#is that a dreamscape in general thing? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

senascoop · 1 month ago

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TIED UP IN YOU , N.RK !

﹙ 🍫 ﹚ ぃ ──── THIS MIGHT SOUND CRAZY BUT TRUST ME IT'S TRUE!

PAIRING : phone guy ! riki × student ! afab reader

SYNOPSIS : Niki was a good guy, no doubt about it. The only problem? He was your phone. How, exactly, did your phone transform into this strikingly handsome guy? It was baffling, frustrating, and, honestly, a bit overwhelming. Here you were, trying to navigate a world where your device had somehow become a charming, infuriatingly attractive human being. And to make matters worse, he was as stubborn and endearing as any person you'd ever met.

GENRE : fluff + crack

WARNING(S) : I don't really think there's any aside from mentions of period and blood in the start, kissing (can be slightly suggestive) and a possible sad ending but if there's more—please lmk.

WORD COUNT : 15.9K

MORE LIKE THIS? ┊ MASTERLIST

NOTE FROM SENA , it's been exactly two months since i’ve actually written a fic from the dreamscape series lol (but I'll make sure to write the other ones too!!) even a little feedback really fuels me—it doesn't necessarily have to be appreciation, it's okay for it to be constructive criticism. Also, happy birthday to our dearest maknae riki 🫶🏻💕

YOU HATE THIS.

You hate everything about it: the constant ache in your lower abdomen, the bloating that makes you uncomfortable, and worst of all, the emotional chaos you're forced to go through while navigating the constant tension your family adds to your life. It's almost too much. Almost.

Stepping into the bathroom, you peel off your bloodied underwear with a groan. This feels just another battle in a war you are losing. The step forward into the shower brings down upon your body warm water flowing. It streams down along your back and legs carrying away the last drops of blood. For that one instant, it soothes all the pain, but not for long.

You press your palms flat against the cool tiles of the wall, leaning forward as the steam rises around you. “Why can't one thing be easy?” you mutter, your voice barely audible over the rush of water.

The thought of your so-called friends creeps into your mind. Friends? you scoff internally. They aren't friends. They're just people who keep you around to have someone to poke fun at, and you? Too naïve, too hopeful, let them.

Your school's anti-bullying policy flashes across your mind next. What a joke. The only time they ever step in is when someone like you stands up to the bullies. It's infuriating.

With a disgusted huff, you twist the shower handle, dialing up the heat until the water is near-scalding. For an instant, the burn feels even slightly more pleasing than the general dull ache throughout your body. But that comfort loses itself too soon as well as the water becomes unbearable (too hot) to touch. “Great,” you say sarcastically and twist the knob off entirely.

The bathroom is silent except for the sporadic drip of the faucet. You take a towel and dab at yourself slowly, deliberatively drying yourself. You wince as your clothes touch your sore skin but continue through the motions nonetheless.

You then walk into the counter, reach in for the pack of pads, and pull one out. You stare at it for a moment before letting out a deep breath. The thought of using tampons crosses your mind. You shudder. Some things are just too much of a hassle to consider: the fumbling with the applicator before inserting something. You shake your head, muttering “Not for me,” place the pad carefully in a fresh pair of underwear you slip on, and feel familiar, slightly cushioned comfort.

The next comes the outfit. Half-day at school, of course means no uniforms—but, in keeping with the school's dress code, naturally. You rifle through your closet before settling on the usual choice: oversized, baggy. So comfortable. So practical. How can some of those girls make such a racket and carry themselves about in what would have otherwise been flashy, tight clothes? How do they manage to study?

As you pull the hoodie over your head, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. For a moment, you pause, taking in the faint puffiness under your eyes and the dull expression on your face. You look tired. No, you look exhausted. You let out a sigh as you run a hand through your damp hair, tying it into a loose ponytail.

As you step out of the bathroom, still adjusting your hoodie, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. There’s a man—a complete stranger—sitting casually on your bed like he owns the place. Your first instinct is to scream, but the sheer absurdity of his presence silences you momentarily. He looks…naive, almost harmless, as if he hasn't just committed a blatant act of breaking and entering.

But harmless or not, he’s still a stranger in your room. Your instincts kick in, and you grab the closest thing within reach—a dusty second-grade participation trophy your sister once won. You don’t care about the trophy. It’s been collecting cobwebs for years, and if it breaks while bashing in this intruder's head, so be it.

With the makeshift weapon clutched tightly in your hand, you take a step toward him. He notices, his head tilting slightly, and for a brief second, confusion flashes across his face. He raises his hands, palms out in surrender, and says in the calmest tone imaginable, “You’re not actually going to hit me, are you?”

His question catches you off guard. What? Of course you’re going to hit him! How dare he act so calm, as if he’s the victim here? You narrow your eyes, gripping the trophy even tighter.

“Well, if you’re going to intrude in my room and act like you’re some innocent little boy who doesn’t know what he’s doing, you’ve got another thing coming!” you snap, taking a step closer. “I’ll call the police!”

Your voice rises with conviction as you mentally prepare to shout for your mom, who’s probably awake by now. Surely she’d hear the commotion and come running. But the man, completely unfazed, leans back slightly on the bed. He rolls his eyes, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“Well, then. Go ahead. Call the police,” he says, his tone dripping with nonchalance, as if this is the most mundane situation in the world.

The sheer audacity leaves you momentarily stunned. Who does this guy think he is? Acting like this is his room, like he’s inviting you to call for help. Your grip loosens slightly on the trophy as your mind races. Why isn’t he scared? Why isn’t he running? Has he done this before?

You glance around, searching for your phone. Where is it? You could’ve sworn you left it on your desk, but it’s nowhere in sight. Panic creeps into your chest. He still hasn’t moved. His eyes flick around the room, scanning the details, but he doesn’t seem in a rush to do anything.

The way he observes everything so calmly only fuels your fear. Your gut tells you this guy is dangerous, no matter how unbothered he looks. Your heart pounds as your brain screams: Stranger danger. Stranger danger.

“I’m serious,” you blurt out, your voice quivering slightly despite your best efforts to stay strong. “I’ll scream. I’ll—”

“Then scream,” he interrupts, his voice sharp but not loud. His gaze finally locks with yours, and for the first time, you notice something unsettling in his expression. A flicker of something you can’t quite place. Not anger, not malice—just…calculation.

Your breath catches. He’s not leaving. He’s not running. This isn’t over.

With a frustrated sigh, you blurt out, “Where’s my darn phone?!”

Your eyes scan the room, darting over every surface in search of it. The guy—still sitting lazily on your bed—doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he tilts his head slightly and says, in the most deadpan tone imaginable, “Why are you searching when I’m right here?”

You freeze mid-step, slowly turning to look at him. What? Did he just…? Your first thought is this guy is absolutely insane. No rational person would say that, and suddenly, you’re wondering if he’s got some kind of mental illness. And, because your irritation is outweighing your common sense, you let the words slip right out of your mouth:

“I’m searching for my phone, you idiot. Just wait—just you see—I’m gonna call the police on you!”

It’s a dumb move, announcing your plan to the potential intruder. But at this point, logic has taken a backseat to sheer annoyance.

The guy blinks at you, seemingly unfazed, and mutters in that same emotionless tone, “I am your phone.”

You stare at him, disbelief written all over your face. “If you’re my phone,” you snap, crossing your arms, “then call the cops yourself.”

You return to searching, hands rummaging through the clutter on your desk. But then you hear something that makes you stop cold: a dialing sound. Not from a phone, but from him. Slowly, you turn back to see a faint, glowing screen appear above his head. The digital display shows numbers being dialed.

Your heart races as the call connects. A voice crackles through the air—an officer, calm and professional, asking, “Hello? Is everything alright there?”

Your jaw drops. What do you even say? Panic sets in. “Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice shaking. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

The officer pauses, clearly unconvinced, but then ends the call with a polite goodbye.

You stare at the man—your phone?—in complete shock. He looks at you as if nothing unusual has happened, his expression blank. Slowly, you lower yourself onto the edge of the bed, pressing a trembling hand to your forehead.

“What the hell…” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. This can’t be real. Phones don’t turn into people. And yet, the evidence is sitting right in front of you—a very real, very handsome guy, casually perched on your bed like this is the most normal thing in the world.

He shifts slightly, his head tilting again. “You seem stressed,” he says, his tone flat but oddly observant.

“Stressed?” you snap, gesturing wildly. “Of course I’m stressed! My phone—my phone—just turned into you! How is this even possible?!”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “You dropped me too many times. I think I just… evolved.”

“EVOLVED?!” You bury your face in your hands, groaning. None of this makes sense. You don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or check yourself into a psych ward.

“How…” you start, your voice muffled behind your hands, “how is this even happening?”

“That’s what I’m here to figure out,” he replies simply, leaning back on his elbows.

You peek at him through your fingers, still in disbelief. “This can’t be real. There’s no way. You—no, this—” You cut yourself off, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

Your phone—no, the guy—tilts his head again, studying you. “You’ll get used to it,” he says, almost like a promise.

But you’re not so sure about that.

“So… you’re my phone?” you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief, eyes narrowing as you study the boy in front of you.

“No doubt,” he answers almost immediately, like he’s personally offended you’d even question it.

You squint at him, crossing your arms. “Then prove it. What’s my name, my last semester grade, and… my favorite boy band?”

You’re sure this will trip him up. After all, your phone holds all your secrets. If he’s lying, he wouldn’t know the answers. You’ve texted casually about your life, sure, but your grade? That’s buried deep in your notes app. And your favorite K-pop group? Well, okay, maybe you’ve obsessively streamed their content, but still.

“Y/N, C-minus, and TXT,” he says without hesitation, his gaze steady as he stares you down.

Your jaw nearly hits the floor. “What the hell?” you mutter, stunned. No one knew your last semester grade—not even your parents. You hid it like a crime. And how could he guess your favorite group so easily?

You scowl, determined to poke a hole in his claim. “That’s not enough. Maybe you stalked me or paid too much attention to my life,” you argue, crossing your arms smugly, waiting for him to stumble.

But instead, he smirks—an infuriatingly cocky smirk. “Those videos you watch while pretending to be asleep under your blanket—”

“Shut up!” you cut him off, your cheeks instantly flaming. Oh, my god. That was not something anyone was supposed to know. “Fine, I believe you!” you snap, desperate to stop him before he digs up more embarrassing truths.

But he’s not done. He leans closer, his voice dropping as he adds, “And how about that sob story you wrote in your digital journal? The one you cringed at so hard you almost deleted the whole app?”

Your entire face burns. “I said I believe you! Now shut the fck up!” The words come out louder than you intended, practically echoing in the room.

There’s a knock on the door, followed by it swinging open.

“You seriously aren’t ready for school yet?” your mom complains, arms crossed as she glares at you.

Your heart stops. You whip around, fully expecting her to freak out at the sight of a random guy in your room. But when you look back at your bed…

He’s gone.

In his place lies your phone—ordinary, rectangular, and definitely not a human boy.

You stare at it, dumbfounded, while your mom narrows her eyes at you. “Well?” she snaps.

“I—I’m getting ready,” you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady. You glance back at the phone, half-expecting it to sprout arms and legs again. But it doesn’t move.

Your mom sighs, muttering something about you being late, and slams the door shut.

You flop down onto the bed, your head spinning. Did you just imagine all of that? Was it some kind of stress-induced hallucination? But… no, it felt real. Too real.

Your hand hovers over your phone. “What the hell just happened?” you whisper, the memory of his smug face flashing in your mind. You’re not sure if you’re losing it or if your phone just pulled the biggest prank of your life. Either way, it’s going to be a long day.

You couldn't focus at all during school. The weight of your phone in your pocket felt heavier than usual, as though it was a ticking time bomb waiting to spring legs and arms again. The thought of keeping it in your bag seemed like a bad idea—what if it turned into him again and someone saw? The last thing you needed was to explain that.

And yet, your mind kept wandering back to him. The guy. The phone. Whatever he was. He was… kind of handsome.

You mentally slapped yourself. Snap out of it, Y/N. It’s your phone, not a K-drama lead! Still, the thought lingered, making your stomach churn. What if you’d imagined everything? What if it was all in your head?

You tried to shake the unsettling thought, but it stuck. Maybe you were losing it. After all, you weren’t exactly what anyone would call normal. You’d always kept to yourself, avoided making friends, and generally preferred your own company. Isn’t that how they describe psychopaths in true crime documentaries?

You shivered at the thought. Maybe Eunmi would understand. She was quiet, kept her distance from people too. You glanced across the classroom and spotted her sitting by herself. Perfect. You grabbed your stuff and slid into the seat next to her.

Eunmi turned to you, her brows furrowing in confusion. Without a word, she grabbed her things and moved to another seat across the room.

“Wtf?” you muttered, glaring after her. “Some people are so ungrateful. She could’ve just said she didn’t want to talk.”

You slumped back in your seat, fuming and plotting petty revenge in your head. But before you could dwell on it too much, the classroom door creaked open. Miss Shin walked in, her expression as flat and lifeless as her lectures.

History. Great.

You suppressed a groan as she began her lesson, droning on about wars and treaties in the most monotone voice imaginable. You weren’t saying history couldn’t be interesting—it totally could. But with Miss Shin? She made even the most exciting historical events feel like watching paint dry.

Why was she even hired as a teacher? She should’ve been a librarian or something.

You stifled a yawn, covering your mouth with your hand. The effort was pointless, though. Half the class was already yawning or staring blankly at their desks.

Your hand brushed against your pocket, the outline of your phone reminding you of the chaos from this morning. You couldn’t help but peek down at it. Was it just your imagination, or did it feel warmer than usual?

Stay calm, you told yourself. Don’t freak out. But the thought lingered—what if this wasn’t over? What if he—or it—came back?

You swallowed hard and glanced around the room. No one was paying attention to you, thankfully. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something about today was far from normal.

“So this…” Miss Shin droned on, gesturing at the board where her half-hearted notes were scrawled. Whatever she was explaining had already flown over your head. You didn’t care. You weren’t in the mood to pay attention, let alone write anything down.

You flipped open your notebook—still blank, as usual—and stared at the empty page. The thought of filling it with Miss Shin’s monotony made your eyelids droop. All you wanted was to go back home, crawl into bed, and pretend this bizarre day hadn’t happened. Maybe that was the real reason you were seeing things—exhaustion messing with your brain.

A faint ding from your pocket pulled you out of your thoughts. You frowned and pulled out your phone. A notification glared up at you:

“Write it down.”

What the…? You didn’t remember setting up anything like that. Before you could process it, you sneezed unexpectedly, the sharp sound echoing across the silent classroom. Heads turned toward you, your classmates throwing judgmental looks your way.

You tried to ignore them, but then your phone started to vibrate—loudly. The desk buzzed beneath your hands, and you could feel the attention of the entire room shifting onto you.

This was a nightmare.

Your classmates whispered among themselves, some shooting you annoyed glances. You were already the so-called “bad influence” in the school, the one parents warned their kids to stay away from. But this? This was next-level humiliation.

The phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. You tried pressing random buttons, but nothing worked. It was as if your phone—or he—was demanding your cooperation.

You sighed, gripping your pen. Maybe, just maybe, the only way to shut it up was to do what it wanted. As ridiculous as it sounded, you decided to test your theory.

The moment your pen touched the page and you started copying the notes on the board, the vibrating stopped. Silence finally returned, and you let out a breath of relief.

But your heart raced. This wasn’t normal. None of it was.

Your father had gifted you this phone before he passed away. It was sentimental, irreplaceable. But now it felt like a curse. A device that had taken on a life of its own—or, more disturbingly, a human form.

You glanced at your pocket where the phone rested quietly, as if nothing had happened. You couldn’t shake the thought that whatever this was, it wasn’t over. For now, though, you had no choice but to keep writing, pretending like everything was fine.

The park is quiet, save for the distant chatter of kids playing and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. You sit on a bench, your elbows resting on your knees, and your gaze fixed on the ground. Your phone lies next to you, placed carefully on the seat, as if you’re afraid it might suddenly sprout arms and legs again.

Your schoolbag acts as a barrier between you and the phone, like it’ll somehow protect you from whatever is going on. You sigh heavily, the weight of the day pressing down on you. “I should really see a therapist,” you mutter under your breath, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration.

The unexpected sensation of an arm draping casually over your shoulder sends a shiver down your spine. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as your head snaps to the side. And there he is—again. The guy who claims to be your phone, lounging as if nothing about this is strange.

“Why did you disappear this morning when my mom came in?” you ask, your voice a mix of confusion and exasperation.

He shrugs nonchalantly, leaning back on the bench like he owns the place. His posture is relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, his expression completely void of emotion. “Nobody else can see me except you.”

His answer is so matter-of-fact that it takes you a second to process. You lean forward, resting your forearms on your knees, and glance at him sideways. “Great,” you say dryly, “so not only do I have a talking phone, but it’s also invisible to everyone else. Just my luck.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the sky like he’s analyzing the clouds. The silence stretches, and you realize something that’s been bugging you since the first time he appeared.

“Do you even have a personality?” you blurt out, sitting up straight to face him. The question isn’t kind, but at this point, you don’t care. He doesn’t seem to have feelings, anyway—why would he? He’s a phone.

He finally turns to look at you, his face as blank as always. Then, without missing a beat, he says, “Apparently, the phone takes after its owner.”

His words hit you like a slap. Your jaw drops, and you feel a rush of indignation. “Excuse me? Are you saying I don’t have a personality?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he replies, completely unfazed.

You stare at him, stunned. Nobody’s ever said anything like that to you before. Sure, you’ve had fake friends talk behind your back and parents who sometimes pointed out your flaws, but being insulted by your own phone? That’s a new low.

“You’ve got some nerve,” you snap, crossing your arms.

He tilts his head, studying you like you’re an object of mild interest. “I’m just stating the facts. You’ve been carrying me around all this time; I’m bound to reflect you.”

You scoff, turning away to glare at the horizon. The breeze ruffles your hair, and you feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. “You know,” you mutter, “for something that’s supposed to be mine, you’re awfully rude.”

“Rude?” he echoes, sounding genuinely curious. “I didn’t realize honesty was rude. Maybe that’s another reflection of you.”

You whip your head back toward him, your mouth opening to retort, but the look on his face—calm, blank, unbothered—leaves you speechless.

For a moment, you just sit there, glaring at him while he stares back with that same neutral expression. It’s infuriating. You slump back against the bench, throwing your head back and groaning in frustration.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” you say to no one in particular.

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at you with something that might almost be amusement. “You kept me for years. This is just karma.”

“Karma for what?” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him.

“For ignoring the warranty,” he deadpans, and for the first time, you think you see the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You glare at him, utterly done. “I hate you.”

“You’ll still carry me everywhere,” he points out, leaning back again and crossing his arms smugly.

You groan again, pressing your palms to your face because of how annoying he truly was. For a moment neither of you spoke.

“Why would you vibrate in class? That was so embarrassing,” you say, breaking the tension and changing the subject. You’re not about to argue further, so you sling an arm around his shoulder like you’re old friends.

He immediately stiffens and shrugs your arm off with a look of mild disgust. “Because you weren’t writing the notes,” he replies flatly, brushing off your gesture like you’ve personally offended him.

You blink, stunned. The audacity.

“And why do you care so much about that? You’re supposed to be my phone,” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Because, well…” He pauses, and suddenly, that glowing screen appears above his head again. It’s flipping through your search history.

Your heart drops. “What are you doing?! Close it!” you hiss, panic bubbling in your chest as you glance around to make sure no one’s nearby.

He doesn’t even flinch at your tone, completely unbothered. “Relax. I’m just looking for something,” he says, his voice taking on an infuriatingly smug edge.

“I searched those things because they’re private,” you mutter, your frustration building. You ball your fists at your sides, resisting the urge to throttle him—not that it would make any difference. He’s a freaking machine.

“You shouldn’t have searched them if you didn’t want anyone to see,” he replies, his monotone voice now laced with an evil undertone. His smirk grows as the glowing screen halts, revealing a to-do list. Your middle school to-do list.

You feel the blood drain from your face. “No, no, no,” you mumble, already dreading what’s coming next.

“Let’s see,” he says, clearly enjoying this. He leans forward slightly, reading aloud:

001. Get A’s in at least three subjects.

002. Get a boyfriend before graduation.

003. Make at least one friend.

The list glows mockingly between the two of you.

You groan and press a hand to your forehead. “You’re not seriously going to dwell on something I wrote as a literal kid,” you mutter, voice dripping with disbelief.

“Why not? You still haven’t checked anything off,” he points out, tilting his head like he’s genuinely curious about your failure.

“Because—” you start, your voice rising in frustration, “that was middle school! None of that even matters now!”

“Well, well, well... If I’m looking at your past history and the things in your other notes...” He trails off, his glowing screen flipping again as though searching for the most humiliating detail to dig up.

Then it stops. His screen flashes: 15% character development since middle school.

Your jaw drops. The sheer amount of disrespect��oh, lord. You point an accusatory finger at him, utterly offended by your own phone.

“That is so false! If I hadn’t had character development, I wouldn’t have stood up to the bullies in middle school. Or cut off all my toxic friends!” you argue, arms crossing tightly over your chest. The nerve of this guy.

He tilts his head, unimpressed. “That’s why it said 15% development. The other 85%? Still not there. Let’s just say, you need to study harder instead of spending hours watching those—”

You slap a hand over his mouth, glaring up at him despite the fact that he’s way taller. “SHUT UP!”

He doesn’t resist, just blinks at you like this is all beneath him. Meanwhile, you grab your water bottle and take a sip, trying to calm your boiling frustration. After a deep breath, you lower the bottle and mutter, “If you’ve turned into a human, why can’t you, I don’t know, switch to being female? Maybe I’d connect with you better.”

It’s not really a question. More of a passive-aggressive command for him to get out of your life entirely.

“Well,” he starts, completely unfazed, “cheap phones apparently only transform into males. If your phone was more expensive, maybe I’d be a girl.”

The silence that follows is deafening. His expression is as emotionless as ever, so he clearly doesn’t realize the massive mistake he just made.

You stare at him, the words hitting like a punch to the gut. Slowly, you lower your gaze, your voice quieter now. “It was gifted by my dad… my late dad,” you mumble.

His screen flickers uncertainly, but he doesn’t say anything. You sigh, pressing your palms against your face, trying to hold back the sting of tears threatening to spill.

Your dad had been the best—kind, patient, your biggest supporter. And then, when you were seven, everything changed. After he passed, your mom remarried. You didn’t want to accept the man as your stepdad, not when you still held on so tightly to the memory of your father.

It wasn’t until you were older—seventeen, to be exact—that you realized how selfish you’d been. Your mom had spent years grieving, and she deserved love, even if it hurt you to see someone else in your dad’s place.

The man was nice to you, patient even when you were rude. But every time you looked at him, it reminded you that your dad was gone.

The phone sitting next to you now—this phone—was your dad’s. You’d taken it after growing up, cherishing it because it had been his. Back then, it brought you comfort.

You never could’ve imagined it would one day transform into some smug guy with no tact whatsoever.

“If I wanted my phone to transform into someone… it would be my dad,” you mutter, swiping at a tear that threatens to escape the confines of your closed eyelids.

He stays silent for a moment, his screen flickering dimly before he mumbles, “But… wouldn't it be sad? Seeing him trapped inside a device?”

The softness in his voice makes you laugh—an awkward, bittersweet laugh. What were you even doing? Seeking comfort from your phone?

“Why are you laughing?” he asks, tilting his head in confusion.

“Since you’re so smart and apparently great at giving correct statements, why don’t you figure out yourself why I’m laughing?” you reply, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

He looks thoroughly puzzled, his glowing eyes blinking as though trying to process. Of course, he wouldn’t understand. He was a machine. A device that knew nothing about the complexities of the actual world.

Before you can explain—or tell him to drop it entirely—the skies open up. The first raindrop splatters onto the ground, quickly followed by another, then another. Within seconds, it’s pouring.

Your smile fades, replaced with pure horror as realization strikes. He’s your phone. Not a regular guy. Meaning— “You’re not waterproof!” you yelp, panic kicking in.

“What?” he asks, his confusion somehow even more clueless than before.

“We need to run!” you blurt out, already yanking off your jacket.

You grab his shoulders, tugging him down since he’s ridiculously tall—and far too proud of it. Wrapping the jacket over his head as a makeshift cover, you mutter under your breath, “I swear, if you short-circuit on me, I’m going to lose it.”

He mumbles something, but you’re not listening. You grab his hand, practically dragging him through the downpour. The jacket flutters slightly as you shield him, doing your best to keep him—and by extension, your phone—dry.

If anyone saw you, they’d think this was a scene straight out of a romance movie. The two of you running through the rain, hands intertwined, your jacket protecting his head.

But no. This wasn’t a romantic moment. Not even close.

This was you desperately trying to save your phone. A phone that was probably going to haunt you later by bringing up your middle school to-do list the second it powered back on.

The next day, you hug your pillow tightly, the soft fabric providing a fleeting moment of peace as sleep lingers in your half-conscious mind. The blanket drapes over you completely, cocooning you in warmth, and for a blissful second, you forget the bizarre events of the day before.

That is, until a cold splash of water shocks you into reality.

“WHAT THE HELL?” you hiss, bolting upright, water dripping from your hair and stinging your eyes. You frantically swipe at your face, blinking to focus on the perpetrator.

Standing there with a glass in hand and an infuriatingly calm expression is him.

“Just waking you up,” he says with a shrug, as if drenching someone in cold water is the most reasonable way to start a morning.

Your patience snaps. Without thinking, you grip his shoulders and push him down onto the now-soaked bed, your movements fueled by a mix of irritation and disbelief. You hover over him, faces mere inches apart, as you glare.

“If you ever pull that stunt again,” you growl, your voice low and dangerous, “I swear I’ll punch you. Hard.”

For a moment, he stares up at you, unflinching. His expression remains annoyingly blank, devoid of any real emotion. “You won’t,” he says flatly, his voice laced with the same maddening nonchalance.

The tension in the air is palpable, and just as you’re about to argue—or maybe prove him wrong—the sound of your door creaking open freezes you in place.

Your mother stands in the doorway, her expression teetering between confusion and concern as she takes in the scene: you, soaking wet and hovering over what appears to be… nothing.

You glance down, heart sinking.

The boy is gone.

In his place, lying on the bed, is your phone—completely ordinary, as if nothing ever happened.

You gape at it, then back at your mom, trying to string together some sort of explanation. But what could you even say? That your phone turned into a person yesterday, drenched you in water, and then vanished the second she walked in?

The bed is still soaked with the cold water your phone—now suspiciously ordinary—had poured on you moments ago. Your mother’s voice cuts through the tense silence like a whip, her tone sharp and unforgiving.

“Did you wet your bed?” she demands, though it’s not really a question. Her eyes are blazing with indignation, and you can tell she already believes the answer.

Your stomach twists in frustration. Of all things, this has to happen on a weekend—a day meant for rest, now utterly ruined by this bizarre, unbelievable mess. And all because of that darn phone.

“No, Mom… I don’t know how the water got there,” you mutter, keeping your voice as steady as possible. The truth is out of the question. Telling her your phone had somehow turned into a boy and splashed you awake would sound absurd even to you.

“So the water just appeared there by itself?” she snaps, crossing her arms as if she’s daring you to double down on your story. Her disbelief burns in the air between you, and you feel a spark of anger flicker beneath your skin.

Your mother has always been quick to anger, her patience worn thin ever since your dad passed away. You love her—of course, you do—but moments like this stretch your tolerance to its limit.

She huffs loudly, a sound filled with both exasperation and finality. “I expect this mess cleaned up before you go anywhere,” she says curtly, her words laced with a warning. Then, without waiting for a response, she turns on her heel and shuts the door behind her with a thud.

You’re left alone in the room, staring at the wet mattress and the phone in your hand. The absurdity of the situation hits you all over again, and a bitter laugh bubbles in your throat.

“Thanks for that,” you mutter under your breath to the device, as if it could still hear you.

But it remains silent—an ordinary, lifeless phone. And yet, you can’t shake the feeling that somewhere within its circuits, it’s smirking.

You sit on the soaked bed, hugging your knees to your chest. The chill from the cold water clings to your skin, but in the biting cold of December, it doesn’t really matter anymore. The wet bed is just another indignity added to the list of things you’re enduring today—courtesy of your phone.

Your eyes trail to the closed door, and a heaviness settles in your chest. Your mom hardly speaks to you unless it’s about your studies. Anything else—your health, your feelings—just turns into a sharp yell, as though shouting could substitute for care.

With a sigh, you get up, water dripping from your clothes as you grab a cloth to clean the floor. Kneeling down, you watch the fabric soak up the water, leaving dark patches on the cloth as it gets heavier.

“Such a sad life I have,” you mutter irritably, throwing a glance toward your phone sitting innocently on the desk. Its stillness is almost mocking, like it’s pretending to have no part in this disaster.

Your lips curl into a taunting smirk as you direct your words at it. “Must be nice, huh? Creating a mess and then leaving me to deal with it. Why not become a human and help me clean this up?”

You roll your eyes, half-hoping—no, fully expecting—it to transform and lend a hand. But no. The lazy little piece of tech remains where it is, as lifeless as any other phone. The longer you stare at it, the more ridiculous you feel.

“Figures,” you huff under your breath, dragging the damp cloth across the floor. The absurdity of it all makes you question yourself. Did it ever really turn into a human? Or are you just losing your mind?

Either way, it’s not helping. And now, the floor’s dry, but your patience is wrung out completely.

“When we reach there, you don’t get to disturb me, Niki,” you say firmly to the guy walking beside you. He’s the embodiment of your phone—a fact you’re still trying to wrap your head around.

“Niki?” he repeats, tilting his head in confusion, his expression as blank as an untouched canvas. “Who’s Niki here?”

“You,” you reply with an exasperated sigh. “I’m naming you Niki. Or Riki, whatever. It’s too weird to keep thinking of you as my phone.”

“That’s a weird name,” he comments, his tone matter-of-fact.

Your eyes narrow at him. “Be happy I’m not holding a grudge for what you did this morning,” you snap, barely holding back your frustration.

“What did I do so wrong?” he asks, genuinely perplexed. His human brows knit together in confusion, and it almost makes you doubt his intentions. Almost. “You set an alarm, and I woke you up,” he adds, as if the logic is foolproof.

“You created a mess!” you counter, gesturing emphatically with your hands. “Yes, I set an alarm—but a virtual alarm. Not an invitation for someone to literally pour cold water on me in the middle of freezing winter!”

He stares at you, his innocent expression unshaken, and you groan in defeat.

Scolding him feels pointless. At the end of the day, he’s still a phone—albeit a bizarrely human one. And while his actions drive you up the wall, you remind yourself that yelling at him won’t change anything. Technology doesn’t have feelings.

Or so you keep telling yourself.

And now, here you are, on your way to a study session with two classmates. Not because you’re overly eager or dedicated, but because you’re failing your classes. Hard. And your phone—master of your life apparently—had made it a point to remind you of the ancient to-do list you’d scribbled in middle school.

The list wasn’t exactly groundbreaking:

i. Get a boyfriend. ii. Get a friend. iii. Score at least three A’s in school.

Simple, right? Wrong.

Studying alone never worked for you. If you tried, you’d inevitably end up daydreaming, scrolling through social media, or finding creative ways to procrastinate. So, you’d resorted to digging through the school’s study groups and joining the only active one left. You didn’t know who the other two members were, but that was a minor detail.

You grab your phone—yes, the normal phone, since Riki decided to turn back into his original form. You still cringe at how uninspired his name is, but for now, it works.

The plan is simple: fit into the study group, make a friend (or something that vaguely resembles friendship), and start checking boxes off the list. Not that your phone would ever know, you think with a sly smirk.

Shoving the device into your pocket, you make your way to the designated spot, but as soon as you see the two group members, you freeze.

It’s Eunmi and Jungwon.

Eunmi—the same girl who once shot you a disgusted look and turned her back on you like you were nothing more than yesterday’s trash. Oh, how you’d love to knock that smug grin off her face.

And then there’s Jungwon. Handsome, quiet Jungwon. You’ve never spoken to him, but he has an air about him that practically screams “perfect study partner.”

Suddenly, you realize how this could work in your favor.

Step one: Get a boyfriend. Jungwon’s good looks and his apparent lack of social drama make him the ideal choice. You’re not looking for love; you’re looking to cross a line off your list.

Step two: Make a friend. Eunmi? Ugh. As much as it pains you, she qualifies—even if you have to grit your teeth and fake it. If not her, then someone else will eventually fit the bill. Surely, you’re not that unfriendable… right?

Step three: Score three A’s. With Jungwon’s brains and a bit of effort on your part, that goal might actually be achievable.

It’s a win-win-win, you tell yourself, a cunning glint in your eye. You take a deep breath and plaster on your most convincing smile. It’s time to work some magic—your reputation be damned.

You slide into the seat opposite Jungwon, deliberately ignoring Eunmi. The phone in your pocket is entirely forgotten for now as you focus on your new plan.

“So, I guess I’ll be studying with you guys?” you ask, letting a soft, harmless smile linger on your lips while keeping your gaze locked on Jungwon. You casually unzip your bag, pulling out a battered zoology book and setting it on the table as if you’re here for serious business.

Jungwon, polite as ever, gives you a small nod. “Well, kind of. You can say that,” he replies. He doesn’t seem unfriendly, though you can tell by his tone that he and Eunmi have been in this study group for a while. Of course, that makes you the outsider. Not that it bothers you—this is just a stepping stone to your ultimate goals.

And then Eunmi speaks.

“What made you want to study all of a sudden, Miss Bad Grades?”

You clench your jaw but force your face to remain neutral, even though your fingers itch to grab a fistful of her perfectly styled hair and yank. How dare this girl try to ruin your impression in front of Jungwon? Sure, your reputation in school isn’t stellar, but she didn’t have to say it out loud.

“I wanted to do better,” you reply smoothly, keeping your voice calm and unbothered. Your smile doesn’t waver, though inside, you’re plotting about five different ways to get back at her if she keeps this up.

The study session has barely begun, and already, you’re wondering how you’re going to survive without snapping. You glance at Jungwon, hoping he’ll say something to shift the conversation, but he’s already flipping through his notebook, oblivious to the silent tension brewing between you and Eunmi.

The session drags on, and while your eyes occasionally skim the words in your textbook, your brain is busy analyzing the way Jungwon’s lips press together when he’s concentrating. You imagine how soft they must feel, how it would be to kiss him. But no, not yet. You can’t. Not until you’ve executed your plan.

Time slips away unnoticed until your phone starts buzzing in your pocket, jolting you from your daydreams. Internally, you curse. What does Riki want this time? That mischievous, human-turned-phone was always up to something.

Eunmi, of course, notices. She shakes her head in that condescending way that practically screams, See? I told you she’s not serious about studying. You don’t need to hear her words to know she’s silently plotting to turn Jungwon against you. The smug look on her face makes your fingers twitch.

“Such a bitch,” you mutter under your breath before quickly masking your irritation.

“I’ll—be right back,” you say with a sheepish smile, standing up from the table. The chair scrapes against the floor, earning you a scoff from Eunmi. She doesn’t even try to hide her disdain.

Jungwon gives a distracted hum, barely lifting his head from his book. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Could this guy act like he cares for once? I’m right here, desperate for your attention, and you’re more invested in spermatogenesis?

Your phone is still vibrating as you weave through the tables, making your way to the restroom. Once inside, you slip into a stall and lock the door behind you. Pulling out your phone, you press the power button like you’re interrogating a criminal.

“Hey, Riki? Why are you buzzing?” you hiss, glaring at the glowing phone in your hand. Frustration bubbles in your chest as you slump onto the toilet seat, trying to avoid drawing more attention.

Before you can even blink, the phone morphs, and there he is—Riki. Towering over you, his presence taking up the cramped stall like he owns it. You freeze, your eyes widening as you realize just how compromising this position looks. His knees brush yours, and his hands press against the walls, effectively trapping you in place.

“H-Hey! Get off me!” you stammer, squirming as much as the limited space allows. But even when he shifts slightly, it doesn’t make much of a difference. He’s still leaning in way too close for comfort.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he says, his voice low but cutting. “Why were you staring at Jungwon instead of finishing the chapter?”

The question knocks the breath out of you. You gape at him, your brain scrambling to come up with an excuse. How does he even know? He’s just a phone!

“That’s—none of your business!” you sputter, crossing your arms defensively.

“Oh, it is my business,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t I the one keeping track of your precious little checklist?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “One of the tasks is getting a boyfriend, isn’t it? So yeah, I was looking at him. Got a problem with that?”

Riki’s expression shifts, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of something almost human in his sharp gaze. Disbelief? Annoyance? Whatever it is, it’s enough to make him scoff audibly.

“You’re thinking him? That guy? Seriously?” he asks, his voice dripping with judgment. “Your taste in men is worse than I thought.”

“Excuse me?” You glare, feeling your blood boil. “He’s charming and—”

“You wouldn’t know charming if it hit you in the face,” Riki cuts you off, rolling his eyes with an exasperated sigh. For someone who used to be a piece of metal and glass, he’s got an awful lot of opinions.

Before you can retort, he turns back into your phone in the blink of an eye, falling toward the floor. You scramble to catch him, nearly fumbling in the process, and clutch him tightly in your hand.

“You are the worst,” you mutter, shoving him back into your pocket.

But as you stand up and unlock the stall, brushing yourself off, the thought lingers: Why did he get so worked up? You shake your head, pushing the question away. Who cares? It’s not like his opinion matters, right?

Right.

A week passes, and you’re still not fully adjusted to the bizarre reality that your phone occasionally transforms into a sarcastic, human-sized headache named Riki. It’s unsettling but oddly entertaining—though you’d never admit that to him.

The study group, on the other hand, is a battlefield you didn’t sign up for. Not because of the studying—oh no, that’s manageable. It’s Eunmi, who seems to have declared you her mortal enemy the moment you walked in.

Her latest tactics are as subtle as a neon sign. First, there was the juice incident. She accidentally spilled her drink all over your notes, forcing you to grit your teeth and smile like a beauty pageant contestant while internally screaming. You knew it wasn’t an accident—her little smirk gave her away—but yelling at her in front of Jungwon? No way. That would only play into her hands.

Then came the note-snatching debacle. Eunmi sweetly asked to borrow your notes, even though hers were perfectly fine. Next thing you know, there’s a loud rip as she flips a page too aggressively. Your precious, perfectly organised notes—ruined. You’re convinced she’s trying to provoke you into losing your temper, hoping Jungwon will see you as the unhinged maniac she wants you to be.

But you’re smarter than that. You refuse to give her the satisfaction.

Jungwon, oblivious as ever, doesn’t seem to notice the cold war brewing at the table. Over the past week, you’ve come to realise just how clueless he is—not just about Eunmi’s schemes but also about your less-than-stellar reputation.

How is it possible that he doesn’t know? You were practically infamous for your fiery temper in school. Yet here he is, helping you with notes, explaining concepts patiently, even sharing his own work with you—all without a hint of hesitation.

Sometimes, he surprises you even more. Like when he casually suggests the two of you study alone. Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest each time he does, but you force yourself to decline.

Not because you don’t want to.

You do—desperately.

But according to your well-studied guide on “How to Win a Guy Over,” playing hard to get is essential. If you said yes too quickly, wouldn’t he stop finding you interesting?

So, with every ounce of willpower, you smile, place a hand over your racing heart, and politely refuse.

“Maybe next time,” you say, pretending to be unfazed, when really, you’re screaming internally.

You tell yourself it’s working. Jungwon seems more intrigued every day—or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to justify the agony of sitting through another study session with her.

Lately, Riki—or Niki, or whatever you had whimsically decided to call him—had taken it upon himself to discipline you. Whenever study time rolled around, he would shut your bedroom door with the finality of a prison warden, ensuring zero distractions.

At first, it was kind of helpful. You begrudgingly admitted that. But as the days went on, it started to get unbearable.

Without your phone—because your phone was, unfortunately, a human being now—there was no scrolling through your feed, no binge-watching your favorite group’s reels, and no celebrity TikToks. Worse, you hadn’t even heard TXT’s latest song or watched their new music video because someone refused to let you.

You tapped your pen against your desk, fidgeting with boredom. “Please,” you whined, turning in your chair to face him. “I studied for like, three hours, didn’t I? Now be a good boy and let mama see some reels or TikToks!” You added the last part with a teasing lilt, hoping to fluster him.

But you forgot—this was Riki. Your sentient, emotionally unavailable phone. Feelings? Not his thing.

“No,” he replied flatly, arms crossed like he was the boss of you.

“Please, Miki!” you tried again, throwing in some puppy-dog eyes for good measure.

He raised a brow, unimpressed. “Miki? Didn’t you already name me Riki?” His tone was laced with exasperation, like he couldn’t fathom how you’d forgotten the name you gave him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you huffed, brushing off his sarcasm. “I swear, it’s just one music video. That’s it. I’ve earned it!”

He didn’t respond immediately, his face a mix of suspicion and resignation. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But just one video.”

Your face lit up as a glowing screen materialized above his head, displaying the thumbnail of TXT’s latest music video. As it began to play, you clapped in delight and sang along, fully immersing yourself in the moment.

But just as you were getting into it—pausing to admire Soobin’s part—Riki froze the video mid-frame.

“Enough,” he said, his tone as dry as the Sahara.

You glared at him, fists clenched as if contemplating whether punching him was worth the effort. Instead, you let out an exaggerated groan, slumping in your chair.

Riki ignored your dramatics, a timer popping up in the digital display above his head. It ticked down with cruel efficiency, mocking you.

“Can you believe this?” you muttered under your breath. “My phone is moody.”

“I wish I was with Jungwon,” you muttered, shooting a glare at the sulking figure in front of you. You didn’t even try to hide the exasperation in your voice.

Riki’s eyes snapped to yours, his expression hardening as if you’d just insulted his entire existence. “Why the blonde-haired guy?” he asked, his lips twisting into a bitter frown.

It was the first time you’d seen him show this much emotion, and it was shockingly clear—he despised Jungwon.

“He has a name,” you said defensively, crossing your arms.

Riki wasn’t having it. “So, you’re now his personal lawyer?” he shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “This is why you don’t get good grades. Stop running after that guy.”

You blinked, caught between indignation and disbelief. “Excuse me?” His logic—or lack thereof—was baffling. He’d been the one insisting you get a boyfriend before high school ended. But now? Now he was acting like you’d committed some unspeakable crime.

Before you could form a retort, he sighed dramatically and transformed back into a phone, flopping onto your bed with a heavy thud.

You groaned, snatching him up. “What is your problem?” You pressed the power button, trying to unlock the screen, but the phone didn’t respond. No matter how many times you swiped or tapped, it stubbornly refused to work.

“Are you kidding me?” you hissed, your annoyance bubbling over.

From your bed, the phone-turned-human smirked, lounging like he owned the place before flickering back into a phone. The audacity.

“Aghhh, fine! I’ll study!” you snapped, stomping back to your desk. Your chair scraped loudly against the floor as you plopped down, glaring daggers at the sulking phone.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him flickering in and out of human form, like some glitching video game character. One moment he was there, leaning against your pillows with his arms crossed and an unimpressed look; the next, he was just a lifeless phone.

It was almost…cute? No, no, you shook your head. There was nothing cute about your phone-human hybrid being this petty.

Still, you found your eyes wandering back to him more often than you’d like to admit. And each time, you caught the faintest hint of a smug expression on his face, as if he knew he was winning this ridiculous battle of wills.

“Yes, Mom, I’ll go! Just two minutes!” you shout, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a passable top in a rush. All this, just to take out the trash. A noble cause? Hardly. But it was enough to earn your mom’s approval.

Riki—or your phone, rather—lay silent on your desk. He wasn’t in human form right now, but if he were, you could already picture him sulking. He’d been unusually quiet since you decided to help your mom instead of following his meticulous study schedule. Not that you minded the silence; it felt like a small victory.

With a sigh, you grab the trash bag, sliding your phone into your pocket. “Be good,” you mutter under your breath, half expecting some smart-aleck comment from him, but the screen remains dark.

Slipping into your worn-out slippers, you trudge down the apartment stairs, the trash bag swinging lightly in your grip. The cool evening air brushes against your face as you step outside, breathing in the faint scent of street food from the stalls down the block.

“Phew,” you murmur to yourself, relieved to have made it out without any drama. That is until your heart nearly stops.

There, by the communal trash bins, is Jungwon. Casual and effortlessly perfect, dressed in a plain hoodie and jeans, his hair falling into his eyes in a way that shouldn’t look this good.

Your gaze drops to your outfit—a mismatched catastrophe of sweatpants, an old shirt, and slippers. You might as well be cosplaying a beggar (according to your mom).

Mentally cursing your life choices, you toss the trash bag into the bin, dusting your hands and praying for a clean escape. But before you can make your getaway, a hand touches your shoulder.

“You live around here?” Jungwon’s voice is light and curious, but it feels like a spotlight on your very soul.

“Uh, yeah… kind of,” you stammer, suddenly hyper-aware of how ridiculous you must look.

“And that is…?” His voice trails off as he points behind you, his brows knitting together.

You turn slowly, dread pooling in your stomach. Standing a few feet away is Riki, in his fully human form, arms crossed, looking like he’s been summoned from the depths of your worst nightmares.

Your hand shoots into your pocket, fumbling for your phone. Except—your pocket is empty.

Your brain short-circuits. He can see Riki?!

“Boyfriend. Her boyfriend,” Riki announces sharply, his voice cutting through the moment like a knife. His eyes narrow at Jungwon, his disdain palpable. If looks could kill, Jungwon would have been incinerated on the spot.

Your mouth drops open, no words forming. Riki, your phone-human hybrid, is showing emotion. And not just any emotion—jealousy.

Jungwon’s lips part, clearly taken aback, but he quickly recovers, a polite smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Oh… I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do,” Riki snaps, stepping closer and crossing his arms protectively.

All you can do is stand there, torn between laughing hysterically at the absurdity of the situation and wanting the earth to swallow you whole. This is your life now—your phone pretending to be your boyfriend in front of your crush. Fantastic.

“Is it true?” Jungwon asks, tilting his head slightly. His tone is soft, uncertain, like he’s piecing together a puzzle that suddenly doesn’t make sense. He had never known you had a boyfriend. The poor guy had even started thinking maybe—just maybe—you might be interested in him. But now? He thinks otherwise.

“Yeah… I think so,” you mutter, your voice barely audible as you glance at Riki. Confusion swirls in your head like a storm. Why on earth is this bastard acting like a full-fledged human, let alone ruining the sliver of progress you'd made with Jungwon?

“It’s 100% true,” Riki cuts in, his voice low and menacing as he steps between you and Jungwon. “So, I suggest you stay away from my girlfriend.”

Jungwon blinks, his lips parting slightly in disbelief. “Oh… okay,” he says after a moment, his voice a mix of confusion and reluctant acceptance. Relief flashes briefly across his face—better to find out now than after he’d fallen for you completely, he reasons.

He tosses his trash into the bin, bows politely—because, of course, Jungwon’s still a gentleman—and turns on his heel, walking back toward his apartment.

As soon as he’s out of sight, you whirl on Riki, fury bubbling just beneath the surface. “You ruined it, Niki!” you hiss through gritted teeth, your voice a harsh whisper to avoid attracting any curious neighbors.

Riki just shrugs, utterly unbothered. A screen materializes above his head, glowing faintly in the dim light. It displays a graph, bold and undeniable: Jungwon negatively affects your study efficiency by 60%.

“See?” he says, pointing at the glowing data like it’s irrefutable proof. “I’m doing you a favor. Jungwon’s presence is literally detrimental to your academic success.”

You stare at the screen, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. You’re at a loss. How are you supposed to argue with statistics? It’s infuriatingly logical, and yet, entirely absurd.

Your foot taps impatiently on the pavement as you cross your arms. “Why do you hate Jungwon so much?” you ask, your voice sharp with exasperation. Deep down, you’re fighting the urge to smack him—though you quickly remind yourself that assaulting your phone probably isn’t the best idea.

“Like I said,” Riki replies, folding his arms with a dramatic sigh. “That boy ruins your studies. You could look for a boyfriend somewhere else.”

You groan, running a hand down your face. The memory of Jungwon’s hurt, betrayed expression as he walked away is burned into your mind. But there’s something even more pressing you need to know. You fix Riki with a narrowed gaze, your brow arching suspiciously. “Why did you say you were my boyfriend?”

For the first time, Riki hesitates. His usually confident demeanor falters, and a sheepish smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding your glare like a guilty child caught red-handed.

“I mean… it’s the most effective method to turn a guy away,” he says finally, shrugging like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you deadpan, but Riki presses on, completely unfazed.

“It’s just basic strategy,” he explains, nodding as though he’s a seasoned love expert. “I’ve read enough online to know that guys back off when they think someone’s already taken. Works like a charm.”

You stare at him, incredulous. The audacity of this device—no, this thing—is beyond anything you’ve ever encountered. “You’re basing my love life on… internet articles?”

“Trust me,” he says with a wink, flashing a smug grin. “I’ve got access to all the data.”

You groan again, louder this time, wondering if tossing him into the trash bin would solve all your problems. If only.

Riki trails behind you as you climb the stairs to your apartment, his steps eerily silent despite his human-like form. At your door, you stop abruptly and turn to him, panic creeping into your voice. “Turn back into a phone, Niki. Now.”

He folds his arms and tilts his head, looking every bit like a rebellious teenager. “You literally named me Riki. Can you settle on one name for once?” His tone carries a tinge of irritation, and you blink in disbelief at the audacity of your phone to talk back to you.

“Okay, fine. My dear Riki, please turn back into a phone—”

Before you can finish, your mother’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. “Y/N! Are you back yet?”

Your heart lurches, a surge of panic shooting through you. Your eyes dart to Riki, your expression pleading. “Turn back into a phone. Now,” you hiss under your breath, motioning wildly for him to do something—anything—before disaster strikes.

To your immense relief, Riki flashes you an exaggerated wink and morphs seamlessly back into your phone, the glowing screen dimming as he settles into your palm. You clutch him tightly, hiding him in your fist just as the door swings open.

Your mother appears, her usual stern expression replaced with something unnervingly mild. “Why are you standing there? Come inside and study.”

Her voice is calm—too calm. It sends a shiver down your spine. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost believe this gentleness was her true nature. But you do know better, and you don’t trust it for a second.

“Coming,” you mumble, stepping inside. Your stepdad is lounging on the couch, the rustle of his newspaper the only sound he makes. You deliberately avoid his gaze, moving as quietly as possible. Your footsteps are measured and light as you head straight for your room, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Once inside, you let out a long, weary sigh, your body sinking onto the bed. The room is dim, curtains drawn tightly shut to block out the evening light. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out Riki and place him beside you on the bed.

“Hey,” you whisper, exhaustion evident in your voice. “You can turn into a human now.”

Barely a second passes before a familiar presence materializes next to you. Riki sits there, leaning back casually against the headboard like he owns the place. His eyes sparkle with that same smug mischief, and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes.

The two of you are lying side by side, close enough for your shoulders to brush. The thought hits you suddenly: if anyone walked in right now, they’d think you were a couple. The intimacy of the moment feels strangely... natural.

But you shake the thought away, annoyed at yourself for even entertaining it. You’re not interested in Riki like that. You’re not. Except...

You steal a glance at him. His human form is alarmingly realistic, right down to the faint curve of his lips and the way his hair falls perfectly out of place.

Maybe you’re not interested in Jungwon anymore. Maybe—just maybe—you like Riki instead.

But there’s no way you’d ever admit that. Not to him. The moment those words leave your mouth, he’ll launch into some long-winded lecture about how technology can’t reciprocate feelings. You’d never hear the end of it.

Riki catches you staring and raises an eyebrow, smirking. “What?”

“Nothing,” you snap, turning away quickly, cheeks heating up.

“Sure,” he drawls, his tone dripping with playful suspicion. “Keep telling yourself that, Y/N.”

You groan, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it. He laughs, the sound annoyingly human, as he ducks out of the way.

This is your life now, you think, burying your face in your hands. And somehow, against all odds, you don’t entirely hate it.

An idea sparks in your mind as you turn onto your side, your gaze landing on Riki. He’s sitting upright, leaning back against the headboard, his expression unreadable. You hesitate for a moment before speaking, voice soft yet teasing. “Hey… since you’re a phone—”

Riki tilts his head slightly, intrigued, the faintest arch of his brow urging you to continue. He lets out a curious hum, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he waits for whatever nonsense you’re about to spout.

For all his smugness, you remind yourself, Riki is still a phone. And phones are supposed to be smart, right? Smarter than this, at least.

You clear your throat, sitting up just enough to meet his gaze. “So, I’m in search of a boyfriend,” you begin, the words tumbling out too quickly. You falter for a second as Riki’s side-eye nearly makes you choke on your own sentence. His expression is the perfect mix of judgmental and unimpressed—eerily similar to your mom’s whenever she catches you slacking off on your studies.

“Of course, while studying too,” you add hastily, holding your hands up defensively. You know better than to ignore the unspoken priorities Riki seems to share with your mother.

He doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue. You take a deep breath, your next words tumbling out in one rushed, embarrassed blur. “Wouldn’t it be nice if you… you know, taught me how to kiss?”

Riki’s reaction is immediate and comical. His eyes widen, and his lips part as if he’s about to say something, only for his voice to falter into a confused sputter. “What??”

His expression is so innocent, so utterly clueless, that you almost feel guilty. But not enough to take it back. A tiny part of you is curious—what would it feel like, even if he isn’t technically human?

“Is that how single you really are?” Riki’s voice drips with mockery, his lips twitching into an amused smirk. “Seriously?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you throw the nearest pillow at him in a half-hearted attempt to regain your dignity. “Don’t act like you’re better than me,” you snap, though your voice lacks bite. “I’m just—curious, okay? And you’re the first guy I’ve been close to, so it’s only natural!”

Riki doesn’t look convinced. If anything, he looks even more amused. “Natural? That’s bold coming from someone asking her phone for kissing lessons.”

You roll your eyes, frustrated but undeterred. “You’re not just a phone! You’re—well, you’re you. And besides,” you mutter, lowering your gaze, “it’s not like you’ll judge me for being bad at it. You’re not even real.”

“Ouch.” Riki places a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Not real? I’m literally the only reason you’re not failing your exams right now.”

You bury your face in your hands, groaning. “Forget I said anything.”

But Riki isn’t letting this go. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that,” he says, leaning back with a smug grin. “Is it because you think I don’t understand emotions the way a human does?”

You hesitate, guilt pricking at the edges of your conscience. “No! That’s not—”

He cuts you off with a knowing look, his smirk softening just slightly. “Relax. You’re single. It’s pathetic, but I get it.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you grab the blanket and throw it over the both of you.

You roll closer to him, your face buried in his chest as you sigh dramatically. “See?” you mumble, your voice muffled. “I’ve been single my whole life. No boyfriend, no first kiss, nothing. You’re the only guy who’s stuck around, and even then, you’re technically stuck with me.”

Riki rolls his eyes, a mix of pity and exasperation crossing his face. “Wow. Way to guilt-trip your phone.”

You peek up at him, hopeful. “So… will you?”

He shakes his head, clearly unimpressed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Is that a yes?”

Riki sighs, muttering something under his breath about how pathetic humans are. But he doesn’t move away, which you decide to take as a yes.

After all, he’s just a machine, right? He doesn’t understand what this means. Not really. And that’s exactly why you’re doing this—or at least, that’s what you tell yourself as your heart pounds in your chest.

Your eyes light up the moment Riki nods, the glowing screen above his head dimming to black. Without a second thought, you grab a pillow and plop it over his face as you climb onto him, pinning him down. Or at least, you try to pin him down—because no matter how much determination you pour into your stance, it’s painfully obvious you’re more like an ant attempting to subdue an elephant.

Still, you try to exude confidence, looking down at him with a smirk. “Only for research purposes… of course,” you announce dramatically, hands planted on his chest like you’re staking your claim.

Riki, unimpressed as always, rolls his eyes. “Yeah… research purposes,” he repeats with dripping sarcasm.

He shifts under you, and for a brief moment, you forget he’s a phone. Forget that his abilities extend far beyond your average human knowledge. Within seconds, he’s analyzing articles, tutorials, and even kissing technique videos from the depths of the internet. His hands move to cup your cheeks, startling you with the sheer firmness of his touch.

“Hey, gentle!” you mumble, your words muffled by the pressure on your cheeks. You raise a hand to tap against his shoulder, a mix of surprise and irritation bubbling up. “You’re squishing my face!”

Riki’s hands retreat instantly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. For all his snark and superiority, you realize he doesn’t quite know his own strength—or, perhaps, he doesn’t understand the delicacy required for moments like this. After all, he’s a phone. Why would he know?

He clears his throat, his tone shifting into something more clinical, more detached. “According to the articles—”

You don’t let him finish. Before he can launch into a lecture, you lean forward and press your lips to his, cutting him off entirely.

It’s messy, clumsy even, your inexperience showing in the way your lips move against his. But the taste of him—soft, cool, and faintly electric—takes you by surprise. Not that you’ve kissed anyone else before, but something about this feels… better. Different.

“Just feel,” you whisper against his lips, your breath mingling with his in the quiet room. For once, Riki doesn’t argue, doesn’t mock. His hands find their way to your waist, steadying you with an ease that betrays his otherwise flustered expression.

He’s stunned. Completely and utterly stunned. For a first kiss, you’re better than he would have expected, not that he’d ever admit it. He wonders, fleetingly, if this is what those articles meant by connection.

And then, just as he’s starting to process the whirlwind of sensations, you stop. You rest your head against his chest, your body growing heavier as exhaustion takes over.

“Wait—are you falling asleep?” he asks, incredulous.

Your response is a barely coherent mumble, your lips still lightly pressed against his. “Mhm. Tired.”

Riki sighs, frustration laced with disbelief. He feels the faint trickle of drool escaping from your mouth onto his, his lips parting in distaste. “Hey, you’re drooling—”

“Charge you in the morning,” you murmur sleepily, cutting him off again.

He stares at you, torn between exasperation and something he can’t quite place. He adjusts you carefully, shifting your weight so you’re resting more comfortably against his chest. He makes sure your head doesn’t slide too close to his charging port—because as awkward as this moment is, he’s not about to risk short-circuiting because of you.

Still, as he looks down at your peaceful expression, a strange sensation tugs at him. It’s foreign, unquantifiable, something no article or video could explain. He brushes a hand over your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle, and lets out a soft sigh.

“Is this… what they meant?” he whispers, more to himself than to you.

The answer doesn’t come, but for once, Riki doesn’t feel the need to know.

You wake up with a soft murmur, the warmth of sleep still clinging to your skin. You realize, half-dazed, that your arms are wrapped around what feels like a body—Riki’s body. His form is strangely solid and comforting, and in your sleepy haze, you have no intention of moving. His warmth against you is too cozy, and the soft rise and fall of his “chest”—though artificial—makes you feel safer than you have in a while.

“Riki...” you murmur again, still unsure of what time it is, your words heavy with drowsiness. But then, you feel the slight shift of his body, and you hear his voice—distorted and rough, as though it's being dragged from the depths of a drained battery.

“My battery's low,” he whispers, a groan underlying his words. “Please charge me real quick...” His voice cracks, but you can't help but chuckle at how human it sounds, despite him being technically not a person.

You bury your face deeper into his chest, too comfortable to get up, and in a daze, you mumble, “Just five more minutes... I'm too cozy...”

But Riki doesn’t let you get away with it. There’s a slight, almost exaggerated sigh from him before he says, “No... It's literally six a.m.... Please get ready... for school.”

You groan in response, the panic setting in as you finally start to register his words. “Mom should've woken me up...” You shoot out of bed, suddenly scrambling to get ready. The weight of the morning hits you all at once—your mind still fuzzy but your body on overdrive as you throw yourself into a frenzy of motion.

Your fingers tremble as you tug off your pajama top, realizing with horror that you haven't even showered. You curse under your breath, glancing at Riki, who’s still next to you.

Your heart skips a beat. Wait.

“Riki,” you mutter, an unsettling thought popping into your head. You pause, standing mid-action, your clothes half-changed. “Did you always see me change?” Your voice cracks as you ask, and your cheeks start to heat up, a flush spreading across your face as the realization creeps in.

You’ve always placed your phone on the bed or on the drawer while changing. Could he have been watching all this time, even before his human-phone transformation?

You glance over at Riki, and to your surprise, you see his screen flicker with a rapid flush of red, like he's embarrassed. His voice, strained and hurried, shoots back at you, “NO!” It's a sharp refusal, almost defensive, and it makes you pause in your tracks.

“Did you...?” you ask again, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

“I said NO!” His voice is forceful now, though still faint from the low battery, and you can see the unmistakable redness flickering across his screen. It’s such a far cry from the dispassionate, cold phone he once was, and it throws you off. Was this the same Riki who had no emotions at all when he first turned into a human? The same one who would have no qualms about anything?

The thought makes you chuckle nervously, trying to dismiss the awkwardness that crawls up your neck. “Okay, okay, I get it. Stop yelling.”

You roll your eyes and go back to getting dressed, though the entire room suddenly feels way smaller than it should. You can’t help but throw a glance at Riki again—who, despite being a phone, seems to be desperately looking away from you, his screen flickering like a bashful person avoiding eye contact.

As you change, you remind yourself over and over that Riki is just a phone—a very advanced phone, yes, but still just a phone. It’s only logical that he can’t be embarrassed. You try to shrug it off, but the blush still lingers on your cheeks.

Once you’re dressed, the urgency hits you again. You’re running late, and the panic sets in like a wave. You grab your bag and rush around the room, tossing items into it without thinking—until you remember.

“Oh shoot! Riki!” You scramble for your phone, your fingers fumbling as you finally find him on the bed. You look at his screen, blinking. Wait. Is he still charging?

But before you can get the chance to plug him in, Riki’s voice cracks again, a little louder this time, and it’s so faint you barely catch it. “You’re really going to leave me like this...?” he asks, almost accusing.

You freeze, your guilt swelling as you gaze at him, knowing that if you didn’t charge him now, he’d be completely dead by the time you get back. With a deep breath, you plug him in quickly, hoping the connection will last until you return.

But the weird thing is, for the first time, you realize that in a twisted way—this phone might actually be the one who understands you better than anyone else.

You’re practically panting by the time you get to school, the weight of your backpack pressing down on you with every step. Your stomach growls in protest, reminding you that in your mad rush, you forgot your tiffin at home. Great. Just great.

But the real problem is the five marks. The professor’s new rule is burning a hole in your mind: Whoever comes late will have five marks deducted. It's just five marks, but it might as well be the difference between life and death. Okay, maybe not life or death, but definitely failure.

You’re barely scraping by in math, and losing even those five marks would push you into the dreaded abyss of failure. You can already feel the weight of your mother’s disapproval on your shoulders, and you really don’t want that. Not today. Not ever.

Your school isn’t far—just a fifteen-minute walk—but with the panic setting in, your legs are moving faster than your brain. Walking = fine. Running = late. You’d prefer to walk but today, you’re in run mode, your heart hammering against your chest, your breath coming in quick, sharp gasps.

“Who even made schools?” you mutter under your breath, sweat trickling down your neck. You can already feel your body protesting against the injustice of it all. As if it weren't bad enough, your backpack feels like a weight you’re carrying to the moon.

You round the corner, spotting a few other late students sneaking in, looking as panicked as you feel. The guard is too busy talking to someone else to notice, and you take full advantage of it, slipping through the gate like a ninja trained by your mother herself. You’ve gotten really good at this.

When you reach the classroom, relief floods over you. The professor isn’t there yet. Thank goodness. You rush to the nearest available seat—right next to Jungwon. It's the only one left, and you’re not about to argue. You plop down with a loud sigh, feeling the adrenaline start to wear off, leaving you a little breathless.

But then Jungwon turns to you, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Does your boyfriend not come to our school?”

You blink. Boyfriend? Who—what?

“I have a boyfriend?” You ask, clearly puzzled, still catching your breath.

“Uh… the one I met last night when you were throwing trash…” he adds, trailing off awkwardly, clearly unsure of himself now. “Is he not your boyfriend?”

Your stomach flips. Oh, God. This is it. Your brain starts spinning, and suddenly your mouth feels dry. You can’t go back on yesterday's statement. You definitely can’t let Jungwon go back to your mom and casually mention you have a boyfriend. That would end with your mother’s legendary interrogation skills being put into full force, and you’re not sure you’d survive it.

You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.

OPTION (A) : You could admit Riki isn’t your boyfriend, but that would open a whole new can of worms, and you can already hear Jungwon’s voice in your head: “Wait, so who was that guy?” Not a conversation you want to have.

OPTION (B) : You could tell him that Riki is just a friend, but that might lead to even more awkward questions, and you have no idea how you’d explain that whole situation without sounding like you’re caught in a web of lies.

But before you can choose, the door creaks open, and the professor walks in, immediately starting the lesson. You have no choice but to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Yes, he’s my boyfriend.” The words come out, and you instantly regret them. You can practically hear the sound of your own gulp echoing in your ears. Jungwon, looking slightly taken aback, awkwardly nods, unsure of how to respond. He’s clearly not going to ask more questions—at least not here—and his attention turns back to the professor.

You breathe a sigh of relief, but the panic is still bubbling inside you. You’ve just added another layer of complication to your already messy life. Now, you’re officially that girl—the one with a mysterious, possibly nonexistent boyfriend who has a habit of turning into a human phone. What could go wrong?

You sneak a glance down at your phone, trying to be as discreet as possible. Back in the day, you would’ve been nervously fidgeting in your seat next to Jungwon, trying not to spill your awkwardness all over the place. But right now? You couldn’t care less about Jungwon. All you could think about was that handsome guy who had somehow turned into your phone.

Why are you so cute, Riki?

You tap your phone screen, waiting for it to light up, but nothing happens. You try again, your frustration building. Come on... please respond. This is getting ridiculous.

“Hey, Riki! Respond, please!” you whisper under your breath, glancing around quickly to make sure no one else is noticing your little outburst. Jungwon, who’s sitting right next to you, doesn’t seem to catch on. He’s too busy, probably thinking about his own thoughts. You, on the other hand, are glued to your phone, silently begging for Riki to do anything.

But no, nothing happens. It's like he's just… ignoring you. And that drives you crazy. Why isn't he responding? Was it because you're sitting next to Jungwon? Did he suddenly become jealous?

The thought of Riki acting all possessive, even from within your phone, actually makes you giggle. But your giggles quickly turn into frustration again as your screen stays blank.

So, you do what anyone would do in this situation: you bury yourself in your notes, hoping that focusing on your studies will distract you from the fact that Riki, your human-turned-phone boyfriend, is giving you the silent treatment. You're still a bit puzzled by the whole situation.

Finally when classes end, and your backpack feels impossibly heavy as you hurriedly shove your books inside. You’re already planning your escape when Jungwon calls out to you.

“Hey Y/n, would you be up for a study session? You can bring your boyfriend too…” His words trail off, clearly surprised by how quickly you’re moving to leave.

Your reaction is instantaneous: you bolt out of there like you’ve just been given an Olympic sprinting challenge, the door swinging behind you with a dramatic swoosh. You don’t even wait for a reply, practically disappearing from his sight.

Jungwon, stunned, blinks a couple of times before finally muttering, “What… just happened?”

“Must be her boyfriend,” Eunmi remarks, her voice strangely neutral instead of the usual sharp tone she reserves for anything remotely related to you. She looks over at Jungwon, her gaze lingering for a moment, before turning her attention elsewhere. Jungwon, though, is far less enthusiastic about packing his bag now, his thoughts clearly on something else.

Meanwhile, you can’t help but laugh a little as you make your way out of the building. There’s no way you were going to let Riki’s weird silence ruin your day. Besides, you’d figured it out—he's just being a dramatic phone, and you’re not about to let that control you. At least, not for now.

As you leave, you can’t stop thinking about how ridiculously possessive he’s been lately. Maybe he does feel something. You can’t help but smile, a little too fond of your human-turned-phone.

As soon as you get home, you plug Riki in, sighing in relief as the charging icon pops up on your screen. You can hear your mom in the background, rambling about your day at school, but honestly? You don’t have the energy to care. You flop onto your bed, completely drained, and let out a deep breath as you watch Riki slowly transform back into a human.

“Thank goodness,” you mutter, finally feeling a little more at ease.

“You should've just charged me in the morning,” he grumbles, still holding the charging wire in his mouth. It's almost comical how he’s still acting like a phone despite being human now.

“Sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, a small smile creeping onto your face despite how tired you are. But then, as the moment settles, a thought hits you, and you can't help but ask, “Do you ever think you'll go back to being a normal phone? Or am I stuck with you like this forever?”

Riki hums in response, the charging wire still hanging from his mouth. “Not sure.”

“Of course you're not sure,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. But a tiny knot of worry tightens in your stomach. The idea of him eventually disappearing back into your phone, of him going back to being just an object, stings more than you'd like to admit. He might be your phone, but the human version? He's been becoming something else to you lately. And you don’t know if you're ready to lose that just yet.

Two months had passed, and it was starting to feel like Riki was slowly slipping away. At first, it was subtle—just a few hours of the day where he stayed in phone form. But today? Nothing. No human version of Riki, just your regular, lifeless phone.

You poke at your lunch with a fork, but how could you even eat when your mind keeps wandering back to your phone? It’s just sitting there on the table, performing like a regular device, no magic, no human form.

“Is something wrong?” Jungwon asks, glancing up from his own lunch. Eunmi’s sitting across from you, not even trying to be friendly, as usual.

“You should watch your phone less,” Eunmi comments, and you roll your eyes, trying to ignore her. If only she knew how much your phone meant to you right now.

You swipe left and right, desperately trying to find something—anything—that could explain why Riki’s still not turning human. You’re not sure what you’re expecting, but this feels like some sort of betrayal from a phone.

“Hmmph,” you mutter under your breath, but it doesn't help. The weight of Eunmi’s voice still lingers in your mind, but you’re too focused on the empty feeling of staring at a screen that’s supposed to be connected to something more.

“Why is he not becoming a human?” you mumble, too frustrated to care that you’re speaking aloud. The problem? Only you know about Riki’s transformation, so you can’t even vent about it to anyone.

“What?” Eunmi asks, her eyebrow arching as she shares a confused look with Jungwon.

You wave it off, brushing away the awkwardness, and go back to stabbing at your lunch. But it’s no use—the food tastes bland, almost like cardboard. Honestly, at this point, the only thing that could make it better is if Riki turned back into the human version of himself and saved you from this mess of a lunch. But nope, your phone’s just sitting there, mocking you.

You somehow manage to finish the rest of the school day, the classes dragging by like a blur, but the one thing that kept bothering you was that Riki was still not turning human.

“Ugh, this isn’t working,” you mutter to yourself as you stand in front of the repair shop owner, trying not to look too ridiculous. You can already feel the weight of the situation—the shopkeeper can’t possibly know about your phone turning into a human, can he? That would be absurd.

“What exactly is the problem?” he asks, tilting his head as he takes your phone to inspect it.

You freeze. What exactly do you say? You can’t tell him that your phone is a person who’s been hanging out as a human every now and then, right? It sounds insane.

“Uh…,” you stammer, struggling for an explanation, but it’s useless. You’re not sure what to say that wouldn’t get you committed to some strange techy cult or a mental hospital.

“It’s all good, ma’am,” he says with a sigh, handing your phone back to you, like everything is totally normal. But if everything is “all good,” why isn’t Riki turning back into a human?

You leave the store, confusion taking over. The lighthearted, slightly strange feeling you once had about Riki being a human version of a phone has now been replaced with a gnawing emptiness. You can’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he’s gone for good.

Your bag feels heavier than usual, weighed down by the thoughts swirling in your mind. You drag yourself home, the steps feeling longer than normal, as if the world is slowly sinking into a gray, monotonous fog.

“How was school?” your stepdad asks, the usual cheerful tone in his voice, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. You barely acknowledge his question, as you’re still lost in your own thoughts. You hear your mom sigh, disappointed, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You head straight to your room, exhaustion taking over. You plug Riki in to charge, desperate to see that familiar human version of him again. The seconds tick by as you watch the charging light glow. But nothing changes. The charging is full. Riki is still… just a phone.

You sigh heavily, sinking down on your bed. What if he’s really gone for good? You can't help but feel like you're losing a part of your world, and suddenly, the idea of just using a regular phone feels... boring.

Tears well up in your eyes as you stubbornly mutter, “I won’t talk to you ever if you don't turn in now!” The words feel hollow the second they leave your lips, but it’s a lie you tell yourself. You would never stop talking to Riki, not for anything. But a small part of you is desperate for him to just... come back. You need to see him as a human again, even if you know that it might not happen.

“Please!” you whisper desperately, pressing your lips against the cold screen of your phone, leaving a red imprint there. It’s a pathetic gesture, but it’s all you can think of. A little kiss for him, as if that might somehow wake him up from whatever spell he’s trapped in.

“Fine. Don’t come,” you mutter, frustration taking over as you place the phone back on the study desk. The weight of the situation settles in as you slump down onto the bed, still in your school clothes. You don’t even care to change—you're too tired, too emotionally drained from everything.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there, staring at the ceiling, but it doesn’t matter. Sleep overtakes you, and you drift off in the quiet of your room, lost in the silence.

Suddenly, you feel it—the presence of someone standing above you. A familiar weight in the air, but not the same as before. You rub your eyes, blinking away the grogginess, and then you see him.

Riki.

He’s standing there, in front of you, and your breath catches. But then, your eyes widen in shock. His body is covered in marks. Red, faint imprints that make your face burn as you realize—those are from your kisses. The ones you left on the screen, desperate for him to turn back. It’s embarrassing, but there's no time for that now. You throw yourself at him, arms wide as you practically tackle him with a hug.

His shirt wrinkles beneath your fingers as you clutch it tight, a mixture of relief and frustration in your chest. You pull away, looking up at him, almost desperate. “Why did you leave? Why didn’t you turn back?” Your voice cracks, the raw emotion flooding through you, but the words tumble out in a mess of desperation.

But then, he pushes you away. You stumble back slightly, the sudden distance between you too much to handle.

“I couldn’t turn,” he says, his voice low, almost pained. “And I think it’s better if you don’t get too attached. I’m just a device, remember?” He speaks the words softly, but there’s a coolness to them that hurts.

You blink, the words settling into your chest like a stone. “Why can’t you stay like this forever?” The question slips out before you can stop it, eyes burning with the need to understand. You feel his thumb brush away a tear that’s escaped down your cheek, but it only makes you feel more fragile. “I don’t understand… How can a phone... with no feelings... like me... feel something?”

He takes a deep breath, his gaze softening for just a moment. And then, for the first time since this entire weird and wonderful thing began, he steps closer. Your heart races as he closes the distance, and before you can even think, your hands are on his shirt, clutching it like it’s the only thing that’s keeping you grounded.

You pull him into a messy kiss, lips moving against his in a rush of desperation, a wild need to feel him close. You kiss him over and over again, each one more frantic than the last, but just as quickly as he was there...

Your lips meet nothing.

You pull back in confusion, eyes wide as you try to make sense of it. Where did he go? You open your eyes fully, but there's nothing in front of you. Just empty space.

Your phone falls to the ground, the sharp sound of it hitting the floor snapping you back to reality. You kneel down quickly, heart pounding, and check it, relieved to see that it's still in one piece. No cracks, no breaks. Just a phone.

And then, it hits you.

You can’t keep holding on to something—or someone—that isn’t real. You swallow hard, tears welling up in your eyes again as you stare at the device in your hands, the phone that was once a person to you. The bittersweet smile on your lips isn’t one of happiness, but of acceptance and yet... sadness.

“Fine,” you whisper to no one in particular. “I’ll check off the three tasks on my to-do list. You’ll be proud of me.”

But as you stare at the phone, your thumb grazing over its screen, you know deep down that it’s not the tasks that need to be checked off.

It’s your heart.

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fleetingtemper · 5 months ago

Text

when you get lost

possessive unhealthy behaviors! heavily implied yandere

SUNDAY

you were only supposed to be gone for a few hours, doing shopping around the dreamscape. of course, sunday would be damned if he didn’t assign designated oak family agents to closely accompany you all day. you are, after all, mr. sunday’s precious darling.

but he could only blame the incompetence of these agents for losing you. he will have to punish their families quite severely, he thinks to himself. this could only be an act of treason, sunday reasons.

his wings twitch in annoyance.

“i suppose any good pet returns to their master after they’ve realized what an unforgiving world we live in,” he muses

and would he be the head of the oak family if he wasn’t always correct?

there you were, shivering in his doorway, dripping like a wet puppy.

poor (y/n), he thinks. how likely of you to be entranced by street performers and wander off like a child. stars fill your eyes, struggling to take in all the gleaming lights. you are enchanted by these sights for quite some time, until you realize you are lost.

suddenly, the world wasn’t quite as beautiful.

you shakingly walk over to sunday, looking up at him through tear soaked lashes. he tsks before brushing your hair out of your face.

“my dear, how ever did you get lost?” his gloved hand caresses your hair. “i’m afraid i’ve been so careless with you,” how could he let you, a poor, stupid thing, leave his sights again?

“you worry me too much, my dear”

“i’m sorry—“

he pressed a finger to your lips

“as the head of the oak family, i must protect all of my citizens. including you.”

“you best not leave the estate at all.”

JINGYUAN

when jingyuan is informed of you never returning from your outing, he abandons the stacks of paper work at hand. he truly wonders if you just enjoy the punishment at this point.

you had fallen asleep at the base of a tree after a long day of entertaining friends and family. you just needed a break.

deep into your slumber, you felt a raindrop hit your face. groggily, you open your eyes to finally see rain puttering down upon your head. you curse silently before a loud clap of thunder surprises you. however, the thunder was quickly drowned out by the sound of hundreds of armor clanking towards you.

you rub your eyes, only to finally see yourself suddenly surrounded by cloud knights. your stomach drops. how long had you been asleep, you wonder anxiously.

oh no, jingyuan will be—

speak of the devil.

the cloud knights part to make way for the general himself.

the thunder crashing and downpour don’t feel as threatening now that he had shown up. and of course, with the lion.

he silently picks you up bridal style, and you do not dare fight it. you only just recovered your legs recently, after all.

“may i suggest that you take a nap in my sights next time?” ah, but he didn’t really mean that there would ever be a next time.

“yes, general.” you mumble

he gently, but firmly, takes your chin. “you need not maintain formalities, my love,”

“however, as your general, i do not wish to have to imprison you for high treason.”

your eyes widened. high treason?

he lowers his head until his lips are against your ears. “you are my spouse and it is your duty to be as such”

“you cannot absolve yourself of this duty for as long as the mara-struck live.”

VENTI

venti knew you were lost.

there was nowhere in mondstadt where you could ever wander off to where he wouldn’t know your every move. he admired your furrowed brow and how you chewed anxiously on your bottom lip. you were lost, indeed.

oh dear, it seemed as if you were about to walk through an area notoriously frequented by hilichurls and slimes. he thinks to himself that you’ll just have to learn your lesson.

he watches as the hilichurls take notice of you and alert the others.

he only watches as he watches one notch an arrow and lets it soar, narrowly missing, yet scraping your leg.

you yelp out in pain and he almost gets the urge to help you.

but maybe in a little while.

the anemo archon is amused by how you fumble to grasp your sword imbued with your (element) vision. he makes a face, revolted by the reminder of how one of his fellow seven had blessed you, his darling, with their power before he did.

finally grasping your sword, you swing at the hilichurls charging at you, knocking down a few. the pain in your leg makes it hard to fight but archons, you couldn’t afford to lose.

you stifle back groans as clubs bash against your unarmored back. you feel your head spinning from hours of dehydration and hunger.you swung violently at the monsters, not realizing the commotion your fight was causing.

how did that eye of the storm get there?

when you thought you had finished off the monsters, you felt a strong gust of wind knock you down. dirt and debris swirl around you, filling your lungs. you cough violently, eyes filled with fear at the storm in front of you. no way, you internally scream.

you reach for your sword but it is blown out of your weak grip several feet away. fuck, you had no option other than to crawl away.

just as you thought you were finished, an anemo imbued arrow soars past your head and right into the storm, dissipating it. you whip your head around to see venti, the drunkard bard you had befriended.

“are you alright, (y/n)?” he gazes at you worriedly. tears fill your eyes as you throw your arms around the bard, knocking him back onto the grass.

“t-thank you venti,” you hiccup, burying your head into his shoulder.

he rubs your bruised shoulder soothingly. blood stains his hands and he resists the temptation to taste you. how naive, he thinks.

to think you were so badly spooked by a little wind,

he couldn’t wait to see your reaction to dvalin.

#honkai sr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #sunday x reader #sunday x you #genshin venti #venti x reader #genshinimpact #genshin impact x reader #jing yuan #jingyuan x reader #hsr x you #hsr jing yuan #genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere honkai star rail #yandere sunday #yandere venti #yandere jing yuan

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jellogram · 1 year ago

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I'm surprised Mirrormask (2005) isn't more popular on tumblr. Like what more can you ask for?

Gorgeous and original art and design!

A darkside emo version of the protagonist with a punk haircut!

Cats with creepy little human faces!

These things, which are inexplicably all named Bob (except for one that is named Malcolm)!

If you like fantasy, early CGI, steampunk aesthetics, jazz music, dreamscapes, creative costume design, or generally weird movies then please watch Mirrormask (2005) I need everyone to know about Mirrormask (2005)

#i used to watch this so much as a kid and it's so strange that no one seems to know it #it's so creative and beautiful and weird #mirrormask

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moonsaver · 11 months ago

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Bathing with (yan!)Sunday is surprisingly.. calming.

Of course when he proposed the idea, a colorful string of curses left your mouth, your face scrunched up from the sheer repulsion you felt from that idea. Sunday proposed it in order to "get on more amiable terms with each other", nevermind the fact your naked bodies would be practically pressed together.

But after a lot of convincing, pushing, nudging, and eventually the exhaustion catching up to you from the expeditions into the real dreamscape Sunday would occasionally send you to, you finally caved in.

The water is warm, almost burning, but still warm. The scent of lavender wafts and permeates the air, and Sunday is especially generous using his products with you. He makes you lean against him, your back pressing against his front, his chin resting in the edge of your neck, his soft hands warmed by the water gently rubbing your shoulders and massaging them, as he tells you just how tense your muscles are. He fills the quiet atmosphere with his own voice, talking about all the essential oils he's used, the fragrances you might pick up, the products he's generously lathering into your skin or hair. And it works. The lavender seems to gently untie and loosen all the agitated knots in your mind, the recurring nightmares about the "expeditions" into the real dreamscape finally letting you go of their grasp, the skin of your fingertips finally loosening, as your body relaxes from having been in that fight or flight mode almost constantly.

And you despise it, but you're too tired. You relax against him with a deep sigh, and he only becomes more comfortable, as his hands move down from your shoulders to wrap around your waist, pulling your body closer into his. If it's even possible – his body is more warmer than the water. His soft skin is almost like a pillow against yours, his wings gently fluttering on your eyes to shut. The wet edges of his hair cling to your arm, as he hums in silence.

This becomes, to your dismay, a daily practice. Well.. at least you've found one thing you like doing with Sunday, even if you're quite possibly in your most vulnerable state.

Sunday shifts to grab the shampoo bottle, and gently massages it into your hair, telling you all about his day in a hushed tone, the scent of sandalwood overpowering lavender as he does so.

Your vulnerability is absolutely enticing to him. You probably know it. He won't say it out loud, but he won't deny it either.

#moonink #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr sunday #honkai star rail sunday #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr sunday x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr sunday #yandere hsr x you #yandere hsr x reader #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere sunday x you #yandere sunday x reader #yandere sunday

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akutasoda · 7 months ago

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Heyeyey can I request boothill, Sunday and aventurine with a fem s/o who’s always on her phone? Like even when it’s charging or even when they’re cuddling she just has to be on her phone?

screentime overload

synopsis - how are they with a s/o who cannot put their phone down?

includes - aventurine, sunday, boothill

warnings - fem!reader (no pronouns used), fluff, crack, wc - 721

aventurine ★↷

↪he can be a bit of a fifty fifty when it comes to his phone. normally the only time he uses it is for IPC relevant things, messaging you or ratio and if he's really bored, mindless scrolling. his work can keep him rather busy and so he doesn't exactly have the time to sit around all day.

↪so he found it quite amusing to a degree when he noticed how absorbed you were in your phone. it really didn't take long for him to notice how you practically treated it as a lifeline because no matter where you were your phone was near aswell - more accurately near to your line of sight.

↪it did bring him some comfort in knowing that you would always see his messages because he could always take an accurate guess that you were on your phone and able to respond as quick as possible.

↪however he did find it quite ridiculous that sometimes he'd find you curled up by your charger, phone still in hand. surely you had other things to be doing? maybe you're phone needed a break from you eventually?

↪it didn't bother him per say, but he would prefer it if, when he saw you after a while, that you actually make the effort to pry your gaze from your phone and to him.

↪sometimes he can be quite the menace, especially when, in the morning, you wake up and search for your phone but don't get very far as aventurine would have you in a near death grip hug.

sunday ★↷

↪definitely isn't a phone kind of person. sure he has one but it's mainly for work or managing the dreamscape and most likely only had a couple of actual contacts - yours and robins. he probably could go very happily without his phone.

↪and so he truly doesn't understand why you're so attached to yours. at first he thought that you probably had something going on that needed managing, but when he saw you day in and day out staring down at your screen, he got slightly worried and confused.

↪it baffled him that you could actually spend so much time staring down at that screen but eventually he started getting more concerned that you were causing permanent damage to your eyes. he's the type of person who would tell you about the damage phones can do to you when he sees you laser focused on your phone.

↪in a similar way, he does find a slight comfort in knowing that if he needs to reach you he can. the one day you don't actually get his messages and respond very quickly is the day he panics.

↪sunday isn't exactly the keenest when it comes to physical affection, but when he does come around and finally gets time off to spend with you, he does not want you on your phone for that. if you get unlucky he might start contemplating hiding your phone.

boothill ★↷

↪another fifty fifty. he isn't exactly literate and so any messages are sent via voice recordings and such, this also probably means that he doesn't spend that much time on his phone in general - especially as a galaxy ranger who has bounties to hunt instead.

↪that being said, his phone gets put through the wringer alot. it isn't exactly his top priority in keeping safe when on a mission, so he either loses it or it gets very badly damaged to the point that sometimes you can't even tell it was meant to be a phone.

↪so he did struggle a bit to to comprehend how and why you spent so much time on your phone. he only started getting annoyed when he realised that your phone was robbing him from your affection and time. boothill did once threaten to eat your phone.

↪he still finds it very ridiculous that you spend so much time in your phone, especially when he has caught you multiple times using your phone while it's charging or when you really shouldn't be.

↪but he doesn't mind too much as long as you actually still give him some affection and don't spend that time with your phone in hand again - especially when he gets time to return to you after hunting a bounty or two.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

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legendofmorons · 5 months ago

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Your honor, I humbly submit an idea that has not left me alone for a solid few months. Seriously. I can’t escape it.

Reader is a hero. Well, kinda. They are a hero in their dreams in the most literal sense of the phrase.

When they were younger, they had this incredibly strong love for the Legend of Zelda and Mario and all manner of games where you could simply help people for the sake of doing good. They weren’t too shocked when their dreams took a more realistic turn. As they slept, they felt like they were living a second life where they were the hero. They would go around solving problems, collecting items, and generally saving the day. Some nights, the dreams would be from different times, based on different adventures, or fighting different people.

Those dreams had always felt extremely real to Reader, yet they knew they were just dreams. When morning came, they moved on.

That was the norm until a strange portal appeared in front of them. The summer was coming and they had no better plans, so they threw caution to the wind and stepped through. When they came to, they found themselves clad in the same clothes they wore in every dream, surrounded by the items they had grown so familiar with adventure after adventure.

They had gathered their things, realizing they instinctively knew how to fight, similar to what had happened on that first night. They wandered the area, heroic persona seemingly taking control, heading towards a town and immediately solving problems.

In fact, that was how they found the chain, while attempting to solve another problem. Something told them to keep their name close to their chest and they weren’t in the business of going against their gut, so they listened. They used a nickname in a group full of nicknames.

A long while of traveling and growing trust (and one particularly heated story rendition where the reader just plain forgot to censor their name) and Reader had shared their name with the group. They were met with stunned silence which was, admittedly, not the reaction they were expecting.

As it turned out, each of those dreams became stories to these heroes, acting as a guide on how to act, what to try. In their eyes, Reader was a hero of story and legend, someone kids played at being.

How do you think the boys would move forward from this?

-VS Anon

Dreamscape

Pairing: Chain & reader

Rating: G

Notes: (Y/n/n) - Ypur nick name. I wrote the opening and then skipped the middle, I hope it's okay. I just really wanted to write the meeting.

Summary: You find yourself in the world of the dreams you played hero in, but apparently those dreams were more real than you thought.

Warnings: none.

Other: I saw you submitted something along these lines more recently. VS, do you want a second take on this? I am willing to do another take, haha. As always, if I missed anything, please let me know

-------

You have always had a vivid imagination, at least according to those around you. But you can't really argue. After all, your dreams used to feel like a whole other world. A second life of sorts.

You'd loved games where you played a hero. Legend of Zelda? Amazing. Mario games? Absolutely.

Over the course of your life, you built what would have been quite the legacy in your dreams. You had countless items and had even been blessed by a sages.

Summer hangs in the breezes, due to start any day.

So, when a strange purple portal with a spooky energy opens up before you, you go through it. You don't have much else going on, and don't imagine anything too weird coming of it.

A shield, that was gained from a forest. Wooden with metal enforced ages and a beautiful swirling design carved into it.

You emerge in a small clearing with birds song cheerily overhead.

In front of you is a pile of items. Items that you know, because you collected them in your dreams.

A sword, gifted by the ruler of a fairy kingdom. The blade is enchanted to never break and to absorb any malice.

A small stachel that clips to a belt that is a bottomless bag. Anything you put in there appears in your hand once you reach in and think

A small cluster of potions. One that heals, one that provides stamina, and one that protects from fire.

Even the small flute from your travels.

"What the hell?" You murmur, looking at your hands.

You realize then, belatedly, that you are in the same outfit from your dreams. The leather armor on your limbs and the breathable fabric comfortable.

This is officially Weird, with a capital 'W'. This- doesn't seem like a dream. Not at all.

Ypu gather your items, securing them as you have many times before. You brush yourself off and look around for more details.

The clearing you're in is nice. Wild flowers are scattered about and there's a rabbit at the edge.

A river runs through it.

Well, your best bet is to find a town or something, and you heard once that towns are often near rivers. So, in theory, if you follow the river, you'll be okay.

You head off, following the river downstream and hoping for the best.

-------

After two days of travel you have come to a few more conclusions.

First of all, you can fight. Like- really well. You fought of monsters that included a lynel, some lizards, and several bokoblins.

Second of all, walking for two days straight sucks but also you aren't as exhausted as you probably should be.

And third of all, this is definitely not a dream.

You're starting to wonder if this second life was ever a dream.

The third day you find a small town, but a town nonetheless. Thank whatever it is that looks out for you.

You make your way towards the store, hoping to stock up on arrows and food. You've accepted this is your life for the moment, might as well be prepared.

Unfortunately, while lost in thought you trip and stumble into someone. You are both sent sprawling to the ground.

With a groan, you rollout of them. You sit up and say, "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, are you okay?" A male voice asks.

You turn to look at him and nearly chokes. You find yourself staring at the Link from Skyward Sword.

Okay, this is a lot.

"Uh-" You manage eloquently. Blinking as you try to formulate some kind of response.

"Did you hit your head?" Another male asks, he has pink hair. That's another Link, the one from Link to the past and s several other games.

"I think I might have." You frown, pushing to your feet.

You look around the group and find it made up entirely of Links from different games.

"That's no good, you need a potion?" Asks Twilight Princess Link.

"No... Just a little dazed." You wave him off, "Ever since I walked through a portal it's been a little weird."

"You walked through a portal too?" Asks Wind Waker Link.

"Yeah... Why?"

"I guess you're supposed to help defeat the shadow." Muses what is probably an older version of Majoras mask Link.

"Maybe."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, I'm Twilight." The Link in a wolf pelt says.

"I'm Time."

"Legend."

"Hi, I'm Wind!"

"Wild."

"I'm Warriors."

"Hyrule!"

"I'm Sky."

"Four."

You know these are all nicknames, so you decide to give your own nick name. You have a feeling your real name will cause- a scene.

"I'm (Y/n/n)."

-------

Time can't stop thinking about the connections between you, (Y/n/n) and the hero (Y/n). You both have the same items, the same personality, and even the same appearances.

The hero you remind him of is legendary, chosen not by Hylia but by a deity before any remembered. A hero chosen Fierce Deity.

He comes back to the conversation in time to catch the tail end of your story.

"Ams then my friend was like "Stop hiding from them, they don't remember ypu tripping two years ago, (Y/n)."

"What?" Hyrule chokes.

"You're name is (Y/n)?"

About time. Fierce purrs from the void inside Time's mind.

"Uh- yeah?"

"You're The (Y/n)?!" Wind demands.

"Oh stars." Time mutters.

"I mean, maybe?"

"You're The one who slayed the hydra of Catan?" Wild blinks.

"Oh. I mean, yeah. That wasn't a big deal." You shrug, "It needed to be done."

"You rode a tornado!" Legend accuses.

"What? No I got swept up in a tornado."

"You knew the original sages before Skyloft even exsisted!" Sky gasps.

"Yeah?"

"You're the biggest hero ever." Warriors manages, sounding awed, "How are you unaware?"

"Uh...I didn't think that stuff mattered?"

"Are you kidding? Kids play games where they pretend to be you." Four says, looking horrified at your unawareness of your importance.

"Oh. Neat?" You say shakily.

This makes no sense, your dreams - if they were ever that - never seemed like you would be a hero of legend important enough to be known millenia later across different timeliness.

"You really don't know." Legend muses wryly.

"Glad I helped?"

"You are telling us all about your adventures." Wind informs you.

#lu #linkeduniverse #misty writes #linked universe x reader #lu four #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu sky #lu time #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu wild #lu wind #Dreamscapes au

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toxicyeuriii · 3 months ago

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I dont know about you.... but I was so bored and was thinking about Sunday, as per usual, so take these headcanons, I hope they are delish :^ i also mainly just did fluff, but im open to more... idk angst, but it wouldnt be as much, idk tho yet!!!

Warnings - none - pt1 - sunday x reader, headcanons, fluff, general headcanons, established relationship (??? Idk you choose), sunday is a cutie patootie I swear, pre 2.2 (i guess??)

☆ -----------------------‐-‐--------------------------- ☆

General headcanons-

☆ firstly, i believe in halovians having some things related to birds, like little purs, their wings flapping when happy or such, and instead of like chirping and whatever, they are keen on humming, collecting shiny things (does birds do that? Some i think idk) but what does these things do with sunday? Hehe

☆ if you ever make him a dessert or some tea, his wings would flap, and he would get sorta embarrased and humbly continue consuming the food/drink

☆ I firmly believe in sunday cuddles, like if you both are just laying in bed, he would just lay his head on your shoulder or embrace your face with his wings (idk if that makes sense)

☆ Hes a busy guy, but he tries to make time for you! And when he does, its either in the dreamscape, or just chatting and drinking tea /w pastries

☆ Speaking of which, I think he would enjoy sweet teas with a hint of bitterness, and not so sweet pastries, but still appetizing to him (pls tell me what kind of things he would like, i wanna see yalls opinions!!!)

☆ If he does get like annoyed, or is just feeling down, giving him space, but also listening to him and his thoughts would really help him out, he deserves a hug also :<

☆ And when he haves some moments of rest or even a day, he would be the type to still worry or thing about work, but you would like get it off his mind by either suggesting him to play his violin, you two just relax the whole day (example: massages etc), or again, just talk and appreciate eachother!

☆ And sometimes he is a bit unhinged but that okay, we love sunday and he should be president

☆ -----------------------‐-‐--------------------------- ☆

I hope those were good! If yall liked this enough and want more (im being sorta cocky lmao) im open to making some astral express sunday x nameless reader hcs, but we'll see! Hoped yall enjoyed the food! >:D

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bitter-me · 11 months ago

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Hey ! I wanted to ask for a Caelus (if you write for him) x male reader. The reader is like Alastor from Hazbin Hotel (or Medicine Pocket of Reverse 1999 if you didn't watch Hazbin Hotel/not comfortable with it).

Just some general headcanon about how they would be together.

Ignore it if you don't want to write it !!

Have a good day/night.

Caelus General Headcanon

Caelus | M. Reader as Alastor [Hazbin Hotel]

----------

"Salutations! Good to be back on the air!"

----------

First of all, the whole Astral Express will be telling him to stay away from this guy called, the Radio Demon.

They told him stories, tales, legends, all in efforts of trying to keep their newest member away from such a powerful being. One they shouldn't anger.

He kept that in mind of course, but somehow when he met you face to face he didn't even think that you're the one he's been warned about. You're just so.. friendly. With that constant smile and old time-y humor.

Penacony is an interesting place after all, so perhaps this deer-like man isn't that bad. You seem friendly enough. Plus, he wanted to have friends in this new place.

The moment he found out who you truly are, he was skeptical and felt a little betrayed. Someone he thought he could trust is... actually the last person you should ever trust.. He cut all communication after that, he just needs.. a little space.. some time to think through all of that..

Over the course of a few days, maybe even weeks. You two became acquainted once more. Long-story-short, you two started dating! Knowing how the others might react, you two kept it a secret.

How did you two meet? At The Reverie. You were walking through the corridors until some guy ran into you. How brash.. You were about to give him a piece of your mind. I mean—who in the universe has the audacity to do that to you? The Radio Demon. That is until.. you saw how pitiful he looked. Like a kicked puppy. So you decided to show mercy and leave the poor guy alone.

The second time you guys meet will be at the Dreamscape, more specifically the Golden Hour. He saw you walked out of the tailor and decided to approach you, apologizing for crashing into you and offered to treat you to some Penacony's delicacies as an apology.

Being the "kind person" you are, you accept his apology. This little apology is practically your first date.

He loves your radio voice, it has a certain appeal to it. He could listen to it all day. Even if he doesn't understand what you're saying, he will still listen just because he loves your voice.

If you tell him you have a radio program, he would listen to it all day just so he could hear your voice.

You became overprotective of the Trailblazer and so.. you sent one of your shadows to follow him. Doesn't matter what star system he's in, you'll make sure your shadow follows him and ensure your beloved's safety.

This unintentionally became a whole running joke amongst the Nameless, because no matter how many trash cans he digs through, how many times he goes through danger headfirst, how much he would do things out of impulse. Caelus never get sick nor injured. If only they knew..

Anyone who dares touch you will face the consequences, but anyone who dares touch Caelus will meet their maker.

You would sometimes send gifts with your shadows or in some rare occasion, you'll teleport to where the shadow was just to spend some time with your handsome boyfriend.

But whenever Caelus wanted to introduce you to anyone, you immediately disappeared without a trace. Where did you go?

The reveal of your relationship is filled with surprise and dismay from everyone. Caelus? Dating the Radio Demon? Did they hear that right? The Radio Demon?!

The first few weeks, maybe even months after the reveal they're still worried about Caelus. This is you after all! The Radio Demon! Why should they let their guard down around someone like you?! You could kill all of them in an instant! Especially with that smile of yours.. that uncanny smile that seems to be permanently plastered on your face...

But as time passes by, they see how you treat your beloved boyfriend and maybe.. just maybe.. you're not as bad as they originally thought..?

Will beg you to lend him your staff. He will also beg you to let him touch your ear/hair (?)

He will be your anchor, the one who will keep you grounded to reality and not go full demon mode on anyone. As much as he finds it hot whenever his boyfriend uses his powers to their fullest potential, he doesn't want anyone getting injured or dying.

He would spend a long time at the Data Bank just to learn about old history to impress you and would definitely try learning old slangs too.

He would 100% learn how to waltz just so that he could waltz with you at the Parlor Car. The phonograph plays slow music as the two of you dance along with the vast starie galaxy.

You're a demon, yes, but you're still an old soul. So he figures you would like these stuff more than let's say... Aetherium Wars. So he's going to try his best to learn these old time-y things just for you!

#x male reader #seme male reader #top male reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x male reader #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr x male reader #hsr caelus #caelus x reader #caelus x male reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #x reader

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hyvyinjie · 8 months ago

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hi! Can I ask for a headcannon about Minamoto teru x childhood friend reader? Where teru is really over protective and gentle towards the reader. Reader is a lazy person, and often sleepy, the things he likes are reading comics and playing game in their phone. They also refuses teru's invitation to join the student council. Thank you! :)

why of course! it’d be an honor to grant such an ask. apologies for taking quite a while to do so—though i hope my work meets your expectations, wonderful nonie!<3

—LOST IN THE HAZE OF YOUR DREAMSCAPE.

featuring ; minamoto teru & you as our star.

+ small akane & aoi mentions.

ah, minamoto teru; the very embodiment of perfection—as he was hailed and as he carried himself with utter conviction.

a master of powers, a paragon of academic prowess, and a maestro in all things extraordinary. could there be anything he did not conquer?

yet, his persona, a labyrinth of complexities, as if harboring a multitude of souls within his very being.

now, here you arrive in his peculiar life—meeting with the intricacies of his existence.

when your paths converged, it ignited a tempestuous collision, a clash of peculiar forces.

initially, your mere presence held no sway over him. in truth, he perceived you as an encumbrance, burdened by your languid nature. for he, a relentless pursuer of flawlessness, demanded nothing less.

but lo and behold. fate—that cunning trickster—wove its intricate threads, meticulously mending the frayed tapestry of your connection.

through the passage of time, a tapestry of happenstance encounters and the subsequent flourishing of interactions—a nascent camaraderie took root. he slowly, but surely grew attuned to your idiosyncrasies, harmonizing with your rhythm. while the power to surmount every obstacle at your side eludes him still, he persists, striving to offer his utmost.

oh please have mercy on this young man—forever enmeshed in the whirlwind of his exorcist duties. and yet, even amidst the chaos, his devotion knows no bounds when it comes to those he holds dear.

one might assume that quality time would be sacrificed for the trivial, but fear not, for you found yourself on the fortunate side—the one he’d willingly carved out moments to be with.

initially, your encounters were fleeting, brief snippets of time. however, as the sands of time trickled down, these fragments transformed into meticulously planned sleepovers. he meticulously orchestrated these occasions, ensuring they did not encroach upon his demanding schedule.

your bond thrived during these cozy gatherings, or tranquil rendezvous, where he wholeheartedly immersed himself in your passions—comics and video games.

though not extensively versed in these realms, one might imagine that you—with your infectious enthusiasm to the field—was the catalyst for his exploration and understanding of the realm of entertainment. this was evidenced by the gradual increase in invitations to game nights and his newfound willingness to engage in discussions about captivating narratives. perhaps, you both even exchanged recommendations for comics, as kindred spirits often do.

as the both of you and the world grew older—it became evident that he honed his social skills; presenting himself as a complete package. every aspect of his being held an irresistible allure, captivating the hearts of women, and even some fellow men. many yearned and openly expressed their desire to be the chosen one by his side.

however, even amidst the clamoring crowd, his gaze remained steadfastly fixed upon you.

of course, as the old adage goes; with great power comes great responsibility—the price of his popularity gradually revealed itself.

certain students, teetering on the edge of obsession, noticed the distinct tenderness he displayed towards you, surpassing his general kindness towards all. seizing upon this perceived vulnerability, they occasionally resorted to devious methods, seeking to eliminate you from the equation, taking advantage of moments when slumber claimed you.

naturally, he swiftly uncovered their plot, intervening before they could execute their nefarious intentions.

needless to say, the number of such audacious attempts dwindled significantly. what exactly he did to deter them remains a mystery known only to him and his would-be victims.

still, worried that the possibility of a recurrence and his absence to intervene, he took it upon himself to practically implore—some might even say beg—you to join the student council. this would ensure that he, or even akane if needed, could keep a watchful eye over you with greater ease.

however, true to your nature, you steadfastly rebuffed each futile attempt to persuade you. despite his persistent efforts, you remained resolute in your refusal.

eventually, your golden boy relented, recognizing that his endeavors were in vain…but that was just because he found an alternative solution.

he encouraged—forced—akane to be the one to look after you discreetly whenever he couldn’t. only choosing to partially reveal his intentions to avoid alarming you at the time, as you were unfamiliar with akane’s existence.

or so it had been until he observed that you and the school’s vice president shared a rather unique bond.

although akane would occasionally scold you for being so excessively somnolent, mistaking it for you being irresponsible, hence, occasionally comparing you to the greatness of his lady aoi—teru—ever vigilant and mindful of akane’s every interaction with you, ensured that his usual brutal tendencies were significantly tempered. still—it remained a part of the deputy’s essence, defining his very being, just albeit subdued in your presence.

it could be surmised that akane once attempted to tease—or rather, foolishly inquire, about teru’s subtle yet perceptible shifts in behavior whenever you were involved.

“it’s almost as if you like them.”

in an almost immediate reaction—the president paused, slowly turning his head to gaze at akane, a shadow casting a smile that concealed the upper portion of his closed eyes.

the ginger-haired vice executive, feeling an ominous presence despite the absence of visible eyes, found himself sweating profusely as he cautiously added,

“—to the point where anyone could mistake you for family!"

sensing the gravity of his words, akane mentally vowed to never broach the subject again. he restrained himself from ever mentioning it whenever he witnessed the two of you together.

curiosity gnawed at you as you noticed his all-knowing gaze transform into one of horror whenever you turned your head, as if peering behind you; at none other than the pretty blonde himself, who seemed to be doing nothing wrong, merely proven to have been innocently smiling the whole time, or so he put up whenever you looked back at him.

oblivious to the truth, you always dismissed it as ‘akane’s peculiar moments of ptsd flashbacks’ whenever he saw teru.

however, let me share a little secret with you.

did you know the true reason behind teru’s death stare? no? well, do you wanna know?

then do allow me to spill it for you.

it was simply because akane, using the keyword; "like," insinuated that teru had a ‘liking-only level’ romantic feeling for you. the misconception provoked such a reaction from teru, for he wanted to correct that statement because he loved you, not just liked you.

seriously, can’t people let him finish what he’s saying?

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absolutesomp · 4 months ago

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click for better image quality

my guy so mortal he can't handle specs's ~+30 stash. story and concept details under the cut

Originally I was trying to fill in the space between bill coming back and the events of the handyman au, but it got away from me. It's also what happens when I slap that au and Misery by Stephen King together, sort of. #miserabill au i guess

Anyways, in this au/future in order to hopefully lure some of the henchmaniacs that are still at large, bill is released back to his body, completely powerless and weaker. His immediate order of business is to destroy the ankle tracker, unfortunately because he got nerfed his body doesn't instantaneously heal. He ends up getting chased by gnomes (?), loses his hat, and runs to the mystery shack which is temporarily run by Melody since Soos is away for a week or 2 for reasons. Bill passes out because of unfun pain, and Melody takes the life size triangle in. From there its just... idk plot, maybe some inversions of the gf episodes.

Melody would 100 % try contact the Pines about it but due to winter weather (yea its winter) it gets delayed. When she does I think there would be some kind of argument about whether to shoot him with a space gun or not cause it might "release him" from his flesh (?) prison. So he's just stuck there plotting his way to power. Also they have read the Book of Bill, but the theraprism part was not in it for them.

A couple plots I have in my head are bill doing the drunk transcript thing with the Pines on a group call and gets bullied, the shape shifter is back and wants that sweet sweet monster knowledge bill has, the Stans try to take a interdimensional short cut to the shack but end-up running into a few of the henchmaniacs who are lying low (for now) they're running a little middle-of-nowhere diner ig, the swap carpet is back, melody just generally having to keep track the oldest child in the universe, and everyone and everything in gravity falls wanting to fight him. Abuelita is there too.

Also, Bill doesn't have crack on his physical form, but has them on his dreamscape/nightmare realm/astral projection form.

#gravity falls #bill cipher #melody gravity falls #book of bill #my art #gravity falls au #wat a loser #miserabill au #gf #digital art

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peggyao3 · 3 months ago

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Relic - Pt. 13 "Come not with a Sword"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧

A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

A/N: I apologize for the delay, I've been thinking about the Kinktober prompts a little too hard 🥹 But chapter 13 is ready to be served and I want to thank everyone who takes the time to comment because that literally is the one thing that makes actually writing this instead of just playing it out in my head worth it 💕💕💕 I appreciate you so much.

CW: Suicidal thoughts, implied abuse, something like attempted suicide, but also… be not afraidt

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter, Next Chapter →

Day 15

With the opening door breezes a cool rush from the hallway and in comes Lilia, her gold-speckled eyes like coins of color against the black backdrop as she tries to switch off her smile like one might try and fail to switch off the sun.

Mikhail's sharp jaw turns, lips quirked into a crooked grin as the handmaid's shape flutters past him. His cocky eyes drift to the swell of her ass beneath her white servant's robes, his longing glance cut short by the closing door.

"You're in a good mood." The relic ceases the tender rubbing over her healing port and the delicate layer of new skin under the inconspicuous, shaved patch.

"I thought you weren't watching, forgive me." Lilia misinterprets the woman's quizzical look and scrambles to place the stack of new whalefurs and blankets on the lower end of the bed.

"Wasn't I looking right at you?"

The handmaid counters with an openness that might have cost her her tongue with any of her former Lords or Ladies. "Well, sometimes when you're looking right at me, it seems like you don't see me at all." And she doesn't mean the way the hallowed family or the advisors and generals refuse to see her. She feels like she's a ghost to her Lady sometimes, those faraway eyes twitching in hypnotizing patterns like she's a lucid dreamer dancing through a waking dream.

"An old habit. I'm just… Dissociating. Practicing Harkunnin."

"Without looking at any tapes? I only saw you looking at them once."

The relic pulls one of the furs over her crossed legs on the bed. So soft. Her beloved and her new, eight-arm-legged friend will love them. She deflects quickly: "The new guard, do you know him?"

"Oh, uh, in a way!" Lilia turns to the vanity and wipes at an invisible stain with her sleeve. In the mirror, she catches her Lady's glance, this time anything but dissociated. It almost burns her, to be actually looked at by someone of higher standing, but it's a pleasant burn.

Both women are sniffing each other's lies out like a dog does freshly cut meat in the other room, but Lilia breaks first, throwing up her arms in a gesture of giggly defeat. Fine!

"Mikhail's my husband," the maid blushes and lowers her head. "He wants you to know that he's very happy with his upgraded chair."

"Your husband!" The relic exclaims with a bright jolt of her facial features. "Yes, he told me that three times already." She dismissively swats away the talk about the chair. "I couldn't help but notice the look on his face when you passed him. Looked like he wanted to eat you."

"Well, I hope so." Lilia's bold tone contrasts with the way she awkwardly sits down on the vanity stool, one wiggling leg crossed over the other and her chin buried in her palm.

The woman on the bed bursts out laughing and rubs at her eyes, reclining against the headboard. "I feared he was molesting you. If he was, I'd have shown him how we dealt with molesters on Earth."

"I assure you, my Lady, I can give as good as I can get." Lilia's features shift into something as feral as anything living on Giedi Prime is bound to become. Beneath the chiseled mask of unyielding subservience lurk the same baser instincts that incite any organism. The relic has no trouble at all imagining Lilia and her husband fucking each other silly in their sparse free time.

"Oh, good." Snickering, she points at her handmaid with a sweeping finger gun, the motion awkward in its silliness, misplaced among the radiation and murder. "You tell him."

"Mikhail can be all bark and bite until you get to know him. You just need to know how to pet him right," Lilia diligently explains.

"That sounds like Feyd, to be honest."

"Really?" The maid's bobbing leg freezes mid-air. Not only is it improper to talk about the na-Baron in such a demeaning way, it is also deadly. Her shoulders then drop— because it is also true, which almost makes her even more giggly because of the depravity of it.

"Yes, absolutely." The Earth woman's impish smile dissolves into thoughtful tendrils. "But it's not just that. There's so much more that I get to see." The talk of marriage spins the wheel of her thoughts further. "Forgive me the impolite question, but-"

"Nothing to forgive ever, my Lady!" Lilia butts in.

"I disagree, but… I can't help but wonder, did you marry because you were forced to?"

"Oh, no." Trustfully, Lilia scoots closer to the bed, toes wagging and fingers drumming on her own cheeks. If anyone will understand her, it's the woman from old Earth. "We married out of love. Mikhail would throw a tantrum if he knew I told you but… I was the one who asked him to marry me." The ambers that are the woman's eyes spark to life with a golden glow. Nourishing sun beams. "And he said yes."

Something green then springs into bloom inside the relic's chest, a leaf to her tender sapling perhaps. Hope, she finds, tastes pink and yellow— cherry blossoms and lemons. A single goodness is enough to peel away her lurching belief that the universe of her people's descendants is inherently poisoned into badness.

"That is wonderful, Lilia. I'm so happy for you. I will make sure that nothing happens to you or your husband." I will make your life better.

The maid blushes purple, eyes lowered to her own knees.

"But that's our task, my Lady, to protect you."

"I don't think anyone can really protect me, but that's fine." She'll just have to adapt. The astronaut is unhappy with the course of her thoughts, the tender leaf ruffled by the winds that tug on it from all directions. She is almost thankful when her handmaid brings up the silly chair again.

"Sooo, about that chair." Lilia purses her lips with a jolly quiver of curiosity. "How did you…?" Her glance sweeps to the cryo pod before she lowers it shamefully.

An electric charge of wary caution prickles along the relic's nerves and she weighs her words with care. If this knee-jerk act of empathy on a desperate night is going to cost her the revelations of her secrets, she is going to hurl herself off that balcony.

Unknowingly, Mikhail saves her from the explanation, knocking then strutting into the room with his slightly o-shaped gait, toolbox in hand, folded chair under his arm.

"M'sorry Ladies," he drawls with an exaggerated extension of the last vowel. "I am to seal that ventilation shaft, confidentially."

Mikhail doesn't seem to give a shit about keeping the relationship to his wife a secret. He seems to give few shits about the proper tone in general.

"Confidentially?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Na-Baron said so himself, eh." He taps the transponder button behind his ear, its placement quite similar to the relic's fine chip port.

Confidentially. So, the Baron mustn't know that his pet has been taking liberties and befriending the unwelcome guest. Feyd has told her of the many deaths, the many rebirths, Gholas, when he held her tight the other night. Memories embedded in the flesh, a scientific breakthrough lost to a universe's political machinations. It makes her sick as much as it fascinates her.

"You know how to seal a ventilation shaft?" The Earth woman questions with a suspicious lilt.

"I know my way around things, eh. Seen some things, done some things before I joined the troops."

"If it really needs to be done, let me do it!" The engineer quizzically ogles the electrical welder that Mikhail swoops out of the toolbox. 24,000 years later, and some tools haven't changed at all. She's almost yearning to get her hands around it, but Mikhail, whistling something low in his throat, disregards her prompt benevolently.

She hadn't seen to the ventilation hatch sooner, hoping that the being named Glugo would come for a secret visit once more. Now she is forced to watch Lilia's husband climb on the plastic chair (upgraded with an unfoldable flap to rest his legs upon) whose statics are not balanced to carry a standing man.

"The Lady said you were looking at my ass earlier, is that right?" Lilia has jumped up from the stool, sauntering over with a swing to her hips.

"So what if I— huurghh!" She pokes the back of her husband's thighs, causing his ticklish hamstrings to contract into a twitch. "Ah! Woman-"

Mikhail sputters a litany of curses in Harkunnin and Lilia has to grab a whole two handfuls of ass to keep the wiry guard from flying off the wobbly chair.

The relic can't help but laugh and laugh, even when her cheeks start hurting. So alien, that feeling, as alien as the colors green, pink and yellow have become.

"Give me an hour and I'll print you a ladder!"

So, love, after all.

It turns out, real love can be born out of any sort of wasteland.

Day 20

The engagement - canceled! How delightful! Things couldn't be going much better for Vladimir Harkonnen. Though there is room for improvement. His darling nephew still sneaks into the concubine wing with its single, occupied quarters each night. Vladimir hadn't expected Feyd-Rautha to recover from the blow of rejection so quickly.

No wedding! It's only a matter of time until the order of robed poison whisperers comes knocking on his orbit and demands that he make it happen. They might even want to install a witchy pestilence in his palace to observe the process. It puts him in the mood for good old-fashioned femicide, but for now he has bigger concerns.

Because Feyd almost looks happier than before and that is decidedly against the rules.

The Baron is nothing if not a kill-joy, and so he waits, half-afloat in a bog of oily bath water and self-complacence.

To kill her like the sorry graftling, that might be a bit much, though he had entertained the idea as early as when he first saw the needy gleam in his nephew's eyes when speaking of that woman. Wouldn't it be fun to have her killed and remade as a Ghola, the same flesh but unable to remember a thing about Feyd-Rautha?

No, no, no - The Baron needs to play his nephew like a fine instrument, as tempting as it might be to punch him like a drum with a stick. With well past 80 years of age, Vladimir is slowly growing tired of mind games.

If the Bene Gesserit are telling the truth, the woman has already had her rebirth. A mummy out of the ice. And she might as well be dead to him, the way she stays in her chambers as silent and unmoving as a corpse. That's all right with the Baron. He doesn't need to see the toy his nephew wets his dick with.

But a proper meeting is long overdue.

And so he waits and exhales herbal vapor into the soggy air, the only sounds being the drip-drip-drip of oily, steaming bath water whenever he lifts his heavy arm, and the pistons of his lung machine.

Then, a hollow rumble shakes the bath crypt's vaulted ceiling. The door opens to a rectangle of light from the hallway and a waft of cold air stirs the lazy molecules, quickly swallowed by thick, muggy air.

A figure cuts through the fumes, broad shoulders, dark eyes gleaming past the fog. So anxious that boy.

"Ah, there you are, my boy. You've left me waiting. Too busy to indulge your old uncle in a bit of your precious time?"

There are no guards, no slaves. Feyd-Rautha stands stiff as a board in front of his uncle's tub, knowing what it means. He offers no response.

"You've been spending an awful lot of time with your new toy." The Baron's neck wobbles as he tilts his head.

"So? What's a new toy if I don't play with it?"

Vladimir laughs and laughs until his lungs hurt from the rotting disease inside. The pistons of the bulbous breathing apparatus that hovers like a moon in his back jump up and down with wheezing jolts. "I'm starting to feel a bit neglected."

Anxiety is barely the right word to describe the crippling tightness behind her sternum when she walks down the bug-like bowels of the palace pyramid. After almost three weeks of being huddled up in the illusionary safety of her chambers, her advance down the hallway feels like she had just given birth to herself, more vulnerable even than she had been when the sisterhood freed her from her sarcophagus and she came out spitting the thawed, amniotic fluid.

Guarded by Mikhail, his presence does little to brighten her mood today. And then he stands still in the middle of the corridor, footfall stopping so that the only sound she's left with is her thundering heart.

"Ain't allowed to go closer." His jaws and neck are ramrod stiff as he jerks his chin to the far door. Tall and glinting black, it may as well have led to hell. "But you go. It'll be fine."

Fine is no word that agrees with her when she is invited by the Baron Harkonnen himself without a given reason. She didn't even have the time to have Feyd in the training hall informed.

"Okay," is all she manages with a small voice, not looking at her guard for affirmation. Mikhail is glad for it, because anxiety is ticking in the veins under his temples. He doesn't know what the Baron wants of his new Lady, but he knows of the dead slaves that are frequently carted from the bath chambers to the meat plants. "Please don't let anyone into my room."

"Yes, my Lady."

And so she walks with only a bobbing glowglobe left for company and her gun in its makeshift holster which sits snug against her waist, concealed by a jacket whose armpits have long grown clammy with anxious sweat.

Come quietly, don't knock, the note had said. Gingerly, her fingers wrap around the cold, bulbous handle and quietly push the door open, just a crack so she can slip through.

She finds herself blinded, venturing into the dense fog that nearly takes her breath away. It smells of herbs and metal, the scent so thick she can taste it at the back of her throat. Immediately, her jacket clings to her arms from the humidity. The sound of distant bubbling drones out her quiet footsteps on black, slippery tiles.

The room takes shape and structures emerge from the thick mist, an oval contour, a pale mountain, a person standing at the side. She parts the fog and freezes with a thousand little icicles in her chest.

Feyd-Rautha stands next to his uncle's bathtub, his tunic discarded, his bare shoulders milky and damp as oily, scented steam curls off them, muscles rolling as he turns to face the unexpected visitor. His teeth clench tight, a muscle snapping like a whipcord across his jaw.

Her poor beloved looks at her with such horror, she may as well have been the apparition of her own naked corpse. His hands are frozen at the hem of his trousers, pushed below his hip bones with just the top of his flaccid cock peeking out.

He is the minotaur at the center of a prison-maze and his woman is the gun with its cold muzzle pressed directly at his forehead. Fog slips from the bath chamber into his mind and the world begins to spin.

The woman's dumbstruck gaze sways slowly to the Baron who sits half-submerged in oily liquid. The top of his massive, fleshy chest wobbling just above the surface. Veins are stretched thin across the expanse of skin, each blood vessel leaving a purple imprint against his sickly pallor. Her glassy eyes remind Vladimir of his dear nephew's when he was still young and sweet, afraid and confused.

The Baron smirks, lifts one fat arm on the back of the tub with a playful bat of his fingers, rings clanking on the tiles, as if to say 'Hello, little pawn'.

Glass shatters in her eyes and if she could strike him down with anger, she would. The Baron's meaty finger twitches to his thickest ring that hugs his middle finger like a capsule and the fog around him snaps and ripples. A shield powered by a tiny Holtzman generator, and the first time she sees one in action. The hidden gun at her ribs taunts her with its uselessness.

Helpless like a fly in a web, she averts her gaze from the thick, white tarantula patriarch who mocks her with glinting, beady eyes below his saggy brows. She has no weapon, no tool to obliterate the devastation in her beloved's eyes, the humiliation that has burrowed itself so deep that neither fingers nor knives could claw out its festering tumors.

"Feyd…" Her voice dies with his cold, wet stare.

"Isn't my dear nephew pretty like this?" The Baron drones, stirring the waters with a gooey, fat knee. "But I suppose you've seen him already. Just remember that I've seen him more often." Seen him— and touched him.

Feyd snaps into a crouch, picks up his belt and tunic, long limbs turned into stiff, hard rods. With no sound besides his feverish breath, he rushes past her. The touch of tender fingers on his naked belly makes him jump like a wounded foal and he finds his voice, a low-pitched bellow that echoes off the cavernous chamber walls a thousandfold.

"Get away from me, woman!"

The door bangs open and out the fog bursts a haunted bull, stampeding down the corridor. Veins across his hands and arms are swollen thick from the humidity, blood races through them hard and fast as punches the glowglobe to shards. He slings the belt around his hips and yanks the tunic over his head savagely, his own blood running down his knuckles. Mikhail has wisely removed himself.

"Feyd, I'm so sorry, please wait, please let me—"

"I said get the fuck away from me!" His voice cracks, his uncle's laughter rings in his ears like death knells. The Baron has poisoned her now with an image she will see every time she lies with him, every time she looks at him. Her steps grow quicker. So do his.

"I didn't know what he wanted!" She pleads. "If I had known, I would have killed him straight from the door!"

"No one can kill him!" Feyd-Rautha spits over his shoulder, takes a sharp turn, away from the concubines' corridor, dizzy from the fog, dizzy from the rage. "I've tried, too many times!" Bracing himself against the wall, he runs onward, collecting dirt under his damp soles.

His darling calls for him. This time, he draws his blade and her little footsteps falter at his back. Immediately, his throat draws tight. Wetness blurs his sight and he wants to curl up, curl up with his blade, with his blade tucked against his tummy. His bloodied palm finds the panel to unlock his own chambers.

There is no peace there.

A tiny sob from behind him makes him jolt over the threshold. He doesn't want her pity, he wants her rage. He wants to die.

She is quicker than the closing door and bursts inside his room together with him. A quick glance across the large room, vaulted ceilings, glossy windows with the shutters half closed, the furniture hard and uninviting.

Despite Feyd's build and height, she manages to tackle him to the ground, or rather, he stumbles in his hysterical attempt to pull away from her. He rolls on his back, hand on her tummy in a half-hearted attempt to keep her from crawling over him.

"Please, please, please, you're panicking. I'm here!"

Yes, that's the exact fucking problem. She was there.

Feyd-Rautha laughs, tears streaking from his eyes to his ears, tongue peeking out between his blackened teeth. He presents his blade which gleams in tear-wet astigmatism. Real pretty. It would be even prettier embedded in his neck, dripping with his blood. His darling's belly rises and falls under his palm in quick fearful breaths.

"What d-do you want with the blade? Please, put it down, please put it down, please—"

Oh God, it's not at all meant for her, she realizes when Feyd-Rautha points the glinting blade at his throat. It's meant for him.

Her fingers lock like vises around his wrist, nails digging into the thin, white skin. Feyd giggles, biceps clenched as he guides the knife slowly to its soft target, free hand sprawled across her belly, twisted into the flesh. To push her away or to pull her closer; maybe both.

Is he really trying, or just trying to scare her? Her arms aren't really stronger than his, yet she somehow manages to drag the blade away from his jugular, clutching his wrist so hard, his carpal bones are bruising her palm.

"Stop this, stop this, stop this!" She yells with each hearty tug.

The sharp tip jerks down and scrapes over his collar bone, a little curve, a crescent shape. Feyd gasps a wet little moan, giggling through his stinging tears as blood slips down his shoulder, warm and wet. His woman fumbles for something under her jacket and he finds himself presented with the barrel of a gun made of half-transparent plastic. He nearly goes cross-eyed before he starts laughing.

"Yes, shoot me, my darling!" Feyd-Rautha slurs hysterically, twisting his fingers hard into her stomach. He nearly grows hard from the idea of his rotten brain matter splattering across the gross tiles of this insidious room, finally delivered from evil. No one would be better to do it than the angel from his dreams. She'd have to burn his corpse afterwards, so the Baron can't have him brought back.

He still holds the blade, metal tremoring above his neck, now contained by only the counterforce of her non-dominant hand. Her clammy fingers fumble with the hammer of the gun.

"Put the blade down, or do I need t-to shoot your fucking hand off, Feyd?" She pleads and his eyes snap up with sudden fury, mouth twisting into hardness, eyes spilling over with shiny tears. His arm flexes, pulling her clenched hand right with him in its pathetic belief that she could stop him with the strength of her body. The black-hot tip kisses his neck.

The relic snaps the gun up and points it at herself, the muzzle cold and grounding against her damp temple.

Laughter fades at once. Feyd-Rautha's brows furrow and his grip slackens, deeply disturbed. "My darling… What are you doing?"

"Drop the blade right now!"

He obeys without thinking, weapon clattering across the tiles before his palms find her hips, clinging to them in fear. "What are you doing with that gun? Stop that— You c-can't leave me."

"And you can't leave me." With a deep exhale and smoldering eyes, she places the gun right next to Feyd's knife, a tiny click of plastic on marble. His fingers clench, his belly where she's seated jumps with quick breaths.

"I still love you," she sighs and Feyd-Rautha's entire body goes slack. Maybe that's what he needed to hear all along. "Of course, I still love you!"

Her voice cracks, her shoulders slump. Crying, she throws herself over him, forcing her arms around his neck to serve as pillows for his head. Cheek to cheek, she kisses his tear-streaked skin. Feyd's arms slide home around her back, holding her to him like a blanket.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," she murmurs. "It's okay. You're my love and nothing could ever change that." Brief laughter tickles his ear. "When I woke up, I thought I belonged nowhere. But that's not true, because I belong with you and you belong with me. I think I've been floating through space for 24,000 years just to get to you."

He is so ashamed. He never wants to come back out of her embrace.

"I'll find a way," she promises, a sweet whisper against his ear. Already, the gears have started turning in her head and her interface twinkles like a shooting star to make a wish. "We'll kill him."

Feyd wants nothing more than to believe her. His fingers trail up her spine, to the nape of her neck. His flesh burns with vile memories. "Can you— Can you still touch me and make it go away?"

"Of course, my love. I will make it go away. I'll make it better." Her voice trembles from the decision she's made. "I will make it all better."

Come not here in the sun! Come not with a sword! Come not crying over a naked corpse! Come not with a disturbed mind!

- Druth (Hellblade)

A/N: To distract you from your killing fantasies, I think this is the right time to mention that Lilia and Mikhail are my lovely bestie's and my OCs in Dune disguise and I love them so absurdly much, your honor 🥹❤️

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #dune part 2 #dune fanfiction #feyd #feyd rautha x reader #austin butler #feyd x oc #feyd rautha x oc #peggysuave fanfics #peggysuave;relic #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd fanfiction #feyd rautha fanfiction #feyd smut #feyd rautha smut #feyd imagine #feyd rautha imagine #dune part two

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lalalian · 5 months ago

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I always think to myself, "I'm out of ideas... I'm out of actually cool, creative ideas, will I have to shut all my shit down? How am I supposed to continue posting if I've got nothing..." but then, the next second I'll come up with something that genuinely could be a whole ass dr

...

here's a dump of some of the drs I've been wanting to make into filled scripts for awhile now, but I haven't even started designing the scripts for them yet.

Some of them are literally just titles, but idk I just know I can work with it yk?

since I finished some prototyping hw today, I'll put in a little more effort sectioning this post

some of the ideas in question

cloud catcher: steampunk reality based on a cloud city, you've got a job as a cloud catcher, your job is to catch and sell different kinds of clouds, have a cloud shop

inedible edible cafe: inedible things here (in our OR) would be edible in this dr.. Initially I only wanted to include slime as a dish, but now I want to make dishes with different ingredients, like puffy sticker cereal or sum shit

shifting school dr: okay so this actually was a trend on shifttok for a sec, it was called a 'mysterious school' idk why. anyway, this school was supposed to be it's own dr, but I think i may include it in my dreamscape dr

magitech engineer dr: ngl this idea was in the fucking basement of my mind-- ain't nobody gonna wanna shift here besides for someone that actually likes crafting things. idk i just feel like it’s a niche idea

number magic: uh so no, that's not the title for this dr-- I just really wanna make a dr with this kind of system. idk I was just in world lit class and I realized the poem I was reading was repeating the number 5. we were supposed to analyze the poem, but my dumbass just started daydreaming... anyway, next idea

fantasy cosmetic makeup maker dr: so like imagine handmaking make up with like... mermaid pearls or like ground unicorn horns (sourced ethically of course-- unicorns will shed their horns like baby teeth throughout their lifetime. I cannot imagine depriving a unicorn of its horn... imagine doing that... what a psycho😨) you could make like a mermaid line, a sky beauty line, IMAGINE THE PACKAGING. STOP. WAIT. FLOWER KNOWS. AHHH.

guardian flame: I have so little down for this DR lmao 😭😭 essentially like you're some sort of being that's been assigned to protect another, probably someone who isn't as strong as you. the kinda oddball part about your drself in particular is that you have to go to school to train how to be a good protector, but like you've already got a person you need to protect. nobody is assigned to protect anyone until affffftteeerrr graduation, but ur stuck with an idiot

futuristic skater/futuristic biker: self explanatory! I also wanted this to be in a high school setting. this idea stemmed from me just wanting a high school futuristic dr, cuz like yk I was curious about what high school students would need to learn. what would be considered important to learn about? would all students be taught about how to make technology we would find difficult to make today? what about psychology class? what new theories would arise? what would students think about our generation (in our CR) today? would they think we're stupid, crass, or selfish? anyway, initially I just wanted to go to school and walk around... but, I had a dream about living in the future, more abt that in the next idea (this idea is getting long). Instead, I think I wanna deviate a bit from what I would usually do here and in literally every other school dr I have-- I want to experience what it'd be like to be a... deliquient? idk, growing up i kinda just was just that quiet girl that listened to her parents... soooooooo why not do smth different? I'm still not gonna drink or do drugs tho, boooooooo ik so boring 🙄🙄 oh also I was gonna have a group of friends that were also skaters or bikers and compete in definitely legal biker/skater competitions

futuristic entertainment district: anyway more about that dream, essentially everyone was wearing these levitating rocket boots that looked a lot like roller skates (they had those wheels at the bottom of the shoes). the city was like a huge pot hole filled with stores on the side, but like it seemed like parts of the land was broken apart and floating around-- even those had advertisements and people singing and dancing on them. like this pot hole city was filled to the brim with advertisements, shops, stores, entertainment places, literally I remember that there was a huge section of like idol shit. there were a lot of people darting around the place using those levitating boots I was wearing, but there were also futuristic floating cars. imagine cyberpunk but if it was located in a big ass pot hole. yah, that. idk i just wanna explore

dystopian futuristic dr: similar to cyberpunk in the fact that it's a world dominated by companies; I want to join an underground group that wants to overtake the gov and make the world less ass

singles inferno - introvert ver: I actually have all the contestants scripted + designed a script for this DR, but I haven't worked on this script in a whiillleeeee. I wanna be song jia. not literally, but like I want to have her charm, yk? ok so the introvert part-- a lot of the game will take place in a group chat room. you do challenges in-person and in this chatroom to get a date, sometimes it's a random date, but most of the time it's like your choice. very heavily inspired by a game called picka!

a minecraft roleplay dr: I know at least one of yall cringed so hard at this, trust me, I knooowwwww-- but I really want to be like the next aphmau or smth. oh except I don't want to make kid vids, tho I'm sure yall knew that right. I want to recreate aethergarde academy in minecraft (ALSO ALRUNA TOO OMFG) but then I also wanna do other things that aren't dr related. idk I just know that this DR's gonna be sooooo fun. I haven't even decided on a channel name yet 😭😭

...

uh so I prob got more, but these were just the ones that came to mind

I'll prob make a part two when I'm lazy with posting

if anyone wants to use these ideas, please do credit me! if one of yall see someone using my ideas without credit, plz plz tell me, ty!

#shiftblr #reality shifting #shifting community #shifting blog #lalalian #desired reality #shifters #shifting diary #shifttok #scripting #dr ideas

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macabr3-barbi3 · 8 months ago

Text

dream a little dream (of me) - chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

With new abilities comes fun- and some new problems.

SLOW MOVING BUT WE'RE GETTING THERE FOLKS- have a healthy dose of both plot and angst bc I have no self control hehehe

Those that asked to be tagged (if I missed you or tagged by mistake I AM SORRY AHHH)! @fraugwinska (MY LOVE MY DEAR MY MUSE 💛) @aconstructofamind @littlebluefishtail @spottypug @dennsfz

@bishiglomper @ivebeenthearchersstuff @martinys-world @minamilinaqueen

Tags: Dream Sex; Dreamsharing; Vaginal Sex; Rough Sex; Light Bondage; Dreamwalking; Clone Sex; Threesome - F/M/M; Tentacles; Overstimulation; Angst

Comments and feedback are always loved and appreciated thank u and enjoy 🫶

In the weeks following Alastor ripping his stitches open, you are careful to avoid his dreams- and his bed- so that he can properly recover this time. After his wound heals, when Alastor starts stepping out for errands away from the Hotel again, you start practicing your newfound abilities.

You nap in your own room at times when Husk is off duty and start small- knocking over bottles on the shelf while he speaks with Angel or Charlie in his dreams. Loosening his bowtie so he has to fix it when it starts dangling off his throat. Replacing the alcohol in his glass with various juices and other liquids- and okay, maybe replacing all of the vodka with water was a step too far, since that’s what eventually made Husk start looking around the lobby in suspicion in his dreams. You just hovered on the outer edges of his consciousness, hidden in the shadows of the lobby and watching, messing with things a bit.

Niffty was next, and under any other circumstances you would have felt bad about conjuring a wave of roaches from the closet she was about to open; the little cyclops had a blast though, pulling out her tiny dagger and stabbing away as she was carted off down the hallway, giggling maniacally. It was during this dream that you realized you could vanish, blend into the background of the dreamscape as easily as Alastor shifted into shadows. Niffty had no clue you were there as she rode the wave of bugs into consciousness.

There was only so much that you could really test without the person knowing about it- you didn’t want to try your luck with Vaggie or Charlie without knowing the extent of your abilities, so you finally cave and ask Alastor for permission to enter his dreams to practice some things; simple conjuring, your disappearing act, just generally testing how much control you really had. He also offered up use of his pocket dimension to test the range of your power, which was the first thing that you did together.

Technically with this knowledge you could have figured out a room in the hotel that would prevent you from being close to anyone as you slept. But who wants to climb those extra sets of steps? Better to just stay in Alastor’s room, you figured.

So here you were, in Alastor’s dream version of the bayou, a clearing in the forest laid before you. “The first thing that we should consider,” he tells you, “is that you may not be the only person with powers such as you have. If this is the case, it’s pertinent that both of us learn to distinguish between what is created by the dreamer’s own mind, and what is conjured with your powers. Duplicate this,” he demands, and when he holds out his hand he has a book that he transfers to you before turning around. You concentrate on it, manifesting an identical copy in your opposite hand. Last second, you swap the hand that holds each book before Alastor turns around and takes them back.

He inspects them closely before he gives you back the one that you had created. “It’s very subtle,” he says with a hum, “but if you look and feel closely you can find the differences. Whether that is a matter of your current lack of experience or a side effect of your powers we’ll have to determine.” You run your hands over both of them, actually inspecting rather than just holding them, and can’t find anything different between them. When you tell Alastor this, he simply provides something else for you to duplicate; a silk robe.

This time when you create yours, you take a moment to feel beyond what is in your hand and you think you know what he’s talking about; there’s something a little less corporeal about it even though it’s solid in your hands, the edges almost a little fuzzy if you look too closely. You focus a little harder to see if you can fix that and the lines of the robe sharpen. Satisfied, you have Alastor turn around again, and this time he looks pleasantly surprised.

“Good girl,” he says. “You’re a quick study.” You repeat the exercise a couple more times, the items increasing in size from a radio to a log, finally stumping Alastor with a duplicated taxidermy raccoon- you bring them both to life, and they scamper about between Alastor’s legs before running off into the bayou, evidently vanishing with a snap of his fingers and then yours.

“Excellent,” Alastor commends you, and you glow with the praise, facing away from him still from having turned to watch the raccoons. “We both can tell how to tell your items from those created by the dreamer- now we’ll see if there’s any distinct difference between the dreamer themselves and, say, a duplicate created as a distraction.”

Your inquiry as to what he means is answered when you turn around to face him, and instead of one Alastor there are two.

The pulse of heat in your core at being caught in two of those predatory gazes was distracting, but you could put it aside. “Got it. So am I trying to figure this out just visually?”

The Radio Demons speak in unison, twin smiles in place. “You may touch, if you think that will help.”

You let out a nervous breath and approach, reaching out to the one on the left and trailing your fingers down his arm, focusing hard. You repeat the action on the demon to the right, and you can tell immediately that this one is the clone- its different from when you created duplicates, but there’s still something that almost tingles under your fingers when you touch it that gives it away, where the real Alastor hadn’t given off a similar sensation. Just to be sure, you run your hand over the expanse of its shoulders, noticing the way that the demon beside you stiffens ever so slightly, eyes narrowing and smile going tense at the way you’re touching it.

An idea clicks into your head- wicked, devious, something that Alastor would surely disapprove of. But with such an opportunity presented, how could you deny the whim?

You stand in Alastor’s space, much closer than you would normally allow yourself, and crane up on your tiptoes to get in his face. “This is the decoy,” you say confidently, and the one that stands behind you speaks instead of the true version.

“What makes you so sure?” Even the voice is ever so slightly off, a tint to the tone of the voice that you only pick up on because you’re listening so closely. “Choose your words carefully, dear, lest you insult me.”

You shrug, tone nonchalant. “There’s just something about this one,” you say towards the real Alastor, stepping back and circling around him, letting your fingers trail along his coat sleeve. “It doesn’t feel quite as… real as you do.” You turn to face the duplicate, startling a bit when it’s closer than you anticipated. “I think I’ve had enough practice touching you in your dreams to know the real thing.”

“Is that so?” Alastor murmurs behind you, and it takes everything in you not to turn at the sound, lean back into him. “Well then, perhaps you’d care to make a little wager?”

“Maybe.” You feel your shoulders stiffen when he presses against you from behind, chest against the expanse of your back and hands settling on your waist. “What do you have in mind?”

Clone Alastor brings its hands up to cup your face. “If you stay convinced that I am the real Alastor,” it whispers, face coming to one side to whisper tenderly in your ear, “then you win. Your reward can be whatever you would like.”

“However! If I manage to break your conviction and change your mind,” Alastor says from the other side. “I win. And if I win, my reward is that you allow me to experiment and test your abilities- both within and outside a dream- to my heart’s content.”

“Hmm.” You could always just lie, you supposed- what way would Alastor have of knowing that you were telling the truth? He couldn’t tell now- this would be an easy win for you. And maybe getting to see Alastor get a little jealous would be a nice bonus. “I accept. I’m pretty convinced though.” Just to really sell the point, you press your hands against the chest of the clone, run them over the fabric, tilt your head up to look into its eyes.

Alastor huffs behind you. “Very well. Perhaps you require a reenactment of the things we’ve done in dreams thus far- just to be sure? Make sure that you really recognize the touch.” His hands come up from your waist to cup your breasts, shirt vanishing at the contact and his thumbs brushing softly over your nipples. Your breath leaves you in a shaky exhale, the duplicate stepping ever closer and bringing its lips down to meet yours.

There’s an underlying current of static to the kiss, something that doesn’t happen when you kiss Alastor. It’s not unpleasant, and you moan into it, playing it up just a tad for the benefit of the demon that stands behind you, letting a soft tremble take over your body that wasn’t entirely for show.

“What do you think, darling?” Alastor drags his tongue up the length of your neck, sharp teeth nipping at your jawline. “Still convinced?” He sucks on the soft skin, almost too hard before pulling back with a kiss to the tender spot. His nimble fingers pluck at the sensitive peaks of your breasts, chest pressing further into the front of the duplicate who licks into your mouth with intent, biting gently at your lips.

“Perhaps you need a bit more to really cement your resolve,” it says into the kiss, bending to nuzzle at your neck on the opposite side from Alastor. “It would be unfair to expect you to guess without all of the same experiences.”

Despite the sensations of pleasure taking over your body, you still find the energy to snark at him, “not guessing. I know.” And twist your fingers into the soft (but not as soft) locks of the clone’s hair, dragging it closer to your skin and grinding your hips against his and the growing erection that you find there.

Snaps sound in unison and their clothes disappear to wherever yours had gone, and a hot length of hardness presses against you from either side- Alastor against the plush curve of your ass and his clone against your pelvis and hip. “By the time I’ve finished,” they say, the static that hisses between them by your head making you dizzy with arousal, “you won’t know anything but my name.”

There are hands sliding down your body then, Alastor slipping a finger into your wetness while his clone thumbs at your clit, both of them gently rutting against your soft skin. You let your head drop back onto Alastor’s shoulder, and the menacing grin that you find on his face forces a shaky exhale from your mouth. “S-seems like a lot of work to change my mind,” you murmur, and he steals your mouth in a bruising kiss.

“Nothing with you is ever work, darling,” he whispers when he pulls back, another finger added to your slick cunt, his fingers crooking against the soft bunch of nerves and making you gasp and arch. The clone drops his head from your shoulder trail nips and kisses down your chest, his tongue circling a nipple and sucking lightly. “I think of it more like an investment in my personal entertainment- and pleasure.”

You feel the way you clamp down on his fingers at that, and the clone scrapes his teeth against your sensitive breast- you whimper, reaching down to pull its face up so you can meet his mouth as well. When Alastor growls behind you, you ask, “what? Equal screen time is only fair.”

His smile turns treacherous. “You’ll want to keep that in mind, dear- I plan to hold you to it.”

With that his fingers leave you, arousal dripping to the forest floor as his hands come to your shoulders and pull, the same moment that the clone grips your legs and lifts, automatically wrapping them around your waist so you don’t fall. You’re left in the position of some kind of odd bridge between them, left staring up at the stars through the canopy of the trees in the bayou, the questioning of it dying on your lips when the thick cock of the clone pushes into you- slowly, relentlessly, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt inside of you with his claws digging into the flesh of your hips.

If you hadn’t already been aware that the demon behind you was the real one, the way he hisses through his teeth would have given him away- Alastor can feel it, you know he can, the tight grip of your walls clenching down on the clone’s length somehow happening in duplicate on him, his hands tightening their hold on your upper body where you lean into his chest. And this, at least, doesn’t feel too different from the real thing; the second Radio Demon fills you perfectly, hips pressed flush to yours before pulling back and bucking forward again, a shock of pleasure that ripples through your body and forces a cry from your lips. The angle of the way they’re holding you pushes him right against the sweet spot inside.

When a couple of claw tipped fingers come down to press against your clit in soft circles you’re done for, the strength of your orgasm causing you to whimper and drop your head back against Alastor’s chest, body tensing and shaking as the clone rides out the waves of it. You wait for his release but it doesn’t come- no flood of heat inside of you or spilling onto your exposed skin. Your eyes open, watching the clone through blurry eyes and trying to raise your head up.

Your body is shifting then, shadows emerging from both demons to effectively flip you in the opposite direction, clinging to the duplicate’s chest now as Alastor presses his erection against you again, a couple tendrils of darkness wrapped securely around your waist and legs to support you from below. “What-”

“It’s not a fair game if we don’t both get a turn,” says the Alastor in front of you, grin dangerous as he whispers against your forehead, and you’re being entered again, faster this time since you’re already slick and open and ready for him. The force of it punches the air out of your lungs, exhaling wetly into the chest of the dream manifestation before you.

Claws dig into you, sinfully delicious little marks that you know will appear on your body when you awaken. “Or two turns,” comes Alastor’s staticky voice behind you- or, maybe in front of you? With your eyes clenched shut and your focus so completely on the pleasure being wrung from your body, you can’t quite tell where it’s coming from, which one of them is speaking. You had thought there was a difference in the way they sounded but-

“Maybe three.”

“Four, even. Equal screen time and all that, like you said. Until we’ve had our fill and you’re absolutely certain which of us is which.” This is accompanied by a sharp thrust of Alastor’s hips, the slapping sound of skin overwhelming in the relative quiet of the bayou. It’s loud and lewd and arousing as anything as he fucks into you, your cunt clamping down with a fierce single-mindedness to keep him inside of you, even as the wetness it creates eases the slide out and back into your body.

“What do you think, dearest?” You can’t even tell which one is speaking any longer, your mouth lolled open against the bare chest of the clone who sweeps a comforting hand over your hair as the real deal fucks you into a cock drunk stupor. “You’re still sure which of us is the duplicate?”

“Y-yes,” you manage, but only because you know that when you started the dream version of Alastor was in front of you. You dig your fingers into his neck and moan, high and unashamed, and feel claws pierce the skin of your hips, a rumbling growl tearing itself from Alastor’s chest. “I- I would know the real thing anywhere- this,” you say, with a forceful, intentional clench around him, knowing you’ll regret this when you wake and all of the aches and bruises appear on your real life body, “is a p-poor imitation .”

He snarls, and you see the shadows of his antlers grow in your peripheral vision. “This poor imitation is going to make you cum, sweetheart, how does that sound?”

“Like a challenge.”

His laugh is dark, one of the shadows coming up from below you to push and grind hard against your clit above where you’re speared on his length. “Th-that’s cheating!” You cry out; the feeling is intense, almost too soon after your last orgasm, pleasure that teeters on the edge of painful . The clone holds you tighter against his chest, soothing touches to your back and head as you’re made to take the cock inside of you and the tentacle thing that plays you with a mindless conviction. “Oh, God, fuck -”

“You forget that I play to win,” he says simply, his speed increasing, and another tendril of shadow slips into you alongside his cock, narrow and squirming in a different rhythm. “The method matters little if the end result is what I want.”

You choke a little when this orgasm hits you, vision darkening on the edges as your body seizes in his grasp, jerking uncontrollably as the force of it slams into you. Again, there’s no spilling of warmth inside your pussy, Alastor’s release once again postponed for whatever reason.

They pass you back and forth like this for a couple more rounds, each time growing more fervent and rough in their handling of your body while they are inside you, only to brush your hair back from your face and whisper sweet, filthy words into your ear while you cling to their arms and your sanity. Your body is drenched in sweat, inner thighs coated in the evidence of your arousal and orgasms- limbs trembling with the effort to keep your head up and your eyes open. You can’t tell them apart by touch anymore, a hand on your body at any given time as they switch your position and pass you between each other, your mind completely gone as you cum another time, body twitching with the pair of them holding you through it.

Immediately after, you lose the comforting presence on either end of your body when both of them step away from you, another couple of tentacles wrapping around you to keep you still as you pant and shake, body weak and trembling. “Alastor?” They’ve both slipped into the shadows, a whirl of noise in the space around you, and when you open your eyes they’re rematerializing- and fuck, you’re already so overly stimulated that you can’t tell them apart by sight alone either, vision still blurry from the power of your last release. The shadows make a sort of shelf beneath you, allowing you to drop your head back into the gentle embrace of something soft and billowy.

They speak in unison now as they approach. “Final determination now, darling,” they say, a hand on either hip. “Which of us is the real thing?”

The wager is the last thing on your mind as you turn towards him, desperate for the more solid connection that the real Radio Demon provides in the dream scene. “Alastor,” you whine, reaching for him, digging your nails into what you can reach if his arm. “Please-“

His smile is devious when the duplicate disappears with a puff of smoke and he slots himself between your legs, pushing forward with a sharp snap that has you keening, head falling back as his claws push into the plush flesh of your hips. “It would appear,” he murmurs, “that you’ve lost the wager, dearest- you’ve changed your mind.”

“Don’t care,” you cry out, grip ironclad where you hold him, spare hand coming up to hold his shoulder like a vice. “Please, Alastor, I’m- I can’t go again, please.” Your body is aching and sore, muscles trembling from how many times they’ve tensed and released and shuddered through an orgasm at his hands. You don’t think that you can do it again; it might honestly shove you from the realm of the dream with how overwhelmed you are.

“Darling, darling,” he whispers, drawing his hips back and pushing forward in a steady rhythm, letting his hands run over your hands wherever he can reach and letting a tentacle reach up to rub at your sensitive clit. “You’ve got one more for me, I’m sure of it. Cum for me one more time, sweetness- let me feel you after taking us both and show you much better the real thing is when I flood your cunt with my release.”

Your stomach swoops with sharp arousal- you’ll never get enough of him talking like that, all traces of the prim and proper Radio Demon gone when he’s desperate to orgasm, buried inside your cunt with no radio filter and no thoughts in that lovely head but to drag you over the edge with him. An edge that, currently, is far too close and threatening to destroy you. “Al- Alastor, please, I can’t,” even as the tension pulls ever tighter, the tentacle at the apex of your thighs unrelenting in its focus, legs shaking uncontrollably where Alastor has wrapped them around his waist, his own steady rhythm stuttering.

“With me, sweetheart,” he says, and the words are tinted like a plea, like he needs it. “Cum with me-” He bends down over you, tongue sliding against yours in your mouth before he turns, teeth sinking into your neck as he spends himself with a muffled groan against your skin, pulses of wet warmth inside of you that have you crying out into the silence of the bayou when your own orgasm tears through you.

You’re shattering- splintering into fractals of consciousness as you’re torn from the space of the dream.

You don’t immediately wake though- pleasure jolts through you with the force of an arc flash but somehow you’re still asleep, flashes of something zipping by you as your- spirit? Soul? Whatever you currently were, you were catching glimpses along your peripheral vision as you moved; scenes of Alastor’s dreams, moments of his life, his face non-smiling and dark, covered in blood, a bullet hole between his eyes, and there was his mother again, as she had been in the first dream you had seen her.

You feel like taffy, being stretched and compressed hundreds of times over the span of what couldn’t be more than a few moments. You don’t think these are things that Alastor is currently seeing or dreaming about, which means that somehow you’ve gone further into his consciousness than his dreams- you might even be in his subconscious, you think, as you see snippets of a memory with Husker, eyes angry and hurt; Niffty, dirty and bloodstained as Alastor offers her a hand; yourself, the way that he had seen you in the dream with his mother, eyes wide and frightened when you had stepped on the stick that gave your position away.

And then there’s more of you, moments that he had apparently been observing you when you weren’t aware. It’s from his own point of view, eyes dropping down to your hand where it rests on Angel’s forearm at the bar, tracing the line of your arm where it’s draped affectionately over Charlie’s shoulder. He’s watched you everywhere, scenes of yourself in front of the fireplace in his room, curled up on a lobby couch, sitting in the main office with plans for guest events laid out before you, an irritated crease in your brow. You see yourself sleeping in the bed in his room where he had apparently stood over you, a clawed finger reaching out to brush your hair back from your face; there’s a rumbling of speech that you can’t make out as he says something and you stir in your sleep, face going slack with a small smile taking over your features.

The scene fades, and the sharp pleasure of your explosive orgasm returns with force, your eyes opening in reality with a choked off cry as your body trembles with the aftershocks of it, hand digging into Alastor’s arm where he lays next to you. The overwhelming feeling fades finally, and your muscles go slack against the mattress, finally turning to look at him.

His eyebrows are creased in concentration, smile still present but a bit strained. “Where were you?” He asks softly, and when you cock your head a bit he clarifies- “I was awake. But you were… elsewhere, it would seem.”

You don’t think he’ll appreciate you being in his mind like you were, but you don��t have many other options as far as figuring out what the fuck that was. “I think I was… in your head? Like your thoughts and memories. Sorry,” you add as an afterthought. “I didn’t mean to- I’m still learning, I don’t really understand what happened-”

“You were in my mind despite my being awake?” Alastor doesn’t look upset at the revelation- rather, he looks intrigued. “It seems that your power is changing- how entertaining!” He jumps up from the bed, the clothes he had fallen asleep in rumpled and wrinkled. He doesn’t seem to care as he starts pacing around the bed. “This is all speculation of course, but it would seem to me that the excessive stimulation in my dream has caused another bond to form with your powers- no longer just between your physical and dream forms, but between your powers and the real world. Fascinating!” His grin is wide, manic when he looks back at you. “And what perfect timing, now that I’ve won a wager that allows me all sorts of rights to experimentation with your powers and abilities. We’re going to have such fun with this, darling-” He continues to ramble and you watch him pace as he does, one turn allowing something to catch your eye.

A bruise on Alastor’s collarbone- where you had held him in the dream, your thumb digging into the skin that covered the bone, apparently hard enough to leave a mark. None of the marks you had left on him in the past had ever manifested like this in the real world; his theory about the links between your dream self and reality seeming more plausible, if you could inflict something physical on him from a dream.

Might as well tell him now. “Alastor,” you interrupt him, and rise from the bed to stand before him, brushing your thumb over the discolored flesh. “Look-”

His eyes go dark, dials flickering when he grins down at you. “Another mystery to experiment with,” he says. “We’ll have to determine if the ability to leave physical alterations is limited to just myself- since you spend the most time in my dreams, I would presume your powers have developed a sort of bond to my mind- or if you could do this to others.”

Your hands freeze on his chest. “What do you mean, ‘others?’ I don’t- I’m not doing anything like this with anyone else.”

“No need to worry, dearest, I didn’t mean the more intimate aspects! I merely meant markings in general- say, if you were to cut someone with your claws, or take a bite from them. Would that manifest in the real world?” His antlers expand, green stitches appearing at the edges of his smile. “Imagine the ease of being able to kill someone in a dream without ever having to be in the room! Oh, the possibilities are thrilling-”

“I’m not doing that.” You let your touch fall from his skin, taking a step back at the clear delight on his face in thinking about you killing someone. “That’s… that’s not what I’m here for, Alastor, I don’t want to use my power like that.”

“You would rather waste your potential? Regardless, we had a wager, my dear, one that you lost- it was made in a dream but it’s still binding. For the sake of experimenting you’ll do whatever I ask of you; that was the condition, was it not?” Something green glows in his hands- not a chain like you had seen on others with a legitimate soul deal, but something like a rope, a leash. He tugs on it gently, enough to make you lose your balance and stumble forward where it pulls at your wrist.

This was the Alastor you had seen in the first dreams of his- ruthless, bloodthirsty, angry. Gone was the softer version of him that you had come accustomed to, the one you had glimpsed in the dream with his mother, in the memories you had seen. You needed to get away-

No sooner had the thought come than there was a blast of light from your palms, startling Alastor into releasing the cord that tied you to him. Your steps falter backwards and put space between the two of you, no time to think about what had just happened; the hurt look in Alastor’s eyes is the last thing that you see before you turn and bolt from the room.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54459367/chapters/142955671

#alastor x reader #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #simp shit <3 #x reader #DREAM DEMON #asldfkjasldkf I love this story so much #having a great time

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