#I changed my mind at the last minute and decided not to explain why I take Drug B

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Neighbour - Noncon

With your electricity out and your devices dead, you have no choice but to turn to your neighbour for help. He's more than willing to welcome you into his home. Really, you're lucky he's such a nice guy.

Tags: male yandere x gender neutral reader, noncon, somno, just the tip anal, daddy kink but only if you squint, 3.3k words

Living in the middle of nowhere had its perks. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

But after the third day with no electricity, those perks were starting to look pretty damn weak. Your fridge was sitting in an ever expanding puddle. Almost all your devices were dead. And if you had to take one more cold shower you were going to cry.

It was when you were digging through your drawer looking for desperately needed batteries that you found your neighbour's number. He'd offered it to you a little while after you moved in, and while you two were on friendly terms, you'd never actually spoken for longer than a few minutes. You sighed, looked at the 10% left on your phone and decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.

You: hey, it's me. I still haven't got any power. Do you mind if I come over to charge some stuff?

He replied almost instantly.

Unknown: aww that sucks

Unknown: come on over. I've got hot stew and a generator

Unknown: and you can take a hot shower too if you want

Score. And to think you found him intimidating at first. Just goes to show that you can't judge on appearances. You packed a change of clothes, your devices and the last tub of ice cream that wasn't totally melted. You'd find some way to properly pay him back but a tub of chocolate fudge double cream wasn't a bad way to start.

He was waiting on his porch when you pulled up. A bear of a man in a flannel and blue jeans, a five o' clock shadow darkening his jaw.

"Howdy neighbour," he drawled, opening your door for you while you grabbed your stuff. "Regretting leaving the city yet?"

You huffed a laugh. "You do NOT want to know the answer to that."

His cabin was much larger than yours, a two storey behemoth with wide windows and exposed beams. It had a rustic charm - like some natural park Air BnB where they charged a weeks pay for just one night. A little too big for just one man. Didn't he get lonely?

"I brought some ice cream and chocolate to say thank you. And also because it miiight have been melting."

He opened the door for you and ushered you through with a hand on your lower back.

"Hell, I'll never say no to something sweet."

There was a fire burning in the fireplace and a stack of logs in a crate next to it. He was so much better suited to this life than you were. He locked the door behind you and slipped the keys into his pocket.

"Old habit," he explained with an easy grin.

"Why don't you get settled? I'll plug your stuff in."

You handed over your tech with a relieved sigh.

"Thank you. Really. I'm so behind on work already and I haven't heard anything back from the power company."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," he said. "Once ended up going a week straight with not even a light bulb flickering."

You winced. "It gets that bad?"

"Yep. Especially in winter. Gets dangerous then too."

He tilted his head at you, concerned. "You need to get yourself better sorted before it starts snowing. I hate to think of you stuck out there when the blizzards start rolling in."

God, could you be any more of a city slicker? You rubbed your neck, embarrassed.

"Thanks. I've been here a few months now and I guess I just didn't realise how serious things can get."

"It's all good. But if I'm honest, I get worried thinking about you out there all alone. Plenty of drifters end up passing through. Not a good place to be alone, not for a little thing like yourself."

Little? You wanted to feel indignant, but looking at his bulk, you reckoned that most folk probably seemed little to him.

He lead you to the fireplace and poured you a mug of coffee from the pot that was waiting for you. He jerked his head at the hunting rifle on display above the mantle.

"I can teach you to shoot, if you've got some free time."

You took a sip of the coffee, internally debating with yourself. You could see the sense in your offer but you weren't a big fan of guns. Hell, just being around them was nerve wrecking enough. Maybe -

You looked down at your mug in surprise.

"This is some really good stuff."

The coffee was strong, bitter in the best sort of way. You could catch a hint of chocolate in it too. Just sweet enough to make your toes curl.

" 'Course. Only the best for my guest. Help yourself to another cup. I'll just put your stuff on charge and be right back."

You finished your drink in a few sips and happily poured a second serving. Hot coffee... man, you didn't think three days without it would be so tough. Usually, you were pretty sensitive to caffeine. But by the time your neighbour came back, your head was tilted back and you were half asleep.

You tried to shake yourself out of it but he just laughed and pushed you back down.

"You probably haven't had a good sleep since the power went out. Just rest. We can talk once you wake up."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's fine." His hand was still on your shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into your neck. "It's just fine with me."

You drifted off after that. Into a deep sleep without any dreams. Waking up was like slogging through molasses.

"Finally up sleepy head?"

It was dark outside and your neighbour was on one knee in front of the fire place, coaxing fresh wood to catch.

You sat up slowly. Your muscles ached and there was a strange, salty taste on your tongue.

"My heads killing me..."

He stood, poker still in his hand. "You must be starving then. I've already got some food on the stove. You'll feel better after you eat."

You didn't feel hungry at all. If anything, you felt almost hangover.

"Thanks," you managed. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

He waved you away. "I don't mind a bit."

He came back with a bowl of steaming hot chow and stood with his arms crossed on the back of your couch while you ate.

"It's real late. I reckon you should stay over. I don't want you driving on dirt when it's so dark."

"Oh, it's fine. I've already put you out so much."

"Don't be silly. I insist."

You shivered without meaning to. That almost growl, low and bordering on menacing. It was so familiar, so...

"Just like that. Look at you, half asleep and still desperate for my cock."

"You like the taste? Yeah, I bet you fucking do."

"Ain't just gonna use your mouth next time."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Where the hell was this coming from? Were you remembering some sick dream from this afternoon?

"You okay there neighbour?"

You nodded. "Just my head."

Maybe he was right. Driving when you were so disorientated was just asking for trouble.

"If you really don't mind... I'll be happy to sleep over."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling thing. "I'll make the guest room up special, just for you."

"Could I use your shower too?"

"I offered didn't I? Come on, I'll show you where it is."

He took you to the master bedroom and jerked his thumb at the en-suite.

"Hot water is the most reliable in there. Door doesn't close that well though, so don't mind it. I'll be downstairs when you're done."

You brushed your teeth carefully. You lips felt sore, bruised in a way you couldn't explain.

You waited until you heard his footsteps going down the stairs before you stripped off your clothes. You stood under the hot water for a good few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling. The bathroom was thick with steam when you finally got to scrubbing yourself. The door was open just a crack and the bedroom beyond was dark. You forgot all about it until you heard the creak of the hinges.

You whirled to face the door, your hands coming up to cover yourself. The steam was too thick to see through. You called his name.

Nothing.

You stepped out with suds still on your thighs and pushed the door open. The room beyond was empty.

You sighed. God, you were being paranoid. Your neighbour was a great guy. It was unfair of you to treat him like a peeping tom when he'd gone out of his way to make you comfortable. It must have been just an errant draught.

You stepped back into the shower and rinsed yourself off. But no matter what you told yourself, you still kept an eye on the door.

When you went to change into your fresh clothes, you spent at least five minutes hunting for your underwear. Did you drop it somewhere? Oh, please say your undies weren't just sitting in the middle of his hallway. That would be beyond embarrassing.

Eventually you gave up and just decided to go without them. Not comfortable at all but still better than walking around in a towel to look for them. And much better than calling your neighbour in to help. Wouldn't that be fun? 'Hey neighbour that I don't know that well, you haven't seen my intimates lying around, have you?' Yeah, you'd never again get invited over after something like that.

When you were dressed, you found him already on his way up the hall. He was carrying a glass of water and some pills.

"Thought you might still have a headache, so I brought you some painkillers."

You paused, nervous but not sure why.

"Thanks." His hands dwarfed yours when he handed them over. You didn't recognise the name of on the pills, but they looked harmless. You tossed them back and gagged at the bitter aftertaste.

"They pack a punch, so tell me when you start to get drowsy."

"Aye aye captain."

You followed him to the guest room. It was at the very back on the second story, quieter than the rest of the house. A huge glass wall gave you a view of the forest disappearing into the darkness. You could see the ghost of your reflection in the glass, your neighbour a hulking, shapeless mass at your shoulder.

He took a seat in an armchair across form the bed and stretched out his legs. You perched on the edge of the mattress, still feeling a bit like an intruder.

"How long have you been staying out here?” you asked.

He smiled at you, teeth glinting almost wolf-like. "Got you curious?"

"A little. Folk in town say they hardly see you. I don't know... I'm just wondering if you ever get lonely."

He was quiet and you cursed yourself for being so nosy. You hurried to fill the silence.

"It's just that I get a bit lonely out here too. 'Specially when it's so quiet. And I guess I was wondering if it's the same for you."

He smiled at you, rueful. "At times. Used to be worse, but I've got a new interest to keep me occupied nowadays."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Bird watching."

"Really? What do you look for?"

The way the room was lit up, you couldn't see his eyes. They fell into shadow and you only had his lips to read his emotions by. He smirked, slow and almost mocking.

"Just one bird I look out for. Flighty little thing. Tends to get caught by predators a lot. You’d probably recognise it."

The polite thing to do would be to ask what it was called. You didn't. Some part of whispered that you wouldn't like the answer.

You must have been quiet a little too long because he took it as his cue to leave. He stood, a mountain of muscle, his eyes not quite as nice as they seemed that afternoon. A trick of the light, surely. He wouldn't hurt a fly.

"You rest up. Got a busy day tomorrow."

"G'night."

He was gone before you thought to ask what he meant. And you were passed out on your pillows before you realised it. He was right. The pills sure did pack one hell of a punch.

You were aware of a shadow at the end of your bed. You weren't fully awake, and your limbs were slow and heavy with more than just sleep.

"Who..."

The shadow reached down and one warm paw circled your ankle.

"Just me little bird."

You knew that voice. It was the voice that brought you warm food and invited you in from the cold. You could trust it. Could go back to sleep and not worry about anything.

'No,' some part of you hissed, 'He's not as safe as you think.'

"Cold..."

The shadow laughed and it was the laugh of the fox finding the rabbit's den. Nasty. Hungry.

"Cold huh? Don't worry baby. I'll warm you right up."

He yanked your ankle towards him and your whole body slid down the bed. You were too drowsy to stop it.

"Knew you were gonna be mine the second I saw you," he cooed, hands running up your thighs.

His fingers slipped under your waistband, nails scraping your hip bones.

"Dumb little thing from the city. Doesn't even realise I've tripped all their breakers. That's why you don't have power baby. It's all me."

His fingers were as big as the rest of him. Thick, meaty. Skin rough from working outdoors. You whined when his fingertips scraped the edges of your hole.

"No underwear. You needy slut. That's practically a written and signed invitation to fuck you."

He pulled your pants down to your ankles and pushed your knees up to your stomach. And you were too out of it to stop him. Limp and pliable as a fuck doll.

Your tight ass was exposed to the cold air, entirely at the mercy of whatever he wanted to do.

"Cute." He circled his thumb around the rim, almost pushing in but not quite. "Wanted to be in this ass since you first showed up at my door all those months ago. Lookin' up at me all sweet. Fuck, it's enough to drive a man to desperation."

He lowered his head and you could feel his warm breath washing over your thighs.

He dragged his tongue across your hole. Some part of you must have been more awake than the rest, because your whole body jerked away from him.

"None of that," he cooed, hands digging into your thighs and dragging you back. "I haven't even gotten started yet."

He licked you again, deeper this time. The flexed tip of his tongue pushing at your entrance, and to your dull horror, actually slipping in. He moaned and you could feel the vibrations all through your crotch.

He pulled out and spat, rubbed it in with his fingers. One of them pushed in until the second joint, curling into your walls so rough that you gasped.

"Please..."

"Please what?" he mocked. "Please fuck my tight little ass? Please cum inside me? Use your words little bird."

"Please...stop..."

That made him laugh again, made him shove his finger in all the way to the knuckle. Twisting so cruelly as he pulled out and jerked back in.

"Stop? Stop? After all the work it took to get you here? No way baby. I'm not slowing down and I'm sure as fuck not stopping."

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by a sharp intake of breath when he nudged his leaking head against your hole.

"You’re not going to remember this. And I'm not going to leave any evidence."

He pushed your legs tighter against your chest.

"So as much as I want to fuck you rotten, you're gonna have to be happy with just the tip."

He'd done a good job loosening and lubing you, but it still burned like a hot poker when he forced his way in. He groaned, almost in pain.

"You're fucking choking me. God, do you want my cum so bad?"

You could feel when the tip was in. That tiny difference in thickness between his head and shaft was oh so noticeable when your ass was clenching and fluttering around it. It was the smallest mercy, but mercy nonetheless.

He was panting from the effort of getting it in, the effort of holding back. The size difference between you almost perverse. Like a draft stallion trying to mount a pony. In every way, he was just too fucking big.

He spat in his hand and brought it to his cock, ran his palm up and down his shaft with sickly wet strokes. The combination of his palm and your squeezing ass was fucking delicious.

He had great stamina but fuck if it didn't feel like you were milking him.

He let go long enough to smack your ass. It almost finished him. You clenched around him so hard it felt like his tip was getting fucking crushed.

"Shiiiit, you're the best hole I've ever had. Can't wait 'til I can go all the way."

You whined, pitiful as snared prey. There were words there, though they were too slurred to make out. Something about Daddy and please and stop. He ignored you.

He pushed in a little deeper and watched your face scrunching up. So helpless, so fucking caught. That was what did it. The knowledge that he could do this to you at any point and you'd be helpless to stop it.

He came inside you, snarling through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to bruise. You'd notice the marks in the morning and chalk it up to just being clumsy. But he'd know. He'd see the bruises peeking out from the hem of your shorts and his cock would twitch just a little at the memory of leaving them.

His cock pulsed. Shot strings of spunk deep inside you. You could feel it. Hot, too hot. Gross. Make it stop. Get it out.

He pulled out with a wet pop. His cum drooled down and he took a minute to work it back into you with his finger. Your hole was gaping just a little and it made his balls pulse. If he had the time...

"A real fucking mess. And on my good sheets too. You're a terrible guest."

He mopped up whatever cum remained with a balled up piece of martial that he pulled from his pocket. Even in you stupor, you recognised it as your missing underwear.

"Terrible guest, but the perks of having you around are pretty fucking sweet."

He dropped your knees back to the mattress, pulled your pants back into place and roughly yanked the duvet over you. He grabbed your jaw and smiled at the lost, drowsy look in your half open eyes.

"Got a big day tomorrow. Gonna wake up and find your whole house was flooded. Ruined. Gonna have nowhere to stay but with me."

He sounded smug. It made your guts twist.

Outside, the night grew quiet. A predator was hunting and most prey knew better than to catch its attention.

"I made sure of it. All your family and friends in the city are away from home. There's no one around to help you out..."

He tightened his grip just enough to watch the fear start dancing in your eyes.

"No one...except me."

He let you go and smiled that same warm, comforting smile from that afternoon.

"Dumb little thing. Got no clue how your water mains work, do you? Got no idea how easy they are to sabotage."

He tutted. "Got me so damn busy. I'm gonna have to run to your place, fuck shit up and be back here before you wake up for real."

He traced his index finger over your lips and left behind a sticky coating of spunk. You'd wake up tasting salt again, with no memory of why.

"But it's fine. I forgive you. After today we'll have plenty of time together. Rest of our lives in fact. So just sleep tight and forget what you think you've dreamed."

There are perks to living in the middle nowhere. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

There are perks, but unfortunately for you, your neighbour isn't one of them.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲

Toji Fushiguro

Summary: Megumi is insanely jealous of the new addition to the household.

Warnings: Fluff, Jealous!Megumi

*Didn't have anything bigger for Toji for father's day but I had to celebrate it one way or another sfjosjf. Enjoy my lovelies!

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Papa, up!” Megumi yells, hoping to get his father’s attention when he sees Toji holding the new addition to the family. Megumi has reached the age where he claims to be independent, after all, four is such a big age. He’d cry if you or Toji held him, but he’s changed his mind.

“Your baby sister is crying, give me a minute.” Toji sounds annoyed, knowing that Megumi does it out of jealousy. Jealous of a baby that can’t even hold her own head, kids are so dumb. Megumi lets out a cry before yelling again,

“Papa, up!” He wants attention now. He doesn’t want to wait until Toji is done with some stinky baby. Toji lets out an exasperated sigh as tears begin to stream down Megumi’s face– Crocodile tears, but tears nonetheless. He extends his arms and opens and closes his tiny fists repeatedly, yelling, “Up!”

“Megumi, you don’t want to wake up mommy, do you?” Toji asks, trying his best to calm down the crying baby in his arms while also handling Megumi. Toji goes unheard as Megumi begins to cry his little heart out. 

Toji takes a deep breath, trying to remain collected in this situation. Megumi is only four and getting adjusted to the presence of his little sister. Toji decides that it’s best to walk away, going to the kitchen to get the baby’s bottle and deal with her first since Megumi’s issue isn’t easily resolved. 

“Papa!” Megumi yells, following around Toji as he gets a bottle in the baby’s mouth. 

“Megumi, wait for me in the living room.” Toji says, but Megumi isn’t listening. Daddy isn’t like mommy, whatever mommy says goes but when Toji speaks he goes ignored; Toji’s is far scarier and intimidating than you are, he doesn’t understand why Megumi doesn’t take him seriously. “Megumi, go away!”

“I’m running away!” Megumi stomps his little feet before finally leaving Toji to deal with the baby. Toji breathes in relief, his pesky little bug finally giving him a moment alone. He’s able to go to the living room and sit down comfortably as he finishes feeding his daughter. 

“He’ll come around, princess. He hasn’t witnessed just how cute you are.” Toji coos, as if the baby can understand or care. She finishes her bottle, and Toji burps her before setting her down in her crib. He usually chooses to hold her whenever he can, but right now he has bigger fish to fry.

Toji walks into Megumi’s room, watching how his son tries to fit his most valuable toys into a backpack. Toji is trying his best to not chuckle, knowing that Megumi is deeply hurt. Toji takes a seat on Megumi’s tiny bed, clearing his throat before asking, “Need help packing?”

“You hate me!” Megumi cries, and Toji rolls his eyes. Was he that dramatic when he was Megumi’s age? “Mommy and you don’t love me anymore.”

“Oh c’mon, why do you say that, urchin?” Toji tries to see the little guy’s point of view before attempting to comfort him. The last thing Toji needs is attempting to explain to you why Megumi is packing up all his toys– You leave him alone with the kids for a two hour nap and Megumi’s already moving out. 

“You only care for the new baby.” Megumi angrily muffles, and Toji could’ve guessed as much. 

“C’mere, baby. Let me carry you now.” Toji opens his arms for Megumi, and Megumi glares at his father. He wipes away his tears before deciding that he does want to be carried by his father, after all, the tantrum is simply because of this. Toji picks him up, setting him down on his lap before kissing his forehead. “Is this why you’ve been so sensitive? Because of the new baby?”

“Yeah…” Megumi pouts, and it takes everything in Toji to not laugh.

“I will tell you something but don’t tell mommy, okay?” Toji begins, almost whispering to Megumi. Megumi’s eyes perk up, and Toji is fighting back a smirk. “We… Don’t like the new baby that much. I mean, we just met her. But you, urchin? You’re our favorite.”

“Really?” Megumi’s voice is full of hope, and Toji prays that this means Megumi will stop being so jealous about his baby sister. Toji doesn’t hesitate before nodding. It reminds Megumi that he doesn’t like being held anymore, which makes him get off Toji’s lap.

“Will you behave around her, now?” Toji asks, and Megumi takes a moment to think about it.

“Can we sell her?” Megumi responds, which makes Toji’s jaw drop. Did his cute little urchin seriously just say that?

“Okay, new rule: you’re not allowed near her room.” Toji stands up from the tiny bed, his knees cracking. He leans down and kisses the top of Megumi’s head, “Now unpack all of your toys before mommy wakes up.”

[jazjelspen]

my angel baby

(alastor w/ angel daughter reader)

[caution!!: EPISODE 8 & 6 SPOILERS. NOT PROOFREAD]

(notes: alastor joins charlie and vaggie in heaven to convince them about the hazbin hotel. angel reader physically resembles a fawn. )

(right now this is considered a oneshot, unless there is a very high demand for a part 2 I'll happily make another one for funzies!)

(PART 2 IS OUT!!!)

(also apologies if alastor's last name isnt actually altruist LMAo I kinda just wrote it assuming so 😭 )

You made it to heaven, lucky you.

Heaven was surely a treat, you lived your days with the upmost happiness, the light of heaven shining on your skin with kisses as if praising you for your goodness and your sacrifices,

all your sacrifices.

You were currently taking the job over for St. Peter at the gates of heaven for just a few minutes to await for any wondering souls to appear, to help guide them while he came back from a lunch break. Normally they wouldn't allow a human soul like yourself with little experience in this kind of task to take charge of such an important job, but you were close to many of the high ranking angels and you have proved your proficiency in tasks that you set your mind to, so you were glad to help those in need.

You stood there reading through the millions of pages looking over all kinds of names, all seemed like names that you wouldn't normally hear back in your time when you died. Some you liked, others didn't exactly pique your interest much, but the advancement of names since the 1930s surely proved how much times have changed and how quickly time seems to pass in heaven.

You wonder if it is in hell too.

'Hell?..' you wondered as you shook your head and sighed, your mind has been on that place lately and you wondered if it was even worth the rent free space in your mind.

You were currently slouched over the book and decided to close it with a glum look on your face, your elbows now resting on the golden podium and your hands cupping your face.

Geez, and you've been thinking a lot about your old man.

What-- no wait-

You shouldn't call him your old man, let alone your dad, not even father, pops-- not even by his damn name.

Even so, as much as you hated it.. you couldn't help but still use his last name sometimes since it's what you were given when you were first taken in.

Your last name?.. why, you're forgetting already?

_____ Altruist is who you a---

"HELLO??"

You snapped out of your thoughts as your head slipped from under your palms, face planting onto the cover of the enormous book. In embarrassment you snapped your head back up and your wings followed suit, spreading open behind you in shock as your eyes searched for the voice that called out to you from below.

You finally darted down to see three oddly shaped figures, your panicked vision soon relaxing to see two girls and a man dressed in red from tip to toe.

How peculiar.

Your eyes only set on the girl at the moment since she was the one waving at you and basically begging for your attention.

"Hello hello! uh.. Down here!" The girl with long locks of pale yellow hair waved, her smile widening when seeing she's caught your attention.

"Ah- yes yes! Hello hello! Welcome to Heaven! May I.. uh-" you scrambled nervously to open the book in the middle of it, "May I have your name please?"

She nodded, also returning a bit of a shy attitude back "Yes of course! My names Charlie Morningstar!"

Just like that you flicked the pages to go to the names that sounded similar to the girl's, mumbling her name under your breath as your finger traced down each name on the list.. to your dismay you couldn't find it.

"You don't seem to be on the list ma'am.. how weird.. does this usually happen with St. Peter?.." you spoke in concern, mumbling the last part to yourself.

The girl then started to explain something about her dad getting her a meeting, your mind a little clouded still trying to find her name until you heard the forbidden name that no one inside the pearly gates ever attempted to say out loud.

"-- maybe try, Lucifer.. Morning...star-"

And just like that you slammed the book closed, no words coming out of your mouth but an exasperated look of shock freezing your face.

"Oh-hoho... that explains so much--" you gave her a small sheepish smile, awkwardly looking off to the side where your eyes couldn't help but drag themselves to the man dressed in red.

"Miss you don't think.. you could've..." your eyes at first looked at the man's waist, his coat lightly shredded at the ends and the stripes of the long suit guided your eyes upwards "-gotten..." up and up and your eyes met his. The red eyes, the ears, the small horns, the horrific aura, and..

Oh dear, you'd recognize that damned smile anywhere.

"--lost..?" the end of your sentence dragged on, taking a long while to finish since all you could think about is how this man is at the front door step of the place he shouldn't even be considered in being let to enter.

Alastor, your father from the living realm. Not connected by blood but by life and connection.

The man where you got your last name from by being taken in and called his daughter.

The red deer demon seemed to recognize you as well, a spark in his devilish eyes proved it so, but it was very brief since he more or less also seemed to relish the look on your face with his smile stretched further up.. however further up it could get.

Charlie seemed concerned at your reaction, waving her hand in front of your face gently as if to get you out of this trance. "Heyyy... are you okay?.." she asked with genuine worry until all of you were focused away from this bizarre moment when a set of three angels befell before you all. The two seraphims and finally-- St. Peter off from his break.

"_____. We can take it from here, we appreciate the help." The highest and oldest seraphim announced your name and her appreciation while gliding down a bit more earlier than the blonde angel you covered for, she and the younger seraphim's forms going from their true to more human-like appearances.

"_____! My dear friend thank you so much for covering for me, always a real helper you!" St. Peter popped beside you as he praised you while gently flying beside you, you looked up at him with a small nervous smile before opening your own wings to flap down from his podium and let him get back on the job.

"It's no problem at all, you know me! Always.. happy to help.." you spoke your last words to him before your wings gently took you down to set yourself beside another one of your friends, Emily! You never talked much to Sera that wasn't in a formal setting but Emily seemed so easy to get along with. She gave you a tight squeeze of a hug while saying hello which eased your nerves a bit more, of course they never fully disappeared with the man who ruined everything before you let out your last breath.. standing right in front of you.

The man that brought you up here in the first place.

The seraphims introduced themselves to the three residents of hell, the deer demon more quiet until finally finding a spot of silence to jump in and introduce himself as well.

"Why hello, a real pleasure meeting you two quite the pleasure! Never thought I'd ever get to see an angel up this close in my life HAHA! The names Alastor!"

The voice, the radio static over it, his name.

It was him, you recognized it as if you listened to him on the radio just yesterday, your own personal hell.

Whatever reaction or words the higher ranked angels said seemed to fizzle out of your brain as they were replaced with the memories of your last moments on earth.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"Father!" you screamed as you ran up to your childhood home, the home to which you were raised and kept in, your home in which you lived in with your father, Alastor Altruist.

For sometime you had suspected foul play when it came to your father's weird actions when the night came, the tone he spoke through his radio show when announcing several murders happening across and haunting New Orleans. You just didn't want to truly believe that the man that found you, a poor little orphaned baby, and raised you would do such disgusting and diabolical crimes.

You couldn't believe it.. until you finally saw it.

Your legs scrambled and fought each step to become faster, finally reaching the door of your home you slammed it open with a strong kick after jiggling the doorknob didn't work.

You knew the next murder he would commit would happen in your home.. you thanked whatever force that made you disobey him and look through his study since if you didn't you wouldn't know that right now there was blood to be shed.

The door opening and with your kick full of adrenaline and panic it made the door barley cling onto it's hinges. There your father was, on top of a wounded man that seemed to be gurgling and gasping to breathe as the victim attempted to claw at Alastor's grasp. Pieces of glass and wood broken across the entire floor, walls bloodied and worn out, pictures that hung neatly now cracked and lopsided or shattered on the floor.

Whatever happened in here, the victim was sure a fighter in the beginning.

You immediately without hesitation with full force pushed Alastor off the man, pulling the bloodied stranger by his wrist. The victim and you stared for a moment, him mostly realizing that he's being saved by a young girl like you. His lips parted to thank you but you could see Alastor raise his kitchen knife in the air and sprinted toward him to stab him on the back.

With no words left to share or spill you grabbed the stranger by the shoulders and with all your might pushed him and yourself away so that in the end Alastor ended up stabbing nothing but air.

Alastor grunted in frustration, his bloodied smile yet never faltering despite the challenge you now gave him.

The man snapped his head at you, eyes fixated at you before snapping back to his victim and raising his knife up once more, in a haunting motion his steps creeped and creaked towards the injured New Orleans citizen stricken with fear and terror.

Just like that, Alastor slams his knife down with no hesitation. The knife fully in his prey with no inch of the blade uncovered.

Oh-- wait.

That shriek, the sobs, the shaky breathing and the coughs of blood.. that wasn't his victim.

It was you.

His daughter, he stabbed his daughter.

For a moment you could see his crazed smile falter, the humane part of him uncovering itself for a moment, for you.

His little girl was covered in her blood because of him, the little baby he found on that cold rainy day is dying because of him, his bundle of joy that he took years to take care of is leaving him.. and it's all his fault.

He didn't know it was you-- he didn't know you'd be that stupid to sacrifice yourself for some random prick.

He didn't know that in the end, someone as evil as him could have raised someone as selfless as you.

"p..papa..?" you whimpered, your painful coughs of blood spilling out and going down your chin and your neck. "It hurts-- g.. it hurts so much papa.." you cried as the knife in your chest seemed to feel as if it was melting into your skin, becoming one with you. It obviously wasn't but the pain was just that painful.

Alastor's smile faltered and kept trying to stay up, his own set of tears falling down his face and onto your cheeks that were slowly losing life. Regret stabbing his own heart the way he did to yours. He let go of the knife and instead cradled you in his arms, just like how he used to when you would have nightmares as a little girl.

"Shh.. Shh.." he shush you softly as he gently patted your head, moving away any uneven strands of hair he could spot with his hands trembling in regret. "Little one.. don't worry about a thing, papa's here.. " he mumbled, the gentleness replacing what once was pure aggressiveness.

Your eyes slowly started to flutter closed, your pulse slowing down, breathing less profound, your limbs going limp, and your face.. contorting into a peaceful state of slumber.

Alastor watched as you passed in his arms, his faltering smile picking itself up once more to stretch itself across his face with tears pouring out his eyes. This wasn't a smile of joy, it was a smile to hide what he truly felt.. to lie to himself. "My little angel, forgive me please."

Those were his last words to you, words that in the end you couldn't hear.

And that man he tried to kill earlier? He escaped when he was given the chance, Alastor was sure the cops were to invade his home soon.. now there was just one thing left to do before he'd be found once again to pay the consequences.

He took your body to a beautiful forest filled with flower meadows. Alastor knew this was one of your favorite spots as a young girl, why not let you rest here.

Ah but as he was preparing to bury you in your final resting place... that darn deer hunter.

Well, you know the story. Mistaken for a deer, shot, that's the end of Alastor Altruist and his darling daughter, ______ Altruist.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As you stood there you were awoken from your thoughts with the high angels escorting the princess and her other female companion into the gates of heaven, St. Peter welcoming them humbly with one of heaven's popular songs.

You were frozen, in shock. A chill went down your spine as you felt a foreign energy come closer.

You felt long fingers grapple themselves onto your shoulder which made you dramatically turn towards the hand and away from it.

Your father wanted to talk to you.

Your contrasting colors and appearances made this reunitement even more uncomfortable for you, his demon form seeming to match his disgusting self that he hid from the human world before.

His face was hard to read, especially with that signature smile of his that even in death he would never get rid of.

"Little one, my darling daughter.." he spoke, his voice seemingly trying to seem genuine but the radio filter over it made it feel condescending to you.. as if mocking you.

The look on your face was evident, you missed him so much but hated him with your entire being because of that hidden side he kept for years.

He continued "My little ____... out of all places I never thought I'd see you here. Oh but it's definitely much better than down under my little dove.."

Geez what was he even saying?? What were his intentions..?? You couldn't tell.. after all this time, you couldn't forgive this man, this serial killer, this demon, this.. monster. You couldn't.. not this soon anyways.

You took a deep inhale and exhale before fixing your posture and stance, trying to seem more professional and confident. "Sir, your hosts and companions are ahead of you. You wouldn't want to miss your introduction to a place you'll never see again after this day." Your voice stern and professional, trying your best to be void of emotion.

"Darling.. is that truly a way to greet your dear ol' father?" He spoke, hand stretched out while the other held onto his staff.

"Your friends are waiting on you, don't be late Alastor."

Just like that you turned your heel and gave him the cold shoulder, your wings spread and started flapping. Taking you up and away further into your home.. Alastor watched you as you left him once again, this time by choice.

Ah but he knew, he'd have his darling daughter back soon. His little angel that he cared for will forgive him.. he knew you had to.

With his grin widening even further he walked to catch up to the Princess of hell and her partner into the pearly gates, to see what other thing could entertain him while his daughter snapped back to her senses.

(hello!! thank you so much for reading I had a blast with this. as you can tell. once again thank you so much for reading! hope to see you soon! mwa mwa!)

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: Too Easy

Request: Anonymous asked: "okay i have a tyler owens request!! him and reader are both tornado wranglers and they’ve always had a somewhat flirty relationship, but at one point they’re out chasing and the motel they stay at that night doesn’t have enough rooms for all of them so Tyler and the reader decide to share and reader has a nightmare? or just some kind of angst or hurt/comfort with a happy ending? love ur work!"

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: PTSD, trauma, tornado mention

A/N: I changed it from flirty to an enemies to lovers-type relationship, just because i've been craving to write that type of banter. as always, comments & replies are super appreciated!!! thanks for reading :)

As soon as you saw the familiar red Dodge truck parked outside the motel you groaned. 

“Is this guy everywhere, all the time?” Halle, one of your crew members, mumbled from the driver’s seat. She pulled your SUV into the only empty spot in the parking lot. 

She was referencing Tyler– another local storm chaser and absolute pain in your ass. His Ram truck was like a symbol all around Oklahoma. Everyone in the midwest knew his name– and what he did. You, on the other hand, knew him as a self-absorbed jerk that constantly put his and his team’s lives in danger for a few hundred thousand views on YouTube. He was cocky and obnoxious and arrogant. And you couldn’t stand him. 

Unfortunately for you though, Tyler Owens and his entire team went where the storms went. Which meant that you were stuck dealing with him– especially during tornado season. 

“Let’s just get a room, maybe we missed him,” you mumbled before turning to the backseat. “Anna, could you pass me my bag?” 

“Sure thing,” she replied, grunting as she handed your duffel over. 

“How about two rooms tonight?” you suggested. “I feel like I haven’t actually slept since we were in Austin.”

“God, I’ve been waiting for you to suggest that,” Halle mumbled. The bags around her eyes suggested she was just as eager for a good night’s sleep as you were. 

Together, the three of you dragged yourselves towards the motel lobby, exhausted and desperate for both a shower and a bed. 

“Why don’t you guys wait with all the gear? I’ll go in and book the rooms,” you offered. 

“Two of them,” Halle said with a relieved smile. 

“Two rooms coming up,” you promised. 

They nodded in agreement and settled in on the curb while you wandered inside. The bell above the door rang loudly as you stepped inside. As soon as you did, you realized that, to your absolute dismay, a familiar someone had already beat you to the front desk. You’d recognize those stupid, broad shoulders any day, even if you were sleep deprived.  

“Evenin’ m’lady,” Tyler’s little sidekick said teasingly. He tipped his baseball cap towards you.   

“Hey Boone,” you greeted back curtly.   

“What’d ya think of that beaut earlier, huh? Not too often we get two storm cells like that.”

“Yeah it was somethin’,” you replied absentmindedly. Honestly, you didn’t dislike Boone. He was friendly– maybe a little overzealous for your liking, but overall a nice guy. It was a shame he was always around Tyler– otherwise you might not always be so annoyed with him, too.  

“There she is,” Tyler beamed. He approached you and Boone while he tucked a few room keys in his wallet. “Were you fillin’ Boone in on why you picked the wrong storm to chase today? Because that’s a story I want to hear–” 

Your gaze fell to the floor, chest tightening the same way it did in the field earlier. “The winds changed last minute– I didn’t catch it,” you muttered, although you shouldn’t even have to explain yourself to this hillbilly. 

“Ah, I see. Man, you’re off your game, sweetheart. Usually it’s me missin’ those signs. What do you got cloudin’ up that pretty little mind of yours?” 

Anger began seeping into the corners of your mind. “Why do you even care?” you asked icily. “Thought you’d be happy to have that storm all to yourself.”

“Oh, I was sweetheart,” Tyler winked. “But I don’t mind sharin’ with you.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed past him towards the front desk. A younger girl with short, red hair offered you a smile. “How can I help you?”

“I need two rooms please,” you requested, it took about all the energy you had left to smile back. 

The girl sucked in a breath of air. “Oh, I’m so sorry– this gentleman here just rented three rooms. All we have left is one.”

“One?” you asked in disbelief, mouth falling open. 

She nodded. “There’s two beds, though, if that helps.”

“Shit,” you grumbled. Your team was exhausted– and you knew that you couldn’t just take back your promise for them to have their own beds. 

“I’m sorry–” the girl repeated, but you shook your head. 

“No, it’s okay. Not your fault,” you said quickly, trying to remember your manners.. 

“Somethin’ wrong over there sweetheart?” Tyler asked teasingly.  

“Yeah, you took all but one of the rooms. Now my team doesn’t have enough.”

“C’mon, I’ve seen you guys cram into one room before.”

“Yeah, but they’re exhausted. We haven’t had our own beds in weeks and I promised them…” your voice trailed off. Why the hell were you even explaining any of this to him? “You know what? Just forget it–” you turned back towards the receptionist. “I’ll take the one room, please.”

After passing your card over and paying, you turned and pushed back past Tyler and Boone. But before you could reach the door, Tyler’s voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“What are you just gonna go back on your promise? That’s really gonna disappoint your team–”

“I’ll sleep in the damn truck,” you snapped, zero patience for any of his sarcasm or feeble attempts at a joke. “Happy?”

“Hey–” he said, voice softening instantly. “I was just kiddin’ around.”

“Really funny,” you said, sarcasm dripping off your tongue, now more than usual, Tyler was getting on your nerves. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and disappoint my team.”

Without waiting for whatever retort Tyler could come up with next, you finally pushed your way through the door without looking back. 

You found Halle and Anna in the same place you left them– still sitting on the curb, slouched over and exhausted-looking.  

“Hey guys, bad news–” you began, guilt already spreading through your stomach. But before you could, the bell to the lobby door rang out, causing you to groan.  

You took a deep, steadying breath to calm your nerves, just in time for Tyler to speak. “Now I have an idea– how about we share? I got three rooms for my team, but that’s six beds… we only need five.”

You spun around so fast, you were surprised you didn’t get whiplash. “Look Tyler, as much as you know I love your antics, can we not do this right now? Please?”

“Who said anythin’ about antics?” he pressed. “I’m bein’ serious here. Your two can have their beds and you can take one of ours.”

“No way,” you spat quickly. “I’m sleeping in the car.”

By now, Halle and Anna had seemingly picked up on the situation. They stood up and crossed their arms disapprovingly in unison. 

“You can’t sleep in the car, that’s ridiculous,” Anna said. 

“Yeah, why don’t you and Anna take the room and I’ll share with Tyler’s crew,” Halle offered. 

“No,” you shook your head. “I promised you guys a good night’s sleep tonight– I’m not letting you crash with them.”

“Well we’re not letting you sleep in the car,” Halle argued back. “It’s like… eighty-five degrees out here.” 

You let your eyes fall shut for a moment, trying to think. But the truth was, you really were just so, so tired. You wanted everything about today– the storm cells you got wrong from earlier, the endless hours of driving, and lack of sleep, over with. And if bunking with someone from Tyler’s crew was the only way to make that happen, well then, so be it, you finally decided. Better you than Halle or Anna. 

“See– even your team isn’t as scared of us as you are,” Tyler chuckled. 

“Fine,” you snapped, shaking your head in disbelief. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening. “Who am I sharing with?”

Maybe you’d get lucky and get to room with Dani or Lilly–

“That would be me,” Tyler chirped, eyes glistening under the streetlamp. 

Well fuck me, you thought. 

…

You curled up in the double bed closest to the wall. By the time you got up to the room, Tyler had already claimed the one closest to the door.

You heard the water snap off in the bathroom, followed by the sound of Tyler peeling back the shower curtain. That was your cue to feign sleep, if only to avoid any further conversation with him for the night. You rolled over and pulled the blankets up to your chin. 

After a few minutes, he emerged from the bathroom– the noise from the fan growing louder and a sudden whiff of his shampoo washing over you. You’d never admit it– but the way he smelled was actually one of the few things you liked about Tyler. 

“I know you’re not sleepin’,” he said as he began rummaging through his bag. 

“How the hell would you know that?” you groaned. 

You heard him chuckle softly. “Because you wouldn’t have answered if you were.”

This fucking cowboy. 

“Well I’d like to be sleeping,” you said, still not rolling over to face him. 

“And here I was hopin’ we’d use our little sleepover to get to know each other a little better.”

“You can lay off the act,” you said suddenly, all of your anger and exhaustion just melting into a pool of unfiltered irritation. 

There was a brief pause before Tyler replied, “What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s no audience in here– no team members watching, no YouTube subscribers viewing us. You don’t have to pretend to be all sweet and charming.”

“I wasn’t aware I was pretending–”

“Oh cut the shit, Tyler. You love to drive me crazy me– just admit it. And it's probably my fault for letting you get to me so easily. But I mean, c'mon, was it your plan all along to just get me to share a room with you so you could keep me up all night getting to know me better?”

He let out a huff of air that sounded frustrated, as opposed to his usual amusement. “You’re something else, Y/N, you know that?”

You were caught off guard by Tyler’s use of your actual name. He always resorted to nicknames– either sweetheart or the town he knew you were from. In fact, in the few years you’d known him, the only time he’d ever repeated your name was the first time you told it to him. 

You sat up in bed and finally turned to face him– trying to gauge his demeanor. 

“I offer you a room– I didn’t have to do that, you know? And believe it or not, I didn’t offer it to you just to make your life miserable. I did it because I didn’t like the idea of you sleepin’ in your car alone–” he shook his head. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter. Goodnight.”

Before you could even think of a reply, Tyler was peeling back the covers of his own bed and crawling in. He laid on his left side, back facing you.

You stayed in place for a moment, too stunned to move or speak or do much of anything.

Eventually, you laid back down, trying your best to deny the pool of guilt spreading through your stomach.

… 

With one arm you held on to your sister's hand as hard as you could– feeling the muscles in your shoulder strain and pop as you did. 

“Hold on!” you shouted, pleading with her not to let go. 

With your other hand, you were clinging to the handle on the storm shelter door. Somehow it had managed to pop open after the two of you had escaped inside. 

She looked down at you, her body suspended in the air– nothing but sheer, unfiltered terror reflecting in her round-rimmed glasses. 

“C’mon!” you screamed. 

“Please–” she gasped. “Please don’t let me go!”

“I got you!” you screamed, but you could feel that your grip on her clammy hand wasn’t as tight as it needed to be. “No–” you yelled. 

“Don’t let me go–” she repeated, nails digging into your skin desperately. 

But you didn’t even have time to adjust your grip before she was slipping away– in the end, the winds won. 

In the blink of an eye, her body was being sucked away from you– further and further into the dark storm clouds barreling your way. 

“No!” you screamed, reaching for the spot her body was moments before. “No!” 

But then you felt your own grip slipping on the door handle and you knew you needed both hands to hold on if you wanted to survive. So, using all your strength– you dragged yourself to the bottom of the storm shelter. You found the safest corner– next to some old piping to curl up. 

The whole time the storm raged on above you– you couldn’t stop screaming. So, you squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your forehead against your knees, making yourself as small as possible. And then, with everything you had left, you wound your arms around the piping and held on like your life depended on it… because it did. 

…

Your name sounded so distant when you heard someone calling it– like it was miles away. Then, vaguely, it came more into focus as it was called again. 

The third time, it was right next to you– and it was familiar… but you didn’t dare to look up. What if the storm was still raging outside? What if it took you next? 

Hands gripped your shoulders– causing you to jolt awake. 

Your eyes shot open as you pulled yourself from your nightmare. Tyler was sitting on the edge of your bed, his mouth hung open, like he was out of breath. 

“Tyler?” you croaked, attempting to sit up from the mattress. 

“You’re okay,” he said instantly. “You’re okay– you’re safe.”

Once you had managed to sit up, you studied Tyler’s face for a moment, trying desperately to gauge if any of this was real. Despite the darkness around you, you could still make out every feature– every crease, every freckle, every single piece of stubble that made up his shaved beard. And as much as you’d admired Tyler’s face in the last few years, even you knew that you couldn’t have been that detailed in your imagination.   

You wanted to ask what the hell he was doing there– how he had gotten in her room, when all of a sudden, the same memories that had plagued you in your dream resurfaced in your mind.

The sight of the EF4 tornado that destroyed every inch of your childhood home. The image of your sister’s terrified face– right before she was ripped from your grasp. The sound of her scream, dissipating with the raging winds. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” Tyler soothed. 

You turned to face him– Tyler was here because he’d let you share his room… because he was way kinder than you ever gave him credit for. And now he was here– witnessing you completely falling apart.

Tyler’s lips began moving– he was talking. But despite the vague comfort from his tone of voice, you couldn’t really make out what he was saying. It was like the winds were still raging around you– muffling everything. 

You felt like your heart might just beat out of your chest– maybe that was the tornado working to rip it from your skin. 

“Hey–” a voice… no, not a voice. Tyler’s voice, said. “You gotta breathe.”

What was he talking about? You were breathing– of course you were breathing. Unless... unless the tornado ripped out your lungs instead of your heart. And now that you thought about it, no, actually, you weren’t breathing. You tried to inhale in, but the air wouldn’t come. You gasped, chest tightening while you began to tremble. 

Your lungs weren’t in your chest– your lungs flew away– just like your sister.

Firm, rough hands cupped both of your cheeks, forcing you to look forward. You were met by Tyler’s green eyes, currently blown open and wide with worry. 

“Breathe, baby,” he instructed. “With me– look.”

Baby, you thought. That was a new one. You didn’t hate it nearly as much as you hated sweetheart. 

You watched desperately as Tyler inhaled and exhaled exaggeratedly, like he was hoping you’d follow along.  

You tried. Really, you did.

Your wide, desperate eyes met his. But instead of following along, all you could do was imagine what your sister’s body had looked like after being struck by debris and tossed halfway across town–

“With me,” Tyler repeated firmly, his thumb stroking across the surface of your cheek gently. You leaned into his touch, craving comfort. 

Tyler continued producing loud and deliberate, slow and calming breaths. After a few seconds, you latched onto the sound, mimicking it, and following along the best that you could. 

Your shoulders relaxed slightly when you realized that you could actually breathe– which meant that EF5 hadn’t actually ripped them out of your chest. 

Tyler’s brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. “There you go,” he whispered.

“Did I wake you up?” you asked quietly, feeling even guiltier than you had for snapping at him all night. 

He hesitated– like he was actually debating on lying to you or not. 

“Was I screaming?” 

“I mean, a little bit–”

You nodded before letting your gaze fall to your lap, where you began picking harshly at an old hangnail, a feeble attempt to distract yourself. 

“Do you–” Tyler began. “Do you have those nightmares often?”

Now it was your turn to contemplate lying. But then you remembered what an absolute jerk you’d been to Tyler all night, and figured you at least owed him the truth. 

“Yeah,” you said. “That’s partially why I wanted to sleep in the truck.”

Tyler smiled softly. “And here I was thinking it was because you hated me so much.”

“I’m sorry–” you began, voice shaking slightly. “I know I can be a jerk.”

One of Tyler’s eyebrows shot up like he was surprised. 

“What?” you asked. 

“No it’s just… that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you apologize.”

“What can I say?” you mumbled, trying to make light of things. “You seem to always see the worst versions of myself.” 

Tyler’s gaze softened, like he knew you were talking about more than your lack of apologies. After a moment he sighed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Glancing up, you hesitated. Your heart had just stopped pounding in your chest, but the thought of talking about what had happened in your home just a few short years ago made it speed up again.  

“You don’t have to–” Tyler said quickly. 

“No– it’s just…” your voice faltered. “I just haven’t really talked about it.” 

Tyler was patient. He stayed still on the edge of your bed and waited for you to be ready. After you sorted through some of the thoughts in your head you whispered, “You know I’ve been chasing in Oklahoma since I was a teenager?”

Tyler’s face lit up in surprise. 

“It’s true. I took a few years off… and when I came back, I was upset to see Oklahoma had a new storm chaser. One that everyone seemed to like more than me,” you admitted. You weren’t sure why this was all flowing out so freely, but even you had to admit that it felt nice to be honest. “That’s why I’ve been so mean to you, I think. It felt like you were encroaching on my turf. And then you showed up with your fancy truck– and all your gear, and I suppose I just felt a little jealous.” 

Tyler nodded in understanding. “Why’d you take a few years off?”

Your voice caught in your throat. Only when you hung your head did you feel confident enough to answer. “Remember that EF5 that hit Logan County a few years back?”

Tyler nodded. 

“My family’s farm was in Logan County. My parents were away– on a weekend trip to Colorado to see family. But I’d convinced my sister to stay home with me, because I didn’t want to go,” the words that were your mouth suddenly didn’t feel like yours. And the trembling hands in your lap didn’t feel like yours either. 

“The storm turned last minute. We barely had any warning. But I grabbed my sister– and we ran to the storm shelter. We made it, too– but then the door ripped open. When she went to shut it…” your voice trailed off. “Well you can use your imagination for the rest.”

You finally gathered up enough courage to glance up at Tyler. His eyes were fixated on you– sadness and sympathy plastered all over his face. “I’m so sorry,” he said genuinely. 

“Yeah, well…” you said weakly. “The worst part is– I think I remember locking the storm shelter door– but I wonder every single day of my life if I accidentally forgot. Which… I mean, convincing her to stay home already makes it partially my fault. But I can write that one off– and remind myself I didn’t know what was going to happen. But forgetting to lock the storm shelter?” you sighed. “That would be a harder one to forgive myself for.”

Tyler scooted closer towards you on the bed. He raised his hand– he was reaching out to comfort you. But then he pulled back, like he thought better. You were surprised by how disappointed that made you. 

“It’s not your fault–” Tyler assured you. 

It was the same thing your parents had said your whole life– so why couldn’t you believe it? 

“I guess it doesn't really matter whose fault it was,” you said. “She’s gone and I’m not. I took a few years off from chasing because I just couldn’t… I couldn’t get myself in the right headspace for it. Every time I saw a cell forming, I’d panic– and I’d want to run from it, not chase it. Things are better now… but every once and a while, I still run. Like today,” you admitted. “I knew the winds changed. I knew the one to the east was gonna die out. That’s why I chose it.” 

Tyler sighed. “And then I gave you shit for it,” he said, remorse in his tone. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you admitted. “And I’m really grateful you let me crash in your room. I think if I’d been screamin’ like that in my car, it would’ve caused quite the scene.”

Tyler’s lips tugged into a gentle smile. “I told you I didn’t mind sharing when it came to you. Plus, I learned more about you during our little sleepover than I have in the last few years chasin’ next to you.” 

“Yeah, well…” you mumbled. “Don’t get used to it.”

Tyler smirked. “Does that mean you’re going to go back to hating me tomorrow, when we’re no longer roommates? Or have I finally cracked through that tough ole shell of yours?”

“You keep offerin’ me motel rooms for free and I’ll be an open book,” you laughed. 

Tyler nodded, like he was storing that offer for later. 

“Hey, I don’t know about you,” he said, suddenly clapping his thighs before standing up. “But all that screaming got me wide awake. You hungry? I’m buying.”

He held out his hand– waiting for you to take it. 

“Are you offering me a room and dinner in one night?” you teased. 

“And all you had to do was reveal your deepest, darkest secrets and traumas to me,��� Tyler smirked. 

“Tyler Owens, you’re too easy,” you said, gladly taking his outstretched hand.

[princessaffliction]

sweet nothings.

♡ info -> rafayel x you • 3.4k words • fluffy smut • ao3 link ♡ summary -> when rafayel returns home exhausted from a last-minute meeting which interrupted your date night plans, you decide your tired beloved deserves a little extra spoiling ♡ warnings -> MDNI, bratty as hell rafayel, crying (slight dacryphilia), overstim, handjobs, slightly too much plot for what was supposed to be smut

In your defense, the first time you make Rafayel cry during sex, it is unequivocally his fault.

Nothing about the evening is going right. First, you snap the strap on your heels and have to return to your apartment for a change of shoes. When you finally arrive to Rafayel's close to forty minutes late, you nearly collide head-first with him as he shoulders through the door. He doesn't have time to stop or explain why he's leaving beyond the words “last minute meeting, sorry,” a kiss pressed to each of your cheeks, and the suggestion that you wait for him to return. Judging by the scowl on his face, he's no more happy about the interruption to your date night plans than you are.

So much for a relaxing dinner to end the week for you both. Not that anything between the two of you ever goes to plan. In some ways its fitting that more often than not, your dates are foiled by unforeseen chaos. Maybe you'd been foolish to think this night would be different.

At least you don't have to feel guilty about being late.

You wander back and forth the span of his bedroom, alternating between basking in the warm summer breeze rising through the window and looking over a book he’d left open on his bed. It’s more of a magazine, filled with elegantly shot nature photography.

After just under an hour, the door opens and Rafayel strides through. Without a word of greeting, he collapses onto his settee in a flourish. You wait, expecting him to launch into an explanation of where he’s been, no doubt filled with his usual grumbling and colorful derision.

It doesn’t come.

"Is everything alright?" you ask, coming to stand at his side.

Rafayel sighs and drops an arm over his face.

"I’m alive if that's what your asking," he says, evidentially still capable of dramatics. "It's like the universe has a sixth sense for when I want an evening off."

He loosens his tie and tosses it haphazardly over the back of the sofa. You can't help but cringe as you watch the no doubt exorbitantly expensive silk material flutter to the floor.

His fingers close around your wrist, dragging your hand to his hair. "If you're going to stare, Miss Bodyguard, you might as well be of use."

Rolling your eyes, you oblige him and card your fingers through his hair. The violet waves glide smoothly below your touch.

"Your hair's really soft today."

For the dozenth time, you remind yourself to ask just what he uses to make it so unnaturally silky. Tara had been looking for a new hair product. Perhaps he'd have a suggestion you could pass along.

"So that means it's not always this soft, huh? And here I thought you liked my hair." Rafayel's brows pinch together. "I don't pay you to insult me, you know."

You don't bother pointing out that Rafayel doesn't pay you at all. Still, some of the tension has seeped out of his posture and his eyes flutter shut as you drag your nails lightly across his scalp. For all that he dislikes cats, in moments like this you can't help but compare him to one. Especially when your ministrations cease momentarily and he bumps his forehead into your palm, a demand that you resume petting him.

"That bad of a meeting, huh?"

Instantly, you regret your question as he tenses up once more. "Meetings at night should be illegal. What if I fell gravely ill from the cold?"

You don't bother pointing out that it's the best weather you've had in weeks. It doesn’t matter. You're certain there's something else on his mind, with the way his eyes flicker to yours before looking away.

"You feel fine to me." You press a hand to his forehead. "Clammy as usual."

His frown deepens. "Ha-ha."

"What's bothering you? You have meetings all the time. What made this one different?"

For a long moment he doesn't reply, dropping his head back against the arm of the sofa.

"Cat got your tongue?"

His eyes snap open. "You're quite the comedian tonight."

"Not a very good one apparently." You poke his cheek. "C'mon, what's got you so moody?"

He grumbles something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I've been invited to teach a summer course for promising youth at a prestigious art school," he repeats, as though doing so is a herculean effort.

"Wow, really? Rafayel, that's amazing."

He sits up, nearly hitting your foreheads together as he does. "Do you hear yourself? This is the worst thing that they could possibly ask of me."

"What? How so?" You neglect to point out that you’re almost certain he said the same thing about the last work request that was made of him.

He grimaces and shakes his head. "Kids are so loud."

"So you'll get along with them fine," you say, dryly.

"It's the whole summer. I'd be gone. For the entire summer."

"Yes, you mentioned that." You shrug. "If it’s a prestigious school and you’re the guest of honor, I'm certain that the accommodations will be up to your standards."

That's a white lie. It would be impossible for anyone to make a temporary living arrangement anywhere close to Rafayel's preferences without decimating their entire budget for the bathtub alone. Champagne tastes to say the least.

Even as you try to think of something else positive to say, you can't shake the twinge of disappointment in your chest. After all, you'd spent a good chunk of winter discussing all the things you wanted to do together this summer: the festivals and getaways. Trips to seaside cafes and museums. The exact hopes for the future you take comfort in on long nights of hunting wanderers or tackling the piles of paperwork you never seem to get to the bottom of.

"I still think it's something you should do," you say. "But I can admit that it's...a bit of a bummer too. We had a lot of plans that I was looking forward to."

"Finally you're making some sense," he huffs. "If you insist, then I'll cancel."

"That's not what I said!"

"Well, I'm still canceling." He folds his arms.

Were you to look up stubbornness in the dictionary, you're certain it would be this exact sight of Rafayel, his mouth pinched with determination.

"Canceling is not the answer."

"Maybe not to you."

"We'll just have to squeeze in a little extra fun, to make up for things."

He continues pouting, but you can see him straighten up ever so slightly. "And what is your idea of some 'extra' fun?"

"I've got time off that I need to use. Before, I'd planned on using my days this summer, but if you won't be around for part of it let's just move up the dates."

He purses his lips, clearly turning over his options in his mind. When you'd first met, no doubt he would have attempted to continue arguing, but now, he knows better. After all, if there's anyone who can rival his own stubbornness, it's you.

"Fine," he says. "But you better write to me."

You manage to keep from rolling your eyes. "I'm going to text you every day. You'll probably be sick of hearing from me."

"You say a lot of dumb things," he sighs.

"I guess you're rubbing off on me."

Rafayel opens his mouth before shutting it again. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over the edge of the couch where it slips to the floor alongside his tie.

"I know we had planned to go out tonight," he says. "But I think stepping foot outside again might kill me. So if you really insist on me doing this summer program, it's probably for the best that we don't go to dinner."

That doesn't come as a surprise. By now, you were well aware of Rafayel's occasional need for solitude to decompress. You take a step back and glance around for your purse. If you head out now, you should still be able to pick up take out on your way back home and save yourself the trouble of cooking.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks.

"Er, you want to be alone, right? To think?"

"Did I say that?" He looks away. "But if you want to leave then go ahead. I'm tired anyway."

Something in the resigned yet displeased look he casts your way makes it click together in your head:

"Are you upset because you're going to miss me?"

He starts to respond before grimacing, "You're still not funny."

Evidentially, leaving isn’t the right answer tonight, but talking doesn’t seem to be working either. You walk back to the settee and step within reach, looking down at him.

“I wasn’t trying to be,” you say. “Let's drop it for now.”

Rafayel doesn’t answer but stands and unceremoniously strides to his bed, dropping down onto the plush duvet. A handful of his many throw pillows bounce off of the mattress to scatter on the floor. How he manages not to trip on a daily basis is still a mystery to you. Careful not to step on any of the intricately embroidered cushions, you make your way over and lie down beside him.

His eyes remain closed so you take the moment to examine your beloved. He really is a sight to behold. Pretty, like a statue crafted with a delicacy that would take a thousand years...and yet, as changeable as the sea itself, with movement beneath the surface. Despite the time you’ve spent together, there are moments when he still feels far away. Like a story written in a language you don’t know. Or worse, that you’ve forgotten.

He cracks an eye to peer at you, still frowning. Even among the ridiculously soft bedspread, you can read the tension in him. You reach up and cup his cheek. There’s no words that are going to fix things for now.

However, perhaps words are the not the form of communication most suited to a night like this.

Rafayel stares at you, waiting. You run your thumb along his cheekbone, down his jaw, and over his bottom lip that is stuck out in a near-pout once more. It feel as inevitable as the tide when your mouths meet, a territory so familiar you’re unsure who leaned in to kiss who.

“You can’t win me over with kisses,” he says, pulling back after a few minutes.

The dark, blown-wide look of his pupils would argue otherwise, but you refrain from pointing out as much.

“Alright.”

Rafayel leans closer and takes one of your hands, manipulating your fingers gently to pop the top button on his shirt.

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try it though,” he says.

You kiss him again, rolling your eyes as you do so.

One more kiss turns into another dozen, accompanied by your fingers undoing his shirt and belt buckle. It ends with you sitting against the headboard and Rafayel laid bare. He's sprawled along the mattress, his back to your chest. Not a typical arrangement for you but tonight you can't shake the desire to smooth away some of his stress. To spoil him, despite knowing there's perhaps no better word to describe your love than ‘spoiled’ already. Not that you mind. You wouldn't change him, not for the world.

He's all long limbs like this, reflective scales surfacing as he comes back down from his orgasm. You press a kiss to the side of his head, his temple slightly sweaty. As fond as he is of messy sex while it's happening, Rafayel is less keen on the ensuing tackiness afterward. Usually one of you will think to grab a washcloth to clean up, but thinking didn't seem to be in the cards for either of you tonight.

You shift to climb off the bed and go in search of tissues but his hand on your arm stops you.

“Everything, okay?”

He swallows, throat bobbing. "Again, please?"

Despite the mess on his stomach and chest, a glance reveals that he's still achingly hard. His cock lays rosy and eager against his hip. Gently, you wrap your fingers around him once more. As soon as you do he's squirming from the overstimulation. You can't tell if he's trying to rut into your touch or rid himself of it.

"Are you sure?" you ask, pausing in spite of his demand. "You just came."

"It’s not enough tonight," he pants. "More, please."

You can’t help but enjoy his desperation a little. As though he’s forgotten how utterly incapable you are of not indulging him when he looks at you like that. Like you are the sole being responsible for the push and pull of the tides. The person keeping the very world on its axis.

“So you do now how to ask for things nicely,” you say, relishing in your ability to work him up to the point he recalls manners.

“So mean.”

“Am I mean or are you just bossy?” you shoot back.

Rafayel doesn’t answer aside from a needy sound as you squeeze around the base of his cock. His head drops back onto your shoulder. Painful or not, he seems to be enjoying himself, his hips twitching to chase your hand whenever you draw it up his length once more.

“I’m honestly just surprised that you’re so worked up.”

He twists in a half-hearted attempt to bury his face in your throat. You don’t let him, using your free hand to catch his chin and force him to meet your gaze.

Rafayel looks as lovely as you’ve ever seen him. His cheeks are flushed, bottom lip bitten ruby. His eyes, though bright, are red-rimmed. Tears that haven’t yet spilled pooling in the corners and clinging to his dark lashes.

“Raf—”

He interrupts you before you can ask if he’s alright. “Please don’t stop.”

His hand covers yours as though to ensure you don’t let go, even though you have no intention too. He guides you to stroke along his cock more firmly than before. As you do, his lips part, desperate whimpers spilling free.

“Of course not, I won’t,” you assure him. “You’re really pretty like this.” The words that have been vying to slip free all night popping out before you can overthink them.

His cock throbs in your grasp. You don't bother to hide the grin which spreads across your face. Rafayel’s blush only deepens and he squirms in your arms.

You should have put two and two together prior to now. How could your beloved not like praise? After all, you’d seen the way his eyes would light up when you complimented him, even if he would deny it, or play it off as expected, no, entitled.

You were learning a lot of things tonight it would seem.

Craning your neck slightly, you lean closer so that you can speak into his ear.

“Is this what you’ve been wanting? For me to say sweet things to you?”

“No,” he says, bucking into your hand.

“No?” You let go of his cock and he whines at the loss of contact. “But look at the mess you’re making already.”

It’s true, your hand is slick with precum, more leaking down the flushed shaft. He was telling the truth before: none of it seems to be enough for him tonight. Rafayel does his best to muster a glare, though the effect is diminished by the sheer need written across his face.

“Come on, ask me,” you murmur and return your hand to where he wants you most. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me what it is.”

The renewed attention earns you a choked out moan and fresh tears cutting their way down his cheeks.

“Please, please keep talking, I can’t—”

“Shh, of course, I will.”

So you do. You let all of the sweet things you’ve thought but not said to him run over in a babble of praise. You tell him how much you adore him. How gorgeous he looks. How good he is. How lucky you feel to be able to have him in your arms, in your life. Every single thing you would normally think twice about saying, lest they bring down a tidal wave of mischief upon you.

It’s too much for him and soon Rafayel’s shaking. He clutches at your arm, words slurred, “It’s too much, I’m going to come, fuck, I—”

“It’s alright, my love.” You lean down and fit your mouths together.

Rafayel kisses you back clumsily before letting out a bitten-off moan. He throbs in your hand, spilling his second release of the night onto his stomach with a sob.

You rest your chin on his shoulder, holding him close as he shivers through the aftershocks. For a long moment there’s nothing but the quiet sounds of the distant city and his shaky exhales as he tries to get his breathing back under control.

“Was that—”

He cuts you off. “You know how much I’m going to miss you, right?”

Even though it’s said with little inflection, you catch the undercurrent of nerves.

“I know.”

He swallows. “And you know I love you?”

“I do.”

Despite the fact that you’re impossibly close, he manages to press closer to you somehow. “So you won’t forget me while I’m away for the summer?”

“Do you really think I could forget you?”

He doesn’t answer, so you press another kiss against the shell of his ear.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be right here when you get back,” you say.

Rafayel lets out a long breath, the last bit of tension slipping away from him. The pair of you lay there for another long moment, before he shifts, pushing himself up with shaky arms.

“Sticky.” He grimaces as he uses his discarded shirt to wipe up the mess on his chest.

“And whose fault is that?”

Somehow, despite the fact that he’s still pink-cheeked with pleasure, he manages to look offended.

“Yours,” he pronounces, lurching up to stand on wobbly legs. “Now, since it’s your job, Miss Bodyguard, I assume you’ll come and make sure I don’t get attacked by Wanderers while I take a bath?”

"We should probably bathe together, just to be safe." You stretch and climb to your feet as well. “Wouldn’t want you to get caught unaware. You’d be like a fish out of water.”

“Still not funny,” he says, turning away, but not before you can get a glimpse of him smiling.

You slip an arm around his waist, tugging him towards your side.

“I can walk you know.” It’s a halfhearted protest as he allows himself to be led toward the bathroom.

“Tell that to your knees,” you reply. “Besides, we don’t need you to get taken out by another paintbrush on the floor like last time.”

Before he can reply you press your lips to his, drowning his witty comeback with a kiss.

Summer might not go the way either of you had planned, but if tonight is any indication, you’ll be able to make up for it.

[thebluester2020]

[SDV] SDV Bachelors x Toys In The Bedroom

Summary: Anon does a pretty good job explaining what goes on here!

Warning(s): Porn and filth, Lots of vibrator talk in this one (I think lots of the bachelors would like to use vibrators during sex lol), Pet-Play, A hint of ass-play, Buttplugs, Nurse/Doctor Play, Collaring, Bondage, Lance being a tad bit degrading (in the kinky way ofc), Lots of freaky talk!

Side Note(s): Because I thought it'd be fun, I decided to add in a bit of kinks I think they'd be into as well!

Elliot

Okay, so hear me out on this one— I kinda feel like Elliot is one of the few on this list that would have a sort of "Vanilla+" type of approach when it comes to incorporating toys in the bedroom.

It's not that he minds the use of them, it's just that he feels like he doesn't need to. He's confident in his skills with you, understands your body as well as he does the back of his own hand!

Whenever you've brought up the mention of toys, he'd probably respond with something along the lines of "Why should we do that, my love? I make you cum plenty with my fingers and mouth, don't I?" (and proceeds to give you a niceeee reminder afterward)

With all this being said, though, if you were really insistent on spicing up your sex life by bringing in a toy. I feel like Elliot would prefer using a vibrator OR really light bondage (such as tying your hands together and all)

For a vibrator, it's nothing too fancy and it proves to be a pretty good team-player when he's too busy getting pussydrunk to properly rub your clit.

And when you moan just a little bit louder with the vibrator? He's not insecure enough to suddenly become jealous of a toy, in fact? That single sound alone would change his tune completely and have him bringing in the vibrator each time you two have sex!

Adding that with the bondage, the sight of you squirming and begging for him to touch you would shoot him straight to the moon and back, and the look of sheer desperation you give him would only make him want to press the vibrator to your clit even harder, encouraging you to moan even louder, to keep on begging him to allow you to touch him.

And after pulling out two squirting orgasms out of you back-to-back?

Oh, he's definitely going to search for even better vibrators to buy for you to see if you'll moan even louder than the last time!

Sebastian

Walk with me on this one, guys. Fleshlight + Vibrator combo.

While Sebastian's definitely open to using other types of toys in the bedroom (Idk why but the idea of a cock ring is tickling my brain a little for him), I feel like a fleshlight and good ol' vibrator are doing the trick for him. Especially since he already has experience with using a fleshlight before meeting you.

So, hear me out on my scenario, the two of you are using these two things in tandem for the first time, and it just so happens to be when Sebastian's in a more dominant mood tonight.

It's a piss poor reason but he feels like you were wayyyy too friendly with Sam tonight while you three were at the Saloon together! So him being the responsible boyfriend that he is, he decides to teach you not to be so friendly with Sam the next time you are out together!

While your laid out on your back, your hole clenching at the sight of Sebastian's cock fucking a cheap plastic replica of a pussy instead of you. Sebastian has the added audacity to press a bullet vibrator to your clit, the man practically drooling at the sight of your unfucked cunt clenching around nothing while your hands claw and pull at the bedsheets.

Every time you beg him to fuck you instead. He just coldly replies, "In a minute".

You can see the way his pre-cum begins to stain the insides of the plastic fleshlight, the transparent object beginning to emit lewd squishing noises as your boyfriend's strength upon the bullet began to wane as he steadily lost himself to the pleasure of fucking the replica. And what's more? He was getting off on the fact that you were watching him near his orgasm while you were practically helpless to do anything!

However, as good as the fleshlight feels and how much as he wants to teach you a lesson—a fake pussy will never compare to the real thing. Thus, after deeming you having learned your lesson, he decides to take mercy on you and pump you full of his cum instead!

And thankfully, he decides to make you cum as well! Just with the vibrator.

Sam

C'mon, guys, y'all already know what I'm about to say—PETPLAY.

I understand that "true" petplay comes with the whole BDSM gear + fake dog mask, but going with the assumption that Sam's not that freaky. A collar, a vibrating cockring, and maybe a gag are going to be his favorite type of toys to use in the bedroom.

I've already hinted at this, but I'm coming to believe that Sam doesn't care whose wearing the collar, he just has a preference that it's on him. But to spice things up, I'm gonna say that the roles are reversed and Sam's put all this on you. (Minus the vibrating cockring ofc, that's for him later on when you get him back.)

He fancies you up in a collar, some fake dog ears, and even the gag!

For the entire time you two have been roleplaying together (Standard new pet owner buys a horny dog and trains them type of play), you've been eyeing the dick imprint in his pants. Drool even begins to run down the side of your lips when he unbuckles his pants after placing you face down on the bed.

You want to suck him off sooooo badly.

But he plans to make you work to get your reward by seeing if you can be an obedient doggie and not cum for the next three rounds that he's going to pound the ever-living daylights out of you!

"Don't cum, you won't be able to get your reward!"

"Oho~ you clenched down reallllyyy hard when I started to put my thumb in your ass. Don't tell me your *that* kind of dog?"

The whole nine yards and some more.

And for fun, let's say you don't make it through those three rounds.

He's already bought you a nice (human-sized) dog bed for you to sleep on! Bad dogs can't sleep on the bed with their masters after all, he'll give you a few minutes to re-think your actions and to not be so quick to cum before he gets right back to training you again.

Alex

Also, another candidate for Vanilla+ like Elliot.

I can't really see him using toys on you or himself? Even though I can slightly see him using a fleshlight on himself. I imagine that he probably ditched it the second he got with you and never looked back; he'd rather just use his hand if it's really that serious. As for you, he dicks you down so good that you've never thought about the concept of bringing toys into the bedroom to begin with!

That being said, though, the only thing I can see Alex using is probably bondage.

But I believe it'd only be in this scenario—using you as a "workout".

Walk with me, Alex, brings up wanting to increase his cardio with you! However, how effective will his workout be when you're constantly squirming about and grabbing onto him?

Here's where the bondage comes in.

He uses it, ofc, to tie you up and essentially use you like you're just another workout machine to him. He even uses your moans and begs for him to go faster, to fuck you harder as encouragement that he's going his cardio successfully!

I swear that there's a specific kink for being used as an item, idk what though.

Anyway, after he's finally finished with his cardio, having made you cum back to back and even having you pass out for a few seconds one time. He decides that you are his favorite workout and plans to do this a few times a week with you!

Let's just say that the whole experience makes Alex almost want to look into using more toys with you. All for the sake of working out of course!

Harvey

Can those cheesy fake doctor props from poronos even be considered sex toys? I think they can, and I believe Harvey's using them in relation to a small huge kink he has.

And for starters? I think he'd be the one to bring them up rather than you, out of a shocking display of confidence! Mostly after seeing how good your thighs looked when you wore your old Joja uniform. After asking to use them though, you decide to buy a nurse uniform online.

See where I'm going with this? Walk with me, you and Harvey go to his office and fool under the guise of "Nurse fucks workahlic doctor while telling him about the patients he'll see next week". With your fake syringe in hand and a clipboard in the other, you show Harvey just how good you can multitask as you list off the patients he'll be seeing!

You list off the names and what they're coming to him for in great detail. Detail that Harvey's definitely not listening to as his hand lazily cups your ass as his eyes are glued to your bouncing breasts muttering out a lazy "Uh huh..." each time you ask him if he's listening to you!

Too many "Uh huhs" later, and you're slowing your hips down, making the poor doctor whine and beg for you to speed back up while all you can say in turn is "You gotta listen doctor~ I'm saying some really important information here!" You lightly scold.

An hour and a couple minutes later, after cumming harder than he ever had in his life. Harvey's not shy about one thing when it comes to the topic of bringing sex toys into the bedroom, especially if it means having a repeat of you in that nurse's outfit.

Shane

Other than using a fleshlight or buttplug (on you). I can't see him using toys in the bedroom? It's not that he hates him, Yoba knows that he's used more fleshlights than he can count, but it's more so that he's the type of person who's not into them.

Especially when experience has told him that his dick game is solid enough to where he doesn't need to rely upon them. That being said, though, he wouldn't say no to you having a buttplug up your ass while he fucks you in doggy.

A bejeweled buttplug making your forbidden hole look all pretty while your ass is red from smacking it earlier would drive him wild. Hell, you'd even have you complimenting you while he's balls deep in you!

"You're so pretty with this lil' assplug in you, makin' me wanna buy you even more cute shit while I'm fucking you stupid."

"If you're takin' a lil' plug like this so well...wonder what else you can take."

After fucking your brains out, I imagine that his small desire to fuck your ass would only grow afterward. All the nine yards too, staring at your ass, touching it more and even teasing your hole during sex!

As for the fleshlight, however— I'll end this by saying that I can see him fucking the fleshlight while he's gently pumping in and out of your asshole with the buttplug, a little prep before you get the real thing and all!

Bonus! Lance

As much as I understand Lance's feelings towards monsters— I can't get it out of my mind how he'd also be a fan of bondage + a vibrator as well as even a gag. But to spice it all up, I'm going to say that you decided to dress up like a cute monster and asked for Lance to "bring you down".

His dicking down technique in combination with tying your arms together and the vibrator? It shot you straight to heaven and back repeatedly as Lance threw degrading words your way, as if he were genuinely talking to another monster he was about to slay!

Every roll of his hips into your pussy, his cockhead pressing into the deepest parts of your cunt made tiny jets of your slick squirt out, and each time you'd clench around him— both from the intensifying pleasure and how he'd look at you while he talked.

You couldn't help how you nearly blacked out from how hard you came!

And Lance had a lot to say ass he continued fucking you through your orgasm, fully intent on giving you a couple more.

"You monsters have no shame, don't you?"

"Can't even last a few minutes? Don't think that just because you're sensitive that I'm gonna stop."

"Ahhh, you may be a monster but your cunt feels sooo good. Maybe I'll keep you..."

Of course, in true knightly fashion, however, he quickly reassures you that all of his words were just roleplay after all is said and done!

God, I need to do another Lance marriage run.

[his-angell]

"Are those.. My clothes?" (y.kh)

plot; After seeing her boyfriend share how he didn't mind people borrowing his clothes, she decided she would take advantage of that. paring; idol!yoonkeeho x fem!reader genre; crack, fluff word count; 860 warnings; established relationship, smidge bit of flirting, pet name, 3rd pov request?; no! but, the video im referring to is this one!

She sat in Keehos bed, watching buzzfeeds recent video. She was watching youtube to pass the time till her boyfriend got back from schedules. She always loved watching videos of her boyfriends group. They were so talented and kind. She raised her eyebrows at one of the parts..

Lindsay hummed. "Do you guys share clothes?" She asked. Jongseob shook his head quickly. "Nope." He said quickly. The other members shook their heads. Keeho blinked. "Well- I do." He said. "Oh, you steal other peoples clothes?" Lindsay asked. "No- I don't steal other peoples clothes, but I'm more like open to letting other people borrow my stuff," Keeho explained.

(y/n) hummed. She nodded. This was new information to her. Well.. Not really. But you know. She stole his hoodies, but she never really thought about stealing his clothes. She bit her lip. She looked at her phone, checking the time. Hey, perfect timing too.

She looked at Keeho's closet. They had planned a small date night, since he didn't have to go in till later in the afternoon tomorrow. She hopped out of bed, closing her laptop. She rummaged through her boyfriends closet. His style was super contrast to hers, but she would make it work.

The outfit she stole was simple, and one he had worn before. But it was cute. His red 33 jersey and his baggy jeans. She looked through his shrine of jewelry, pursing her lips. She picked two simple necklaces. She huffed, turning to the mirror. She hummed. It was a little baggy, but she still looked supa cutie. She took a few pictures, before sitting back on his bed.

She scrolled through her phone for a few minutes before the guys got home. She knew they were home because they were extremely loud. Intak and Jiung were arguing about something unimportant, making her snicker. She heard feet shuffling quickly to the room. Keeho rushed in and closed the door.

"Hey! I-" He paused. He squinted. He glanced her up and down. "Are those.. my clothes?" He blinked. (y/n) grinned. She stood up and did a little twirl. "Cute? Or do I need to change?" She asked. Keeho stared for a few seconds longer before he shook his head. "No. No need to change." He muttered. He walked over and gently adjusted one of the necklaces. He grinned softly.

(y/n) raised her eyebrows. "Do I look stupid or something? Why are you making that fa-" She was cut off by his lips on hers. He gently hugged her waist, tugging her flush against him. He pulled away after a moment. "You look very cute, my pretty girl," He whispered against her lips before pecking them one last time. (y/n) grinned shyly. "Thank you," She pecked his lips back.

"Get changed i'm hungry~" She patted his cheek before grabbing her phone off the bed and leaving the room so he could change. Even Jongseob had something to say about her outfit. "Noona.. Are those Keeho hyungs clothes?" He blinked. "Yes. Anndd?" (y/n) hummed. "It looks nice. I think you wore it better than him anyways." Jiung butted in as he walked past them to sit on the couch. "Thanks," She did a little kick and giggled.

She looked back when Keeho came out, dressed in outing clothes rather than his practice stuff. "Okay, you ready?" He asked. She nodded and waved to the guys. "Byee." She waved, snickering as they all said bye to her. "Bye guys we'll be back." Keeho waved as well. "Booo! Stay out!" Theo waved his hand jokingly. Keeho rolled his eyes, placing his hand on (y/n)'s lower back as they headed out.

The spot they chose for dinner was just a small steak house near the dorms. (y/n) wiggled happily as she took a bite of her food. "Wahh.. I love food." She hummed. Keeho snickered and nodded. "So real actually." He hummed. He covered his mouth as he finished his bite. He held up his finger, his rings clicking together a bit. (y/n) hummed, waiting for him to speak.

"So.. Question." He leaned back in his seat. "Whattt exactly made you want to steal my clothes?" He asked. (y/n) shrugged. "I think about it a lot. I just decided to actually do it this time." She played off. Keeho squinted. "Girl, don't lie to me." He rolled his eyes. She giggled. "I saw you said you were open to letting people borrow your clothes, soooo i did." She nodded. Keeho hummed, remembering what she was referring to. "Ahh, I see." He chuckled.

He stared for a few moments before he leaned forward. "I think you should wear my clothes more often." He hushed before he clicked his tongue and took a sip from his drink. (y/n) stared a few moments, blinking at him. The way he said it sounded almost possessive, a little flirty even.. She squinted at him before she nodded. "I'll do that." She hummed and took another bite of her food. Keeho grinned at her before he snickered and took another bite of his food also.

all writing rights are reserved to @his-angell do not repost or translate my work without my permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[trying-harder-then-u]

Johnny's Daddy

Johnny has been my friend since forever, and while we grew apart in High school, we would always make sure to comfort each other through all the tough times. He helped me with my breakup, and I helped him when he lost his job.

Johnny was always on the smaller side; Puberty Hit never really got to him, and while he never got the muscles he wanted, he eventually became quite happy with his body and my numerous numerous offers to wing man him and help him get a girl were always turned down.

Earlier today, my phone pinged while I was at work. Johnny had messaged me:

"Hey man, could you come to my place after work?"

"Sure? What do you need?"

"I'll explain when you get here."

Me and Johnny had always been open and clear without ever really needing to talk outside of texts, so I thought this must be something big if he wanted to talk about it at his place, so after work finished up, I got in my car and drove to his apartment in the city. After a good 50 minutes of driving through the winding roads, I finally arrived.

As I opened the door, he came and hugged me. "How was the drive?" "Nothing special, just some traffic jams and that stuff," I responded. For the first few hours, we just hung out talking about life and playing games before I finally asked why he wanted me here: "Well, I wanted to tell you I was gay." he blushed as he said it, "Damn man, thanks for telling me; I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me, do you want to go to a gay bar or  something?"He shook his head at my question: "You don't understand; I've been trying to get a boyfriend for awhile now, but it never works out, and I wanted to ask you if...." "I'm sorry, man," I interjected. "I love you like a brother, but I don't feel the same way about you." "Okay, sorry, I hope we can still be friends," Both of us laughed awkwardly at the incident, but decided to hang out some more. At about 6, we were both getting hungry, so he ordered a pizza, and he got up to grab us a drink. I heard what sounded like pills rattling in the kitchen before he returned with some beers, caps removed. "Thanks, man," I said as he handed me one. Taking a sip, I thought it tasted funny, but I just shrugged it off as the pizzas had just arrived and i was starving.

As we ate and played video games, it became latter and latter, and the beers piled up, each tasting stranger, then the last. At some point, my mind started to became fuzzy. "Ugh, I don't feel good," i said. "You don't look good either. Maybe you should just sleep here for the  night."Johnny commented, Too tired to argue, I ended up on his couch and fell asleep quickly as he went back to the room. "You'll be fine; I bet you feel like a new man tomorrow morning," he called as he closed the door.

That night, as I shuddered in my sleep, my body began to change, moving around as my stature grew, stretching from 5 feet 8 to 6,2. My flab melted away as my skin tightened around new abs that began to push out one by one, and calves became strengthened along with arm muscles. My round face gained structure as a square jaw and clear skin gave my face a new, more attractive look. But it wasn't just my body changing; my dreams began to shift; thoughts that I used to have about women became directed towards Johnny; as I dreamed of dominating and using him, the apartments that we each had eventually became one, just as my place had his boyfriend cemented, and soon I was picturing him submitting to me every night. As these dreams peaked, I felt my dick pulse, lines of cum shooting out as my rock-hard cock lengthened, growing longer and longer inside my underwear from it's normal 4 inches to a monstrous 9, and my boxers turning to briefs as they were soaked in my semen. The transformation was over, and my new place in the world was confirmed.

The next morning, Johnny smirked as he walked in to be greeted by me staring at him in nothing but my briefs. "I have a job for you, boy; I need some services," I commanded, His dick jumped up, and his body shuddered as he moved towards me. All memories of my past life disappeared as he wrapped his lips around my dick; all that mattered was teaching my boyfriend his place.

[23victoria]

slam!

pairings: f1 grid x fem!reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: cussing, sexual innuendos, manipulation ig, lying in a way, it’s a prank, fluff

authors note: first official fic since my writing slump! i hope it’s okay! and im so so sorry if it’s ass lol, also you can see where i had no inspiration vs. where i did…please ignore that 😭, any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!!

want to be apart of my taglist?! CLICK HERE!

f1 masterlist 1k celebration

Charles

The drive to the mall was filled with easy conversation and laughter. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the city as you and Charles made your way through the bustling streets. Charles had one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on your thigh, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you.

You had planned this trip to Sephora for weeks now, eager to replenish your makeup supplies and maybe splurge on some new products. Charles had tagged along, promising to help you pick out new shades and scents, even though you knew he was more excited about the ice cream shop next door.

As you pulled into the parking lot, you felt a mischievous idea brewing in your mind. You wanted to test Charles' patience and see how he would react to a sudden, nonsensical argument. You knew it was silly, but something about the idea made you giggle internally.

Charles parked the car, and you both unbuckled your seat belts. Just as he was about to open his door, you decided to strike.

"Why do you always do that?" you snapped, turning to him with an exaggerated huff.

Charles froze, his hand still on the door handle. "Do what?" he asked, clearly puzzled by your sudden change in tone.

"You know what you did," you said, crossing your arms and glaring at him.

Charles blinked, completely taken aback. "I honestly have no idea what you're talking about, Y/N. Can you please explain?"

You let out an exasperated sigh, rolling your eyes dramatically. "Every single time we go somewhere, you always do this! It's like you don't even care!"

Charles' brow furrowed, confusion written all over his face. "What did I do? I parked the car! What's wrong with that?"

"Never mind," you said, shaking your head and opening your door. "Just forget it, Charles. I'm going to Sephora."

Before he could respond, you slammed the car door shut with a loud bang, making sure to give it an extra push for emphasis. You could see his bewildered expression through the window as you stormed off toward the mall entrance.

Charles sat in the car for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. His initial confusion slowly turned into a mix of frustration and concern. Had he really done something to upset you? He replayed the last few minutes in his mind, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

With a deep sigh, he got out of the car and locked it, jogging slightly to catch up with you. He found you standing in front of Sephora, arms still crossed and a pout on your lips.

"Y/N, wait," he called out, his voice a mix of irritation and worry. "Can we please talk about this?"

You turned to him, your expression softening just a fraction. "What's there to talk about, Charles? You always do this."

"Do what?" he asked, genuinely perplexed. "I really don't understand."

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. "You always park too close to the other cars. It makes it hard for me to get out."

Charles' eyes widened in realization, and he let out a relieved laugh. "That's what this is about? Y/N, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think about that. I'll be more careful next time, I promise."

You felt a pang of guilt for making him worry, but the sight of his relieved smile made it worth it. You uncrossed your arms and took a step closer to him.

"Okay, fine," you said, your voice softening. "I forgive you. But you better not do it again."

Charles reached out and pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "I promise, I won't," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Now, let's go get your makeup."

You smiled against his chest, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "And ice cream?"

"And ice cream," he agreed, pulling back to look at you with a grin. "Anything for you."

"Charles," you said, lifting your head up from his chest. "I have to confess something."

Charles looked at you with curiosity. "What is it, love?"

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of guilt and amusement. "I wasn’t really mad at you... it was a joke. I wanted to see how you'd react."

Charles blinked in surprise, then let out a chuckle. "You little troublemaker," he said, wrapping an arm around your waist. "You had me worried there for a moment."

"I'm sorry," you said, standing on your tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. "I didn't mean to mess with your feelings. To make it up to you, how about I spoil you with whatever you want from the ice cream shop?"

Charles grinned, his eyes lighting up. "I think I can forgive you for that. As long as I get to pick the flavors."

"Deal," you said, smiling up at him. "And I'll throw in a foot massage later, too."

"Now you're talking," Charles said, giving you a playful squeeze. "Just don't make a habit of these fake arguments, alright?"

"I promise," you said, kissing him again. "No more fake arguments. Just lots of love and ice cream."

Charles laughed, pulling you close. "That's all I need."

Lewis

The sun was shining brightly as you and Lewis drove to your favorite ice cream shop. The plan was to enjoy a treat and then stroll through the nearby park. Lewis had been looking forward to this all week, a rare weekend off from the rigorous F1 schedule.

As you approached the shop, an idea formed in your mind. You decided to playfully test Lewis with a fake argument, curious to see his reaction.

Lewis parked the car smoothly, and you both unbuckled your seat belts. Just as he reached for the door handle, you pounced.

"Why do you always do that?" you asked, your tone sharp and accusing.

Lewis turned to you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Do what, babe?"

"Every time we go somewhere, you always find a way to make it about you," you said, crossing your arms and glaring at him.

Lewis looked genuinely puzzled. "What are you talking about, Y/N? We're getting ice cream. How is this about me?"

You sighed dramatically. "You always pick the spot to park without asking me if it's okay. It's like you don't even care about my opinion."

Lewis blinked, trying to process your sudden outburst. "I… I'm sorry, I didn't realize that bothered you. I just thought it was a good spot."

"Never mind," you said, shaking your head and opening your door. "I'm going inside."

You got out of the car and slammed the door behind you, glancing back to see Lewis sitting in stunned silence. You felt a pang of guilt but continued walking toward the ice cream shop.

Lewis quickly recovered and followed you inside, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. He caught up to you as you reached the counter.

"Y/N, wait," he said softly, touching your arm. "I'm really sorry if I upset you. I didn't mean to."

You turned to him, your annoyance melting away at the sight of his sincere eyes. "It's just… sometimes I feel like you don't consider my opinions."

Lewis nodded, his face serious. "I understand. I promise I'll be more mindful in the future. I never want you to feel like I don't care."

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection for him. "Okay, I forgive you. Now, let's get some ice cream."

Lewis grinned, pulling you into a quick hug. "Thank you. And I'll let you pick the spot next time."

As you ordered your ice cream and found a cozy spot to sit, you couldn't help but feel a bit guilty for starting the argument. But Lewis' genuine concern and quick apology made you appreciate him even more.

After a few bites of your ice cream, you decided it was time to come clean. "Lewis," you began, looking up at him with a sheepish smile.

"Yes, love?" he replied, his eyes filled with curiosity.

"I have a confession to make," you said, feeling a bit nervous. "That argument just now… it was a joke. I was bored and I just wanted to see how you'd react."

Lewis stared at you for a moment, then burst into laughter. "You really had me there, Y/N! I was so worried I did something wrong."

"I'm sorry," you said, reaching out to hold his hand. "I didn't mean to mess with your feelings. To make it up to you, how about I get you that perfume you wanted from Dior?”

Lewis' eyes sparkled with amusement and affection. "You don't have to spoil me, love. But I'll take you up on that offer. And maybe a massage later?"

"Absolutely," you said, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Anything for you."

Max

The drive to the mall was filled with excitement. Max had promised to help you pick out a new pair of sneakers, and you were looking forward to spending the day together. As you approached the mall, you decided to prank Max. Max parked the car, and you both unbuckled your seat belts. As he reached for his phone to check the time, you decided to that’s was your “issue”.

"Why do you always do that?" you asked, your tone sharp and accusing.

Max looked up at you, clearly puzzled. "Do what?"

"You always check your phone right when we arrive somewhere," you said, crossing your arms. "It's like you're more interested in your phone than spending time with me."

Max blinked, taken aback. "I was just checking the time, Y/N. I didn't mean anything by it."

"It feels like you're always distracted," you continued, pretending to be upset. "Like I have to compete for your attention."

Max's expression softened with concern. "I'm sorry if it feels that way. I promise I'm here with you, 100%. I just wanted to make sure we weren't late."

"Never mind," you said, opening your door. "I'm going inside."

You slammed the car door behind you and walked toward the mall entrance, leaving Max sitting there, clearly confused and worried. You glanced back to see him frowning, running a hand through his hair.

Max quickly got out of the car and caught up with you. "Y/N, wait. Did I really do something wrong?"

You turned to him, trying to keep a straight face. "It's just frustrating when it feels like I'm not your priority."

Max sighed deeply, his eyes full of regret. "I'm so sorry. I'll make sure to put my phone away and focus on us. I never want you to feel like you're second to anything."

You felt a wave of guilt but maintained your act. "Okay, fine. Just don't let it happen again."

Max nodded earnestly. "I promise. Let's go find those sneakers."

As you both wandered through the mall, Max was extra attentive, making sure to engage in conversation and keep his phone tucked away. You started to feel bad for starting the fake argument but were also touched by his efforts.

As soon as you neared the sneaker store, you decided it was time to come clean. "Max," you said, looking at him with a small smile.

"Yeah?" he replied, his eyes full of concern.

"I need to tell you something," you said, feeling a bit nervous. "I was just messing with you earlier, I was never mad at you for checking your phone. I just wanted to prank you and see how you'd react."

Max stared at you for a moment before chuckling softly. "I was so worried I did something to upset you. You really had me there, baby."

"I'm sorry," you said, reaching out to hold his hand. "I didn't mean to mess with your feelings. To make it up to you, how about I buy you anything you want from the next store?"

Max's eyes lit up with amusement. "You don't have to, but I won't say no to that offer."

"And I'll bake you your favorite cookies later," you added, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Anything to make it up to you."

Max grinned, pulling you into a hug. "Sounds like a perfect evening to me baby."

Lando

The drive to the electronics store was filled with excitement. Lando had been talking about getting a pc setup and you were looking forward to helping him pick one out. As you pulled into the parking lot, you decided to play a little prank on Lando.

Lando parked the car, and you both unbuckled your seat belts. Just as he was about to step out, you struck.

"Why do you always do that?" you asked, your tone sharp and accusing.

Lando turned to you, genuinely confused. "Do what?"

"You always take forever to decide on things," you said, crossing your arms. "It's like you can't make up your mind about anything."

Lando blinked, clearly taken aback. "I just like to weigh my options. What's wrong with that?"

"It feels like you're wasting time," you said, pretending to be annoyed. "Like you don't care about getting things done quickly."

Lando's expression shifted from confusion to concern. "I'm sorry if it bothers you. I just want to make sure we make the right choice."

"Never mind," you said, opening your door. "I'm going inside."

You slammed the car door behind you and walked toward the store, leaving Lando sitting there, clearly puzzled and a bit hurt. You glanced back to see him frowning, trying to figure out what just happened.

Lando quickly got out of the car and caught up with you. "Y/N, wait, what are you so mad? I don’t understand. Did I really do something wrong?"

You turned to him, trying to keep a straight face. "It's just frustrating when it feels like you can't make a decision."

Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't realize it was an issue. I'll try to be quicker next time, I promise."

You felt a pang of guilt but maintained your act. "Okay, fine. Just don't let it happen again."

Lando nodded earnestly. "I promise. Let's go."

As you both wandered through the store, you decided it was time to come clean. "Lando," you said, looking at him with a small smile.

"Yeah?" he replied, his eyes full of concern.

"I need to tell you something," you said, feeling a bit nervous. "I’m not mad that you take time to weigh out your options. It’s one of the things I love about you! I was just bored and decided to play a prank on you."

Lando stared at you for a moment before bursting out laughing. "Y/N….you had me so worried. I was like “What the fuck?! Why is she mad?!’ I was so worried I did something to upset you, I was about to take you to Marc Jacobs to get you that purse and perfume you wanted."

"I'm sorry," you said, reaching out to hold his hand. "I didn't mean to mess with your feelings. To make it up to you, how about I buy you with anything you want from a store of your choosing?"

Lando's eyes lit up with amusement. "You don't have to, but I won't say no to that offer."

"And I'll give you a special massage later," you added, leaning in to kiss him softly on his neck.

Lando grinned, pulling you into a hug. "How about we go home now for that massage hmm."

"Nope, we have to get our things first! And then we can go home." you said, smiling at him and winking.

Carlos

The drive to the new restaurant you both had been eager to try was filled with excitement. Carlos had been talking about the place for weeks, and you were looking forward to a nice dinner together. As you pulled into the parking lot, you decided to test Carlos's patience with a fake argument.

Carlos parked the car, and you both unbuckled your seat belts. Just as he reached for his wallet, you struck.

"Why do you always do that?" you asked, your tone sharp and accusing.

Carlos turned to you, genuinely puzzled. "Do what?"

"You always insist on paying for everything," you said, crossing your arms. "It's like you don't think I can take care of myself."

Carlos blinked, clearly taken aback. "I just want to treat you. What's wrong with that?"

"It feels like you're undermining my independence," you continued, pretending to be upset. "Like you don't think I can contribute."

Carlos's expression shifted from confusion to mild annoyance. "Y/N, this is ridiculous. I'm just trying to help."

You opened your mouth to continue, but Carlos cut you off. He leaned over, his hand gripping your neck gently but firmly, pulling you close. His eyes bore into yours with a mix of authority and affection.

"I don't want to hear that nonsense," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I pay for everything and will always pay for everything. You're my girl, and I love to spoil you and buy you whatever you want. Complain all you want, but nothing is changing. Anything that has a price on it, I buy it. Not you. End of discussion."

Before you could respond, Carlos pressed his lips against yours in a rough, passionate kiss that left you breathless. When he pulled back, he released your neck and stepped out of the car, leaving you stunned. A moment later, he came around to your side, opened the door, and helped you out, his hand gently guiding you.

You were still silent as you walked towards the restaurant, your mind racing from the intensity of the moment. Finally, you found your voice. "That was hot... really, really hot…and sexy. I think…I wet myself a little bit."

Carlos laughed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He leaned down and kissed your forehead. "Good to know," he whispered in your ear, his hand giving your ass a playful slap. "Just wait until later, baby. I'll show you more of what you like."

Oscar

The drive to the new amusement park was filled with excitement. Oscar had been talking about going on the latest roller coasters for weeks, and you were looking forward to a fun-filled day together. As you pulled into the parking lot, you decided to play a little prank on Oscar to see how he would react.

Oscar parked the car, and you both unbuckled your seat belts. Just as he reached for his backpack, you struck.

“Why do you always do that?” you asked, your tone sharp and accusing.

Oscar looked up at you, genuinely confused. “Do what?”

“You always decide which rides we go on first,” you said, crossing your arms. “It’s like you don’t think I can pick something fun.”

Oscar blinked, clearly taken aback. “I just thought you liked the same rides as me. What’s wrong with that?”

“It feels like you don’t trust my choices,” you continued, pretending to be upset. “Like my voice doesn't matter.”

Oscar’s expression shifted from confusion to concern. “I didn’t realize you felt that way. I’m sorry if it seemed like I was ignoring your feelings baby.”

“Well, it does,” you said, opening your door. “Maybe you should think about that.”

Oscar quickly got out of the car and came around to your side, gently grabbing your arm to stop you. “Y/N, wait. I really didn’t mean to upset you. Can we talk about this?”

You turned to him, trying to keep a straight face but starting to feel bad about the prank. “Oscar, it’s just frustrating when it feels like you don’t consider my choices.”

Oscar sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I had no idea you felt this way. From now on, we’ll make all the decisions together. I promise.”

You couldn’t keep up the act any longer and burst into laughter. “Oscar, I’m so sorry baby. It was just a prank. I wanted to see how you’d react.”

Oscar stared at you for a moment before chuckling softly. “You really had me there, Y/N. I was so scared that I really messed up.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, reaching out to hold his hand. “I didn’t mean to mess with your feelings. I just wanted to see what you’d do.”

Oscar grinned, pulling you into a hug. “Well, you got me good. But next time, maybe pick a less heart-stopping prank, okay?”

You laughed, feeling relieved that he wasn’t mad. “Deal. Now, let’s go enjoy the carnival?”

Oscar nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Absolutely. And you can choose the first ride.”

“We are definitely doing the Kingda Ka roller coaster first.” you said with a smile on your face.

As you walked towards the entrance of the amusement park, you knew the day was going to be filled with laughter, thrills, and unforgettable moments.

Sebastian

The drive to the new bookstore was filled with excitement. Sebastian had been talking about a new release he was eager to get his hands on, and you were looking forward to spending some quiet time browsing the shelves together. As you pulled into the parking lot, you decided to test his patience with a fake argument.

Seb parked the car, and you both unbuckled your seat belts. Just as he reached for his reusable shopping bag, you struck.

“Why do you always do that?” you asked, your tone sharp and accusing.

Seb looked up at you, genuinely puzzled. “Do what?”

“You always insist on carrying everything,” you said, crossing your arms. “It’s like you don’t think I’m strong enough to help.”

Seb blinked, clearly taken aback. “I just want to make it easier for you. What’s wrong with that?”

“It feels like you don’t think I can handle it,” you continued, pretending to be upset. “Like you don’t trust me to carry my weight.”

Seb’s expression shifted from confusion to mild annoyance. “Y/N, this is ridiculous. I’m just trying to help.”

You opened your mouth to continue, but Seb interrupted you. “Enough, baby. Arguing about this is pointless. I’m going to carry the bags because I want to. And I like taking care of you. Deal with it.”

Before you could respond, Sebastian grabbed your hair gently but firmly and pulled you into a rough kiss. His lips pressed against yours with an intensity that made your heart race. When he finally pulled back, he looked into your eyes with a mixture of authority and affection.

“Understand?” he asked softly.

You nodded, still a bit breathless. “Yes, sir.”

Sebastian smiled and released his hold on your hair, his eyes softening. “Good. Now, let’s go find that book.”

Jenson

The drive to the local farmer’s market was filled with anticipation. Jenson had been excited to pick out fresh ingredients for dinner, and you were looking forward to spending a relaxing afternoon together. As you pulled into the parking lot, you decided to test his patience with a fake argument.

Jenson parked the car, and you both unbuckled your seat belts. Just as he reached for his shopping list, you struck.

“Why do you always do that?” you asked, your tone sharp and accusing.

Jenson looked up at you, genuinely puzzled. “Do what?”

“You always decide what we’re having for dinner and pick out all the ingredients,” you said, crossing your arms. “It’s like you don’t think I can handle it or make a decision.”

Jenson blinked, clearly taken aback. “I just want to make sure we have a great meal. What’s wrong with that?”

“It feels like you don’t trust my cooking skills,” you continued, pretending to be upset. “Like my preferences don’t matter.”

Jenson’s expression shifted from confusion to mild annoyance. “Y/N, this is ridiculous. I’m just trying to make sure tonight’s meal is special.”

You opened your mouth to continue, but Jenson interrupted you. He leaned over, his hand gripping your neck gently but firmly, pulling you close. His eyes bore into yours with a mix of authority and affection.

“I don’t want to hear that nonsense,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I pick the ingredients and plan the meals because I enjoy doing it for us. Plus, this argument is stupid because you cooked dinner for us two days ago.”

Before you could respond, Jenson pressed his lips against yours in a rough, passionate kiss that left you breathless. When he pulled back, he released your neck and stepped out of the car, leaving you stunned. A moment later, he came around to your side, opened the door, and helped you out, his hand gently guiding you.

As you walked toward the market, you found your voice. “I didn’t expect that reaction. It lowkey turned me on.”

Jenson turned to you with a smirk on his face, “Lowkey?”

“Okay, yes that definitely turned me on.” you said, turning away shyly.

Jenson chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, I guess I really know how to handle you then.”

You smiled, feeling butterflies in your stomach. “It was just a prank, but if that’s how you’re going to react, I definitely have to pull some more.”

Jenson laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, you don’t need to, baby. You get me like this just by being yourself.”

You grinned, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Are you sure we need to cook dinner? I’m sure we can just go home now and do something very, very important first. We can order some takeout after.”

Jenson smirked, his eyes darkening with desire. “As much as I would love that, we are cooking this meal. But after we’re done, we will definitely do that something.”

He winked at you, making your heart race with anticipation.

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[therealcocoshady]

RED CARPET APPEARANCE 🎥

Eminem x Young Actress Reader

This is Part 2 of Daddy's Spaghetti 🥰

Synopsis : You argue with Em about a red carpet appearance at the Oscars.

The last thing you wanted was to argue with your boyfriend right before going to the Oscars, but there you were. Lately, the two of you had been arguing quite a bit. To be fair, both of you were working a lot and being in a long distance relationship didn’t help. Not only did you have to manage hectic schedules, you also had to deal with time difference and last minute changes in plans. You had been dating Marshall for a few months now and you weren’t too sure how long things would last. Sure, when you were together, things were great, but actually getting together seemed impossible, these days. Right when you thought you could both make time, there was always something coming up, like an unplanned studio session, a meeting, or God knows what else. It didn’t help either that Marshall was paranoid about the two of you being seen together. 

After more than a decade in the spotlight and living in Los Angeles, you were used to paparazzi and having your picture taken whenever you were running errands. Of course, sometimes, it was annoying, but you had learned to live with it. Marshall, on the other hand, in spite of having a career lasting over twenty-five years was as paranoid as one could get. It was one of the many reasons why he hated being in Los Angeles and always tried to get you to come to Detroit instead, along with the weather being too hot. In truth, you didn’t mind going to Michigan or spending a lot of time inside, just the two of you. This time, however, you wished he would be the one making an effort. You were nominated for an Oscar for the first time and it was a big night for you. You knew he wasn’t a big fan of public appearances but you wished he would agree to coming with you. After all, he was a nominee himself - for the same movie as you, mind you - and everyone pretty much knew about your relationship, even though none of you had officially confirmed it. To you, there was no reason not to walk the red carpet together. However, when you asked him if he would be your date to the Academy Awards, he wasn’t too enthusiast. In fact, all you got from him was a « erm, I don’t know. We’ll see. Let me think about it. ». And after giving it some thought, he decided not to go with you, breaking it to you over FaceTime, three days before the event. He brought up a bunch of reasons, like having a studio session with Dre that might run late and prevent him from making it in time, hating the red carpet anyway and not wanting to be paraded in a suit that made him look like a penguin. He did not seem to care that you having to take someone else as your date would mean you wouldn’t be sitting next to each other or that you would have wanted him to be by your side. You were mad. You had always known he didn’t really care about awards and public appearances, but you wished he would make an effort for you. Him being set in his ways made you feel like he wouldn’t put you first, just for once. 

Do you even want to be with me ? You blurted out after he told you to find another date. 

What the fuck ? He asked with disbelief all over his face. What does that have to do with that damn red carpet, Y/N ? 

You cancelled the last time you were supposed to come to LA, you’re never available and now you won’t even make an effort for me, you explained. If you don’t want to be with me anymore, just say so… 

You’re so dramatic, they better give you that Oscar, he groaned. Not everything is about you, you know ? I’m working my ass off to get the album done in time, I don’t need you complaining over a stupid red carpet appearance. 

Oh I’m being dramatic ? You asked as you stared at his face on the screen. I’ll give you drama : you can book a hotel room and forget about all the nasty things you were planning on doing to me in bed for next time we were supposed to see each other. 

Whatever, he said as he rolled his eyes. Just go and rehearse your acceptance speech. I have to go anyway. I have Dre calling on the other line. I’ll call you later. 

He did try to call you a couple of hours later, but you didn’t feel like picking up. You were still pissed off and, frankly, a little stressed out too. After all, he hadn’t answered your question about wanting to be with you. You knew you’d have to talk to him at some point - and get to the bottom of the situation, but you also didn’t want to break up over the phone merely three days before one of the most important events of your life. Whatever it was, it could wait until after the Oscars. 

You ended up walking the red carpet with your older brother as your date. The two of you were extremely close and he had always been your plus one to events. It sort of made sense to go to the Oscars with him, even though you would have loved to have Marshall by your side. Your big brother was all smiles as he watched you pose for the photographers in a stunning custom Alaïa dress. However, your attire or possible Best Actress win wasn’t exactly the main focus of the journalists, who were yelling questions about your boyfriend who was nowhere to be found. 

Where is Eminem, Y/N ? One asked. Is he coming tonight ? 

Are the two of you together ? Another yelled. 

You didn’t answer the questions about him, only the ones about your nomination, how you’d feel about winning, the movie and your outfit. You tried to focus on the positives and everything this night meant for your career, but you had a hard time focusing. All you wanted was Marshall’s hand in yours and him to be by your side. Hell, you had even picked the dress color because you thought he would like it. You knew that blue was his favorite color and had figured that, if the two of you were to walk the red carpet together, it would make his eyes pop. 

Breathe, your brother said. You look tense. Is this about Em ? 

Just call him by his name, you said as you rolled his eyes. You’ve met him. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be your date and enjoy the open bar, he continued, but you look… upset ? 

I think he wants to break up with me, you said nervously. 

No he doesn’t, your brother scoffed. Where did you get that from ? 

Well, he’s never available, he didn’t want to be here with me tonight, and he called me dramatic, and… 

First of all, you are dramatic, your brother chuckled. Also, you know he’s working a lot… 

I should have known better than to ask his biggest fan for support, you said as you rolled your eyes. 

Just shut up and focus on your big night, sis, he said with a smile. My baby sister might be getting the biggest award there is for being dramatic, tonight. Now, I think we should focus on that, as well as the fact that stylists managed to make you look presentable. 

Your brother’s weird encouragement was a good way to make you smile, and the glasses of champagne waiters kept on handing you did a great job when it came to taking the edge off. You were taken to your seats and the ceremony began. You kept nervously searching for Marshall in the crowd but you didn’t manage to spot him. Was he skipping the whole thing ? Your mind wandered as the ceremony unfolded and you were soon on autopilot. It was your first time attending the Academy Awards and this had to be the longest ceremony ever. The only entertaining things were the various performances. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard the music of Marshall’s song - the one he had written for the movie. He was not supposed to perform tonight - this had not been announced - but he was on stage, rapping the song that got him his second Oscars nomination exactly twenty years after winning Best Original Song for Lose Yourself. The crowd was wild and you were excited as well. Seeing him on stage made you forget how mad at him you were and you were back to being his number one fan, gushing over how good he looked and rapping the lyrics at the same time, like the groupie you very much were. His performance got him a standing ovation and, twenty minutes and a commercial break later, he was back on stage, accepting the award for Best Original Song. Only this time, he was conforming to the Academy’s dress code, looking dapper in a tux. He might hate this type of outfit, but no one could deny he looked absolutely incredible. One detail did catch your eye : the bow tie he was wearing was made of the same fabric as your dress. He was matching with you ! 

When you wouldn’t return his calls, he called me to ask who you were going to wear, your brother told you. 

He did ? You squeed. 

Yep. Not the kind of thing anyone who wants to break up with you would do, I think. I’m not supposed to tell you, but he’s got another one to match your second dress, too… 

You couldn’t help but smile. The fact that he would go out of his way to call your brother, as well as the dressmakers to have a bowtie matching your dress was absolutely adorable. You couldn’t keep your eyes off Marshall, who was giving a heartfelt speech about how great it felt to have the Academy acknowledge hip-hop and how grateful he was to have the opportunity to be on this stage, two decades after Lose Yourself won. His speech was just like him : elegant and understated. When he went back to his seat, you could see him search for you in the crowd and you waved quietly, sending him a kiss. You couldn’t wait to go and hug him. 

Can’t you behave ? Your brother chuckled. There’s cameras, Y/N. And try not to eye fuck him or drool, this time, will you ? 

I’ll try, you giggled. 

You were almost in agony the rest of the night and the two of you kept looking  and smiling at each other. As always when the two of you were in the same room, you were unable to take your eyes off him for a single second. You didn’t pay much attention to anything else that was going on, so much so that you almost missed your name being called for Best Actress. Everyone around you got up and cheered for you and you were lost. You had actually won an Oscar ?! You ? It didn’t feel right. Bit it was indeed, your name on the screen, and people kept on looking at you. Your brother had to help you get up as you came to your senses and realized that your childhood dream had come true. You made your way to the stage as tears of joy were welling in your eyes. You were almost shaking with nerves as you started your acceptance speech. You had one written and memorized but you couldn’t remember it for the life of you. You spotted Marshall in the crowd, who was smiling and looking at you with pride in his eyes, mouthing a silent « I love you ». 

I… Wow, you said nervously into the microphone. I can’t believe this is happening. I had something really heartfelt, clever and funny written but I can’t remember a single word so please bear with me. Hum… Standing here, on this stage, holding this award is a childhood dream come true. First, I want to thank my family who has always supported my passion, and I’d like to thank everyone in Hollywood that gave me a chance to act. And everyone who didn’t. In fact, I want to acknowledge every person who doubted me. And every boyfriend of mine who called me dramatic. There have been a few, and you best believe I’m creating a group chat tonight and telling them that I actually got an award for being dramatic and made it my full-time job. Um… What else ? Oh, uh, thank you to my manager, assistant, glam squad… Shout out to Alaïa for getting me into this dress tonight, and shout out to Marshall Mathers who will be taking it off me tonight. Dreams do come true, guys ! 

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter and you could see Marshall laughing before you exited the stage. When you made it backstage, you took a moment to sit and realize what just happened. You had won an Oscar. Oh, and you had accidentally mentioned Marshall taking off your clothes. On stage. While million of people probably watched the ceremony on TV… Oops. A few people came to congratulate you, though you were quickly ushered back to your seat for the remainder of the ceremony. The movie you were in did not end up winning Best Picture, but you easily got over your disappointment. When the ceremony ended, you were swarmed by an army of people who came to congratulate you. You even got to hug Meryl Streep and tell her how she was the one who made you want to act in the first place, and this was definitely the highlight of your night. Your brother had gotten out of your sight and was enjoying the open bar, as he always did whenever he came with you to an event. When the crowd began to vacate, you had a moment to yourself. That’s when you spotted your boyfriend. 

Congratulations, he said as he pulled you into his arms. 

Congratulations to you too, you said giddily. You were amazing on stage ! 

As were you, he replied with a smile. Great speech, by the way… 

Oh my God, I am so sorry, you said. I forgot my speech, and I-I… Are you mad ? 

It’s fine, he chuckled. You’re way too adorable for me to be mad. 

Really ? You asked nervously. I know how you are about privacy… 

Really, he said reassuringly. And with you looking like this… ? I am glad everyone knows you’re spoken for. 

I think they got the idea when they saw you matching with me, you said with excitement. 

You like it ? He asked with a smile. I had to ask your brother and harass the dressmakers. They hate me. 

He told me, you said giddily. And I know you have another one to match my dress for the afterparty, too… 

If you still want me as your date, that is, he pointed out. 

I do, you giggled. But I’m going to need your help to get out of this dress and into the other… 

Let’s go, then. 

He grabbed your hand and you walked out of the theater, holding your awards, while an army of journalists were screaming to get your attention. You half-expected Marshall to let go of your hand, knowing how guarded he was when it came to the press, but he only squeezed it tighter before grabbing you by the waist as you made your way to a car. 

Em, how are you feeling tonight ? A journalist asked. 

Have you seen my date ? I’m great, man, he grinned as he looked at you lovingly. 

VIDEO : WATCH AS EMINEM GUSHES OVER Y/N AFTER THE OSCARS

Eminem & Y/N have officially confirmed their relationship ! The couple did not walk the red carpet together but they certainly made a memorable exit, as Eminem gushed over his date to journalists while not letting go of her. This happened after Y/N hinted at Em taking her Alaïa dress off her in her acceptance speech. While the Rap God did not mention his girlfriend in his own speech, he certainly appeared in love. While known for his stoic face, he was seen smiling all evening, especially when they made their way to the Vanity Fair afterparty (almost an hour late, mind you…)  in matching outfits. And if he does not seem like one to kiss and tell, no one missed Y/N’s lipstick all over his mouth, nor the hickies in his neck. 

That night was a big one for the rapper and the movie star, as they both took home statues, respectively for Best Original Song and Best Actress. And from the looks of it, they certainly celebrated. 

[keeksandgigz]

okay okay, but imagine an older!modern!eddie getting ticked off every time you have your phone on 'do not disturb.'

this was supposed to be a blurb but pls queens turn off your dnd this is loosely based on a true story

eddie munson x fem! reader

word count: 3k

cw: porn with a little plot, spanking with a spoon, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv (pls don't do that), use of nicknames (sweetness, sugar, baby etc), established d/s dynamic (even if there isn't much of it here), no physical description of reader, minors dni, smut below the cut!

Like, it starts off kinda funny like "Honey, c'mon I need you to return my calls if I know you're free. I needa know my girl is safe" he says, voice real sweet. You just apologize and turn it off.

Until it becomes a recurrent thing. He'll call you to ask if you still need to get picked up after class while you're out running errands. You don't see his call until after class and you hurriedly call him to come pick you up.

Or he's at the grocery store to pick up dinner for later and he's texting you to ask what he needs to get for you and you just don't answer him. You don't see his texts.

He tries to call. Voicemail.

He later gets home with whatever he was craving and just starts cooking.

"But I thought we said we were gonna do pasta, Ed? Why're you making chicken?" you ask, literally without a clue as to why dinner plans have changed.

"Well, sweetness, if you don't answer my texts or return my calls how the hell am I supposed to know what kinda pasta you wanted, huh?" he just shrugs, voice a bit hardened. You can tell it's starting to tick him off.

"Oh, shit. Sorry Ed, I don't even know where my phone is, really" you scratch your head, looking around but not really in search for your phone.

"Well, if you didn't have your DnD on you'd know where your phone is once I call or text you. It's starting to get a little frustrating, baby, can you please be a little more mindful and turn off your 'do not disturb' when you don't need it please?" you just nod sheepishly, like you've been scolded for not saying 'thank you' to a gift you didn't like.

And it does end up happening numerous times. Luckily, nothing too insane.

Sometimes he'd ask you if you wanted to call and you just sit there waiting for him to call. After ten minutes, you assume he's gone to sleep (he's a bit old after all), so you turn off your phone and tuck in for the night.

"Why didn't you pick up last night baby? I called you like six times" he asks the morning after.

"Wait, you called? I was waiting for you to call and then you didn't so I just went to bed" you explain, then clocking the issue there. Shit.

"You had your DnD on, didn't you, sweetness?" and he gets close to you. Close enough for you to hold your breath, too entranced by his big presence, filling up every bit of your vision. You feel suffocated by him.

You look down, too much to be looking at him right now, with the aura of calm and cool control that he exudes. It'd be easier for him to swallow you whole than for you to be making eye contact with him right now.

He just takes care of that promptly for you. He gingerly places two fingers under your chin, making you look at him in the eyes.

"You look at me when I talk to you. You know better, don't you baby?" and he puts on this fake pout that makes you blush all over. You imagine the butterflies at the bottom of your stomach tinging a pretty shade of pink with every domineering word that comes out of that man's mouth.

You just nod, he makes a clicking sound with his tongue and teeth, releasing you from the delicious torture of him invading your senses as he takes a step back, letting your chin go before he just goes back to what he was doing.

"Oughta punish you one of these days if you don't turn that damn DnD off" he mutters and then he's back on his computer.

The gruff words make your shaky legs stutter as you decide you cannot be standing anymore and you plop yourself on the couch.

His last straw, however, is when you're out at a club with your friends. You've had one too many drinks and you text Eddie to come pick you up. He has no idea where you are.

Yeah, baby I can pick you up. Where at? 12:34 am

Can't pick you up if you don't tell me where you are, sweetness. 12:42 am

You there? 12:50 am

Turn off your DnD PLEASE 1:00 am

I'm omw 1:03 am

And he pulls up in front of the bar you were helplessly staring out the door of. You're not drunk, just not having fun.

You run into the car, shivering from the biting November breeze.

"Had to call one of your friends to tell me where the fuck you were. Are you drunk?" he asks. Voice stern, laden with what you could only define as barbed wire. Cutting, angry, almost.

"'m not drunk." you mutter "I had, like, a shot, then I decided I wasn't having fun anymore. Didn't wanna go out in the first place" finding the creases and ridges of your hands very interesting all of a sudden.

"Trust me when I tell you you won't be having fun at home either. Fucking sick of that 'do not disturb' thing on. You had me scared to death." he seethes, knuckles tightening around the steering wheel. You notice he's wearing his pyjamas.

Fuck. You made him get out of bed. You shrink in your seat.

"Y'don't wanna be disturbed? I'll fuckin' teach you about being disturbed" and that's the last thing he says before he just speeds home.

There's thick tension between the two of you when he opens the door to his apartment. You sit on his counter, looking at the floor and getting ready for another scolding.

He's leaning on the wall opposite to you, arms crossed.

He breaks the silence "Floor's lookin' clean? You gonna look at me now?" you shiver, then look up to meet his darkened eyes.

He scoffs and takes a few paces towards you, until he's placed between your parted legs.

"What do I gotta do with you, huh? Do I gotta start checkin' your phone to make sure that damn thing is turned off? As far as I'm concerned after your classes you shouldn't have it on at all" he remarks, his hands caressing over the nylon of your tights, toying with the fabric of your dress.

You interject "I just forget, Ed. I'm so busy these days I forget to turn it off" you jut out your bottom lip, trying to coax a bit of sweet sympathy out of him. Something that'll make the punishment a bit lighter.

But he remains unmoved, his lips in a straight line as he moves his hands up, up, up to firmly hold your waist. "So forgetful, aren't you, baby? Maybe you need a reminder, carve some space in that big, busy brain of yours to remember to turn your DnD off, hm?" he chides, playing with the insides of your arm, skin sensitive and waiting as his thick finger moves up and down and you can't help but nod.

Your breath begins to pick up ever so slightly. But he notices, of course he notices. The way your mouth parts and your pupils dilate. The way your chest begins to get closer to him, rising and falling in anticipation.

"So pretty" he teases, his hand moving up to cup your cheek. You lean into the warmth of his palm, letting out a sweet humming sound that makes Eddie's stomach flip despite his hardened facade "Y'wanna play?"

His voice goes to a deep, dark timbre, the question making you shiver. You speak for the first time in what seems like forever.

"Yes, sir" voice thin and quiet as you keep looking at him, not wanting to worsen your precarious position as he undoes the zipper of the short dress you're wearing, helping him out by taking your arms out of the thin sleeves.

"Good girl," he remarks, tapping the sides of your thighs to make you lift your hips, removing the dress off of you completely.

He licks his lips when he finds you're wearing tights. He loves spanking you with the nylon barrier between his hand and the soft skin of your ass. A weird quirk of his.

You feel the hardened pressure of his bulge against the inside of your thigh as his body turns to litter a trail of kisses over your jawline and you keen into his touch, arch towards his chest demanding more, more, more. Even if you're in no position to demand anything.

A whine escapes you as you keep arching your hips towards him. Eddie's quick to stop you with a strong hand pinning you down against the marble of the counter. He tuts.

"Don't be greedy. Hop off and bend over" he commands, and who are you to say no to him as you comply with a meek "Yes, sir," resting your elbows on the cold counter.

His nose skims the length of your spine, taking in the way you smell. Sweet and musky, after a night of dancing among sweaty bodies. The thought intrudes Eddie's head. Did a body press itself against you? Is the scent of a random man now on the skin of your back, the fabric of your dress?

He shakes the thought away as he reaches the waistband of your black nylon tights.

"Pass me that wooden spoon, will you, sugar?" he says sweetly, snaking a hand in your hair. You shiver as you reach for the wooden utensil in the metal bucket next to the stove. You pass it to him, skin pricking up from the anticipation of not knowing what he might do with it.

"Thank you, baby" he kisses your shoulders, as the spoon comes into contact with your ass. Caressing up and down.

"Now, I hate to do this, you know me, but I gotta teach you a lesson, sweetness. Tell me you want this" he says, the utensil snaking its way between your legs, rubbing back and forth. A wicked smile appearing on Eddie's lips when you begin to helplessly whimper, your head lolling on its side against the marble counter.

"I- I want this" you say, loud enough to make him hear you.

And that's all he needs. A green light.

The wooden spoon lands on the meat of your ass. You hiss. The feeling is new, he hadn't spanked you with anything aside of his hand before, but the feeling of the wooden handle cracking on your skin makes your head reel.

"You gonna put your phone on DnD again?" he asks, a question he knows the answer to as he cracks down the spoon again.

"Ah- ow- No, sir. Thank you, sir" you say, sweet and compliant, hoping that it will relieve you of your penance earlier than he'd planned to.

His hand sneaks itself on the seam of your tights, knowing you never wear panties with them, feeling the heat radiating off of your core, a dampness that had been sitting there since you'd climbed in the car.

He chuckles to himself, a dark laugh, a notice that he will not go easy on you tonight.

"You're likin' this?" you can almost hear the wicked smile in his words. "You little slut, you're getting wet from this? Me smacking you with a spoon?" he taunts and your legs quiver as he administers two more cracks to your ass.

You have cotton in your ears. Your skin feels everything and nothing at the same time as you begin slumping against the counter.

"So horny you can't even stand, huh, sweetness?" Eddie smacks you again and then reaches his arm around your waist to pull you up "Little slut didn't want me to disturb her, hat true?" he asks, another smack, this time he expects an answer.

"Fuck- ow- no Eddie that's not-ah" another smack "t-true" you sob, tears beginning to well on the waterline of your eyes.

Your ass feels on fire while Eddie puts the spoon down next to your head. Your legs shaky in your heels as he kneels between your legs.

Two of his fingers hooked on the seam of your tights as he rips a hole in them, exposing you to him. You gasp, more at the suddenness of the motion than at the action itself.

Your tights never had a long enough lifespan when you wore them around Eddie.

"You got so wet, sweetness." He whispers, entranced by the way the skin glistens in the dull kitchen light.

His hands hook around your waist to keep you still as his face narrows into your pussy, and he begins to lick.

Broad stripes of his tongue, slurping and lapping up whatever he missed. Eating like a man starved.

Your back arching to get more, more, greedy in the best way possible as you mewled and cried for him to keep going. As you mewled and cried nonsense, feeling your brain turn fuzzy and your eyes becoming accustomed to going to the back of your head every time his tongue lingered long enough on your clit.

When he begins to suck harshly on it you have no choice but to grab the back of his head and push it further, if there ever was a further, as he is wedged deep between your legs, eating you out like his life depended on it.

He doesn't like it, though, the way you grab and push at his head like you're the one calling the shots.

He unhooks his arms from your waist momentarily to reach for your wrists to pin them behind your back, that's when he stands from his place in between your legs.

"Y'think you're a big girl, huh? Callin' the shots?" he lands a smack on your ass, turning you around to finally face him. Hands still pinned behind you as he pushes you towards him.

"I didn't- I don't-" you try and justify yourself, but he just delivers a smack to your face. Light enough to give you a slight sting.

His chin glistens with your slick, and you can smell it on him.

"Look what you did" he says, taunting you. His free hand comes to squeeze your cheeks, making you look at him.

"Clean me up, since you wanna be so fuckin' messy" and he squeezes harder, your tongue jutting out to lick at the clear wetness on his face, slight stubble scratching your tongue and chin. You lick around his mouth, under his nose, until he pushes you away from him.

"Greedy, greedy" he chants, as he places you on top of the counter, cold marble a relief against your aching ass.

You could clearly see the outline of his cock against his sweats, you bite your lip as he inches closer to you. “Look how hard you made me, baby," he mutters, low and dark "it’s impossible to be in your presence when you look like you want to get fucked all the time." he continues "Goin' out in that tight little dress like you don't want everyone to see your pretty tits" he says, grabbing a handful through the bralette you're wearing.

He moves the cups to the side as he toys with your tits, a hand reaching into your mouth to wet his fingers. You gag and sputter around his digits.

"Theeere you go, sweetness. Y'like having your mouth full?" he asks, Hardened stare urging you to answer. You nod and let out a weak hum in approval as his fingers keep pushing in and out of your mouth.

He removes his fingers from your mouth as he begins circling the sensitive buds of your nipples. You let out a desperate moan.

"So sensitive, aren't you? You wanna cum like that while I fuck you?" he asks, and you can't find the words fast enough to nod your head yes.

"Ask me nicely. You know better" he says sternly as he uses one hand to lower the waistband of his sweats, letting his cock spring free.

"F-fuck, pleasepleaseplease, fuck me, sir" is all you can muster, before he guides his cock to your entrance, sinking in all the way to the hilt. A gasp escapes you. It never gets old.

"That's a good girl. Wasn't so hard, was it?" he teases, both his hands returning to deliver their ministrations on your tits, thumb unforgivingly grazing your nipples. The motion makes you scream as Eddie sets a quick pace.

"That's right, sweetness, keep singin' for me. Lemme hear that pretty voice" he says, his words making you clench around him.

His hands come off your tits to place your legs on your shoulders, making you curl in on yourself as he leaned his body to make your faces touch.

"Kiss me, baby" and you kiss him with such fervor and need. He hadn't kissed you the whole night. You don't know how much you need him to kiss you until you do and it's like fireworks are going off behind your hooded lids.

His tongue slips past your lips as he keeps thrusting, unforgivingly, hitting your g- spot every. single. time. You whine into his mouth, he chuckles at how needy you sound.

"My baby just needed a good fuck to remember to not put her DnD on, didn't you?" he taunts, an especially harsh thrust follows as you feel his breathing become more ragged and his pace begin to stutter.

"Feels good, huh? Shit, baby you're so tight" he begins and you can't help but moan.

"Feels good Eddie- huh- so... so deep" you hiccup, and you feel close. "Hmm so ah big" you groan as your eyes roll to the back of your head when a particularly well- angled thrust deliciously hits your spongy walls.

"You like that, sweetheart? God- fuck- so gorgeous, baby. Look at you" he rambles. He's getting close.

"Oh fuck, Ed, 'mclosesoclose" you cry out and you're seriously teetering on the edge of orgasm. A few more thrusts and you'd be gone.

"Me too, sweetness, c'mon cum for me" he thrusts a couple more times and the coil snaps. You're clenching and whining and screaming his name while he follows after you, finishing inside you.

He stays there even after he's done, laying his head on your sweaty chest while you both try to stabilize your breathing.

"Feel free to disturb me whenever you want" you say, and he chuckles, giving a soft kiss to your shoulder.

taglist: honey-flustered, fracturedarkness, them-cute-boys, ancientcrone-blog, eveybitch, everythingtodayisthoroughly, jennathinker, @vampysstuff, rubyirene, floriscus, mrsmarch64, fairymunson, capricornrisingsstuff, sole-screws, helloweenfiend, flaminggarbagepail, @squigglebottom, @cozmiccass

[retrievablememories]

cherry bomb | part 2 | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: after your town goes into lockdown because of the cherry bomb massacre, you find out that the murderer's interest is on you. eventually, you’re left with no choice but to face him.

genre: horror/slasher, angst, smut, college!au

word count: 13.7k

warnings: major character deaths, gaslighting, hallucinations, anxiety/paranoia, grief, trauma, violence (including knife and gun use), torture, blood, gore, descriptions of dead bodies, a funeral scene, fuckboy!JK, oral (fem receiving), fingering, finger-sucking, handjob, cumplay(?), hair-pulling

a/n: this part is quite rougher than the first, so heed the warnings. same notes as the last part—not meant to be entirely realistic since this *is* a slasher. block/filter as needed. i didn’t mention this in part 1 but this fic is not set in present day; more like somewhere in the 2000s? i don’t think this fic would work as well with all this advanced technology/the prevalence of social media now

...also, i had this story all written out and then decided to completely change the plot at the last minute because i figured out a way to write the original plot i had wanted to do from the beginning. 💀 yeah…just leave your thoughts below

taglist is at the very bottom of the fic—for some reason i wasn't able to tag everyone who requested, so please reblog this fic so folks can see it

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 1

you’re standing in front of some stranger’s house in the early hours of the morning, your body heavy from exhaustion as your adrenaline has run out. this is not at all how you expected your night to end when you left your dorm hours ago. it must’ve taken at least 40 minutes to get to this house, and you’re less familiar with this part of town, which you try not to feel uneasy about. you suppose the farther away from the scene of the carnage, the better.

jungkook bangs on the door, calling out the name yoongi-hyung until the porch light comes on. though it’s illogical, you’re tense with apprehension that the murderer could somehow appear at any moment, and you hope whoever yoongi is lets the both of you in soon. so much for no longer looking over your shoulder.

a man with hair just as long as jungkook’s answers the door, looking disheveled and annoyed. “why the fuck are you banging down my door at nearly 2 am—"

yoongi stops speaking as he eyes the both of you up and down, his gaze going from the bite mark bruises you left on jungkook’s neck to the dried blood on your face to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. his expression is between surprise and curiosity. “what the fuck is going on here?”

“can we talk inside?” jungkook says, though he doesn’t wait for an invitation before pushing his way past the other man and stepping inside.

“uh…hi. sorry.” you step inside too, glad to not be out in the open anymore.

yoongi takes another look outside the door at the state of jungkook’s car before closing and locking it. “mind explaining this shit? i thought you were going to that party you told me about?

“i did,” jungkook says, his voice full of frustration. “the fucking killer showed up at the party.”

“the fuck are you talking about?”

“you know what i’m talking about. that werewolf-masked freak? he came and just started stabbing people to death. we watched him shoot a fraternity member in front of us, dude. that’s why my car looks the way it does.”

“the campus is probably dangerous,” you add. “that’s why we came here. we just need somewhere safe to stay for the night.”

yoongi goes to the window and draws back the curtain. he peeks out the small holes in the side of the blinds rather than pushing the blinds down to look outside. “and you’re certain he didn’t follow you here? i thought he only killed virgins anyway. why the hell was he shooting at you?” then yoongi turns away from the window and looks at you. “oh. is this why?”

feeling put on the spot, you blurt out: “look, i don’t think that matters much anymore. he seemed to be killing anybody who was in his way.”

“and he was on foot the whole time, so there’s no way he could’ve followed us,” jungkook adds.

yoongi shakes his head and walks away from the window. “whole town is fucked, then. come on.”

you’re relieved to be able to scrub the blood off your face and change into fresh clothes. you initially thought it was peculiar that yoongi had spare clothes ready for you to wear until he alluded to keeping them on hand for any of jungkook’s hookups that he brings over.

“sure—of course.” you’d just nodded and tried not to look embarrassed as you accepted the clothes.

even after showering you don’t feel entirely clean, though. you think it might be impossible to return to feeling anything like your former self after tonight.

the couch has a pull-out bed, so it’s not as uncomfortable as it would be just sleeping on a regular sofa, which you are grateful for. you’re still arranging the pillow and blankets when jungkook walks into the room holding his own bedding.

“i think i should sleep here,” he says.

“there’s no room on the couch for the both of us,” you protest, thinking he means to take your spot.

“i mean on the floor. earlier, you didn’t seem like you wanted to be left alone in here.”

“oh.” you try to take the edge out of your voice; it’s hard to be polite when you’re still so overwhelmed with stress. “that’ll be uncomfortable though.”

jungkook just waves his hand and dumps his pillow and blanket on the floor before going to push the coffee table out of the way. “doesn’t really matter, i think we’ve been through worse tonight than sleeping on a hard floor…”

“thanks,” you say quietly, watching him spread his blanket out on the ground. you want to say something else, but you can’t think of anything.

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

after a few more moments of staring at jungkook as he arranges his sleeping area, you finally ask, “i was wondering how’d you meet yoongi? he doesn’t seem like he’s a college student. i’ve never seen him around our campus, at least.”

“he isn’t. he works as a music producer, so he’s out of town a lot, but this is his homebase. as for how we met—it’s a long story. he and my brother actually used to know each other, so…” you think he’ll explain further, but he just shakes his head. “but he’s a good friend.”

“i see. a music producer…nice. how cool for a little town like this.”

after everything is to his liking, jungkook gets under the blanket. “tonight was a lot, so try to get some sleep.”

you nod and turn the lamp off, though you’re doubting you’ll get any peace tonight. “yeah…you too.”

--

SATURDAY MORNING, NOV 4

you wake up around 11 a.m. on a strange couch wearing strange clothes in a strange room. with your brain’s half-conscious state, your terror reawakens; you think maybe you’ve been kidnapped by the murderer and the car ride with jungkook last night was a dream—until yoongi pops into your mind.

you try to regulate your breathing and settle back beneath the blanket, though you know you won’t be going back to sleep.

you haven’t gotten more than an hour of sleep in total, broken up into 20-minute intervals across the hours. every time you’ve tried to close your eyes and drift off, you see the frat member’s skull bursting apart again, shocking your entire nervous system. you can think of nothing but the piles of bodies and the deaths you witnessed. perhaps it’s better that you don’t sleep; you figure your dreams wouldn’t be any more tolerable than your thoughts.

as you shift around on the couch, your whole body screams with soreness. your arms, your ribs, your sides, your legs, and—to a lesser extent—even between your thighs where jungkook was last night.

you glance over and see that he’s still sprawled on the floor, blanket halfway kicked off. he’s actually awake, his face turned away from you as he blinks slowly and stares at nothing, but he doesn’t say anything and so neither do you. with you spending most of your night awake, you saw that he was able to get more rest than you did. lucky him.

it hurts to move, but you reach for your phone and check for any signs of lorelai. none. there is one text from camille, sent 40 minutes ago.

➤ camille: I talked to Lorelai’s sister. She went to go see about a missing persons report. The police took her information but didn’t seem very concerned about it and said she might have just stayed the night with other friends after the party. Apparently a lot of others had the same idea as you. Campus is a ghost town. They’re still identifying all the bodies, so no word yet.

➤ y/n: so we just have to sit here and wait to see if she’ll turn up alive or dead? that’s useless.

➤ camille: As per fucking usual with the pigs.

➤ camille: She also told me there’s supposed to be a lockdown or something. It’s on the news.

➤ y/n: a lockdown???

looking around the room, you spot the TV remote sitting on yoongi’s coffee table a few feet away. you try to sit up, but it takes you a couple minutes longer than you anticipate because of the pain. jungkook notices the movement from the corner of his eye and turns to look at you. “what are you doing?”

“tryna get the remote.”

jungkook grabs it and hands it to you, and you turn the TV to one of the local news channels.

➤ camille: They’re telling people not to leave their homes for anything non-essential while they search for him. Not sure how long that’s supposed to last. I guess now they wanna get serious about this fucking killer? Too late for that.

you and jungkook watch as the newscaster gives a rundown of last night’s events; to your small relief, it looks like the killer didn’t try to go to the campus after the murders at the party house. the newscaster goes on to announce that the police are instating a citywide curfew, which they’ll discuss further at a press conference in the afternoon. in the meantime, they advise everyone to only travel in groups, shelter in place if possible, and keep all windows and doors locked.

you laugh humorlessly, and jungkook glances at you again. “in groups? we were all packed into one damn house at the party, and how much did that help?”

➤ y/n: are you sure you’re okay at the uni?

➤ camille: I’m fine. My roommate brought some of her friends into our room so no one’s left alone. Either way, my dad is coming to help me move some of my things out and come back home.

➤ y/n: okay, please just stay safe.

➤ camille: You too.

“what now?” jungkook says once the newscast goes off. “everybody just stays holed up for like a month while they hunt for that guy?”

you roll your eyes. “people won’t stay in their homes for that long. i don’t know how any of this is gonna work. we wouldn’t be in this mess now if they’d cared when this first started happening.”

“you think so? students would still be getting killed. the only difference is that a good chunk of people would just be sitting at home freaking the fuck out and too scared to go anywhere while the killer would still be on the loose.”

“…damn. it’s truly bleak to assume we’d still be in the same situation. you’re an optimistic one.”

“better than deluding yourself about it.”

“whatever. where’s your family to freak out over you? somebody should be concerned about your whereabouts by now. didn’t you say you have a brother? speaking of, i’m gonna have to call my sister soon…”

jungkook turns back to the TV, and you can tell he’s become more tense than he was seconds ago. “yeah, but i’m estranged from them. yoongi’s my family.”

wrong thing to ask. you wonder about the reason for it but decide it’s probably better not to pry. “ah…that sucks.”

jungkook looks back at you like he’s irked by that response, but he makes a noise resembling a chuckle. “tell me about it.”

later that afternoon, after you’ve reassured your sister veronica on her work break that you are fine and at a “friend’s” house (because you have no clue how to refer to either of these men), you and yoongi sit at the kitchen table with brunch while jungkook goes outside to examine the damage to his car more closely.

it’s difficult to eat, but you do so anyway; you don’t want to be rude by wasting the food yoongi made. the news station still plays loudly from the living room as you wait for the press conference to come on.

“so, about you and jungkook...” yoongi starts, looking at you from over the rim of his cup of coffee.

“what about me and jungkook?”

“we both know he didn’t get those bites on his neck from a wild animal attack.”

you sit up straighter in your seat, a sudden spike of irritation hitting you. “aren’t we all grown here? who cares?” you try to sound unbothered despite feeling very green about all of this. after all, you’d only had sex for the first time last night.

“look, i don’t care. fuck him all you want. i’m just trying to advise you not to get emotionally involved, because that’s not how jungkook operates. the amount of girls i’ve had somehow coming after my neck when their situationship with him doesn’t work out is starting to get really old. it’d be best if you didn’t do the same.”

you’re simultaneously annoyed at his assumption of you and flustered because you want to prove him wrong about acting the same as the other girls. you hate both feelings. “i don’t want anything like that with him. i just needed something done and i got it. it doesn’t matter anymore.”

yoongi shrugs, and you get the sense he’s heard that before and isn’t convinced, but you can’t be bothered going back and forth with him about this.

the press conference comes on TV a few minutes later. they announce that classes at your university are cancelled indefinitely; parents and relatives will need to come move their students out, and the school will be operating with a skeleton staff and increased security presence for any students who can’t leave the campus. the citywide curfew will be at 8 p.m. every night, by which time almost everyone will need to be in their homes, and it will end at 6 a.m each morning.

“fun,” you say sarcastically. “at least i won’t have to worry about finals and trying not to get murdered at the same time.”

when jungkook comes back inside, you let him know about what he missed from the press conference.

“we should just stay here for now.” when you raise your eyebrows, jungkook says, “i basically live here when i’m not on campus for classes. plus yoongi-hyung lets me bring girls here all the time, this is nothing new.”

“if both of you are gonna be hiding out in my place, we’ll need to go to the store,” yoongi says. “more mouths to feed.”

“…or i could just go home?” you propose, your mind reeling at them already making plans. you feel awkward about staying in a stranger’s house for who knows how long. “i think we only really needed to stay here for the night. it’s fine.”

“will you have people there with you?” jungkook asks. “it’s not safe to be alone.”

you’re surprised he seems to be this concerned, but you answer: “well, i mean…my sister works 12-hour shifts as a nurse and she’s the only one living there, so…” you’d chosen your university because your older sister lived in the area, and because it was a tradition for women in your family to attend that school, but there were no other relatives you could turn to. your parents lived a couple of towns away.

yoongi comes to the conclusion so you don’t have to. “in other words, you’ll be alone most of the day.”

“…i guess. but i’m really not tryna impose on you by staying here.”

yoongi tilts his head, a small smirk on his lips. you automatically dislike the look on his face. “why don’t you take jungkook with you, then?”

you and jungkook glance at each other. “but, hyung…”

yoongi shakes his head. “you already know i can take care of myself. seriously, don’t worry about it.” and then yoongi winks at you. you don’t know for sure, but you take that to mean he’s probably packing heat like camille’s dad.

“if you’re sure.” turning to you, jungkook says, “so, how about it?”

“it’s my sister’s house, so i’ll have to ask her,” you say tentatively. “yeah…uh. let me do that now, i guess.” you pull out your phone to text her about it, though you know it’ll be a while before she gets another work break and can answer. “in the meantime…i think we’ll need to go to the store either way. and then to campus to pick our things up.”

“you’re right. let’s go then,” jungkook says.

the store is full of people panic-buying food and necessities in preparation for the curfew and effective lockdown, which you expected. you and jungkook end up going your separate ways to find the things you need because it’s quicker that way, and because you want to get in and out of the store as soon as possible. the crowdedness is too much like the party, and despite yourself, anxiety begins rising in you due to the claustrophobic atmosphere. you try to maintain even breaths as you keep searching for items. just what you need—a shiny new trauma to make your life harder.

you pass by a man in one of the less-crowded aisles before realizing he’s standing in front of what you need to get, examining one of the food packages. you wait a few moments to see if he’ll finish up soon, and when your eyes begin to wander, you see that there’s a long gray hair clinging to the back of his leather jacket, standing out clearly against the black. you probably wouldn’t have noticed this at all on any other day, except your mind has been on high alert for hours now; you find it strange that this strand clearly doesn’t match the shade or length of the hair on his head, which is short and plain brown. the shade of the hair also weirdly reminds you of something, though you can’t quite recall what; it remains just out of your mind’s reach.

you shake your head. he could’ve come to the store with somebody who has long gray hair, or hugged them before he left home, and a strand stuck to his jacket. it’s the least of your issues right now.

the man must feel your presence behind him because he turns around to look at you. you’re a little taken aback by his gaze; his expression isn’t mean per se, but very intense, as if his entire focus is trained on you.

there’s a second’s pause, like he’s thinking about something before he speaks. “am i in your way?” he asks, never breaking eye contact. his voice doesn’t portray any particular emotion.

“i just have to get something really quick.” he steps aside and gestures to the rows of food without a word. you slip in beside him and grab what you need before moving away again. “thanks.” you think about telling him about the hair on his jacket but decide against it; your decision is solidified when you spot a wolf figurine keychain on his keys, faded from time but still distinguishable. it makes your breath catch.

there’s no way it could be him. it was kind of dark in the party house with nothing but string lights and lamps illuminating it, and everything happened so quickly…but you do remember the colors of that mask. red, yellow, black—and that dark gray for the fur.

but maybe it’s really all just a coincidence; how much sense would it make to turn every person with wolf paraphernalia and random stray hairs into a suspect?

you walk down the rest of the aisle and away from the man with growing unease. maybe it’s time to find jungkook so you can get out of here; you can hardly keep yourself together, and despite your best attempts at logic, you can’t stop yourself from getting more frantic about those two things.

speeding up your walk and weaving through people, you look down every aisle in search for jungkook before you find him, rushing over to him as you breathe heavily.

“whoa, what the hell is wrong? did somebody do something?”

“no, i…”

“what happened?”

“it’s the…well, the…i saw, uh…”

“y/n.”

“i saw—the mask. the fur from the mask. do you remember it?”

“…you mean that stupid ass werewolf mask?” you gesture for jungkook to lower his voice. “wait, you’re saying you saw it in here?”

“no, i saw a man who had a strand of hair on his jacket…” it starts sounding ridiculous to your own ears the more you speak, but you continue. “the strand—it was the same color as that fur. the same length! and he—he had some weird wolf keychain…”

jungkook stares at you for a long moment before sighing. “you’re not serious? a random strand of hair that could be from anybody or anything? that could be from someone’s fucking grandma for all we know. plus a keychain…maybe he just likes wolves, y/n.”

you already know that saying i just feel like something is off won’t be enough to convince him. you sigh with a deep sense of defeat, considering that he’s probably right. maybe your initial assumption was the more sensible answer. “…right. i think i’m just really fucked up right now after everything that happened. can we finish up here?”

“yeah, we will. because you definitely need to lay down soon or something. you haven’t had any sleep all night, right?” the way jungkook eyes you with concern as if you’ve lost your mind annoys you. you’re about to give a smart remark when you notice something in the carrying-basket he has.

“…a baseball bat?”

“if the killer comes after us again, duh. we’ll be prepared this time. or at least i will.”

“good luck with that if he happens to have another gun.” rolling your eyes, you brush past jungkook to go to one of the checkout counters.

in the parking lot, you see that the man from earlier has also come out and is putting the last of his grocery bags into his car trunk. there’s really nothing spectacular about his appearance that would make him stand out in a crowd, with his average height and average looks, let alone incriminate him as a serial killer. yet that familiar unease won’t leave.

he sees you and jungkook walking towards the car together, and his eyes dart to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. then he makes eye contact with you. you give a half-hearted wave, unsure what else to do with his eyes stuck on you. for a moment, his lips turn up into the faintest smile before he shakes his head and gets into his own car.

--

MONDAY, NOV 6

you’ve spent half of saturday and all of sunday trying to get used to living in your sister’s house with jungkook. veronica had been surprisingly okay with having him stay over, though most of it was her being relieved you finally found “a potential boyfriend who’s actually cute.” you didn’t have the energy to argue with her.

you’ve also been constantly checking on camille (to her eventual annoyance) and seeing if there are any more updates on lorelai. still nothing. your dread grows the further away you get from that bloody friday, but you try to keep your thoughts from straying too darkly.

right now, you, veronica, and jungkook all sit on the couch together in a neat little row, a bowl of popcorn in front of you on the coffee table and some science-fiction B-movie playing on the TV. your sister proposed the idea to distract yourselves from everything going on, but so far, you feel like it isn’t very effective. at least not for you. your mind keeps wandering to other things every 5 minutes.

eventually, veronica yawns widely, stretching her arms and legs before rising off the couch. “okay, i’m getting tired as fuck. i need to go to sleep for work tomorrow anyway. you guys enjoy the rest of the movie, okay?” she pats your shoulder as she passes by you on her way out of the room.

jungkook waves. “oh, sure. goodnight.”

“night, sis.”

when jungkook’s attention goes back to the movie, your sister makes eye contact with you and points her finger at you menacingly. you give her a shocked look while she mouths you know what i mean and swirls her finger in jungkook’s direction. embarrassed at the implication, you roll your eyes and turn your head back to the TV screen. having sex with jungkook on your sister’s couch is not high on your list of priorities tonight.

after your sister is gone, jungkook spreads out on the couch like it’s his own living room, placing his legs right over your lap. you sigh, looking over at him—and hoping that your eyes don’t linger too obviously on the expanse of thigh muscle that’s now on display from his shorts riding up higher.

“…really? i don’t want your big ole legs in my lap.”

jungkook just grins. “you should lay down too, it’s more comfortable this way.” you stare at him, and he tries to egg you on by pulling the sleeve of your shirt. “come on.”

“i’m not laying down on top of you, if that’s what you’re after.”

you do end up lying down, but on the opposite side of the couch so that your legs are tangled together, which really just increases the amount of contact between you either way—but whatever.

this makes jungkook laugh more. “ha, it’s like we’re scissoring.”

“so damn corny.”

you two continue watching the rest of the movie, but by the end of it you don’t remember half of what happened. taking the remote, you flip through the channels and try to find something else to look at. there isn’t much interesting to watch on a random monday night—which would be a school night anyway, if not for the current context.

as you search for a channel, jungkook asks: “what would you do if you found out who the killer was?”

you squint your eyes at his odd question. maybe the obvious answer would be to alert the police. but after days of having your anger stoked like a fire, that’s not exactly the answer you’d choose. “maybe i’d kill him.” the words leave your lips easily, and you hardly think twice about them once they’re out.

neither of you speak for a few long moments.

“does that scare you?” you ask, after the silence starts annoying you. you want to laugh, but there’s nothing really funny about the situation.

“…not really. angry women are kinda sexy. so are dangerous ones.”

you scoff. “i’m not tryna be sexy, you fool. and how many dangerous women have you dealt with? seems to me you only have a thing for the innocents.”

“it’s not like i only fuck virgins. you don’t even know me like that.” he nudges your leg with his foot like he’s also annoyed, but his expression doesn’t show any actual irritation.

“…if you want to go back and forth about it, go outside and argue with the wall or something. i’m in no mood, jungkook.” you shove his foot off of you. “just, holy shit. i wish i could have just one hour where i don’t have to think about any of this shit. my mind can’t even breathe.”

he’s actually quiet for a couple minutes after. you think he’s moved on from the conversation until he finally says, “i can give you an hour.”

your body becomes alert at that. the insinuation in his tone is obvious. you glance backwards as if your sister could hear you from upstairs, though you know that’s illogical. “i got what i wanted from you already,” you whisper.

“so? what if i wanted to give you more? you know you’re allowed to have sex with a person more than once, yeah?” he chuckles.

here he is making you this offer, and once again you feel like you’ve been reduced to the state of a confused lamb in front of a hungry wolf. you realize that the idea of letting yourself get more physically entangled with jungkook scares you. he is not someone you can turn into a boyfriend, who wants to be a boyfriend, and you are only looking to save yourself from any potential hurt. “it would just be sex—right? you have to know i’m not looking for anything deeper from you.”

jungkook smirks. like with yoongi, you don’t know if he believes you. “i know.”

you want to undo almost everything from the past few days. you can’t forget, but for a while, you want to just exist outside of the timeline where there’s a killer on the loose and one of your friends is missing. it’s too much to handle; your body is approaching its limits for the amount of stress it can take. you need a balm to numb the pain and the fear, and you dislike that you are giving into your base instincts to do so. you feel guilty, somehow. but pleasure is easy. at least it has been whenever you sought it on your own—and now you have someone else to give it to you. someone who is in front of you now, proposing it with all the willingness in the world. maybe there’s really nothing wrong with saying yes.

“jungkook…”

“hm?”

“please just shut the fuck up and don’t say another word about the outside world right now. i don’t want to think about anything but your…” you falter, still trying to get used to expressing what you want sexually.

jungkook sits up, his hands sliding up your legs and to your hips. “but my what?”

“um, your…” your thoughts end when he leans down and pulls the hem of your sweater up, planting a kiss on your waist where your skin meets the waistband of your sweatpants. one kiss turns into a second, and a third. the fourth becomes an open-mouthed embrace of his lips on your skin, and you make a small noise of pleasure when his tongue gets involved.

“careful. don’t want veronica to come down here, remember?”

you huff. “that isn’t happening any time soon, believe me.”

his kisses continue as he begins to slide your sweatpants down, revealing the waistband of your panties. once they’re fully on display, he leans forward to nuzzle his face between your thighs, his mouth and nose pressing into the seat of your underwear. his actions take you off guard. you actually give a brief chuckle from surprise, though you are also somewhat embarrassed. “now what the hell are you doing?”

“let me savor my meal before i eat it.” his warm breaths tickle your inner thighs as he speaks.

“ugh, don’t turn me off.”

“that’s funny, because i seem to have an easy time getting you wet.” to prove it, his fingers press into the seat of your underwear to feel the wetness that’s seeped into them; you sigh from the brief pleasure his fingers’ movements afford you before he pulls them away.

jungkook drags your panties down next, his lips trailing down your lower abdomen and across the curls of hair covering your pubic mound. your body fills with anticipation at the gradual pace of his actions and the purposeful, wet caresses of his mouth.

when he uses his thumbs to press your lower lips apart and expose you more fully to him, you have half a mind to be self-conscious about it until he places his mouth on you in earnest.

jungkook eats like someone who hasn’t done so in a while and doesn’t know when he’ll get to do it again. his mouth sucks at your clit like he’s desperate for you to come, tongue rolling over the swollen nub in an unrelenting pattern that has your stomach tensing, and you quickly realize you do have to try to silence yourself even if you know it won’t wake veronica up. you twist your hands into the sleeves of your sweater and lean your head back on the couch’s armrest as you arch your hips up closer to jungkook’s face, uncaring about how vulnerable you feel completely offering yourself up to him like this; right now, all you want is to feel good.

“gonna come quick again? maybe we can set a new record?” jungkook pins your knee against the couch with his elbow to keep your legs open as he slides two fingers inside, diving straight in instead of working you up this time. your body breaks out in a sweat and you know you really won’t last long once he does this, the tips of his fingers aiming for that dreadful, wonderful, and overpowering place inside you. you don’t know how people do this—you feel like you’re going to die when he stimulates that spot, and all you want to do is scream even though you can’t.

“a r-record? fuck off…” you choke out, though you begin to rock your hips into the rhythm of his fingers, needing so badly for him to take you over the edge again.

he chuckles. “i don’t think you want me to fuck off right now.”

you have no words for a good comeback when he buries his head between your legs and slurps at your pussy again and crooks his fingers repeatedly to where your orgasm is unexpectedly rushing down upon you, causing your body to tense as you gasp and stifle any sounds that escape with your sweater sleeve.

jungkook doesn’t stop there and you don’t really expect him to, because you’re beginning to learn he isn’t a one-and-done type of man. he keeps sucking and stroking you right into another releasewhile you push the beanie off his head, fist your fingers into his strands, and tremble over the sight of his pitch-black mess of hair between your thighs. something about the visual is so appealing to you.

after he has made you come for the third time, you watch him sit up on his knees to reach into his shorts and pull his dick out, his darkened tip slick with precum. his long hair falls into his face as he glances downward, using the hand he’d been fingering you with to lube himself up with your cum.

“come here,” you tell him, your voice coming out sharper than you intended; but he doesn’t care, because he follows your request without a word and presses himself into your side. the couch is just big enough to accommodate both of you in this position, but it’s still a tight fit, and your bodies are once again tangled together.

“let me touch you,” you say, your palm pressed to his stomach, feeling the firmness of the muscle.

he raises his eyebrows, like you didn’t even need to ask. “of course.”

“no, i mean…” he realizes what you actually mean as you brush his hand away from his shaft and wrap your fingers around it instead.

“should i teach you how?” jungkook brings his hand to overlap yours, though his breath becomes a bit strained when you slide your hand to the base of his cock and back to the tip again, the pads of your fingers rubbing over the sensitive head. seeing your fingers around him turns him on more than he thought it could, and it’s just a simple fucking handjob.

you roll your eyes. “stroking a dickshouldn’t be that hard.”

“everyone likes it differently, though. fast, slow, soft, or rough…just the tip, or the whole shaft.” you can’t deny that—or the way you find yourself throbbing at his words, his voice husky from the pleasure. which is why you let jungkook close his hand more fully around yours and guide your movements.

it’s captivating to observe his reactions from your hand on his skin—the heavy breaths he lets out and the soft moans and even softer whimpers that come in between the exhales. whenever you squeeze his shaft more firmly or rub your thumb against his leaking tip, you find yourself grinning at the rise and fall of his chest and the tongue that darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips. but mostly, your eyes are drawn back to the sight of your hand working him over, his thighs and stomach tensing sporadically.

eventually, you both look away from your joined hands and at each other’s faces. your eyes dart to his lips and back to his gaze again, and you shift your face forward to signal your desire for a kiss. he meets you there by pressing his lips to yours, and it isn’t hard for him to get lost in the meeting of your mouths and the heat from your palm on his shaft.

your free hand returns to his soft hair to tug on it as your tongues slide against each other. he grunts at the burn of his roots being pulled but doesn’t stop you; on the contrary, his body responds favorably as more precum swells from his tip and his nipples poke against the material of his shirt.

“do you like that, jungkook?” you mumble against his mouth.

“you know i do.” at some point, his hand falls away and he lets you stroke him on your own.

jungkook gives a shuddering moan into your mouth when he climaxes minutes later, thick streams of his cum shooting onto his shirt and dripping down your hand. he tries to keep quiet and doesn’t entirely succeed, but it doesn’t much matter.

you squeeze the few remaining drops of cum from his cockhead, trying to make sure you don’t grip hard enough to actually hurt him. you pull your sticky hand away from jungkook when you think he’s finally emptied, but he grabs your wrist and you look at him questioningly. you watch with shocked eyes as jungkook brings your hand up and takes your messy fingers into his mouth, sucking his cum from them. you know instinctively it isn’t the first time he’s done this—not with the look of pure satisfaction on his features as he licks his own seed off your fingers.

his enthusiastic pleasure is part of the reason why you accept when jungkook gives you a crushing kiss, passing his cum from his tongue to yours. you don’t know what you expected it to taste like, but it isn’t gross like you’ve heard others complain about when sharing their sex tales; despite being salty, the overall taste is neutral. still, it takes some getting used to.

when you pull away from each other, noses brushing and lips wet from each other’s spit, you look into his dark brown eyes and get the sudden desire to say something that’s been buried in the back of your mind for days now.

“why did you come straight to me that night?” you whisper. “like you already knew who you were there for.”

jungkook stares back, his lips curving up slightly. “i just wanted to. or i wanted you, more specifically.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“well, it’s my answer.”

“was i another one to knock off your list?”

“you think i have a list?”

“i’m not stupid. it’s not unusual for guys to have a list. plus, plenty of rumors go around.”

jungkook taps his fingers underneath your chin and kisses you on the lips again, though it is brief. “stop believing everything you hear.”

you clearly won’t be getting a straight answer from him tonight. with the moment broken, you sigh and begin pulling your bottoms back on. “…whatever you say, dude.” once you’re dressed, you climb over his body to get off the couch. you poke him in the chest as your eyes roam over him in his disheveled state, his shorts pulled down and his cum staining his black shirt. “might wanna clean yourself up, huh? i’m going to sleep. and, yeah…thanks for the distraction.”

--

TUESDAY, NOV 7

with the weather being as cold as it is and heading toward winter in another month or so, lorelai is surprised by how quickly the bodies began to smell.

she doesn’t know much of anything about bodily decomposition—because, to her parents’ disappointment, she wasn’t about to be a biology major and have to be around cadavers in a dissection lab—but if this were a movie or something, she would’ve thought it would take longer than just one day. the smell started to hit her the saturday after the party.

but ultimately, this isn’t a movie, and the fact that she’s trapped in a decrepit house in some remote part of town is her present reality.

she doesn’t remember anything about how she got to this house; she thinks she must have been concussed before she was brought here. her head has been hurting badly for days, and not even the simple relief of a painkiller is available.

what she does know is that she’s being kept in a dirty living room on an equally dirty mattress, her hands and legs tied by rope and zip-ties. if there were any miniscule chance of her escaping, it would be impossible to go anywhere considering both her ankles are broken, only adding to the amount of physical pain she’s been in for days.

the living room is mostly empty except for the bodies of some other students from the party, which have been scattered around the room. lorelai tries not to look at them—especially not at the ones she knows—but it’s difficult. they become even more terrifying to her when night falls, turning into dark, rotting shadows in the corners of the room. there has been nothing but the company of these corpses for days, and a couple of visits from the killer.

he's never once taken off his wolf mask or his gloves, and every other part of his body stays covered in all black. she doesn’t have the first idea of what he looks like underneath it all. he has spoken to her a few times, but the voice isn’t one she recognizes. his words when she first awoke inside this house still knock around in her mind, filling her with dread.

he’d crouched in front of her, watching her move around on the mattress and try to orient herself. he had the casual air of someone observing a flipped-up bug struggle on the sidewalk before crushing it underfoot. “you aren’t y/n, but you’ll do for now. we’ll have some real fun later on. you’ll help me give her a good scare.”

“how the fuck do you know y/n?” lorelai had struggled against her restraints, but this only made her newly broken ankles hurt worse. tears began to fall from her eyes from the pain and fear.

the killer had said nothing to that—only tilted his head curiously and stared at her, which was unnerving even if she couldn’t see his eyes.

“you have no fucking reason to go after her, she’s not even a virgin anymore you dumb fuck—” with those words, the killer had backhanded her, sending her already injured head into a fresh wave of agony.

“things would’ve been different if not for that fucking party. you students think you’re so fucking clever, yeah? and look how you paid for it.” it was impossible to see any facial expression, but his body language spoke of anger. “no matter, though. virgin or not, i’ll see this through to the end.”

now it’s yet another morning, and he has returned. he has a lot of debris in his hands—stuff like sticks and dry moss and foliage. he’s also carrying a small bag, the contents of it a mystery. everything he does causes alarm for lorelai, but now confusion joins in.

“ready to have some fun?” he asks. with duct tape over her mouth, she can’t answer back. she watches as he arranges the debris on the ground in front of her, her anxiety mounting as he takes a lighter out of his pocket and sets fire to the foliage.

leaning forward, he rips part of the duct tape away from her mouth with his gloved hand, causing her face to sting. “got anything to say?”

“wh-what the fuck are you doing?”

“i’m gonna stoke a nice fire here…get this knife hot enough to hurt.” he brings out his knife then, and lorelai shrinks away from the blade as he drags the flat of it across her throat—but there’s nowhere else to go, as she’s sitting up against the wall. “then i’ll just cut this pretty little body up a bit. the finishing touch…i think i’ll slice your throat open. how does that sound?” he takes the knife away from her neck to hold the blade over the flames.

lorelai’s breath hitches, and her stomach begins to physically hurt from the outpouring of anxiety flowing through her. she starts to sob, trying to speak through the tears and snot and drool. the only question she can muster up is, “wh-why?”

“this is for y/n—remember? i hope that concussion hasn’t fucked with your memory.” the killer watches the reflection of the flames on the blade as it grows hotter. “and…i’m doing someone a favor.” he doesn’t wait for her to speak again before putting the duct tape back in place over her mouth, leaving her to cry to herself and face her rising distress as he heats the knife until it’s burning hot. internally, she wishes there was any way in the world to get out of this situation.

it isn’t much longer before he’s finished. lorelai screams as he approaches her with the knife, and then at the feeling of the red-hot blade scorching her skin, though the sounds are stifled by the duct tape.

“now, be still while i fix you up.”

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 8

you go outside that afternoon to check the mail and have an excuse to get out of the house; it doesn’t matter if it’s only for a few moments. you’re not used to staying cooped up in one place for so long with absolutely nothing to do, and you feel like you’re not too far off from going mad with cabin fever. it hasn’t even been a week since everything happened.

you open the mailbox, and there are the usual bills along with something strange: a blank envelope with no return address. even your sister’s address isn’t written on it. flipping it over, you see that the envelope was never sealed. someone must’ve just come up and put it inside the mailbox. but who the hell would do that, and for what reason? whenever any of your neighbors have something to give you or your sister, they come straight up to the house to do it.

inside the envelope is a set of polaroids. their content makes you drop the rest of the mail. your legs grow weak, and you end up sitting down hard on the end of the driveway, some of the polaroids slipping from your hands. the pictures show the bodies of some of the students from your university, their corpses posed in odd positions and some bare of clothing—all dead.

you struggle to breathe as you frantically flip through the rest of the pictures. in the center of all the group photos is lorelai, her neck torn open and her wrists and ankles tied. she’s still dressed the way she was the night of the party, though her dress is stained with dark brown blood. there are open cuts all over her bare skin, their appearance rough-looking and uneven as if they’ve been cauterized.

there are several group polaroids, several of lorelai alone, and several angles of the outside of a house, which must be the same one the bodies are being kept in. one photo of lorelai slips out of your shaking hands, and you see there’s barely legible handwriting on the back of it, which reads, “this is just the teaser, y/n.”

you scream and don’t stop screaming until jungkook comes running out of the house holding the baseball bat, as if the killer might’ve gotten bold enough to attack in daylight. a couple of your neighbors peek out of their houses and make their way over with concern on their faces once they see you sitting on the ground, your exclamations ringing through the street.

there’s a disarrayed group of people around you grabbing at your shoulders and asking what’s wrong, what happened, and then gasps and exclamations of shock when they see the polaroids. you feel yourself being pulled to your feet and then lifted up—maybe it’s jungkook, because it smells like him—but you’re too disoriented to make proper sense of anything right now. you can only think of how much time has been wasted, and how little time lorelai actually had left.

--

SUNDAY, NOV 12

in the main lobby of the funeral home, you sit in a chair next to camille, staring into empty space while the other girl tries to cry as quietly as she can. she cries as if she’s ashamed of it, and you wish you could comfort her, but you don’t know what to say or do. for the past few days, you’ve mostly just felt numb.

you’re waiting for veronica to come back out so you can leave, as she’d stayed behind after the service to talk to lorelai’s family for a little longer.

lorelai’s family had opted to have her cremated after seeing the state of her body. a lot of other families did the same after the events of cherry bomb, not even wanting to entertain the idea of a closed-casket funeral. you can understand their feelings about it if you push through the haze in your mind to consider it for long enough. though the morticians have done the best they can over the past week, sometimes knowing that your loved one has multiple stab wounds and eviscerated organs beneath all the makeup and fancy clothing is too much to handle.

when veronica finally comes out, the three of you walk outside to join the rest of the people who’ve started getting in their cars. some still linger in small huddles, shaking their heads and wiping their faces.

jungkook, who’d driven you and veronica to the memorial, waits outside for you all, leaning on the side of the building. you both thought it was probably better for him not to attend the service considering lorelai was never fond of him and he didn’t know her that well.

“is it finished?” he asks.

“it is.” veronica sighs. “god, funerals are so damn…bleak.”

you notice a man waving at your group from the other side of the parking lot and realize it’s camille’s dad. her posture straightens when she catches sight of him, and she hurriedly tries to wipe the rest of her tears before shoving her tissue into her pocket. “i-i think my dad is waiting for me. i…i’ll see you guys later, alright?”

“okay, camille.” the strange absence of emotion that you’ve been trapped in for the past few days suddenly cracks open when you notice camille’s anxious demeanor as she speed-walks away from the rest of you. intense sorrow overtakes you; you don’t want her to leave, but she has to go.

you are crying before you fully understand what’s happening. veronica puts her arms around you and squeezes you against the side of her body. jungkook reaches a thumb up to wipe away your tears, though you don’t let him get very far before turning your head away and into veronica’s shoulder.

“y/n…”

“how am i supposed to go on?” you exclaim, catching the attention of a few people nearby. “the police said maybe she’s just staying with friends. and now look. plus, the killer knows where me and my sister live now…maybe he always knew.”

“we don’t even have a clue who the killer is…” jungkook mumbles. “there’s no one you know of who might have a grudge against you?”

“no, jungkook. the police already gave me all that questioning. and it doesn’t help me feel any better to think maybe all these deaths are somehow my fault.” you scoff.

“y/n, nothing’s your fault because some freak decided to go around killing people; that was his decision.” jungkook argues.

you nod slightly to his words but say nothing else, not wanting to go further into that topic. you don’t know if you can believe him about that.

the parking lot is emptying out now, so you try to pull yourself together so the three of you can leave. “well…you don’t need to keep staying with us if you don’t want to. we have those assigned bodyguards now, so…” you glance in the direction of one other car sitting beside jungkook’s—inside it are two men the police force appointed after the polaroids of the bodies were planted in your sister’s mailbox.

jungkook looks at you as if he’s trying to gauge your expression; he himself looks surprised, though he attempts to play it off. veronica glances between you both, recognizing the awkward shift in the air.

“you don’t want me there anymore? i mean it is your house—” he glances at veronica “—so that’s fine with me if—"

“what? i didn’t say i don’t want you there, neither did veronica, it’s just if you don’t want to be there—"

“i never said i didn’t want to be there, though?”

you both become quiet, jungkook looking at you and you returning his gaze for a few seconds before looking off to the side. veronica is still standing between you both like she’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

“i just figured that maybe…” why are you being so concerned about me? isn’t this the part where we go our separate ways? is what you really want to ask. you have seen and learned enough from your friends’ and even your acquaintances’ experiences to realize that any other one night stand would not have cared so much. that’s how these things go, right? but he isn’t really a one night stand anymore, either.

you don’t even know if you’re considered friends with benefits, but what would that change? you’d still seen others tossed aside without much thought by their FWBs while in times of need. considering his history, you don’t understand why jungkook isn’t following the same template now, and you don’t think you should ask why for fear of breaking the illusion.

fed up with your own confusion, you decide now isn’t the time to lament on your lack of knowledge about these things. “nevermind. that’s fine. so you’ll stay?”

the corner of his mouth lifts in a brief smile. “i’ll stay as long as you won’t try to kick me out.”

you aren’t in the mood to attempt to smile back, but he seems to understand that. “right, well...good.”

“…now that you two have figured that shit out, can we leave?”

--

FRIDAY, NOV 17

jungkook thought that getting outside a bit more would help you feel better and prevent you from developing a complete fear of leaving the house, which is why you’re sitting in this claustrophobic little diner now with him, yoongi, and camille—and of course, your ever-present bodyguards in the booth behind you all. but this outing isn’t doing anything to mitigate your fears.

nearly 10 minutes in, you have to ask jungkook to switch seats with you so you’re not on the outside of the booth, as you’re afraid that it’s too easy-access if anyone—say, the killer, though you’ve been trying not to think so obsessively about him—were to come in and start stabbing you to death right where you sit. being on the inside calms you for a little while until you become anxious about the window beside you; what if he has a gun again and simply shoots through the glass? all he’d have to do is stand on the sidewalk and aim, his werewolf mask laughing at you with its eternally frozen growling expression, and your brains would be all over the table just like that frat guy’s.

your meal sits half-eaten as you get increasingly lost in your anxieties. the others are talking about something, but you can’t hear what. it’s like some of your senses have shut down or begun working incorrectly. the strawberry sauce in camille’s sundae looks too much like blood and even smells like it from the occasional whiffs you get, and you find yourself staring at the sundae dish and wanting to throw it across the restaurant.

jungkook’s hand touches you on the back, and the tension in your body increases. he feels it and draws away, though he keeps trying to meet your eyes. “are you okay?” he whispers.

“why ask that? she obviously isn’t,” yoongi says, like he’s annoyed with the obviousness of jungkook’s question.

“hyung, i’m just trying to help.”

“it was your great idea to come out here when she didn’t want to, though.”

“y/n—” camille starts.

“can’t you throw that out? it smells like blood.” your mouth feels useless and hard to maneuver, but you manage to say those words.

“what?”

“the…that. that thing.” everyone looks at camille’s melting sundae. yoongi raises his eyebrows.

“blood?”

“do you mean it—looks like blood?” jungkook suggests.

you raise your voice in irritation, not understanding how everyone else is unable to perceive the same scent that you do. “no, i-it does, but it smells like blood too! just get rid of it!”

one of the waitresses comes over to the table. “is everything okay over here?”

“um, we’re fine! i’m finished with this though.” camille hurriedly hands the sundae off to her, trying to keep the situation calm.

“oh, well—the rest of you too? that’ll be it, then?” she gathers everyone’s plates and leaves with a smile that attempts to be cordial but is still colored with unease.

her departure leaves a stiff silence in which you all spare glances at each other but try to avoid directly meeting eyes. camille is the first to break it.

“i’ll ask my dad if i can stay over with you,” she suggests. she suddenly sounds much more tired. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow slightly at her words; yoongi silently glances at the younger man. “just, you know…maybe the extra company would help? he’s been treating me like a kid again, but we should be safe with the bodyguards there, so…”

“you don’t have to do that,” you say, though you’re too exhausted to truly argue.

“you’re in shambles, y/n. and it’s not just for your benefit. i’m feeling pretty fucking alone right now, and it’s hard for my dad to understand the emotional side of it, so…” camille plays with her fingers and doesn’t look at anyone as she speaks; you know talking about her father can be a sore spot for her sometimes. “uh, anyway. not to trauma-dump or anything. just let me do this.”

you sigh. “fine…okay. do whatever you have to. can we just leave?”

as you’re all walking outside, jungkook pulls you aside.

“i still worry about you after that incident at the store, you know?” he admits.

you shrug his hand off your arm and glare at him. “you think i’m crazy.”

“i don’t. i just want you to be able to relax and not feel like you’re being hunted 24/7. i don’t think the killer is constantly waiting around the nearest corner for you, y/n.”

“you don’t know how close the killer could be. he knows where i go to sleep at night. so stop the bullshit, jungkook.”

“you’ll be okay. you have me, remember? i protected you that night…i can do it again.”

you examine his face for a long moment and find that you are too overwhelmed with stress and fear to be moved by his words. “i’d like to trust you…but the killer might just murder you too. then who’ll save me?” you don’t wait for his response before walking away to catch up with the other two.

--

LYING IN WAIT...

it’s strange to see the police bodyguards in veronica’s driveway and backyard everyday. it’s not the same two all day—they switch off so that there are two doing a day shift and two doing a night shift.

the security team at the hospital where your sister works is aware of the situation, so you try not to get too worried about her safety when she’s away from the house—but it’s difficult.

there have been no more kills connected to your university since lorelai. it seems like half the town has forgotten their fears and tried to go back to some sense of normalcy while the other half still hides away and lives in perpetual panic, including you. the former group of people has started muddying the waters for the police, with some teenagers getting brave enough to sneak around in wolf masks and vandalize buildings with red-lettered virgin graffiti just to fuck with the cops. there have even been a few people who turned themselves in claiming to be the killer—only their supposed confessions never matched the details of the case.

reporters have tried to hound lorelai’s family and your family several times for any speculations or answers on the killer’s identity, but none of you are willing to spread misinformation just to give them something to write about. however, that hasn’t stopped other residents of your town from sharing their speculations and even implicating their own relatives or neighbors—whether as a fucked-up joke or as genuine revenge just depends on whoever’s speaking. with all of these false leads, the police are still no closer to finding the killer than they’d initially been.

everyday feels like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, though the chances of any more kills are starting to seem improbable; the university is practically empty. but it doesn’t matter to you if the school is nearly deserted, because the killer has his aims set on you now, and you only wish you knew why.

up in your room, you and camille sit on your bed gazing out the window—the window that must always remain locked now, for fear of unwanted ingress. you’ve never been uncomfortable in your sister’s house, but lately you’ve been feeling like you’re boxed in with every wall pressing towards you.

sitting up from your lying-down position, you have to find the appropriate words for a moment before speaking. “camille—i can’t stop feeling like maybe we aren’t entirely safe,” you murmur.

camille raises her eyebrows. “why not? those guys stay outside all day, and we keep everything locked up day and night. literally, the only time the front door opens is for veronica to leave and come back from work everyday.”

“i don’t know. there’s no particular reason for it…it just seems like we’re waiting for something.”

“…yeah? for the killer to be caught.”

“but he’s made no moves recently. you remember the policeman’s daughter, right? i even texted her and she hasn’t heard anything new that we don’t already know. seems like things have slowed down at the police station. it’s not like that abandoned house was in the killer’s name or anything, so what leads would they have?”

camille frowns and rubs her eyes like something’s in them, but when she looks at you directly, you see her eyes are red from unshed tears. “…i want things to be okay, though. i’m tired of living like this. you know how i had to beg just to get my dad to let me leave the house. he’s constantly on edge.” you feel even more unsettled to see camille so distressed lately, as she’s always been the only one able to pull something funny out of a terrible situation—something enough to distract you from the horrors. “all i know is they’ll have to dig his ass out of some hole in the ground at some point. he can’t hide in this town forever.”

“yeah…i guess you’re right.” you still don’t feel reassured, but you don’t voice your doubts.

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 22

“i think i might go mad,” camille says from her position on the armchair, her limbs splayed haphazardly across it and one hand stuck in a bag of chips.

you sigh. “you’re the one who wanted to watch this thanksgiving movie marathon.”

“the most mid holiday of the season,” jungkook adds.

“no one cares what either of you think, thanks.” it isn’t long before the program is over and the ending credits are rolling. with an exaggerated exhale, camille gets up from the chair and crunches the bag of chips in her hand. “i’m going to your room, y/n. you two just do whatever it is you do down here, since you hate my movie choices so much!”

“means we can finally turn the channel.” jungkook snatches the remote off the coffee table and does just that.

camille goes into the kitchen to throw out the chip bag and wash her hands. your focus returns to the TV. a few seconds later, you hear the upstairs flooring creak above the noise of the water pouring from the tap.

“what’s up, sis? i thought you were sleeping.” veronica is known to be a deep sleeper, so it’s not common for her to be getting up in the middle of the night. there’s no answer to your question. you glance upstairs, but your sister isn’t standing there; she isn’t standing at all, instead being carried by someone wearing an all-too familiar mask.

you scream as the killer tosses your sister over the stair railing. her torso has been sliced open from collarbone to navel, her body leaving a large splatter of blood on the floor where she lands. jungkook jumps to his feet but is momentarily immobilized as he gazes at your sister’s body crumpled on the floor. you slide off the couch and crawl over to her, still crying out, but there’s no life left to try and salvage.

the screaming brings camille rushing to the kitchen doorway. she can barely vocalize what’s wrong? before spotting veronica’s body and stopping in her tracks. in a moment that feels like it takes forever to pass, the killer pulls a gun from his waistband—you recognize it as one of the guns the policemen carry and realize he must’ve killed the bodyguard posted in the backyard—and shoots her in the chest twice.

“camille!” when you go over to where she’s lying on the ground, she is still alive but bleeding intensely and struggling to breathe. your knees slip in the blood that begins pooling around her. “shit, camille…p-please don’t die…” you press your hand against the wounds, but they’re bleeding so much that your efforts don’t help, and the pressure of your hand causes her more pain.

there’s the sound of a gunshot at the front door as the lock is blown off, and the door is banged open a few seconds later by the remaining bodyguard. he has virtually no time to fire off another shot before the killer is shooting him in the head first.

the killer throws the gun aside, taking his knife in his other hand and making his way down the stairs. “your sister left her window cracked open. i waited for days for a slip-up like that. see how much harm can come from a simple mistake? well, she was collateral damage anyway.”

even in your panic, it’s as if all your bodily functions freeze when you recognize the familiarity of the killer’s voice. camille reacts with a rattling gasp, but her body is becoming too weak for her to utter anything; all she can do is watch as the man stops at the bottom of the stairs and pulls his mask off.

“yoongi…” your voice breaks as you try to speak again, but nothing coherent comes out.

he drops the mask on the floor and brushes a hand through his hair. “i guess you weren’t expecting that. good. we kept it up ‘til the end.”

your lips form around the word we, but your vocal cords won’t cooperate. you twist around to look at jungkook, who is still standing by the couch.

the man who you’d gotten too close to for your own good and done so many firsts with, who’d promised you that he’d protect you and was even there for you on the day of lorelai’s memorial, looks at you now with eyes glowing from the thrill as his mouth twitches into a smile—small at first but growing into a full grin. “i almost can’t believe we staged all that shit and it actually worked. you really believed it all, y/n.

not all of those kills were hyung’s, of course...there’s no way i’d miss out on the best parts. you don’t know what it’s like until you kill a person for the first time. crashing cherry bomb was his idea, though. and lorelai was mine. that bitch would’ve kept you away from me, and i needed her gone for this kill to work.”

through tears, you finally muster up the strength to ask, “wh-why have you done this? that night…y-you mean to tell me none of that was real? being shot at—why would you—” your voice rises until you’re shouting. “you-you’ve killed so many people. what was the purpose?!”

jungkook’s smile fades somewhat as he pretends to think about it, acting like he’s reminiscing on wistful memories. “i realized that killing and fucking aren’t that different, y/n. the real ecstasy of it is in taking someone pure…and doing something to them that has never been done before, and can never be done again. there’s a certain eroticism in killing someone, stabbing them, entering them…it’s like sex in the most profane sense.”

“you’re disgusting,” you mutter, glaring at him through your tears. you can’t help but feel shame to think of the times you’d had sex with him. had he simply been imagining murdering you during those moments? it makes you want to throw up.

yoongi steps closer until he’s right in front of you and camille. “and as for me…i just enjoy it. practice really does make perfect. you wouldn’t believe how entertaining it can be to see someone beg for their life.” his lips turn upwards in a dark smile resembling jungkook’s. “but instead of raging at us, i think you have bigger matters to be concerned with.” yoongi gestures his knife hand to camille, and when you look down at her body, you realize she’s no longer moving.

you lift camille’s head up with your hands as if that could make her return your gaze, though you can find no sign of breathing or pulse. “god, no…” you scream in frustration, your hands slipping in her blood. you check once more and again for any signs of life, because there is just no possible way this could’ve happened, but there are none present. “please—i’m sorry…”

“time’s up.” yoongi grabs your arm and yanks you away from camille, jostling you to try to get you on your feet. you flail around in his grip, fruitlessly scratching at his arms that are covered by his thick jacket, before managing to elbow him in the groin with your frantic movements. “shit!” this causes him to loosen his grip, which is enough for you to scramble away from him, slipping in the blood as you go.

you make it to the other side of the room where the officer lies facedown—though there isn’t much left of his face from yoongi’s shot. you snatch the gun from the dead officer’s hand and point it in the direction of both men. the safety is already off; all you’d have to do is pull the trigger and kill either one of them right now. before you can act, yoongi uses his free hand to pull another gun from his waistband—his own.

“as i said before, i know how to take care of myself,” he says, flicking the safety off and aiming for you, though his stance shows he’s still in pain. “please don’t assume it’ll be that easy. do you even know how to shoot a gun?”

you and yoongi are at an impasse as you both point your guns at each other, jungkook looking on with casual amusement coloring his face. “fuck you,” you spit out. you remain hesitant to fire on him, knowing that even if you succeed, he could fatally shoot you at the same time.

“let’s not do it this way,” yoongi says, his voice low and soft in an attempt to be persuasive, though you just find it disturbing. “you were supposed to be a clean kill. a few stabs and it’d all be over. i’ll even let jungkook do it, since you seem to like each other so much. do you really want to be shot down like a dog like camille over there?”

“you and him can both fry in hell!” you shout.

yoongi glances over at jungkook. they both nod before yoongi hands the knife to him, and the younger man takes a few steps in your direction. you don’t know whether to point the gun at him or keep it trained on yoongi; your head is pounding with a headache that you’ve only just realized you have. “don’t come over here. stay away from me!”

you press your back to the wall as jungkook comes closer, inching towards your right side with his knife at the ready. you slide away from him as you keep your back against the wall. “hand it over, y/n. it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“hand it over and let you kill me? are you insane? you lied to me this whole time, you fucking piece of shit.”

jungkook scoffs and looks at yoongi as if to say can you believe this? “why wouldn’t i lie to you? you were always meant to die.”

he won’t stop coming towards you, and you’re running out of room to slide away from him. you grasp for anything to try to reason with him, though you know it’s futile. “you realize that if you kill me now and you conveniently survive, everyone will know it’s you? you’ve been living here for weeks, you jackass!”

“hyung and i have that covered. it’s not for you to worry about, considering you won’t be worrying about anything soon.”

jungkook lunges for you with the knife, thinking he can catch you off guard and overpower you. you scream and pull the trigger in your frenzied state of mind, shooting yoongi. the next few things seem to happen almost simultaneously:

you hear the crash of yoongi’s body hitting the TV stand and the TV falling to the floor.

you feel jungkook’s knife piercing your shoulder, causing you to fire a stray round into the wall from the unexpected burst of pain.

you hear another gunshot that’s not from you; you see and feel jungkook stumble into you, the knife sliding from his fingers and to the floor.

you realize that he’s been shot when his hand flies to the bullet wound on his lower back; he’d been standing in front of you, and yoongi meant to hit you, not him.

“jungkook!” yoongi’s shout is furious and regretful as he steadies himself on the TV stand.

trying to push the pain into the back of your mind, you clumsily grasp jungkook’s fallen knife and run for the stairs. more shots follow you and most of them miss but one, which strikes you in the thigh.  while you cling to the stair railing and try to regain your footing, you are suddenly staring mortality in the face and understanding with a freezing-cold clarity that you will die right now if you don’t do something.

your nervous system vibrates with fear and adrenaline as you tighten your grip on the police officer’s gun and shoot yoongi with it twice—in the same area he’d shot camille.

these last two bullets finish him off immediately. you don’t think it’s fair, with how camille suffered and bled and died in your arms. for a moment, you’re so outraged that you wish he’d come back to life so that you could kill him again. you’re torn from these thoughts by jungkook.

“you bitch…he was my only family after everyone else threw me away. do you understand? i’ll fucking kill you!” jungkook is nearly writhing in the ground from his upset and from the hurt of his injury; it frightens you that this same man is someone you once thought you could grow fond of.

you aim the gun for jungkook next, but the chamber is empty. either way, he currently has no weapon, which leaves you with a small chance to get away before he re-arms himself. throwing the gun away, you stagger up the rest of the steps while his screams continue echoing up to you.

you give no thought to the blood trail you’re leaving behind as you rush to veronica’s room and to the window yoongi had entered through. you begin squeezing yourself through, keeping your grip on your knife all the while, but your injuries make it difficult to move. a few more tears slip out as you try to balance your injured leg on the tree branch beneath the window, and the desperation of wanting to give up clings to you.

you hear jungkook’s heavy and limping footsteps coming up the stairs, and you attempt to hurry, but you’re only halfway out of the window. when he crashes into the room, it’s unnervingly easy for him to grab your arm and yank your body back through the window, uncaring of how you get scraped up in the process.

he jams you up against the nightstand with one of the kitchen knives to your neck to stop your movements; his harsh maneuver causes the objects on the nightstand to rattle. the nightstand’s edge digs into the backs of your thighs, the pressure causing your wounded thigh to hurt more.

“you want to know why i picked you?” jungkook hisses, the knife’s blade stinging your throat as it begins to break skin. “you were just another choice out of many, but i decided you’d be the first one that i’d fuck and kill.”

it’s painful to hear, but it angers you at the same time. “fuck you!” in your rage, you spit in his eyes. jungkook jerks back and the knife shifts from its previous position at your neck; you take those few seconds to grasp the alarm clock off the nightstand and crash it against his head.

“shit—!” he cries out, stumbling and grasping the side of his head. he tries to grab for you again, but you jump onto the bed and crawl away from him, your stomach lurching at all of veronica’s blood soaked into the sheets. you spot a small decorative glass bowl on the dresser—the one filled with little candies that you’d always teased veronica for, saying she was so much like a grandma handing out treats to her grandchildren. when your feet touch the ground again, you clasp your hand around it like it’s a lifeline and fling it at jungkook’s head as hard as you can, just as he makes it around the bed to your side. the shards cut his face when it breaks, slowing him down further as he grabs his slashed and bleeding face. one of his eyes is blinded from the blood and glass.

this will probably be your only chance while he’s struggling to gather himself. you rush towards him with the knife handle tight in both of your hands and drive the blade into the middle of his chest, putting all your strength into that movement—just as his own knife impales your abdomen.

you are both simultaneously struck from the shock of being stabbed, and it takes you a few long moments to piece your mind back together as the pain radiates throughout your body. jungkook groans when you shift the knife around in his wound as you pull it out, letting his blood flow out freely. his breaths become wet and rattling as he chokes on his own blood, the red fluid staining his mouth and dripping down to his neck. he jams his knife further into your wound in retaliation so that the handle is flush against your body, causing your head to spin.

“i-if i die, i’m taking you w-with me.” jungkook gasps with his remaining effort. his body starts to sag from its standing position as he weakens, his hand slipping from the knife handle. he loosely grasps the comforter with one hand as he collapses to his knees, his torso becoming soaked with blood and his head bleeding from your earlier hits.

you drop your knife and lean against the bed too, shifting your body to find a position that could lessen the pain, but it’s impossible with a knife lodged in your abdomen. you know enough to understand that you’ll bleed out faster if you remove it, though, so you resist the urge. “you can rot in hell alone, jungkook.” you watch him struggle for what feels like minutes before his breaths stop altogether and his body slumps to the floor. he is just a blur of clothes and blood through your tears. you’ve never felt so lonely in your life.

you have a thought to call 911, but you’re becoming more and more lightheaded from the blood loss, and you can already hear sirens approaching on your street. you figure one of your neighbors must’ve called after hearing the gunshots; perhaps the bodyguard sent for backup before he was shot. your rescue has come much later than you would’ve preferred—or maybe everything just happened much faster than it seemed. you can’t tell anymore.

you can’t tell anymore, and you no longer want to look at the carnage around you, and nothing makes any sense. so, you close your eyes to it all; and when you feel someone lifting you in their arms—this sensation is so familiar—and maneuvering you onto a stretcher, you allow yourself to relent to it and empty your mind of everything.

@ihatemen55 @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @yunhofingers @heybabesposts @twilight-loveer @whipwhoops @mrsminho @junecat18 @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @okayiamkassandra @witchbitxhxx @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @thaiika @goldentea10 @iloverubberduckiez-blog @katie-tibo @ohsweetmimosa @dream-cvtcher @hoseokteardrop @lpgirl2324 @vanillacupcakefrosting @gukiemochi @jkslaugh97 @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonjklibs @bangtans-momma @screamertannie @kenzietaetae @han-nah-banana @00frenchfries00 @taiwan0618 @laurynne5 @monvante @ynisthatyou @thiccthighs19 @jeonwiixard

[poisoned-fruit-prose]

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.

synop: you get frustrated when you realize viktor is making more progress than you on hextech.

wc: 1037.

includes: just fluff. reader is a secret mage, and their connection to magic inspired them to start developing hextech. reader and viktor are academic (and romantic) partners. lots of czech pet names. he loves you so much.

author's note: been writing a lot of fics relating to being viktor's "only one" (instead of jayce, though jayvik is still very close to my heart) as if they're memories he's looking back on. maybe this will be some sort of anthology series. hope you enjoy.

Your face scrunched up in the exact way Viktor recognized as your last straw. Before he could speak your name, you were already storming out of the lab, stray papers billowing behind you.

Viktor knew to let you cool off for a moment—the frustration of not understanding was unlike any anger comparable. It was self-deprecating, self-destructing, and the sole reason an institute such as the University was build to assuage. There was no point in consoling you before you were ready. You could read the writing on the wall. Viktor was going into territory you couldn’t follow; he was getting too advanced. You would either have to play catch-up or give up altogether. Both, in your mind, were options only for those who have lost.

Viktor gave you an hour. Well, forty minutes before he decided to get up—it took him twenty to make it to the garden he knew you were stewing in. Your form was predictably balled up beneath the swaying willow tree, the branches engulfed in golden light from the sunset.

He rested his cane against the trunk and grunted as he sat down beside you. He spared you the embarrassment of looking at you; he knew you hated how you looked when you cried. Instead, he looked out over the pond for a long moment.

“You know, I get frustrated too,” he murmured.

“Not over little things like this.” You sniffled. Your tears had long stopped, but you always seemed to have a stuffy nose for the rest of the day. And a godsdamned headache.

“No, admittedly not. But you know what I do get frustrated with?”

You didn’t move, didn’t speak. Viktor shrugged and spoke anyway.

“When you don’t see just how intelligent you are. Just because you cannot understand some of the technicalities of Hextech does not mean you are any less brilliant. You are two things, drahá. You are a scholar, and you are a mage.” He clicked his tongue. “And no matter how far we push Hextech, I cannot begin to fathom what you understand about the Arcane. There is a reason you are my partner on this, and a reason I want you as our guide.”

“Yet if anyone knew I was a mage, I’d be hunted down and killed.”

Viktor sighed. “Maybe not killed—but hunted, yes. That is why I also say you are a scholar. You do not put all your eggs in one basket. You aren’t just a being of magic. You are a perfect storm of words and ideas. You see things others cannot, write things others could only dream to dream of. I cannot let you go around thinking you are stupid when you are the one that conceived Hextech in the first place—the one I go to when I’m stuck and need a fresh perspective.”

“What good am I to the world with words and ideas? Everyone has words—it’s those who can make physical improvements that are the most lauded. You take my words and make with them. How could merely thinking of it compare?”

“That is preposterous, miláčku. Everyone may have words, but it is those who wield them with uncanny ability that give people like us a goal to work towards. Who would I be if you had never explained to me the possibilities of harnessing magic? Likely still following Heimerdinger around, an occasional project here and there—but now I have a hand in changing the world. Your words, your ideas, they are not separate of that. I have the ability to make fire, sure, but you have the ability to use it. You are the foundation of my work. I can only go where you have laid down a path. That is where you lack self-awareness. You are exceptional because your ideas are mixed with your smarts. You dream big, you conceive higher, yet you haven’t thought of anything impossible. Not yet.”

Viktor reached over and gently placed his hand atop your arm.

“And do not think that an award from the Council is the highest honor in life. You have done good for all of Runeterra—but for me especially. If I had the choice, I would shower you with accolades and statues, miláčku. You are an extraordinary thinker, an analytical mind, and a mage immune to the trivialities of academia.” His hand slid up to lift your chin, guiding your gaze back to him. “And you are not that far behind me in invention. Don’t let one problem destroy your vision and hope. You will work through it. You always do.”

You looked at him a long moment, then sighed as you laid your head atop his shoulder. He welcomed you, leaning equal weight against you and holding you still with a hand on your waist.

“...I’m sorry for storming out,” you murmured. “I know that was unprofessional.”

Viktor clicked his tongue. “Oh, please, do you think Jayce is professional?”

You both laughed softly. You sniffled again as you rested a hand atop his knee.

“I think… I’m frustrated, because I want to use magic to help you. And I keep failing. And without the documentation of magic before the Rune Wars, I feel like I’m grasping for a fly in a fog.”

“Don’t worry about me, lásko.”

“You know I can’t do that, Vik.” You nudged him, solemnly playful. “People like you are the reason I started trying to harness the Arcane.”

“Hextech is for everyone.”

“You aren’t included in that?”

Viktor sighed, then leaned up to press a kiss to your hair. “Of course. I just worry you tunnel vision because of me. I don’t want to be the reason you miss a breakthrough.”

“Breakthroughs that don’t lead to you getting better are useless to me.”

“But they are useful for everyone else.”

“Yes, but…” You gently squeezed his leg. Viktor used his free hand to take yours.

“I understand,” he murmured as he watched his fingers lace between yours. “We will both be just fine. Your concern is endearing, but it will cloud you in your studies. Make Hextech your top priority, and my health will be right there with it. And with me, lásko, always comes you.”

dividers used: clouds • scribble

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Okay, picture this - takes out pitch notecards - Buck finds out, not from Chimney, but in some very convoluted way, that Chimney has decided to set Tommy up on a blind date.

Buck, losing his baking addled mind a bit, goes on an intensive Pepe Silvia level deep dive into who the fuck this guy is, where the date will be, what time, everything.

He shows Eddie his plan on his murder planning board. He's going to infiltrate the restaurant. He's going to find the man. He's going to take him out ("No, Eddie. I'm not murdering him." "What? Are you going to rough his ankles up?" "I'm just - I'm just going to have a little talk with him is all"), get the man out of the restaurant, possibly lying about a family member in a hospital or something.

Buck then, fully in disguise ("That's just a mustache, a fedora, and my clothes. Why do you have my clothes??" "Stop that, Eddie. They're going to a good cause."), will supplant the original blind date ("Like a cuckoo bird, Eddie. You know. With the eggs." "Yeah. Something's cuckoo with this plan, dios.") and wait there for Tommy.

Have the best blind date in the world.

Reveal himself as Evan by the end of the date.

Bingo bango, he's dating Tommy again ("This is a terrible plan, Buck." "Shut up. This is the perfect plan. And you're helping me with it." "What?" "You're going in disguise as the waiter." "No, I'm not." "Yes, you are." Eddie will be corralled into the scheme).

So. Evan goes for it.

And.

Well.

It doesn't go exactly as smoothly as he hoped. But, hey! He got to the date! He's got Eddie as his waiter backup. He's good to go.

But.

Tommy.

Never shows up.

Buck, not sure what happened, tries to be extremely casual when he visits Maddie and Chimney's place out of the blue, hoping to figure out what just happened… only to find Tommy there talking to Chimney.

He looks terrible. Tommy looks a little heavier and somehow skinnier too. He looks like he hasn't been sleeping well. He looks absolutely miserable. He looks like he had been crying.

He looks surprised to see Buck.

See Evan.

Well.

Evan is still in his disguise because Buck forgot about changing and Chimney's wholly confused by the getup.

And.

Buck doesn't even think. He just strides over and asks who did that to Tommy. Who made Tommy cry? Was it the blind date? If it was, Evan was going to -

But.

Tommy, flustered, ends up just.

Leaving.

Chimney sighs. He's curious how Buck knows about the blind date, but explains that Tommy had cancelled last minute. Because he wasn't over Buck.

He wasn't over Evan.

Buck didn't know.

Chimney reminds Buck that it's an option to go to Tommy's place and maybe talk about it, even if it just ends up with closure.

So.

Buck takes off the ridiculous disguise. He heads over to Tommy's place. He walks up to the door and rings the doorbell. Tommy open's it; obviously still a mess. Evan blurts out, "Every time I think about texting you, I bake. I just keep baking. Every hour of every day, I just keep baking, Tommy. I can't stop thinking about you."

Tommy looks like he can barely believe that; the idea that someone could think about Tommy that much.

But still.

Tommy asks, "Would you like to come in? Maybe - maybe we should talk. I - I want to talk."

And Evan would confess to Tommy, "I always want to talk with you," as he entered Tommy's home.

As they finally start to figure themselves out after that brick wall of a breakup. No disguises or blind dates or schemes. Just them.

[comikas-fandom-dump]

The "Itachi Retcon"

Because the fandom still believes that Itachi got "retconned last minute" and I decided I wanted to submit an analysis to @itachi-uchiha-week.

Obviously, I'm an Itachi fan, but if you consider yourself to be one of his antis, at the very least, you will find this post insightful as to why Itachi fans believe that Itachi was "never retconned". Conversely, if you are an Itachi fan, you might find some of the contents of this post upsetting, for this is intended as an analysis.

Length: • 2.8 K Content: • The Kobayashi Interview • Proto-Itachi • Between Two Debuts • Itachi's Debut Mission • Confirmed Retcons

DISCLAIMER: Blue links are sources. The art in the header is mine, but drawn referencing Kishimoto's original art.

The Kobayashi Interview

A retcon (short for "retroactive continuity") is the act of retroactively adding to and/or subtracting from an established canon, in a way that either recontextualizes or contradicts past events. While technically, reveals also fit this description, the most commonly accepted definition only applies if the author changed their mind between publications.

Undeniably, Itachi's plot twist (Chapter #397-#403) recontextualizes every single scene Itachi had previously appeared in. But since when had the scene been planned? How much of Itachi's screentime was retconned? Well, there's a statement on that.

Back in 2014, Masashi Kishimoto gave an interview about his work on Kendo Kobayashi's "Mando Kobayashi" show, broadcast by the Japanese network "Fuji TV One Two Next" on December 13th. These days, Naruto fans commonly refer to it as "the Kobayashi interview". To my knowledge, the original video is no longer available and has never received an official English translation. However, we still have fan transcriptions, translations, and summaries. According to those fan contributions, Kishimoto explains how he was very flexible with his story, adding and changing things as he went. Several questions in, Kobayashi then inquires about Sasuke's brother, and that's when this happens:

Transcript by @/kamosuke69 on posfie.com コバヤシ ：「サスケの過去、殺したいやつがいるのあたりは？と聞かれて」 岸本 ：「なんかお兄ちゃんがいる、でもお兄ちゃん悪いことしたっては考えていた」 コバヤシ ：「じゃあそのままイタチは単に悪い奴というままいったかもしれない？」 岸本 ：「いや、イタチを出すくらいの時はもう本当は良い奴と決めていた」 Translation by an anonymous, tired Itachi fan Kobayashi: "What about the part about Sasuke’s past, where Sasuke said there was someone he wanted to kill?" Kishimoto: "He had a brother, but I was thinking his brother did something bad." Kobayashi: "So it could have been that you’d just let Itachi be a bad guy?" Kishimoto: "No, about the time I was to roll out Itachi, I’d already decided he was a good guy."

So yes, Kishimoto altered Itachi's character over the course of production, but that change was already in place ahead of Itachi's debut, according to the mangaka himself.

So, Itachi has never been retconned, right? Well, not necessarily.

While Kishimoto did state he had changed his mind about Itachi before he was "rolled out", Itachi technically had two debuts in the series. Since Itachi's appearance in Chapter #49 and after were mere flashbacks, however, only Chapter #139 is considered to be Itachi's "official debut" in the Naruto manga. So, assuming that "rolling out" referred to Chapter #139, that would mean Chapter #49 (among others) was indeed retconned.

But that's the problem. We have to assume. Since we cannot know for sure whether Kishimoto meant Itachi's "official debut" or "any appearance at all", let's try to reconstruct the mangaka's thought process.

Proto-Itachi

While I personally don't think that Kishimoto was planning to turn Itachi into a "good guy" at any point prior to the Chunin Exams, it's still an era of the development process worth exploring.

Let's start with Sasuke's backstory because, in a way, Itachi is the personification of Sasuke's backstory. It is implied pretty early on that something horrible has happened in the boy's past. Interestingly, however, the story does not yet delve into the specifics, and neither does it name the perpetrator. Nevertheless, in the Kobayashi interview, it sounds like Kishimoto had already intended to make Itachi the object of Sasuke's revenge at this point in time. He simply hadn't revealed/canonized that piece of information yet.

Kobayashi: "What about the part about Sasuke’s past, where Sasuke said there was someone he wanted to kill?" Kishimoto: "He had a brother, but I was thinking his brother did something bad."

But there's also something else.

First of all, a page from the Fourth Databook reveals that Itachi was originally conceived as the leader of Konoha's "Itachi Squad", a team operating under ANBU (note: "ANBU" stands for "Special Assassination and Tactical Squad"). Coincidentally, this Proto-Itachi was also conceptualized as an enemy to Naruto and his friends, meaning that Konoha was meant to be morally dubious pretty early on in development.

Of course, maybe this particular "Itachi" person wasn't meant to be "Sasuke's brother" yet, but considering his intended antagonist function in the plot, he would fit the bill at the very least.

Second, in the Land of Waves Arc, Haku insinuates that Sasuke and his clan were likely persecuted for their Kekkei Genkai. This could've been early foreshadowing that, much like the Yuki Clan, the Uchiha were exterminated by their own village. Coincidentally, Proto-Itachi was meant to be a state actor and, once again, fits the bill.

Not that coincidence didn't/couldn't play a role, but today, those tidbits of information go surprisingly well together and complement the current canon. Fans have long since theorized that Kishimoto changed the narrative of "Naruto" from being "anti-state" to "pro-state" post-Chunin Exam Arc, paralleling a right-wing shift in Japanese politics. These published concepts surrounding an evil yet commended, state-sponsored clan killer could easily be the remnants of an abandoned anti-state storyline. If not, this particular collection of once disconnected ideas could've instead served as inspiration for later plot developments.

Speaking of inspiration, it is easy to spot the influences of Proto-Itachi in Danzo, both in terms of physical appearance and character concept. The scar on his chin is, of course, the most tell-tale sign. From the looks of it, once Kishimoto decided that Itachi would be a "good guy", he split off the institutional cruelty that Itachi had once represented and gave it the name of "Danzo".

It should be noted that, regardless of how those plot details shifted in meaning while in development, none of them constitute a "retcon", as none of them had yet been properly introduced into the story. Characters or events that have not yet appeared cannot be retconned.

Proto-Itachi Summary: • Sasuke's (potentially unnamed) older brother was already meant to be the object of his revenge. • The Uchiha Massacre had not yet been established, but government-sponsored persecution against Kekkei Genkai was. • A concept for a Konoha-sponsored enemy named "Itachi" was already sitting in Kishimoto's drafts.

Between Two Debuts

Now, this is a pretty juicy stage in Itachi's conceptual development.

Starting with Chapter #49, we finally learn that the object of Sasuke's revenge is his older brother. Soon after, in Chapter #55, it is also revealed that not only is Sasuke an orphan, but also, he is his clan's lone survivor. So far, the information revealed plays perfectly into what we have just established about Proto-Itachi, building upon the concept without changing the plot's direction.

Although there are certain design inconsistencies (more on that later), the new Canon-Itachi still noticeably resembles Proto-Itachi (which becomes even more apparent in Chapter #127). They both have Itachi's signature "face lines" and wear what appears to be a beanie for a Konoha headband. So, without a doubt, this new character was the successor of Proto-Itachi from the very moment he appeared in the story.

Then Rin no Sho releases, covering Chapters #1 to #119 of the manga. Surprisingly, it's this supplementary guidebook that takes a first step in fleshing out Itachi's character. When commenting on the Uchiha Massacre, the databook states that the reasons behind it were made "taboo" and are hence only known to a select few. In other words, it is implied that yet another party conspired against the Uchiha Clan and, to save face, kept its involvement (or perhaps even the full involvement of Itachi) under wraps.

Not only that, but when we look at Itachi's mission record, we notice that, while he had completed several lower-ranking missions, Itachi had never participated in any A-Rank missions, giving him the mission record of a Chunin. Except, for some inexplicable reason, Itachi managed to qualify for an S-Rank once and never again. Clearly, it was not for his skill, but either out of negligence or necessity. Otherwise, Itachi's track record would match. Many fans have speculated in the past that this mysterious S-Rank might represent or once represented the Uchiha Massacre.

Feel free to disagree, but given how "Itachi" had always been intended as a tool for Konoha's dirty work, it's easy to assume that Kishimoto had already decided (or at least considered) to make Konoha complicit in the Uchiha Massacre at this point in time. It's simply the most logical way to proceed with the original concept of Proto-Itachi, and the Databook entry already hits certain, albeit subtle notes about government involvement (the singular S-Rank mission) and cover-up ("taboo" talk).

I'd argue that, from this point onward, the story takes particular care to characterize Itachi as a paradoxical figure. Before his official debut, we see Itachi one more time in Chapter #127, where we are already introduced to the idea that Itachi is seeking punishment for his crimes, and that he spared Sasuke for him to become his executioner.

If I had to guess, any potential "good guy Itachi" retcon would've had to have been decided on before Chapter #119.

Between Debut Summary: • Proto-Itachi and "Sasuke's older brother" merged into one character by Chapter #49 at the latest. • Certain plot-beats about government involvement and a suicidal Itachi had already been set up ahead of Chapter #139. • It is entirely possible that Itachi's "loyalty" to Konoha was never retconned.

Itachi's Debut Mission

Now, unless we want to accuse Kishimoto of lying or misremembering, the mangaka had already changed the purpose of Itachi's character by Chapter #139. Nevertheless, the mini-arc is frequently mischaracterized as taking place ahead of the supposed "retcon", which is why I find it worth looking into.

While it is absolutely true that this arc depicted Itachi at his most violent (at least as far as on-screen goes), that might've just been the result of Kishimoto not yet having a solid vision for his character. And, although their findings may have been influenced by confirmation bias, Itachi's fans have noted multiple instances of foreshadowing in those few chapters.

During his first in-person appearance, the first thing we see Itachi doing is mocking Konoha. Kisame finds his partner's comment curious, because he knows Itachi to be more restrained than this, meaning that the latter must still have feelings of attachment to his former home. But Kisame not only insinuates that Itachi has feelings, he alleges that Itachi uses snide to process or cover them up.

This is consistent with Itachi's behavior from later chapters, as he is not one to insult his opponents. Even when the other ninja is clearly outmatched, Itachi sticks to neutral observations and occasional praise, never taunts. The only two exceptions? Konoha and, most importantly, Sasuke. All of a sudden, Itachi struggles to keep his nonchalant, unbothered act together.

As a rule of thumb, Itachi's violence increases in parallel to the level of familiarity he has with an individual. Potentially, he could either be panicking or making calculated moves to erase any last inkling of doubt regarding his depravity.

Similarly, in Chapter #142, Itachi reprimands his partner for his recklessness, acting all rational, only for Kisame to later point out several times over that Itachi isn't taking his own advice because, once again, Itachi is uncharacteristically impulsive that day.

And not only is Itachi's decision-making reckless, but it's usually to the benefit of his opponent, keeping Kakashi alive when killing him would've been so much smarter, and later forcing the two Akatsuki to abandon their mission to capture Naruto altogether. Sasuke is the only outlier, but he, too, is incapacitated rather than killed or permanently maimed.

Of course, in the case of Kakashi, you could argue that Itachi was planning to capture the Jonin and interrogate him, except that would serve no tactical purpose, considering the two Akatsuki members had already spotted Naruto with Jiraiya while running from Asuma and Kurenai. Additionally, Asuma notes that finding Naruto in the village is quite a simple task, meaning Itachi had no need for intel - and yet he was fooling around for no discernible reason.

Same thing with Itachi's intention to spare Kurenai and Asuma. You could argue that Itachi simply doesn't want to waste his time fighting random Jonin, but then why are he and Kisame walking around in their terrorist uniforms in broad daylight and stopping for some tea, of all things? To get caught and dragged into a fight?

What obviously doesn't help is that the rest of the cast plays Itachi up as some sort of genius. And not just any genius, but a former ANBU squad captain who rose to the rank at 13 and absolutely should have known better.

Debut Mission Summary: • Itachi spends ten chapters being a walking paradox. He's a genius, yet incompetent (to the benefit of his opponents). He is murderous, yet restrained (to the benefit of his opponents). He is sensible, yet reckless (to the benefit of his opponents). • Itachi's puzzling behavior is probably either the result of internal panic or over-commitment, both serving the purpose of hiding his true self.

Confirmed Retcons

After Itachi's debut arc, I find that the story makes it increasingly difficult to miss the foreshadowing of Itachi's plot twist. I won't go further into them in this essay, but feel free to reblog and add your thoughts! What I am more interested in right now, however, are scenes regarding Itachi that got definitively retconned.

The most famous one, perhaps, is Sasuke's suppressed memory that he only unlocks after learning the truth about his brother. In that scene from Chapter #403, we see Itachi with his headband tied sideways, looking back over his shoulder, and shedding a tear over his own actions.

What makes that scene so special is the fact that it references panels from hundreds of chapters prior, starting with Sasuke's mumbling about a certain crying person in Chapter #7.

In the official English version, Sasuke is seen saying "he made me... cry..." which, at first glance, doesn't exactly make the Chapter #403 scene look like a reference.

However, bilingual fans noted that Viz messed up the translation of this panel. In the original Japanese version, both lines are perfect copies of one another, mentioning "crying" but without naming a subject (ie. the person who was crying). That allowed the line to be used ambiguously.

Original Japanese: 「あの時・・・泣いてた」 Google Translate: "At that time... crying."

Still, based on Kishimoto's own comments, he likely had not yet accounted for Itachi's plot twist at this point in writing the story. So, while it is true that the line was much vaguer in the original, its reusability was probably more of a lucky coincidence rather than the result of meticulous planning.

Similarly, fans like to point out that Itachi had already been depicted glancing back with the sideways headband hundreds of chapters prior, sans tears (see the panel from Chapter #49 and #127). They believe that those earlier panels were meant to foreshadow Sasuke's repressed memory before it was revealed. After all, Itachi was only wearing his headband sideways because Sasuke had knocked it off with a kunai earlier, and that scene hadn't been shown until the truth reveal.

However, if you pay close attention throughout each massacre flashback, you will notice that Itachi had never been depicted wearing his headband the normal way all the way until his debut. That includes one front view, which would never be referenced in Sasuke's repressed memory from Chapter #403. Afterwards, and until the truth reveal, Itachi is never again seen wearing his headband sideways.

It is more likely that Kishimoto had not yet finalized Itachi's design. For similar reasons, Sasuke is shown wearing a Gakuran as a child in chapters as late as #55, even though he canonically never wore a school uniform.

This becomes all the more obvious when we look at Itachi's headband itself. While the standard-issue Konoha headband is roughly based on a bandana that can be worn to cover not only the forehead but the entire scalp as well, it looks nothing like Itachi's torn headband.

If you compare, then the headband that Itachi is wearing in early flashbacks more closely resembles Proto-Itachi's beanie than an actual bandana. It is much thicker, and it has a little spike at the top, both of which are design details present in Proto-Itachi's beanie, but not the way Kishimoto would draw a headband.

So, after he changed his mind about Itachi's design, Kishimoto was probably looking for an organic explanation for the design inconsistencies, and opted for adding in a repressed memory. Ironically, this character design inconsistency likely also inspired a background design inconsistency in Sasuke's flashbacks.

In Chapter #127, we see Itachi standing amidst dead bodies and destroyed buildings. This is also the background in front of which he instructs Sasuke to hate and kill him in a later chapter.

Then, by the time Kishimoto had figured out that he wanted to assign Sasuke a lengthy repressed memory, he drew a different background altogether for that quote and scene, completely devoid of damage or dead bodies.

This served the purpose of adding a chase scene into the night of the massacre, during which Sasuke would knock off Itachi's headband, so that the scene of Chapter #127 could be recreated. Only after the chase do we see that background with the destroyed buildings and dead bodies again, and Itachi once again ties his headband sideways.

Retcon Summary:

• Kishimoto most likely retconned Sasuke's suppressed memory, as indicated by several design inconsistencies as well as official statements. This retcon was related to Itachi's design, however, not his story. • Yes, many Itachi fans view those scenes as foreshadowing anyway.

Conclusion

So, in conclusion, Itachi's plot twist had been in the works at least since Chapter #139. Based on some curious details from the First Databook, however, we can make a pretty decent case that this change was implemented by Chapter #119 already. Depending on how exactly we interpret Kishimoto's statement from the Kobayashi interview, however, it could've been as early as Chapter #49. Still, that's a harder case to make. If Itachi's plot twist has truly been implemented at any point past Chapter #49, then Itachi has indeed been verifiably retconned.

Regardless of when or if Itachi's character was retconned, Konoha's involvement in his crimes possibly was not. Itachi, in concepts from before the Uchiha Massacre had even turned into a plot point, had already been depicted as Konoha's hengeman. There are no indications within the canon of Naruto that Kishimoto had ever changed his mind on that detail. Not that he couldn't have, but the chance is there.

Individual details about Itachi were most certainly retconned, such as his character design and Sasuke's repressed memory.

[runforthehillsbestie]

Broken Lullaby

Part 4 - down, boy

Pairing - Brahms Heelshire x Female reader

Read the story context and warnings here

The sun is out, the air is crisp, and the lingering dread of the Heelshire Manor is the last thing on your mind. Thorton is surprised to see you, but understands the situation that has brought you here.

"If my nephew Malcolm were still around, he could've brought them over, but alas, he's eloped and headed to the shores of America."

"Good for him," you smile.

Thorton insists on showing you around Broadhurst farm, shuffling along with his cane, which he says he only uses on bad days when his knee is acting up.

"It has something to do with the weather," he says. "It's always so cold and damp in the countryside, isn't it?"

"You should take a holiday to someplace warm. Maybe you could visit your nephew in America?"

"Perhaps when Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire get back," Thorton says thoughtfully. "They send their regards, by the way."

You pause to watch a foal frolicking in one of the pastures, prancing around his mother. Thorton gives you a peppermint for the mare, and she comes over to whisk it out of your palm with a feather-soft brush of her muzzle.

"So, how are things at the manor? I heard you had to have someone come by to look at the roof," Thorton asks as you begin to walk again, heading back to the small brick house that's surrounded by greenery and rambling roses.

"Um, did the repairman come by after that or call?"

"Why do you ask?" Thorton says, glancing at you.

You're not quite sure how to explain without sounding crazy.

You're just about to speak when Thorton says, "He dropped by after those repairs and my wife spoke to him. She mentioned him talking about moving back to the city. Doubt we'll see him around again."

"Did he?" You chew on your lip and try to suss out whether Thorton is telling the truth, but if he isn't, then he's a pretty good liar.

"Sorry about the leak, by the way," he says, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Quite a lot of repairs had to be done on the house a few weeks back, and I suppose that one slipped through the gap."

"Not at all. I'm just happy it's fixed," you reply.

You decide to let it be. After all, you did hit your head and when you woke up later it was like nothing had happened.

Mrs. Thorton invites you to stay for tea. You're not keen on returning to the manor so soon anyway, so you gladly accept. In a few minutes, you're sitting in the toasty kitchen, sipping tea and eating the best apple pie you've ever tasted. Mrs. Thorton excuses herself, leaving the kitchen to you, Mr. Thorton, and a striped tabby cat who jumps into your lap. Petting the cat's soft fur, you decide to broach the subject you've been thinking of ever since the incident in attic.

"I have a question."

"Go ahead." Thorton peers at you over his glasses.

"Is Brahms still alive?"

It's a good thing he isn't drinking anything at the moment because he definitely would have choked.

He sits back hard, staring at you. "What makes you ask?"

"I think I saw him."

Thorton sighs and rubs the back of his weathered neck. "I don't quite know what to tell you."

"The truth? Please?"

He pours himself another cup of tea with a slightly trembling hand. Finally, he speaks.

"The simplest answer is yes. Brahms is still very much with us."

"But?" You prompt.

"He has changed over the years. After the incident with the fire..."

"Did he--" you lean in and lower your voice as though Brahms will somehow be able to know that you're talking about him. "Did he really kill the little girl? Emily Gibbs?"

"Ah, so you've heard the story," Thorton sighs. "There's only so much I can tell you, because I came into the Heelshires employ after the fire, and by then, the damage was already done."

"What do you mean?"

"The Heelshires' reputation was badly affected by the whole event. I daresay the Gibbs family, in their grief, took everything to the extreme without having real proof. I caught a glimpse of Brahms once, during a doctor's visit, but never again after that. Not so candidly, at least."

"Oh." You slump in your chair and let out a laugh. "I thought I was going crazy. So everything that's been happening is because of the real Brahms?"

Thorton nods and reaches across the table to take your hand. "I want you to understand that Brahms would never hurt you." His tone is earnest as he adds, "Life has been unfortunate for him, and he's still very much a boy at heart. Talk to him, he'll listen to you."

"I don't get it. How have I not seen him earlier? He's a large man."

"He's had years to memorize every squeaky floorboard and take advantage of the deep shadows in that house. You'd be surprised at what you can miss if you aren't looking," Thorton says. "But truly, he means you no harm."

"I believe you. What about the doll? Why was I hired to look after it?"

"The doll is his only way of interacting with the world beyond the walls he lives in."

"He's in the walls?" You gasp and then remember the impression you got that the house was living somehow. "Well, I guess that doesn't surprise me."

"Keep up the same routine and follow the rules, and there shouldn't be a problem," Thorton says. "It's been lovely having you, but it looks like rain and I can hardly have you driving back through that. These country roads become quite treacherous when they're wet."

"Thank you for having me," you say.

Mrs. Thorton reappears to walk you to the door and presses the rest of the apple pie into your hands. The pie tin has been neatly packaged with cling wrap, and it's still slightly warm. You thank her and drive back to the Heelshire manor. Once you get back, you sit in the car for several minutes, gazing up at the house. You're going to do what Thorton suggested. Follow the routine and act like everything is fine and things go back to normal. There's only about a week and a half left before the Heelshires return, and then you're free to leave if you want to. Surely they won't need you if they're home. You let yourself in with your arms full of groceries.

The lights downstairs are off, and combined with the darkening sky outside it makes the interior shadowy and blue. Your skin prickles with awareness, but you push the feeling away and step into the kitchen, heaving the bags onto the kitchen counter. You only notice it when you flick on the lights to start putting the groceries away. There's blood on the kitchen table spelling out the words "never leave Brahms alone". The blood has been sourced from headless rats, and you discover this when you take a startled step back and step on one. The past couple of days of tension and fear rush back all at once, coiling into a ball of anger deep in your belly. Suddenly, you're no longer interested in pretending.

"Brahms Heelshire!" You yell a little shrilly, storming out of the kitchen and into the hallway. "I know you're there. You come out right now! I'm not afraid of you."

For a few moments it seems like nothing is going to happen. Then a shadow moves at the end of the hall. A man materializes out of the dark, his head lowered, eyes pinned on you. It's Brahms. He's dressed in a stained white singlet with a green cardigan and pants that are held up by suspenders. His hands are caked in dried blood. Your stomach turns, but you do your best not to show it, crossing your arms and glaring at him.

"You should be ashamed of yourself! Thorton hurt his leg, so I had to go and get the groceries."

He tilts his head as he listens to your words, the mask giving him a cold, blank expression. His damp curly hair sticks to the forehead of the mask, and his broad chest and neck are sweaty from all his hard work of dirtying up the kitchen.

"Come here," you snap. "Do you have any idea how much food you alone need to eat?"

He approaches you slowly. He's even taller up close, sooty and grimy and smelling of copper and sweat. The collar of the singlet rests far below his collarbones, giving you a generous view of his hairy chest. Your voice gets less shaky and more stern as you continue to talk about the groceries and the mess he's made, but it soon becomes clear that he's not listening. He has sidled even closer, leaning in to smell your hair. His next couple of breaths come out fast and hard, his nose nearly brushing against the top of your head, and you feel like you need to pull the brakes on whatever this is.

"Brahms!"

He jerks back at the sound of your loud voice, his eyes hazy and startled.

"You're dirty," you say in a low voice. "Come with me."

You step past him, back into the kitchen. He's utterly soundless behind you, and you're not even sure he's following but when you turn, he's only a few feet away, almost larger than life under the stark kitchen lights. You turn the faucet and make sure the water is lukewarm.

"Wash the blood off your hands and use the soap," you instruct. "Right now, Brahms."

He steps up to the sink and starts to do as you've asked. His large hands are elegant but uncared for, with chipped nails and rough spots here and there. You glove up and start to clean up the kitchen, starting with the headless rats first.

He must have gotten them fresh from the traps.

You bag the rodents and then use paper towels to clean the worst of the blood on the table before going over it multiple times with soapy water and then disinfectant and wipes until you're sure you've vaporized every last possible germ from the surface.

Brahms is real and he's standing right here with me, you think dazedly as you finally put the groceries away. A man who's supposed to be dead and has instead been living in the walls of his childhood home for years. What is my life?

Arms suddenly wrap around you from behind, and you have to fight not to shriek and squirm. He's so big that his body covers yours, surrounding you with his musky scent. The grime on his arms comes off on your shirt and you can only imagine the last time he's had a proper shower.

"I'm sorry," he whispers in that strange, high-pitched voice. "I won't do it again. I'll be good, I will." His arms tighten around your stomach. "Please don't leave me again."

You feel your resistance melting away, a protectiveness washing over you. You were gone for hours. He must have thought you had left for good.

"I won't," you murmur back.

He presses harder against your back with a little choked gasp that's way too close to a moan, and you have to tell him firmly to let you go.

"You can't grab me without my permission, okay?"

He gives a little nod of his head, so eager to please that you feel safe despite the size difference. Thorton was right again. Brahms doesn't mean you any harm. You glance at the time.

"I've been gone the entire day, you must be hungry. What do you want to eat?"

"Sandwiches?" He says hesitantly, and you can't help but smile.

"I don't think that's going to fill you up." You catch yourself right before you add sweetheart. There's something endearing about the way he tries to make himself seem smaller. "Sit down, I'll make pasta with chicken."

He settles into a chair, watching avidly as you cook. A sense of peace washes over you. Somehow, now that you know the cause of all the near-paranormal activity, you feel free. Maybe you should be concerned that your guard is so low, but you can't help it. You get the sense that Brahms has been hurt before, and all he wants is to never experience that again. You can do that much. You don't intend to hurt him.

He behaves himself while you cook, although you get the sense that he wants to reach out and stroke your skin or smell your hair. You don't know what the past years have been like for him, but you doubt he's had much human interaction. The thought makes you go all warm. You can only imagine the temptation he feels now with you close enough to touch. Once the food is ready, you eat in silence, warily studying each other. He lifts the mask only slightly when he has to take a bite, and you catch glimpses of a thick, scruffy beard underneath. Brahms clears his plate, so you give him a second helping.

The freezer for leftovers makes sense now. It's so that he has something to eat. You give him a generous slice of Mrs. Thornton's apple pie and he eats it with relish. You watch him quietly, wondering where to go from here. He finishes, and you clean the plates and put them away. Slowly, you put one foot forward mentally.

"It's time for bed, Brahms."

He looks at you, his eyes shining through the mask. He follows you up the stairs, astonishingly light on his feet. In the bedroom, you falter.

"Get in bed. Under the covers, Brahms."

You despair at how dirty he is, but just the thought of trying to get him to bathe or shower makes you shiver. It sounds like a recipe for disaster. He gets into the bed and slowly rests his head against the pillow, looking at you like he's waiting for something.

"Kiss goodnight," he says.

Oh. He wants the doll here. The doll is downstairs somewhere, forgotten in the face of his existence.

"Ah, I'll go get mini-Brahms," you say. "Stay put, okay?"

You turn to leave, and he grabs you, his hand snapping around your forearm, circling it completely.

"Kiss," he murmurs, and you belatedly realize he means himself.

"I don't know..." You swallow hard.

His pleading eyes remain on your face. He looks so desperate.

You sigh. "Okay. Hold still."

Warily, you lean over him. You're aiming for his forehead, but he tilts his face up and presses the cool lips of his mask against yours. It sends a bolt of electricity right up your spine, and you're so taken off guard that you freeze. He takes advantage of it, his hands moving to your upper arms to hold you gently as he nudges more insistently against your lips. Behind the mask, there's a deep masculine groan, and you snap back to your senses as your body floods with a delicious and confusing feeling of desire. You pull away sharply. He tries to sit up and follow your trajectory, but you push him down gently.

"You need to sleep, Brahms. Be good."

He settles against the pillow again and nods. You don't dare sneak a peek at his lower body because you already know he's aroused just from kissing you. You hurry out of the room and close the door softly behind you. You get ready for bed in a daze, crawling under the sheets once you're done and eyeing your locked door.

Brahms Heelshire is real. You can hardly believe it.

The next morning, you can pretend it was all a dream until you unlock your bedroom door and find that Brahms is standing right there. In the light of day, the truth of his existence is irrefutable.

"Brahms," you squeak. "Good morning."

His eyes are wide behind the mask, pupils dilated. You're wondering why he's looking at you like that until you realize you're in your skimpy nightgown and the cold has your nipples in stiff peaks, clearly outlined underneath the material. To his untried eyes, you might as well be naked. You grab a robe and pull it around your form.

"Did you sleep well?"

He nods, filling the doorway and unintentionally blocking your path.

"Let's go to the kitchen. I'll make pancakes."

When he doesn't immediately move, you take a breath, ready to summon your stern voice, when he pulls you into his arms and buries his nose in your hair. It would be sweet and innocent if not for his erection digging blatantly into your stomach. You allow him a few moments of holding you before you command him to back up. He releases you reluctantly, and you fight for some semblance of control.

"Pancakes," you say briskly and march down the stairs.

He watches you like a hawk, lingering in the kitchen doorway until you call him to sit down and eat. You're going to follow the list, you decide. You're not sure you want to piss off the giant man. Clingy puppy attitude aside, he's still dangerous. For the next hour, you do some general cleaning and Brahms shadows you, getting underfoot and always standing exactly behind you, so even bending over slightly feels like a dangerous position to be in.

Finally, you pick up a couple of dusty souvenirs and give him a soft cloth and some damp water to clean them with, and situate him in a corner. That way, he can watch you without getting in the way.

"Good job," you say a little later, and he practically glows at your praise.

You encounter some resistance when you remember you have to empty the traps. Brahms really doesn't want you to go outside. When you reach for the door, he slams his palm against it, easily holding it shut.

"You can't leave." His voice wavers between a high pitch and a lower, menacing tone.

"I'm only going to empty the traps, Brahms."

"No," he growls, and you back away from the door.

"Okay, calm down. It's okay."

The damage is already done. Brahms is under the impression that you're trying to leave. He stalks towards you, and your fight-or-flight instincts kick in. You spin around and dash for your bedroom, where you know you can lock the door and wait until he's cooled down. You only make it a few steps before he crashes into you, and drags you to the floor like a leopard taking down a gazelle. His weight knocks the air out of your lungs.

"I've been good. You can't leave," he whines.

"Brahms," you snap, but it comes out weak. There's not enough power in your voice to catch his attention.

You're still wearing the robe because, with the way he refused to leave your side, you haven't been able to figure out how to get changed in private. He yanks at the sash holding your robe closed just so he can stare at your body in the nightgown, his eyes reverent and so hungry. Your breath catches and you can't help the way your body responds, nipples hardening under his gaze. He's been alone for so long, keeping his distance from even his parents. He's probably never had anything like this before.

"Brahms." You brush a curl of his hair out of the way and his eyes flick up to you.

"Kiss."

"Do you think you deserve one?"

Slowly he shakes his head but leans in all the same, full of desperation for just the smallest touch to temper the rampant urges that are running through him unchecked. He's felt this way before but never this strongly. There was another nanny before you... She was lovely but she hurt him. Your eyes are glowing with warmth as you look up at him.

"Just a small one," you murmur.

You barely have time to get the words out before he's pressing his mask to your face. The porcelain clacks against your teeth. His hand comes wandering up to press down on your shoulder, like he's not convinced you're going to stay put.

His breaths come out harsh and jagged and you gasp when he rolls his hips against you. You can feel how hard he is. He's been hard practically all day and it's got to hurt. His hands rest against the floor, finding purchase so he can rut his hips against you, blind to everything except how good it feels. A soft whimper bounces against the mask. You find yourself unwilling to stop him from having this small happiness. Your mouth is dry and you have a second heartbeat between your legs, but you can't reveal that this turns you on.

You have a responsibility to remain level-headed and keep him from taking things too far. Right now, you couldn't stop him even if you tried but in the future he's going to have to learn. He nestles into your neck, inhaling like he can't get enough of your scent as his hips bang clumsily against your body, each thrust scooting you a little across the floor. He bucks his hips one last time and rips away, shuddering as he sits on the floor with a thump, cupping his crotch. His head jerks towards you and his eyes fill with regret. He reaches for you but you stand up and get out of reach.

"You've done enough, Brahms. I don't want to see you again today."

You turn on your heel and stride up the stairs, and he lets you go.

Part 5 - trial and error (Coming Soon!)

@stonerrat420 asked to be tagged! <3

@runforthehillsbestie