#this was typed without coffee & first thing upon waking up

[scriptospark]

a Kaftio (Kafka x Ratio) inspired messy drabble for of course @enkosmios ♥

As Kafka woke up she drank the rest of the wine beside her bed from the night before to put herself back to sleep for a short bit longer.

She's considering another substance to push through the day, no mission, no work. It's been a sense of wickedness in her head. Maybe something psychedelic can aid in creative release. Not so regular of occurrence, but regular enough. Capsule slipped between her lips and she lays back in the bed awaiting the sounds, the colors, the synesthesia performance. Little hum, unrecognizable to anyone within earshot besides herself, but she knows how to get the best chemical effects. Humming is warm, inviting, a tune that would bring the listener to a sunlit meadow, early in the morning. However as the capsule's effects began to take way, she would not remain physically in her bed. She'd rather take her violin and begin composing. Taking intermittent breaks to note down what she's discovered under the effects, to question the rational on paper.

Kafka could see the notes dance, the play performance when she closed her eyes and played the notes. Always in sync, a marvel to anyone who could see. Or a horror depending on their stance.

To be honest, she did not care. The ability to compose a scene and feel it deeply was worth the chemical triggers. The sights, the sounds, and mostly the colors. All a feeling of pure euphoria to her. It was a day of little sustenance, it would pull her from the feelings. Sometimes trickles of reality would settle in, but they were quiet and fleeting. Occasionally she'd mix a bit of wine in to keep the feeling.

Had to hold on long enough to finish her musical score. In-between when her fingers would cramp, her real life body forcing a break, she would crack her knuckles. Sitting and admiring the notes she created, the fond little meshing of colorful scenes. The visual representation of happiness battling away the despair she'd previously begun to sink into.

A habit she could not rely on for more than a few times a month, if that. Her life may be short, but she was not so reckless to let it consume her.

Before she knows it, the day is starting to wrap up. The effects are inching their way from her body and she knows she has one final task. Well, two. A sketch she scribbles together on a blank canvas. Depiction of bright colorful numbers, deeper purple, flashes of pink. Webs that match her eyes, rivers that match his hair. Skittering lines so thin they could scarcely be seen of that piercing gold, and the deep blood orange that surrounds his eyes. A perfect combination of the two of them. Sure, it was abstract, but even without the effects of her self-medication, a person (he) could see the inspiration when he looked at the sheet music's cover.

Lastly a name needed to be given to this music she created. Kafka wanted it to be subtle, simplistic. Nothing anyone would glance at twice. The fleeting thing that always fell upon her lips when he came near. She simply scratches the word "Our Smile" in light cursive lettering. Unironically smiling at the completed work. It would of course need some adjusting before she performed it for him. But it was a masterpiece to her, it perfectly illustrated how she felt in his presence. Granted, Kafka is easygoing enough that she tells him what he means to her.

Something felt so much more romanticized in plucking away at her beloved instrument while capturing the gaze of her beloved person. A simple thing, really. Only a days worth of effort, that she knows he will appreciate.

Maybe without mentioning the drug that helped her achieve it. Give her a few days to stew on it, soon she would invite him for dinner and perform it live for him.

[n4mi-png]

Leon Kennedy x Reader: Domesticity

Leon Kennedy has an odd relationship with domesticity. A mixed pot of comforting silence yet filled with the sound of unsure breaths. He is, no doubt, a stranger to this type of interaction. The intense and dangerous profession he dedicated himself to coupled with his lack of desire to form these connections, he would find himself alone, a half empty bottle of cheap whiskey to keep him company when the day was done. 

If anything his previous experiences were enough to convince him that it was pointless. He had little time away from his work and he would rather nurse a bottle with shitty late night television playing in the background than insist on gaining acquaintances. 

But Leon Kennedy is not immune to the affections you’ve forced upon him. He will put up a fight, of course. He would not submit to the whims of something sweet and gentle. Being used to the harsh parts of life, the easy parts made him uncomfortable. When you first approached him after a long mission, a cup of coffee for him in hand, he was cold. He took the drink from your hand begrudgingly before waltzing off without a word. Then it happened again. And again. 

Before long he has no choice but to make short conversation. Chris had advised him that you were being nice and the least he could do was say ‘thank you’. So he’d built up the composure to mutter a few words to you after each exchange. And each time you’d get in a couple more lines of conversation. Leon Kennedy was slowly becoming more welcoming to your presence. 

After each exchange, he learned every cherished thing about you. You were smart. You did your job well and had street smarts almost on par with his. You were kind. After learning as much as you were allowed about his profession, you started to bring him those coffees as a sign of thanks. His lack of self-care was another hint that he needed it. You were funny. Leon is full of his one cheesy one-liners, yet it still takes a lot to make him laugh. Maybe it wasn’t on purpose but you had him laughing all the time (on the inside, of course.)

Once the two of you had gotten closer, you saw more and more of the softness of his interior. Under the orange light of morning, he’d pretend to be asleep for much longer than you knew was real. An act he started when his admiring eyes stirred you from your slumber. Your short noises of early wake soon followed by your giggles as you noticed him attempting this scenario for the hundredth time were the playlist of each morning. Under the silver sky of night, he would find himself staring at your face in the mirror while you brushed your teeth and applied lotion to your, in his opinion, perfect skin. 

What were once unaccompanied sleepless nights after grueling fights with B.O.W’s, are now filled with the warm scent of homemade meals and soft music playing throughout the shared space. The stale smell of the apartment was replaced with the faint smell of your favorite perfume. Cheap alcohol replaced with expensive wine, drunk in the company of another. The sheets are full of soft touches and soft breaths. A random gift left on the counter, wrapped in a small white bow, addressed to the one and only person who could break through his walls. 

Leon Kennedy has an odd relationship with domesticity. But he's learning.

[infictionalwonderland]

pairings: kiara x fem!reader, jj x fem!reader

warnings: angst, unrequited love, shame around sexuality, MORE ANGGSST, sad kie:(, sad lesbian feels

SUMMARY, kie loves you.. but you’re not hers.

Kiara knows what it’s like to be loved by you.

She knows the warmth of your tights hugs, she knows the delightful scent of your perfume that, without fail, sends butterflies dancing with their hands tie into her stomach. She knows the late night conversations about anything and everything, she knows that concern you have from the people you love — all doe eyed and concerned with a pretty pout. She knows the compliments you give, the ones which make her feel weak in the knees. She knows the joyous, infectious tune of your laughter that she replays in her head when she’s sad. She knows it — knows you.

Kiara Carrera knows what being loved by you feels like.

But it’s not the type of love she wants to know.

Sometimes… sometimes, when she’s not in her right mind, she’ll watch you and JJ.. how you are with each other. She watches the way he pulls you into his lap constantly as though he always needs to be touching you (she doesn’t blame him), his arm wind around your waist and you look as happy as ever in his lap. She watches the soft kisses you each press to each others forehead. Watches the childlike giggling the can only be described as that of two teenagers hopelessly enamoured with one another.

The rest of the Pogues tease them all the time, jokingly disgusted with the PDA but they’ll turn their heads with smiles at the end of the day, knowing their friends are happy and in love.

Kie doesn’t feel that way.

It’s horrible of her — she knows, god, does she know. She’s had this argument with her stupid fucking brain so many times as she lay awake in the dead of night. You’re both her best friends, she needs to be happy for you. She should be. She is, even!

(She’s not)

Her heart cracks every time she watches the way you fall back into the embrace of the boy you love while she’s left pining for you. She mentally screams at the way you press kisses all over his faces and then finish at his lips while he’s looking up at you like you hung for fucking moon and sun. The smile that you wear upon even just glancing at him is enough to tear apart her broken and tattered heart — you never glance at her like that. You will never.

Kiara knows what it is to be loved by you: the both of you have been best friends since kindergarten.

She knows the sweetness to your soothing words that slow her rapidly pacing heart. She knows what you look like when you first wake up… she knows how you like your coffee, your favourite colour, your favourite flower! She knows the gentle or joking terms of endearment the leave you pretty, plush lips. She knows you at your worst and at your best and she loves it all. She loves all of you.

Sometimes… when she’s alone, not surrounded by the distracting tune of your laughter, she lets her mind trick her into thoughts of how JJ wasn’t good for you and she’d be better — she knows you better, loves you more.

Expect, when reality sets in, she knows she’s wrong. JJ is good for you. He knows you, he loves you. Worships you, really. Kiara knows the he knows all the things she does about you: your favourite song, your favourite drink, your favourite show. And, oh my god, she knows through and through just how well he treats you — if it’s not already fucking obvious from the way you are with each other — she has to heart it all the time, from the both of you.

JJ’s words alone she could’ve handled. She could listen to him dazedly ramble about how you good you looked in your bikini, how you made his heart flutter, how you smelt so good, whatever. She could listen to him, a small swirl of jealousy in her stomach but she was mostly dazed too — the both of them settling for dreamily gazing over at you, she could deal with that because she was thinking the same, she just couldn’t voice it.

But you… your words, she didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to handle them. The way you mumbled sentences weaved with nothing but pure love and adoration, the sweet echo of your voice pitched with admiration. It was normal though, you were best friends, of course you were telling her all of this. At sleepovers, when you both sat down in her bed and somehow he’d get brought up and you wasted no time gushing over him and telling Kiara about your moments together, all giddy and grinning with blushed skin.

She wanted to sob.

She wanted the ground to sallow her whole and spit her back into a world where you loved her how she loved you.

Kie doesn’t really remember the moment she knew that she loved you with everything she had in her.

She only remembers snippets of earlier memories from her childhood and (shock) most of them regard you. She remembers painting you silly little paintings of turtles or your favourite flower and singing off with a heart before giving it you the next day. She recalls all of the friendship jewellery, some of it long gone but the other half she still wears. She remembers going into the beach to help the baby turtles survive. She remembers the both of you going around picking up plastic and litter in general. She remembers the dressing up parties you had, both clad in outrageous princess dresses.

Later into her childhood, she remembers more. Her thoughts — feelings. Kiara thinks about the stories her parents used to read to her, the fairytales of a beautiful prince and her knight in shining armour, living happily ever after. She remembers thinking… princess and prince? Was it never a princess and princess? Could it ever be? From the stories she was read, it never ended up in such a way.

But she didn’t get it. As far as she was aware, you and her were both princesses. And… you were the only person she’d ever want to live out her happily ever after with.

(She never told anyone: scared of what they’d say as she defied normalcy)

Even as she grew older, into her adolescence, those feelings never went anywhere. She watched as you found your own princes (boys who didn’t deserve you, in her humble opinion). Her heart sometimes stopped at the thought of her happily ever after finding her own happily ever after… her own prince.

(What was wrong with her?)

The question plagued her constantly; she wished she’d never introduced you to the Pogues, she wished it was just you two still, she wished you’d look at her the same, she wished she could treat you… touch you like JJ does, she wished she could love you openly and unapologetically.

Sometimes… when she sat with her hand to her mouth to muffle her sobbing, laying alone in her cold room, she wished JJ could just disappear. That made her sob even louder, she loved him, he was her friend… but you, you were so much more to her.

You were her princess.

And…and JJ was your prince. You didn’t want a princess.

Kiara, in the past, wouldn’t call herself deluded by any means but now she was beginning to question it. She got trapped in her fantasies, in fabricated lies to ease the pain of her heart.

She liked to pretend now.

She liked to pretend that you did in fact feel the same about her. When the two of you lay snuggled up together, her heart banging erratically in her ears while you lay calm as ever.. she liked to imagine that you were equally as nervous, the you felt the spark against your bare skin in the way she did. She liked to pretend that when you looked at, your eyes were big and bright and full of romantic love — the expression you wore around JJ.

She liked to pretend that as you both lay on your side, hushed soft whispers of late night conversations slipping between you, eyes solely on one another… that you didn’t see her as a friend. She liked to pretend that as you glanced at her lips, to see what she was saying through the quiet of her voice, it was all because you felt the same. She liked to pretend that the sweet giggles and irresistible scent of you would become an every night thing — the princess and the princess finding solace in each other.

But, your solace was within your prince. Her friend. Someone she’d introduced you to.

Kiara Carrera knew unrequited love all too well and yes, the rumours are true, it is a bitch. A stone cold one.

[daechwitatamic]

IV. Something Has to Change

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love. 

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

//

Your friendship with Taehyung starts to show its cracks.

Section Warnings: language

WC: 7.5k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Saturday October 20th

You text Taehyung before going to sleep just to confirm he didn’t die in a ditch, but it’s radio silence from him until almost three o’clock the next afternoon. When he does finally answer you - “alive but at what cost?” - you roll your eyes and turn your phone over, screen down. You’re sitting in the living room, two author anthologies open on the coffee table, bookends to your open notebook. 

Apparently he’s displeased with your silence, because your phone buzzes again a few minutes later - the longer buzz, indicating a call of some kind. With a huff of aggravation, you flip it over to see it’s a video call, his preferred method of communication. You slide the button to accept the call, but let him stare at your ceiling. 

“What?” you demand. “I can’t talk, I have to go call off my search parties.”

“I was asleep,” he defends himself. “I texted you as soon as I woke up!”

“Didn’t sleep last night, huh?” you joke, but the sting is there. Just a little. 

He avoids the question. “What are we doing tonight?”

You laugh at the audacity of his whole existence. Admitting to your face that he’d been up all night with a girl, and then calling you first thing upon waking like he knows you’ll just be there, waiting for him. What would happen if you weren’t?

Not to mention asking what the Saturday night plan is thirty seconds after waking up with a hangover. 

“I’m assuming you won’t want to go out?” you ask. 

He hums, runs a hand through his messy hair. “Depends. I could be persuaded, maybe. Wouldn’t mind just hanging out, though. What about a movie? We have that one we’ve been saving?”

We.

You’re not sure why, today, it’s bothering you so much. The truth is, Taehyung’s acting and speaking the same as always. So what’s different?

You don’t want to examine the answer to that, so you focus on the plan instead. “I like the sound of a movie,” you agree. “Wanna see if anyone else is interested?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “I’ll text everyone.”

“Sounds good. See you around eight?”

“Should we order dinner before that?” he asks.

Something in your stomach turns. You don’t want to. You don’t want to keep getting your heart stepped on. You don’t want his metaphorical scent on all of your clothes, so that you can’t go anywhere or do anything without him lingering on you. 

And at the same time, he’s your best friend. He’s your family. You love him, in multiple ways.

It feels like being tugged in opposite directions. It feels like lose/lose. It feels like there’s no right answer, nowhere to turn, no option that doesn’t hurt.

“Not tonight,” you hear yourself say. “I have too much homework.”

“Okay,” he says easily. “See you around eight, then. I’ll let you know if anyone else is coming with me.”

You try to return to homework after you hang up, but your focus is shot. You lean onto the cushy back of the couch, closing your eyes. You’re still sitting like that when you hear the front door open. Namjoon hadn’t been home when you got up, had been out the whole time.

“Hey,” you say, eyes still closed.

He gives a chuckle. “Everything okay?”

“I think my brain is broken,” you tell him. “Can Edna write about something besides death?”

He huffs out a laugh, and you hear him drop his keys onto the counter. “I think she does,” he says, coming closer and peering at the anthology you still have open on the table in front of you. “Nature. Rebellion. Men. Women. Love. Sex.”

Your cheeks burn, like you’re thirteen damn years old, just from hearing the word sex in his low, steady voice.

Get a grip, you scold yourself silently. 

“I guess so,” you admit. “But today everything I read is about grief.”

“Take a break,” he suggests, moving into the kitchen. You hear a cabinet open and the sink run, and then he comes in carrying a glass of water. He sits down a few feet away from you on the couch and copies your pose, leaning back against the cushions.

It occurs to you that you’ve never sat on the couch at the same time as him before. In fact, your Uber ride last night was the closest your bodies had ever been. 

“We’re gonna watch a movie tonight,” you find yourself telling him. “That new one with what’s-his-face, Raven’s Prophecy? Around eight. If you want to join.”

“Yeah,” he says right away, surprising you. “Sounds good.”

–

The movie’s good  - really good. You’re all crowded around the living room - Namjoon on one end of the couch, Yoongi on the other, you and Taehyung and Jimin on the floor. The coffee table has been pushed to the side to make room for you, the lights turned down. Taehyung is sitting with his back against the couch, legs extended in front of him, and you have a throw-pillow leaning against his knees, laying perpendicular to him. Jimin sits next to Taehyung, one of his legs resting lazily over top of yours.

It feels normal, and it feels nice, and everything weird from earlier seems to float away. Maybe you had just been tired. 

“That’s totally foreshadowing,” you pipe up, raising a hand to point at the screen. “Because when he-.”

“Hey,” Taehyung says loudly, reaching over to flick the back of your arm. “No nerd talk. Just enjoy the movie. No one asked for a literary analysis.”

“But, look -.”

“No,” he repeats firmly, and Jimin giggles, used to this exact squabble. “This is fun, not school.”

“Foreshadowing is fun!” you protest, laughing, but you let it go. 

A second later, your phone buzzes in your hand. 

[9:37 PM] Namjoon: 🤯

You bite back a smile, turning off your screen before the light can catch anyone’s attention, and then you cast your gaze up at the couch to find Namjoon looking right at you, a sheepish smile creeping up on one side of his face. 

You’re thankful for the dark of the room, the light shifting and changing with the scene on the tv screen, as you feel yourself blush. 

God, you think to yourself. Get it together. Two days ago, it hadn’t been like this, where every met glance cues up a shy smile, and each tiny smile elicits a flush. You don’t know who this girl is but she is un-fucking-recognizable. 

You wait a minute or two, then turn your brightness down and send back, “but am i wrong?”. Then you glance back up to watch Namjoon read the text. He gives a laugh, one shake of his shoulders as he sees it, and then he meets your gaze. That same half-smile on his face, he shakes his head imperceptibly. 

Behind you, beneath you, Taehyung shifts and you turn back to the tv quickly, feeling something akin to guilt simmer in your gut. You don’t see his eyes bounce back and forth between you and Namjoon, curious. 

Monday October 22nd

Monday brings bright sunshine despite the chilly air, morning light illuminating the deep reds and oranges of the trees down the block. 

Namjoon finds you in the kitchen, staring listlessly into an untouched cup of coffee. 

“Good morning?” he greets you, a question.

You startle. “Shit!” you yelp and then laugh, heart pounding. “I didn’t even hear you getting ready in there. ”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says apologetically. “I’m heading to campus in a bit… how about you?”

“Yeah,” you say glumly. “I have work and class.”

“Same,” he says, moving around you to rummage for some breakfast. “Class first, and then I’m TA-ing all afternoon.” 

You give him a little smile. “I don’t think I’ll be needing your services today.”

“No?” he asks mildly. “Last few submissions went well?”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume I’ve written anything worth submitting.”

He laughs, his back to you, and then settles against the kitchen counter. “I can help you brainstorm, too, if you’re stuck.”

You bite back the prideful I don’t need your help that rises to your tongue. He’s being nice. Instead, you say, “Hopefully I’ll make some progress on my own. Have fun, though. You still have that office to yourself? If I had that, I’d be so productive. Nothing to distract me.”

Namjoon shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “I find ways. I still have my phone. And a window.”

You laugh at this, and then rise, draining half of your mug of coffee in one go. “I need to head in. Are you leaving now, too? Or, later?”

“I can make now work,” he says, something warm in his tone. “Let me just go grab my bag.”

Out front, you blink against the sudden brightness, holding up a hand to shield your eyes as they adjust. Namjoon locks the front door and comes down the steps at a light jog, stopping next to you.

“Ready?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you tell him, and you start off towards campus in silence, the only noise around you the calls of birds and the hum of car engines from nearby traffic. 

You stop at an intersection, watching the orange hand tell you to wait. “So,” you say, glancing up at him as the cars whiz by, “what’s your book about?”

He looks at you completely blankly, like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“For the grad program,” you clarify. “You said you were in fiction, right?”

“Oh,” he says, as if he forgot. “Yeah. Um, I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try,” you say dryly.

“It’s a coming-of-age, I guess,” he says, rubbing his chin as he thinks. He’s wearing his glasses today, and you have half a mind to tease him that he’s just trying to look like one of the professors so they don’t kick him out of his hijacked office. “And a bit of an unrequited love story.”

“The good kind or the bad kind?” you ask, a little absently. When he doesn’t answer, you look at him to determine why, and he’s looking at you like you’ve asked the most ridiculous question in the world.

You huff out a sigh. “Like - unrequited because the other person doesn’t know, or because they don’t return the feelings?”

“One of those is the good kind?” he asks, raising a brow. 

“The first one,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “It’s… it always exists only as the idea of love, it’s untarnished, it can remain a beautiful and pure thing. It never gets messed up.”

“But you’re alone,” Namjoon counters. 

“You still love someone,” you insist. “The meaning of life, and all that shit.”

Namjoon shakes his head as the stoplight above you changes from green to yellow, and then to red. “It’s not the same as loving someone and having them love you back, building it together and working to sustain it,” he says firmly. “That’s real love.” And then he heads for the crosswalk, his long legs carrying him swiftly away. 

You hurry to catch up, feet following his without question.

–

The first leaf falls, a warning. Now the rest will follow. I watched them sway all summer. Autumn leaves me hollow.

There’s a promise in the air, I turn towards the icy bite. If autumn can’t make me happy, I wonder if winter might.

Aren’t those frozen days so dark? Isn’t catching snowflakes strange? Perhaps this could be something. Perhaps something has to change.

You frown at the page. Half of you is tempted to take Namjoon up on his offer to workshop during his TA hours, but you’ve got a good reason not to let him see this one. 

“Y/N?” Kris calls from the register at the front of the store. “Did I leave my phone back there?”

Their voice brings you back to reality, pulling your focus from the page of your notebook open on your lap. You’re hiding in the stockroom, sitting on an unpacked box of what you hope are books, trying to cram in some coursework. 

Kris’s phone is indeed on a table behind you, where you sling your bookbag when you come in to start a shift. You rise, slipping your notebook back into said bag and grabbing the phone, walking it out to them. 

You’re alarmed when both phones buzz in your hands, a long, repeating pattern that you aren’t accustomed to.

“What the fuck?” you utter, even though if your boss heard you cursing on the floor you’d get a written reprimand for the first time in your life. 

“Storm alert,” Kris says, reaching one grabby hand out for their phone. You pass it over and press your thumb to your own screen. Sure enough, it’s a severe weather alert. 

You groan. “Great. I walked here.” You try to pull up the radar, but your shitty service takes too long to load it so you switch over to the hour-by-hour. 

“See if your knight in shining armor will give you a ride,” Kris says with a twisted chuckle. 

For a second, you aren’t sure if they mean Taehyung or Namjoon, and that fact is startling. Obviously they mean Taehyung, they know a lot of your history with him and they don't know anything about what’s happening with Namjoon. Nothing is happening with Namjoon, you correct yourself sternly. You had a weird desire to scoot closer while drunk in an Uber and had one sort of deep conversation. It’s not a thing. 

And, actually, texting Taehyung for a ride is a pretty good idea. Outside, it’s not even raining yet, but the clouds hang low and the leaves that have managed to cling to their branches this late into autumn are flipping and shimmying in the harsh wind. 

There’s a long line of students waiting to check out - probably grabbing last minute snacks and drinks before the rain starts, so they don’t have to go out later - so you slide next to Kris at the second register and swipe your access card. You work like this for at least an hour, the rain starting a pace outside the windows as steady as the flow of students trying to get what they need and hurry back to their dorms. 

When you catch a minute, you send a text, holding your phone down under the counter and typing with one hand, as if it isn’t painfully obvious what you’re doing. When the answer comes in, you tap the screen quickly.

[4:22 PM] You: are you still on campus?

[4:31 PM] Namjoon: just finished work. can’t wait to walk back in this…

You giggle and Kris looks at you out of the corner of their eyes.

“That him?” they ask. They mean Taehyung, and you’re too damn aware of the lie as you answer, “Mhm.”

[4:34 PM] You: i’m done in 25 min if you want to suffer together

[4:36 PM] Namjoon: yeah sounds good you can make sure i dont drown lol

An “lol”? Oh, goodness.

[4:37 PM] Namjoon: you’re at the bookstore right? i’ll come there and wait for you

Oh, lord, Kris is going to have a field day with this. You don’t have time to focus on this, as your boss finally sweeps out of her adjoining office, announcing that you need to shut down the second register and finish everything in the back room before your shift ends. She’ll be the one to close the store tonight, as she does on Mondays. 

When you emerge from the back room at 4:59 on the dot, your backpack on your back, Namjoon is loitering near the registers, and Kris is shooting you looks that are somehow mischievous, delighted, and wounded. You have a feeling you’ll be interrogated during your shift on Wednesday.

Outside, the rain isn’t that bad, but it is steady. The wind blowing makes it look like it’s raining left to right, in sheets. 

“We’re gonna be drenched,” you groan. You follow Namjoon out of the bookstore, waving a goodbye at a still-disgruntled Kris, stopping at the glass doors that lead outside. 

“It’s not that bad,” Namjoon tells you, voice a little fond, like he thinks your complaining is cute. “We’ll just go quick. I’m mostly worried about my laptop.”

“Ugh, same,” you lament. “We’d better be fast, I fully cannot afford a new one.”

“Let’s go,” he tells you, and leads you outside. Just like that morning, your feet follow his, like it’s natural. You walk in silence almost halfway home, the pace too clipped to really carry on any kind of conversation. 

You’re practically panting for breath when you hit the major crosswalk, stopping to wait for the signal to walk. The rain seems worse when you’re stopped - sticking your hair to your head where it lands, raising the hairs on your arms as your body gives one dramatic shiver against the chill. Namjoon looks down at you.

“We’re almost there,” he says, reassuring. 

“Mhm,” you manage, rubbing your hands over your arms to fight off the goosebumps. The light changes and you start across, following Namjoon and his naturally long stride. You keep your eyes on the ground, dodging puddles, watching the white stripes pass beneath you. 

You’re just across, stepping up the curb onto the sidewalk, when it happens.

The sky opens. 

One second it’s raining hard enough to be a nuisance, the next second it feels like someone dumped a bucket of water over your head. The sound goes from a soft patter to a sudden roar, like the rain is alive and it is pissed. You splutter, actually blowing water away from your lips, reaching up to wipe your eyes. 

“Fucking shit,” Namjoon swears, and then he grabs your hand and tugs. “Come on!”

He’s not running that fast but there’s still a few seconds where you feel uneven, your gait awkward, trying to match his. Eventually your feet settle into the rhythm and you run just behind him. His hand, so large in yours it's almost swallowing it, is warm and solid and sure. His grip is tight - like he means it. He doesn’t look back as he runs, just squeezes your hand in his and trusts you to keep up.

When you round the corner of your block, together, you try to pull back, try to slow down. Your lungs hurt, your legs are burning, and you just want to admit defeat and walk the block letting the rain know it won.

Namjoon doesn’t let you. He slows his pace to more of a race-walk, gives your arm another playful tug. Not for a single second does he loosen his grip on your hand.  

“You can make it,” he tells you over his shoulder. His hair is flattened from the rain, his face a little flushed from the run, but his dimples wink at you through the deluge.

When he reaches the front of the apartment, he finally drops your hand and takes the steps at a clip. At the top, under the safety of the awning, he turns to see why you haven’t followed him.

You can’t help it - it’s all so ridiculous you have to laugh. Your hair sticks to your face like cooked spaghetti, your shirt clings to your arms, your backpack is dripping water like there’s a faucet in there, and even your socks are wet, making each step you take squelch like mud. Still cackling at the absurdity of this moment, of having been completely defeated by the season, of running all the way home and still ending up half-drowned, you look up at the sky. The rain slides down the sides of your face and you let it cool the heat that’s there from either running, or Namjoon’s touch.

You feel a little drunk from it. 

“Y/N!” Namjoon scolds from the top of the stairs, but he’s smiling that same fond little smile he’d had on movie night a few days ago. “Come inside! You’re going to get pneumonia.”

You look back at him, the rain still assaulting you from above. There’s a second where you feel something. Something like… you’re half-drowned and chilled to the bone, but you feel warm with his affectionate gaze on you. Like you don’t want him to look away and leave you cold again. Like the rain was penance and now you’re all paid up. 

Like for at least this moment, right now, the rain has washed away your histories and left you clean and empty, a blank page waiting for a new story to tell - where before, your pages were full of scribbles and scrawls that held such heavy meaning there was no room for anything new.

You’re thinking too much.

You’re standing in the rain, Namjoon is looking at you like you’re nuts, and you’re thinking too much.

 Watching your feet, you head up the stairs, going through the front door that he’s holding open for you.

You squish your way upstairs, neither of you talking. Inside the apartment, Namjoon flicks on a few lamps.

“I’m going to grab a shower,” he tells you, voice quiet. “You should, too.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “That was my plan.”

You stand beneath the spray of hot water, tapping on the faucet to work it hotter by degrees, not wanting the temperature to jump and scald you. You feel drained, like your limbs are noodles. You lean your forehead against the tile wall, closing your eyes and just breathing.

“What the fuck…” you whisper to no one, “is going on?”

You wish you had a friend to talk it out with. Kris would go overboard, exploding with glee. Lin isn’t a talk about boys kind of person, or even a talk about your feelings kind. That leaves Taehyung, and the idea of trying to talk to him about your burgeoning feelings for Namjoon makes you laugh out loud, the single syllable echoing off the shower walls, echoing back to mock you. 

When you finally make it back into the living room, hair blow-dried and wearing your fuzziest joggers and a hoodie, Namjoon is tucked away in his own room, the door open that familiar four inches. 

You get settled on the couch and pull out your phone and realize practically with a gasp - you hadn’t even tried to text Taehyung to drive you, nice and dry, back from campus. Your brain had thought but I walked here with Namjoon and the option of “dry” went right out the window.

You cover your face with your hands, sliding down on the couch a little bit. What is the matter with you? 

You feel right now like it’s all happening too much, too fast. What even is “it”? Do you like Namjoon? Despite barely knowing him? Despite having to live with him? 

Despite the years and years of experience you have with loving Taehyung, and Taehyung alone, out of everyone in the whole wide world?

Luckily, Namjoon stays in his room for the rest of the evening, sparing you from any more self-reflection, any more soul-searching. 

You still kind of wish he’d come out. 

Tuesday October 23rd

One of the steady things that you and Namjoon share, that works for you as roommates, is that neither of you cooks. A whole kitchen of pots and pans just to heat up water for tea and ramen and to occasionally cook an egg. 

So when you get home from class on Tuesday so late that it’s already pretty dark out and you hear the clanging and banging from the kitchen that indicates a meal being made, you genuinely wonder if you’re at the wrong door. 

As you push the door open, the noise only gets louder. You round the corner and see the kitchen in chaos - two unmanned pans on the stove, bowls and whisks and colanders and cutting boards all over the counterspace. Namjoon has his back to you, a large kitchen knife in hand. 

You ease around him, not wanting to startle him until the knife is set down. He spots you anyway, and gives you a sheepish grin.

“What… exactly… is happening here?” you inquire. 

“It depends on the scope of your question,” Namjoon answers, because of course he can’t just fucking answer you like a normal person. “If you’re referring to the stove, I am burning some sauce on the left and burning some meat on the right. If you’re referring to the cutting board, I am -.”

“The stove is on fire!” you shriek, pointing, your spare hand flying to cover your mouth in horror. Flames crawl from underneath the pan of meat, over the top, devouring what’s in the pan and leaping into the air. Namjoon drops the knife with a clatter and whirls around, eyes wide. 

“What do I do?” he cries, hands in the air like he’s going to swat the flames like gnats.

“Turn off the burner and smother it!” you cry, not willing to enter the kitchen and get closer to the danger. 

“Smother it?” he repeats, the words a little wild as he screams them. Smoke has filled the kitchen, blurring your view of him, and the smoke alarm over the front door begins to blare. 

“The lid!” you scream, trying to be louder than the alarm. “Turn off the burner and put the lid on the pan! Be careful!”

You add this last part in a shriek as Namjoon follows your directions, reaching towards the flame to twist the burner and then slam the lid over the top of the pan, hissing a little as he does. 

The flames vanish almost instantly, but the smoke remains and the alarm keeps screaming. Namjoon looks at the pan, then his hand, then at you. 

“Go run cool water on that,” you tell him firmly, and you cross the apartment to open the windows and turn on the fans. 

You return to the kitchen to find Namjoon running the sink over his knuckles, brows furrowed.

“Is it bad?” you ask loudly - again, to be heard over the smoke alarm - as you open a drawer and get a kitchen towel, moving to stand in the kitchen’s doorway flapping away, trying to send the smoke towards the open windows. 

“No,” he tells you, pulling his hand out of the stream of water to examine it more closely. “It’s just a little red.”

“Keep it there for a little bit,” you tell him, still flapping away. “I might have burn cream in my bathroom, I’ll check in a second.”

Eventually the alarm quiets and you both heave a sigh of relief. The cold air coming from the open windows chills you down to your toes, but smoke still clings to the room, blurring your vision just enough to wonder if you’re imagining it. 

You find the burn cream in your medicine cabinet and return to the living room. Namjoon is looking at the ruined remains of his dinner with something like heartbreak on his face.

“Come here,” you tell him, sitting at the breakfast bar, ointment in your hand. “Come sit so I can do this.”

“I can do it,” he protests, but he heads your way.

“Sit,” you repeat, pulling out the stool next to you.

He does, silently and obediently, sliding his hand over to you. You can see the redness over his knuckles, middle and index the most. You uncap the tube and squeeze a little onto your fingers, then take his hand in your spare one to hold it steady. Gently you press the cream into his skin, making sure to cover each bit of redness. Namjoon watches you solemnly, wincing a little when your fingers touch his middle knuckle.

“See if that helps,” you tell him, his hand still resting on yours. “Want help cleaning up?”

He sighs heavily, and you both look at the kitchen in defeat at the mess of pans and bowls to wash.

“Do you ever just… miss your mom?” he asks plaintively, not looking at you.

The thing about grief - long-term grief, lifetime grief - is that you can go days, maybe even weeks at a time without noticing it. It’s kind of like a bruise in a hard to reach spot. It just takes one bump in exactly the right place, and it hurts just as bad as day one all over again. Namjoon’s words pierce you, and you take a slow breath. You were just caught off-guard, that’s all. You can be fine. You can be normal.

“Sure,” you say, trying to sound casual. Failing. 

He narrows his eyes at you in suspicion. “Why’d you get weird?” he asks. “Do you have a bad relationship with your mom or something? I didn’t mean to -.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, but you rise and head for the kitchen, starting to pick things up just to do something with your hands. “It’s just… I don’t have my mom anymore. She passed when I was little. My dad too.” Might as well get it all out there. It felt weird to let someone only know half.

It’s easier to handle this moment with Namjoon in another room. You don’t have to watch him react, don’t have to translate his silence and his body language. You slide all the chopped onion onto a plate just  in case Namjoon still wants to use it, and turn to rinse off the cutting board in the sink. 

He appears behind you, silently lingering in the doorway. “Y/N,” he says softly. 

“It’s fine, Namjoon,” you tell him, scrubbing at the cutting board vigorously. You don’t turn to face him.

“I wouldn’t have been so blase about it if I’d known,” he says apologetically.

“I know,” you say. You turn - away from the doorway - to put the cutting board aside to dry. You grab the pan with sauce in it - all congealed and unappetizing now - and move to scrape it into the garbage can. 

He comes up beside you; his fingers touch your elbow, feather-light, like he’s afraid he’ll spook you.

“Y/N,” he implores. “Look at me.”

You do, glancing sideways up at him, the pan heavy in your hand. “I’m not upset,” you assure him. “People just get so weird when they find out. I hate… navigating that, over and over again, with new people.”

He gives you a guilty smile, but there’s relief in it as well. “I will stop being weird immediately,” he promises. “I just felt like I stepped in it, you know?”

You shrug. “It happens to the best of us. It really is fine. It’s been a long time.”

You arm tingles where he’d touched you, but he stays put when you move back to the sink, running the water hot enough to steam before you put the pan under it. Then, wordlessly, he moves next to you, grabbing a cloth and starting to dry the cutting board you’d washed.

You carry on that like that, a perfectly synchronized dance, in silence until the countertop is empty. All that remains is the pan that had been alight about half an hour ago.

“Can I ask you something personal?” he asks, leaning against the counter as you scrape the remains of the charred meat into the garbage with a grimace. “I’m just curious. You can tell me to fuck off.”

“It’s so jarring when you swear,” you tell him.

He grins at you. “Hobi says my surprising potty-mouth is one of my best charms.”

You laugh at this. “I can see that,” you agree. “It is surprising.”

“Not charming?” he teases.

You shrug, feeling that blush rise up again. “No comment. Anyway - what did you want to ask?”

He lets you get away with evading the flirtation. “If you were little… who raised you?”

“Oh,” you say. You aren’t sure what you thought he’d ask, but it wasn’t that. “My grandma, until she couldn’t. Then my Aunt Lin took over, but she’s more like a big sister than anything.”

Namjoon nods. Then he asks, carefully, “Did Taehyung know your parents?”

The question makes you smile at the memories it pulls up - you and Taehyung as kids together, goofing off around your house, back when it had been filled with people.

“Yeah,” you say softly. It doesn’t occur to you to wonder why he’d ask that. It doesn’t occur to you to mask the tiny smile, that it might jostle his feelings even a little bit.

You look over at him when you realize he’s gone quiet. “Are you close with your family?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He nods, eyes on the pan lid that he’s drying. “Very. I was a lost soul when I first moved to campus. I couldn’t do anything.”

“You burned dinner tonight,” you point out. 

“I can do laundry now,” he retorts, smiling at you as you put the last of the dishes away. “I’ve come a long way.”

“Still room to grow,” you tease, reaching out to give his arm a playful nudge.

You’re giving playful touches now. That’s a thing that’s happening. 

You ache, again, to have someone to tell. 

Wednesday October 24th

You both love and hate Wednesdays - on one hand, you have your thesis double-feature, and you actually enjoy it. On the other hand, you go straight from double-class to closing shift at the campus store, and you don’t get home until dark. The day is long, and you’d rather be home. For several reasons. 

Your morning goes as you expect - you make it through the lecture part of class, updating Professor Jemisen on how your research segment is going. During the break, you eat some leftovers you’d thrown in your backpack, and talk with Gloria and the other girls. After the break, your group helps you workshop your latest poem, the one about the season changing, and you do the same for them.

The season changing is happening in real life, all around you. Fall fades quickly, the days darkening, the chills lasting longer, becoming more pronounced. Gone are the autumn days that change their mood and become summer again for hours at a time. 

You normally go straight to the campus store after class, but this week you’re hungry - the leftovers you packed weren’t enough to keep you until you get home. Instead of heading down the main paved path to the student center, where you work, you head for a large academic building you pass on the way there. You know there’s a little sandwich station on the lowest floor, tucked away past the mailroom like a well-kept secret. 

You take a hallway off to the side, passing some open classrooms on your way to the staircase. You’re walking mindlessly, head thinking only about the sandwich you’re going to order. You slow your steps when you hear a familiar voice, low and calm. 

“All I’m saying,” a girl is saying, and you stop in the doorway, listening, “is that while the idea of going to live alone in the woods is actually extremely appealing, Thoreau as a whole kind of sucks.”

“I might agree with you, but you need to frame that more academically,” Namjoon corrects gently.

A circle of students - freshmen, if you had to guess, maybe eight of them, are sitting at desks, their bags all forgotten on the floor by their chairs. Namjoon perches on the edge of the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, legs casually stretched out before him. He’s listening intently as the students debate.

“We have to specify the problem,” someone else in the group points out. “I’m all for metaphorically dragging down statues of the patriarchy and everything, but we need a solid argument.”

“Or,” a different girl says, voice just barely loud enough for you to hear from the hallway, “maybe instead of giving more attention to ‘classics’ we see as undeserving, maybe instead we should focus just on the underprivileged voices that we prefer to be amplified?”

“You mean pick a lesser-known author and shed light on their work instead?” Namjoon clarifies, and the girl nods. 

The group begins to debate this passionately, and Namjoon lets them fight it out, taking a second to glance at his phone. You become aware of the fact that you’re just standing in the hallway staring. You’re about to move on when Namjoon notices you. He looks away quickly at first, and then it registers that it was you standing in the doorway like a weirdo, and his gaze flies back to you. 

Caught, you have no choice but to lean into it. You give him a tiny smile, raising a hand in a guilty wave. He smiles back, just barely. You stay there another minute, smiling at each other, while the freshmen continue to argue. Then your feet spur you on, and you give him a little nod before heading down the hall. But the stupid fucking butterflies stay in your stomach the whole time you wait in line for your sandwich.

When you get to the bookshop, you toss your backpack behind the counter and slump onto a low stool that’s stashed back there. You lean your head on the counter next to the currently unmanned register and let out some unhappy grumbles.

Kris comes out from the stockroom - you can tell it’s them by their footsteps.

“What is happening here,” they say flatly, not exactly a question.

“Kriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis,” you whine, not looking up. “I think I need to talk about… my roommate.”

“Bitch!” they utter indignantly. “He has a name! What grade are we in right now?”

You stomp your feet lightly, needing to display your crankiness. “I am feeling very confused and conflicted and I need you to be nice to me about it,” you say petulantly, finally picking your head up so you can pout better. 

“Okay,” Kris says easily, leaning against the wall. The shop is devoid of customers, so you don’t bother to lower your voice. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you continue to whine. “It’s just how I feel.”

Kris gives you a level stare. “I need the whining to stop, like, yesterday. If you feel conflicted, there’s a reason. So, figure out what it is.”

“I already said I don’t know,” you tell them, still pouty, but sitting up straight now.

“Dig deep,” Kris deadpans. “Do it for the dimples.”

“Oh my GOD,” you say, unable to even make eye contact. “Never mind, conversation over.”

They shake their head, not letting you off the hook. “What’s the problem, Square?” It’s a nickname they gave you last year when you wouldn’t go partying - because… apparently you’re a square.

“You know the problem,” you grumble quietly, making them lean closer to hear you.

They lean back, something knowing in their eyes. “Ah. It’s the Taehyung factor.”

“Shh,” you scold, glancing around the empty store like someone might have materialized without you noticing. When you return your gaze to them, Kris is just staring at you plainly, waiting for you to elaborate. 

“I don’t know,” you say, and then more emphatically, “I don’t know! If I… start something else… does that mean giving Taehyung up? Because I can’t say I want to do that. Not if I’m being honest.”

Kris nods silently, letting you work it out. You meet their eyes, suddenly feeling the squeeze of anxiety around your chest, like your lungs have something heavy they have to push every time you inhale. 

“If I lose him,” you say in practically a whisper, “I will quite literally die.”

Kris scowls at you. “You will not.”

“I will,” you retort. 

Kris gives you an eyeroll. “So dramatic,” they scold. 

“He’s my family, Kris,” you try to explain. “In a lot of ways he’s my only family.” Your voice breaks as you ask, “What if I lose him?”

Now Kris softens, lips pulling together into something like a very pursed frown. “Maybe you should talk to him,” they suggest quietly.

You hate that idea a lot. “Maybe,” you say loudly, slapping your hand on the counter and standing as the bell over the door chimes and a group of lacrosse guys (the sticks are a give-away) enter the store with a burst of noisy chatter, “I should never talk about any of this ever again.”

Kris sighs heavily, practically doubling over. Now who’s dramatic? “You’re so self-destructive,” they complain.

“Don’t be mean,” you say, going back to pouting.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kris waves a hand at you. “Go write a poem about it.”

“And what if I do?” you demand, but you’re both laughing now, unlocking the registers as the lacrosse dudes line up to pay for their snacks and drinks.

–

Taehyung texts you near the end of your shift - “we haven’t hung out in five billion years :(“.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and text back, “come get me from the bookstore then and hang out for a little”.

You’re pleased when he agrees. He shows up a little bit before closing, knocking on the already locked glass doors. You hurry to let him in, ignoring Kris staring knives into your back. 

“Hi,” you say happily as he slips into the store, and you lock the door again behind him. “I’ll be done in about four minutes.”

“‘Kay,” he says easily, striding over to the checkout counter and leaning against it. 

“Taehyung,” Kris greets him, nodding their head as they lock the register. “How’s it going?”

He sighs dramatically. “The usual. Classes. Parties. Trying to figure out why Y/N doesn’t love me anymore.”

You freeze halfway to the stockroom, your eyes wide, air catching in your throat. 

Luckily, Kris is and always has been way more slick than you. They cock their head quizzically, letting a playfully concerned frown settle over their features. 

“Y/N doesn’t love you anymore?” they echo, the poor baby pronounced in their tone. “What on earth do you mean?”

Taehyung shoots you a mischievous look; luckily, you’ve gotten your act together since he said those words. 

“I had to beg for her attention tonight,” he says, clearly loving this bit. “I’m beginning to think she has a secret boyfriend she’s not telling me about.”

He’s teasing and you know it, but after a lifetime of friendship with Taehyung, you know this too: there’s a little sliver of him that must be hurt, or at least bothered, or he wouldn’t tease at all.

You feel both caught - despite not having a secret boyfriend or anything like it - and guilty. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I just got busy with my thesis and everything. I promise I’m not out with other people and not you. Even Kris only sees me at work these days.”

“And Namjoon,” Taehyung adds plaintively, and your blood runs cold.

“Namjoon?” you echo, not sure you can form a different word.

Taehyung’s pouting now, which means he’s not too serious. “Yeah, he has no choice, you’re in his living room every day.”

“Oh,” you say, relief flooding through you. “Yeah.”

You don’t see the point in telling Taehyung that there’s a teeny, tiny something starting with Namjoon. Not when it’s so… unformed, insubstantial, uncertain. You don’t know which word fits best. It’s a maybe at best, and it just doesn’t seem worth rocking the boat over it. 

What would happen if things started for real? Would you tell him? It shouldn’t have to be a secret… it shouldn’t stay a secret, not if you mean it. What would happen?

You’re afraid to know the answers. 

You finish up in the store and you all head to the parking lot together. You tell Kris goodbye and drop down into Taehyung’s passenger seat. 

“You’re gonna stay at the apartment for a little?” you ask. 

“Mhm,” he says, fiddling with the heat until he gets it how he wants it. “Can I work on homework with you?”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I have so much shit to do. I wasn’t kidding when I said school is eating my life. Senior year sucks.”

Taehyung isn’t looking at you - he’s watching the road as he waits for an opening in traffic so he can pull out of the parking lot. But something crosses his face - relief, maybe. Something softens, anyway. Maybe he really had been hurt that you hadn’t been hanging out as much.

When you return to the apartment, Namjoon isn’t home - his door hangs open, his bedroom completely dark. 

You and Taehyung settle in the living room, dragging out your laptops. It’s nice, hanging out like this again. You hadn’t realized how long it had been - over a week - since it had been just the two of you, like old times. Everything falls right into place. You swap snacks, hands brushing as you both reach into crinkling chip bags. You reach over and type nonsense into his paper when he isn’t paying attention, letting out peals of laughter when he figures it out and starts spluttering at you in outrage. You tell him about the customer at the store who argued with you over - of all the stupid things - a used copy of The Odyssey. 

When he hugs you goodbye at the end of the night, swaying you playfully back and forth like he might drop you, both of you giggling wildly, you’re reminded of just what the stakes are. You’re reminded of just how much you have to lose. 

<- Prev || Next ->

ahhhhh what do we think??!! there was hand holding!!!! are we clutching our pearls??!!!

as always thank you all so so so much for being here, i appreciate every one of you so extremely much!!!

[ferrarihamilton]

STORMCHASER?? 👀

this fic has been ruminating in my head for almost a year..... it's a chalex au where charles stopped racing after winning gp3, and alex's family moved to the US when he was young and he visits every summer break just before storm season starts.

Charles texts him at 3:18AM on a Saturday in the middle of July: Alex! I hope you are dreaming sweet dreams. I will be in Dogwood in a week! Can I stay with you?

Alex smiles when he sees it in the morning. Charles asks the same question every summer, and he’s always so polite about it. Like Alex hasn’t seen him throw up on himself after drinking a box of wine, and hasn’t been opening his house to Charles for four years now. Like he doesn’t know how the first thing Alex does upon waking is check the forecast. He might not have the fancy equipment that Charles has, but he can see the cartoon of a little raincloud with lightning as well as anybody else. They’re promised high winds at the beginning of August. Alex had already prepared the spare room.

He replies, Hey charlie. What day would you be arriving?

The typing bubbles appear immediately, and a second later a string of kissy faces come through, followed by Hmmm thursday I think

Alex thumbs up the message, and then sends a photo of his view of the sunrise for good measure. In the foreground, there’s his windowsill, littered with various trinkets that Charles has brought before, and then below, the cafe's porch awning, and the sprawling fields for miles to see. Even without opening the window, the air feels fractious, hot.

Alex knows Charles understands, because he sends back four emojis: a battery, an electric plug, a thermometer, and a satellite. Alex smiles again, helplessly, before tucking his phone into his back pocket and heading out start his day.

Chloe is already starting to make breakfast. She turns as she hears him come down the stairs, and smirks when she sees his face. “Charles due soon?”

“Shut it,” he says. Chloe just smirks wider as she hands him a bowl and a carton of eggs.

+++++

Dogwood, Oklahoma, population 300, sits on State Highway 39, and the township’s economy is mostly fuelled by the tourists heading north to Kansas. It’s completely unremarkable, utterly boring, and the perfect place to spend three weeks of summer when your day job normally consists of multiple timezones a week.

His mum had bought the house and the attached cafe soon after they moved to the US: Albon's, a classic tourist trap place with cheap sandwiches and coffee, morphed into half a farm slash petting zoo when Luca wouldn’t stop rescuing animals and plunking them firmly in their backyard. The tourists kept asking about the donkeys wandering around the picnic tables, and Zoe had said eventually, “Well if they’re not going away, we might as well make some money.” They’re proudly advertised as family-owned and operated, which is supposed to make the people feel good about spending their money there, but mostly gets brought up through gritted teeth whenever Zoe and their mum argue about finances.

Alex tries not to get involved. Even though he makes more than enough money now for them to not need the cafe, he thinks it keeps his mum happy, to be reminded of the first life they'd had that was completely theirs.

And the cafe is how him and Charles are still friends. Alex had been furious when Charles told him he wasn't continuing with racing after winning GP3. Alex would have given everything to have beaten him, and here Charles was, acting like it didn't mean anything.

But Charles had followed him to Oklahoma that winter, instead of going home. He'd helped out at the cafe, and the night before his flight back to Monaco, he'd told Alex that he'd enrolled at Oklahoma State, tentative major in mech-E. Later, Alex will think that he probably had wanted to be an astronaut. Instead, when Charles' prof in sophomore year had taken his class out in the middle of a thunderstorm, and Charles had dragged Alex along with him, Alex had had the almost religious experience of watching Charles’ face as the sky crackled with lightning.

They’re still good friends; they text fairly frequently, but it’s been a year since they’ve seen each other. Charles is a proper stormchaser now, galivanting around the country on grant money from the college. He looks happy in every photo he posts on Instagram, writes long blog posts using words like isobars and Doppler effect and mobile broadband MNVO. And without fail, he stays at Alex's family home for a week before the storm season begins in earnest, and Alex sends him off to run after tornadoes, like a wife watching her husband leave for war.

+++++

Charles arrives in a flurry, bringing with him a battered Jeep fitted with mods Alex isn’t entirely sure are legal. As she does every year, his mother comes out to stand next to him on the porch as they pull up, and her eyebrows are thoroughly unimpressed until Charles’ smiling face hops out.

“Oh Charles!” she coos. “He was always such a good boy,” and then Charles is kissing her on both cheeks, saying hello and how she looks as beautiful ever, before he turns his attention on Alex, and even though Alex is twenty-six, he feels himself flush.

“Alexander,” Charles singsongs, and then mushes his face into Alex’s collarbone as he hugs him. Alex huffs out a laugh, wraps his own arms around Charles.

“It’s good to see you too,” he tells him. Charles beams at him, and Alex hasn’t followed Charles on one of his tornado chases since he was twenty, but under his gaze, he feels supercharged, electric.

Charles insists on helping out around the farm, because Alex absolutely puts his foot down when Charles offers to pay them for his week stay. This would be useful, because it’s the busiest part of the tourist season, if Charles were not completely useless. He takes nervous steps away when the animals approach him, clumsy with the dirty plates when clearing tables, and even though Alex knows that Charles can operate software with GIS overlay and the college’s ham radios that tune into Skywarn frequencies, he stares at their cash register with the same trepidation most people approach large spiders. And despite all of that— he charms all the little old ladies that come though the café doors, even when he messes up the orders. He makes Melina laugh, which in turn, lets Zoe get on with the bookkeeping undisturbed. He also brings in a shitload of tips. Alex hides a smile, watching Charles flit around and somehow be totally out of place and completely at home all at once.

It’s hard not to be charmed by Charles, his quick hands and the way he looks when he’s concentrating. Alex was a lost cause when he was eighteen; he sees no reason why that might have changed now.

+++++

Alex is always worried that Charles will get bored when he stays. Usually, he’s a doer, not a worrier, but he still has a training regime to keep up, so it's not like Alex can skive off to entertain Charles.

But they do have one tradition, and there’s nothing else to do on a Saturday night. So Alex takes the pickup truck they usually use for moving animals, cleans the hay and muck out, and drives Charles out to the fields. It’s a clear night, and they can see the stars, and he spreads out the blanket over the truckbed, throws down a couple of pillows, and leans back to look up at the night sky.  

“Tell me about your year,” Charles demands, once they've settled in.

Alex shrugs. Anybody can find out how his year is going from every sports website under the sun. He nudges Charles. “Tell me about your year.”

But Charles shrugs too, even though he’s smiling, and starts telling him about clouds instead. “Cumulonimbus,” he says. “Cumulus means ‘heap’ in Latin and ‘nimbus’ means storm cloud. They mean a storm is coming— air currents care carrying the water vapour up. When they develop, they have this dome.” He cups his hands into shape. “And then they can become supercells.”

Alex knows about the team that Charles is going with this year: Lewis, who used to work for the National Weather Service but now he’s a storm spotter for fun; Seb, a professor of climatology and technically their team lead; Daniel, who looks like he’s only there because he’s an adrenaline junkie and a good driver.

Alex knows from reading the captions on Charles’ Instagram posts that storm season starts in August, and the café is the first stop. For the next two months, he’ll follows the weather patterns as they shift and morph on radar displays, driving into fields, into wide-open terrains of grass and dirt and lakes with no roads and a cloudless sky, and waiting for the winds to pick up before they go.

He knows their time is limited, so Alex drinks in the sight of Charles and all the ways he’s changed in the time they’ve been apart. He tries not to wish for anything more.

At the end of the week, two more Jeeps roll into the driveway, Seb, Lewis, and Daniel all get introduced in quick fashion, and then Charles kisses Alex high on his cheek, and waves at him the whole time they’re driving away. Alex watches him go, waving, sore.

+++++

August turns into September, and the season picks up again. Williams has a solid midfield car now, and it's good, seeing the fruits of his hard work, having a team around him that listens to him, takes him seriously. Him and Charles continue to text, infrequently, as they always have. Charles tells him about amazing tornadoes, sends photos of himself at the World’s Largest Ball of Twine in nowhere towns on the side of highways, miles and miles of cornfields.

In return, Alex sends photos of the track, some terrible coffee they make him try for a marketing challenge, Luca screwing his face up at his maths homework, the crowd of fans at Singapore.

This is why it’s particularly insulting, that Alex finds out from fucking Lando of all people, that Charles got struck by lightning.

“What,” he says. His hands are clammy where he’s clutching his phone.

“Yeah, Max mentioned it to me. Guess Daniel told him. They’re having one of their weird on again things again.”

Alex couldn’t care less about whatever drama Lando has embroiled himself in. He’d known, logically, the risks of storm chasing. Except it was Charles, who has always seemed bigger than it all, exempt from the rules of physics and karma and everything else that made the rest of them mortal.

He checks Charles’ Instagram after Lando hangs up. The last post is still there, from a few hours ago. Alex had already seen it, liked it, thought nothing of it. A photo of a long stretch of highway, Daniel’s exaggeratedly frown. Location tagged Humboldt, Tennessee: stuck here for a few days with an upside down smiley face.

There’s a shiver running up his spine, a tense, live wire. If he touched anybody right now, he’s be unsurprised if the venom of it ran straight through them.

That feeling only intensifies in the twenty-four hours between Landos call and him pulling up outside the only motel in Humboldt. He stands outside the car feeling angry and frightened as he figures out what to say to Charles. This is greatly ruined by how Charles stumbles out ten minutes later in socks and slides, and stops dead.

“Alex?” He blinks. "You're supposed to be in Austin."

Alex is; it's Wednesday, race week. He has media duties in the paddock tomorrow.

“Did you get taller?” Charles asks, when Alex still doesn't say anything.

“I don’t think so,” Alex manages to get out. He's still feeling that sickly furious feeling, and Charles must see it on his face, because he huffs.

 “Fucking— I’m fine, the car is ruined but it had to happen at some point.”

“Does it?”

Charles squints at him. “Is this a trick question?”

"Charles," Alex says, but he's stopped by movement in the motel. harles glances back. A door is open, and Seb is lounging casually against the door frame in sweats. Alex didn’t know it was possible for a man wearing a headband to look so frightening.

 “Let’s go for a drive,” Charles says.

+++++

Charles directs them back onto the highway. He riddles with the radio, turning the dials until it crackles into a frequency that’s giving a weather report. Alex has to keep his eyes on the road to drive, but he knows what Charles looks like even without turning his head: lips pursed, hands twitching like he’s looking for a notebook before his thoughts fly away.

"Here," Charles finally says. It’s a dirt road turn off that looks like it leads nowhere, but Alex turns off all the same.

“You’re here,” Charles says wonderingly, even before he's killed the engine. Alex takes a deep breath, turns to face Charles. Seeing his face, whole, open, looking at Alex in that way lets the last of Alex’s worry melt away.

“Okay,” Charles says, and Alex leans forward and fists his hand in the collar of Charles’ shirt, and kisses him.

[pirateswhore]

what are your cs headcanons? do tell

OH do I have some HC to donate to your cause(pls excuse any drunk typos aldjskdkwi just came home)

- the two fooled around all throughout s3b ;) even after hook's lips were cursed they found a few quiet moments here n therr hehe. Emma felt drawn to him on mote than one occasion but would never admit it was anything other than sex.

- killian wakes up first, makes coffee and kisses emma awake every morning <33

- Emma's the more clingy b touchy one even if she won't admit it

- killian likes to KNOW and understand how things work and he certainly enjoys this realm's encyclopaedias and science books/docuseries. casually drops fun facts throughout the day, be it about history, geography, technology etc(Emma and Henry both enjoy them). family movi4 nights are documentaries half the time !

- Emma!! was the first person to see his scared arm (without the hook-brace) since the doctors that cauterised the wound years ago :((

- CS is bi4bi <3 Emma told killian early on that she'd been with men and women before meeting him (she didn't wanna hide it) and he was excited that there was a name for that type of attraction in her realm !! considering that where was from it was often looked down upon :c

- killian prefers his grilled cheese with fries but orders with onion rings when eating wjth emma !! he knows she LOVES onions rings but is too shy to order a separate tray, so he lets her have his as a 2nd portion

- killian adores emma's stretch marks (from both her pregnancies) even if she's a little self conscious ab them

I could go on/elaborate on any of these but yea !! :D

[aching-tummies]

Empty Coffee

One thing I've been meaning to do when I found a free morning was to drink some form of coffee on an empty stomach. Coffee is a diuretic and is well-known for contributing to upset stomachs and urges to use the washroom. In my case, coffee is usually the main supplier of dairy in my diet. I thought it'd be interesting to try it on a completely empty stomach first thing in the morning.

I bought one of those pre-made/premixed types and got it from the fridge upon waking. I didn't want to straight up chug it, especially not when it was so completely cold. Yeah, it would have been fun for kink purposes, but I also wanted to enjoy the coffee. This bottled type is a treat for me. Stuff like this is pretty expensive where I live so I usually buy it as a treat for myself and I didn't want to chug it without savouring it. Didn't really matter in the end because I only got through about half of the 400mL bottle before errands and such started calling my name.

I'd downed maybe half the bottle, taking a few good gulps from the bottle and tried sloshing my stomach a bit but didn't notice much activity. I kind of gave up on the whole thing for a bit...but then my stomach started rumbling--quite loudly and it felt really squirmy...and I started feeling hungry too. That crampy, hollow, pinching feeling I usually feel in my guts after ignoring maybe 2 rounds of hunger pangs hit pretty much right away this time. Unfortunately, this was the point where errands were screaming my name and I had to give up kink-time to go do errands on my day off.

I think my stomach was still mostly asleep. It usually takes maybe 2-4 hours after waking up for my stomach to start growling from hunger on a day off (if all I'm doing is lounging around for those few hours). That morning, I think it took maybe less than 90 minutes for my stomach to start demanding food? So I think the coffee definitely kick-started my digestive tract faster than it normally would have.

I definitely want to try the coffee on an empty, barely-awake stomach again someday soon...but I thought I'd share and see if anyone else has attempted this or has suggestions or wants to somehow use this as inspiration for an RP-Ask.

[coffeeeinbed]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

date: 13th july, 2024 time: 1PM

coffee chat #2 ☕️

so i was at the airport today taking a flight from my college town to my home town since i’m spending this weekend with my family (more on those trials and tribulations another time) and i made a lil moodboard of my travel essentials.

i'm a terrible combination of my mothers anxiety and my fathers military grade need to speed through tsa as fast as possible, as if trying to break last times record, so it was a little bit of an emotional rollercoaster this morning, especially at 5 in the morning.

also lets talk about how disorienting it is waking up that early and having to pretend you are a functioning human being for the rest of the day...what is that about? it's only one o'clock, the afternoon has hardly started, but i've lived about a hundred lifetimes today and you're telling me i have to go through the rest of the day?

and i'm not a nap person. super unpopular opinion, but i find it more disorienting than waking up early in the first place. if you think i'm taking a nap on the plane, you're mental. do you know how dehydrating planes are? i lathered my face in hyaluronic acid and aquaphor this morning because i always feel like a prune upon my departure from the airplane air. and chugged 40 oz of water midair. i did pee in the piddly ass airplane bathroom for two minutes straight. so i'm tired but at least i'm hydrated.

now i'm blogging from my girl room and i feel like THE it girl right now. typing that into a tumblr textpost feels oxymoronic, but if this reaches the right audience, you know exactly the feeling.

i came to terms with the fact that i was non-binary in college, and i try to refrain from using "girl-blank" terminology to affirm my own identity, but my childhood bedroom is where i spent my formative years identifying as a girl and experiencing common girl problems, and so i will always regard it as such. so even though i am non-binary, girlhood will always be such an integral part of my identity.

i feel like that's a huge avenue that i could explore as an afab non-binary person, but that's a whole rabbit hole i don't feel like delving down right now. maybe someday we'll talk about it.

also upon trying to cultivate the ideal explore page, i've realized i have no good words to describe my aesthetic, which i find both to be something positive and an extremely frustrating experience. i really like pink, but in the lesbian way, specifically paired with orange and other warm colors. i'm obsessed with oranges in the poetry way, but also because it's my favourite colour. i love coffee and pretty beds, but i like sitting next to my perfectly made bed at my desk and i hate girl rotting. it makes me feel super unproductive and, for lack of better words, bleh.

essentially i feel like i haven't found my space yet. girl room, girl rot, and pink are very tumblr-esque, but they don't appear in the mediums that i find attractive on this platform. nor do i have the words to accurately describe the way that i can describe my aesthetic.

but again, this is something i find to be positive, because the hyper-categorizations of aesthetics has gotten out of hand. as a victim of this very culture, it's difficult not to self identify with a fleeting micro trend of an aesthetic and thereby shrink all the best and individualistic parts of yourself into a confined space of what you are expected to be based on the parameters of that so called aesthetic.

for me, i set my own expectations, and allow myself to be and just enjoy the things i enjoy. that's not to say that aesthetics, especially cultural ones, are not important. i think it's a good way to experiment with different fashion senses, hobbies, and interests, but for me, i feel much more myself when i'm just allowing myself to like the things i like without thinking of the way im perceived.

anyways, those are my thoughts for today. since i'm in my hometown, i'm spending time with my family, which i think will open my personal pandora's box of thoughts and feelings, so i will definitely be back to share more of my lucy-isms as the weekend progresses. <3

[someone-called-efg]

everything i know so far regarding religion and my experiences (big post with a lot of words and some pictures too. i tried doing the image id thing so hopefully i explained it all alright) skip at your own discretion

so, for everything ive made either a comic or drawing, then i'll explain what happened a little more underneath.

~~~

first and foremost before i start, so were on the same page, visits to heaven can occur during the time someone is asleep. this could even happen to you if you see in your dream a recently passed relative (or any passed away relative in general but for the most part it happens when the passing is recent and goodbyes didnt happen for one reason or another) and if it hasnt happened to you personally yet, you probably know someone who's experienced a visit.

with that out of the way, lets get started

---

{ image id: an 8 panel comic. 1st panel shows myself with two others sat around a table, as i joke "God, if this is a sin, strike me down". 2nd panel simply says * later that night * . 3rd panel is in 1st person perspective of me in my dream, opening a door. 4th panel shows that behind the door from panel 3 that God is there floating, his hair/beard flowing into the cloud his head is casually floating on in the middle of the room. 5th panel simply shows a lighting bolt. 6th panel shows me falling through the floor. 7th panel shows me waking up in a state of panic. 8th panel simply says: TLDR: If you call upon him, he'll answer. end id }

this is a comic regarding my first visit. at the time irl i was considering becoming an atheist, so this put a solid halt in that. the reason both people with my in the 1st panel dont really have any defining features is because i was at a psych ward at the time for wanting to unalive, and they make you sign nda's there soo, thats the best i got. in the dream/visit itself i was at home, opening the door from the living room to the porch. and God wasnt just there waiting, they kinda came through the ceiling without breaking it. dont ask me how cuz even i dont know.

---

{ image id: another 8 panel comic so here goes more typing yippee! 1st panel shows God from the side, simply saying "So". 2nd comic shows God turning forward, asking "Are you alright?", as though finishing what they were saying in the 1st panel. 3rd panel shows God an i sat on a couch, and while God looks normal sized, i look tiny by comparison, showing basically the setting. 4th panel is a zoom in on me as i rub the back of my neck, saying "i mean ...". 5th panel simply tldr's what happens as i * proceeds to vent ... a lot * . 6th panel shows God saying nothing, but, they * listens to every word * . 7th panel shows me, clearly upset from venting so much, but also now parched, as i tell God "I'm sorry, I've been talking so much, my throat got dry. Do you have anything I could drink?". 8th panel shows God from the side, for the first time smiling as they say "Of course" and a fridge magically appears at opposite from where i am in comparison to them. end id }

so, not even i really knew what all happened until years lated when i asked God if that visit was a therapy session because all i remembered upon waking up after is the last two panels and afterwards, when my mom and step dad came and told me that the year for earth was 2077 and that the north pole was a desert, then we went and had a mini feast with relatives (and maybe ancestors? idk, there was a fair lot of people and i didnt recognize a lot of them so maybe?) , then i woke up. and if youre going to ask why gods eyes arent visible in this comic when they were visible in that last one, at the time of drawing this comic in particular i didnt feel deserving of him looking at me and smiling, cuz lets face it, were all a bunch of sinners here all trying to do good at least. but at the time if i remember right i had a caffeine addiction to the point i needed 8 coffee/monster energy to get me through the day (4 in the morning + 4 in the afternoon), i since went cold turkey against both.

---

{image id : a 4 panel comic because i finally learned my lesson so i dont have to type as much pog! 1st pannel shows myself and my brother (ftm) stood in Gods temple, and i casually ask "Hey, so, can I reincarnate?". 2nd panel shows god towering over both of us easily, their response is a smile with a "Yeah, sure" as they hold something glowing in their hand that i look into. 3rd panel is glitchy, as it shows a child 1st person perspective, the child is looking down, admittedly a bit overwhelmed while saying "mom, i memember my last life". 4th panel is glitchy as well, this time showing the vague image of a woman reaching out her hand presumably to the child, asking "what do you remember?". end id }

so, for a bit of context, the dream/visit didnt start out like that. it actually started at my great aunts house (who at the time was still alive but died very soon after) it wasnt her house when she was alive, but rather, her house in heaven. my godmother was also there, and i was helping her to remember how to fly because she had forgotten the lesson. so, in total there were 4 people there (my great aunt, my godmother, my brother, and myself) and mid way through me teaching how to fly, another of my brothers teleported into the room and just casually took a seat. after the lesson we went outside and walked around my great aunts heaven house, and when we walked a little ways away there was some kinda conflict, and i simply prayed and the conflict was over within under 10 secs. then as the group of my relatives and i went walking back to my great aunts house, i mentioned to my brother my thoughts of asking to reincarnate soon, and he says to me "why not go right now" and i agree, so we teleported to Gods temple and thats where the comic picks up at. what this told me is that being lgbtqia+ isnt a deadly sin, so any member of the rainbow community isnt going to hell for simply being lgbtqia+, which i see as an absolute win.

~~~

thats the most i got for when it comes to visits, which occur when someone's asleep. but, now, its time to go over a couple visions ive had (and no im not gonna talk about when i died cuz that would be 3 posts in a row, so if you wanna see any of that just check it in your own time) because its just visions, i didnt make comics, but just drawings, which, comics are drawings sure, but not all drawings are comics. and, so i stop rambling, lets get started.

---

{ image id : the great flood. as a man drowns under the fermanent from the quickly rising water level, his soul is outside the fermanent, walking up alongside his dying body, unable to help and can only comfort his souless body by watching it slowly unalive. end id }

when i saw this, i honestly saw at least a dozen others doing this too, i also watched who i could only assume was some past incarnation of myself succumb to the same fate. and for those wondering how a soul can be out when the body is clearly still alive, well, 24 hours before someone dies, their soul's already passed on to the afterlife. where the saying 'dead man walking' comes from, because for those 24 hours, the person's already dead, the rest of the world just doesn't know yet.

---

{ image id : the battle at the end of the world. vegetation is barren from the hills as a giant serpent with black scales and glowing yellow eyes makes its way through the landscape. two angels stand in the foreground, aiming their swords to the heavens, causing a pillar of light thats base covers the two. in the distance, the sky is crimson and the clouds are dark grey almost black. end id }

so. also worth mentioning that when i looked to either side of me, there were armies of God all ready for the greatest battle and ready to take part. needless to say it was overwhelming for a lot of reasons.

~~~

so, thats all really. i could get into the couple times i saw the son of God in visits, but the first time was me in a back room with boxes and he was running by and seemed to be busy and i didnt wanna bother him because of that so i didnt say anything, and the second time we were at this park near my childhood home and i asked him if him and adam are technically in a way brothers and we both ended up laughing causing me to wake up.

~~~

from all this i understand that theres stuff im not allowed to know of my visits for one reason or another, and i kinda figure its so i dont cheat at life. because if i had all the answers, than how else is life supposed to test me.

earth is a school after all, and i at least want my place earned on Gods fridge with a magnet hopefully 🤞

[hesperia-gym-rk62]

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[carpet-cleaners-escondido-hr45dy]

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[absolutepokemontrash]

MC is Half Demon and They’re- Oh Crap They’re Barbatos’ Kid!

This is the second part of that one request I answered for Dia and Barb’s possible kids. Sorry this took so long! Writer’s block, y’know? Anyhoo~ enjoy, everyone!

This story didn’t start on the first day of the exchange program, it started five days before in Barbatos’ room at three in the morning with the poor butler waking up in a cold sweat.

Oh dear, it appeared the exchange program would be up in a bit of a tizzy. He had… a child? Oh my… Barbatos hoped the young master wouldn’t be too miffed about the student not being a totally normal human.

On the day of the exchange program, Barbatos insisted he had to be present for the event, he carefully pushed a cushioned sofa in the drop zone before opening the portal. The child fell right out of the sky and landed perfectly on the couch, they were already wearing a helmet and looked quite shocked by the cushioned fall.

Well, it was a big shock to the assembled crowd, but the child gave everyone a lopsided smile and removed their helmet.

“So, I assume I’m here for the exchange program?”

Dadbatos

Well, this child was incredibly… what was the word the kids were using? chill? They were quite chill considering the situation, and was surprisingly prepared for the sudden drop into hell.

“Oh, I had a dream that this was going to happen, and I dream about the future n’stuff. I thought I’d come prepared.” “Ah, that’s very sensible.”

Diavolo recovered quickly from his shock and was positively delighted to meet this little munchkin. He insisted that they had to stay with their dad.

MC was polite, if not a bit overly calm about a lot of things. They didn’t run off to start trouble, and they didn’t seem very impressed by the Devildom itself. It was sort of like this child had a very low maximum level of excitement. Barbatos was glad his child wasn’t some little hellraiser.

He was never a child himself, so he’s a bit clueless about what children actually enjoy. Here child, have a… have an old torture weapon. Don’t use it on anyone who doesn’t deserve it :)

(I’m kidding, Barbatos is too responsible to give one of his instruments of torture to a child. That’s for when they’re older.)

“MC,” Barbatos knocked on his child’s door. “Have you done your homework?”

MC answered the door with a grin on their face. “Yep, done this week’s and next week’s. I’m getting a head start on the potions project due next week.”

Barbatos almost breathed a small sigh of relief. Thank the stars his child was responsible, it already took a big chunk of his energy to make sure Diavolo didn’t get distracted from his paperwork. Though, his stress levels did rise a tad when he got a glimpse at the mess in MC’s room.

“Are you going to clean that?”

“Nah,” MC shrugged. “It’s whatever. I know where everything is and nothing’s a fall risk. See you at dinner, father.”

And with that, MC shut the door. Well… no child was perfect.

As much as MC’s lack of cleanliness bothers Barbatos, he knows his kid isn’t being maliciously lazy, just for the love of the Demon King please stop leaving cups on the coffee tables without a coaster!

Oh yeah, Luke has a big sib. Sorry- little sib, because Luke isn’t some chihuahua child, he’s a totally mature grown-up Angel.

Barbatos is the type of father who will let his child go off and have whatever kind of fun they want as long as they don’t slack on their important duties.

Barbs also has a goddamn torture dungeon so we here at Stupid Headcanons inc. do NOT recommend trying to eat MC. Doing so may result in you wishing you were dead.

Don’t fuck with the butler.

Lucifer

…out of literally everyone in the room, the last person Lucifer expected to have a secret scandal baby… had a scandal baby. Damn.

At least the human wouldn’t have to live with him and his brothers. The last thing Lucifer wanted was for Barbatos to be even more aware of the chaos that went down in that house every single day.

MC and Lucifer have a healthy level of respect for one another, but Lucifer just can’t shake the feeling that this kid is messing with him somehow.

Just, little things… MC offering him fruit and loudly assuring him that it was just blackberries and nothing poisonous, asking if the RAD uniform suits his tastes, proclaiming that the dirt was high quality-

SOMEONE TOLD MC ABOUT LUCIFER’S FIRST VISIT TO THE DEVILDOM!

MC wasn’t exactly visibly goading him, they said everything with an innocent smile on their face.

When MC starts getting nosy with the attic, he’s not terribly sure how to deal with it. He was going up against a child that could at least partially tell the future. After the first time Lucifer told them to scram, they never went back to the steps… at least not when Lucifer was there to guard it…

After everything goes down, Lucifer is glad that MC wasn’t hurt or anything. He’d come to like the child and it’d be awful to lose the only person who could get his more hyperactive brothers to calm down.

Mammon

Mammon wasn’t present for the meeting, but when he was informed later, the news was met with an eloquent: “the fuck? Huh, wild.”

He isn’t too interested in MC at first. At least until the little runt saved him from getting busted for skipping class. Mammon was just eating his lunch in the courtyard when MC passed by and calmly told him that if he skipped class he should not hang out in the west staircase because Lucifer was going to walk down those steps during third period.

At first Mammon tried to brush off the warning, but ended up listening to the kid anyway, and what do ya know! He didn’t get caught by Lucifer!

That’s when it clicked that MC could see the future, right? Right?! Ya know what Mammon could use that for?! Right?!

Gambling! Scams! Schemes! General shennaniganery!

MC wasn’t terribly enthused about the entire situation, so they may have messed with Mammon a little. Just a bit.

It’s not like Mammon ever listened when MC told him to cut his losses and leave the casino anyway 🙄

Leviathan

First reaction? Thank the anime gods that there wouldn’t be another normie living in the house with him…

Reaction upon hearing that the MC was Barb’s kid? Really? Barbatos? Wow… well, to be fair Levi totally understood why someone would be attracted to Barbatos, I mean, Levi’s watched plenty of anime involving butlers, but Barbatos actually having a living breathing child? Damn.

But still, Levi wasn’t going to hang out with some normie brat. He had better and nerdier things to devote his time to.

Whenever MC visited, Levi was up in his room. But once MC decided to poke their head in the door while Levi was in the middle of gamer raging.

They calmly sat Levi down and explained to him that he could be upset about whatever happened in his game, but lashing out wasn’t going to fix anything or make him better at the actual game.

…damn it… they were right.

Slowly but surely Levi and MC built up a friendship, and the brothers rejoiced at the lack of rage related Lotan summons.

Satan

Out of everything Satan could have possibly expected from the second exchange student, this was not one of them.

Satan began to wonder exactly how MC’s powers worked, he didn’t exactly have any concrete data to compare them to because Barbatos was so mysterious

Hm, how very interesting. Satan decided that it was up to him to satiate his own curiosity and began to study MC. To be honest, MC wasn’t being terribly interesting.

They were a pretty normal kid all things considered. MC went to class, made friends, did their work, very very normal. Well, except for the fact that they seemed to dodge practically every unfortunate thing that could have happened to them.

They’d stop at the perfect time to avoid something accidentally being spilled on them, they always had pencils ready, and they always seemed to know exactly when a teacher was coming… mad sus.

Satan eventually confronted MC about this, and they just shrugged and explained that they tend to dream about what was most likely to happen the next day and would adjust their actions accordingly.

It may have been anticlimactic, but MC did inform Satan that there would be a cat in the courtyard in fifteen minutes.

HE NEEDED TO GO!

Asmodeus

Asmo had genuinely been looking forward to the new exchange program, he was excited to have a new face around the house to shake things up! He loves his dear brothers but spending thousands of years with them makes their shenanigans become a bit… well, a bit boring.

But my oh my, the new face was being obscured by that tacky bicycle helmet… the new face looked an awful lot like Barbatos…

Once Asmo registered what was going on, he was positively enchanted with the little half human. They were just so cute! They looked like a baby Barbatos with those adorably chubby cheeks!

Oh Barbatos~ he just had to let Asmo babysit!

When Asmo managed to sweep MC away for a fun day with shifty uncle Solomon, he was reminded of all the shenanigans that he, Barbatos, and Solomon used to get up to.

*sigh, Barbie was always so busy… no time for a fun night of torture, chaos, and revelry

Anyhoodles~ MC was always such a relaxed little thing. They let Asmo vent whenever any awful tragedies occur, like when Asmo finds a sweater that isn’t in his size… *sniffle*

Beelzebub

A child of Barbatos? The best cook in the three realms Barbatos?! …hey kid want to hang out with cool uncle Beel?

Beel tried everything in his power to get MC to make him food. I mean, the genetic disposition for making good food has to have been passed down from father to child!

When MC finally made Beel food, he was ecstatic!

…Until the food touched Beel’s tongue and he realized it wasn’t good, it was just… okay. Average. Passable.

Aw man… but the kid looked so excited to have made something for Beel…

Beel really hammed up his reaction to make MC feel better. Beel was like “Wow. So good. Amazing.” “Thanks Beel.”

Very sweet child, they don’t mind being used in place as a dumbell.

Belphegor

Damn, and here Belphie was, thinking Barbatos has standards. Apparently not!

When MC went and walked up the attic steps, Belphie was almost bouncing on his toes in anticipation. This human had been a pain in the rear to call up, so he was excited to finally get a good look at them. And lo and behold, a half demon child of Lord Diavolo’s butler.

MC grinned and greeted Belphie first, using his name and asking why the Avatar of Sloth was stuck up in the attic of his own home when he was supposed to be in the human world. Belphie was flabbergasted and didn’t exactly know how to respond.

He came up with a new plan quickly. Belphie didn’t exactly know how this kid’s powers worked, so he’d continue with trying to trick them into opening the attic door. Allowing Belphie to end their miserable little life and thus ruining the exchange program.

The child continued to visit Belphie up in the attic, relaying the events of what was going on, and Belphie continued to play the part of prisoner. Until one day in particular…

MC appeared in front of the door, looking a tad more unkempt than normal, they weren’t smiling their usual carefree smile either. Their eyes bore holes into Belphegor’s skull as they flared at him.

“How long have you been planning on killing me?”

MC had seen the future where they died at Belphie’s hand, and they sure as hell were not going to let him out of the attic after that. Though, they did tell Belphie about Lilith’s true fate before they left, and assured Belphie they had no reason to lie to him about something he wasn’t directly involved in.

So, Belphie did get let out of the attic eventually, and even though MC smiled and welcomed him back all the same, there would always a barrier between the two. Broken trust wasn’t easy to mend, after all.

[leviathans-watching]

sleeping/waking up with the obey me characters?

sleeping/waking up with the obey me boys

includes: lucifer, mammon, levi, satan, asmo, beel, belphie, diavolo, barbatos, simeon, solomon x gn!reader

a/n: thanks for the ask! these were so cute😋 (requests are open! send one in if you want!)

implied relationships, fluff, domestic fluff, hcs

wc: .7 k | rated g

please like and reblog

➳ lucifer wakes up before you, an early riser, taking the utmost care to slide out of bed without walking you. yet you stir, missing his warmth and solidness next to you. “go back to sleep, dearest,” he whispers, leaning over you. he places a feather-light kiss on your forehead, and soothed, you drift back of knowing he’ll wake you when it’s time for you to get up

➳ mammon clings to his sleep, getting up at the last possible second. you’re the same so there’s rarely a day when the two of you don’t race downstairs in disarray, shoving breakfast in your mouth as you head out the door. “oh, shit! mc, we gotta go!” he shakes you, pulling you from your dreams. “we’re late! lucifer’s gonna kill us!”

➳ levi relies on you to get him up, usually tired from a late night gaming. on the nights he does stay up, he clumsily gets into bed, pulling you close. if you move at all he freezes, barely breathing. when you just turn over and press your face into his chest he lets out an exhale wrapping his arms around you as he relaxes

➳ satan wakes up before you and watches you sleep, propping himself up on one elbow. he drinks in your features, tracing the curve of your nose, your jaw, your eyelashes with his eyes. you look beautiful to him, even if there’s a line of drool connecting you to the pillow. “beloved,” he says, caressing your cheek. “it’s time to get up now.” when your eyes brighten upon seeing him he feels as if he’s unworthy of the pure adoration in them.

➳ asmo is about the only person who actually ‘woke up like that’. he likes to wake you up by pressing soft kisses to your cheeks,nose, eyelids, chin, and, when you open your eyes, mouth. “good morning, baby,” he’ll chirp, too cheerful for the early hour, giggling when you groan and shut your eyes again, fingers dancing along your sides in the pantomime of a tickle.

➳ beel gets up early to work out, sliding out of bed a while before you do. you had asked him to wake you up when he left, just in case you wanted to come with. “mc,” beel gently nudges you, rousing you from your slumber. “want to go on a run with me?” usually it’s a no, but once in a while you’ll agree and follow him on his chosen workout, hyping him up as he did the same to you.

➳ belphie is a nightmare to get up. he has several alarms he ignores, but unfortunately, you can’t ignore them. you groggily turn them all off, rolling over to get the one he set on the other side of the bed. “belphie.” one word from you and his eyes are open, lazily blinking. you wonder why he still sets all those alarms when you work better than all of them combined.

➳ diavolo sets a soft alarm that gets you both up, sharing a soft kiss first thing regardless of morning breath. occasionally, you’ll hit snooze and spend those minutes cuddling, enjoying the warmth emitting from him. he’ll skim his hand up and down your side comfortingly, just reveling in your presence.

➳ barbatos wakes you up with a warm cup of tea or coffee, depending on what you prefer. he wakes you up the same time every day, believing a routine is needed to make the day go well. you can’t say you mind it, not when you’re wrapping your fingers around a warm mug, the ghost of his hand in your hair, pushing it out of your face.

➳ simeon is the type to sing you awake, as cheesy as that is. his voice is wonderful, as expected, what with him being an angel and all, and whenever you wake up hearing his beautiful voice you have the best day, feeling relaxed and happy. “darling,” he croons. “it’s time to get up~” humming the rest of the refrain, he pecks the top of your nose.

➳ solomon does the good ol’ “hey, it’s time to get up.” he just says it, already starting to get ready, glancing at you from over his shoulder. nothing gentle or sweet about it. you blink awake, still slightly sleep-addled and look over, giving him a glare, unhappy to be woken. all your glare does is make him chuckle, but inwardly he’s having a mini crisis on how cute you look while sleepy.

© leviathans-watching - all rights reserved. please do not repost, copy, or claim as your own

[slightlymore]

oh no, mr suh, please don't spank me

johnny x fem reader

cameo: taeyong

genre: !!smut!!, roommates au, fake enemies to lovers, a little tiny fluffy angst bc it's my brand apparently

warnings: a lot of mutual teasing, finger sucking, sexting, solo f and m, spanking, marking, dry humping, hand job, fingering, slight cum play, not protected, overstimulation f and m, multiple orgasms, penetration, manhandling, oral m and f, tiny degradation (sparse use of ‘little slut’), rough

words: 7K

it’s finally here!! this one is very juicy haha good luck I guess :) keep your panties dry challenge

taglist: @comically-sleep-deprived​ @strawberrymilkandcigarettes​ @theworld-accordingtocasey​ @kibumingi​

_____

"Johnny, get lost." 

You raised your eyes to meet Johnny's peaceful face in the middle of the corridor, one of them still twitching for waking up so early. 

He smirked and didn't move. 

You made a step on the right. 

He did the same. 

"John," you made a step on the left. 

His body kept blocking your way. 

"Why? Are you busy?" His voice was deep and thick like honey and in other circumstances you would have wanted to listen to it forever. But that morning you woke up without a single ounce of patience. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes. "Yes, unlike you." 

"I'm also busy."

"Oh yeah? Doing what?" 

"Getting between your legs."

In spite of everything, you couldn't help but snort once. 

He has been playing that game for weeks now. A little touch here, a little compliment there, but it was the first time to see him this pushy. 

"I told you that I don't want to sleep with my roommates," you walked around him, teasingly hitting his shoulder with yours. 

You weren't surprised to feel his fingers wrap your arm and turn you around. 

"You don't have to sleep with me. I can sleep well on my own. I need you awake."

Johnny let his palm dance on your skin until it got to your throat, his thumb rising slowly and caressing your lips. You gulped and looked down at his hand before locking eyes with him again. 

"You know what I mean," your breath and moving mouth tickled his finger and the twinkle in the man's eyes amused you. You were about to add something else but decided to do something instead - giving him new ideas to continue jerking off to later, since his dick will still be dry for a long time. 

But when you softly pulled his thumb into your mouth, you didn't expect to be the first to get that excited. 

Johnny let out the ghost of a sigh, staring at the way your pursed lips dragged around his skin, the softness of your tongue licking the tip after giving it a good suck. 

"Hm. Knew you were a little slut." 

You chuckled and raised your hands to press them on his chest and push him away before turning around with the intent of leaving him hot and bothered. 

But he was quicker. In a second your wrists were blocked by his strong fingers and his head was shaking. 

"No touching."

You narrowed your eyes amused. 

"Oh yeah? And what should I do for you to let me touch you?" 

His fingers intertwined with yours and if he didn't have that lustful expression on, the gesture would have been almost sweet. 

"Beg?" 

You opened your mouth in a slightly surprised o. 

"Me? Beg? I don't beg." 

Johnny let go of your hands with a smirk and ghosted your chest until getting to the hem of the oversized t-shirt you wore to bed. 

"Stop me," he whispered but all of a sudden you couldn't concentrate on forming words and frankly, you realized you didn’t want to either. 

So he knelt in front of you and slipped his fingers underneath the fabric, revealing your thighs and underwear, pushing it up until exposing your stomach. His breath tickled your skin first then you felt his lips, and when he placed the first kiss you got goosebumps all over your body. Johnny chuckled slowly and palmed your legs as if getting rid of the bumps but it only added to the heightening sensation his mouth was building up. And when he took out the tongue, circling your belly button, you breathed in deeply and grabbed his hair. He liked it since a pleasant grunt formed on his lips, which were going down until meeting the cotton of the underwear, then on one side, tackling your hip with slow kisses. 

Right when you were about to close your eyes and moan, you suddenly couldn't feel Johnny's lips on you anymore. You stared down just to see his annoying smirk, his locks still in your hand and his eyebrow raised upon seeing the little wet patch formed on your panties. 

He got up with a swift movement as if he had finished with all of his to-do list for the day and smiled. 

"I'll go make breakfast," he announced and walked around you whistling.

_____

Said breakfast was being consumed in silence. 

You had to change your underwear because the situation between your legs got too much out of control and when you came back Johnny already made coffee and pancakes. With little glances at his face you wondered how come he was that calm and, the most important thing, how come there was no tent in his gray sweatpants. 

Did he really think he could start a war and win? You scoffed while angrily munching on the last pieces of pancakes. 

"You okay?" he licked his lips after finishing his coffee. 

"Of course," you replied dryly, standing up and grabbing your plate directed towards the kitchen like a tornado. 

"Your vibes are kinda dark though?" he raised his voice for you to be able to hear over the clanging of dishes. 

"Mind your own business," you came back, the violent shift of air as you passed near him almost making his hair swoosh. 

_____

Tight clothes? No, more. Lingerie? Uh uh, more. Naked? Maybe too much. Towel? Fuck yeah, towel. 

Lips juicy, eyes glowing, and the plan was rolling as you stood inside the bathroom, grinning at yourself in the mirror, hands virtually rubbing against each other while physically they were wrapping your damp skin with the towel. 

Hidden behind a corner like a predator about to attack its prey, you waited to hear Johnny's steps coming towards the bedrooms. A little noise, calm and deep, arrived to your ears first. One step forward and the collusion was perfect. 

"Oh, sorry!" you bumped into him, the fabric shifting on your breasts, your fingers prudishly trying to cover yourself and - oops - failing. With hands pressed on your chest, the swell of it was even more visible now, the last drops of water shining on the skin and falling slowly inside the cleavage. 

Johnny remained silent, not even a tiny ‘sorry’ escaping his lips, his eyes completely trained on your body. Then, when you were already tasting the victory on your tongue, he suddenly looked behind you as if not wanting to look anymore. 

You shifted your weight from one foot to another, waiting for a more grand reaction but Johnny kept on a composed face. 

After a few seconds of silence, you were about to leave, lower lip between your teeth as your plan didn't make him go rogue. 

But then he whispered something under his breath and when you least expected it, he pushed you against the wall. The air got knocked out of your lungs making you breathless.  "You like dangerous games?" 

His tone was delicious, lips so close to yours, and you absolutely wanted to drink it all in. And he was right. You did like dangerous games and you also liked to win. 

"Yeah. And revenge as well." You finally smiled as one of your fingers slowly dragged on his chest, smoothing the creases of his white t-shirt. "Am I making you feel some type of way, John?" 

The man scoffed, staring you down. "Not really." 

"You can't even look at me in the eyes though.”

"Eyes? Something else requires my attention now, baby girl." 

The instant delicious burst of pleasure of his hands cupping your now nude breasts and his thumbs circling your hard nipples made your knees buckle. The towel, slowly falling until stopping around your waist, was dangerously close to getting to your feet if Johnny's hips weren't pressed against yours. 

One step back and you'd be naked in front of him and that wasn't your plan at all. 

No, no, wait. You were supposed to make him feel things, not the contrary. 

Then why were you letting him touch you like that? 

"Are you sure you're doing this for me and not for yourself?" Johnny smiled at your light panting and twitching fingers, pressed on his arms. 

"Enough," you whined, mind already blurry, so close to beg him to take you like that against that same wall. 

Johnny stopped and took a step back, his hands quickly going to your hips preventing the towel from falling any further. 

"I don't have to say it since it's obvious. But I've won. Again." 

You pulled the white fluffy fabric from his fingers with a huff and stormed into your room, the echo of Johnny's chuckle ringing in the whole corridor. 

_____

Disastrous. 

You couldn't believe that you got that hot and bothered when Johnny should have been the one salivating and losing his mind inside his room. 

Throwing away the towel you looked around for your clothes when a buzz from the bed made your head turn. 

"Are you touching yourself?" read Johnny's text. You snorted. Unbelievable. 

You weren't going to touch yourself. No, sir. You already lost a second time. You weren't about to give Johnny that satisfaction as well. 

From You: and if I were?

From Johnny: thinking about me?

From You: you wish.

You laid down, face illuminated from the phone and fingers hovering over the screen, somewhat invested in the conversation. But just a little. 

From Johnny: come on. do it.

You rolled your eyes amused and changed his display name. 

From You: you first 

From Evil dick: hm, I love winning though.

From You: you talk a lot for someone that's fucking his fist right now :)

From Evil dick: is this what you're imagining?

From You: yeah 

Johnny read the text and didn't reply anymore. You could not prove that he was taking care of his stiffy but the thought of him doing so made you feel triumphant. Perhaps it wasn't a full win but you could give yourself half a point. Only half. 

Because when you put your phone down, you couldn't stop your hand from sliding between your legs either. 

_____

You needed at least one win. 

Just once, only once, you wanted to see Johnny's honey eyes tremble under your touch. 

And the corridor was your arena apparently since the next day another opportunity arose. Short and quick. 

You smiled at him exiting his room and he smiled back. His lips were about to part and probably ask if you enjoyed yourself the previous night but no sound came out of them as your fingertip gently caressed his chest. It was barely there, a slight touch going slowly down. 

His jaw muscles tightened when you reached his pants and he jolted when you pulled his belt towards you. 

"It was a little crooked," you feigned innocence, your knuckles definitely brushing something that made him inhale silently. 

"I'm making breakfast." You smiled and walked around him, leaving Johnny alone in the middle of the corridor just like he did the day before. 

_____ “That’s not a win.”

You threw your head back on the couch arm, looking at Johnny upside down, the popcorn kernel you were currently about to eat stopped against your lips. 

“That was a win,” you replied. 

The man put his hands on his hips. “You just touched my belt.” 

You chuckled. “Yeah. Apparently that’s enough for you to cum, baby boy.” 

Johnny’s cheeks rose in a tight smile as you licked the salt and butter from your fingers. The look in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed to you and you loved it. His gaze caressed your face and open lips, then your exposed throat and low cut t-shirt. You knew he loved that angle. Could you possibly get two wins on the same day? 

“Want some popcorn?” you asked, handing him one kernel. Johnny put his hands on the couch’s arm, bending his frame down and taking it with his teeth. You looked away nonchalantly as his lips touched your fingers, and you grabbed another kernel for yourself. 

But Johnny was quicker. 

One hand on your jaw, pushing your head back even more, he took it from between your lips in a spiderman kiss. 

You couldn’t breathe for a few seconds, mouth open and skin burning from where his lips touched it. 

When you locked eyes again, you noticed him munching with a little smile. Still hovering over you, a few strands of hair covering his eyes, he swallowed and whispered. 

“I win.” 

_____

“Oh, no, I’m not drinking.”

Taeyong looked at you with the cocktail glass in his hand as if you grew two heads. “Y/N not drinking?” 

“I can’t drink. I’m on duty.”

You were still sitting on the couch in a ball, eyebrows furrowed and concentrated eyes. 

Taeyong took a sip from his drink then shrugged and took a sip from the one he prepared for you too. 

“On duty for what?” he plopped near you making you wobble slightly to the side. 

“War.” 

“On Johnny?” Your head snapped towards his innocent eyes. “You know about it?” 

The boy chuckled. “Want me to give you a few tips?”

He smacked his lips and shifted his weight to be more comfortable, his lids dropping as if about to share some juicy secrets. 

You imitated his position and leaned in to hear better.

“Make him jealous with me.” You blinked in silence a few times then sighed, pushing Taeyong away. “Are you trying to get between my legs too, now?” 

The other continued chuckling. “It was worth the shot. You can try stuff like touching him randomly, then.” You huffed. “You think I’m a newbie?” 

Taeyong sipped from both of his drinks again. “Then what about making him believe he got you so you can attack when he feels powerful?” 

_____

"Oh, no. I have flour on my clothes."

The dough you were working was still sticky so you got a handful of flour that accidentally went on your bottoms right when Johnny made his appearance in the kitchen. 

He looked down and, indeed, noticed a light layer of dust covering your black leggings. 

“Could you please clean them up for me? These are my favourites,” you pouted at him.  

Johnny smiled and sighed, getting closer and slapping your butt once, then twice, then again, until all the flour was cleaned up. 

"There's no reason to be this aggressive, you know?” you bit your lower lip. 

"But you like it this way. Don't you?" 

Another spank and you mewled, the sound making Johnny hum in appreciation. 

“You’re all clean now.” He stepped back and presumably stared at your ass with the excuse of checking for some more flour. 

“I didn’t say you could stop,” you whispered and almost regretted - key word ‘almost’ - saying it as your flatmate approached you again, his sudden dark aura making your skin crawl. 

“You want me to continue?” his voice caressed your ear, his tone highly amused.  

You acted as if gathering the courage to confess that, yes, you wanted him to spank you but, oh no, you were so shy and he was so strong, you couldn’t do it like that and in public!!? oh no, you couldn’t take it. 

“N-no, it’s better if we stop here. I- I don’t think I can handle it. It will make me go crazy.”

Even if not seeing him in the face, you could almost physically sense Johnny’s puzzled aura. Laughing to yourself you wondered what kind of reaction he would come up with this time. 

He didn’t say anything for a few moments and when you were about to turn your head to check on him, you felt his chest on your back and he engulfed your body with his arms as he pressed his hands on the counter in front of you. 

“Okay,” he whispered into your ear. “I’m giving this one to you.” 

_____

From Evil Dick: I can hear your vibrator from the kitchen

From You: I’m not using any vibrator right now From You: maybe it’s taeyong lol 

From Evil Dick: lol From Evil Dick: it’s definitely coming from your room tho

From You: you’re imagining things you wish were true

From Evil Dick: I don’t imagine you getting off on vibrators From Evil Dick: I like to be included in my fantasies :)

You: typing You: deleting You: typing You: deleting

From You: fuck you

From Evil Dick: fuck me yourself From Evil Dick: 4-2 for me

Johnny smiled brightly when you barged into his room. 

He was laying down in the dark, with only the phone illuminating his face. 

“Are you already done?” he asked teasingly. 

You stopped at the feet of his bed with crossed arms. 

“I’m here to fuck,” you announced. 

Johnny remained with his mouth open as his brain processed the information then laughed. 

“I don’t think you will,” he sat up, resting his back on the bed frame. The movement lifted his t-shirt a little, exposing the waistband of his boxers above the sweatpants and his lower stomach skin. 

You didn’t add anything and got on your knees on the bed instead, slowly crawling towards him until getting between his legs. Then you sat on your heels and took away your shirt. 

Johnny followed your frame and his eyes grew wide seeing you naked underneath the falling fabric. You smiled and his loss of words and you imitated his position, sitting in front of him and opening your legs to drape over his. 

“Holy shit, Y/N,” he whispered, eyes trained to where you slowly dragged your fingers. 

Inhaling deeply you closed your eyes and threw your head back, gently drawing circles around your clit before pushing two fingers inside of you. 

“Shit,” Johnny repeated and you whined, the wet sound telling him how you felt. 

“I didn’t say I’m here to fuck you. You can’t touch me nor can you touch yourself. If you do, you lose,” you instructed breathless and Johnny dug his fingers in the mattress underneath him. 

You smiled and bit your lower lip, fully enjoying his expression, his eyes looking as if drinking you in and were making you go crazy. 

But then he smiled too and it threw you off. 

In a second his hands were on your thighs as he pulled you towards him from underneath your knees until reaching the hand between your legs. He grabbed your wrists and blocked them in an iron grip. 

“You can’t touch yourself either.” 

You were breathing heavily, naked and so close to Johnny that you could almost feel the warmth of his body on your skin. 

“What’s with that face, baby girl? You wanted to cum?” he cooed at you. 

You bit your lower lip and shook your head. 

Johnny pouted. “Hm, baby girl can’t even lie well. Are you sure you don’t want to feel my fingers inside of you?”

You closed your eyes. “I don’t.” 

The other pulled you towards him by the wrists again until being able to whisper on your lips. 

“What about my tongue?” 

“Fuck, John, plea-” you interrupted yourself. 

Johnny smirked. “What was that? Please?”

You shook your head again. “No.” 

“I definitely heard you say please just now.” 

Panting and on the edge you considered just not caring about anything and fuck that man on the spot. 

“Truce,” you whispered. Johnny tilted his head to the side. 

“It’s not over and no one wins or loses this time,” you explained. 

“That’s convenient for you,” he teased. 

You huffed and fully sat on his lap, rolling your hips once on his hard cock. 

“I think it’s convenient for you too,” you commented after Johnny’s trembling sigh. 

His eyes grew darker and his hands grabbed your ass, pressing you on himself even harder. Your arms wrapped his neck and you hid your face into the crook of it, trying to conceal your whimpers. 

The rough material of his sweatpants did wonders to your sensitive clit and you didn’t need a lot to start shaking in Johnny’s arms. Your hips stopped as you moaned, digging your fingers into his shoulders but his hands on your waist forced you to go on. The overstimulation felt delicious and you didn’t care what words you mumbled into his ear, jolting every time his cock rubbed on your raw clit again and again. A few deep grunts and Johnny’s erratic movements told you that he was close too. You kissed his jaw then the skin next to it, then the corner of his lips, breathing in the air he breathed out then moaning once as he took his cock out and pumped it in his hand, spurts of warm cum coating your lower stomach. You looked down at the way it dripped between your legs and felt dizzy from pleasure. Johnny read your mind and quickly collected the drops fallen on your clit, drawing circles around it quicker and quicker until he had you shaking for the second time, head fallen on his shoulder and teeth digging into his neck skin. 

You remained like that, breathless and fucked out until you finally could manage to raise your head again. “This never happened,” you whispered and Johnny nodded amused.

_____

You yelped as Johnny’s wide palm slapped your butt unannounced. "John! I'm near the stove!" 

"Good morning," he smiled sweetly as he retrieved two coffee mugs from the cupboard. 

"What if I burnt myself?" you accused him even if you both knew it was highly improbable. 

"I would have kissed the bruise until the pain disappeared," he placed the mugs down and walked around you, positioning himself behind you and trapping you with his arms. One hand turned the stove off and the other danced on your stomach pulling you against him. 

"When will you stop?" you tried to steady your voice since your ass rubbing on your roommate's crotch wasn't exactly calming. 

"When you'll beg," he whispered in your ear with his playful tone. "But I'm not trying to do anything now. You were so caught up into staring at me that you didn't notice the eggs and I'm here to save them." 

You put your tongue inside your cheek to prevent yourself from smiling. Johnny breathed in as if trying to add something else but the sound of a voice made you both jolt. 

"What are you guys doing so early in the morning?"

You almost forgot you had other roommates besides your sworn enemy poking at your back with his cock. 

"Teaching Y/N how to make good eggs."

Taeyong raised one eyebrow at the scene in front of himself. "Yeah. Adding a sausage does make your eggs taste better." 

"Oh my God," you mumbled, turning around and pushing a chuckling Johnny away. 

"Do you want to know my recipe?" Taeyong raised his voice since you were already leaving the kitchen. 

"Two sausages--," then a smack and a fit of laughter as Taeyong promptly apologized for even daring to assume he could add himself into the equation. 

“Come on. I thought you were in a good mood this morning by the looks of that bright red hickey.”

“Yes and I don’t share what’s mine.” You almost stumbled on our own feet in the corridor.  

"I'm out of town this weekend, by the way. If you want to go all out…" was the last thing you heard and the one giving you the best idea for your new plan. 

_____

It was almost two in the morning and Johnny was nowhere to be seen. 

You rolled over on the bed with a huff then kicked the blanket staring at the lingerie you were wearing with sudden disgust. 

It was the weekend and the house was empty - the perfect occasion for you to play with Johnny. And where was he? Probably fucking somebody else. 

You were sick with anger. 

Getting out of the bed - his bed where you waited for him - you stripped out of the sexy lace and grabbed the first t-shirt you found. It was one of his and even though it was clean, it still smelled like Johnny. 

You got back under the covers and crossed your arms on your chest, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed. 

It wasn’t jealousy. You didn’t care if Johnny fucked other people. It’s not like you even fucked properly in the first place. You were just irritated that your plan didn’t work as you wanted it to. 

With an argh you turned on your side and hugged the other pillow, Johnny’s scent engulfing you all again. 

God, he made you so mad. 

_____

The first thing you realized as you woke up was the fact that your room didn’t have a black accent wall. 

The second one was Johnny’s arms around you - one behind your head and the other one thrown around your waist. 

You were sleeping on your back, one hand placed on top of his and the other one on the veiny forearm. With one finger you followed one of them until reaching the bicep then you slowly turned your head to look at him in the face. 

He didn’t close the blinds when he came home last night so the sun was shining brightly behind him, making him look like an angel. 

You smiled for a moment, staring at his calm expression and listening to his regular breath before widening your eyes in horror and snapping out of your sweet thoughts. 

What was that? 

You didn’t care about John Suh and you definitely didn’t care about the way his caramel hair was draping on his forehead. 

“Mm,” his raspy voice accompanied his strong arms pulling you towards him as you tried to slip out of the bed. “Where are you going?” he mumbled, eyes still closed and very much half asleep. 

You sighed and relaxed on your back again without a word and when Johnny rolled you over to face him you didn’t resist it. 

“Did you sleep well?”  “Where have you been?” you spoke on top of him. 

The words, or maybe your tone, made Johnny’s eyes open in an instant. 

You weren’t looking at him, your eyes were low on his chest instead. He raised one hand to cup your cheek with the intent to make you look at him but you flinched. 

“What’s going on?” he questioned. 

You sighed again and shook your head. “Nothing. I’ll make breakfast.”

As you tried to get out of the bed again, Johnny’s arms didn’t want to leave your body. “Y/N. Wait. Stay.” 

His hand got to your face a second time and this time you locked eyes with him. 

“I was out. Like most weekends,” he explained. 

You gulped and nodded. “Good.” 

“No, it’s not good. You don’t seem to like that.” 

You didn’t add anything, neither denying nor confirming it.

Johnny’s eyebrows met in the middle. “You’ve never had a problem with that.” 

“I don’t have a problem with that,” you finally managed to get out of bed and Johnny let you go this time. 

“I didn’t fuck anyone, if you’re wondering,” you heard him say as you walked the few steps towards the door. 

“I don’t care if you fuck people, Johnny.” 

“You do.”

Your feet stopped in place. “I don’t.” 

“You’ve just made the same expression you put on when you claim that you don’t want me to touch you and we both know that’s a lie.” His voice was calm but stern. “Just admit it.” 

You just resumed walking and exited the room. 

_____

It was weird and not something familiar to your gut, but every time you saw Johnny, you felt the urge to either kiss his lips, cry on the floor, punch his face or run away. 

The first was understandable, even if weird; the second one was absolutely weird and you had no idea what the fuck was going on with you; the third was also highly understandable. 

But it was the last one that you chose. 

So when Johnny entered the kitchen you got out. When he opened the door to his bedroom you closed yours. When he sat on the couch, you got up. 

Until he couldn’t take it anymore and barged into your room unannounced. 

“Hey! Knocking maybe?” 

You were on the bed, scrolling through your phone and looking absolutely impresentable. 

“Talk to me.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not in the mood to play right now, John.” 

He walked over and sat on your bed. 

“I don’t want to play. You’re avoiding me.” 

“Look, it was fun for a while, but I don’t feel like continuing the little game we had going on. Let’s go back to how it was before.” Y

ou hoped you sounded convincing to him because you didn’t sound convincing to your own ears. 

Your words did make Johnny put on a sour expression though and you pretended to not notice. 

“Okay,” he said after a moment and you retrieved your phone from the bed, expecting the conversation to be over. 

Yet, when he placed his palm on your thigh your hand stopped in mid-air. 

“What are you doing?” 

He looked down to where his finger slowly caressed your skin, creating little goosebumps all over it. Then Johnny looked up and whatever expression you had on, it was enough for him as he suddenly got up and left the room. 

_____

“Brr, this house is colder than the heart of my elementary crush after he refused to share his food with me.” 

Both you and Johnny ignored Taeyong’s words, busy rolling your peas into your own plates. 

“What happened while I was away?” 

“Nothing happened,” you mumbled. 

“Hm,” the boy commented, munching on his food. “Wait,” he stopped, struck by realization, “ you mean like - nothing - happened? This is why you’re both mad? You didn’t fuck?” 

You rolled your eyes and got up with the plate in your hands. 

“She’s mad because she doesn’t want to admit that she has feelings for me.” 

The bomb that Johnny threw made both Taeyong and you shake in your places.

“What?” you asked incredulously. “I don’t have feelings for you.” 

Johnny calmly put down his fork and looked up at you. 

“Well, I do.” 

You opened your mouth in a silent shock while Taeyong initially gasped then soon after shrugged, whispering under his breath. “I mean, it was kinda obvious in his case.”

“And I don’t like the fact that you think I have space in my mind for other people besides you,” he continued. “Because it’s not true.” 

“Woah,” Taeyong rested his back on the chair as if watching a soap opera. 

“Did you really have to do this in the living room at dinner time?” you asked him after a few seconds of opening and closing your mouth like a fish. 

“Oh?” Johnny raised his eyebrows. “You want to take this to the bedroom instead? Let’s go,” he got up suddenly. 

“Aw, guys, come on. You always hide the funniest stuff from me!” whined Taeyong seeing you leave. 

“You know what I mean!” you replied to Johnny but still followed his quickly moving frame inside his room. He closed the door behind him and crossed his arms on his chest as if waiting for you to talk. 

“What?” you imitated his position. 

“Say something?” 

“I don’t know what to say! What does one say after all of that?” you questioned. 

“Do something? I just said I am in love with-” 

In the end you did something and that something was wrapping his neck with your arms and kissing him deeply. 

Johnny remained still for a moment as if shocked before finally relaxing his arms and tightly pulling your body towards his. 

Your mind was empty and you had no idea what was going on but after a few seconds of tasting Johnny’s tongue you were already thrown on the bed. It creaked under Johnny’s force and you jolted at the way he dragged your pajama pants down. No sexy outfit and no lace lingerie to meet his eyes, yet they were full of such intensity and lust that you realized it didn’t matter at all. Hands in his hair, you raised your bust to connect your lips again. 

“I was so fucking mad you weren’t home that night. I thought I was about to go crazy,” you breathed out while Johnny was palming your torso, lifting up your t-shirt and cupping your breasts. 

“I know. Punish me then. Show me your anger,” he joked.  But his reply turned a switch into your body and you managed to push his chest away from you. He smiled at your reaction and rolled over on his back, letting you straddle his lap. 

“I’m going to tease you so much until you’ll be the one begging me to touch you.”  

Johnny caressed your thighs. “Hm. I don’t need any teasing. You’re breaking me with your mere presence. Please, please, touch me.” 

Your breath got stuck in your throat and you couldn’t see anymore. The grunts leaving Johnny’s throat as you bit into his neck were so hot that you wondered what stopped you from letting yourself hear them before. And when you moved to his chest, then stomach, littering his skin with love bites his muscles twitched under your touch. 

You had no words to describe how it felt to have him inside your mouth. Heavy, hot and so present, you choked only on a third of it. 

“Shit,” you mumbled, taking it out and pumping it instead with your hand. 

Johnny loved it anyways and he looked at you with such intensity that you wondered if you could make him cum with only a few kitty licks. 

“It’s alright. You don’t have to,” he breathed out. 

“It’s alright. I know I have a monster cock and you don’t have to suck on it if you can’t handle being deepthroated,” you mocked him trying to imitate his tone. “Well, I want to and I will.”

And so you listened to Johnny’s airy chuckle, broken by the feeling of your mouth on him again, this time deeper than before. 

“You love a challenge, huh?” 

You would have said that, yes, you loved it and you loved to win, if it weren’t for his cock sliding down your throat making it difficult to talk. 

“Fuck, baby, that’s- oh shit-,” he grabbed your head as you bobbed your head up and down a few times before you couldn’t take it anymore and let it out with a lewd plop. 

“Baby?” you raised one eyebrow at him. 

“You don’t like it?” 

“Do I look like a baby to you?” you smiled with wet lips, your hand restlessly pumping his cock hard and fast. 

Johnny grunted again, his hips rising to meet your touch even more. 

“Hm, no, you look like a little slut right now,” he agreed with a smirk before his expression changed again into, you realized in that moment, the best view you’ve ever seen in your whole life. Head thrown back and completely at your mercy, Johnny came hard, his whole body twitching as his cum spurted on your hand and face. 

“I think I won this time,” you pumped him a few more times before letting him go. “Hm, you drink so much coffee,” you smacked your lips after licking his cum off your fingers. 

“This wasn’t part of the game.” 

“Yeah, well, I’ve just decided that it was,” you shrugged. 

Johnny grabbed his discarded t-shirt and cleaned his stomach. “So, are we playing now?”

His tone got dangerous and his expression made your wet pussy even drippier but you had no time to worry or form a single thought about it since you suddenly found yourself with the face on the mattress instead. 

You turned your head sideways to be able to breathe and Johnny’s hands didn’t even try to be gentle when they pulled your panties down. 

The loud smack arrived before the sensation of his big palm on your asschecks could. When you finally felt the burning sensation, another slap added to that. 

Your fingers grabbed Johnny’s blanket, preparing yourself for the third spank, absolutely not expecting his tongue inside of you instead. 

“Fuckfuckfuck-” you mewled but your sounds only made Johnny more ferocious, hands opening you up, eating you out as if he’d been dying to do so for a long time. And it was true for yourself too, but no imagination of yours could have realistically portrayed the way he was making you feel and no fingers of yours could reach as deep as his did, fingering you fast, tongue not stopping for a second, not even when you violently went over the edge with the loudest moans you’ve ever heard yourself emit. 

“You win, you win-,” your rough throat tried to stop him from torturing your overstimulated clit and you heard him suck on his fingers after he let you go. 

“Okay, I’ll take it. But this is just the beginning. Are you going to let me fuck you, baby?” he caressed your ass, going down to your waist and cupping your breasts. 

The movement made his cock poke at your entrance and you imperceptibly opened your legs even more. 

“Yes, please,” you whispered back, turning your head to meet his lips as he lifted your chin. 

“Hm? Say that again?” 

“Please.” 

His tip easily slipped inside but the stretch still made you hiss through your teeth. Johnny shushed you, kissing your shoulder and neck until he bottomed out. “You can handle it, right baby?” You tried to nod but his first thrust knocked the air out of your lungs and you let your head fall down again with a whine. 

Johnny moved again and again then stopped with a grunt. “Beg a little for me again.” 

You bit your lower lip, his tip pressing right when you needed it to and you wanted him to do it non stop. 

“I don’t think I will beg again,” you whispered with a smile and started to move your hips instead. It was a sloppy and slow job, nowhere sharp and quick as Johnny’s, but you had to win again. 

The man let your ass bounce on his stomach a few times, staring at the way you were stretched around him then he grabbed your waist and left you all empty. 

You whined, clenching yet nothing being inside of you anymore. 

“I said beg.” 

His breath was now on your spine, his wet mouth placing kisses on your skin, making it shiver and taking some of it in his teeth, sucking on it until he was satisfied. 

But you remained silent and he clicked his tongue at your stubbornness. In a single go he filled you up again and this time he never stopped. 

He was breaking you in half and if you hadn’t already had tears in your eyes, this would have been the time to start crying from pleasure. 

“Holy fucking shit--John-” you cried out, breath rhytmically broken by his deep thrusts and when he added his slaps again, you just lost it all, cumming so hard that the neighbors were probably ready to call an ambulance. 

Johnny stopped balls deep inside of you, feeling the way you clenched around him. And when you thought it was over, when you barely started to hear again, he moved as hard as before, shushing you and pressing his fingers roughly into your skin. 

“You can handle another round, right baby? You’re such a pretty little slut with a bigger attitude than she can carry. This is nothing for you.” 

Fucked dumb, you could only nod and Johnny started to lose control himself, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, some drops falling from his collabones to his chest. And when you felt his cum spurt inside of you, you finally begged, repeating it again and again. Johnny didn’t stop and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to move at all the next day when your muscles contracted for the nth time in so little time, collapsing completely after Johnny slowly slipped out of you. 

His breath felt wet and boiling on your face when he dropped beside you. 

He swallowed a few times trying to catch his breath. “Fucking finally. I knew it was going to be epic. Why did you refuse me for so long? Look what you missed.” 

You would have snorted if you had the force so you resorted to just let out a whine. “I refused so I couldn’t see this. I have a big attitude? Well, you have the biggest ego in the world.” 

Johnny turned his head towards you. “And cock.” 

You rolled your eyes and accepted his hands pulling you towards his chest. 

“Ew, you’re sweaty,” you mumbled. He kissed your forehead. “And you love it.” “No,” you denied it, “butIloveyou,” you added quickly. 

Johnny shook your body in a hug. “Hm?? Say that again.” 

“I didn’t say anything!” 

That grown man pouted at you making his eyes wide and glossy. “Please?” 

“Whoa,” you smiled, “are you acting cute at me right now? After killing me with your monster cock?” 

Johnny nodded cutely and repeated the plea. 

“Okay, okay. I-- love you.” 

He chuckled happily and tightened his arms around you again, squeezing you in an almost mortal hug. 

“Again.”

You sighed realizing that you were suddenly dealing with a child. 

“I love you.” 

And you repeated it again and again until you were sure that he finally fell asleep. 

With one hand to caress his face you finally indulged in staring at him, fully realizing what that weird sensation in your gut was. 

“I really love you.” 

Your whisper was tiny and barely audible but Johnny smiled. 

“I know. And I love you too.”

[slasherrabbitmadness]

What would it be like if slachers were yandere for the reader? How different would he be from his original self?

Here you go, Anon! Some Yandere headcanons! Female Reader!

Underthecut - NSFW, Dubcon, mentions killing. Forced family.

Michael Myers (JCs or RZs) Lester Sinclair, Bo Sinclair.

Michael Myers

SFW

Besides Brahms, he's King Yandere of the Slashers.

Before you met Michael, he knows almost everything about you. He's been watching you for months.

Shocked when he shows up with your favorite coffee or tea, you just started dating him and never revealed your favorite.

Watches you constantly even when he manages to become your boyfriend. He has nothing better to do. Besides killing.

About killing...Will kill anyone who slights you. That man who was rude to you at work? He's dead. That girl bumped into you and didn't say sorry? She's snuffed out.

About keeping a close on you, will wake up periodically in the middle of the night, just to watch you sleep.

Will hold your hand as you sleep. Smiles to himself when you smile. Likes to think you're dreaming of him.

When awake he'll be indifferent to you.

"Love you, Michael!" You'll nuzzle into him and he'll just stand there, body will stiffen.

He's dying just to smother you in his arms but he has an appearance to maintain.

Will act like you're the biggest pain in the ass.

Acts like it, but really he can't get enough of how feisty you can be.

Expects you to text him every half hour if away from him. Wants to know where exactly you are at all times. At all times. So really, you better be texting every five minutes.

You know what, maybe it'd be better if you never left him alone at all.

Michael is keeping you with him, always.

NSFW

Marks you, everywhere!

Fucks you for hours. Won't stop for anything. Someone knocking on the door? Will fuck you louder, just to make sure they can hear.

On the brink of passing out from fucking for so long? Michael will keep going. Sex doesn't stop till he's done.

Cums all over you. Won't let you clean it up either. Wants to watch it dry on your skin.

He will let you clean up. But you must shower with him. He always showers with you. Wants to make sure you don't touch yourself without him.

About that...He tells you when to masturbate. You aren't allowed to till he gives that go-ahead. And it has to be done in his presence.

Blow him and keep eye contact. He'll run his large hand through your hair and give harsh tugs when it feels good. Which is always.

Doesn't mind at all if you put up a fight, even if it's done playfully. Likes to see you try and fight him off. Your little fists punching into him do nothing to him.

No man or woman better look at you, especially in a lustful way. It's not your fault that person wanted you. But Michael will punish you for it.

Lester Sinclair

SFW

The cutest little thing in all of Louisiana wants to date him? Golly jee!

Spends all his free time just touching you. From feather-light touches to full-on squeezing you.

At first, he shows you off. Proud of himself for nabbing such a beautiful girl. Until Bo gets a good look at you.

It's not just Bo, Vincent too. Both have had their eyes on you just as long as Lester has.

Reminds you every day how much he loves you.

From little cards he makes to carving your name in the animal bones he collects.

"Here, Darlin! For you!"

"Aww, Lester. Hey, you gave me your last name! Lest!"

He will propose! He'll make sure the fireflies are out and about for it! He wants it to be magical. A moment you'll never forget.

After the proposal is when things get more intense.

No more dinner's out to show you off. Dinner is at home. You want to visit the beach and wear that cute two-piece. You can go at night when next to no one is going to be there.

You'll notice he makes you check in with him more frequently if you actually had to leave for a while. He'll be sweet about it but his intentions are anything but.

NSFW

He used to fuck you anywhere and everywhere. Now? His truck or his own home.

Never in Ambrose. The days of fooling around in the wax museum are long gone.

Will cum in you and only in you. He used to let loose everywhere on you but Lester wants a family.

When you're swollen with his child is when he'll let people see you again. Now they know who you belong to.

When cuddling post-coitus, he'll make you repeat just how much you love him, how much you want him, how desperately you need him.

Lester will get so bad he won't want you to leave his place without him. You must be with him if your gonna leave.

Strokes your hair in the middle of the night, whispering how pretty you are. How amazing it is you'll always be his.

Bo Sinclair

SFW

Didn't think much of you at first. Just another girl for him to pump and dump.

Watched you flirt with Lester. Laughed whenever you did and scowled whenever Lester laughed.

"I'll have to put a stop to that."

Will throw some cheesy pick-up lines at you. You'll laugh, even if they can be a little cringy.

You'll notice he starts to hang around you a lot more. Insists you come and help him at the garage.

You won't actually do any work, will just have you sit there with him. He'll try to get you to laugh with some of his lame jokes.

You'll notice him just staring at you. Eyes lingering on you longer than they should. He'll swear he wasn't looking, just spaced out.

Bo will watch your favorite shows with you, just to get close to you. He'll hate what you like but if it means he can get you next to him for hours on end, curled up on the couch he'll do it.

Makes you extremely dependant upon him. From food to what you'll wear. He'll rummage through victims' clothes and pick out the most flattering outfits for you. He'll feed you better than he feeds himself

Very protective over you. Especially during a late-night walk in Ambrose.

Keeps you hidden away from potential victims. For your safety and Bo doesn't want to risk you falling for someone else.

Or someone taking you.

But you'd never fall for someone else. You have Bo.

NSFW

About being with him all the time. He's gonna make sure you are. Even if he isn't there, you're gonna be in a safe place he treats like a second home.

Have fun spending lots of time in his basement.

Bo will get it in your head that it's dangerous outside. That it's best to stay safe in the basement.

"They don't know this place exists, Doll. You'll be safe here. No no, it's best you stay."

No matter how good you are Bo will restrain you.

He's not taking any chances with you.

Like Lester, he wants a family.

Cooes in your ear that you'll be a great mother.

"Gotta get started on making that family now, Doll."

The type to go at it all night just to make sure it happens.

He smiles to himself when you cry for him to not leave you alone.

"I'll be back, Doll, I swear." has fun tormenting you this way.

Happy and smug as all hell when you cuddle up into him. Telling him to never leave you again.

"Never, I'll never leave you, Darlin. As long as you keep being good for me."

[cinnamonest]

Since people actually liked it here's the continuation of the modern Xiao camgirl!darling post I cut from the original, as promised, most if it's under a cut. Here’s the original post. I didn’t think people would actually like the camgirl concept so I thought I was rambling too much and cut this part out lol but here it is now!

Tws: derogatory language/female slurs, mentions of reader being a cheater, reader is promiscuous, murder, incel-y mentality (our modern boy would be a 4chan user, look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong) and mentions of upsetting realistic things, this one's darker than the first part. If you're bothered by other modern stuff for being too realistic best avoid this too probably, involuntary pornography ---------- Coming up on one year since you gained your most loyal subscriber, you get a rather... Unsettling request. He has something he would like this month, in fact, he adds a few hundred to the regular amount (he's been saving up just for this) and asks for just the answer to one simple question. What's your name?

Your real name, he clarifies. He doesn't need a last name, nothing like that. It would just... Make him feel closer to you. He avoids using the term "anniversary," even though that's what comes to mind. He also doesn't tell you that he already knows, that this is just a test of your honesty. For someone who's so cautious, you would think you would think to give a fake name whenever you go to coffee shops for them to yell out, or change it on the packages you get. You hesitate. And it would be easy to give him a fake one, yet, you don't really think about it too much, you kinda think about that as an afterthought, what you should have done, but your very real name is typed out and sent before you really process it, and you feel a sort of unease, but it's already sent. No big deal. He can't do much with just your first name, right? If your name is common, you feel pretty safe, but even if it's a rarer one, surely there are other people with it, right? He's happy though. Kinda surprised, really, that you didn't lie to him. Maybe you trust him?

You're not stupid, you know something is wrong, you're becoming paranoid. And you connect the weird feeling to him, bc he goes radio silence for several days leading up to finally taking you. This dude who used to respond to any messages you sent within 10 seconds suddenly... It's like he disappeared? He hasn't responded to anything you send him ever since you said your name. You send him messages saying you haven't heard from him in a while and you're worried... The way you word it makes it sound like you're worried about him, but you both know that's not what you really mean. You're hesitant and suspicious of every guy you meet. You buy pepper spray and start carrying some around, you nearly spray a poor guy who you thought was trailing you, turns out he just lives in your building. He makes note of it. He watched you buy it, and is quick to realize you always hold it in the same hand. That must be your dominant hand, that's an important mental note for the future, since you're more likely to try to attack him with that hand. He'll remember. He has a note in his phone with information like that. Height, weight, birthday, social security number, parents' names, school she graduated from. All in little bullet points. He adds dominant hand to the list. He's not worried at all really. Already watched you struggle to carry packages he could lift with one hand, your strength doesn't cross his mind as a threat. At first he just doesn't know what to say, and that's why he stops responding, he feels too awkward but... He starts to enjoy the weird feeling of power the whole situation is giving him. You're worried, you're constantly paranoid, and it's because of him. Now you finally understand the same feeling you inflict on him, how you consume his thoughts every waking moment of every day. It used to irritate him that you held so much power over him, while he meant nothing to you. Now, the tables have turned. You're forced to have him constantly in your mind, whether you like it or not, just like you are in his. It's giving you what you deserve. It gives him a feeling of significance. He matters, even if it's not in a good way. And he keeps telling himself that once he's all you have, he'll matter even more. He's smart enough to realize that if you're paranoid, you might have mentioned him by username to someone else, so to ensure he knows what to do from this point, he has to sneak into your apartment at night as you sleep. It's so unbearably tempting, you have no idea -- you're right there and so vulnerable. He has to hold himself back because he knows that if he so much as touched you, he couldn't hold back. But it's torture, standing there so close, watching your chest rise and fall as he fiddles with the phone. Even when he unlocks it with your thumb, he tries to hold the phone from an angle to do so, even if the skin of his hand grazes yours, it would be too much. You have a lot of contacts across your messages and a bunch of different apps. You have one guy in your online chat you've exchanged far more messages with than anyone else! Hundreds upon hundreds of messages, and huge paypal cash drops, who the hell is -- oh, wait, that's him. Nevermind. But, to his pleasant surprise, he's the only one of your... customers that you regularly talk to, the rest just have a few paypal notifications or clarifications on your policies, but no actual conversations like you have with him. Of course, that's literally part of your deal, he's literally paying for it, but it makes him happy nonetheless. But as he goes through your personal messages, he finds that you are... in no shortage of options. Like, holy shit. It was kind of expected. You *are* really pretty, that's how you have so many followers after all, but this is a lot. So many contacts named some variation of "DO NOT ANSWER!!!" or "creepy guy that forced me to give him my number at the club", etc etc. Plenty of unsaved numbers texting you to never get a response. You've ghosted enough dudes to make your place haunted. It's... kinda awful, really. It also kinda hurts his heart a bit more than he expected. You have so, so, so many options, even without the cam thing, he's more insignificant than he even realized. ...Well, for now, at least. He'll be significant to you soon enough. And then you seem to have a sort of "boyfriend of the month" deal going on, aside from that. Plenty of male-name contacts whose last exchange is a "don't talk to me again!" message from you, plenty of messages corresponding to the same time as those to your girl friends about how you can't find a good guy and every relationship ends badly. How unfortunate. See, it's because you choose bad guys. You probably go for dicks and not.... well, he can't exactly pull the "nice guys like me" mentality, he doesn't delude himself into thinking he is one. He's lucid enough to realize that most nice guys would not be sneaking into your house and standing over your sleeping body to stalk your phone as they make plans to kidnap you. He knows he would probably fall under the classification of a creepy guy. He's just too far gone to care. Still, he would be so much better to you, he tells himself, not a cheater or a player like you complain about. To say he resents those kinds of guys -- ones that can do the unthinkable and actually talk to girls, let alone successfully, only to be assholes, and yet girls like you still go for them -- is an understatement. You're basically just a slut, you probably ignore all the guys that would be nice to you, just like all those internet forums he reads talk about. Typical.

Well, those forums also make fun of guys like him who pay for girls like you, but he can't blame them. It *is* kinda pathetic. There is one dude you talk to, though, now. Current boyfriend of the month, from the looks of it. You have a little heart emoji next to the name. He knows it's kinda pathetic that something so simple and insignificant sets him off, but it does, makes him pout and grind his teeth and curl his other hand into a fist. It's so unfair. Some dude you barely know gets to fuck you, and you haven't even known him nearly as long as you've known him! He doubts this dude -- hell, any of your boyfriends -- has put in the same amount of money that he has into you. They fuck you practically for free. And that, unfortunately for you, only solidifies his decision. If you're fucking some dude for a month because they buy you dinner every now and then, if we're going by that scale, then you owe him quite a good deal of pussy. Any hesitancy or guilt he had about the whole thing is gone. And he's a little mad. Keeps grumbling to himself that you're just a loose whore, fucking so many people and putting yourself out there on the internet. He wonders if they even know about what you do. Probably not, you probably don't tell them. Yeah, that sounds like what you'd do. Really, you're kinda lucky that someone like him is so willing to commit to you, since you are a slut. You don't deserve it, but he loves you anyway. And you'll probably have the nerve to be ungrateful for it too. Sigh. On the bright side, by some miracle, it would appear that you have not told any real-life people about him, you haven't sent out any hey if I disappear you should probably look into this creep type of messages. But he can't afford to have you doing so in between now and when you move in with him, so, he decides he has to act within the next 24 hours. While he's here, though, he decides to do a quick sweep of your place. Makes note of what snacks and drinks you like, what brand of toothpaste and shampoo and the like you use, so he can buy some for you. Maybe you'll adjust better if you have some of your favorite things. And then, after days of silence, he sends you a message, says it's fine, his internet went out for a few days. He means it to reassure you, but somehow it makes you feel more uneasy. He has everything planned out, or so he thinks. But you deviate from your usual schedule. When you leave work or class, you don't go home, you go somewhere else, first. How strange. Maybe picking up groceries? He follows from a distance. No, looks like you're going out to eat...? Maybe you're meeting friends or family or -- no that's a guy. Fuck. You must have planned this just earlier today, since there were no messages on your phone. It makes a bitter feeling rise in his gut. He hates that he can't get close enough to listen to your conversation. Well, he hates the whole thing, sits there and seethes the whole time. Watches you through the windows in the parking lot, thankfully you chose to sit outside. Feels his eye twitch and his hand clench every time you smile and laugh. It takes way too long. The fact that you split the bill feels like a punch to the stomach too. Shouldn't you be used to taking guys' money? Oh, and what's this...? This guy isn't the picture on boyfriend-of-the-month's contact. Well, well, well. You really are a whore. See, it's a very good thing he's taking you off the market. You're probably a reckless heartbreaker too. He's doing all the other men of the world a favor by taking on such a burden as you. And it makes him feel far more justified in keeping you locked away, since he has every reason to believe, now, that you'd run off and fuck someone else if given the chance. Halfway through, the guy briefly gets up and runs to the bathroom or something. While he's gone, he sees your face fall a bit. And then he sees you look around. You turn your head from one side to the other. Your eyes scan the area. You shuffle uncomfortably and you bite your lip and your eyebrows furrow. You're scared. You feel like -- no, you know you're being watched and it scares you. That makes him a little happy, for some reason. He wouldn't be sure what to do if you went home with the guy, but thankfully you don't. No big deal, this was just a bump in the road, he still beats you back to your building and he still goes through with the original plan. Even better, now that it's even darker outside. If anything, now he's got extra aggression and testosterone in his blood, running over the events in his head and going through some... very forceful and violent fantasies. The message he sent had you uneasy, and it's also how you immediately know what's going on when it does finally happen. You keep telling yourself you're being unnecessarily paranoid, that it's nothing, maybe that guy actually got his life together or got a girlfriend or something. Things like... What you fear, don't happen in real life, that's stuff that only happens in movies and stuff. You keep calling it that or it in your head. That won't happen to you. It's not going to happen. The series of events that play out in your head, scenarios you try to push out of your mind. Sure, in the movies it always takes place in the stairwell, but that's fiction, so you go up the apartment stairwell as always. You're not gonna let a bunch of B-grade old films scare you. And it's always some dude standing and waiting, but that nice young boy that you've never seen before is just leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone, he only glances up for a second as you pass by, he's not a threat, you're being paranoid. You flash a smile and a little wave as you walk by, he doesn't return either, just looks back down at his phone. See? This guy doesn't even care, you're being paranoid for nothing, you tell yourself. But as you make the turn to go up the next set of stairs you hear the click of a phone being put on the lockscreen, a few metallic footsteps ringing out in the open hall and echoing, coming up right behind you, but for that split second you expect a tap on the shoulder, maybe he has a question, it's not like movies, it's not like movies, you're not gonna get a cloth shoved over your face and--- Well, it's not exactly like the movies. You were prepared, but it all happens in one motion - one hand grabs the hand with the spray and twists it, making you drop it, the other wraps some material over your mouth. You were prepared enough that you don't gasp in surprise, you hold your breath and thrash, but it doesn't make any difference, you wiggle and writhe for a few moments but can't even begin to break free, eventually succumb to the lack of oxygen and take a deep breath. It takes a few seconds to settle in, it's not so immediate. You instinctively panic and thrash again, but he has a complete iron grip. The dizziness takes a second to set in. He huffs a bit in frustration and says stop moving, it's fine. It's definitely not, but it occurs to you that that's not something a kidnapper looking for any potential vulnerable girl says. It's a poor attempt at comfort. It's someone specifically looking for you. And if that wasn't enough, he says your name. Your very real name. Maybe it was a mistake to tell him after all. But the worst part of it all is that there's not a single doubt in your mind, even in your panic you have the realization, it's definitely him and this is literally exactly what you were afraid of. And it's the last thing that goes through your head. And once he's got you out cold he just takes a sigh of relief. He may have been very neutral faced to you, but in reality he was incredibly nervous. He hasn't exactly made or used chloroform before, our boy is operating on YouTube tutorials here. He's got adrenaline pumping through his veins and carries you with his arms trembling. He's on autopilot carrying you out, but his mind is also consumed by holy fuck I'm touching her she smells so nice she's so warm her face is so close I'm actually touching her-- you get the idea. He feels bad about taping your hands and feet together and putting you in the trunk of his car, kinda. It feels too much like what a really bad person would do to a girl they didn't care about, like he's a trafficker or a murderer or a criminal or something, but that's not true at all. Sure, he's still mad at you for being a whore and all that, but it feels improper, he just has no choice. It's late at night, but he can't risk getting pulled or being at a stoplight and someone seeing an unconscious girl in his backseat, so, trunk it is. But once he's home, to his tiny little downtown apartment (he'll probably be able to move into a better place soon, since he's not paying you tons of money anymore), he takes a quick check to make sure the coast is clear, and drags you out, up the stairs, all the way into his apartment, sets you down on the bed, where you'll be staying. He even washed the sheets and cleaned the place up a bit for your arrival. You probably would not like to see what this place looked like before the five trash bags worth of cleaning was done. He'll probably be more motivated in the future, though, since now he won't be so depressed all the time. And then the adrenaline of the fear of being seen is over, and that's when it sets in that this is real. It's very, very hard to hold back. You're real, in the flesh, he can reach out and touch you with his hands! It feels like a dream. And he realizes he can take this opportunity to do things he would be far, far too embarrassed to do when you're awake. He takes a few minutes to do just that, cautiously reaches out to poke your face, and then run a hand down your neck, your skin is so soft! Your hair smells so nice, he lays down beside you and runs his fingers over it. Puts hands on your body and just lays there in awe of the fact that you're real. He's pretty certain he's never actually touched a human female before now. Everything about you feels soft. Weirdly feminine, which is something very foreign and confusing to him. And he kinda uh... Loses it. Goes buckwild with just taking in every aspect of you. Again, since you're unconscious he can be gross and entirely shameless about it. Peels your clothes off and runs his hands and mouth over every inch of flesh, takes the tape off your lips and presses his tongue into your limp mouth until he's forced to let go to breathe, fingers you and tonguefucks you and sucks on your nipples and your neck. Lays pressed against you and just breathes in your scent. It takes every ounce of self control he has not to fuck you already. But he does jerk off a few times. That way he'll last longer, so it's a win-win. And then... you twitch. Tape goes back over your mouth. And then, you twitch again. And this time, you make a little "mm!" under the tape, you start trembling and he sees you try to pull your hands apart. You whimper. It sounds scared and distressed. He feels kinda bad, but it also makes him hard, and that outweighs any guilt by far. Besides, it's what you deserve after what you did earlier. You tortured him mentally, it's only fair. On the good side of things, you suppose, you don't have to worry about the usual fears one would have over such a situation - you're fairly certain he's not going to kill you, nor sell you. In fact, the bed you wake up on is pretty soft. You're naked and the tape is uncomfortable, but... At least he was considerate enough to give you a blanket. He does care about you, after all. First thing he says is asking if you're awake. Can you hear me? You hesitate a moment, and then you nod. He's a bit new to this whole abduction thing. He wants to make sure he didn't pull a muscle or something with the tape. So... Do you hurt anywhere? Does your head hurt? Oh, right, the tape. He's not stupid either. You have to promise you're not going to scream. In fact, he's angry enough about earlier that he gets a bit meaner than he originally told himself he'd be. If you scream, I'll make you regret it. Understand? You nod, so he takes it off, holding it close in preparation in case you were lying, but you don't actually answer him, you're silent again for a minute, then just ask a question of your own. You're that guy, right? He's silent for a few seconds, there's no need for any clarification. Finally just says yeah. You just breathe again. Silently. Finally you summon the courage to ask him what he wants with you. And why are you doing this to me? And his answer is fairly simple. What do you think? You don't say anything for a minute, and neither does he. He's not good with words, and you don't really have ones for this situation. It occurs to you that offering to pay him to let you go is probably not the solution. After all, this is the guy that's dumped unimaginable amounts of money onto you, you couldn't even come close to paying him back. You figure maybe, after he gets what he wants... well, you get the courage to ask.  Is there anything... that I can do o-or... anything that will make you... are you gonna let me go, after you....? And the answer is, again, simple, but the one you did not want to hear. No. He's a blunt boy, so he doesn't beat around the bush, but he doesn't torment you by keeping anything from you. In fact, he's already rehearsed this speech a few hundred times in his head. He just wanted to make sure he's very clear so there's no misunderstanding, and while he likes some discomfort in a vengeful sort of way, he doesn't want you to be too freaked out to where you have a panic attack. He says he's just going to... keep you here. He has the things you'll need. He got your purse with your keys, so he'll even run to your apartment after this to go get some of your stuff. You don't need to tell him which number, he adds, he already knows which apartment you're in. He needs you here, he says. And he makes sure to add that it's your fault. If you were never out there selling yourself in the first place, this never would have happened. If you're good, he can make things a bit better for you. But you need to go ahead and accept that you're going to be staying and that no amount of begging or offers is going to convince him to let you go. He can be nice to you, he promises. A better boyfriend than the others. You just have to be a good girlfriend -- you know, obedient and sweet and do what he says. Just like you always were when you talked to him. Just keep being sweet like that and doing the things he tells you to do. You would argue that the terms boyfriend and girlfriend are not appropriate descriptors of the sort of relationship he's creating, but you keep that thought to yourself. Instead, you ask, How long are you going to keep me here? Which is a dumb question, since he's pretty sure he already made that clear. Forever. -----

There's a double homicide in the area. Takes place on the same night, and the same diameter of knife is used, so police believe maybe the two incidents are connected. Especially because they do have something in common, one girl. She was romantically involved with both of them. The girl in question's apartment has been vacated, very suddenly, and the girl has disappeared without a trace, taking things with her from the looks of it, so police believe she may be responsible, but other than that, they have no leads. A few weeks later, a video circulates all over the internet. Some famous camgirl finally started making porn, apparently. Just one video, but the description (which was totally written by her, it has to be since it's written in first person right?) says something about how she decided to quit camming, so this video marks the end of her career. She got into a relationship, so she says in the description, so she has to quit. It's roleplay porn, apparently, she's doing a good job at the acting. All tied up and gagged and getting fucked by some big-dicked guy holding the camera. He's silent, but she's making a ton of noise, cums several times. Really good acting, the fear and desperation in her eyes looks so real. Talk about going out with a bang. It gets a lot of likes. Tons of comments about how sad people are she's quitting. And of course, a lot of comments say, what a lucky guy.