#which DOES sometimes result in me getting bored

[starbuck]

was completely mystified for days by my cousins being like “let’s watch a movie!” and then BOTH OF THEM proceeding to stare at their phones throughout the entire film, glancing at the screen only whenever the dialogue or a musical cue implied that something Important was happening, only to realize that the issue is that modern films don’t rely on nearly as many purely visual elements as older films did, so my poor cousins missed over 50% of the jokes because i didn’t think to warn them that, when watching films directed by people who got their start before films had dialogue, you actually need to WATCH them to understand what is happening.

#realized this AS i was reading a review of the film i watched tonight and suddenly it ALL clicked #the visual gags were their favorite parts too - they just didn’t know they missed at least 90% of them 😂😂 #i mean. personally i put everything aside when watching a film regardless of when it came out #which DOES sometimes result in me getting bored #but like. tough cookies. that’s what i signed up for #it’s not a YouTube video. it’s not an audiobook. it’s not a podcast. #you have to WATCH it #if you don’t want to watch a movie then that’s cool #but don’t say you do and then look at your phone the whole time - ya know? #i feel like i’m gonna have to start clarifying this with people beforehand #because i DO have movies i would put on if people’s mileage was ‘vaguely entertaining background noise for my phone scrolling’ #but you’re not getting one of the Good Ones if that’s all you’re looking for #not even because i’m being judgey but because it fails to fulfill that purpose #they’re films that require your full attention #so if you can’t give them that - they won’t give anything back to you #i think that’s fair to say #oh also meant to mention that my cousins have degrees in theater and art respectively #so i just assumed they would inherently Get this #but they DIDN’T #and i was Not Prepared

[starglitterz]

♡ SPICY. // PART ONE

❝ ‘cause i’m too spicy for your heart, ring the fire alarm! ❞ // attractive things the genshin men do

✧ feat ; al-haitham, ayato, childe, cyno, diluc, heizou, kaeya, thoma, wriothesley, xiao x gn!reader

✧ warning(s) ; fluff, suggestive, implied kamisato!reader for thoma’s, reader is shorter than ayato for his part, modern au for wriothesley, traveller!reader for xiao’s

✧ a/n ; yeah yeah i’m a slut we all know that already let’s move on 🙄 /lh i was brainrotting sm LOL i hope u guys enjoy! 

part one︱info︱part two

please reblog + leave comments ! it helps a lot w motivation <3

✦ “are you listening?” AL-HAITHAM’s voice cuts through your messy thoughts and you scramble for your pen to scribble some nonsense and at least pretend you were concentrating. your eyes are glued to the paper in front of you, too embarrassed to meet his gaze after what you were daydreaming about him. without warning, he uses his index finger to tilt your chin up to face him with a curt “pay attention.” his green irises bore into yours, scanning them as if to discover why you haven’t been focusing and the intensity of his gaze makes heat rise to your cheeks. his actions clearly result in the opposite of the desired effect though, because it’s made you ten million times more distracted, too busy thinking about your tutor doing things that certainly aren’t academic.  

✦ there’s definitely something in the way that AYATO leans down to hear you better. it’s a simple gesture, but when he bends down to listen to what you’re saying, it proves that he’s putting in the effort to continue the conversation and is genuinely interested in your chatter. or even if it’s something like leaning against the door frame, a reminder of how idiotically tall he is, it always gets your heart beating quicker and you lose your train of thought. but maybe he isn’t as clueless as you think he is, because the smirk playing about his lips as he admires your flustered expression while you stumble over your words definitely says otherwise. 

✦ sometimes when you see CHILDE’s idiotic smirk, it takes everything in you not to punch it off his face. however, when he’s in the heat of battle, the way his lips curl just so as he lifts an eyebrow at his opponent daringly, almost as if he’s asking them “you really think you can defeat me?” you’d rather punch him with your lips. the sheer confidence he exudes as he fights, the casual manner with which he switches his bow to his hydro polearm, the easy grin dancing about his mouth – it’s incredibly attractive. 

✦ it shouldn’t be a big deal, but whenever CYNO wraps his arms around your waist from behind to pull you into his embrace, you swear your heartbeat accelerates to the speed of light. he’ll rest his chin on your shoulder too, and if he’s feeling mischievous (which is practically all the time), he’ll tilt his head ever so slightly so he’s at the perfect angle to press fleeting kisses against your neck. you can almost feel his smile against your skin as you shiver from the sensation of his warm lips. 

✦ DILUC is not one for grand public displays of affection. you don’t mind, you’re fine with it, but one day another patron at the angel’s share keeps flirting with you, and suddenly you feel the winery owner beside you, one arm snaking around your waist almost possessively. “it’s nice to meet you,” he murmurs to the other man in a tone icy enough to freeze over hell. his fingers tap a steady rhythm against your hips and you feel like his touch is branding you through the layers of fabric. it evidently gets the message across because the poor customer leaves immediately with his tail between his legs, and all DILUC does is squeeze your waist lightly and press a soft kiss on your forehead as a hint of a smug smile curves his lips. 

✦ being a genius detective and also just being really annoying are certainly not mutually exclusive, as HEIZOU continues to prove every single day. case in point; the way he’s proudly walking around the tenryou commission, the array of wine-coloured bruises you left on his neck last night blatantly out for display. the other inazumans who notice look scandalized, while kujou sara seems dangerously close to bursting a blood vessel. “heizou!” you hiss, pulling him into a secluded corner to scold him, “why didn’t you wear a scarf or something?!” the detective merely gives you his trademark grin and winks playfully, “why should i? it’s a mark of your love, i wouldn’t want to hide it~”

✦ one thing’s for certain whenever you talk to KAEYA – he will give you his undivided attention. you love that about him, but sometimes his piercing gaze is almost distracting, the varied shades of sparkling blue a stark contrast to the matte black leather of his eyepatch and often making you veer wildly off-track to whatever you’re telling him about. it only worsens when you catch his stare sometimes drifting to your lips, but he’ll shake his head as if jolting himself out of a reverie before he continues looking at you and nodding like he’s been paying attention this entire time. and if you call him out on it, he’ll just raise both hands in surrender, “sorry, babe, i can’t help it – you just look so kissable when you’re talking!”

✦ THOMA is an absolute softie, always making your favourite foods and spoiling you as the housekeeper of the kamisato clan. it makes sense that you’ve never realised just how strong he actually is. but then you catch a glimpse of him one evening after a long day’s work, and as he lifts up the edge of his shirt to wipe the glistening sweat off his face you think you could collapse. the gesture exposes his toned abdomen, muscles clenching as he lets out a soft groan, and the only coherent thought running through your mind is; why has he been hiding this the entire time?! maybe it’s time for you to switch the kamisato housekeeper uniform to a crop top… 

✦ WRIOTHESLEY is a gentleman who’ll never let you take a cab home alone, especially not after a long night out in the city. but as he’s pulling up to your house, your thoughts are definitely nowhere near appreciating how sweet he is, rather you’re admiring how close his muscled arms are to your face while his hand is on the back of your seat as he turns to check the rear mirror. from the passenger seat, you get the perfect view of his side profile, his chiseled features, the barely visible trace of stubble on his chin, his stormy gray eyes… he’s like the dark male lead of every romance manhwa. and when he catches you looking, he gives you a smile that’s almost teasing, “like what you see, beautiful?” 

✦ even though XIAO is the one who’s supposed to teleport to you whenever you call his name, you can’t help but find yourself gravitating towards him whenever he says yours. it must be how he utters it, softly, lovingly, almost reverent in his gentleness as if you’ll shatter before his eyes if he whispers it even a decibel louder. and sure, he calls you by several petnames (butterfly, dove), but the way your name slips past his lips like a prized jewel will always be your favourite. sometimes it feels as if your name is going to be worn out from how often people use it, begging you to help them with miscellaneous tasks and pushing you to exhaustion. but during those late nights at wangshu inn as you rest in his embrace, he whispers your name as if it’s a secret for just the two of you and the stars and you can’t help but think how lucky you must have been to be born with such a pretty name, created for your adeptus lover to murmur with so much affection lacing his tone. 

GRR i lowk love this... hope yall do too! don't forget to check out part 2 when it's published as well <3

© starglitterz 2023. do not repost or modify in any way – reblog / follow if you enjoyed !

#✏️ — quill writes ! #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #al haitham x reader #ayato x reader #astronetwrk #childe x reader #cyno x reader #diluc x reader #heizou x reader #kaeya x reader #thoma x reader #wriothesley x reader #xiao x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader

[teecupangel]

If Desmond ever ended up in the Persona 5 universe, I wonder what he would think of the Phantom Thieves? Would he be a confidant for Akira/Ren/Joker, be a neutral party? Become a Phantom Thief himself? I can't help but think that because of his Bleeds, he'd end up having his ancestors show up as Personas to help him fight in the Metaverse.

Ngl, I wanna make Desmond the Sun because of my penchant of giving Desmond something related to the very thing that killed him but based on his ‘situation’, these are the Arcanas that Desmond can be part of in my opinion:

Aeon (many of the Aeon Personas have an affinity to light and a common theme for Aeon representatives are that they are unfamiliar with the world they are in and are struggling to find their place in this world which describes Desmond’s current predicament and also… there’s no Aeon confidant in P5 so Desmond won’t be sharing this spot with anyone or, worse, won’t be removing an existing confidant)

Sun (A character in a lonely and most of the time terribly situation, signifying the hopelessness of them succeeding with the end results being them having to reflect on their situation and coming to peace with themselves and what is happening to them)

Moon (being attuned subconsciously to the world around someone, gaining the ability to sense things without being told about them, or without anyone else knowing, this arcana is also sometimes called the Arcana of Lies and Deceit which Desmond would be doing anyway because there’s no way he’ll tell the truth)

Death (metamorphosis and deep change, regeneration and cycles… which can also hint on Desmond’s origin as someone not from this world)

Personally, I do see Desmond as a Phantom Thief and acting like the cool older brother type to these teenagers. But being a neutral party seems more like his style, considering… everything.

So I would suggest we make Desmond a neutral party the Phantom Thieves meet up with in the Metaverse from time to time, mostly in Mementos because, in his own words ‘something calls to me here’.

The Phantom Thieves don’t know he’s the same bartender that works at Crossroads who would always give Joker a Shirley Temple whenever he’s on break. Lala told Joker that Desmond looked ‘lost’ so she helped him out (in more ways than one, Lala actually thinks Desmond is undocumented and helped him be an ‘upstanding citizen’…)

Desmond, for his part, is just happy that, for some reason, he knows Japanese? He has a feeling it’s one of his Bleed and many people tell him he speaks like he’s from a period drama so yeah, there’s that (it’s one of his Ibn-La'Ahad ancestors who knew Japanese because they chased the Mongols to Japan)

As for Desmond’s Persona…

It would be funny to give him Minerva or Juno as a Persona but we’re not that evil. Another idea would be to give him Dionysus for our usual ‘Desmond could totally be Dionysus’ Sage’ idea that pops in and out XD

Although…

So we’re going to make Desmond special because he’s our blorbo and we’ll use the Persona 1 and 2 plot of how the characters get their Persona.

He does the Persona game because he was bored one day XD

And that’s how he starts to hear Mementos’ call.

And while he journeys in Mementos by himself, that’s when he encounters the Shadows… of his Bleeds.

Confronting them (which always ends in a boss fight) ends with him receiving their Arcana and his Bleeds become his Personas.

His Bleeds’ Arcanas:

Altaïr: Hermit (wisdom, introspection, solitude, retreat and philosophical searches)

Ezio: Judgment (associated with realizing one's calling, gaining a deep understanding of life and a feeling of acceptance and absolution)

Ratonhnhaké:ton: Hanged Man (sometimes self-sacrificial or self-loathing, but are more often notable for being caught between two different extremes, parties or stages in life of which they have little to no control – always in the middle of two opposing forces and he’s doing his best to protect his people given what’s happening) or Strength (associated with the morality about the stronger power of self-control, gentleness, courage and virtue over brute force)

Haytham: Emperor (desire to control one's surroundings, and its appearance could suggest that one is trying too hard to achieve this, possibly causing trouble for others; some elements in life are just not controllable)

Desmond’s real Arcana and his own Persona (which may or may not be some biblically accurate angel-like figure with all of his Bleeds around a small orb similar to the Apple of Eden in the same veins of the Norns design) will only awaken after Joker reaches max level with him.

Also, the Phantom Thieves don’t know it’s him because his form in the Metaverse is always hooded with the robes changing depending on which Persona he uses (at the start, they thought it was different dudes until Desmond changed Personas in midbattle)… and yes, that includes Haytham. Desmond gets a hood too even when he’s using Haytham but he also has Haytham’s tacohat. Them’s the rules.

Arcana symbolism from megamitensei.fandom.com

#if it wasn’t clear #i really want desmond to be an aeon arcana #because it works so well for him #but no romance with joker XD #he thinks of joker as a younger brother #maybe even be reminded by ezio’s recruits #ngl #this made me want to play royal #but i really don’t wanna #still annoyed i can’t use my 100% vanilla p5 save =_= #assassin's creed #desmond miles #persona 5 #persona series #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #p5 joker #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #ask and answer #do i tag the others? #sure #but only joker #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway #haytham kenway #fic idea: crossover #fic idea: persona

[lai-mar]

I think. For me L+M is another example of a male+female pairing that seems a little too straightforward to ship in canon and hence some fans view it as “boring” and “low hanging fruit”, and as a result the ship is less popular despite having canon crumbs that you can interpret in a shippy way. So the ship being low hanging fruit turns around? In canon they have a strong friendship and lots of moments, and that’s what I like them as, friends (and they are canonically friends). Shipping these “straightforward straight pairings” can be a bit squicky (because I tend to think they are more interesting nonromantically) but it turns out in the end I will blatantly blaze through my squicks because I am desperate for content. And also because shippers actually care about them and their bond.

However, for these pairings people SOMEHOW usually impose a familial interpretation (siblings, in-laws) even though they are not related in canon either by blood or marriage. It’s more acceptable in DM because F/M certainly gets a lot of crumbs but it also kinda makes me salty to see people reduce L+M to being in laws only, like their only connection is through Falin, and that is just plain wrong. I have seen so many male+female pairings that get stuck in the fanon “sibling-coded” area and it’s like… guys it’s okay to not like them as a ship and not make them siblings. Guys. Not every kind of love has to be romantic or familial. I think sibling coding is fun and all that but sometimes it does feel like a “gotcha! I totally do not ship them because they’re like SIBLINGS to me and if you ship them you’re WEIRD”.

L+M would still be funny if it’s the fanon “lesbian elf teams up with her gf’s autistic brother and they squabble but work together to save the day” but canon L+M just drives me crazy because they obviously develop a bond outside of the other people they love, and they’ve basically known each other for two years only which is short even for a tallman lifespan, let alone Marcille’s. Actually I think what really gets me about L+M is that every time they get a moment that can be interpreted as shippy (eg. succubus, M wearing the dress in the Golden Country, even M knitting in the room with L in the Kensuke extra just like her mom used to do with her dad), there might be a few blushes and nervousness, but they quickly return to the status quo of being comfortable and physically affectionate with each other. Which you can interpret them as not seeing each other romantically, in deep denial, or they’re just so comfortable with each other that they don’t need to define their relationship, they just are.

Tbh the widespread DM fanon did mislead me a bunch, I thought we would get obvious F/M shipping or even confirmation after the bath scene but nope. I thought L+M would kinda stay the way they were pre Ep 11 and have a fun back and forth bit noooo they had to go and save each other and learn about each other’s deepest desires. I was shocked that they weren’t being discussed on such a widespread level considering how much screentime and importance they both get. Saw someone say “the romance between F/M is the catalyst and main plot driver” and I want to bang my head against the wall. DM has ship crumbs for a ton of ships but nothing has ever been confirmed canon and I’m happier because of it and it’s fun to explore.

I would say L+M needs better PR but honestly just read the manga, it does all the PR lmao. I can forgive anime onlies but if you read the manga you surely cannot ignore the elephant in the room.

#mine #lmao when i finished dunmeshi i wrote a post somewhere else abt how i accidentally got into l+m #and a mutual was like. [staring at my fav dynamic from a diff fandom] oh of course you latched into l+m #save me a man and a woman being friends. save me #long post

[p0ssywhippedcream]

hii Ophe I hope you're feeling better can I ask how YOU think L would act on a pot gummy? ( it does not have to be a long thing) thxxxx kisses!!!!!!

Okay l would either do A; silent. just complete and total silence. No amount of poking, prodding or begging can get this man to speak or B; So much words. Word tornado. Word vomit. He cannot stop talking for the life of him.

A looks like this;

"L? Honey? L? Babe?" You're poking his cheeks, pulling them like a grandma would and pushing them back to make his lips pucker. He looks fine, audibly breathing but when you look at his eyes it's clear no one is home. The lights are on, he's blinking with a dopey smile and rubbing the hem of his shirt to enjoy the sensation of the soft fabric but literally no one is home.

"L? Sweetheart, talk to me. Are you greening out?" You shake his heads in your hands, trying to jiggle some sense back into your lover but his face remains void of any intelligence that suggests human life.

Eventually you give up and drop it but you continue to look over and check on him. He's unraveled himself from his usual posture and is laying like a snow angel on the carpet. You put a water bottle next to him and sometime in the next ten minutes, it slowly depletes.

You decide this is a pretty good reaction to trying weed for the first time, especially for L and just give him a gentle smooch on the cheek. You ruffle his hair a bit and make sure to place snacks next to him and when he reaches for one you lift his neck up and place his head in your lap so he doesn’t choke.

B is a bit more chaos;

He hadn’t stopped talking about sharks in ten minutes. Ten minutes of “Sharks can loose 35,000 teeth in their lifetime” and “The cookiecutter shark is very complex because..” and you’re really starting to loose it.

You know he’s smart and you really love his big brain but you didn’t realize how much of it was pumped up with shark facts. You didn’t even realize he liked sharks that much.

You hand him a water bottle because his voice has become raspy and he attempts to continue talking while drinking water, resulting in a coughing fit.

You rub his back and pat it as he chokes out, “While sharks are mainly carnivores, the whale shark is actually an omnivore.”

Once he’s done talking about sharks, and no I don’t mean he’s said all he can I mean you distracted him into a different conversation, he just rambles on and on and on about varying things. He talks about the dangers of elevators and the color purple’s meaning and so much other shit that you eventually tune him out and try to enjoy your own high.

Unfortunately when you get the munchies and make your way to the kitchen, expecting to leave him in your shared bedroom, he follows and you realize constant background noise isn’t something you can avoid.

When he finally wears himself out enough a yawn replaces a fun fact every few minutes, you happily drag him to bed and tuck him in. He mumbles nonsense, tells you he loves you to which you kiss his forehead and then tells you to make sure you put your seatbelt on before falling into snores. You set up your laptop beside him and enjoy your favorite show, occasionally glancing at your snoozing boyfriend and finally enjoying being at peace.

And when you bring up later that you didn’t realize he harbored such an affection for sharks, he gives you a strange look and says he doesn’t, sharks are boring.

#l lawliet x reader #l x reader #death note #l x reader fluff #l x reader comfort #l lawliet fluff #l lawliet x reader fluff #l lawliet comfort #deathnote l lawliet fluff #deathnote x reader #deathnote fluff #deathnote x reader fluff #deathnote l x reader #deathnote l lawliet x reader #deathnote l lawliet #deathnote l lawliet x reader fluff #deathnote l x reader fluff #oph.posts #oph.thoughts #oph.anons

[iwonderwh0]

Toxic codependent coworkers (more like sentimentally attached. I really tried but it didn't turn out toxic, but rather everything but)

(AU where Hank and Connor work as partners for years(or at least months) prior to revolution, and not on deviancy cases)

Despite being an android Connor has apparent lack of respect to Hank's superiority status, and at first it drives Hank nuts. He thinks he must be broken and fills the form for condition tests, but they come back normal, and as Hank finds out he's pretty much the only one having problems in making his android partner listen to his commands. After that Connor becomes even more annoying, as if specifically messing with Hank.

Hank, spends month begging to be partnered with someone else. Finally gets his wish granted and for one case he gets partnered with someone who is actually listening to him with respect and doesn't do or say weird shit. And it feels so off and boring that the next week or even day all he does is quietly asks to get Connor back.

This change made him aware that although sometimes annoying, his work has become much more fun and bearable with the presence of this specific android in it. It actually helps him forget things and distracts him enough from his regular thoughts for him to almost feel like fully-functional human again. Despite how much he hates overtime work, he's now occasionally taking some, especially on some holidays that he couldn't bear the thought of spending alone. This change of character is a bit shocking for everyone to witness, but Connor pretends to not notice, sparing him sarcastic notions this time.

Connor, being an android basically never leaves his work place. He leaves sticky notes on Hank's desk to report to him everything minor that happened in his absence, like overnight. The observations he's sharing aren't exactly worthy of a report, it's just things like "Someone had broken the coffee machine again (can you guess who?)", "That guy who came to report his stolen bike had a living rat in his pocket 🐀", "I've counted 12 spiders in this room alone, do you think I should give them names?"

He does that just out of boredom. He used to message Hank before, but the other threatened to block Connor's number if he keeps messaging him about work in his spare time, so now he's just leaving him notes. Sometimes they're just "Your shirt is ugly today" and Hank goes "How did you know which one I'll be wearing?" to which comes the response "Hank, we both know that they're all ugly"

In Hank's phone Connor is named as "smartass", periodically being renamed into other names. What Hank doesn't know is that Connor is aware of every name change. One time he makes it clear by saying something like "I can't believe I finally got promoted to Connor in your contacts. Not plastic asshole or smartass. I'll miss robot emoji tho."

One time Connor mentions that he charges his battery in the morning before Hank arrives and this fact now consumes his thoughts. So much that one day he shows up an hour earlier just to see that. When he doesn't account for is that Connor is deeply moved by this his decision and is like

"You hate waking up early, but you came here today an hour before your shift starts just to see me? Oh..."

For a moment Hank is embarrassed and half-expects his snarky partner to make fun of it, but instead he's just...so glad to see him it almost makes him feel bad.

Android doesn't rest and Hank can't help but feel kinda bad for him, even though he knows he's just humanizing him and shouldn't bother. Sometimes he's almost certain that he looks tired, but can't really explain what gives him such an impression.

One time Connor fucks up bad. For a regular reason of deciding to do something without being given a command to do so (which in absolute most cases was resulting in their favour before). For all Hank knows, such cases should be reported and usually result in temporary detention. But Connor is an android. He apologies frantically and visibly panics thinking about what it could mean for him. Hank ends up taking all the blame – the report on the case doesn't mention Connor doing anything out of line.

After that Hank can't deny feeling a sense of responsibility for his partner. After deviancy cases started to spread out, every android at the station is required to be tested weekly. As his partner, Hank is required to run those tests on Connor. The really first time results show "deviant".

Hank looks at him for a long moment

"I knew it."

"You're a good detective."

He marks the results as negative in the record. From now on they both keep pretending that everything is as usual. Hank never missed the day of assessment to keep marking "negative" under Connor's deviancy status, but Detroit is becoming more and more unstable. They start to get assigned their first deviancy cases. They let everyone escape and wonder how long they can keep doing this before they're both replaced. One day Connor receives the key to Jericho. Hank encourages him to get the hell out from DPD the same day it happens.

He gives him his gun and some money, they both dispose of his android uniform and Hank helps him to remove his LED. He says to throw it away, but actually saves the LED in his pocket in case it happened to be the only physical reminder he has left. They hug goodbye and part ways.

Hank fills the resign form the next day.

#dbh #dbh connor #dbh hank #detroit become human #platoniconk #Fic ideas that I'll never write #kinda

[optimisticstudentangel]

➶♡ Simeon headcanons ➶♡

Its a good day to be Simeon lover 

Simeon who notices any changes in you, both external and internal. If you cut the tips of your hair, changed the style of clothing, tried new perfumes, be sure it will not go unnoticed.

The same goes for your emotions. If you are not in a good mood, or not talkative, then Simeon will immediately feel that something is wrong with you. He will sit next to you, hugging you, and telling you encouraging words.

He likes your laugh and smile very much, so he will always look for a reason to make you smile. He will give you the best compliments that will make you feel like the most special person in the world.

"MC, I love you. Love you. Love you. Love you. I love you," he whispers in your ear. Every night you fall asleep to Simeon's confessions of infinite love for you.

And in the morning your angel likes to wake you up with gentle kisses, which are also accompanied by warm words dedicated to making your day much better.

He is so wonderful, you want to grow and become better with him. In such matters, he is always very supportive, always praises for your small beginnings.

If you want to give free rein to your negative emotions or be weak, Simeon will be only happy. It seems to me that Simeon being an angel, does not fully understand human emotions and seeing you emotional is something special for him. Most likely, he sees something frank in this, for this reason he wants you to cry only next to him. If it happens in a public place, and emotions rush over you sharply and you cry, he will immediately hug you so that others will not see your tears. In your weak moments, only Simeon can see you.

When I think of Simeon, I immediately think of a cozy atmosphere where a couple in love spends their free evenings doing things together like cleaning, cooking, hobbies, watching romantic movies.

You often sit in his room, spending time watching movies. You like to put your head on Simeon's muscular body and use it as a pillow. Sometimes you don't notice how you fall asleep on your lover. Simeon often takes pictures of you in this position and shows the resulting photos when you wake up. They are all muddy and trembling, but this does not prevent the angel from admiring your blurry photos.

Sometimes you and Simeon jokingly fight. The angel is much stronger than you, but for your sake he gives in and loses on purpose. When he's in a particularly mischievous mood, he grabs you and tickles you until he gets bored. He also likes to nibble on your skin.

#god i love him #he is such a sweetheart #why so perfect #obey me #obey me simeon #obey me scenarios #obey me fanfic #simeon x you #simeon headcanon #simeon x mc #simeon x reader #simeon cult #obey me side characters

[bunniekittiee]

time of dying - johnny slaughter x reader

I tried to keep Johnny in character as much as I could but I feel like he got a bit ooc.

Warning: loss of virginity, non-con, Stockholm syndrome kinda?, Johnny is a POS pt.3, finally gets his karma, but oh reader is just too sweet, angsty as hell, kinda of a good ending?

The Devil loved to corrupt God’s angels, it was a war between who could save those same angels from the fate of the Devil’s wrath. He loved the way her virgin blood trickled down her thighs and pooled at the bottom, staining his own thighs in the process. The blood smeared across their groins, connecting them to a much more deeper level than before. God should have never let his most beloved creations wander far, for the Devil was known to sink his jowls into their flesh and drink their essence.

“Ya’ didn’t tell me ya’ were a virgin.” he purred in her ear with his eyes glistening with lust and bliss.

She whimpered as her tears stained her rosy cheeks, and her eyes bore into the soulless creature that thrusted his hips into hers. It was hard to make out the rest of his features, almost as if the dark wanted to obscure any signs of humanity. He was a mere man. Yet it felt as if she was staring into the pits of Hell itself.

That familiar vile, humiliating feeling crept inside of her lower stomach and made its presence known immediately after he was finished. Her virgin blood and his semen mixed together, creating a toxic substance that stung her torn hymen. She ached in every crevice of her body. He consumed her entirely and she belonged to him now. There was no point of return, this was where she had to be.

The pain was all too familiar when he forcefully entered her. He had already broken her hymen, but her body repeated the phantom pain of its breakage. It was supposed to be for a special person one day, a man who loved her and cared for her. A man who gave her what she wanted as she did the same for him.

But oh, how unfair life is for the creator’s angels whom he placed upon his Earth. She had what was hers unrightfully stolen, no, desecrated. He ripped it from her grasp to take it for his own self-serving purposes. She could not retrieve it back as much as she wished she could. It was lost for all of time.

Chaining her extremities, he loved to torture his little angel. Despite violating every part of her, she still grasped onto some sort of innocence that drove him wild. Her doe eyes gazing into his sharp ones, silently pleading for mercy. He did not grant her this, but he had almost considered it a few times with the way she looked at him. It penetrated him with such intensity that he felt out of control. As much as he did not like that she had this effect on him, he was in wonderment how she could do that to him.

He enjoyed testing her when he could. To see if given any opportunity, would she run? Would she be so ignorant and attempt to leave this sanctuary? But each time he tested her, she did not make an effort to escape. In fact, she seemed to ignore his tests. As if the mere thoughts of escaping would result in a punishment from him.

Today was another day of work, but this time she accompanied him. He was busy doing repairs and wanted his angel close by. Sometimes he missed her presence, so he let her have a break from her prison. She seemed to have taken pleasure in spending time with him. At least she was coming around, that was a win in Johnny’s book.

“Give me the allen wrench.” he said while holding his hand out. She obliged, grabbing the correct tool. She learned over time which one was which, as well as previous knowledge from helping her own father with car repairs.

“Good girl.” he smirked as he took the tool from her. Blushing slightly, she glanced down at the dirt pathway underneath her shoes. Some days when he was “nice”, it made her forget all the horrific pain he inflicted on her. Maybe he could change, maybe this could be their normal. But she was reminded of how naive she was when he devoured her again. It was a cycle she could not break for the life of her.

“Flat head.” He intercepted her thoughts and caught her off guard for a moment, but she handed him another tool once again. “What’s on ya’ mind, sweet pea?”

“Nothing.” she replied as she dug her toe into the ground.

“Ya’ sure?” he asked as he took a small look at her. She nodded her head, and he resumed his work again. No sense in asking a thousand times if she did not feel like talking about it. But he was curious to know, he wanted to know what went on inside of that noggin of hers. What she thought about him. He wanted to crack her head open and examine her brain. The inner workings of her organ. But Johnny was no scientist, and he knew that once he got it open, there would be no way to close it.

Footsteps approached them. Looking up, Johnny sighed. “What is it, Sissy?”

Sissy smiled at the girl as she stood in front of the couple. “Cook called, said he’s got some meat that’s comin’ down over here. He said ta’ get ready.”

“Yeah!” Johnny exclaimed with a smirk. “Been wantin’ to kill lately, just haven’t been able to do it.”

“Well now ya’ can, get ready.” Sissy said as she walked back to the house.

She felt cold chills infiltrate her body. Something seemed… off. There was something that was bugging her about this hunt, and she had never felt this way before about one.

“Darlin’, ya’ really gonna’ annoy me if ya’ keep ignorin’ me.” Johnny stated as he grabbed her face between his scarred gloveless hand. “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours, hmm?”

Chewing on her lower lip, she sighed quietly. “Something seems weird. I don’t know, I don’t have a good feeling.”

He tilted his head at her. “Whatcha’ thinkin’?”

“I just feel like.. this next group is going to be bad. I don’t know why or how, but I just have a bad feeling about them.” she frowned.

Johnny nodded his head and gently grabbed her face. “Might just be paranoid darlin’. Nothin’ will happen, ya’ got that?” She looked at him with worried eyes, and he sighed. “Listen, ya’ have me here to protect ya’-”

“No Johnny,” she interrupted, catching the young man off guard. “It’s not me I’m worried about, it’s you.”

He scoffed. “I can handle myself darlin’. Besides, I’ve never had any slip ups, so don’t ya’ worry about it now. It ain’t a big deal.”

It was not enough to calm her nerves. Her anxiety ate away at her stomach, and she felt like this was a warning. Something bad was going to happen, she was very sure of it. But Johnny did not believe her. He was too cocky, too arrogant to believe that anything could happen to him. For all he could knew, he could not get hurt and he was practically untouchable. He didn’t need to take extra precautions, he was lethal as is.

To keep his angel safe from the prying eyes of mankind, he led her back to his shack at the Slaughter’s house. It was there that she was safest. He did not have to worry about her escaping or interacting with “guests”.

“Now just stay in here until I get back, alright?” he said as he stood in the doorway. “I’ll be back in one piece, I promise ya’.”

She nodded, frowning slightly as she did. She was still stressed. She had never had this feeling before when it was time for a hunt, so this was all brand new.

“When I make promises, I keep ‘em. Don’t worry now sunshine. Get some rest.” And he waved goodbye, slamming the door shut and locking it with his key.

There was not much to do when Johnny Slaughter was preparing and involved in a hunt. Sometimes he would be gone the whole night, sometimes he would be back rather quickly, it depended on a lot of factors. She hoped that it would be a quick hunt to prove her anxieties wrong, but it did not seem like one of those quick hunts. She just hoped for the best, that Johnny came back to her with very little wounds and a big, evil grin on his face. A happy yet murderous Johnny was much better than a pissed off, murderous Johnny.

The sun began to dip down into the horizon line, the light turning orange as it shone inside the wood board cracks of the shack. Johnny’s little angel began to drift off to sleep, laying on the dirty mattress with a blanket wrapped around her frame. She curled into a small ball and tried to fight her sleepiness off, but sleep seemed to have won the fight. She was never a good fighter of many things.

A reverberating howl echoed around her, waking her from her dreamless state. She shot up from her previous position, eyes wide and darting around the small shack. The sun had settled and the moon rose high above the Sawyers. With labored breathing, she risen from the mattress carefully to move towards the door. She knew it was locked, but it was best to check. Sometimes you never knew what fate would throw at you.

Jiggling the handle, she was surprised to see it popped open. Her blood ran cold, it meant that whoever awoke her from her slumber was the one who unlocked the shack. And no one else made an effort to lock it back up. There was a very heated debate inside of her head. Was it best to leave the shack? Was it best to find Johnny? What if she stayed put and put herself in more danger by almost being found? Was she better off laying in the bushes and dirt away from the bloodshed? So many questions, so many possibilities, so many pathways she could take, but she did not know which one to pick. She hadn’t have any decision left up to her for a very long time. Not since Johnny came into her life.

She pushed the door open quietly and peeked her head out to see if there was anyone nearby. It was very dark outside and she could barely make out the Slaughters’ trees and sheds. The only thing that gave light was the moon. Using this to the best of her abilities, she crept forward towards the edge of the forest. She was not sure if it was a good idea to find Johnny or any other family member in case they mistook her for a victim, and she did not exactly want to be slaughtered now. It was best to lie low and hope for the best.

Every sound unsettled her as she reached the forest brush. She swiveled her head around to make sure no one else saw her, but her paranoia was not eased. As she settled into the dirt, she saw Johnny racing across the yard chasing a victim. The girl cringed as she was reminded of her time with Johnny. How he chased her down, laughing and spitting insults at her. How he was going to slaughter her like a lamb. Yet here she was, still alive. Guess he never kept up his side.

She watched as Johnny laughed at the victim, a young woman, and remarked how she thought she escaped so easily. He threw himself onto her, glaring down with a sinister grin on his face as the hunting knife in his right hand settled into her intestines. The woman screamed, echoing back to Johnny’s angel in the bushes who covered her ears. She could hardly take her eyes off of them, it was a deplorable yet beautiful sight to see Johnny in his element. His biceps glistened with sweat and his slicked hair was a little messy from running. He stabbed into the woman’s body again while holding her by the throat. It felt forbidden to watch this unfold, like a horrible car accident, yet there was no way to take your eyes off of it. Johnny’s body was slathered in crimson from the woman who had gone limp. Lifeless.

The eyes of his angel watered but her sight did not waver as Johnny got to his feet and began to look around once more for another. She heard Bubba’s chainsaw from the house, but there were no shouts of pain. Must be trying to scare them out.

She remembered when Bubba tried this tactic on her before and indeed did it scare her. She practically peed herself when she heard the revving of the chainsaw a few feet away from her hiding spot. She hoped and prayed that he did not find her, and God must have answered her prayers because Bubba did not. Instead, Johnny found her. If that was any better. At least Bubba would have ended her suffering.

Her hair stood on end as another person came into her view. It was a man, not one she had seen before, sitting over the sight of the young woman and weeping. His panicked cries stabbed into her heart. She must have been his girlfriend. And now she was going to end up as a Slaughter meal. It was quite sad how everyone who crossed paths with the Slaughters lost their lives with the only exception of her. She wondered why too. There was never a straightforward answer to that question, but it guilted her.

Johnny made his rounds back as he spotted the man kneeling over the woman he murdered. He grinned, approaching him which his hunting knife ready to sink into the man’s body. But Johnny must have been blinded by his blood lust, the man turned around rather quickly and tackled Johnny’s legs, shoving the young man to the ground. It was a tussle between them. Johnny’s knife was thrown to the side when he fell down which meant all he had was his fists. His angel covered her mouth in fear, trying to quiet her whimpers as she watched the victim beat down Johnny. They were evenly matched. She heard their grunts from where she was laying at and her heart sank when she heard Johnny’s painful grunts. Her baby…

She knew she stood no chance against a man, and she also knew Johnny would tell her to stay out of it. It was between men, something she should keep her nose out of. But she could not sit and watch as Johnny got hurt. It hurt her to see this. But she continued to watch, until her heart plunged further.

“Leland! I got the gun!” said another woman as she sprinted towards the man beating Johnny into the ground.

“These fuckin’ freaks are done for.” he panted as he wrestled with Johnny more. The Slaughter boy was not going down so easily.

“I’d like to see ya’ try an’ use that, ya’ idiots!” Johnny said as he reached for his fallen knife and swung it at Leland. Blood trickled down his arm as Leland grabbed Johnny’s arm, trying to pry the knife out of his gloved hand. Johnny gritted his teeth as Leland elbowed him in the face, smearing more of his blood across his face as his nose trickled like a water spout. It was damned to hurt.

The woman fumbled with the shotgun. Almost as if she was possessed, Y/N rose from her spot. She sneakily maneuvered her way towards them as they were in their own worlds. They did not notice her, and neither did the woman when she attacked her. They both went down together, tussling like the boys were still in the middle of.

“What the fuck?” the girl stuttered out.

The gun had landed somewhere next to them, but it was only a matter of who could get there first. Y/N punched the other woman in the face while the other girl tugged at her hair. Sinking her teeth into the unknown woman’s arm, she let go of her hair for a second which gave her an opportunity to lunge for the gun. Grabbing it, she held out the end of the shotgun out far as she whipped her body around, ramming it into the woman’s face. There was a loud crunch that signified a broken nose and maybe even a few other bones as the girl fell to the ground. Out like a light.

Johnny was on top of Leland still attempting to put him down. But Johnny was overpowered, something that had never happened before in the years of Johnny’s hunting. Leland held his hunting knife, his own weapon, and drove it into Johnny’s gut. Johnny wheezed as Leland jammed it hard, jaw clenched and his eyes burning with anger.

“This is for Ana!” Leland screamed as he slid the knife back inside Johnny’s stomach again. Johnny tasted the iron in his mouth, trying to bite it back as he stared at Leland.

“This is for Connie!” Another one. Johnny felt his vision blacken more.

“Hey motherfucker,” Heaven’s angel answered his call. “Only I get to decide when he dies.”

The trigger was pulled and it was in a sudden second where brain matter scattered across the Sawyer’s yard. His head caved in, squirting blood feverously as his body stuttered to plop onto the ground. Ears ringing, Johnny glanced at his savior and let out a small breath.

“Sweet pea.” he groaned out as he slightly smiled. Blood pooled from his wounds. “Am I glad to see ya’.”

Quickly, she kneeled down next to him and gently took his head between her hands. “Oh Johnny!”

“I’ll be okay.” he said as he blinked slowly.

His hearing was dipping out as he could barely hear her call for his family. These victims really did some damage to him. Now, he was not so sure if he could make it or not.

“Johnny, Johnny stay with me.” His sweet angel tried to keep him busy. “Come on, it’ll be okay.”

He chuckled, wincing from his wounds. “Maybe so, huh?” Soft hazel eyes studied her face. “Ya’ are my favorite, ya’ know that?”

She smiled, tears forming along those pretty eyes he loved to look into. “I’m happy to hear that. It will be okay.” She took his hand into hers.

He smiled back. “I missed ya’.”

“I missed ya’ more.” She said as her tear drops rained upon his face. Shakily, his hand wiped at her tear-stained cheeks. She hunched over him and gently kissed him, tasting blood as she did so.

But just as fast as her life turned upside down, they were interrupted when the gun hooked around her neck. Being forced back, she choked as Julie laughed. “Sorry to interrupt your little reunion. This is for killing all of my damn friends. Now you’ll know how it is to lose someone you love.”

Johnny eyed her maliciously as he cursed his condition. “Don’t ya’ fuckin’ dare.”

“I’ll blow her brains out like she did Leland’s.” she replied, digging the gun more into the girl’s trachea. She gasped, her lungs squeezing as they searched for the air it could not reach.

But the pressure was suddenly taken off as blood coated her. The woman’s throat was slit hastily and Sissy threw her to the ground. “That ain’t happenin’.”

She looked at Johnny and her eyes widened. “Bubba! Johnny’s hurt real bad!”

All of the Sawyer family appeared as Bubba tossed his chainsaw to the side and moved towards Johnny. Johnny’s angel coughed as she rubbed her throat, looking at her captor as he paled more and more by the minutes passing. Bubba picked him up which caused Johnny to grunt in pain. His eyes were barely open.

Everything was quite hazy. Drayton cleared the table off completely as they settled Johnny onto it, getting to work straight away. The Slaughter boy slipped in and out of consciousness, hardly feeling the needles stab into his skin as Nubbins, Sissy, and Bubba stitched his cuts and gaping knife wounds closed. They worked diligently and quietly, only talking when asking for things such as more thread, washcloths, or alcohol to clean. Drayton, Chop Top, and Johnny’s lover gave them what they needed. His angel sniffled, watching as more blood seeped onto the table.

“H-he just won’t stop bleedin’!” Nubbins whined.

“Just keep applyin’ pressure and stitchin’.” Sissy replied. “We can’t let him…” she choked back on her words as she looked back down.

“Damn kids!” Drayton complained as he rubbed his temples. “I swear to God if anythin’ happens to that kid, I don’t even know what I’m goin’ to do.”

“L-lets just h-hope for the best.” Chop Top said while he handed Bubba more thread. “He’s a strong kid, b-built like an o-ox. I’m sure he w-will g-get through it.”

Y/N chewed on her lip. She hoped Johnny prevailed. She did when he hurt her, whether it was mutilating her, taking advantage of her, or even abusing her. She still stuck around despite the emotional trauma and abuse he caused her. Yet here he was, lying on the table as he slowly lost his life.

She wondered if it would have been different had she pulled the gun on Johnny. She could have escaped with those victims had she shot him. Shot him just like she did Leland. Right in the skull with his brain exposed for all of the angels above to witness. Yet, she did not. She turned the gun around on the innocent who were only fighting for their own lives.

Was she just as bad as the Sawyers? Murdering another to save someone who raped and inflicted pain whenever he felt like it. Did she even deserve a place in Heaven for all that she had committed tonight? She knew she did not. She was corrupted. No angels had a place in Heaven after they soaked the ground with an innocent’s blood.

As she pondered on her thoughts, the Sawyers completed their art. Johnny was a bloody, morbidly beautiful sight. His body barely moved as he breathed.

“Alright Bubba,” Sissy said quietly. “Go and take ’im to the spare bedroom.” She looked at Johnny’s lover. “Ya’ go with too. He’s goin’ to need company when he wakes up.”

She nodded, trailing behind Bubba as he carried her sweet captor up the creaky stairs and into the spare bedroom that rarely anyone touched. It was a bit dusty, but more comfortable than the shack she had been staying in. Bubba gently placed Johnny on the bed and motioned for you to come over to the bed. Plopping down softly, Bubba hugged her tightly. Almost to comfort her and himself. And she hugged him back. She felt all of the pain from tonight hit her all at once.

Bubba shuffled out of the room after their bonding experience, closing the door on the way out. She caught another glimpse of Johnny’s pallid skin. She wondered why she felt so strongly towards her captor. He killed many, including her own friends, yet here she was lying in bed with him while he made small noises of agony. Why did she feel so distressed about his current state? This was what he deserved for all of those women and men he butchered. There was no doubt about it. But she felt sympathy for her Devil.

“Ya’ like my true angel.” he mustered out as his eyes slightly opened. “Watchin’ me like an angel watches over people.”

A small, sad smile tugged at her lips as she held his scarred hand between her own. “Anything for you, Johnny.”

He smiled, a lighthearted yet weak smile. “I don’t know what I would do without my angel.”

Squeezing her hand, he fluttered his eyes shut again. Moments like these reeled her back into his grasp. She hated him, yet she could not help but love him. Love him despite all he had done to her. Love him despite robbing her of her innocence. He consumed it like ichor. She could not bring herself to kill him, it would only cause misery for her heart. She loved Johnny, whether it was out of fear or true love, she did not know, but it did not change the fact she loved the killer who inflicted torment on those who stumbled across the Sawyer’s home.

Johnny was the ‘sorry’ soul who received what he had coming to him. He slipped up, made a mistake, and it costed him a lot. The traumatic stab wounds to his gut left deep, pink silvery scars on his skin. It took months to heal, and sometimes he feels the pains of his victim stabbing into him. He was not paranoid of getting hurt again, but he knew if he made the same mistake again, it would cost him his life. His nose was bent at a slight awkward shape from the fist fight.

He realized something important, and although he hated to admit it, his little angel was right. She was right all along, somehow she knew. Maybe she was Johnny’s guardian angel sent from Heaven. Yet, he still infected her being with his repulsive sinful actions. Sinking his teeth into her flesh. Never letting go. He was thankful for his life being saved by her, but he did not want her to think she could leave him.

It was a sunny Texas day with a small gentle breeze that slowly lapped at her sundress as her and Johnny lingered over a quilt.

“I forgot to ask ya’ this.” Johnny said after a long while of silence. She hummed in response. “Where did ya’ learn how to use a gun?”

Her heart squeezed at the thought of those events that night. “My Daddy taught me how. Sometimes he took me hunting, or he would let me shoot some rounds at bottles. Just for practice.”

Johnny chuckled. “Never saw ya’ as a hunting kind of gal.”

She shrugged. “It’s never often that I really do it.”

Silence again. It was a comfortable silence that was cherished between the two of them. Johnny sighed quietly as he turned his head to look at the girl nestled between his arms. “Don’t know what I would do without ya’.”

“Probably would be lying in a grave somewhere.” she joked. Johnny giggled and pinched her. Her words were true, he did not want to admit that though.

“Like I said, yer’ my little angel.”

#texas chainsaw game #texas chainsaw massacre #johnny sawyer #johnny slaughter #bubba sawyer #nubbins sawyer #chop top sawyer #sissy sawyer #sissy slaughter #drayton sawyer #slashers #slasher community #slasher fandom #horror

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

The Right Place in Time

Summary: What if Steve was in the woods with Chrissy and Eddie getting weed for his headaches?

@disrespectedgoatman @estrellami-1 @darkrose517 @panicatthediaz @mandriice

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chrissy's POV

Hardly anyone slept that night. The kids had wanted to check out the crime scene, but considering the place would be crawling with cops, it wasn't the best idea. They all slept on and off on the floor of the kitchen, and the older members took shifts, so there was at least someone looking out for everyone. Chrissy couldn't stop thinking about the song that had played after Patrick's death was announced. Does this mean that Vecna would be going after her again? She shivered at the thought, and after fighting sleep for a while, she drifted off.

It was silent the next morning as they ate their frozen waffles for breakfast. Chrissy was sitting in between Steve and Max this time with Eddie on Steve's other side. Max was curled up next to her with Lucas on her other side. He was looking down cast at his uneaten waffle.

"I should have tried harder," Lucas said.

"Lucas, man, there was nothing that you could have done. You tried to get to him, you tried to warn him but it's not your fault that Jason got to him first," Eddie said.

"I should have got to him anyway," Lucas said.

"And he would have killed you, Lucas," Steve said.

"No, he's right," Chrissy frowned. "Jason always had problems, problems his parents refused to address, and it's catching up to him. Whatever was going on with him, it was left untreated, and there was nothing that you could have done to get through to him."

"Nobody helped him," Lucas sniffled. "When he showed up to practice with a black eye. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what to say."

"Lucas," Max said softly. "There's nothing that you probably could have said. He would have pushed you away because sometimes the hardest thing to accept after spending so much time in a situation like that, is the fact that there might be someone out there who actually gives a damn."

Lucas sniffled and hugged Max tightly. Chrissy smiled at the two of them. She knew that Max had a hard life like Chrissy did, having talked about it with her earlier. She was such a funny, smart girl, and she really deserved so much better. Chrissy hoped that it would happen for her and everyone else. Everyone fell into silence again. Max was now leaning against Lucas, her head on his shoulder.

"I'm so bored," Dustin said after a long silence. "We should have brought board games to pass the time."

"I have cards," Frank said as he pulled them out of his pocket.

"And you're just bringing them out now?" Dustin asked. "And you just carry them around in your jacket?"

"I like playing solitaire," Frank said defensively. "Do you want to play Gold Fish?"

"Dude, it's Go Fish," Jeff said.

"I'm pretty sure it's Gold Fish," Frank said rolling his eyes.

"It's Go Fish! As in GO, it's your turn," Jeff said. "Why the hell would it be called Gold Fish?"

"Why the hell would be called fish at all? What the hell does fish have anything to do with it?" Frank asked.

"Can we just play already?" Dustin asked.

Chrissy giggled and watched in amusement as the three of them played. Frank kept calling out 'GOLD' and Jeff kept calling out 'GO' which resulted in Dustin throwing his cards at both of them.

"Well, that was entertaining," Eddie said, his head in Steve's lap as he looked at Chrissy upside down.

He turned to his side to watch them as they started another game. Chrissy grinned as she stared at the hair band on her wrist and then to Eddie's hair. She began raking her fingers through his hair. She leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"Hey, Eddddie," she sang out softly.

"I think she wants something from me, Steve," Eddie said. "Should I be weary?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely," Steve replied with a grin.

"I was just wondering if I could French braid your hair?" Chrissy asked.

"No," Eddie scoffed and Chrissy placed a hard kiss on his lips. "Yeah, okay."

"Weak," Steve scoffed.

"You're going to have to sit in between my legs," Chrissy said.

"Hell yeah," Eddie said.

He moved away from Steve and crawled in between Chrissy's legs, his back to her. She smiled as she worked on his hair, humming to the music that was playing from her Walkman.

"If you scooch up a bit, I can French braid your hair, Chrissy," Steve said. "And if you have another hair tie."

Chrissy handed him the hair tie while she scooted up with Eddie. She smiled as Steve slid behind her and started working on her hair.

"You are adorable," Wayne said. "If only I had a camera."

"Wayne!" Eddie exclaimed, blushing.

"You don't have a camera, but I do," Max smirked as she pulled a polaroid out of her bag.

She raised the camera and snapped the picture. Max grinned as she held the picture in her hand.

"Oh, that's so cute," Dustin said, looking over her shoulder.

Wayne took the picture and slipped it into his pocket with a grin. Chrissy laughed as she tied off Eddie's hair.

"Well?" Eddie asked.

"You're very handsome," Chrissy said.

"You look like your mama. She used to wear her hair like that a lot," Wayne said, and Eddie preened.

"Really?" Eddie asked. "I guess it does feel nice to have it off my ears. I'm going to go check it out."

Eddie scurried off to the bathroom. When he returned, there was a wide grin on his face. Chrissy smiled as he kissed her and plopped down next to Steve, who had finished Chrissy's hair. Chrissy was now leaning against his chest, fiddling with the sleeve of his yellow sweater that he had pulled out of his car. He had offered it to her, but she had declined, saying that it looked better on him. It really did. Nancy stood up nervously.

"I want to go to Pennhurst to talk to Victor Creel," Nancy said.

"What else could you possibly learn from him?" Frank asked.

"Plenty," Nancy said and looked at Wayne.

"Well, I can't force you not to go. You shouldn't go alone, neither," Wayne said, frowning. "How are you planning on getting into see him?"

"Pretend I'm a college student," Nancy said as she grabbed her bag from the cabinet.

Vickie and Robin shared a look.

"We'll go with you," Vickie said.

"Okay, you guys are going to have to look the part," Nancy said. "We're going to have to stop by my house."

"Are you sure?" Chrissy asked her cousin.

"Yeah," Vickie said.

"Be careful," Chrissy said and hugged her tightly.

Chrissy slid back down as soon as they walked out the door, worried about her cousin. She wished she wasn't a part of this, but a little part of her was relieved that she was here, and she was glad to see her so happy with Robin. Chrissy and Vickie had been best friends since they were babies. They were more like sisters than cousins. It had been the same with Matty. When he had come to the both of them to tell them how he felt, it was Vickie who picked up the scissors and asked him if he wanted his hair cut. Together, Chrissy and Vickie helped cut his hair. It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't great either. Matty still smiled, though, claiming it was the best haircut ever. It was also Vickie who had first gotten him boy clothes and eventually, the three of them would go shopping together whenever they could. Of course, once Vickie had been banned from the house, they had to do drops at school to get Matty the clothes that he hid under his floorboard.

"Guys," Max spoke up, interrupting Chrissy's thoughts.

Max had stood up and began handing out letters. The only ones who didn't get any were Gareth, Jeff, Frank, and Chrissy. She understood, though. They barely knew each other.

"We get letters?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, you guys have been really helpful when my mom was, well, you know, sick," Max said. "You deserve letters."

"What are these for, darling?" Wayne asked.

"In case I don't make it," Max said.

"Max - ," Lucas started to say.

"Don't. Don't try to give me false hope. We know that I might not make it. I mean, we tried to save Fred, and that didn't work out. Neither did trying to save Patrick," Max said. "Of course, this asshole curses me."

"If I made it, then so can you," Chrissy said softly.

"We don't know if this asshole is going to come after you again or not," Max said. "I just want to be prepared."

She looked down at her feet, and Chrissy could see how scared she was. Wayne could tell, too. He pulled the girl into his arms and hugged her gently. She let out a sob and hugged him back. It obviously wasn't the first time that he had to do that for Max. Eddie had jumped up and wrapped her up in a tight hug.

"If anyone can make it out of this, it's you, Steve, and Chrissy," Eddie said. "I'll just annoy the shit out of this guy until he gives up."

Max laughed and pulled out of the hug, wiping her eyes.

"I want to stop by my house, and then I want stop by the cemetery," Max said.

"I'll take you," Wayne said. "Whatever you need, okay?"

"I'll go with you guys too," Chrissy said. "Need to pick up some spray paint before we go to the cemetery."

"We'll all go," Eddie said. "I need to get out of the house, anyway."

"Is that a good idea?" Steve asked.

"Well, no, but neither is splitting up," Eddie said.

"Well, we can't all go. I don't have any room in my car," Steve said.

"Jeff, Frank, and I will stay here," Gareth said. "In case the girls come back."

"Okay, and don't worry, Steve, you've got your bat in case the jocks show up, right?" Dustin asked.

"It's still in the trunk, yes," Steve said.

"Ah, the infamous bat we keep hearing but have yet to be seen," Eddie said.

Chrissy giggled when Steve rolled his eyes. They followed him outside to his trunk. He popped open the trunk and pulled out the bat.

"See? It's just a bat with nails in it," Steve said.

"Oh my, what a big bat you have," Eddie said with a smirk.

"Eddie!" Wayne scolded from behind him.

"What? I was commenting on the bat. Jeeze, get your head out of the gutter, old man," Eddie scoffed.

"You guys really set on dating him, huh?" Wayne asked.

"Only cause he's pretty to look at," Chrissy said. "Everything else is just. . .eh."

"Hey!" Eddie exclaimed and poked her in the side, grinning.

Max laughed as she climbed into Wayne's truck. Chrissy pushed Eddie into Steve’s passenger seat before Dustin could grab it. She settled right into Eddie's lap and poked her tongue out at Dustin. He flipped her off and she giggled.

"That's not at all childish," Eddie grinned.

"Oh, like you aren't?" Chrissy giggled. "Even with everything going on, you and Steve make me very happy."

Chrissy slipped off her feet and spread them out into Steve’s lap. Steve grinned and placed one hand on her leg as he drove. Chrissy leaned forward and turned on the radio. The breaking news music came on.

"In local news, a person of interest in the murder of Fred Benson and Patrick McKinney has been arrested. William Higgins has been taken into custody in connection with drugs found in his desk. The police believe that high school journalist Fred Benson discovered that the principal might have been giving basketball players drugs to enhance their performances, and Mr. Benson tried to come forward with the story. The police also believe that Patrick McKinney was Mr. Benson's source and Higgins discovered his betrayal. There's still another suspect on the run who escaped police questioning. If you see Jason Carver, please contact the authorities immediately."

The car was filled with stunned silence. Chrissy and Eddie stared at each other with wide eyes.

"I thought for sure that they would end up pining this on me," Eddie said. "Although, it still sucks that Jason is still out there. Happy as hell that Higgins is getting what he deserves."

"Yeah. I always hated him. He always covered it up when some basketball ball players were being abusive dicks. Like when Tommy Hayes attacked you. I went to his office to explain it to him what really happened, but he just talked down to me like I was a little girl," Chrissy rolled her eyes. "Then he called my mom and told her that I was trying to mix myself up with the wrong crowd. Asshole."

Eddie pressed a hard kiss to her lips and leaned his forehead against hers. Steve squeezed her leg. He drove them to the hardware store, where they picked up a can of red spray paint and some masks as well as a few extra things. When they got to the cemetery, Wayne was already there, so they parked behind his truck and got out. He was leaning against his truck with his arms crossed.

"Max went alone?" Lucas asked.

"She threatened to sic a lawyer on me," Wayne said. "She's got her Walkman. It's best to do what she needs to do right now, son."

"What if - ?" Lucas asked in concern.

"That's why I'm right here. I can still see her through the trees," Wayne said. "If she needs us, we'll be right here."

"We're going to take Chrissy to her brother's grave," Eddie said. "You'll be okay?"

"Of course, Nancy gave me one of her guns before she left," Wayne said as he patted his pocket.

They left Dustin and Lucas with Wayne before walking towards the cemetery. Chrissy was grateful to them both as they walked on either side of her. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to do this without them. When she arrived at her brother's headstone, it filled her with a white-hot anger. Matilda Cunningham. Beloved sister and daughter. The last taunt that Laura would give to her son. Chrissy growled and grabbed the pickaxe from Steve, and slammed it into the headstone. She did it over and over again until her hands were aching. She tossed the axe aside, and with the help of the other two, she hammered in a temporary sign. She took the spray paint and started spraying. In the end, it read: Matthew Cunningham, Beloved Nephew, Brother, and Cousin. Chrissy collapsed to her knees.

"Bitch!" Chrissy screamed and she started crying. "I'm going to save up and get you a proper headstone, Matty. I promise. I wanted you to meet some people. I think you would like them very much."

"Hey, little man, your sister doesn't shut up about how an awesome brother you are. I don't doubt for a second that what she said isn't true. I heard you like comic books. I do too. I would have loved to show you my awesome collection," Eddie said.

"Chrissy told us all about how you wished that you could have played basketball. Man, I would have loved showing you the ropes and Lucas would have loved to play with you too," Steve said. "We're going to take good care of your sister and we know she's going to take good care of us too. She's the strongest person I know."

"He would have loved you helping him style his hair," Chrissy sniffled. "Thanks, guys. I love you, Matty. I would kiss your temporary headstone, but it's covered in spray paint."

She was about to laugh when they heard the other's screaming Max's name. They dropped everything and ran towards Max. Chrissy's stomach churned when she found the girl floating in the air. The headphones were firmly attached to her head, but she was still floating slowly in the air.

"Fuck!" Eddie cursed.

"Hey! Max! Max!" Steve screamed.

Their voices quickly joined Lucas, Dustin, and Wayne's. Chrissy was crying again as she screamed her voice hoarse with the others. Suddenly, Max's body dropped into Wayne and Lucas's arms. She sobbed into Lucas's shoulder while Wayne stroked her hair.

"I'm here, I'm here," Max sobbed.

Chrissy clung to Steve while Eddie hugged them both tightly, crying into Chrissy's hair. This has to fucking stop. Right? They're going to stop this. They have to.

Chapter Twelve

#stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson lives #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #chrissy cunningham x eddie munson #hellcheer #chrissy cunningham x steve harrington #cheerscoops #chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x eddie munson #hellcheerington #steddissy #bisexual eddie munson #bisexual chrissy cunningham #bisexual steve harrington #bi4bi4bi #stranger things fanfiction

[samiwife]

Hi dear ... could you write something in honor of Devon's birthday, since he's one of our favorite guys ... It's nice have someone with the same taste. Devon it's soo cute S2

Yeah of course <3 Thanks for the request <3 (Sorry for the slow updates, life stuff)

The Idiot Savant ੈ✩‧₊˚ (Devon Bostick X Reader)

𓆩♡𓆪= Smut

ੈ✩‧₊˚= Fluff

⋆ ★= Angst

𓆩⟡𓆪 = Headcanons

Devon has always been an idiot. He did things that always resulted in him always getting in trouble or hurt. Sometimes even both. You never knew why he did this but you always assumed it was because he was bored and he just wanted to entertain himself. The past weekend was Devon's birthday. You and Devon had a party with a bunch of friends. Things got insane fast. People were breaking stuff and being loud. Not for long, Devon became part of the chaos.

"Devon stop! you're going to hurt yourself!" You yelled at Devon who was standing on a fragile table. Devon didn't listen to you, he was clearly drunk. You quickly grabbed Devon by the arm and led him down. Devon groaned and grabbed a few more beers. You gave Devon a terrified look. Devon smiled faintly and began laughing.

"Sorry babe, but let loose. I'll be fine." Devon said holding you tight. You let go of Devon and sighed. You were afraid that Devon would do something more stupid than before.

"Okay just be careful. I don't want you in the hospital on your birthday." You said concerned while letting go of Devon so he can run off with his friends. You watched him wander off to his friends who gave him more beer. You sighed and walked to your friends. They noticed you looked worried.

"Hey Y/N, are you alright? You look worried." One of them asked you. You looked at them and sighed in worriedness. You sipped your beer and cleared your throat.

"Yeah I'm alright but I'm just worried about Devon. He always does some dumb shit and I'm afraid he's going to get hurt." You explain to all of them. They all comforted you saying it would be alright since you knew Devon knew better to not hurt himself. Which is right. Devon wasn't a complete idiot. He was smart but sometimes his common sense wasn't there. As you slowly began to worry less, your sense of concern grew bigger when you heard a loud crash from downstairs. You and all of your friends rush downstairs to see what happened. You saw broken glass everywhere and a broken wooden chair. Then to your horror, Devon is on the ground bleeding from his fragile hands. You rushed to his aid, trying your hardest not to cry.

"Oh my god! What happened?" You asked while laying Devon in your lap. "We dared Devon to do a handstand while drunk to see if he could do it. But he fell off the chair and broke his fall on a vase." One of Devon's friends explained. You took a huge breath to calm down.

"Okay thanks for telling me, come on Devon let's see how badly you got hurt this time." You said while lifting him up. You carried Devon to the bathroom as everyone else continued to party. You placed Devon on the toilet seat as you searched through the bathroom cabinets for a first-aid kit. As you searched, you could hear Devon's slurred words.

"I'm s-sorry Y/N, you were right. I am an idiot." Devon said through slurred words. You turned your head to face Devon. Devon's face was sorrowful and he began to cry. Your face fell soft from Devon's tears.

"No Devon, it's okay. You're not an idiot. You just make bad decisions that's all." You said facing him. You caressed his face while wiping his tears. Devon smiled faintly and closed his eyes.

"If you hurt yourself, I will always help you." You said smiling and gently stroking his face to calm him down. Devon opened his eyes and stared at you faintly. You let go of Devon's face and opened the first-aid kit.

"Now, how about I help you like what I promised." You said grabbing injury tape for Devon. Devon smiled and nodded. You grabbed Devon's hand which was injured and began wrapping it up. Devon winced at the pain from your wrapping. You became a lot more gentle.

"Sorry Devon, tell me if it hurts so I can be gentle." You said to Devon. "No, I'm fine. Thank you Y/N." Devon said with a weak smile. You finished up wrapping his hand and when you were done. Devon looked so happy. Devon grabbed your hand gently and pulled you closer.

"Y/N, you are always so kind. How could you be with an idiot like me?" Devon said looking down at the ground. You sighed and gently grabbed Devon's chin making him look at you.

"Devon, you are an idiot but you are my idiot that I will forever take care of." You said reassuring Devon that you do love him no matter what. There was a silence until you leaned closer to Devon. Laying your lips onto his. Devon closed his eyes and fell in your kiss. You ran your finger through Devon's hair as you kissed him. Eventually, you pulled away.

"Don't ever think that I don't love you. I love my goofy boyfriend who is my little idiot." You said smiling at Devon. He looks down and blushes brightly at your words. Soon enough, Devon was strong enough to go back to partying his little heart until the next morning when he slept on the sofa. The next morning you walked past the sofa where Devon was and kissed his forehead as he slept.

"I hope you had a good birthday." You whispered as you gently ran your fingers through his hair.

#fanfiction #devon bostick #devon bostick imagines #devon bostick x reader #rodrick heffley #rodrick x reader #rodrick rules #devon bostick reads

[ugh-yoongi]

threw a punch in a bar | knj

(or, nothing good happens when a man you’d accidentally knocked out in a bar fight tells you to run.)

→ pairing: namjoon x f. reader → genre: zombie!au | crack, smut → rating: explicit. minors dni. → warnings: swearing, alcohol, a guy gets pushy in a bar, this results in a bar fight (mentioned broken bones, but nothing is described in explicit detail), vague american setting in order to drag the us healthcare system, side vmin, taehyung has klepto tendencies but he steals from wal-mart so it’s fine, really mid smut including: kissing, very slight dom!joon, grinding/thigh riding, implied oral (f. receiving), fingering, reader drops a bryce harper quote during sex, namjoon’s dick is big but we knew that, this is cancelled out by his horrible dirty talk, unprotected sex, vmin’s dumpling fight but make it settlers of catan. this is technically a zombie fic, but the circumstances are 99% in the background. there is nothing gory here, just sort of found family vibes centered around an apocalypse. also when i said the smut is mid i meant it. everyone has himbo tendencies except yoonjin. → wordcount: 11k → a/n: started this forever ago after doing one of those twt pause games on who i’d be stuck with in the zombie apocalypse. my result was vmin & namjoon, which birthed the idea of vmin spending the entire apocalypse subtly trying to convince you to sacrifice yourself for them. i was going to publish the draft of this on halloween but decided to finish it, went into a trance, and added 9k words, so please accept my late and humble offering. → thank yous: lauren, bee, and jess as always for all of their help: beta’ing, general feedback, constructive criticism, telling me when my shit doesn’t make sense. @effortandmore​ / @hot-soop​ / @the-boy-meets-evil​

Any bartender worth their salt knows you don’t mix tequila and brandy.

Jimin, apparently, is only worth enough salt to rim a margarita glass.

All because he’s chaos incarnate: an absolute hellion of a person who causes problems just because. The type of person who calls a drink something innocuous like Tipsy Meow because it sounds sweet and he knows it’ll get people to order it. Sometimes he even serves them in glasses with cats painted on them, which is really cute and endearing and gets people to order that drink in the cute cat glass despite the fact that that drink in the cute cat glass is tequila and brandy.

In any other bar, that drink would be called something appropriate and applicable, like a Knockout.

Because that’s what it does—starts bar fights.

Which Jimin knows, because he’s actually a very competent bartender, but he likes to cause problems on purpose, especially on Tuesday nights when there’s not much else going on.

“Why did you do that?” Yoongi asks, watching some poor, unsuspecting woman practically skip back to her table with two Tipsy Meows in hand.

Jimin just smiles and shrugs. “Because,” he answers, eyes twinkling with something underhanded, “that tall guy at the high-top? He’s been eyeing her all night. She wouldn’t go for it on a good day, but after one of those?” A low whistle under his breath.

Yoongi just stares. He’s known Jimin a long time, going on six years now, so he’s never truly surprised at how duplicitous he can be, but sometimes he pretends for appearance’s sake. “Evil.”

“Not evil,” Jimin retorts, eyes rolled, “just bored.”

Snorting, Yoongi whips the towel off his shoulder and starts wiping down the bar. “Then do a fucking crossword puzzle.”

Jimin waves him away. “I’m not good at them. I’m good at this.”

“Getting people to fight in our bar?” Yoongi clarifies. Jimin nods. They stare at each other for a minute before Yoongi shrugs and finds some menial task to busy himself with. “Whatever. You’re on clean-up duty, though. The last time you pulled this shit, I was sweeping up glass for three fuckin’ days.”

Because he’s chaos incarnate, Jimin’s response is a sarcastic salute, two fingers pressed to his forehead as Yoongi flips him off in return.

Something is wrong.

You’ve been to this bar countless times, have always ordered the same thing. Always made sure to stick to your limits, because college had been both an exercise in adulting and maintaining a functioning liver.

Maybe it’s because the mint-haired guy didn’t make your drinks this time. Truthfully, you’ve been wary of him for a while, convinced he’s been watering them down just to get you to buy more. Not that you’re complaining. In all the years you’ve been coming here, you’ve never made a fool of yourself.

Now, though?

Now you’re very rapidly approaching find the nearest trashcan ASAP territory. I’m going to regret this in the morning territory. This hasn’t happened since that frat party sophomore year territory.

Yeah, that party. You’d drank something god-awful that night, too. Got roped into a game of strip poker in a seedy basement and walked away with $2,000, three nickels, and a half-used KFC gift card, only down a sock. Some douchebag frat bro hadn’t liked that very much, accused you of cheating and gave you a real hard time about it. Long story short, you’d been fueled by too many of the suspicious drinks and knocked him out.

This feels a lot like that.

Because you’re drunk, yes, but there’s something else lurking beneath the surface. Something that’s itching for a fight. Something that’s been dormant for a long time.

(This is a startling realization, because you’re not a violent person, despite all evidence to the contrary. You’ve only ever thrown one punch in your life. It’s really not your fault that it wound up being the punch heard ‘round the world.)

Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it. Your sixth grade history teacher had that quote hung on the wall and you haven’t thought about it until now. Because there’s a guy approaching your table—probably six-foot, wearing an expensive watch and polished shoes—and he’s been eyeing your friend all night. Had made a few crude comments to his buddies that you’d regretfully overheard, and you’re all out of sorts because the mint-haired bartender hadn’t made your drinks, so he’s nearly got his elbows on the table when you say—

“Fuck off, asshole.”

Both your friend and the guy look equally shocked. “Excuse me?” he says, looking back to the idiots at his table in disbelief.

You roll your eyes, blood beginning to boil. “I said fuck off. She’s not interested.”

“And she can’t speak for herself?” he retorts, all faux-chivalry now that everyone’s attention is on him, even though the bar is practically deserted at nine o’clock on a Tuesday. “Your friend’s a little uptight, huh?” he says, shifting his attention fully away from you.

God, you always do this—befriend the most wholesome people in the room. The ones who always assume the best in others; the ones who can’t say no; the ones who feel guilty speaking up. This friend is no different. Looks at you like a deer about to get rearranged by a car, all wide, panicked eyes and a tight-lipped smile, only polite out of obligation.

What happens next is shocking to everyone except Jimin and Yoongi. Safe behind the bar, the two of them watch as you tell the man to fuck off one more time. He refuses, his attention still laser-focused on your friend, reaching for her. Someone appears to his left—another stranger, this one taller and wider in all the right places and exuding far less scumbag energy—and places a large hand on his shoulder. Leans down to say something to him that you don’t catch. Whatever it is, you’re assuming it’s said in that brand of tense politeness men use with other men before they threaten to knock them out.

Regardless of what’s said, the original douchebag just snorts derisively, jutting his shoulder backwards to get the stranger’s hand off of him. This really bothers you, for all the obvious reasons. Why can’t this idiot take no for an answer? What’s his fucking deal?

Apparently you voice the latter out loud, and the bastard is laughing again, lips turned upwards in an ugly little sneer. Far too quickly, you go from bothered but mostly in control to seeing red and cocking back. All because the mint-haired bartender hadn’t mixed your drinks. Now you’re punching some pushy asshole in the jaw and are probably going to get arrested.

“Oh shit,” you hear, but it sounds like you’re underwater. It’s certainly not a voice you recognize, but you only know one person in this bar and you just punched someone to make sure she didn’t get harassed by some asshole who couldn’t take a fucking hint.

Pain erupts in your hand. There’s probably something broken, maybe multiple somethings, but you don’t have much time to dwell on it before someone’s grabbing you by the elbow and dragging you out of the bar.

A shame, you think; you’d really like to see how much of a pissbaby that guy turns into when he catches sight of his own blood.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

You groan. Whatever room you’re in is far too bright and far too loud, which means you’re probably at home already being lectured by Hoseok. You crack an eye open, and—yep, that’s Hoseok, usual human embodiment of sunshine who is now staring at you like a grumpy little rain cloud. “What’re you talking about?” you grumble, fingers flying to your temples to ease some of the throbbing pain.

Hoseok must be pretty pissed, because he just watches you clutch at your aching head and doesn’t say a word. Usually you can guilt trip him into making you coffee and buttered toast. Grabbing you some pain killers, at the very least, but he’s not budging. You swallow hard.

“Do you remember anything from last night?”

“Not really,” you answer. You’ve been awake for approximately three seconds and your two brain cells haven’t connected to form a rational thought yet, let alone conjure up whatever shenanigans you got into the night before. “I think I went out for drinks with the new hire from work, but that’s it.”

“Mehmehmeh but that’s it,” Hoseok mimics under his breath, voice pitched far too high to ever pass as yours, looking more and more incensed by the second. Everyone told you he’d be too neurotic to live with. You should’ve listened. “Do you remember drinking too much and punching a guy?”

Ah, that would explain why your hand is fifty shades of purple, you think. “Ah, that would explain why my hand is fifty shades of purple,” you say.

Hoseok looks like he’s ready to explode. “Can you fucking take this seriously,” he seethes. “You’re too old to be getting wasted and starting bar fights! What in the actual fuck is wrong with you? You broke a man’s nose, you fucking maniac! What if he calls the cops? God, what if he sues you? Do you have lawsuit money? Because I sure as fuck don’t, not that I would bail you out of jail for this, anyway, because you don’t deserve it—”

“I broke someone’s nose?” Far too late, you realize you should’ve kept that proud wonder out of your voice.

Hoseok’s up and screeching before you can plug your ears. “You are un-fucking-believable! I have to leave. I can’t sit here another second and listen to this.” He’s fussing over his clothes and hair as soon as he’s on his feet, distress seeping out of every pore. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot and I made sure to save you two slices of bread,” he grits out, as if it’s causing him immense pain to be nice to you right now, before adding, “and there’s also aspirin and water on your nightstand. I would not recommend taking it on an empty stomach.”

And then he’s gone.

You microwave the mug of coffee and choke down the toast that’s grown suspiciously hard. You swallow two aspirin with coffee even though you know better and should be drinking the water, but the water has been sitting out for god knows how long and probably has dust particles and other gross things in it. You take a long shower to wash away the bar grime and hangover remnants and nearly crumble to the floor in pain when you try to wash your hair.

Right, your hand.

It’d been easy enough to ignore when you were focusing on not vomiting and taking your painkillers, but not so much anymore. Even if Hoseok hadn’t told you you’d punched someone, you could’ve pieced that much together—the bruising is severe and the swelling even more so. Trying to bend your fingers feels like a fate worse than death, so you salvage your shower as best you can before getting dressed one-handed and ordering an Uber to the nearest urgent care.

Which, much to your horror, is packed.

Every seat is taken except for one next to a man with a baseball cap pulled low and a thawed-out ice pack in his hand. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you sit next to him, and you’re almost offended until you spot the AirPods in his ears. God, he must’ve been here forever if he’s brave enough to plug his ears in a place that unashamedly sends you to the back of the line if you don’t answer when your name is called.

You need to know what you’re getting into, so you tap him on the shoulder and ask, “Hey, how long have you been here?”

The man seems flustered. He reaches for his phone and sends it plummeting to the floor, and when he retrieves it you notice the screen is cracked to hell so this must be a common occurrence. “Oh, uh. I’m not sure,” he says, voice all nasally like he’s got a bad cold. “Maybe two hours or so?”

You groan. “Two hours? Are you for real?” He just nods, still not meeting your eye. You pull out your phone, too, then, and put in the web address for the hospital. “D’you think the wait times are less shitty at the ER?”

“Maybe.”

“You didn’t look? No offense, but you sound pretty awful. I figured you’d want to get whatever it is taken care of sooner rather than later.”

The man snorts. Sounds painful. “Yeah, well. I work at a shitty nonprofit and the only insurance tier I could afford had a two-thousand-dollar deductible, so I’ll take my chances here.”

You hum in sympathy. “Do you believe in karma and reincarnation and all that? Because I do, and I think I must’ve been pretty fucking terrible in a past life to be born in a country without free healthcare in this lifetime.” The man beside you grunts in agreement. “Like, shit. What if I was Norwegian in a past life? Or, like, Canadian?”

“Only worth being Canadian if you’re not Indigenous.”

“Hm, yeah, that’s true. What human rights violations have the Norwegians committed?”

“No clue.”

“I’m gonna Google it,” you decide. Then, a second later, “Not great being Indigenous in Norway, either.”

“Is everyone shitty?” the man asks, pressing the warm ice pack back to his face. You wince on his behalf.

“Yeah.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him pause his music. An album cover you don’t recognize, because this guy definitely strikes you as the underground type: paid Spotify account with immaculate playlists full of artists no one else has heard of, either. Probably imports half of his own shit, too, so his playlists only work on his own phone and everyone yells at him when they try to play his playlists and get nothing but silence.

“What about you?” he asks, and it’s a question that should sound greasy but just sounds really sad with his clogged nose. “Are you shitty?”

“Yep,” you answer instantly, holding up your hand. You’d managed to wrangle an elastic bandage around it, but the bruising is obvious and not easily hidden.

The man whistles. “Damn, how’d you do that?”

“Punched a guy in a bar fight, apparently.”

In hindsight, it should be obvious, the cruel joke the universe is playing on you: you, with your mottled, probably-broken hand; the man next to you, with a black eye and an ice pack pressed to his nose. Right church, wrong pew, your mother always used to say about you, and you’d taken it then as a nod to your creativity and ingenuity, but now you’re thinking you might just be fucking stupid.

Because the atmosphere immediately shifts. The man goes stiff, pauses, tenses his shoulders. Then he asks, “Yeah? What bar? I might’ve heard about it.”

And you might be fucking stupid but you’re not dumb, so you just shrug. “Oh, I don’t know,” you reply, doing your best impression of a person with nothing between their ears. “My coworker dragged me out, and I like her fine, y’know, but if I’m being honest, I don’t know how long she’s gonna last. I think she’s too nice. Well, I thought she was too nice, but then she invited me out for drinks and invited me to this crazy bar with horrible, violent people—”

“And you punched someone,” the man finishes for you, cutting short your tirade.

“Supposedly punched someone,” you correct. “I have no recollection of it, but that’s what my roommate said. He was shrieking and used his Serious Mom Voice so I’m inclined to believe him, though.” You try to wiggle your fingers and have to suppress a scream. “Plus I can’t move my hand, so there’s that.”

This is the part where you get yelled at. You can feel it. The man beside you is about to blow up, demand your name and phone number so he can report you for assault, probably also demand some money because he’d just talked about his god-awful insurance and you’re the entire reason he’s here, but the universe may be cruel but it’s also fair, because—

“Nam…joon?” a bored medical assistant calls out. The man startles, curses under his breath that no one even attempts to pronounce his name correctly, drops his phone again, and if you weren’t glued to your chair in fear you might’ve picked it up for him.

Namjoon stands—he’s fucking massive, and if this is the guy you actually punched, you’ll spare a second later to marvel at yourself—and looks down at you. Sends you the meanest, most murderous glare he can muster, clenched jaw and all, and then he’s disappearing behind a door.

You… feel bad.

It’s not like you’d meant to punch him. You hadn’t wanted to punch anyone! And that has to count for something, so when he comes back out you’ll plead your case and offer to buy him a late lunch, because if he’d been waiting hours you’ll be waiting longer, and maybe he’ll find you just endearing enough to forget that you’d broken his nose and the two of you will become friends. You’ll do the Best Person speech at his wedding and laugh about the time you’d punched him, or maybe you’d be marrying him and—

Pump the brakes.

You love a good enemies-to-lovers, but maybe not so much in real life.

  The wait is torturous.

An hour ticks by. You text Hoseok, tell him about the man you’d met and ask if he thinks it’s The Guy, and Hoseok writes back with a very pointed, I fucking hope it is. You’re not sure what that means. Does he hope Namjoon is the guy so you can apologize? So you can make sure he’s okay? Surely he wouldn’t be hoping for Namjoon to even the score and break your nose, too, but he was really mad this morning so you wouldn’t put it past him.

Another half hour. If you’d been paying attention, you would’ve realized how eerily quiet the waiting room has grown. No idle chatter, no coughing, no pained groans. People seem to be going in but not coming out, and you’ve been paying attention to that much, at least, so you can catch Namjoon.

And then the door slams open.

Namjoon stands there, nose stuffed with a cartoonish amount of gauze and a large splint across the bridge. He’s breathing hard. Looks like he’d just ran a marathon, which doesn’t make sense because how large can the backend of an urgent care really be, but then his eyes found you and—

“Run,” is all he says.

Nothing good happens when a man you’d accidentally knocked out in a bar fight tells you to run. Fucking stupid but not dumb, though, so you’re up and out of your seat before he can repeat himself.

Although you’re not sure where you’re supposed to go. You’d taken an Uber, and you can’t really order an emergency one of those. Besides, all Namjoon had said was run but not why, so you’re also not sure if it even is an emergency.

So here you are, standing in the middle of the parking lot like a bozo while Namjoon fumbles with the keys to a pickup truck. “Hey!” you call out, stomping towards him. “Are you gonna tell me what the fuck’s going on?”

Namjoon looks up only long enough to catch your eye. “You need to get out of here,” is all he says. Which is supremely and deservedly unhelpful.

“Why? I ca—I took an Uber here, I don’t have a car. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go or why I had to run out of there or if this is DEFCON 5 or DEFCON 1—”

“One,” Namjoon answers. “It’s definitely DEFCON 1.” Door unlocked, Namjoon meets your gaze again, deadly serious. “I’m not fucking around. You need to get out of here. Right now.”

This has to be a joke. He’s mad you’d broken his nose and now he’s getting his revenge. Still, you’re not all that keen to pay hundreds of dollars in medical bills for them to tell you something you already know, so you’ll play along. “Fine. Can I get a ride, then?”

“No.”

“So it’s an emergency but you won’t give me a ride.”

Namjoon glares at you. “You broke my fucking nose!”

“But I also broke my own hand, so we’re even.” It’s absolutely not a fair trade, but Namjoon seems to chew it over nonetheless. “Hey, c’mon, you wouldn’t leave me here! You’d feel too guilty.”

“How would you know?”

“Because you work at a nonprofit and care about human rights violations, and I am a human with rights, and it’d definitely be a violation to leave me here in a DEFCON 1-level emergency when I don’t even know what’s going on—”

Namjoon slaps a hand over your mouth. A large hand. A very, very large hand that easily covers half of your face. You’ll blame your pathetic whimper on fear. “I saw some shit in there, okay?”

“What kind of shit, though. Urgent cares are weird. Ominous little vortexes where reality is altered. You ever been in one at night? Like 28 Days Later vibes—”

“Yes!” Namjoon snaps his fingers. “Yes, that! Exactly like that!”

Your relief is palpable. You sag a little. “Oh! So it was just weird in there? What, did you get a creepy doctor or something?”

“No.” He groans. Runs his hands down his face. “Not the vibes part, the—”

“The zombie part?” you whisper.

Just then, the entrance slams open, people pouring into the parking lot. Most are screaming, which prompts you to scream in response, so Namjoon screams too and drops his keys. You’re picking them up before you can think twice, pulling the door open and pushing him inside of the truck. There’s something to be said about the way you manhandle him, how ripped his back feels through the thin fabric of his t-shirt and the view of his ass as he climbs over the center and into the passenger seat, but whatever weird shit is going on takes precedence.

You climb in behind him. Shut the door and lock it, and then you’re rolling down the window to adjust the side mirrors while Namjoon just shoots you an exasperated look. “We don’t have time for this!”

“Do you want us to crash and die? I’ve seen movies like this, okay, and someone always dies some stupid, avoidable death because they forget something obvious.”

“Yeah, it’s usually don’t read the weird Latin incantation in that book or don’t go outside to investigate weird noises, not checking your mirrors!” He pauses. “Hey, wait! They’re not even your mirrors! You’re fucking up all my shit!”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I’m getting us out of here.”

During Namjoon’s stunned silence, you turn the ignition and peel out of the parking lot as best you can with one good hand, tailspinning onto the main road, tires squealing. “That was… kind of hot.”

“What, me telling you to shut up or my driving?”

“...Both?”

“I—yeah, that’s fair. You’re big, but you seem like the type to enjoy getting pushed around.” Namjoon stays quiet, and when you dare a glance over at him, his cheeks are red. “Did you get a boner when I punched you?”

That actually gets a laugh out of him. “Don’t go there.” You shrug.

The two of you drive for a while. There’s nothing in the rearview mirror. No one behind you. Really, the world around you seems normal, quiet, still. It almost has you second-guessing everything you’d seen, all the things Namjoon had said. And you don’t know him beyond breaking his nose, but everything in you is screaming to trust him.

So you do.

“Hey, do you mind if we swing by my place? It’s, like, two minutes away, and I should probably grab some stuff.”

Namjoon just shrugs.

Surprisingly, there’s very little time to panic. Namjoon sets about grabbing whatever he can from the kitchen and the bathroom while you shove clothes into a large duffel. You grab your laptop and chargers and Namjoon’s scoff is loud when you ask if you should bring your vibrator, too, but he doesn’t say no, so into the bag it goes.

Hoseok comes home in the midst of your ransacking. You meet him in the living room and, aside from the small look of confusion, he seems much happier to see you than he’d been this morning. “Hi,” he says. Sounds normal, too. Doesn’t sound like he’d seen some weird apocalypse shit outside. “Where is there a tall man in our kitchen shoving all our food into bags?”

“Ah, right, that.” You suck in a breath. “Hobi, go pack up whatever you care about and meet us back here in five minutes. There’s some Train to Busan shit going on and we’ve gotta get moving.”

“Yo, what the fuck!” Namjoon yells from the kitchen. “Are you just saying that because I’m Korean?”

Hoseok had looked dubious before, but seems to fall into blind trust upon hearing the strange, tall man in his kitchen is also Korean. “Hey, me too!” When Namjoon comes skittering into the living room, they shoot matching finger guns at one another and do a weird bro-dap. “Oh!” Hoseok says, recognition blooming. “Are you the guy? The nose guy?”

Namjoon just glares at you.

“That’s him,” you answer instead. “Go pack, please. I’m serious.”

Hoseok is scared of everything: spiders, his shadow, carousel animals, your neighbor’s dog because it’s fifteen years old and blind and lost half its fur. He once had nightmares for a week after you’d made him watch the first Goosebumps movie and insisted on sleeping in your room. Had nightmares again after he saw a particularly sinister Squishmallow at Wal-Mart. So, yeah. It’s imperative you convince him to come with you because he stands no chance on his own.

You don’t expect him to shrug and go off to pack.

“Hey, did one of you grab any ibuprofen?”

“Yeah, got it,” Namjoon replies.

“What about allergy medicine? I get really bad sinus headaches so I’ll be miserable without it, but if it’s too much I guess I could—”

“Pack it,” you shout back.

There’s a loud crash from his room. Another smaller one seconds later. “I’m fine!” he calls out. “Hey, cool! I found a bag of Twizzlers!”

“Hoseok—”

“Bring the Twizzlers, please!” Namjoon says, cheeks warming again. “What? I like them.”

It’s your turn to glare. “If I get eaten over some goddamn Twizzlers.”

“At least you’d be strawberry flavored?” Namjoon offers, as unhelpful as ever. Then, before you can respond, “Hey, man, are you almost ready? I texted my roommate and he’s good to go but I still need to pack up all my shit, too.”

“One sec!”

Approximately fifteen seconds later, Hoseok reappears in your living room with a bookbag, a duffel bag, and an oversized rolling suitcase.

“This isn’t a vacation, Hobi,” you deadpan.

He looks at you like you’re a moron. Fucking stupid but not dumb, you remind yourself. “Okay, but I’m not leaving all my nice clothes here to get eaten by zombie moths or whatever. There’s Off-White in here.”

Namjoon nods in understanding. “Valid.”

It’s not worth the argument. The three of you pile back into Namjoon’s truck, you stuck in the middle of the bench seat this time while Namjoon drives. Hoseok babbles the entire way, seemingly unfazed by this bizarre situation in which you’ve found yourselves. He tells you about the cafe he’d met a friend at, the latte he ordered and didn’t like. You can only tell he’s starting to get nervous because he devolves into more and more unhinged chatter. One second he’s telling you about a dog he saw wearing a little sweater and the next he’s rattling off the digits to his social security number.

“Forget you heard that,” you say to Namjoon.

He looks pained as he replies, “Unfortunately I have a god-tier echoic memory so I am physically incapable of doing that.” He feels your stare. “I’m really sorry, I can’t help it! Tell me something else so I forget it!”

“Okay: I think you’re about to run over that guy.”

Namjoon jerks his eyes back to the road and gasps, hitting the brakes so hard Hobi nearly goes flying into the dashboard. He’s moaning, bitching about his seatbelt probably breaking a few ribs, and the tiny man standing in the road in front of you hasn’t budged an inch. Stared death right in the eye and dared it to take him.

“Fucking Jimin,” Namjoon curses. At both your and Hoseok’s blank stares, he clarifies, “My roommate.”

“Is that seriously your roommate?” Hoseok asks, still pressing against his ribs to check for fractures.

Namjoon, huffing and puffing and finally at a complete stop, just nods. “Yeah.”

Hoseok is finally silent. Then, “That tiny, terrifying little man is your roommate and you managed to get knocked out in a bar fight? What, was he busy that night?”

There’s an obvious reply on the tip of Namjoon’s tongue, but before he can spit it out the tiny man is banging his fist against the window. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” he screams. “Open the door so I can kill you! Did you not see me? I told you I’d be waiting by the mailbox! I even packed all your shit for you and this is how you repay me, by almost hitting me with your stupid truck? You’re fucking cra—wait, who are these people?”

Hoseok, obviously scared shitless, grimaces as he waves hesitantly. “Hi!” you say, though Namjoon’s roommate probably can’t hear you through the thick glass. “I’m the person who broke his nose!”

Then the roommate is smiling. “Oh, that was you? You look different than I remember.”

When you look to Namjoon for answers, you find him slumped against the steering wheel. “Jimin’s a bartender,” is the only explanation you get.

You look out the window again. Small, but no mint-colored hair. “Ah, I had my suspicions about him. …I think.”

Namjoon cranks down the window just enough to tell Jimin he’ll have to hop in the bed with all the luggage, and then the four of you are off again. There’s one more stop, to Jimin’s boyfriend’s place to pick up him and his roommate, and all you can do is hope one of them has a larger vehicle.

Just like before, this drive is suspiciously unremarkable. You’ve long since resigned yourself to believing Namjoon and what little he’d told you, but you can tell Hoseok’s skeptical. Along for the ride, of course, because there’s always the small chance you hadn’t been lying and then he would’ve been knee-deep in shit, but skeptical nonetheless.

“Can I just ask—are you sure about this?” He’s looking out the window. Looking at all the normal cars and houses and businesses. Nothing about the outside world screams looming zombie apocalypse at all. “It seems pretty quiet.”

Namjoon sighs. Grips the steering wheel a little tighter, knuckles flashing white, but he seems okay. Adrenaline, maybe. It’ll hit later. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“You saw something?” Hoseok prods.

“I—” He nudges you. “Did you notice how most of the people in the waiting room just seemed to have bad colds? Sneezing, coughing, all that?” You nod. “I didn’t really think anything of it since it’s still flu season, but once I got called back, everything just felt… off.”

He sucks in a breath. Keeps driving. Keeps talking. The nurse who’d taken his vitals seemed exhausted. Cracked some joke about being glad Namjoon was there for a broken nose and not whatever respiratory thing was going around. Told him a doctor would be in shortly to patch him up, and when she left his room she hadn’t shut the door all the way. Left enough of a crack for Namjoon to see what was going on: frazzled nurses and doctors and techs huddled around, panicking. Namjoon thinks someone called for an ambulance.

True to her word, a doctor did come in to pack and splint his nose. Then, in the middle of jotting down the name and phone number of his pharmacy, a scream.

“An old man came in. I saw him when they took me back. He was just sitting on a bed because it was so crowded, wasn’t in a room. I guess at some point he passed out. Didn’t have a pulse. I think he was who they called the ambulance for, but while I was waiting for the doctor I kept hearing this weird moaning.”

Hoseok shudders. “Yeah, I know where this is going.”

“Right. So the doctor comes in, fixes me up, and next thing I know, someone’s screaming. Guess that old dude wasn’t as dead as they thought he was.”

“Could they have been wrong?” you ask tentatively. It’s so quiet outside, maybe everyone had just—

“No,” Namjoon says, and he does it with so much conviction you don’t argue further. Jimin bangs on the back windshield, holding his phone up to it so you can see.

It’s all over Twitter. Not even Facebook, where you’d expect a zombie apocalypse conspiracy to begin. No, there are posts all over Twitter and Instagram and even the local news station’s website. Hoseok looks a little green.

“Okay, so it’s definitely real and this is definitely happening,” you mutter. “Does anyone have a plan?”

There’s no plan.

Not even in a hyperbolic, we say we have no plan, but somehow we’ve conveniently got a small arsenal of weapons, kind of way. There’s simply no plan.

Jimin’s boyfriend is named Taehyung. They have a needlessly tearful reunion, and you wait in Taehyung’s tiny kitchen for twenty minutes while he packs. He’s roommates with the mint-haired bartender that you like. His name is Yoongi. He has all his stuff packed and waiting by the front door, and you like him so much more for it.

“Should I pack condoms?” Taehyung yells from his bedroom.

“Are you fucking ser—” Yoongi starts, then seems to come to a realization. “Yeah. Yes, you absolutely should.”

“‘Kay! Be out in a sec!”

Namjoon appears then, in the midst of shoving his battered phone in his pocket. He looks around the room, taking stock, and his eyebrows knit in confusion. Fuck, he’s so hot and you’re taking the express train to hell for thinking it. “Hey, has anyone seen Jimin?”

Jimin and Taehyung are gone. There are weird noises coming from the direction of Taehyung’s room. Yoongi looks positively haunted. “Sorry!” Jimin calls out. “Be out in a sec!”

“Tae said that exact thing five minutes ago!”

“Are you calling him a liar?” Jimin yells back. Sounds genuinely angry and genuinely prepared to defend Taehyung’s honor. You’ve never met a tinier, scarier person.

“I’m calling you both zombie food!”

Hoseok sidles up next to you. “Is it just me or is that other tiny man really hot?”

“His name’s Yoongi,” you tell him.

Hoseok just sighs, like he’s carrying all of the world’s burdens on his thin shoulders. “I’m learning a lot about myself.”

You watch him mentally tabulate through all the stages of grief while Namjoon and Yoongi think up a plan. Namjoon’s large but clumsy and mostly useless, and Yoongi is small and deadly. You can hold your own, they decide, so Yoongi adopts Hoseok and Namjoon becomes your problem.

“Wait a second,” Hoseok almost wails. “Why can’t I stay with her? She’s my roommate!”

Yoongi looks offended. Probably is. “You don’t think I can defend you?”

Hoseok flushes crimson. “I-I didn’t say that…”

He’s halfway through a stuttered, awkward apology when Jimin and Taehyung appear, not at all looking like they’d just been getting off together. Sure, Jimin’s hair is a little mussed, but Taehyung—

Taehyung is only holding a box.

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. “Taehyung.”

“Please don’t use that tone of voice with me,” Taehyung whines. “You know this is my emotional support jigsaw puzzle.”

“All you’re bringing is a jigsaw puzzle?”

“And condoms!”

“You’re not bringing any clothes? Medicine? Food?” Namjoon asks, because he might not be the oldest but he has the most overworked single mother energy out of all of you. “Jimin, go help him pack a bag of clothes, at least. Yoongi, can you grab any extra house stuff and toiletries you have laying around? Laundry detergent, soap, shampoo.”

Taehyung scoffs, sound dissipating as he disappears back down the hallway. “We can just steal that stuff.”

Hoseok looks like he’s about to pass out. “I am not turning into a criminal!”

He does.

You all do.

The six of you pile into two separate vehicles—you and Hoseok with Namjoon again in his truck, and Jimin and Taehyung behind you in Yoongi’s beater car. The plan is to drive to Namjoon’s cousin’s house in the middle of nowhere and bunker down there for a while. It’s plenty big—“His parents are politicians, so he’s got money,” was Namjoon’s explanation—and far enough outside of the city that it should buy you enough time to come up with something better.

Step one, though: Wal-Mart.

“Don’t worry, I steal from here all the time,” Taehyung says, breezing to the front of the pack like he’s leading the rest of you into war. Yoongi throws his hands up. Jimin looks lovestruck.

Hoseok hangs back by the cars, still traumatized from the Squishmallow experience, and you stay with him. You’ve seen Zombieland, and you won’t be able to do much fighting with a broken hand. At best you’d be able to fire a gun or whack someone with a pipe, but you’re not trying to go kamikaze mode on some innocent bastard in a Wal-Mart who’s also just trying to survive.

You’ve known Hoseok for a long time—since your sophomore year of college, when he was failing the stats class you shared and you took pity on him and offered some tutoring—so you’ve seen him in various states of distress. You know all of his tells, and the way he’s gnawing at his cuticles is a glaring one.

“Hobi, hey,” you say, moving to gently pull his hand away from his mouth. “Try to relax, okay? Don’t make yourself bleed.”

“I feel like I’m gonna be sick,” he replies. Anguish is clear on his face. “Everything feels fucking overwhelming and scary.”

“I know. I know it does, but if we’re gonna get through this we’re gonna need you, all right?” He nods but he’s shaking, still looking tormented and green around the edges. You pull him into a hug that has him nearly sagging in defeat.

Slowly, your shoulder grows wet and warm. Hoseok’s crying, body shaking from the weight of all his fear, and all you can do is hold him. “You’re my best friend, Hoseok,” you whisper into his hair. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You feel him nod. Then, in the smallest voice, “Yoongi too?”

Figures. Hoseok’s a horny little demon at the best of times—the thin walls of your apartment can attest to that—so it makes sense that impending doom would exacerbate it. “Sure, Hobi,” you assure him, scratching softly at his scalp.

You get him calmed down. Tucked into the backseat of Yoongi’s car so he can lay down. He’s asleep not long after, fatigue finally catching up, and you just stay. Park your ass at the edge of the seat, leave the door open, waiting. There’s a gentle, warm breeze, and you wish you could bottle it. Wish you could do more in this moment than just experience it, because it’s the last chance you’ll have at something resembling normalcy.

You might never be able to hug Hoseok in a parking lot again.

“We’re back!”

You look up, not at all surprised to see Taehyung skipping towards you, arms full of stolen goods. “I see that. What’d you get?”

“Oh, a lot of stuff,” he answers. Yoongi pops the trunk of his car and they set about shoving it all inside. “It was packed in there! Felt like Black Friday, except everyone was fighting over bread instead of ultra hi-def TVs.”

Wary, you look over your motley crew. “Are you all okay?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi answers, voice gruff. “It was mostly civilized. Don’t think people really realize what’s going on yet. Is Hoseok sleeping?”

You nod. “He, uh—had a moment? He got really upset, so he’s sleeping it off… if that’s okay?”

Yoongi just shrugs. “Yeah, whatever. Who’s riding with me?”

“Me,” Jimin says. “I’m not taking the bitch seat in the truck.” Taehyung immediately pouts, some unspoken bond clearly broken now, and Jimin scoffs. “Don’t pout at me. You know my ass requires a full seat.”

“But—”

Namjoon pointedly slams Yoongi’s trunk closed. Hoseok doesn’t stir an inch. “Jin’s expecting us so we need to get moving. Taehyung, shut up and get in the truck.” Then, to you: “Guess you’re with me again.”

Fine by you, especially since Namjoon ripped the sleeves off his shirt.

Not even Namjoon’s arms can salvage this drive.

Taehyung fiddles with the radio the whole time. Flips between radio stations that are all depressing carbon copies of one another. Complains that Namjoon’s truck is too old to have a CD player and that he doesn’t know how to work cassette tapes. Complains endlessly about Namjoon’s driving, too, although you can’t really blame him for that one.

“Hey,” he eventually says, elbowing you a little too hard in your side. “I don’t wanna be rude or anything, but—”

Namjoon tries to snort and immediately regrets it. “I don’t wanna be rude or anything, but I’m about to say something extremely rude.”

“I was not!” Taehyung defends, but when you quirk an eyebrow at him to continue, he says, “Are you willing to sacrifice yourself for me and Jimin in the unlikely event that the three of us are cornered by a zombie and are facing imminent death and only two will survive? Because I think you should be.”

You blink. “Um.”

“It just makes the most sense logically,” he continues, as if he hadn’t just volunteered you to be a zombie chew toy. “Jimin and I are soulmates. Platonic and romantic. And you’re—” He pauses. “Um. New. And Jimin might not look like it because he’s small, but he’s scrappy and can easily protect me, which means you’re redundant. Not to mention your hand is broken, so.”

You study him. “So, what are you bringing to the table?” you ask. Taehyung looks at you like you’re stupid. “I’m just saying, if Jimin and I can both defend ourselves, why wouldn’t we team up in the name of long-term survival and ditch the weakest link, which would be you?”

Namjoon laughs loudly beside you. His whole body shakes with it, a sound somewhere between a guffaw and a dog panting, and it’s a nice contrast to the death glare Taehyung’s sending you. “Jimin wouldn’t do that to me.”

“People are unpredictable when they’re staring death in the face.”

Taehyung’s silent the rest of the way.

It hurts to admit it, but you’re rethinking your all-politicians-are-evil, eat-the-rich stance, because it starts like—

(Seokjin’s parents’ place is truly in the middle of nowhere and safeguarded to the nth degree, harder to get close to than Area 51. The house itself is deceptively large and modern, clapped in black-stained red cedar. Single-level. Expansive windows you’d thought were an oversight until you got closer and realized they were made of armored glass.

“Shit, is all of this really necessary?” you ask, stepping inside. There’s definitely insider trading going on here. “Are these people on the goddamn Supreme Court?”

“That’s not funny,” Namjoon says.

“Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure that”—you point to a nondescript door with an ominous symbol on it—”is some kind of rich people bomb shelter and the only politicians I know that would require this level of security are the I just voted to strip half the country of the ability to make their own reproductive decisions kind.”

Namjoon chokes.

“Gross,” a voice chimes from behind you. “Please don’t debase and sully my parents’ good name by even joking that they’re conservatives.”

Jesus, is everyone in this family stupidly attractive? The man before you is shorter than Namjoon but still tall, legs as long as his shoulders are wide. Hair styled neat but dyed blond. Kind eyes and plush lips, and there’s the Kim family resemblance.

“Hi, I’m Seokjin,” he says, offering you his hand. Definitely raised in a family of politicians. “I hear you’re the one who broke my cousin’s nose.”

“I, uh, might’ve done that, yeah.”

Seokjin smiles. “Cool. Welcome. Please make yourself at home and we’ll chat strategy later.”)

Which becomes—

(Later turns into days.

For the most part, life proceeds normally. Seokjin gets periodic updates from his parents who have left the country entirely—(“Damn, they just left you here?” someone asks, and that’s how you meet Jungkook)—about the government response, or lack thereof, along with whatever useless psychobabble the CDC is sending out. None of it bodes well for the future, so you spend most of your time trying to stay in the present. Right now, you’re okay. Right now, you’re with a group of people hellbent on staying alive. Right now, you have enough food and shelter in a house in the middle of nowhere with armored glass windows and a bomb shelter.

The eight of you eat meals together and play games and talk about your Before lives. You already knew Namjoon worked at a nonprofit and that Jimin and Yoongi owned a bar, but you learn Taehyung was in grad school for art therapy. Hoseok, of course, split his time between the dance studio and the streetwear boutique his sister owned. Seokjin was some bigwig corporate attorney.

Jungkook, of all things, played minor league baseball.

Needless to say there won’t be any scientific breakthroughs from any of you.

“I was supposed to go pro this year,” Jungkook huffs, forcefully grabbing the microphone for the karaoke machine. He’s been singing “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor for four days.

All things considered, you somehow managed to fall into the best possible outcome, even if one of Taehyung or Jimin still tries to convince you to sacrifice yourself at least six times a day.)

Which culminates in the one possible downside—

“Yoongi wants Hoseok to move into my room,” Namjoon says, appearing in the doorway of your (now-solo, apparently) room. He takes up nearly the entire frame. It makes you feel a little lightheaded.

“Oh,” you reply stupidly. “Okay. Are you here for his stuff?”

“No, I’m here to ask if I can move in with you. I’m not really interested in spending the rest of the zombie apocalypse third-wheeling.”

Sarcasm seems like your best defense. “Wow, after all we’ve been through. We’ve got a real enemies to lovers vibe going on. I’m pretty into it.”

Namjoon flushes down to his toes. “Haaa, what? We’re—that’s not—we’re not even lovers yet.”

You give him a second, but he doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said, so you can’t help but smirk, to press on the bruise just to watch him squeal. “Yet?”

Now he turns full-on crimson. “That’s not what I meant.”

Somehow he’s still cute, even with the yellow-green bruising beneath his eyes and his sheepish, hunched posture. Namjoon is the kind of guy that makes you feel bold, makes you want to mess him up, but he’s also the kind of cute that has you relenting, easing off.

“Sure,” you finally say. “You can move your stuff in here.”

He smiles, dimples flashing, and he’s only gone a few minutes so you have no time to catch your breath before he’s back, dumping his clothes on the bed to put them in the dresser. He doesn’t mention sleeping arrangements because there’s no point: all of the bedrooms have single, queen-sized beds. Naturally, you and Hoseok had bunked together with little fuss, having fallen asleep in each other’s beds a million times after years spent living together. You assume it’d been the same for Namjoon and Yoongi and their decades of friendship.

You’d joked about being enemies to lovers; clearly you’d chosen the wrong trope.

“How’s your nose?” you ask, wordlessly moving to help sort and refold the t-shirts as best you can. They smell nice: something soft and clean and inherently Namjoon.

“Still sore,” he answers. Says a small thank you when you push a stack of black tees towards him. “Jungkook’s been helping me with the packing.”

“He’s had a lot of broken noses?”

“He’s had a lot of broken everything.”

It hits you, then, how much of an outsider you are. That the six of them are all connected, have history. And Namjoon must notice, because he grows serious. Gets shy all over again when he says, “Hey, we’re all glad you and Hoseok are here.”

You snort. “Yeah, as a sacrifice.”

Namjoon laughs a little, too. “Taehyung’s only so insistent because he’s useless. He accidentally stepped on a stink bug once and cried. He’s not really built for something like this.”

“Are any of us?”

“You are, I think,” he says immediately, no hesitation. “You’ve been really calm, haven’t panicked at all. It’s helped me a lot—all of us, really.”

Oh, you’re embarrassed. “I have to be, living with someone like Hobi.” Why are you embarrassed? “One time he saw the red light on the coffee machine and slept in my room for a week because he thought there was a demon in our apartment.”

Namjoon can’t help himself. “Was there?”

You sigh, over-dramatic and theatrical. “No, just me.”

He laughs, loud and unashamed, but it sounds a lot more like everything’s going to be fine.

Hoseok had been a cuddler.

You’d always wake up with him wound around you like a snake, limbs akimbo as he snored quietly. But, like all things Hoseok did and does, there was grace in it. He kept a normal body temperature. He didn’t hog too much of the bed or the duvet. He didn’t kick you or elbow you in the side of the head. Aside from the cuddling, which has never really been your thing, Hoseok was a perfect bed-sharing partner.

The same cannot be said for Namjoon.

His broken nose has him snoring at obscene levels. It doesn’t lessen when you shove a pillow over your head, either, which is not the way you fantasized about going lightheaded in bed with him. Not to mention his stupidly large body is stupidly large and requires a lot of space. What had started as a clean split down the middle has you grasping to the edge, trying desperately not to fall off. Every time you try to inch closer to the center, Namjoon unconsciously protests and sends elbows flying, and arms that size can do a lot of damage. He sleeps so hot you always wake up in a thin sheen of sweat just from the proximity.

You’re not sure you sleep at all for the first three days.

And then things start to shift. Like your roommate, Namjoon is a cuddler too, but in vastly different ways. Hoseok’s would be subconscious—he never dared to touch you when he was awake out of respect for boundaries and personal space, but Namjoon doesn’t have those hangups. He climbs into bed one night and immediately fits himself to your back before asking if it’s okay, and yeah, of course it is. You couldn’t have waterboarded Hoseok into touching you purposely the way Namjoon does casually, so unthinking, just does what he wants.

It makes you ache.

So you become sleepless for other, new reasons.

His snoring lessens, gives way to these breathy little sounds that border on soft moans. Still obscene. He stops forcing you to the edge of the mattress and instead presses you into it, the weight of his massive body leaving you with nowhere else to go. Every time he touches you, either knowingly or not, he leaves trails of heat in his wake.

Even in sleep, Namjoon is a tease.

Sometimes his hands will drift—too close, too far, both simultaneously—and you feel your breath hitch, wondering if he’s awake, if he’s doing it on purpose. Sometimes you wake up with him wrapped around you, hard cock pressing into your ass, the small of your back. Sometimes he’ll rut once, twice, and come to and disappear to the opposite side of the bed in shame and embarrassment, leaving you frustrated and pretending to be asleep.

Because you’re not… sure.

You know you’re attracted to Namjoon. You know he’s some degree of attracted to you in return. But the outside world is so volatile, the situation you’re in so unstable, that you’re afraid to push. Afraid the delicate house of cards will come tumbling down, that you two will fuck to get it out of your systems and make things horribly awkward, ruin the good thing you’ve got going.

But you can only take so much, is the thing. There’s a very large man with a very large cock at your back and you’ve had enough of this game.

“Namjoon,” you say, rolling in his arms so you’re face to face. You poke him in the stomach when he doesn’t stir. “Namjoon.”

He jolts awake, hands immediately moving to you—checking that you’re still there, that you’re safe. “Wha’?” he slurs, voice thick with sleep, deeper than you’ve ever heard it. “Wha’ happened?”

Now you feel awkward. He’s concerned with your safety in the midst of a fucking apocalypse and you’re just horny. Still, sometimes the only way out is through, so you blurt out, “Do you want to fuck me?”

That grabs his attention. He’s fully awake now, propped up on one elbow, gazing down at you like you’ve completely lost your mind. Fucking stupid but not dumb, like a mantra. “Uh.” He pauses. Swallows. Pushes sweaty hair off his forehead. “Did—did you, uh, get bit? Are you feeling okay?”

You glare, though it’s useless in the dark. “I’m fine. How’s your dick?” You dare a glance downward. Still hard is the answer.

Namjoon embarrasses easily in a way that is both horribly endearing and horribly inconvenient, because instead of feeding you some greasy line like want to find out? he’s reaching down to adjust himself in his sleep shorts, stumbling over apologies as he goes. “Shit, fuck, I’m so sorry, this is so awkward, I’m sorry—”

“Can you answer my question, please?”

Namjoon stills. Puts that giant brain to use. “Um. Which one? You asked me two.”

“Well, I can clearly see that your dick is still very hard, so let’s start with the first one.”

There’s a sound that you think is meant to sound like a laugh. A pained a-haaa that sounds more like Namjoon begging for divine intervention in the form of death. “The, uh, doIwanttofuckyou question?”

“That would be the one, yes.”

“Is… is there a wrong answer?”

“No.”

He nods, tongue darting out to wet his lips. It’s lewd, a cruel and unusual punishment for your fleeting moment of horny delirium. Gets even worse when he tugs the plush bottom one between his teeth, staring at you all the while. Sizing you up, it feels like. Deciding between what he wants to do and what he’s actually going to do.

Just like the last week of your life, everything goes from zero to one hundred in a split-second.

“Do you wanna talk about this first?” he asks. You’re just staring at one another and he already sounds fucked out. Obscene.

“What’s there to talk about?”

He reaches for you. Two fingers beneath your chin and a thumb on the hinge of your jaw to keep you where he wants you. “What you want.” Leans in, his lips so close to your ear. “What you don’t.”

Around you, the world narrows. Nothing exists outside of this bed. Not the weird house in the middle of the woods. Not the apocalypse. Not a goddamn thing except Namjoon and his big hands and the way he’s touching you. “Tell me what you want,” he says, words skimming along the column of your throat, “and I’ll do it.”

You wonder if he’s talking about big-picture shit or just sex. If he’s someone who needs something concrete to hold onto before he fucks or if it even matters anymore. Would he still want to sleep with you if you’d met under different circumstances that night at the bar, or is it just something to pass the time while you wait out the end of the world?

Although, you feel like the world might end if you don’t finally fuck this man, so maybe it doesn’t matter.

“I’m clean and I have an IUD I’ll have to figure out how to remove in three years if I live that long. I’m down for mostly anything as long as you ask first but I draw the line at most bodily fluids. Oh, also—don’t kiss me if your tongue goes anywhere near my ass. I think that’s it, though. What about you?”

Momentarily stunned, Namjoon’s hands stop moving. “I’ve never eaten ass before.”

“Oh. I mean, we totally can if you want to, but—really?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because your lips are pornographic,” you admit, completely void of shame. “Like, you have the kind of mouth that looks like it’s done a lot of dirty things.”

Namjoon laughs. “You also said I look like I like getting pushed around.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Do you?”

He’s growing bold. His response is a low chuckle, more vibration than anything, and he reaches for you again. Seems like he can’t keep his hands off of you, needs to be touching you always, even before when it was harmless, and this time he goes for your hips. Fits his large hands to your waist, the tops of your thighs, presses his thumbs into your hip bones. “Most people don’t try.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” you reply dazedly.

His lips move to your neck, trace the neckline of your sleep shirt, dip below to nip at your collarbone. “Where’s your hand, baby?” he speaks into your skin. Finds what he’s looking for and pins your arm above your head, gently like you’ll break. You think you might. “You can push me around when you’re healed. Can I kiss you?”

You must nod, because Namjoon drags his lips from your throat to your jaw to the corner of your mouth, and then he’s pressing them to your own. This is gentle too, Namjoon careful with his own injury, and it’s not lost on you that this is your fault. You’re not going to get the filthy, primal fucking you want because you’d thrown a punch in a bar, but this isn’t a bad consolation prize, you think.

Because Namjoon is good at this. He’s easy to rile up but rock-solid once he pushes past it. And, sure, he kisses you gently, but he means it. Whimpers into your mouth like you’re doing him a favor, and you think you might be able to do this, just this, forever.

Your free hand fists the thin cotton of his shirt as he licks into your mouth. It should be gross, because it’s the middle of the night and you no longer have the luxury of your favorite toothpaste, but you find it hard to care when he drops his weight, that massive body of his pressing into you, against you in all the right ways. This time it’s you who whines, and it’s a small sound but it seems to drive Namjoon a little crazy.

“Wanna hear you,” he says, pulling back, and you’re about to ask him what that means, if he just wants you to start moaning like some bad porn, but then he’s grabbing your leg to wrap it around his waist and pressing his hips to you harder.

“Oh fuck,” you sigh. Even through his sleep shorts you can tell he’s big—big and really fucking hard. Forget a zombie apocalypse, you’re not sure you’ll survive this right here.

What Namjoon wants, Namjoon gets. You’re unabashed as he grinds his cock against your core, careless about your volume. You’ve suffered through almost everyone in this house either fucking or jerking off, and you can take a little ribbing, so you’re going to enjoy this. What’s the point in modesty if you’re all going to die, anyway?

So you just keep babbling, words spilling out of your mouth before you can filter them, writhing and whining all the while. “I know, baby,” Namjoon says, hands all over, mouth not far behind. “Keep going,” he urges, hands to your hips to move you the way he wants.

“Thigh,” you say, barely able to get the word out of your mouth with the way he’s moving against you. “Wan-wanna ride your thigh.”

He keens. “Shit, yeah, okay.”

Namjoon fucks like it’s the end of the world.

You get off on his thigh but he deems it not enough. Strips you bare and situates himself between your legs. Puts that sinful mouth to use and gets you off again. Asks you when the last time you had sex was and laughs at your answer, all condescending heat, and he uses the slick from you and his mouth to stretch you on three of his fingers.

You’re going to ruin this man’s hair once you have two working hands. Maybe just ruin him in general.

The build-up is dizzying. One second he’s slow and sensual, content to take you apart, continuously bring you to the edge just to yank you back—and the next is all feral urgency. He can’t make you come, can’t kick his shorts off, can’t peel his briefs down those thick thighs fast enough.

“Will you ride me?” he asks, so intent on taking your one rule to heart. As long as you ask first. But some things don’t need to be questioned, like when Hobi asks if you want to take an edible and watch the Spice Girls movie and will you sit on Namjoon’s massive dick.

You huff, already halfway in his lap. “Clown question, bro.”

As you sink down onto him, you understand why he’d laughed when you said it’d been awhile, why he got a little cocky. Three fingers hadn’t been anywhere near enough, but the stretch, the overwhelming fullness, is delicious.

“I was go—ah, fuck—gonna suggest you don’t ca-call me bro, but I don’t think I care when you feel this fucking good.”

“Yeah?” you stupidly ask, and you’re usually better at dirty talk, but there’s not much you can do when all of your brainpower is going towards riding the best cock you’ve ever had in your life. “Tell me.”

Namjoon moans, grips your hips to move you again. Back and forth at a steady, torturous pace. “Baby,” he whines. “Feels like one of those wa-water wiggler toys—”

Okay, so clearly neither of you are at your best right now.

And that’s how it goes. You brace yourself on Namjoon’s chest, nails of your good hand digging into his pec, your broken one held in his. Time seems to drag on forever and stop all at once, and you’re oversensitive and admittedly a little in pain and a lot exhausted so you’re probably not going to come again, but you find yourself dangerously close watching Namjoon chase his own orgasm.

Head tilted back, neck on display, mouth dropped open. You want to shove your fingers inside, so you do.

He comes immediately.

Namjoon kisses you as the two of you come down, whispering more praise in between each one. Tells you how good you are, how beautiful, that he’s glad you broke his nose. Then he realizes the dumb thing that has come out of his mouth and pauses, looking confused and delicate. He’s so cute you kiss him first this time.

And then you pull back and realize he’s got blood all over his face, gushing from the nose he’s so glad you broke, and he’s out of the bed and into the bathroom before you can blink.

“You can’t do that, we’re soulmates!”

Jimin scoffs, placing the Robber on Taehyung’s hex tile anyway, ruthless as he watches his boyfriend miserably discard half his hand. “Your fault for building a city there. I’m coming for your ore tile next.”

You roll your lips to keep from laughing. You hadn’t expected the house’s sardonically-named Royal Couple to be on the brink of disaster twenty minutes into a game of Catan, but you’re safe for now in your small part of the world, surrounded by all of these people you’ve come to love, Namjoon especially, so you’ll take all the manufactured, external drama you can get.

“Told you he’d turn on you, Tae,” you chime. He gives you the finger. “You can’t trust Libra men.”

“What about virgins!” Jungkook calls from the kitchen, where Yoongi has convinced him to drink tequila and brandy to see if he can get him to punch Namjoon, too, and Seokjin laughs so hard he looks like he’s about to keel over and die.

Yeah, you think you’re going to be fine.

#bts imagines #bts fic #namjoon fic #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon imagine #btswritingcafe #thebtswritersclub #btshoneyhive #bts smut #bts scenarios

[ticklishfiend]

Limitless Bond (Good Omens)

(Switch!Crowley/Switch!Aziraphale)

Summary : Aziraphale and Crowley have a tickle fight during their cute little movie night.

a/n : i’ve been aziracrow pilled there’s a worm in my brain screaming abt them at all times edit: reading this back i’ve realized i’ve never seen a single james bond film so take it with a grain of salt lmao

Word Count : 2892

hope u enjoy :D

. . .

Let’s do some math for a second.

Crowley and Aziraphale have been on Earth together for 6000 years. They’ve been in each other's lives as hundreds, thousands of human generations around them lived and died. And yet, only in the 4 years after the apocalypse did they dare truly bask in one another’s touch. In 0.00066667% of the time they’ve known each other, Aziraphale and Crowley taught themselves to be truly comfortable in one another’s presence, learning about each other in ways they never thought possible.

Try not to think too hard on the numbers. It’s quite difficult sometimes for humans to grasp an occult being’s concept of time. Time for angels and demons is so wildly different from anything a human could ever experience, and that is exactly what makes Aziraphale and Crowley’s love for each other so special and unique. Their time is limitless, so their love is limitless.

What a human can comprehend, however, is how infuriatingly frustrating their relationship must be considering the fact they refuse to actually talk about it. Non-humans are funny like that.

Why put it into words when they both know it’s there? Intrinsically, they feel it, they know it without a shadow of a doubt, and yet somehow they are both still too scared to talk. If they do, it’ll make it real. Their love could literally break down celestial systems incomprehensible to the human mind. Or it could just result in some nasty paperwork. Either way, both sound horrific, and are things the angel and demon are silently working together to avoid.

Whether they ever choose to talk about it or not, those 4 years were magic on Earth.

During that time, Crowley learned that Aziraphale’s hair might even be softer than his wings. Aziraphale learned scratching Crowley’s back when he’s sleepy makes the demon smile without knowing he’s moving a muscle. A demon taught an angel to love roughhousing, and an angel taught a demon the joys of a good cuddle.

But possibly their new favorite physical affection to take advantage of was one they learned together on a casual, cozy movie night.

Aziraphale grinned as Crowley strolled into the bedroom, “I’ve never seen that shirt before.”

Crowley pulled the shirt down to show it off, giving a little wiggle.“What, you don’t like Bond?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Aziraphale, “But I’ve never actually watched the titular James Bond films, so I can’t really say anything,” he said with a teasing tilt in his voice. He knew he’d get a reaction out of such a ghastly confession.

Crowley gaped, stuttering over incomplete words in shock, “Wha—you, you never—I mean—angel, that’s gotta be illegal. Seriously, if I phoned the FEDs right now they’d probably swarm in here guns-a blazing for your crimes,” Crowley shook his head, throwing himself onto the bed next to Aziraphale. “We’re watching it now, I don’t care. You’re lucky I got you this TV set up last month.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly, but didn’t argue. “You can’t be mad at me if it’s not my cup of tea. You know the kind of films I prefer, and I don’t think these fit the list.”

“No no you’ll love it. Got all that romantic filler your heavenly heart desires,” Crowley said, the TV turning on with a flick of his wrist as he settled comfortably against his angel.

They watched together in an easy silence, Aziraphale trying to really gather everything he could from a movie he knows Crowley loves so dearly. He’s not even sure which Bond movie they’re watching at the moment, but he assumes it’s Crowley’s favorite.

But during an intense shootout scene, Aziraphale does get a little bored. He’s always preferred scenes of great dialogue, heartfelt moments passing between characters. Right now he’s just seeing mediocre special effects and lots of screaming. He gets the appeal, sort of, but it’s just not his thing.

Crowley on the other hand was as tuned in as ever. Aziraphale smiled as he watched his friend’s intense expression, seeing Crowley suppress his excitement over a movie he knows he’s had to have seen dozens of times now.

His gaze wanders back down to Crowley’s torso, “Where did you get that shirt? Really, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it.”

Crowley blinked like snapping out of a trance, trying to look nonchalant as insecurity trickled over him. “Oh, this thing? M’not sure I recall,” he snuggled deeper into Aziraphale’s chest, “It’s my night shirt. Don’t wear it often.”

Aziraphale squinted. “You’re ‘not sure you recall’?”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, yellow eyes bearing into blue, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Aziraphale looked puzzled, shaking Crowley’s shoulder playfully and smiling at the hiss it produced, “Are you hiding something from me?”

“No, stop pestering me,” Crowley growled, but it was entirely unconvincing with that playful grin on his face. He faced the TV again as if his mind wasn’t completely on the angel holding him tight.

“You’re really not going to tell me?” Aziraphale giggled, “It can’t be that bad, darling, it’s just a t-shirt.”

Crowley groaned, hiding his face in Aziraphale’s chest, “Nooooo nonononono, I’m not talking,” he said, words muffled in Aziraphale’s silk pajamas.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows playfully, rubbing up and down Crowley’s back through the shirt in question. “You know, humans have this fun little game they play to make someone reveal funny secrets. I only wonder if it will actually work on a demon.”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale with a suspicious glare, “The hell are you talking about?”

Aziraphale said nothing, giving a nonchalant hum. Instead, he moved his hand down Crowley’s back towards his ribs, giving it a quick pinch.

Crowley squawked, arching away but getting caught in Aziraphale’s hold. He snapped a look Aziraphale’s way, “Do not.”

Aziraphale giggled in glee, wanting to clap his hands together but needing to hold Crowley close. “I wasn’t sure it would work!”

“Angel-“ Crowley growled.

“A ticklish demon. How silly~” Aziraphale sang, tickling into Crowley’s ribs without wasting any more time.

Crowley bit off a yelp, twisting in Aziraphale’s grip as if he was trying to get away (he wasn’t, but he’s allowed to play along). But Aziraphale kept pinching and prodding and finally Crowley just couldn’t hold back anymore, letting out a peal of giggles and laughs that had Aziraphale cooing.

“Nonononohohoho!” Crowley shook his head into Aziraphale’s chest, hiding his smile. His arm was a little stuck under Aziraphale’s back, so there wasn’t much else he could do.

“Saying no is what started this, dear,” Aziraphale smiled, bringing his other hand around to tickle into Crowley’s neck, relishing in how high-pitched those giggles became. “Goodness, how ticklish are you?”

“I don’t knohohow! Not tryna fihihind out-!” Crowley squeaked out the last word, finding out his ears are especially sensitive to perfectly manicured fingernails.

Crowley squirmed like a worm on a hook, pushing against Aziraphale without even meaning to, his head shaking back and forth like a protest to his giggles.

Aziraphale gasped, “Is this your first time being tickled, Crowley?”

“Stohohop!” Crowley guffawed, hardly taking in the angel’s words.

“I asked you a question,” he said simply, pinching at Crowley’s belly and watching Crowley’s feet kick the sheets.

“Fuhuhucker!” was all Crowley could get out.

“Oh alright,” Aziraphale reluctantly halted his attack, carding fingers through Crowley’s hair. “I said, was that your first time being tickled?”

Crowley huffed, pouting against Aziraphale’s chest and keeping his gaze on the TV. “You’re not even watching the movie.”

The angel chuckled lightly, giving Crowley’s head a tender kiss. “It’s a lovely movie, darling, but it’s hardly as interesting as this little discovery.”

Crowley grumbled, mumbling a response into the silk pajamas.

“What was that dear?”

Crowley lifted his head with a devious look on his face, “I said you’re a prick,” Crowley dug into Aziraphale’s sides, grinning wickedly at how wide his angel’s eyes became.

“AH! Cr-Crohohowley!” Aziraphale fell gracefully into his giggle fit, expelling his excess energy by gripping onto Crowley’s wrists.

“So I take it you’ve never been tickled either?” said Crowley as he wiggled into the angel’s ribs, biting his own cheek when Aziraphale threw his head back in laughter.

“Yehehes! I mean-! Nohoho, I-! Crohohowley plehehease!” Aziraphale never realized how difficult speaking could be when getting tickled. He truly learned something new every day with his dear demon. His mind was mush and all he could think about was how dreadfully ticklish he apparently was.

“Oh poor angel, thought he could get away with teasing a demon,” Crowley teased, poking sporadically across Aziraphale’s tummy and making the angel’s laughter grow. “Naaaah, now that I know your weakness I’m never lettin’ you live it down.”

Crowley crawled on top of Aziraphale, shoving his thumbs into his underarms. “NO! Nohoho Crohohowley! Bad snahahake!” Aziraphale teased even through his laughter, unabashedly having a great time.

“You having fun down there or somethin’?” Crowley chuckled.

“Yehehes!” Aziraphale squeaked, face turning pink from mirth.

Crowley shook his head fondly, not surprised in the slightest. But he could tell Aziraphale would probably appreciate some air soon, whether he actually needed it or not, and eased up. Not before giving his belly once last poke, of course, just to hear him yip.

Aziraphale giggled through his breath, hands resting on Crowley’s thighs. The demon couldn’t help blushing, but didn’t move.

“I never realized it felt like that,” Aziraphale said, a smile etched between his rosy cheeks. “I knew tickling was used as torture way back when, but my goodness.”

“Human vessels are a funny thing,” Crowley said, unsure of where to put his hands now that they weren’t being used as weapons. As if Aziraphale could tell, the angel gently took them in his own, laying their hands down on Crowley’s thighs.

They sat staring into each other's eyes for a while. It was such a comforting silence, one Crowley felt warm in. Why did Aziraphale always have to open his damn mouth-

“You’re quite ticklish on those ribs of yours,” Aziraphale shot a cheeky grin, eyebrows up like he’s being clever. Crowley groaned, looking up to the ceiling.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You never did tell me where you got that shirt from…?” Aziraphale said, slowly loosening his grip on Crowley’s hands before the demon squeezed back-

“I’ll end you.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m serious, angel. Death, discorporation, sooo much paperwork-“

“Was the shirt a former lover’s? Are you embarrassed, Crowley?” Aziraphale teased as he starting fighting Crowley’s grip, their hands now playing for dominance.

Crowley grunted, not shocked that Aziraphale was winning their little fight, “Grk, no! It’s…just…a secRET-!” He was cut off by a squeak as one perfectly manicured hand tore from his grasp and gripped onto his ribs, squeezing and pinching and tickling. Crowley collapsed forward in his squirmy laughter, hand still holding tight to one of Aziraphale’s.

“Oooh a secret, you say? Do tell me more,” Aziraphale finally fought his other hand free, now tickling up and down Crowley’s torso as the demon wiggled and laughed freely on top of him. His head was pressed firmly to Aziraphale’s chest, and my that just wouldn’t do anymore, now would it?

“You keep hiding your smile from me! It’s rather unfair, my face was on full display when you tickled me,” Aziraphale said before pushing Crowley to the other side of the mattress, tickling him the whole way down. He hovered over Crowley with a big grin.

“Ahahangel! This is stupihihid!” Crowley cackled, head turning this way and that like trying to hide his face in the sheets surrounding him.

“Was it stupid when you tickled me?” Aziraphale accused, pinching Crowley’s hips and smiling when he bucked and kicked.

“GAHAHAhaha-!” Crowley guffawed, finding words very hard at the moment. “Nohoho-! Was— fuhuhunny!”

“Oh Lord, now you’re just asking for it,” Aziraphale shot his hands up into Crowley’s armpits. It tickled like hell (Heaven? no, definitely hell) on himself, so maybe it’ll be the same for Crowley.

Crowley. Screamed.

Maybe scream is the wrong word. The sound that left Crowley was like a screech, a hurtle of pure loud noise that fell into cackles, squeals, and Aziraphale’s favorite, the snort. Oh what a sound it was. The angel would never forget it (and unfortunately, neither would the demon).

“Oh wow…” Aziraphale giggled at Crowley’s expense.

“Ahahangel-! I—shihihit-! I’ll tahahalk!” Crowley managed to get the words out through his laughter, a feat he wished he could be proud of. Aziraphale conceded even though he honestly really didn’t want to. Crowley looked so cute when he laughed, it was hard to quit.

Aziraphale drew his hands away, and Crowley took a moment to catch his breath. When the moment faded, he threw a pillow over his face and screamed into it quite dramatically. Aziraphale pulled it off and held it gently in his lap.

“You were telling me about the shirt?” Aziraphale said, scribbling a finger onto Crowley’s clothed tummy. Crowley batted it away with a hiss.

“Do you even actually care about the shirt or did you just want an excuse to torture me?” Crowley tried yanking the pillow back but found it held in an iron grip. He settled for crossing his arms instead.

Aziraphale took his hand. “If you really don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. I just thought a game would be fun,” Aziraphale handed him the pillow.

Crowley took it, raising an eyebrow, “So you were bored of the movie?”

Aziraphale winced. “…Meh?”

Crowley’s face pinched in frustration, “But it’s James ffffucking Bond! No one in the history of EVER has been bored by a James Bond movie, angel, you are literally setting records here!”

“I just prefer the softer films! You know, your…Pride And Prejudice types.”

“That’s one of your favorite books, that hardly counts.”

“It’s still a good film!”

“Okay okay, point stands though, that you only did all that to get out of watching my movie. You don’t actually care about the origins of my shirt at all, do you?” Even though his arms were already crossed, he made a little harumph motion with them, hand still holding Aziraphale’s gently. He turned his head away from Aziraphale, feigning anger. Crowley did love a petty argument every now and then.

“Oh come ooooonn,” Aziraphale shook Crowley by the shoulder with his free hand. Crowley said nothing. “Don’t be like this, you know how much I hate the silent treatment.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a pointed look that said ‘duh, why else do you think i’m pulling the silent treatment?’ before turning back around.

Aziraphale sighed playfully, “Whatever am I going to do without you to talk to…” He couldn’t hold back a cheeky grin as he pinched Crowley’s side, the demon flinching but still saying nothing. “Who will I complain to when my favorite books get turned into terrible films?”A few pokes to the belly, and Crowley’s knees shot up. “Who will teach me about the different plant life in London?” Three pinches to the ribs and he heard a stifled giggle as Crowley’s back arched away from his fingers.

Aziraphale let the moment hang in the air. He wanted Crowley to feel anticipation crawling up his spine. Aziraphale saw him squirm slightly into the sheets.

He quickly pinched up and down Crowley’s side, from his hip to his rib, the demon flinching hard with a keening giggle. He rolled over quickly, ticklish laughter spilling from him as he slapped at Aziraphale’s hands, feet digging into the mattress. “Okay okahahay! I gihive, you dihihick!”

Aziraphale pulled away for the final time, meaning it this time (well maybe, who knows with how playful they’ve both felt this evening). He laid on his back next to a sprawled out Crowley, putting his hand in his…friend’s.

They basked in each other’s presence for a little while, rubbing their thumbs over the skin of their hands, playing with each other’s fingers, once Crowley dared to tickle Aziraphale’s palm. But then the credits started to roll on the film and Crowley felt the need to confess.

“It was a convention.”

“Hm?”

Crowley laid his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder,“It was a, er…ngk,” he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, letting go of weird insecurities. “…a James Bond convention. They held one in London when those newer films came out. I’m a pretty big fan, you know that, so I popped by, made myself…known.” His confession was awkward but very real, and Aziraphale could tell that even as silly as it was, it did take something for Crowley to admit that. “Got a t-shirt while I was there, thought hell, why not, I’m here, the shirts here, probably made to be. So yeah. My new nightshirt.”

Aziraphale smiled so wholeheartedly at Crowley the demon was half-worried he’d pop something. “That’s so sweet, Crowley. I always knew you loved James Bond, but worthy enough to have the Anthony J. Crowley show up to his convention-?”

“Ohhhh bite me a new one, angel,” Crowley shook their intertwined fingers, getting even comfier against him. Aziraphale did the same, leaning into Crowley and wrapping an arm around his waist.

They didn’t talk about this when they woke from their nap. They didn’t need to. At least, they thought they didn’t need to. Their time has always been limitless. They thought their love always would be too.

. . .

a/n : ok im going to sleep goobyeee

#tickle community #tickling #tickle fic #good omens tickling #lee!crowley #ler!aziraphale #lee!aziraphale #ler!crowley #switch!aziraphale #switch!crowley #ticklish crowley #ticklish aziraphale

[diacripticcomplex]

Please can I have Yui x shin smut? (Sorry if I didn’t do this right)

Shin's POV:

What am I to do with her? Killing her would be too easy, would completely ruin the point of this punishment, my brother would urge me to lock her up and maybe have her whipped for this discretion, however I wanted to do something more detrimental. Watching her right now, all cornered with nowhere to run off to, no one will save her. "It's not what you think..!" she had the nerve to even try to defend herself. "It's rather too late to be trying that now, don't you think?" I say, laughing a bit, it was ridiculous she's so silly, she does have this impact on me. Her stupidness makes me laugh uncontrollably sometimes too. I think I came up with a solution to this ordeal, I will humiliate her in front of her previous owners since she allowed them to plague her with their disgusting bites. I summoned one of our familiars to get me a dog collar and leash. "What are you doing with tha-" she began to question, as is her way but I cut her off by grabbing her by the throat, bringing her for a messy sloppy kiss, making sure she practically suffocates. While she's melting in my kisses I take this opportunity to wrap and lock in the collar and leash.

I don't think she realizes cause she's still craving my kisses and moaning slightly into them, if I wasn't so pissed at her I'd gladly give her some good loving. But I am pissed. I yanked the leash so hard to push her away from me, she yelped in shock, it was rather enticing. Hm, how to humiliate her some more. I tear her clothing off her, leaving only her underwear and bra. They were white and boring looking, perhaps staining them with her blood would look nicer. I use my nails to scratch her deeply, smearing the blood on her butt and breasts. my handprint was nice and visible, in her attempts to protest during this I yanked her down to my boots. I spat on her face and told her to lick my boots clean. Now if she does it, that is honestly insane but I want to see the limits of her humility, how much can this stupid silly girl take?

"Shin, I can't do that..please don't make me.." she made that unhappy face of hers, I kicked her down as a result and then dragged her all the way to the shit smelling Sakamaki Manor, it was very cold outside, she honestly might get that human illness from this cold, I forgot the name of it but my brother knows what it is called, he studied the human body and mind while we were imprisoned, he doesn't like to admit it but he is fascinated by these weak creatures.

We made it to the manor, entering was no issue; these weak sub species don't have proper locks. "Oi you disgusting bastards, show yourselves!" I shouted. "...Shut up, you're so loud." the laziest bastard had the audacity to say, I laughed at this. " I'll show you who's loud." I state looking right at her, I was going to violate her right in front of all these smelling scums. "What the hell are you doing here?" the one named after a car brand asked me, then his eyes looked down at the situation his former prey was in. "What the fuck did you do to her..!" His shouting caused the lazy one to open his eyes. "Heh...looks like the slut got what she wanted..who cares.." he said, not a care in the world, I wish I had that type of attitude, I feel like I care too much sometimes. "This is highly irregular, why are you here?" The tall glasses one asked. "I'm waiting for all you bastards to get down here so I can show you all something." I state, glaring right at him. Soon enough the troubled triplets who I was related to came down. "What the hell is going on?" the annoying red headed one stated. I smirked at his question then yanked the leash once more, bringing her super close to me. I started to unbuckle my belt and take out my piece, which I had no issue with. I was proud of this piece and urinated on her in front of them. "What in the world...Why is he peeing on her!?" the Purple haired crybaby asked. "She seems like it~ Little bitch really is heartless" the perverted one moaned out, but regardless they all looked at me with such shock and unhappiness in their eyes, I quite literally enjoyed that, more than that her beaten face and body were getting me hard. I decided to defile her right there, she protested the whole time but that just enthralled me even more. These Sakamaki bastards knew not to interfere, she was no longer their slave, just mine.

#diabolik lovers #diabolik boys #dialovers #yui komori #diabolik brothers #diahell #smut #diabolik lovers community #smut diabolik lovers #shin tsukinami #tsukinami brothers #dark fate #smut fiction #degrading k1nk #vampire #collar and leash

[sn33z3s]

in defense of “if you weren’t a fucking asshole”

(title subject to change because it’s silly. what better time to write “meta” than hours before a season premiere. after all, style is dead. or was it that it’s just boring? no, wait, it’s toxic–)

this doesn’t have a thesis, it’s just some leftover thoughts from last year - mostly pertaining The Church Scene, because of course - and featuring some hot stan marsh characterization takes i guess

let’s start with the gay glancing at your ex-childhood best friend, yeah?

so, this framing is loaded because it's the narrative of their whole thing: kyle chasing stan. stan usually comes to kyle's rescue in absurd (but solvable) situations, whereas kyle often has to fight stan to provide emotional respite. they're thinking of each other here; it's distinct how stan looks back, rather than this shot cutting at kyle. stan's explosive reaction is still pretty presumptuous, but kyle was, even if unintentionally, asking for stan's attention - which is typical.

in a sense, this scene is their wordless language; the kind you share with said ex-best friend but it’s gotten worn from overuse, and as a result, you’re both communicatively stunted, so now that you’ve reached out again after 40 years, the first step to any comfort or solace is [the scene above] and a homoerotic spectacle:

well, i don’t need to tell you what that public spectacle is; you already know

stan leads his paranoid outburst in the church by accusing kyle of knowing something which would be impossible for kyle to know; in You’re Getting Old/Assburgers kyle also reaches out to stan, who turns him down, yet still asks that kyle basically read his mind and comfort him.

kyle is not a stranger to demanding unrealistic things from stan as well, but kyle calling stan “asshole” packs that punch since contemporarily the fandom usually assumes stan as more emotionally forward or in-touch with himself. however, in the church, kyle is pointing out that stan is clearly repressing his feelings, desires, traumas, etc. and kyle has used a similar approach before:

in my last meta, i wrote about how stan is pretty firm in not instantly accepting kyle's olive branches. of course, the thing is, kyle's olive branches are bent sometimes, let alone how he approaches asking for stan's forgiveness before the broship splits. kyle doesn't apologize: he just expects stan to move on.

(also, i love the "divorced couple" coding before we even reach Post-COVID.) anyway, the show clearly acknowledges stan as "agreeing with kyle no matter what," and the first time stan and kyle fight in canon, it’s a big deal.

i always return to how i don't see kyle or stan as at fault in most of, if not all, of their fights. this especially applies to YGO & Assburgers since it's one of their most significant “break-up” arcs. still... kyle's "if you weren't a fucking asshole" in the church scene is so satisfying. (and 100% excellent voice acting on matt stone's part; the punchy delivery at the end of that line is what makes me revisit it often.) when i put my tin foil hat on, it does sound like decades of resentment built up. if this post had to have a thesis, it’d be, “here’s why kyle had every right to call stan an asshole in that moment,” but the Stan Can Be an Asshole, Too meta is for another day. after all, my last meta also revolved around the trouble i have with framing stan as an exclusively passive character (rather than predominantly passive). 

by “decades of resentment,” i mean simmering for kyle since, you guessed it, episodes such as You're Getting Old and Assburgers. i talk about YGO & Assburgers a lot, i'm sorry. but i was thinking about the church scene as i browsed the south park wiki on the official site: "Kyle can only deal with so much of Stan's negativity." (obviously, matt and trey themselves do not write or even moderate the Comedy Central studios wiki, so take all of it with a grain of salt.) i like that wording, though, and this other part of the blurb too: "Stan's ego can get in the way of their friendship [referencing Guitar Queer-o]." 

kyle not being able to handle stan’s negativity these days is more often harshly critiqued than anything about stan’s ego. that detail does, in many forms, relate to the stan jock characterization discourse, but that’ll also have to wait for another meta. i can say a couple of things about it to tie up this post, though. 

yes, kyle fails to comfort stan in the YGO arc. at the same time, i don't think his positivity is always maligned. after all, the YGO arc isn't stan vs kyle, it's stan and kyle vs. growing up; this is their contemporary theme. and yes, for a kid, kyle can have that emotional maturity.

Tegridy Farms and Post-COVID have cemented stan as south park’s protagonist – though, in my opinion, he always has been it, especially since Bigger, Longer, & Uncut – and protagonists are like, the character archetype that receives the most self-projection. yet this emotional angle is comparatively still a fairly new framing of stan’s character. now that this show is narrated in such a way that we see even more of the world of south park through stan’s eyes, fans watching may feel extra inclined to think of him as only ever depressed. but being sad is not all stan does and never has been.

not only is this frequency fairly new to his character, i would go so far as to say that there’s a difference between the contemporary stan angst arcs and older episodes like Raisins, YGO, and Assburgers. being sad is not “natural” to stan (whatever that means), it is thrust upon him. most recently, this is randy’s fault. yes, we are meant to - and i hope that most do - sympathize or empathize with stan, but my point here is that he’s a little bit more belligerent and bullish than the fandom currently gives him credit for.

#south park meta #south park analysis #(committing crimes using those tags tbh) #south park #sneeze writes #stan marsh #kyle broflovski #sp stan #sp kyle #will i ever crop images consistently again? maybe....

[endless-ineffabilities]

Ineffable (Dream of the Endless x f!Reader) - Chapter 1: Daydream

Masterlist - Playlist

best to read the *preview* first before this one

previously on Ineffable....

"Listen. I have a... request. And as such, it is up to you whether you will accept it or not," he mutters deeply, his voice a mere whisper yet I have a feeling it can reach the farthest corner of this room.

My eyes stays locked onto his blue, and I realize I've held my breath for a minute, reeling from what he said.

"Go on," I implore. I want to add, For you - anything.

But I bite my tongue, and wait.

-----------

He pauses, as if rethinking his decision. I wonder what it could possibly be concerning, if he did not bring it up with the others in the room.

"You're not getting rid of me, are you?" I jest, although there is a tinge of worry in the pit of my stomach, some part of me thinking that he would actually do that.

Well...even if he does, I certainly won't go without a fight. I am valuable here. I belong here. For once, I no longer feel as if I'm running away from something, or towards some impossible goal. I've got my feet firmly planted in place, and I know who I am.

A year ago, I was just a normal student living in a shared house in the London suburbs. As normal as can be, that is. For someone like me, that was a feat. It all started when I was 5, one afternoon when I spoke to my father. Nothing out of sorts there, one would think. But I was speaking to him without uttering a single word, while I was in the room upstairs with my door shut.

"C'mooon Dad, I wish you'd please bring back pizza next time. I'm bored of the salads and all that."

"Sure thing, hon." his voice echoed in the kitchen, "Although, you still have to get some greens every now and th..."

He had whirled around, expecting me to be there. But I wasn't.

I came downstairs an hour later, and he'd chocked the incident off to exhaustion. I was too young to understand what I'd done, but the more it happened, the more wary dad got around me. Thankfully, he didn't really end up treating me any differently. My dad said I was special and it reminded him of my mom. And soon thereafter, we developed a game out of it. I'd figured out that in order to communicate through thoughts, I have to be the one to first direct a message into another person's head. Then, I can hear their responses to me. It's not the same as reading minds, no, and I for one am utterly grateful that it isn't. Not long after, I developed other... powers too - which initially did not manifest in the best way, and so I tried to stifle them for a long time.

It came as second nature to me, I thought other kids could do it too. Up until 1st grade, when I repeatedly asked Marianne if I could borrow her crayons, and she'd started crying and yelling at me to get my voice out of her head. Since then, I'd learned to reel in my thoughts and not cross into other people's heads. But I do slip up sometimes. The results of which are either comical or downright infuriating, on my behalf and theirs.

And at 21, while trying to make ends meet as a student and bookshop clerk in London, I met Fiddler's Green. Gilbert, he called himself.

He had walked in the shop, his towering stature and curious demeanor appearing to announce his entrance. I tiredly looked up from my post, and took him in as he tipped his hat in my direction.

He strolled over to Fiction, and began his perusing. I let him take his time, looking over at him again a few minutes later, and noticing Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys in his hands.

"Hmmm... sadly I haven't read that one, but I have to say Good Omens and Coraline were impeccable works of his. I'd happily recommend this author..." I sat up, startled, my thoughts had clearly pushed over to him. Please be busy, I thought to myself. You did not hear me. I am simply thinking to myself, that's all there is to it...

"Is that so?" he thought out to me, "Well, I suppose I'll be giving this one a try then."

I wanted to apologize, or to give some sort of excuse, anything. But something told me that he didn't mind. He had this steady smile that was just comforting, that I nearly forgot about my slip-up altogether.

Until... "Don't worry about it, dear. Our thoughts can escape us sometimes. That does not necessarily have to be a bad thing. On the contrary, your advice truly helped. I'm in for a great read, indeed," He jovially comes up to the counter, "So I'll be taking this one, please."

It's safe to say that nothing was ever the same after that day. And I had Gilbert to thank for it. I'd ended up moving in with him, and his wonderfully eccentric collection of flatmates after I was shortly kicked out of my flat, and never looked back.

From then on, I'd learned more about myself and my abilities. Rose Walker and Gilbert were the first people, after my father, to truly see me and accept me for who I was. They understood my abilities, for they too were like me.

And so, if Morpheus thinks I am going to give up this life easily, he is sorely mistaken.

But...

"No," he seems surprised, "Why would you think that?"

Oh, I don't know. You barely speak to me, for one. Apart from when we discuss important matters that relate to the safekeeping of the Dreaming, or when I throw a question your way that you act like you're answering purely out of courtesy.

"I just... what do you really think of me?"

"I...," he starts, and I can see that he was caught off guard, but in plain Morpheus fashion, he tries to appear unaffected.

I stare him down, not letting the question dissipate between us.

"I find you... intriguing," he says after what seemed like the longest pause, "I mean... you're certainly someone who has become important to the Dreaming. I know Lucienne, among others, has grown quite fond of you. And her judgment is one that I hold in the highest regard."

"Hmmm," I am pleased at this, but dare I press on? "But, have you?"

"Have I what?" He asks slowly. Did I stray too far? I may have gotten cocky there, but I hold my ground.

"What I mean is... I have made friends here. No... family. Lucienne, Merv, Matthew, Rose, Gilbert...." I search his face, "Almost everyone, but... you."

His expression loses its signature stoicism, and he gives me a look that is tortured and amused at the same time.

"Am I not a part of that?" The corner of his lips lift slightly.

"Of course you are." You may be the most important of them all. The most captivating. The most perplexing. I add, "But sometimes I feel as if... you'd rather not be."

The silence weighs heavy afterward. But for some reason, I don't feel weary. Not even anxious. I've said what I wanted, and simply being able to be so candid with him like this, strangely gives me calm.

"I... apologize if I've been rather... cold... towards you. If you've felt overlooked or unwanted, it was not my intention," He whispers, "You are...important... to me."

I feel arrested in my seat, all the blood rushing to my head making me feel lightheaded, if that were even possible in this realm.

"Thank you," I manage, "It's okay..."

"No.. you have to know that..," he pauses, "that it's not easy for me. It never has been. These...things."

He stands much closer now, looking down at me, his gaze keeping me in place. When did he get up from his seat?

I take a deep breath, and rise, decreasing the gap between us further.

His eyes flit from my own to my nose to my... lips. He looks pained.

"Especially with you... I...can't..." His words are barely discernible.

"Can't what?"

Another pregnant pause. He rests a tentative hand on my shoulder, as if testing the waters.

And as if this moment was never so pressing, he turns away.

Well, that was something. Nevertheless, this is probably all he can give me right now. In my time around him, I can see how being the literal Lord over an important aspect of the human condition can take its toll.

"You had a request for me?" I try to steer the conversation into a neutral area, "Is it about the mission I have with Gault?"

"About that. I've just decided that I will come with you instead. I need to show you something."

This was a surprise. The two of us have only gone on a mission alone once before, and this resulted from all the others being occupied with their own thing.

"But it can wait," He turns back to look at me, "You should rest."

"Well, technically, I am dreaming," I smile at him.

"You know what I mean," He gives me just a hint of a smile and then starts to leave.

"Morpheus," I voice out in his thoughts, he pauses in his step, "You're important to me too."

He turns back halfway, and I swear I can glimpse a full smile over his shoulder.

"Sweet dreams, y/n."

End of chapter one.

Neil Gaiman reference! I just had to..

Thinking of adding some *spice* to the main plot, and seeing as I'm a sucker for some jealous!Dreamboat or jealous!Reader-- which do y'all prefer? A bit of Corinthian x Reader, or slight Dream x OFC??

Worry not! The Reader's abilities/background will be more fleshed out in the coming chapters.

Also, this fic WILL contain angst. However, I want their relationship to develop healthily and naturally, to some extent. We'll see!

#morpheus #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x reader #the sandman x y/n #the sandman imagine #the sandman #morpheus imagine #dream of the endless x y/n #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless x reader #dream imagine #neil gaiman #dream of the endless #dream x reader #ineffable dream

[waltwhitmansbeard]

“Telling the truth even when it hurts” for any characters, please

Btw your writing is so so good!! Don’t mind me reblogging everything you write to my cr sideblog

21. Telling the truth even when it hurts thank you!! i will never mind rbs lol. nsfw conversation in this one, folks.

He should have known better than to talk to Beau about this. She is an Expositor, a truth-seeker, a steadfast researcher—and a bitch, when she wants to be, which is, it seems, most of the time. He should have known that going to Beau for advice would result in less advice and more blunt statements of what are, to Beau, facts, things that she believes he needs to hear.

Which is why he hardly gets half a sentence out before she's rolling her eyes with a dramatic, put-upon groan. "Fucking hell, Caleb, why are we having this conversation?"

Caleb blinks owlishly. "Because I do not know the best course of action, Beauregard, and I thought my friend might sympathize."

She hits him with that look, the one the cuts to the quick and sees pasts each and every shield he's ever cast in his life. "If you wanted sympathy, you would have gone to Jester. You want me to tell you to fuck Essek, so do it. Fuck him. And stop talking to me about it."

His face is instantly on fire. He cannot believe his skin doesn't radiate a low, reddish light. "I—that is not what I—"

"You've been dancing around this forever and, like, I'm sorry? But it's boring. You like him. You want him. He likes and wants you, if the look his gives whenever you use words like temporal or sigil are anything to go by. So just jump his bones and put the rest of us out of our simmering misery."

Sometimes Caleb wishes they left her in the Astral Sea. "Things are not so simple, Beauregard."

She'd been lounging back on the couch in her and Yasha's living room, but now she sits up, rests her elbows on her knees, and stares directly at him. "Actually, this is the simplest shit. I get that your life has been, comparatively, pretty fucking extraordinary. Most people aren't brainwashed child soldiers who killed their parents and spent a decade in a fugue state in an asylum before going on the run from an entire government. That shit is complicated.

"But this? Being so intellectually and physically attracted to someone that you want to ride their dick until your eyes roll back in your head and you see gods? That's basic, baby, that's one-oh-one. It's not special or nuanced or specific, it's just being into someone. People have been doing that for, like, ever, so just do something about it."

They're glaring at each other, but mostly Caleb's glaring at her because he doesn't have the ability to glare at himself. She's annoying a lot of the time, but she's especially annoying when she's right.

Except there's one thing she has not considered, the thing Caleb has not been able to stop thinking about since he first realized how desperately he desires Essek. "And what if he does not return the sentiment, hmm? Am I to ruin the friendship we so carefully built?"

She snorts, cocksure, aggravating, and flops back against the couch again. "Caleb, if you walked into his tower and asked, he'd be on his knees for you without a thought."

And oh, how unexpected, this rush of want, hot and curling in his belly. He ignores it. "You seem so sure."

Beau turns her head over her shoulder and shouts, "HEY YASHA!"

The woman in question, who is out in the garden pruning her tulips, shouts back, "YEAH?"

"HOW BADLY DOES ESSEK WANT TO FUCK CALEB?'

"LIKE SO BADLY. LIKE SOMETIMES IT'S UNCOMFORTABLE TO LOOK AT HIM. THERE'S A LOT GOING ON THERE."

Beau extends her hands in an I told you so motion, and Caleb would love nothing more than for the ground beneath him to open up and swallow him whole—which, now that he thinks about it, he's sure Essek has a spell for. "Well this has been a terrible conversation. Let's never do it again."

"Gladly." Beau shoves herself off of the couch. "Just be sure to name the first kid after me. Anyway, you staying for dinner?"

And he does, because family is family, after all.

#ask #biilpotts #critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #mighty nein #mighty nein fic #empire kids #empire kids fic #shadowgast #shadowgast fic #my fic