she points at the larger part of the visual that doesn't exactly look like a head to you but you understand it, you're getting how the baby looks. "the baby is the size of a bean, so the larger side is the head and the rest is the slowly forming body."

your eyes are immersed at the visuals you see through the screen, how amazing the world is, that you can see your baby through a monitor while he/she is inside you. you gulp, watching the screen closely. you didn't notice the sound of something thudding, until Sohee spoke. "that you hear is the heartbeats of the baby.

it's much faster than an adults, that's why it sounds like this." she chuckles. your eyes get cloudy when you hear the beating of the tiny human's heartbeats. it somehow brings a wave of relief to you that he/she is there. inside.

"the baby is fine." she speaks and you nod, biting your lower lip to stop yourself from letting those tears out. you're happy to hear that.

;

Silence. Guilt. Fear. Stupidity. And most importantly, confusion.

A whirlwind of emotions rushed through your body. The silence in the place where you both stood was loud. Jungkook appeared bewildered, while you desperately wished to disappear into the ground. "Shit," you muttered under your breath, swiftly pulling away from the man's arm that had been steadying you. You hurried down the stairs, this time with more caution.

You needed to escape before he started questioning you. This shouldn't have happened. You were in a massive mess. "Y/N?" He called out,

not Ms. Lee? just Y/N?

"Y/N, stop!" You exited the building, thankful that everyone was too engrossed in partying to notice your absence. You fought back the tears threatening to spill, terrified of how he would react if he learned the truth. You were anxious about your job, fearing he might fire you on top of everything else, and you worried about the pregnancy too. How could you have let it slip so easily, especially the pregnancy? Jungkook was quick to catch up with you, grabbing your arm to halt your steps.

He was done with your half-truths, he wanted the whole story or nothing at all. You never gave him the option of nothing; you always gave him more reasons to overthink, and he had enough of it. "Enough of the crap, Y/N." His voice was filled with urgency and anger. You stopped, feeling his tight grip on your wrist, and swallowed hard, knowing he wouldn't let this go. You didn't face him, staring blankly at the ground while he stood behind you, both of you struggling to catch your breath from the chase.

He moved to stand in front of you, just a few feet away, trying to make eye contact, but you weren't ready to meet his gaze. His intense stare, however, felt like it was burning through you, leaving you no choice but to look at him. Jungkook tried to read your expression, to understand the issue or even guess it, but he couldn't.

You had perfected a mask to hide your emotions, and it was working; he couldn't decipher what you were feeling. "What is all this about?" He finally voiced his frustration. If you wouldn't speak first, he would. He would do whatever it took to find out what you had been whispering and what you had screamed about moments ago. "What is what about?"

"Oh, not again," he groaned, turning aside and rubbing his forehead. "Y/N, don't play with me." "Mr. Jeon—" "Cut the formalities," Jungkook interrupted, stepping closer with a piercing gaze that only intensified your fear. His body language was sharp and forceful, though he maintained a respectful distance between you. "What do you mean by 'kill your child'?"

His question left you feeling exposed, your heart pounding in your chest. Everything was unraveling. The one person you wanted to avoid was now demanding answers. Deny, deny, deny. It was your only option. "What are you talking about?" You laughed nervously, avoiding his intense eye contact. Diverting his attention seemed like the best strategy. "When did I say that? What does it even mean?" Jungkook exhaled deeply, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

"Tell me, Y/N! Just tell me, stop covering this up!" "What are you asking me? When did I ever say—" "Fucking tell me!" he yelled, his face flushing red with anger. He couldn't let this go. You had directed those words at him, looking into his eyes when you said them. "It has to mean something!" You flinched at his raised tone, feeling the impatience and authority in his voice.

It echoed through your bones. He was desperate to understand the meaning behind your words and why you had said them. You stared at the ground, questioning all your life choices. Your gaze fell on his polished black office shoes while he continued to watch you, waiting for an answer. 'No, Y/N. You can't tell him.' But what else can you do? Who can you confide in about this? He has the right to know, doesn't he?

Jungkook counted the seconds, biting his inner cheeks with each passing moment. "i asked you something." "but i don't know what you're talking abo-" he caught you off guard by gripping your shoulders, making you look up at him in fear. He noticed your visible gulp, and his eyes softened slightly as he let go of your arms. "I'm asking you respectfully and kindly, Y/N. I expect you to give me my rightful answers." His words carried a sense of understanding, his tone calm.

He noticed your quickened breathing and realized you were hiding something significant. No one would react this way if it were trivial. You glanced at Jungkook and then at your fingers, which you had been fiddling with for hours. You were grateful for his patience, waiting for you to find the right words. You weren't just his employee; you were part of his past and now his future too. Even though it was just one night, that night had its significance.

What was supposed to be a simple fling had led to this situation. If Jungkook and you had never met and were merely employee and boss, this drama would never have occurred. But now, because of that night, everything was complicated.

Jungkook hadn't had a one-night stand in years. He had left his bad habits and addiction behind when he turned nineteen, determined to make a name for himself. After eleven years and only a few brief flings, you were his first one-night stand that he spent the whole night with, and he was furious that it had to be you. He might have suspected some things, but he wouldn't voice them unless you did. After about five minutes and some quick breathing tricks, you resolved to tell him. It was his decision once he knew the truth. "I'm waiting—"

"I am pregnant," you whispered under your breath, hoping he didn't hear it because you realized you lacked the confidence to say it louder. But Jungkook heard every word. He wasn't convinced, though. He had suspected you were pregnant but needed more confirmation, especially about the emphasis on 'your' at the stairs. "So the nurse was right?" "She was."

"And?" Now the discomfort was almost unbearable. Jungkook frowned as he saw your eyes filling with tears. He didn't understand why you were so emotional and vulnerable. He felt himself getting nervous and scared, as if you were about to drop a bomb that would hurt both of you. "I—I didn't want you to find out about th—" "Just tell me," he insisted.

"If this is something about pregnancy, then—" "Haven't you already guessed it?" you asked softly, looking at the ground, spotting each stone. He gaped at you, the thought crossing his mind, but he couldn't believe it. You looked at him with guilt, hoping he'd understand without you having to say it out loud. His instinctive and quick reaction made you chuckle.

"I don't understand this, Y/N. Stop beating around the bush for God's sake." "What more do you want me to tell you?" "So you're telling me that you're pregnant and that kid is mine? Are you insane?" You laughed out loud sarcastically with tears at his reaction. Of course, that was expected. No man, especially someone like Jeon Jungkook, would readily believe a normal, middle-class woman claiming to have his baby.

Jungkook was trying to process everything, but his mind felt like it had shut down. "You don't have to believe me. It's exactly why I told you it's nothing. You've got money, reputation. There's no way you're going to accept what I say," you spoke, and he tried to calm his mind. He didn't want to leave this conversation without fully understanding everything.

You pointed out the same things every woman he'd met did—money and reputation. At least he was glad that you weren't trying to manipulate him. "How are you so sure it's me? It could be anyone—your boy—" "I'm not in any relationship, and neither have I slept with anyone except you. That explains everything."

Jungkook's expression shifted, the reality of your words sinking in. He was struggling to accept the situation, but he knew you weren't lying. This wasn't just about money or reputation; it was about the truth, no matter how complicated and inconvenient it might be.

Jungkook took a deep breath, looking up at the sky as he rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the tension. You bit your lip to keep from crying. 'See, Y/N, he's not going to say anything. Why would he?' You must make a choice, alone now. "When did you find out about this?" he asked. "Why are you still curious to know?" "Because I want to know." His responses were instant, straightforward, and clear, as if he had it all on the tip of his tongue.

His gaze made you speak up. You weren't afraid, just mentally exhausted, ready to give up. Maybe saying it all would ease your burden, even if he wasn't going to help much. "I found out the same day you told me to get a checkup done." "That's a long time." His eyes showed more concern than anger. You could see his eyes widening before he huffed and zoned out.

You weren't sure what he was thinking, but his reaction was unexpected. Why wasn't he bombarding you with questions and making you feel guilty? The silence was killing you. "Mr. Jeo—" "Just call me Jungkook. I'm not your boss right now." His tone was soft, almost a whisper, telling you it was fine to call him by his name. He wasn't your boss right now; he was the man you slept with and the man who might be the father of your child.

"I'm not sure why you're still standing here and listening when you don't believe me. I get it. Anyone would think I'm joking or playing with you, but I'm not. I never wanted you to know about this in the first place." "Why not?" He looked into your eyes, searching for a reason. "Jungkook, do you really believe me?!" He exhaled deeply, chuckling at your continued disbelief.

He knew and believed. "Doesn't it make sense? Do you even remember what happened that nig— you know what, come with me." He didn't want to discuss that night in detail in front of the company. He walked toward the elevator, glancing over his shoulder to see if you were following. Hesitantly, you did, wanting to clear this out.

It felt weird. Even though you both had a one-night stand before being boss and employee, this whole place made it seem like you were committing a sin by discussing that night. You followed him to his office room, where no one would come, especially with everyone busy partying upstairs. "I'm just going to ask you a simple question. Were you aware of this from the beginning and pretending that you didn't know, or is this all serious?"

You stared at him, disbelief and frustration mixing in your expression. "You're really asking if I got myself pregnant on purpose and was pretending about it? What?" He scowled, knowing the implication behind his words. "You really think I would do this for money? For your name? You know what, fuck this. I should've never told you about this!" Your voice trembled with anger. You were having the worst time of your life since finding out about the pregnancy, and now he was implying it was an act for money. He may not have said it outright, but his look said it all.

Here you were, being questioned as if you were some gold digger putting on a dramatic act to get money. Your eyes darted around the room, and the only thing you could think of was a drink. Screw the pregnancy, screw him, and screw the world. "I need a drink—"

"Y/N, no." He grabbed your wrist before you could run away again like you did before."Yes, I did this all for your money and name, happy? I don't need money or a name. The problem is this freaking pregnancy, so I'm gonna get rid of it so we both are safe—your money and reputation too." "Y/N, you're not gonna do anything stupid." "You're no one to tell me that I'm stupid! Let me go." Your words came through gritted teeth as you glared at him.

He wasn't afraid of your glare; he was afraid of what you might do once you left the room. There was no way he was going to let you out until this was sorted. "We need to talk, Y/N.""Talk? About what? You just told me what you thought about all this." "Don't jump to conclusions." You faced him fully, stepping closer, eyes locked on his. Jungkook never thought of you that way, but all this reminded him of his past, making him fear it would repeat.

He didn't know you well; you were still a mystery to him. But he was afraid of being misled again. "Firstly, I'm not the woman you're assuming I am. Secondly, this is all a mistake!" Your words were bitter, and he felt it deep in his chest. He looked down into your eyes, and you looked up into his.

You were angry, and he could see it. Meanwhile, he was staying calm, which infuriated you even more. "If this is a mistake, then why haven't you gotten rid of it?" His question hit you right where it hurt, the question that had been gnawing at you but had no answer.

"Why haven't you gotten rid of it yet? If this is a mistake, then why?" The anger inside you turned into sadness, confusion, and guilt. You couldn't meet his gaze, feeling his eyes burning into you. Jungkook clenched his jaw, memories of that night flashing through his mind. "Answer me." He spoke softly, almost a whisper, desperate to understand. He knew you weren't someone who would do anything for money and status. Anyone else in your place would have gotten rid of it, but you hadn't. "I-I don't know."

You stammered, your words barely audible. You gulped, taking a deep breath as your chest tightened. Being questioned was the worst situation to be in. "Why don't you know? You said this is a mistake. What's stopping you from correcting it?" It felt like your heart was in your mouth, and you couldn't speak. Your hands were numb, and you were sweating despite the air-conditioned room. "I-I don't know." "You can't say you don't know! There has to be an answer—"

His voice grew louder, ringing in your ears and making you question everything. "What do you mean you don't—" "I'm scared. I'm just so scared to take a step. I'm alone in this! I don't know what to do, who to ask. I'm so stressed out, my mind isn't working. I'm so fucked up!" You blurted out everything in your mind, bursting into tears. The pressure you had been holding inside finally released, and you felt a bit of relief.

"I'm sleep-deprived, I can't focus, I can't make a decision!" "Why don't you just get rid of it?" "Because it makes me feel guilty!" You looked up to meet his eyes, his furrowed brows and worried eyes showing that your words affected him. He didn't fully understand, but he was trying, and he could see why you'd been acting strangely. You weren't okay.

He could see it now, you were vulnerable, not because you wanted to show it, but because your emotions could no longer be contained. "It makes me feel guilty. I tried to do it, but it wasn't working out."

Jungkook decided to give you time, not wanting to push further questions considering how much was on your mind and heart. He had to calm you down but didn't know how. He'd never helped a woman calm down before. "First, breathe. Take a deep breath." You followed his instructions, controlling your tears until they stopped. "Okay? Can we talk calmly now?" You nodded, and he did too. "Do you want to keep it or not? I need a clear answer. Whatever it is, I will support you in any way I can."

You looked up at him, seeing his seriousness. You had a decision in mind but weren't sure how he could support you. But that was something to address after giving him the answer he sought.

"I want to keep it."

next chapter ⇢

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching reading. Today's choice: 死亡万花筒 / Kaleidoscope of Death.

Kaleidoscope of Death is a 2018 Chinese webnovel about two young men who fall in love while basically playing a whole bunch of horror-themed escape rooms that can for-real kill you.

This novel was gripping. I could not put it down. It started out fun and ended up ripping out my heart several times. It does a good job getting the ball rolling with a series of adventures in weird worlds, then turns into a meditation about grief and loss and what it means to have something to lose in the first place.

This is the first time I've ever done a book rec! I'm doing it in conjunction with a rec post for the Spirealm, and originally I was just going to do this as a bonus section for that post. However, I felt they both deserve whole different posts, because they both have very different things to recommend them. I also think Kaleidoscope of Death a 100% necessary read if you've seen the show, because it provides some context that the show simply cannot include -- but it's not a necessary read before you see the show.

Therefore, I'm going to give you five reasons I think you should sit down with this one, and not a single one of these reasons is going to assume you've watched the Spirealm! The book is great and deserves to be read on its own merits, and then if you then start watching the drama afterwards, so much the better.

1. All the Cross-Dressing

(Yeah, I'm going to punctuate this one with screencaps from the Spirealm, because otherwise it's just a wall of text.)

I'm not going to tell you why the male characters frequently dress and pass as women, since the book explains the practicality of it better than I could. You just need to know that they often do, and it's never not kinda hot when it happens.

When you first meet Ruan Nanzhu, it is as Ruan Baijie, a stunningly beautiful and noticeably tall woman. Lin Qiushi, our POV character who is extremely confused for a number of reasons, spends the first whole arc talking and thinking about Baijie like she's a girl. In fact, one of the cutest things about sweet, earnest Qiushi is that he clocks Baijie several times, and every time he's just like, oh, she's so flat-chested, how unusual for a girl, anyway...

And this isn't even just dressing up! Stepping into the door worlds changes you physically based on your clothing and cosmetics. Nobody inside looks the same as they do outside, and nobody looks the same inside as they did last time they were inside. The rules that govern these transformations aren't even clear to the characters themselves! So, you know, have fun with that.

I'm going to say it's not an out-and-out trans thing, in that we're not dealing with an AMAB egg who will crack someday. Ruan Nanzhu is a very male-identified, penis-having man! He's just also pretty entertainingly comfortable with performing whatever gender makes him the most fuckable person in any given room. Lin Qiushi is not so inherently genderfluid, however, which means that when his gremlin sort-of-boyfriend makes him pretend to be a girl, it's a completely different kink.

Therefore: If you like it in any way when boys dress up like girls, you owe it to yourself to pick up this one. And if you like a fandom that likes it when boys dress up like girls, baby, welcome to the world inside the doors.

2. Those boys GAY

This is a textual romance. Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu are in love. This is a danmei novel about how they fall in love. There is kissing and there are fade-to-black scenes that explicitly acknowledge that the two of them have sex with one another. We even know that Ruan Nanzhu (usually) tops. This s not just me pointing at them and saying gaaaaaaaaaay. This is actual gay.

And it is gay that takes its fucking time. They do not actually hook up until well over halfway through the book, but they are physically affectionate from almost the get-go. Ruan Nanzhu is such a trickster and a liar that Lin Quishi finds it hard to believe that anything he does is sincere, which leads to nearly lesbian levels of wondering if it means anything when a guy demands you kiss him on the mouth when he's pretending to be your girlfriend. Meanwhile, Ruan Nanzhu is over here being the Kate Beaton comic about sitting here consumed with lust all evening.

Even once they both acknowledge what they're feeling for one another, they don't get together right away. After all, they're playing a game of life and death where they lose friends left and right. Every time someone goes inside the door, there's a real chance they won't come out again. Is giving your heart to someone worth how much it will destroy your entire life when you lose them?

(Yes, says the book. Yes, it is worth it.)

The slow burn of their relationship is delicious, in part because the physical (though not sexual) aspects of it predate the romantic ones. It also has the fun hot-and-cold aspect where Ruan Nanzhu is incredibly affectionate inside the doors, then icy outside of them. Poor completely inexperienced, never-been-kissed Lin Qiushi does not know what to make of any of this. He can barely manage parenting a cat. He does not know how to handle a boyfriend who is also a girlfriend who is also (spiritually) a cat.

I also find it charming how much the gay part of it both is and isn't an issue. It's not that Lin Qiushi has a problem being in love with a man; however, the fact that Ruan Nanzhu is a man does mean the heteronormally indoctrinated and relationship-inexperienced Lin Qiushi takes much longer to realize what exactly those feelings he's having are. The book's world is one where heterosexuality is the assumed default, while queerness is unexpected but everybody's still pretty cool with it. Besides, no one's going to judge Lin Qiushi's gay yearnings, because who doesn't want to fuck Ruan Nanzhu?

3. HAKO ONNA HAKO ONNA HAKO ONNA

So as I was reading through @zintranslations' earlier chapters, I kept seeing translators' notes down at the bottom about being so excited to finally get to the Hako Onna arc. Okay, I thought, this is a lot of hype; I hope it doesn't disappoint.

Friends, it does not. This is the arc I was reading while screaming into a pillow. It's thirteen chapters long, tied for the longest arc in the book with the first door. It is a fucking nail-biter. It does the clever thing of taking all the things you've learned about what can happen inside the doors and combining them for a worst-case scenario.

The setup is pretty simple: There's a bunch of boxes. One has the exit. Most are empty. Some have things that help you. Some have things that hurt you. The more things you find that hurt you, the more things there are to hurt you. And you have to open the boxes.

All the door arcs are pretty well-written, so that you can more or less play along with their various adventures. Hako Onna, however, is exceptional. It's so complicated, but you can actually follow it. And you need to be able to follow it, because the multiple emotional gut-punches that happen in this arc all depend on understanding how the rules of the game have just been leveraged to fuck someone over.

Now I really want to play the board game -- which I was pleased to discover is a real board game! And speaking of board games...

sidebar: Betrayal at House on the Hill

I know this isn't technically related to the novel at all, but if you like board games, horror, and being incredibly dramatic, you owe it to yourself to try out Betrayal at House on the Hill.

It goes like this: You and several other horror-movie archetypes wander through a mansion, "building" it as you explore it, so the game layout is different every time. At some point (and it's based on so many random factors that you never know when it'll be) someone triggers a condition, and the haunting begins. All the players then get the rules of haunting explained to them -- except for one player, the one picked to do the titular betrayal, who gets a different set of instructions and becomes the antagonist. From that point on, the game is about either surviving or completing the haunting, depending on which side you're on.

I have played this game before with normal board game people, and they were like, eh, this is fine. I have also played this game before with theatre kids who RP and LARP, and we all had a fucking blast. So I'm going to warn you that you have to choose your crowd carefully. This is a game for people who do improv and voices.

4. The art of losing isn't hard to master

The book has a high body count -- higher than the show's, in fact, though that's related to how the book also has more characters than the show does. When you meet someone who can go into the doors, be careful how much money you'd lay on their survival.

Death after the doors comes so quickly, too. There's barely any time to say goodbye, if there's even any time at all. Often there's just a phone call telling our main characters that one of their friends or allies or enemies is gone.

Everyone who gets the chance to go through the door worlds is only able to do so because they're dying already. The more doors they pass, the more they get to kick that death further down the road -- but the more doors they enter, the more chances they take that they might die inside one. So really, none of the players can be that resentful of being forced to play a game that can kill them, since they're already playing it on borrowed time.

I will say, somewhat cryptically, that the book has a positive ending that leaves open the possibility for other positive things. The path to that positive ending, though, leads through some pretty wrenching takes on living through grief. It's not even all rah-rah and it-gets-better, either -- the text acknowledges many times over what it means to have someone that life isn't worth living without.

And that's maybe not what you expected from a BL horror adventure webnovel, but it's what you're gonna get! Ha ha!

5. What He Is

Which is the title of the first extra chapter, which is not extra at all, but is in fact a necessary explanatory piece that whacks you upside the head like a two-by-four and recontextualizes the entire story.

...Yeah, that's all you're going to get from me about that. You'll understand when you get there.

Have you put it on your reading list yet?

The way you have to read it is a little convoluted: @zintranslations has chapters 1-17 and 63-end + extras. Taida Translations has chapters 1-62. So no matter where you start reading, you're going to have to switch sites at least once.

There are also apparently Portuguese, Indonesian, Russian, and Spanish translations too? And the original Chinese webnovel, of course. And some audio dramas and subs linked to from this Carrd, which helpfully has other information, like content warnings for specific chapters, in case the horror aspect of the story gives you pause.

Anyway, once you're done reading it -- or even before you're done! -- you should absolutely go watch the Spirealm. I think it's clear from both rec posts that I definitely like the book better, but I appreciate having the drama to bring so many scenes to life, and I think the casting is great. Also, I don't think reading the book makes you like the drama less! Rather, I think reading the book gives you insight into the awkward and sometimes terrible choices the drama had to make to survive -- which in turn gives you the ability to see through those choices, on to what the show always wanted in its heart to be.

I do find it funny how "Kaleidoscope of Death" and "Death's Kaleidoscope" technically mean the same thing, but they sure read different, don't they?

[sualne]

was checking my emails before going to bed only to find out my endocrinologist casually scheduled an appointment at long fucking last

[butterflieswhisper]

looping echidna beastlife gif from trying to figure out toonboom

[brown-little-robin]

my last week, a visual demonstration

[nomairuins]

bedtime nowww probably ummm today qas not what i wanted it 2 be but its fine. i dont feel negative just a very very very numb day which is almost worse. but only almost 🙏

[vampyroteuthid]

my brother said he would co sign for me. ok guys should i go for the $1000/mo room with the overly talkative music teacher and two other women or the random guy who may have been flirting with me's room for $700. or should i hold off on choices until i hear back from option 3 which i think is also $1000 and more private and much better commute but would not allow any pets and idk what her application process and requirements are like when i think i've got a good chance with the other ones.