#his fatal fling

[gameraboy2]

"His Fatal Fling" Dime Detective Magazine, August 1951 Cover by Norman Saunders

[fisheito]

Imagine you have to set up yakumo's enclosure for the next couple months. How do you set it up and what do you put in there?

oh NO.! THE PROPPHECY HAS BEenm FUFILLED

i am standing in my room, leggies rooted to the floor. i am in shock .frozen and i have no idea how to proceed. there is a perpetual pathetically sobbing serpent under my blankie.

[crookedteethed]

⋆ ★ Rafe says “he's done” with mistress reader

18+ smut(pinv), oral (male receiving), cursing, infidelity, toxic relationship, "su*cide attempt", mentions of daddy issues, reader is delusional asf in this one , no happy ending, age gap between Rafe and reader

It had been bad this time; it had been fatal. 

Rafe had said it was over; this time, he meant it. 

He said things were going well with his wife, and he didn't want you to ruin it this time. These were his exact words.

He was too old now to be chasing young girls' pussy around like he was still in his twenties. His exact words. 

He was too old, and you were just young girl pussy. 

In your final moments with him, you asked him if his wife knew how to stuff him whole inside of her mouth without gagging like you do. 

He said that wasn't the point. On their wedding day, he made a vow to his wife whether she knew how to stuff him whole or not.

"Dilation of the throat." You said. "That's when your throat slowly starts to close; you can hardly get any food down your esophagus, let alone air. It happens as you get older. Rafe, I hate to tell you, but your wife is dying."

Rafe had called you childish,He kissed your tear-soaked eyelid, then left your studio apartment--in which he helped you pay for.

Then that was it.

He was gone as quick as it all happened.

The first week without Rafe hadn't been that bad.

You cried some, binged watched cable TV, and then sat numbly on your sofa, wishing Rafe was there to coddle you like the father figure you always saw him as.  

His warm embrace taut around your body, he'd peck his lips around the supple skin of your face, telling you that everything was going to be ok, and then he'd fuck you, make you forget about whatever you were sad about, and then go back home and sleep in the same bed as his wife, while you were all alone. 

During the second week, you started to feel the emptiness even more acutely, and your stomach and gut became more hollow. 

To cope, you slept with a couple of old flings, guys, and girls that quite naturally never made it past the talking stages because they weren't Rafe. 

In the third week, you realized that Rafe had not blocked your number, so you called him. 

He picked up within the third ring. 

"What." he said sternly. 

"I'm just checking in on your wife, how's her dilated throat? Does her blow jobs feel tighter than usual? If so, her throat will be completely closing soon, meaning she won't have space to breathe. Rafe, your wife doesn't have much time to live ---"

He hung up. 

You called again. 

"I've missed you." You were the first to say. "Come over so we can talk--bring your wife too, maybe we can work this out, just the three of us--"

He hung up again.

Then, because you were drunk, you sent him a picture of your clit with the text message, "She misses you too :(." 

In the fourth week, you figured that there was only one thing you had to do, and that was to kill yourself. 

Of course, you weren't going to commit suicide, but Rafe didn't have to know that. 

On that Saturday afternoon, you knew Rafe would be off of work somewhere laughing with his wart of a wife and his friends and their warts of wives. 

That must have been the reason he didn't answer when you called him, so you sent him a voice message. 

"To whom it may concern, I've decided I no longer want to live. To the left of me, I have a prescribed bottle of Vicodin, of which I plan to take all 27 capsules, and to my right, I have my note. In my note, I have given my lawyers specific instructions to out you and I's rendezvous to your wife. I have a USB with all our text messages and sex tapes on it; I've planned for them to give to her when I die. If you don't want this secret to get out, I'd advise you to be at my apartment complex in one hour fucking my brains out. See you in one hour; tell your wife I said hi."

And then you waited. 

You jumped when you heard Rafe bang on your door three times, and then he'd remember he had a key, then he barged in your apartment, his head swinging from left to right.

He saw you sitting on your sofa with your matching lingerie set on, a bottle of vodka in your hand.

"You do care." You smiled, standing up to give him a hug, he shrugged you off.

"Where is it?" He asked. "Where's that USB?"

"There is no USB." You said.

Rafe had looked down at your coffee table to where your supposeit Vicodin had been.

"That's fucking baby aspirin." He scoffed, as he slowly start to undo his belt buckle. "This is what you were going to kill yourself with?"

You nodded shyly as he grabbed you by your hair and forced you to your knees.

A blowjob was the last thing you wanted from him, but you'd take anything.

Looking down at you, Rafe said, "Maybe next time I'll lend you my old man's revolver, that'll do the trick, right?" right before he grabbed the back of your head, and forced his cock--all nine inches of it--down your throat.

You'd hadn't gagged, though you wished you had, so he could have slowed down his relentless thrust into your mouth.

With every thrust, your body responded, craving more, yet yearning for a pause—an unexpected reprieve.

You could hardly catch your breath as he maintained his relentless pace, a rhythm that sent waves of sensation coursing through you.

You wanted to surrender, yet a part of you fought against the tide, desperate for control in a moment that demanded nothing less than your complete submission.

Rafe eyes never seemed to leave yours with his cock stuffed in your mouth. He loved the humiliation of blowjobs. You just stared at him, teary wide eyes.

Rafe's face was so handsome. His eyes were so beautiful. So full of life. A face that could be so easily broken. Your mouth. So full of his cock.

Fuck, have you missed this.

You could see the desire in his eyes, the hunger for more. His gaze was intense, burning into you, and it excited you to know your power--how quick he came to your rescue.

You felt his hands on the back of your head, not forcing, but guiding, encouraging you to take him deeper. His breath quickened, and you knew he was getting closer with he twitch of his cock. With a soft moan, he pulled you up, his eyes still locked on yours.

He wanted to watch your reaction as he took control, as he showed you who was in charge.

He pushed you against the wall, his mouth finding yours, and you tasted yourself on his lips. It was degrading, and you loved it. He knew it too, and a smirk played on his lips.

"You like being used, don't you?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Being on your knees, taking me however I want. It arouses you."

You couldn't deny it, the wetness of your cunt dripping down your thighs.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice a mere breath. "I do." And with that admission, he took you again, this time with you on the edge of the sofa with both your legs pressed to your sides.

You let out a soft moan as Rafe entered you, his cock sliding deep with one slow, deliberate thrust.

That familiar stretch and burn always made you gasp—a sensation you loved and craved. Rafe's hands gripped your hips, his touch firm as he held you in place, his eyes never leaving yours.

You loved how he watched you, taking in your every reaction as if it were the first time all over again--almost as if he was all yours and no one else's to share. 

His thick cock filled you, and you could feel every vein and ridge of him as he slowly began to move. That delicious friction built as he withdrew and then thrust again, setting a slow, sensual rhythm.

The room was filled with the sounds of your passion—your soft moans and the slick, wet sounds of your bodies moving as one.

Rafe's breath quickened as he began to move faster, his hips snapping as he drove into you with purpose. You met his passion with your own, your bodies a tangle of limbs and sweat.

His hands explored your body, caressing your breasts, neck, and face, his touch both possessive and adoring.

As your pleasure built, you knew you would climax soon, and you wanted Rafe to join you in that exquisite release.

You whispered for him to let go, and with a few more powerful thrusts, he obeyed. His body stiffened as he filled you with his release, his cock pulsing as he found his own bliss.

Rafe laid your limp body outstretched onto your sofa, and through hooded--fucked out--eyelids, you watched as he put back on his clothing. 

"I think I love you." you croaked. 

Rafe ironed out his slacks and proceeded to put his foot in one pant leg, all the while saying: 

"I love my wife." He said sternly. 

Defeated, you laid your head back and closed your eyes. 

"This was the last time, Y/N." He said. You could hear him put on his last article of clothing and straighten himself out. 

"You always say that." you sighed. 

"Well, I'm serious this time." 

"You always say that part too." You said.

And with that being said, he placed his lips on your forehead, took your bottle of baby aspirin, and left your apartment for the second "last time" that month. 

Rafe went back home, made love to his wife, and then told her he loved her, but he knew he didn't really mean it. 

[ckret2]

Chapter 82 of you can really tell the writer got a new art program this week and went apeshit with it instead of doing anything productive: the Mystery Shack is in terrible peril from the government and only one thing can save them:

Teaching Bill Cipher how to flirt with humans!!

####

The Stans explained the plan to Dipper and Mabel as briefly as possible—that Bill had to save them all by flirting with the head fed—and that was about as far as they got before Mabel started squealing. They wished her good luck with Bill, wished him good luck with Mabel, and beat a hasty retreat, with Dipper tagging along after Ford on the pretense of helping figure out how to get the flash drive out of Gompers.

"This is perfect!" Mabel slammed the door closed—and Bill had the sneaking suspicion she'd trapped him on purpose—then grabbed both his hands to drag him further into the room. "I can see it now! He'll fall in love with you, and then he'll realize that living in a small logging town is so much more emotionally fulfilling than his high-pressure fast-paced big city government job, and he'll see what a special, magical place Gravity Falls is and he won't wanna do anything that could change it, and Washington will call him like, 'Your report is late! Have you forgotten your mission?' And he'll go 'I have a new mission now: my WIFE!' And—"

"Hold on!" Bill pulled his hands back. "I think you skipped the part where you married me off to a government agent."

"No I didn't! Because he says that and everyone gasps and then he gets down on his knee in front of you and pulls out a ring and—"

"In your dreams, star girl." He dropped onto Mabel's bed and crossed his legs. "Think a little less cheesy Christmas romcom, and more noir spy movie with a double-crossing femme fatale."

Mabel measured that up against her limited spy movie knowledge, and asked dubiously, "You're gonna drop him in a tank of sharks?"

"Hey, if you have one...!" Bill laughed. "But, no. The plan is just for me to keep him distracted long enough for the nerd squad to get the flash drive, wipe any sensitive data, and leave it somewhere that'll make the agents think the goat dumped it naturally."

Mabel considered that. She inhaled deeply. "Okay," she said. "But. What if it's one of those movies where the evil girl spy has a change of heart because of the good guy's charm and you do fall in love."

"Do you remember who we're talking about?" Bill asked. "Fine! If we fall in love, you can be the ring bearer, best maid, and officiant—but don't start stapling together a white dress just yet."

Mabel completely skipped past his main point. She whispered, "You'd let me make your wedding dress?"

"I'd turn down every fashion designer in Milan, Paris, New York, and London combined."

Her eyes widened. "I've gotta start drawing wedding dresses." She rummaged around the floor for an unused piece of paper and the nearest crayon and/or marker box.

"Draw me as a triangle," Bill said automatically. "So there, you're caught up on the plan!" He slowly slid off Mabel's bed toward the door. "So if you'd let me out so I can prepare..."

"Ohh no. Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford brought you to me to learn how to flirt, and I'm going to teach you how to flirt."

He groaned, but plopped back down on Mabel's bed. "I don't need to be taught how to flirt! I'm a pro! While your universe was still gearing up for a Big Bang, I was fending off marriage proposals from lovelorn generation ships and sentient oceans."

"You're not seducing ships and oceans." Mabel had already flopped onto the floor and drawn a triangle with an eye, and was trying to figure out how to put a dress on it. "You're seducing a man."

"Which is even easier! You people barely last a century, you're desperate! Humans fling themselves at me left and right!"

"Then you'll have no trouble passing my love quiz."

Bill automatically frowned. There was a part of him that still tensed up at the word "quiz" even if he did know more about romance than the entire human race combined. "What, like the one you put the guys through on your dating show?"

"Yes, but with all new questions! So you can't just copy all of Soos's answers to get a perfect score!"

"Psh! Like I need to copy anyone's answers," said Bill, who had never taken a quiz in his life without copying someone else's answers and had been planning to do just that. "All right, hit me."

"Question one! Uh..." She tapped a crayon to her chin as she thought. "What's the best gift to give on a first date? Jewelry, chocolate, a wedding ring, or flowers?"

"Ooh, we're starting with bribery, huh?" When in doubt, the right answer was usually C; but "jewelry" and "wedding ring" seemed kinda redundant. Well—cheating had never failed him before, why stop now? "None of the above! I've got a better answer than all of them!"

Mabel lowered her crayon to give him a skeptical look. "Oh yeah? What?"

"Sneak into their dreams the night before, find out their heart's desire, and surprise 'em with that," Bill said. "That's not even a romantic move. It'll let you win over a human in any context! Birthday parties, baby showers, job interviews, criminal trials, hostage negotiations..."

"What if you don't know their heart's desire?"

"Then you're not me."

She set down her crayon, laced her hands under her chin, and said, "Okay, then. If you were trying to win me over, what's my dream birthday gift?"

"Replacing your bedroom with a bouncy castle with inflatable furniture."

"Ha! No it's n..." She trailed off. "Wait. Ohmigosh."

"Told ya."

"I've been dreaming too small," Mabel whispered. She shoved aside her first drawing and started drawing her fantasy bedroom.

Bill picked up one of Mabel's dolls—a floppy tiger—and started talking to it like he was lecturing it. Forget this whole "taking a quiz" thing; he was much more comfortable in the roll of the teacher than the student. "And if it's a blind date and I can't stalk 'em beforehand, nobody's ever disappointed by a solid gold brick," he told the doll.  "It's both practical and pretty, and it appeals to humans' natural greed without making them feel sleazy about accepting a wad of hundreds from their date."

"What's Agent Powers's heart's desire?"

Heck. He didn't actually know. He'd ducked in on the guy's life a handful of times, but he'd never needed to pay that close attention to him. What did boring people like? "A really nice leather wallet," Bill said.

"Okay, you're off to a strong start," Mabel said. "Question two: what's the ideal location for a first date?"

"What are my options?"

"Fooey to the options! I wanna hear your thoughts."

"Then that's easy: anywhere they can't escape from until they love you," Bill said. "Even better if you can serenade 'em."

Mabel nodded in approval. "Perfect answer, full points! Every Inkwell princess movie and vampire novel on the market agrees! Question three: best first date outfit?"

"Sexy."

"Okay—yeah," Mabel said, "But specifically, what does that look like?"

"Tallest hat you can find," Bill said.

Mabel waited. Bill didn't say anything else. Mabel said, "What about the rest of the outfit?"

"Bow tie. Outfit complete."

"That's just what you wear."

"And it's always sexy!" Bill insisted.

"Maybe in Flatworld, but this is earth! If you go out dressed in nothing but a hat and a bow tie, you'll be having your date in the back of a police car!"

"Fine," Bill huffed. "Fifty pairs of gloves—and the more of them you have hands to fill, the better! A dress made out of blank checks! Two snakes! A fur coat made out of live kittens!" Bill shook the stuffed doll emphatically with each point. "Good enough?!"

Mabel squinted thoughtfully at him. "The kitten coat has potential."

"Damn me with faint praise, why don't you."

"What about more traditional romantic outfits? Like... a red velvet suit with a leopard print shirt? Or short shorts that say 'too hot' on the butt?" Mabel asked. "Or a t-shirt with your date's face on it in a heart! That shows your date 'I'm here to focus on you!'"

"What if my date's face is ugly, did you think about that?" Bill asked, mainly to cover up the fact that he was chagrined he hadn't thought of the velvet suit himself. "Forget about fashion. Next question!"

"Okay, how would you prepare yourself for the perfect date? Aside from finding a tall hat and stalking your date's dreams."

"Hygiene's the most important thing," Bill said. "Humans are very attuned to pheromones. It's one of your base instincts."

A look of relief cross Mabel's face. "Yes! Good start. So we're talking a shower, or...?"

"Oh yeah, if you're going on a date in this country, you've gotta scrub that skin raw. There is no smell Americans hate more than the natural smell of other human beings." 

Mabel nodded enthusiastically. "Right!"

"And once you've gotten rid of your real scent you've got to make sure you smell appealing. And that means making sure you smell the most! Cover up any competing suitors' scents with your own!"

Mabel made an uncertain hum. "Okaaay, sooo... what would you call an appropriate fragrance for a first date?"

He wasn't sure he liked the sound of the hum. "First date? You've got to make a strong impression, and set the mood for romance," he told the doll, so he didn't have to watch Mabel pass judgment. "So, I'm thinking... decaying salmon, deer pee, and ambergris."

Mabel was silent for an uncomfortably long time. Bill glanced at her. She immediately pulled her sweater up to hide her mouth. Voice strained with suppressed laughter, she said, "You don't think, maybe... floral scents...?"

Who did she think she was laughing at! He directed his attention back to Mabel's doll. The tiger didn't judge him. The tiger thought all his ideas were brilliant. "Is this guy looking for a garden or a girlfriend? I know ninety percent of the soaps and shampoos on the market are designed to make you smell like a fruit salad on the beach, but you humans don't know the first thing about what activates your own monkey-brained reproductive urges! Trust me: decaying salmon, deer pee, and ambergris! They reek of raw sex appeal!"

"What's ambergris?"

"It's a staple fragrance in the perfume industry! Some of the most popular scents in Hollywood have ambergris base notes!"

"Okay," Mabel said, "but what is it?"

"Okay so," Bill said, "when a sperm whale gets so constipated it kills 'em, the rest of its body rots off while the turd floats to the surface, and after it's bobbed around baking in the sun for a few decades—"

Mabel lay a hand on Bill's knee and gently said, "No." 

"Hey, I'm not the one who invented ambergris, that's your species's idea!"

"Bill, I'm sorry. But you've got the best and worst romance ideas with no in between, and you don't know the difference," Mabel said. "But I promise you're in good hands! I'm the best matchmaker in Gravity Falls! I helped hook up Soos and Melody, Robbie and Tambry, Waddles and Gompers, the Hand Witch and that hunky hiker guy..."

He threw Mabel's doll down on the bed, slumped back against the wall, crossed his arms, and sulked. Then he muttered, "But I've got the best ideas?"

"Oh yeah. You're like an untrained romance prodigy! You just need a liiittle help filtering out the diamonds from the coal."

He grunted. Then he grudgingly admitted, "Getting Waddles and Gompers together is pretty impressive. They have complete opposite political opinions."

"See? I'll have you date ready in no time!"

Bill heaved a frustrated sigh. "Fine. But I'd better at least get a killer makeover out of this."

"Definitely! I'm getting an expert on the case!" She pulled out her phone to send a text. Plus, whatever you're wearing tomorrow? I'm bedazzling the crap out of it."

"Good!"

"But first," Mabel said, "Let's talk about your technique."

####

"Lesson one of Mabel's Guide to Flirting With Humans: pick-up lines! First impressions are super important!"

"Pick-up lines are easy," Bill said. "I know a million of them!"

"That's great! Then this should be easy." Mabel pointed at the picture of Creggy G in the middle of her Sev'ral Timez poster, whom she'd designated as their attractive human for Bill's flirting practice. "Try one out." 

Bill sized up Creggy calculatingly, and said, "You know, your eyeballs are so beautiful."

"Yes!" Mabel cheered. "It's romantic! I love it!"

"—and they'd look even better in my mouth."

Mabel stared at Bill.

"What?" Bill asked. "Too forward? Should I save that for the second date?"

The flirting lesson quickly switched track from teaching Bill how to use a pick-up lines, to teaching Bill what pick-up lines not to use.

And from there, the conversation drifted to a list of subjects Bill wasn't allowed to discuss with the federal agent, which necessitated relocating to the living room so Mabel could set up an easel pad and record all the banned topics. Partway through, Stan drifted in and started throwing in his two cents.

The list of banned flirtation topics included: eyeballs; cannibalism; squid kings; dragonfly mating habits; mandibles; the time and method of living people's future deaths; the cold and lonely heat death of the universe ("Why?! It's a perfect excuse to suggest cuddling for warmth!"); fun get-to-know-you questions like "would you rather kill your mother or your father" or "which conspiracy theories would you most hate to be true"; which conspiracy theories were true; the agent's embarrassing middle school secrets that Bill shouldn't have known about but did; the agent's bald spot; cancer flavors; pending global disasters...

Bill flung his hands in the air. "So what does that leave to talk about?!"

"Anything else," Stan snapped.

"The Chuquicamata open pit copper mine."

"Anything normal."

Bill gave him a look akin to that of a vegetarian who'd just been asked to discuss his favorite cuts of beef. "Have you metme?"

"Try topics that get him in the right mindset for romance," Mabel said. "Like, 'what do you want your future wife's favorite color to be?' Or 'you look like dad material!'"

Bill nodded slowly. "So we're aggressively leading him on. I can work with that. I've never been a fan of subtlety."

"And call him charming," Stan said. "Guys love hearing they're charming. Oh, and tell him his jokes are funny."

"What if he doesn't tell jokes."

"All guys tell jokes when they're flirting! If he's not telling jokes, you're doing something wrong."

"It's true," Mabel said. "Watch any high school romance!" Bill gave them both a dubious look.

Stan glanced up as Ford and Dipper walked by the doorway with Gompers. "Tell 'im, Ford."

"What?"

"All men tell jokes when we're flirting! It's probably in our DNA or something."

Dipper thought about that, and nodded. "I tell jokes when I'm flirting."

Mabel shouted, "You try to tell jokes when you're flirting! Heyooo!"

"Hey."

Ford grimaced. "Usually when I'm flirting, I forget every joke I've ever heard and start asking as many questions as I can think of."

Bill said, "That's because you only flirt with things you want to add to your bestiary!"

"The point still stands." 

Dipper had leaned into the room to read the banned topic list. "Why are conspiracy theories off-limits? He came to Gravity Falls in the first place because he was looking for a paranormal conspiracy."

"Dipper's right," Ford said, "he'd probably be interested in the topic."

Bill flung his hands in the air. "Thank you! That's what I was saying!"

Stan shook his head, "Too close to discussing politics. What if they believe in different conspiracies!"

"Plus, watch this," Mabel said. "Hey Bill, what do you think about Flat Earth theory."

Bill groaned. "I was drunk, those statements were taken out of context, and I can't be held responsible if some idiot with a boat misinterpreted me."

Mabel looked at Ford and Dipper.

Dipper grimaced. "Got it."

Ford nodded. "Conspiracy theories are off-limits."

"This is why you're all single," Bill said.

####

Stan said, "And if you're gonna lie about your job—"

"Which you always should," Bill cut in.

"Obviously! But make sure it's not something too easy to verify. Like, you can't claim to be the governor, what if your date actually voted and knows who the governor is?"

"That's a good point! Margaret was not impressed."

"You're telling me! My suit smelled like broccoli cheese soup for weeks!"

"You shoulda suggested she get the house salad."

"Yeah, I—" Stan cut off. "Wait. How do you know about Margaret? That was twenty years ago!"

Dipper and Ford were in the kitchen, looking for every ingredient they could find that might coax Gompers to release the flash drive the old-fashioned way and listening to the discussion in the living room. Gompers nibbled at a dish towel, oblivious to the fate awaiting him.

Mabel trotted in and patted him as she passed. "Hey, you! You're giving us major trouble, you rascal!"

He bleated at her.

Mabel pushed up to the open fridge next to Dipper, and when he stepped aside to make more room for her, she stepped into his personal space again and leaned into him with her shoulder. "Why are you in the way, bro, jeez!"

"You're in the way!" He leaned against her in turn. "What are you doing in here? Aren't you supposed to be training Bill?"

"Grunkle Stan's taking the lead right now," Mabel said. "My talent is helping people find true love! But his talent is suckering someone into liking you for a day. So I think he's better suited to the task at hand."

"Oh, yeah." Dipper chuckled wryly. "His advice will get you a first date, but not a second date."

Ford muttered, "His technique hasn't changed since high school, I see."

Dipper found the bottle of prune juice he'd been looking for, pulled it out, and stepped back. Mabel yelped when her counterweight disappeared and stumbled sideways into the fridge door.

As Dipper emptied the juice into a mixing bowl, he said, "I'm not sure about this plan. Even with both you and Stan helping. I know Bill's good at tricking people, but... he's so annoying. And not in a lovable way."

"Don't undersell him!" Mabel said. She'd retrieved a pitcher of Mabel Juice and was dumping a full bottle of sprinkles into it—hardcore romance training required high stamina. "He has the potential to be a dreamboat!"

Ford muttered, "He's a manipulative, murderous monster." He was searching through all the cans they'd moved to the kitchen counter for beans.

"Those don't have to be mutually exclusive," Mabel insisted. "Serial killers get girlfriends. Sometimes after they're arrested!"

"I'mmm not seeing a dreamboat," Dipper said. "More like a shipwreck. I mean, when you were trying to come up with a list of romantic date foods, he suggested blood licked off your date's teeth."

"And he was right!" Mabel said. "Vampires, bro-bro!"

"Okay, but I don't think he was talking about teeth that were still attached to his date's skull!"

"He didn't say they weren't attached," said Mabel, with flagging conviction that suggested she hadn't considered that and was realizing Dipper was probably right.

"And five minutes ago you and Stan told him he should pretend to be a princess, and he told you he'd be great at that because he started an Internet dating service that matches up lonely widows with overseas con artists pretending to be deposed princes."

"Well," Mabel said sheepishly.

"And then he tried to talk you two into investing in a pyramid scheme to fund his dating service."

"But we didn't invest!" Mabel said.

"Only because you looked it up on your phone and discovered he'd made it up!"

"I mean, until then, it sounded romantic!" Mabel flung her hands out in a wide shrug. (Something about the gesture looked strange to Ford.) "Finding a second chance at love with a mysterious foreign criminal with a glamorous false identity? That'd be great if it was real!"

"Mabel, it's a scam," Dipper said exasperatedly.

"And do scam artists not deserve love, too?!" Mabel pounded a fist on the table emphatically. "What about Grunkle Stan! He deserves love! A rich overseas widow would be perfect for him!"

"That's not— The point is, Bill's not romantic!" Dipper said. "This plan isn't going to work!"

Ford set half a dozen bean cans next to Dipper's mixing bowl. "He doesn't need to be romantic," he said. "He only needs to be charismatic. And for all his flaws, he's certainly that." Planets will orbit stars and black holes just the same—and not even realize the difference. "He doesn't have to actually win Agent Powers's heart. He only has to keep his attention for a few hours. By the time Bill stops dazzling Powers long enough for him to see the red flags, we'll have the flash drive." He nodded toward Gompers. "If we get it before the agents return with a warrant, we might not even need Bill to distract him."

Dipper sighed. "Then let's hope Gompers likes prunes."

"Come on! Show a little faith!" Mabel said.

Ford muttered, "The last time I put my faith in Bill..." Dipper gestured emphatically at Ford in agreement.

"Not in Bill! In me! Mark my words, Grunkle Ford—I'll get this Cinderella ready to meet his Prince Charming if I have to summon every mouse in Gravity Falls to help sew his ballgown!"

"Please don't summon the wildlife again," Dipper groaned. "The last time you did that, huge spiders kept appearing in our room for a week."

Mabel's pocket vibrated; she pulled out her phone and gasped. She chugged down the rest of her juice in three sickly sweet gulps and bolted from the room. "Biiill! Your personal style consultant texted back!"

"My who?"

She dragged him out of the living room by the wrist. "Come on!"

Ford watched them run up the stairs, then started searching through their cereal boxes for the high fiber one. Tentatively, he asked, "Mabel doesn't actually think we're trying to get Bill and the agent together, does she?" The Prince Charming comment was concerning.

"I don't know," Dipper sighed. "A few days ago she started talking about trying to get Bill a love life? Maybe she sees this as a practice round."

"Really? Why, did he say he wants to date people?" If he wanted to get out of the shack to emotionally prey on the locals one-on-one without supervision...

"I don't think she's even told him yet. It's part of her project to... reintegrate him into society? She probably thinks the power of love can rehabilitate him." Dipper sighed. "She's setting herself up for disappointment. He's been conning people into thinking he's a good guy for billions of years, right? If being loved could fix him, he'd be an angel by now."

"Instead, he's just gotten better at pretending to be an angel," Ford said ruefully. "I'm inclined to agree with you." He found the cereal he'd been looking for and set it on the table by Dipper. "But then... we let him live, didn't we? Because we all hope we're wrong. I suppose that doesn't make us that different from Mabel."

Dipper shook his head emphatically. "Not me." He dumped one of the cans of beans into the prune juice a little harder than necessary. "I let him live for two reasons: because of Mabel, and because of that prophecy. And he doesn't have to change to fulfill some prophecy to save us—when it comes, he might just be trying to save his own stupid butt, too."

"I suppose so." Right—of course, even if he'd agreed to spare Bill, Dipper still didn't have any real hope for him beyond his usefulness.

Over the past month, Ford hadn't seen anything more sympathetic out of Bill than Dipper had. He wondered at himself for even being willing to consider Bill might change. When had Ford changed enough to consider it? Or was he just more susceptible to Bill's same old tricks?

"You don't remember the whole prophecy yet, do you?" Ford asked. "What if this is what it was about? Saving our family from the government because he's the only person the lead agent finds attractive enough to distract him?"

Dipper pulled a face. "I hope not," he said. "After everything he put us through? He owes us a fight to the death with an interdimensional eldritch god."

"Now that's a sight I'd pay to see."

####

MABEL: Heyyy Paz, can I ask for a small favor. I have a friend that needs a MAJOR MAKEOVER!! ���� Like the FULL PRINCESS TRANSFORMATION treatment!! Can you help him?

PACIFICA: Can't, I'm suuuper busy today. I have the lunch shift AND grooming day at the ranch.

PACIFICA: Plus, why would I help some total rando? 😒

MABEL: Because it's my friend with the beautiful golden hair.

PACIFICA: asldkfggh

PACIFICA: OK fine come by the ranch after work

PACIFICA: and send me a picture of his skin next to a white paper so I can grab some foundations to try out.

####

Bill took a piece of paper and a marker, wrote "Make me beautiful!" and dotted the I and the exclamation point with hearts, flopped the least sunburned part of his arm next to the paper for Mabel to take a picture, and leaned away to keep his face out of it.

As Mabel snapped a couple pictures, she said, "Okay, before we visit Pacifica, I have to warn you. She can be a liiittle bit mean when it comes to fashion. So don't get mad at her, okay? It's how she shows she cares!"

"No it's not," Bill said.

"No, it's not," Mabel conceded. "But it doesn't mean she doesn't care. That's just... how she relates to other people! By insulting their fashion, style, and body. And family. And finances."

"Don't worry, star girl. I can take it."

"But I mean, she might be really, really, super mean about your looks," Mabel said. "And you cannot curse her or threaten to turn her bones into flutes or do anything Bill-ish like that. Promise me."

"Hey, bone flutes! That sounds like a fun arts and crafts project, right?"

"Bill!"

"Re-lax, it'll be fine," Bill said. "She's just your garden-variety pageant girl with an overly-critical mom who tried to relive her glory years through her daughter! I can handle a teenage ex-beauty queen. I'm an expert on those types."

Skeptically, Mabel said, "Really?" She was slowly coming to realize that, in Bill's opinion, he was the expert on everything.

"Oh yeah. I spent years eyelid deep in the pageant scene."

"You did?" she said, surprised. "How come? Did you try to trick a beauty pageant into building your portal or something like that?"

Bill stared at Mabel.

####

Outside the flat hospital, it was a beautiful, peaceful morning. The air was clear, the unseen sun was shining brightly from some unknown dimension, and some 2D equivalent to a bird was chirping in some 2D equivalent to a tree.

And then the hospital doors crashed open with such force that passing shapes momentarily suspected that someone had set off a bomb.

"—don't give me that look, if you'd hustled your hypotenuse and had your birthday yesterday, we wouldn't be in such a rush! You're just lucky you came out so cute, or—" An exhausted, dull pinkish triangle charged out the doors with a very tiny, squishy yellow triangle in her trembling arm. She turned to shout behind her—"Hurry up! There's only two hours until the Best Baby Pageant and he is not going to miss it!"

—and was followed closely by a horrified blue triangle carrying a hat in one hand and a cane in the other. "But Scalene, the doctors still have to do those tests to check for—"

"They can test him later! If he's got some horrible birth defect, he'll still have it after he's won a trophy!" Without slowing, Scalene turned and held the baby out toward the other triangle. The squishy new shape gawked at him in mild befuddlement. "Look at this kid, Euclid! Most newborn brats look like cranky raisins, but he's less than an hour old and he's already bright-eyed and smooth-sided! He was born with the face of a pageant winner—"

Not looking where she was going, she ran into a tree. The bird flew off in a panic, Scalene lost her balance, and she nearly dropped the baby. Euclid caught him, caught her, and held her steady while she leaned dizzily against the tree. "Lene. You should be on bedrest right now. Maybe we should just, you know, take a moment to process..."

"Process what! We have our little angle. Am I supposed to sit in a hospital bed staring at the afterbirth?!"

While Euclid stared at her in shock, she snatched the child back, pushed him away, and wobbled back upright. "What kind of a lazy mother would I be if I was sleeping instead of making my child a winner! You want him to start off life on the right foot, don't you?"

Defeated, Euclid said, "All right. I'll take care of the... the paperwork. At least bring your cane."

"I don't need it. I'm fine."

"Fine?! You just..." He gestured at her, gestured at the brand-spanking-new baby, gestured at her again, then flung his hands up in defeat. "If you drop our baby, I'm divorcing you."

She sighed huffily. "You're so dramatic." But she snatched the cane out of his hand anyway and stormed away, declaring loudly enough that shapes on the other side of the street turned to stare: "If the mayor doesn't declare my Billy the greatest baby in the whole godforsaken world, I'm grabbing the biggest trophy in the room and bashing his eye in!"

####

Bill shrugged at Mabel. "Sure," he said. "Something like that."

####

Gompers stared down at the bowl set on the floor in front of him.

It contained black beans, broccoli, coffee grounds, fiber-enriched whole-grain cereal, oatmeal, and an avocado and half a sweet potato mashed together into an orange-green mush, all stewing in a prune juice soup.

Gompers looked up.

Dipper and Ford were crouched across from him, watching expectantly. 

Gompers bleated balefully at them.

"Go on!" Ford nudged the bowl closer. "It's good for you."

Gompers knew a lie when he heard one. He turned his nose up at the mix.

"I don't get it," Dipper said. "He eats everything. What's wrong with this stuff?"

"I haven't a clue."

"Maybe it's the broccoli?" 

Ford gave him a quizzical look. "Why broccoli?"

Dipper shrugged. "I don't like broccoli, I don't know why he would."

"Hmm." Mystified, Ford propped his chin in his hand and stared into Gompers's eyes. Gompers stared back. Gompers stared into his soul. Gompers didn't blink.

Ford was dragged from this session of nonconsensual soul-searching by the sound of footsteps and Mabel's voice drifting down the stairs: "Listen, you know I love your sense of fashion! All I'm saying is everyone loves kittens, but snakes? That's a pretty niche fashion market! You're not gonna get a lot of takers."

"No, hey, hear me out," Bill said. "I listened to your professional matchmaker advice, now you've got to listen to my professional heartbreaker advice. You'll thank me for this one day! This is my number one romance tip: if you wanna impress a date, strap cobras to your arms and call yourself 'Johnny Cobra-Arms.' It works every time. Guaranteed."

(Dipper snorted.)

"Whaaat? No way," Mabel said. "Seriously, what?"

"It's true! I workshopped this! I've experimented across parallel timelines! It works."

"Quit messing with me, Bill."

"You think I would ever mislead you? No. Picture this." As the pair turned the corner on the stairs, Bill was spreading his hands in front of himself as though gesturing to the scene he wanted Mabel to imagine. "You see a guy, maybe a year older than you, kinda cute but nothing to write home about, maybe a 6/10. Got him in your mind's eye?"

A look of intense concentration crossed Mabel's face as she engaged her Imagination. "Yeah?"

"Okay, now imagine he—" Bill reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around. "Where are my shoes." He raised his voice, "Who moved my fisshoes! I left them right— oh, there they are." He disappeared into the living room. "Imagine your 6/10 has two big snakes wrapped around his arms. And he catches your eye from across the club, comes up to you, and says..." Bill's voice dropped to a pitch that was nearly in the range of an average adult human male, "'Hey. Name's Johnny Cobra-Arms. What's yours?'"

Mabel thought about it. Her eyes slowly widened in amazement. "Oh my god, it would totally work on me."

Bill re-emerged into the entryway, fish shoes donned. "See?" 

"It made him hot! What the heck, how did that happen!"

"See?! It works every time!" He shouted toward the kitchen, "Hey, we're leaving for Alpaca's! I'm taking the car!"

"No you're not," Ford said.

Bill spread his hands in a shrug. "Worth a shot!" He grabbed his umbrella and the magic friendship bracelets from the coat rack and waited for Mabel to open the door. "See, it's the best possible first impression. It shows he's got a sense of humor, he's quirky, he's a little bit dangerous, he's got a great sense of fashion, he's a world traveler, he's good with animals..." The door swung shut behind them. 

The way Bill had shrugged stuck in Ford's mind. 

In his true form, Bill didn't have shoulders. His arms extended out of his sides like the trunks of saplings extending from the surface of flood waters, and they glided around his perimeter in a way that defied conventional physical biology. No joints. 

When he shrugged in his human body, sometimes he'd bob his shoulders up and down in a deliberate mimicry of how humans performed the gesture; and lately, as Bill got used to moving his new body, Ford had seen him sluggishly raise a shoulder when he was too exhausted to gesture more expressively. But most of the time, he shrugged like he still didn't have shoulders. He'd spread his arms, bend his elbows, usually forming a W shape but sometimes when he was particularly emphatic forming a shape like football goalposts, and if he really wanted to make his meaning clear he'd twitch his upturned palms up the way a human would twitch their shoulders.

He did it all the time. He'd done it just now. The gesture was so natural on Bill that Ford had never realized how unnaturalit was on a human—until he'd seen Mabel make the exact same gesture earlier.

She was copying Bill's body language. He wondered if she knew.

He'd have to keep an eye on that.

"Hope Agent Powers is into snakes," Dipper muttered.

Ford laughed—then wondered whether someone pulling the Johnny Cobra-Arms trick would've worked on him. If by now nothing had made him take an interest in a basic, garden-variety human being, he doubted anything could... but, admittedly, he'd at least consider hanging out with Johnny. He sounded like an intriguing character. "If that's the worst thing Bill subjects him to, he'll be getting off light."

With a twinge of guilt, Ford realized just how true that was. Ford was no stranger to having to turn down the volume on his conscience for the greater good—and there were few greater goods than protecting his family—but...

He might not know Powers, but he did know that, whether Bill succeeded in seducing him or not, the man didn't deserve what he was about to be subjected to.

####

(Now that this chapter's finally out, may there be no further delays for a good long while, ugh.

Here's your "what was changed in the wake of TBOB" update: obviously, since we got five whole pages on Bill's beliefs about romance, a lot of that got incorporated into this chapter—the first and last scenes were basically written entirely in response to TBOB.

The scene with Scalene & Euclid, obviously, got their names & descriptions from TBOB & TINAWDC (and yeah, yeah, i'm eventually gonna go back to earlier chapters and edit out Bill's mom being a line so it matches up with canon), and it's obvious what the "best baby pageant" is a reference to (so you can guess whether Bill won)—but Bill being a pageant kid due to his mom was already part of the plans long before TBOB, so I just stuck a couple canon details into the story I was already writing. We were already gonna get into Bill's childhood this chapter & next (as you'll see next week).

Beyond that, most of the chapter was already in its present form before TBOB—up to & including Bill having a list of topics he thinks are acceptable for dates that no rational human would agree with—and all TBOB added was a couple tiny details (like... "mandibles".)

The fact that the list of things that were influenced by TBOB is so much longer than usual is part of the reason this chapter's two whole weeks late lmao.

Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed, happy new year, and I'm looking forward to (finally) hearing your thoughts on the first fresh chapter of 2025!

[sunderwight]

SV AU where the System does offer Shen Qingqiu one way out of pushing Luo Binghe into the Abyss:

Since SQQ is now the POV character of his own story, he can accept a special one time purchase of the protagonist halo, and go down and do the Abyss plotline himself instead.

The catch is that there's only one protagonist halo. No dual protagonists allowed. Which means that if Shen Qingqiu takes it, Luo Binghe loses his immunity to fatal plot developments, unless SQQ can replace it with another immunity halo.

The only other halo that grants immunity from fatal catastrophes in PIDW is the love interest halo.

Luckily, love interest halos are extremely plentiful in the setting. It seems even Shen Qingqiu himself has one in his inventory for some reason? Weird, but at least that means he doesn't have to rob some poor girl of her golden ticket and potential happily-ever-after in Binghe's arms.

There's probably something especially bizarre about making Luo Binghe his own love interest for a while, but Shen Qingqiu reasons that it's only temporary. He'll swap the halos back once he's out of the Abyss! And he'll get Xin Mo and bring it back, and personally help Luo Binghe figure out how to wield it. Preferably with far fewer costs and downsides than in canon. Maybe then Binghe won't need as big of a harem and will still have some time to spend with his old master, when he's not running around conquering the world.

Surely, there's not way all of this could backfire. (Okay, he knows there are like a million ways it could backfire.) But definitely, Shen Qingqiu will get back, be in his right mind, NOT be suffering any grave imbalances due to Xin Mo, NOT have unlocked any secret demonic heritage that helps him survive but also gets him blood up, and NOT need to or want to have life-saving rescue sex with anyone holding any love interest halos after five years of struggling his way through a nightmare training gauntlet.

Of all the ways he imagined fucking this up, having to somehow play the part of the darkened hero flinging himself towards and away from his own student like said student is some demure maiden at risk of losing his virtue to him was not on the list!

Shen Qingqiu: Binghe, stay away! This master can't control himself properly right now!

Luo Binghe: but Shizun's already been gone for so long! Won't he come a little closer instead?

Shen Qingqiu: Binghe wouldn't ask that if he knew what this master might do to him!

Luo Binghe: Shizun can do whatever he wants to me! I don't mind!

Shen Qingqiu: my poor Binghe, this world has not shown you enough darkness, you don't realize what's going on!

Luo Binghe: so does Shizun want to top, or...?

[sheerfreesia007]

His Clumsy Klutz

Pairing: Chan x Reader

Word count: 1,727

Content warnings: Fluff, injury, mentions of wounds, mentions of burns, near fatal car accident

Summary: Chan is your guardian angel and he has his work cut out for him with the clumsiest person in the world. He tries his best every day to keep you out of harm’s way.

A/N: This little series was all inspired due to @jellymochii brainstorming for her GaurdianAngel!Felix fic. Please go read her fic as well it’s a wonderful piece!

The sound of your loud blaring alarm rang through your apartment and Chan sighed softly as he moved into your bedroom and saw you still sleeping on your stomach with your legs and arms thrown out from your body in a starfish image. He chuckled softly as he gently grazed his fingers along your temple as he moved to the side of your bed where your cell phone sat on your end table.

”C’mon sleepyhead time to wake up.” He said with a slight push of power through his finger effectively waking you up pulling a loud gasp from your throat.

”Fucking hell.” You groaned out loudly and Chan frowned at you.

”Language.” He scolded softly as he watched you slowly press up onto your knees and hands before blearily reaching out for your cellphone to stop the alarm. He gently pushed your cellphone closer to your reaching hand and smiled proudly when you were able to end the alarm. You move to get out of bed as Chan walks around your room checking to make sure that there isn’t anything in your way that you could trip over but he hears a loud thud from behind him. Whirling around he finds you sprawled out on the floor next to your bed with your bedsheets wrapped around your legs.

”Sorry, sorry I didn’t mean to do that.” You said softly and Chan sighed loudly as he raised his hand to his forehead.

”I swear, you’re gonna put me further into my grave. Don’t know how that’s possible but I’m sure you’d figure out a way to do it.” He huffed out amusedly before walking back over to you and gently tugging the sheets from your legs. “Now c’mon get up before you’re late.” He chastised you.

”Alright, alright. I get it.” You say goodnaturedly as you pull the sheets from around your legs and chuckle softly before flinging them back onto your bed behind you. “I’m gonna be late, I get it.” You say with an eye roll and Chan mimics kicking his leg at you as you rush towards your bathroom to get ready for the day. Shaking his head Chan sighs softly only walking out of your bedroom once he hears the shower turn on.

*-*-*-*

The corner of the street is unusually busy this morning on your walk to work. Chan’s keeping pace with you as you weave in and out of the pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk just as you come to a stop not far from the corner behind a large crowd waiting for the walking signal to change. He sees it happen in slow motion just as he’s walking up to your left side which is closest to the road, a middle aged man in too much of a rush this morning barrels through you and you go teetering to the left thanks to the man’s shoulder slamming into your own.

Chan uses every ounce of power he has within him to carefully catch you in his arms stopping you from falling into the road just as a fast speeding sportscar drives by. You gasp loudly as a feeling of warmth encases you and your head snaps up to stare at Chan unseeingly. Quickly you right yourself and Chan eases himself next to you feeling slightly drained from using almost all of his power to save you from a fatal accident. 

“Oh my gosh. Thank you.” You whispered out as your wide eyes darted around the sidewalk as if you were looking for him. He knew you couldn’t feel him anymore and were trying to get some reassurance but he didn’t have the energy to give you that warmth again. He then watched as you internally brushed yourself off and begin your walk towards work once more, but just as he watched you turn he spotted the slight teariness in your eyes and felt himself slump tiredly as he followed you. It was a close call, almost too close and he realized that he wasn’t ready for you to join him on this side yet.

*-*-*-*

During your shift at work Chan tries to gather his strength as quickly as he possibly can but doesn’t over do it because he knows that you still have the walk home from work later. He manages to stop you from slamming the back of your head on the underside of your desk, catching your fingers in the metal filing cabinet, and landing on your ass when your desk chair rolled away from you. 

But as he follows you into the break room for your last coffee break of the day he feels a sense of foreboding come over him and he tries to rush into the break room after you. You’re reaching for the coffee pot when your coworker comes walking in looking for a caffeine fix as well. She startles you as your hand grabs onto the coffee pot and your hand swings towards yourself in your surprise, the bottom of the coffee pot where the hot liquid sits comes in contact with your opposite arm and you cry out in pain as the heat from the liquid and coffee pot scald your arm causing a red burn to form on your skin. You drop the coffee pot and it shatters on the floor splashing the hot liquid on your shins and the glass shards cut into your feet that aren’t protected by your shoes.

Chan stares there in shock as he watches you and your coworker move about trying to cool the burn on your arm as well as wipe away the hot liquid on your legs while being careful of the glass shards that are still embedded in the tops of your feet. We were doing so well today, Chan thought as he watched the scene unfold around him standing there powerless as he watched with wide eyes.

He sees your grimace as you shift on your feet and he sighs softly before hanging his head knowing that he wouldn’t be able to do anything to help you now since it’s already happened. He watches avidly as your coworker puts cooling gel on your burn before wrapping your arm in gauze and bandages. You then work on removing the glass shards and putting bandaids on the cuts before making sure that the liquid hadn’t scalded your legs as well.

When he sees that you’re for the most part alright he walks with you back to your desk and sits on top of your desk looking down at you as you stare quietly at the computer screen with a furrowed brow.

”I’m sorry.” You whisper softly and Chan feels his heart thud in his chest heavily. “That one was bad. I’m sorry.” You whisper dejectedly and Chan sighs softly at your words knowing that you’d beat yourself up for the rest of the evening about how much of a klutz you were. He lays a gentle hand on your shoulder and pushes out some warmth to you causing you gasp softly before a soft begrudging smile graces your face. He knows that this was the only thing he can do for you to reassure you everything was okay, he just hoped it would be enough for you right now.

*-*-*-*

The rest of the evening is quiet and uneventful, your walk home was easy for once and Chan didn’t have to step in and help you or guide you in anyway which was a nice change. Picking up dinner on your way home was even easier than normal and Chan silently thanked the heavens above that they were cutting you some slack. 

When you returned home you tiredly slipped out of your work shoes before padding around your apartment setting out your dinner in the living room in front of the television before getting changed into more comfortable clothes. You finally settle on the couch to eat your dinner and Chan watches from his spot on the other end of your couch as your new favorite drama plays while you laugh softly and eat your dinner. 

Not long after you finish your food you get up from your spot on the couch and stretch widely before you take your dishes to the sink to clean them and leave them out to dry overnight. Chan then follows you to your bedroom and watches with a fond smile on his face as you slowly shuffle towards your bed and fall into it face first with a loud sigh leaving your tired body. He had made sure that you cleaned your burn and redressed it before you came to bed and had swapped the bandaids on your feet as well. He didn’t want you getting an infection and then finally meeting him on the other side.

As he leans against your doorframe he smiles tiredly as he watches you start to fall asleep and turns to take his own rest when he hears your soft voice call out to him.

”Thank you for watching out for me today.” You say softly and sleepily and Chan smiles fondly at you as he feels the connection that the two of you share pulse with power. Every once in a while when you’ve had a particularly rough day you’ll talk to him and it only strengthens the bond and connection that’s between the two of you. “I know it’s not an easy job being my guardian angel. But I just want you to know that I appreciate you and all your hard work.” You whisper out to him in the dark bedroom and Chan feels his heart thud heavily once more in his chest. He swallows quickly as he feels tears spring to his eyes, he’s moving swiftly across the bedroom and leans over you to press a gentle warm kiss to your temple infused with warmth that makes you smile adoringly as you hum at him.

”I’ll always be here for you. I’ll make sure that you’re safe.” He promises quietly as he hears your breath even out and slumber pulls you into her embrace for the night. Turning from you then he slowly walks out of the room ready for his well deserved rest for the evening knowing that he wouldn’t ever give up his job of looking over you. Especially when it was his most prized job in this afterlife.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @simpforleeknaur, @inlovewithstraykids

@channiesrightasscheek

[aphetaliamessages]

Worst Ways The Allies Have Died

England: Burnt at the stake

Ironically, it wasn't witchery that got him in trouble. His pork pie resembled a human sacrifice, and one would think this is incredibly hard to do, but not for him. With his feet on fire and his ego hurt, Arthur cursed at the townspeople for not appreciating fine dining

France: Decapitation by guillotine

Riding high after a successful revolution, Franny wasn't expecting to be betrayed by that bitch Robespierre. Artie had to help him sew his head back on his neck. The second those vocal cords connected— "ARTUR YOU WILL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT ZAT FUCKING BITCHBOY DID!" “Hush up, frog, I can feel your vocal cords vibrating! You'll make me do a shakey job.” Bonding by talking shit after an execution #JustNationThings

America: Mustard gas

This dumbass thought if he snorted mustard gas, he could taste mustard with his nose. Newsflash, this chemical weapon is not made from actual mustard. When his government found out, they started testing his brain because they thought, "There's no way he's this dumb." Yes way. But, to be fair, it could be all the head trauma. The injuries heal, but he never comes back the same 🤔

Canada: Mauled by a mama polar bear

Mattie went to the Arctic to show Kuma where he came from. It backfired, because a mama bear got really protective of Kuma. It's okay, Mattie understands. That was the day Kumajirou decided he preferred the land of chips and TV instead of raw fish and so much ice

Russia: Froze to death 

During the Victorian period, a certain Russian planned to meet with a certain American for a special private meeting to do some secret private business. In simple terms, it was a long-distance booty call. Ivan didn't want to leave any evidence of his whereabouts, so he traveled on foot. Big mistake. The man froze to death after swimming across the entire ocean for a piece of ass. Despite his death ruining the booty call, Alfred did think Ivan dying for him was incredibly romantic. SCORE!

China: Total organ failure from poisoning

An old fling poisoned his tea in a furious act of revenge. China didn't even flinch, even as his organs were shutting down. Not like MODERN nations, who cry at the slightest fatal wound! No, he finished the meeting, watching carefully, until he spotted that MANWHORE Luo with a face like he was nervously expecting something. He bided his time until the last moment, then pointed dramatically at the culprit just before collapsing, dead. That bitch got accused of being an evil spirit AND an assassin. HA! He was fucking terrible at sex, too...

[blackynsupremacy]

BEING THUGNIFICENT’S

NERDY GIRLFRIEND

HEADCANONS

pairing: thugnificent/otis jenkins x black!fem!reader

fandom: the boondocks (2005-2014)

summary: thugnificent wouldn’t be the type to easily settle down with anyone, but through your relationship, you shifted his perspective on many things.

contains: based on this request, fluff, comedy, swearing, use of the n-word, romance.

• if one could paint an image of the phrase “opposites attract”, best believe that you and thug would be the inspiration and the vision.

• thug was outgoing, flirtatious, confident, sometimes narcissistic and obnoxious, but he was real when it came it down to it. he had no shame about anything.

• no shame about his upbringing, no shame about his music, and definitely no shame about his personal life.

• he was the typical famous star that had surplus money and women flocking around. it was a fling here and a fling there.

• never a true, committed relationship.

• that all changed when he moved to woodcrest and met you.

• everyone greeted him with open arms—well, almost everyone.

• you were different from the rest of the women he met.

• you were cordial and polite, but a bit reserved. you didn’t really talk to him unless you had to.

• you heard his song “eff grandad” and you found it to be so funny.

• you didn’t throw yourself at thug and that had him piqued.

• he tried to get to know you by inviting you to a party at his mansion, but you suggested a different place. it wasn’t his style for a woman to tell him what to do.

• instead, you invited him to your favorite arcade and pizza spot across town.

• it was lowkey, so that no paparazzi would flash him.

• when it comes to any type of video games, you were competitive.

• “ahh, shit! you tryna make sure a nigga lose, huh? i got something for yo’ ass.” he’d tease as you competed in mortal kombat, maneuvering the controls to unleash an impressive power move.

• “hell, yeah! watch this.”

• you get your lick back when you pull a fatality on that man.

• he was shocked!

• you were talking all kinds of shit—which he found to be sexy. he thought you were just this shy homebody, but there’s a bad ass bitch in there.

• at that moment, thug had to lock you down.

• one time you were helping him out with his hair and you wanted to watch inuyasha while you did so.

• thug tried to ask questions, but you shushed him, so you could focus.

• he didn’t really understand it, so he just watched and it all clicked.

• “hold up, hold up! you tryna tell me that dog ass nigga is really a playa’? this man really wanted an alive and dead bitch. that’s some freaky shit. i respect it though—ow!”

• you thwacked his face with a comb at that statement.

• you introduced him to naruto.

• “so if that little blonde nigga become the hokage? is he gonna get all the hoes in his village?”

• dragon ball z is definitely his favorite. it’s a staple for him.

• he also likes sailor moon, but he sure as hell won’t tell you that.

• sometimes, you both binge watch, he’d invite the lethal interjection crew over to watch, or he’d do it alone.

• depending on the show, he prefers sub over dub.

• he loves to hear you spew facts and theories. he even has his own.

• sometimes you’d have debates on certain characters. ya’ll once had an argument on who could kick the most ass between superman and batman.

• got him so heated he literally made an unreleased diss track about superman.

• he spoils you with merchandise! if you even mention interest in a character, show, game, or comic, he’s going to buy stuff that’s related to it.

• hell, he even gets stuff for himself.

• he gets jealous when you simp over your fictional crushes.

• it cracks you up because you reassure him there’s no competition, it’s all for fun.

• “thuggie, don’t act like that. stop acting like you weren’t tripping over storm from x-men.”

• you clocked that tea really quick.

• he finds it sexy when you cosplay his fictional crushes.

• “hell yeah, baby! turn around for thugnificent, goddamn!”

• you like to spend quiet time with him by reading a manga or comic.

• it calms him when you guys watch studio ghibli movies.

• your best vacation spots are london, japan, universal studios, and disney world.

• you would randomly quote lines or make references, he’d just go along with it.

• he’d make references in his bars while in the studio.

• you’d be the first to listen and he’d respectfully ask for your feedback only, no one else’s!

• overall, he loves you and digs your overall vibe.

• you’re his nerd and he’s your thug.

[pastanest]

Eleventh Doctor x she/her!reader

AN: this is an ANGSTY one which is usually not the vibe for me but I got lost in this idea and completely fell in love with it so I really hope you like it!! this is the ost piece I was listening to while writing -

Set Things Right

With a sigh, the Doctor rubs his face with his hands, then places his palms flat against the console of the Tardis. She wheezes halfheartedly, seeming to wince in pain.

“Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong?” The Time Lord pleads with her, desperate for any sign, any handy hint on what he can possibly do to help her. 

The two of them have been drifting aimlessly through deep space for a time that even a lord of such a thing has been unable to truly focus on. Hours, days, weeks - he doesn’t know, all of it has been lost to the worry over his oldest and truest companion. The one piece of home he has left. 

Closing his eyes tightly in a pained blink, the Doctor takes a deep breath in an attempt to tune himself into the Tardis further, to understand her, just enough to help. In focussing as hard as he possibly can, his subconscious grabs at the first sound it finds, no more than an unidentifiable flicker, but the Doctor hones his thoughts to the spark that the Tardis has sent him, whatever it may be. The very moment the sound becomes clear to him, though, the Doctor flinches away from the console, feeling a physical tear through his hearts and rubbing against his shirt to soothe the ache that resides there. Has resided there, and been ignored for another time that he dares not address.

“Don’t. Just…don’t, please. She’s….” The Doctor shakes his head, refusing to say the words as he falls against the railing, gripping it with one hand at his back while the other still holds his chest, as though shielding his hearts from another fatal blow. “She can’t help us, not anymore.”

And he feels it, the judgemental gaze of the Tardis on him at every angle, even in her weakened state. Loosening his bowtie to escape some of the pressure, the Doctor speeds from the control room, past a door that he knows was not previously so close to the main control room but he will not give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it, past the swimming pool, and towards the library. There must be something in here, he thinks to himself, haphazardly throwing books from the shelves on which they previously sat and creating a disheveled pile in the center of the room behind him, hoping one of them may contain the secret to healing his sickly time machine.

Quite suddenly, the Tardis jolts to the right, sending the Doctor falling into the pile of books he had unintentionally used to form his own landing pad. Jumping back to his feet with a firm frown on his face, the Doctor straightens his shirt and huffs.

“Now, I know you aren’t very well, but there is no need-”

Interrupting him, the Tardis throws him back to the ground with another fierce jolt, and then she bursts to life in what the Doctor can only describe as a fit of rage. She is taking flight, furiously, to a destination of her own choosing, with no regard for the Time Lord that is crawling his way back to the main control room through corridors that she turns on their heads, walls that she shrinks and enlarges, floors that she shakes and cracks with the sheer force of her determination.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” The Doctor shouts into the main control room, over her screeches, as glass panels splinter at his feet.

Flinging himself at the console, he grabs the monitor with both hands and tries to read the Gallifreyan text, the co-ordinates, anything, but she is flying too fast for his eyes to keep up with her train of thought as it blazes across the screen.

And with a final, deafening crash that sends the Doctor hurtling into the railing, the Tardis halts to a sudden stop. She wheezes again, but this time it almost sounds…relieved? As though wherever she has landed, it has brought her a sense of peace. This place can heal her wounds, the Doctor recognises her feelings towards it, and his ever curious mind is buzzing with excitement at the thought of such an incredible, new place. 

“Oh, where have you brought me this time, old girl?” Having already forgiven her for the bumpy ride, the ancient god is giddy, rubbing his hands together and retying his bowtie, grabbing his tweed jacket as he races for the door. 

He braces himself as he reaches for the wooden panel, hand trembling with excitement. With a deep breath, the Doctor pushes open the door and steps out into the brand new world. Except it isn’t, and it is. 

The street is one he would recognise even if he had never set foot there, because he knows this planet almost as well as he had known his own. Earth, the planet to have given him the greatest friends and adventures he’d ever known. But this street is not one he has never set foot on. The Doctor is a man who cannot look back because he dares not, there are many streets on this planet that he avoids for fear of the pain he would revisit on seeing them again, in the absence of those he once knew occupied them. And this street is no different, except in that it is the most recent of the streets he never wanted to see again, and in the way that he has been forced to do exactly that. He wants to run and hide, more than anything, but he is frozen to the spot, because something isn’t right. The air tastes different, the gravity feels slightly askew, and he can’t tell what year it is amidst the emotional tidal wave of it all. As fundamentally wrong as all of those aspects are, the Doctor cannot deny that they point to one possibility amongst a million others, but that one - regardless of the agony - he cannot live with the regret of denying. 

And then he hears it again. The same sound he had heard when inside the Tardis, the sound she had told him would help her, and now again, in the place she has taken him to heal her. Time seems to slow as the Doctor turns to his left, his eyes immediately locking onto and blurring a perfect vision he never thought he would see again. You.

Laughing so hard you are throwing your head back, eyes crinkled and tears spilling at their creases, your mobile phone to your ear only mildly distorting the view of you. Completely oblivious to the big, sad eyes that watch over you, a trembling smile of pure anguish choking out a disbelieving laugh with you, though he has no idea what you are laughing at. 

Clutching at his chest and feeling the world around him beginning to spin, the Time Lord stumbles back through the doors of his time machine and falls to the floor, pressing his back against the wooden panels in an effort to lock himself away. 

For the briefest second, all he feels is pain. Wound after wound tearing through his very being, bleeding him dry and crushing him into dust. And then that second ends, and the oncoming storm rises to his feet, a darkened frown etched into his brow.

“Why.” He mutters, approaching the console. “Why. WHY!” He throws his arms in the air and slams them against either side of the monitor, watching as you disappear down the street and then shoving the monitor away from him. “WHY would you bring me here?! What kind of cruel trick is this?! How DARE you! How…could you? How could you take me back to a time when she was…when you know that I can’t…” 

The Doctor trails off, defeated, and collapses onto the jump seat with his head in his hands.

Sensing his anguish, the Tardis groans at him, exasperated by the way in which he continues to miss the obvious. Sending the monitor flying back over to the side of the console that the Doctor is facing, the Tardis displays the exact time and date beyond her doors and waits. It takes the solemn, lonely man several seconds to lift his sorrowful gaze from his hands and read the Gallifreyan text she has written for him. 

He blinks, and blinks again. Then stands, closing the distance between himself and the monitor. 

“But, this can’t be right, that means…” The cogs begin to turn inside the mind of a genius, knowing for a reason he cannot come to terms with that he could not have possibly seen you on this date, in this time.

And as the realization hits him, his eyes widen, the Tardis seeming to screech in pure glee as her masterful plan is revealed to him. 

“You…” He whispers in disbelief. “You punctured a hole in the fabric of the universe…to bring us to a parallel world, where…” 

A soft knock at the door interrupts his bewildered and undecidedly disapproving train of thought. Leaning around the console, he frowns in confusion and, in a daze, strolls over to the door. Opening it just enough to show himself and not the bigger-on-the-inside majesty of his time machine, the Doctor unintentionally finds himself very nearly nose to nose, with you.

Jumping back in surprise, you chuckle. “Oh, hello! Blimey, talk about up close and personal!”

And the Doctor cannot say a word. In all his hundreds of years, you are the one thing to render him completely and utterly speechless. 

“Anyway, sorry to disturb you and your…policey business? I’m guessing this is a new thing or I just never noticed this blue box on the corner of my street, but, is this somewhere that I can raise concerns?” You ask him, staring up at him with the most clueless and curious expression. The pain caused by the lack of recognition in your eyes is nothing compared to the bliss of seeing the life within them.

Without a word, the Doctor nods.

“Oh, perfect! There’s this guy that’s been following me home from work in the evenings and it’s really starting to freak me out. I’m not sure if I just report it to you and you keep an eye out, since he hasn’t done anything and the law for creeps is lenient at the best of times, but if you’re stationed here I just wanted to give you a heads up, I guess.” You glance to either side, as though fearful the man you are reporting could overhear, but then your eyes meet the Doctor’s again and you smile so kindly. “Anyway, that was all. Hope you have a good night and don’t get too cramped in there! See ya!”

And, like what you’ve done hasn’t just altered the course of history, you spin on your heel and walk away without a care in the world. 

The Doctor closes the Tardis doors again and turns to face the console. 

“We can’t be here. She doesn’t recognise me, this version of her has never met me- well, she has now, I suppose, and that is entirely your fault! But she doesn’t know me, she’s lived the days on this planet that another version of her spent traveling through time and space with me, she has stayed safe here and I cannot do anything to jeopardize that, not again, so we have to-” He stops himself, mid-ramble and mid-walk to the center console.

“Except…the other version of her, the version that we knew, she mentioned a man that followed her home, just once.” His blood runs cold. “She said that had we not met when we did, she feared what he would have ended up doing to her, and in this timeline…” The Doctor’s fists clench at his sides as the reality of the situation dawns on him. “You have given me an impossible choice. To choose between the very fabric of the universe, and saving her just one more time.” He straightens his bowtie and heads for the door, casting a flirtatious smirk over his shoulder. 

“And you knew exactly what I would choose, you sexy thing.”

The next morning, you all but stumble into your office in a half-asleep state, having stayed awake far too late the previous night watching youtube videos about conspiracy theories to distract yourself from the curious, bowtie-wearing policeman you had met. Falling into the spinny chair behind your desk, you open your laptop and start tapping away to log yourself in for the day, tuning out the background noise of your coworkers doing the same. 

“Ahh, (Y/N)!” Your manager’s voice makes you jump, your life flashing before your suddenly wide eyes as you sit up straight and turn to face him.

“I wanted to introduce you to John Smith, he’s a detective in the area that’s been assigned to watch over this part of town due to some unsightly folks being reported on the streets!” He grimaces at the thought, but you hardly notice, your eyes having already gravitated towards the tall, slim man with the dopey smile on his face as he watches the tiniest spark of recognition ignite in your eyes. 

Standing from your chair, you hold a hand out to him. “We’ve met, actually, but I didn’t think it’d amount to this! Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith.”

If possible, the warm smile on his face brightens to challenge even the sun outside. “Duty calls! Pleasure’s all mine, but please, call me the Doctor.” He pretends to very dramatically whisper “It’s my code name.” 

Unable to stop yourself, you giggle and shake your head at his antics, making the young man with ancient eyes beam. 

“I’ll be surveying the area today, but this evening I wondered if you could take me on your route home, so that I can evaluate any…unsightly folks.” He says, referencing your report the day before and your manager’s choice of words.

You nod at him, smiling gratefully. “That’d be wonderful, thanks…Doctor.” 

And oh, how his hearts both skip a beat at hearing you say that.

For the rest of the day, you sit at your laptop and work away, while occasionally casting glances out of the window and at the carpark below, where the curious bowtie-wearing Doctor-policeman “surveys the area”. Now, you don’t pride yourself on being knowledgeable about police work, but you are quite confident that it doesn’t usually entail climbing trees simply to sit in them or getting bored enough to begin peeping in people’s parked cars and accidentally setting several car alarms off. All the same, every glance from the window leaves you with a smile that you truly struggle to wipe from your face, even in the wake of your desk job. 

At the end of your working day, you practically skip out of your office in search of the sweet fool that has offered to walk you home. You find him waiting beneath a streetlamp, surrounded by its golden glow, casting a halo over him that you can’t help to find somewhat metaphorical.

“Evening Doctor, had a good day?” You tease, knowing as well as he does that you have seen the majority of his antics.

“Good evening! I did have quite a good day, yes, did get a bit dull towards the middle, but as long as it helps keep the community safe, I will do it! How was your day?” He kindly returns your question, the two of you subconsciously starting to walk in step with each other.

“It was alright, bit dull, like you say, but we got through it!” You change the subject. “Before I entrust you with my route home, do you have a badge to prove your position, detective?”

Something twinkles in his eye at your sensibility, your desire to protect yourself, and the opportunity for him to show off one of his favorite party tricks. “Ah, of course! Here.” 

Digging into his tweed jacket, he retrieves a leather bound wallet and opens it out to you. The second you have digested the words on the small piece of paper within it, you are laughing so hard you are throwing your head back.

The Doctor, in a state of pure confusion, rapidly looks between you and the psychic paper. “What? What does it say?!”

Wiping your eyes, you try to calm yourself down. “It’s safe to say your flirting is much appreciated after a long day, Doctor.”

With wide eyes, the Time Lord reads over the piece of psychic paper that has never been more accurately named than when it answered your question of his professional title with a few, simple words. 

The love of your life.

And the Doctor has never flushed a more violent shade of red in all his years. With a disgruntled cough, he shoves the wallet back in his jacket.

“I am so sorry, that was not at all appropriate, please forgive-”

Nudging him playfully, you cut him off. “Nothing to forgive! As I said, I appreciated it. I know a creep when I see one, as proven, so I can tell when someone isn’t one. Translation: you can flirt with me as much as you like, pretty boy.”

He expects your flirting to fluster him even more, having not heard it in some time, but the sentiment is so familiar and by extension, comforting to him, the Doctor finds himself relaxing into your presence again, like nothing has changed.

“Pretty boy?” He chuckles.

You shrug. “Yeah, I’d definitely say you’re pretty. I suppose I’d have to, if you’re the love of my life.”

Playing along, the Doctor smiles at you, perhaps a little too adoringly. “Well, yes, it would be quite a shame if one of those statements were false.”

“Either one, in fact.” You give him a cheeky grin, the two of you sharing a comfortable laugh as you pass beneath another streetlight along your walk home that you have memorized so completely, you have all the time in the world to memorize an entirely new part of it.

By the time the Doctor walks you to your front door that evening, both of your faces ache from smiling as much as you have. 

“I regret to inform, I didn’t look behind us to see if we were being followed at any point.” You say, feigning disappointment in yourself that the Time Lord very quickly catches onto.

“Ah, well, in that case, I regret to inform the same- and it’s my job! I am rubbish at this.” 

His response brings another warm laugh from you. “I wouldn’t say you’re rubbish, but I think it is only fair we reconvene tomorrow evening and ensure we do keep our wits about us. What do you think?”

And the Doctor is grinning at you like you’re a tree with silver leaves, standing tall in deep red grass, beneath twin suns. A piece of home he truly never thought he would find again.

“I think I owe it to you, after my poor show today.”

With that, you’re smiling right back at him. “Wonderful! See you tomorrow then, Doctor.”

He raises his hand without really thinking about it and gives a very awkward wave, considering how close the two of you are standing, but it seems you are already accustomed to his clumsy social skills and have found the charm in them that speaks to your heart in the same way it does across every version of you. Sharing one final laugh, the two of you part ways, the Doctor beginning to retrace his steps from your house to his Tardis. 

When casting one last look over his shoulder, he sees you still standing in your half-open doorway, watching after him with a lingering smile that is so beautifully familiar to him. With a more socially acceptable distance now between you, he waves again, and you wave back, stepping into your house and closing your door behind you. And with a spring in his step that was previously long forgotten, the Doctor returns to his time machine.

She is in wonderful spirits, of course, seeing her Time Lord return with such a dopey smile plastered between rosey cheeks as he recounts the day he’s had, everything you said, everything you did. The Tardis makes what can only be described as mechanical noises of approval with every new piece of information about you. 

Knowing he can’t risk trying to time travel to the next morning when already breaking the rules by being in this parallel world to begin with, the Doctor decides to spend the rest of the evening and night tidying up. Something he doesn’t often do, as the Tardis will usually default to clean settings whenever he leaves a room in a mess, but she watches endearingly as he tidies away the books he’d thrown into to the library floor, polishes the railings of the main control room, and strangely, tidies away the fairy lights that you had wrapped around the bannister what feels like a lifetime ago, because you had insisted the Tardis could use a little more ‘dolling up’, as you put it. A classy girl, you had called her. No wonder she is still so fond of you.

But the Doctor had been unable to merely focus his gaze on the little glowing orbs that decorated the main control room, ever since you had last set foot in there. The reminder of your physical presence and the agony of the absence that followed was too much for him to confront, and yet here he is, wrapping them up and tidying them away like Christmas decorations that have been left up just a little too long. It is curious, the Tardis thinks. Does this mean he is ready to start processing his grief? Is he simply on an emotional high from seeing you again, to the point where he can touch the tangible reminders of you that were previously forbidden to trembling hands? Or, does he wish for you to set foot in here again and make the request for fairy lights that he will already have waiting for you? The Tardis does not know, but she knows very well what she hopes to be the truth.

The next morning, the Doctor actually decides to go on a stroll to the local shops. He had visited them only a handful of times with you before and often found them to be incredibly boring, which they once again proved themselves to be when he arrived at 5am to find none of them were open yet. Naturally, he spun around the carpark in shopping trolleys until the doors opened hours later. 

At work, you sit at your desk tapping your shoes against the carpet beneath it impatiently, glancing out of the window every few seconds with a frown that you truly cannot believe is there. Are you really this disturbed by the lack of presence of a man you have known no more than 48 hours?

But when he hobbles into the carpark, very awkwardly carrying a foldable ping-pong set, you struggle to contain the howling laughter that brings tears to your eyes. You watch in absolute wonder as the strange man sets the table up against a tree he had climbed the previous day, in perfect view of the window by your desk, and then turns to wave at you, ping-pong paddle in hand and a goofy grin on his face as he points at it and the table, in case you hadn’t noticed it. Waving back and miming that yes, you acknowledge the ping-pong table he has brought with him, you shake your head in disbelief and finally allow yourself to focus on your work. Meanwhile, in the distance there is the occasional, disdainful yell of a Time Lord playing ping-pong against a tree and losing.

That evening, the Doctor is once again waiting for you under the same streetlamp, illuminated by the same angelic glow as the evening before, and you can’t help feeling that each time you see him standing under it, that becomes more and more fitting.

“Evening Doctor, what’s the final score?” You ask, gesturing to the ping-pong table that he has left in the carpark.

Scoffing and pouting dramatically, the Doctor replies. “I don’t want to talk about it, but good evening.”

In an instant, the two of you are chuckling again, like old friends that have known each other far longer than you two have. Or rather, far longer than you have known him. The walk to your home continues in much the same way as it did the previous day, except the Doctor is more aware of your surroundings this time.

“So, I said to her, y’know, that’s totally unreasonable, and then she-”

The Doctor interrupts you by gently tapping your hand with his own as they swing between you. 

“I don’t want to alarm you, but we are being followed. Carry on as you were, I’ll keep watch.” He whispers, your arm immediately going rigid with fear beside him, but nodding along with his reassurances. “You are completely safe. I won’t let anything harm you.”

Clearing your throat, you continue. “Sorry, just remembered I forgot to save a file at work and made a mental note to sort that tomorrow. Anyway, as I was saying-”

Listening dutifully to your stories, as he always has, the Doctor only occasionally casts sideways glances to the opposite side of the street, where a shadowed figure is walking ever so slightly behind the two of you.

Once safely at your door, the two of you share a small smile, but your nervousness is obvious.

“Please, dont worry. After tonight, you won’t ever have to feel this way again. I will deal with him.” The Doctor tells you, voice soft but words firm in their meaning.

And you don’t know why, but you trust him completely. “Thank you. Goodnight, Doctor.”

With that, he gives you a warm smile, one that you will hold onto for the rest of the night. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

He waits until you have stepped inside your home, closed and locked the front door, before he takes his leave. There is no skip in his step this time, his shoes thud against the concrete road with a determination and fury like no other.

Walking over to his Tardis, the Doctor rests his back against the doors and crosses his arms. 

“I know you’re hiding over there, I know you like to follow her. Just tell me why.” He speaks into the street that appears empty, but in his peripheral vision, he can see the same hooded shadow that had been following you earlier, hiding around the corner of someone else’s house.

For a moment, the stalker says nothing and the Doctor is tempted to speak again, but then a voice greets him from the dark.

“None of your business.”

The Doctor laughs coldly. “I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong. By choosing to subject her to the fear that you have, you have made this my business. So, I’ll ask again, just once: why?”

The hooded figure considers the words and the obvious confidence of the bowtie-wearing man that leans against a police box. Based on this, he evidently tries to choose his words carefully, but not carefully enough.

“I like the way she walks faster when she sees me behind her.”

The Doctor’s blood boils in his veins. “You like to scare her?”

When no voice replies to correct him, the Time Lord stands up from leaning against the Tardis and walks over to the monster of a man that thinks himself hidden. 

“Does it make you feel powerful, scaring her? Like you’re making some impact on the world?” The Doctor seethes. “Let me make myself very clear: she is one world that will forever be out of your reach, both in who she is and the fact I will make sure of it. She is under my protection, do you want to know what that means?”

Without giving the monster time to answer, the Doctor grabs him by a tuft of his hair and slams his forehead into his, sending him a shockwave compilation of the Time Lord’s most formidable and incredible moments. The paper man crumbles to the floor, a shaking mess, and the Doctor stands tall over him. 

“If I ever see your face again, it will be your last day on this planet.” The Doctor threatens, voice eerily soft given the weight of his words.

Nodding frantically, the stalker scrambles to his feet and sprints as fast as he can away from the ancient god. 

Rubbing his face tiredly, the Doctor returns to his time machine and collapses on the jump seat. 

“He won't bother her again, she’s safe now.” He tells his oldest companion.

She whirrs pleasantly at him, grateful for him having saved you, but reiterating a question that already nags at his mind.

“After seeing my list of atrocities, it’s highly likely he’ll ever come back. We should…” He trails off, exhausted by the task of sharing his own history with another mind in such a way. Sighing deeply, he sits back in the chair. “But highly likely still isn’t definite. I should probably stay, just one more day, to be certain.”

And the next day, after another wonderful walk home with you, the Time Lord comes skipping through the Tardis doors with another beaming grin. 

“Well, there’s no way he would come back the day after I threatened to remove him from the planet, and I can't leave her so suddenly without an explanation! I owe her that, at least.”

But he is only justifying the continuation down this path to himself, the Tardis holds no opposition to what would usually cause her and the fabric of reality a great deal of stress.

Before he knows it, the Doctor has done the impossible: he has lived a normal week in normal human time. He knows that without you, he never could have done such a thing. To be honest, even if he had been with you as he was before, he would have struggled with this. Having lost you and lived without you in the way that he has, he has never wished more for the most mundane parts of a life with you. All the time spent running with you at his side, facing varying degrees of danger head on, running on adrenaline and saving planet after planet - it was only when he lost you that he realized in doing all of that, he barely had the time to just walk with you. Talk about your day, the weather, your friends, the gossip about town, the slow passing of an evening instead of cramming a month’s worth of adventures into a week of traveling and then dropping you back into your normal life on the same day you’d left it. How you adjusted to both, how you effectively gave up on the life you had here, the one he has now been blessed enough to live with you, he will never know.

And on the last night of the working week, when the two of you share a look that acknowledges the fact you won’t see each other again until Monday, and you invite him into your home for a cup of tea, the Doctor feels a piece of his hearts slot back into place.

Stepping into your home, without the souvenirs and paintings from your travels with the Doctor filling every empty space, only seeing pieces of you everywhere, your ornaments and trinkets and chosen wall art - all of it sings your name to him like a prayer. It is strange, to step into someone’s home for the first time and feel a sense of nostalgia. Something feels wrong, still, but the Time Lord allows himself to be blinded by everything that feels right, the constant comfort that he feels in your presence, the peace you bring his ancient mind. Just once, he feels he is allowed to ignore the nagging in his brain. The universe can let him have this, just for a little while longer.

Having made the Doctor the best cup of tea he has ever had - simply because it is you that has made it - you inform him it is against your code of conduct to stay in your work clothes once you have returned home, and rapidly ascend the stairs, leaving the Time Lord sitting in your living room in a lovesick daze. And when you re-enter the room in the coziest looking pajamas he has ever seen, the Doctor is absolutely certain that the look in his eyes tells you loud and clear, he would do anything for you. 

Flopping down on the sofa beside him, you kick your feet up on the plush footstool ahead of you. “So, Friday night, what are we saying - takeaway and a film?”

You could have asked him to marry you and the question would have sounded just as heavenly. The Doctor nods frantically, grinning after you as you briefly exit the room again and return with a box full of paper menus for various takeaway places, asking him to pick while you choose a film that you say he has to see at least once in his life. He pretends to deliberate, his eyes fixed on you as you dig through your stacks of DVD’s, but he knows that he’s going to choose your favorite takeaway and you’re going to put on your favorite film, which he has watched with you a number of times before, but cannot wait to watch again for the first time.

In the post-takeaway bloat, the Doctor has discarded his tweed jacket and bowtie, and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, while you have simply shifted your position to be snuggled into his side with your head against his chest. The two of you are snuggled under a fluffy blanket, watching your favorite movie in silence, save for your choice commentary over your favorite scenes. With your ear pressed against his chest, the Doctor wonders how you haven’t made a point of his irregular sounding heartbeats. While you have acknowledged it in your own head, something about it feels normal to you, preventing you from having any kind of reaction beyond being comforted by its sound. 

And never before has the Time Lord wished to be stuck in a time loop more. If the only way he could live this day, everyday, for the rest of time, would be to play it out over and over again, he would never complain about a thing. If his moral compass had a gray area that was just a little larger, he could let his Tardis being here cause a fracture in the fabric of reality with any number of consequences, if it meant he could stay here with you. But above all else, the Doctor wishes he could have a silly little job to complain about, that everyday he could come home to your little house, cook and eat dinner with you at your dining table, laugh about the days you’ve had and yours plans for the next ones, then snuggle up on the sofa in your pajamas to watch your favorite shows until you were tired enough to go to sleep. And every night, he would carry you up to bed, looking down at your sleeping face and planning each and every night how he’d ask you to marry him someday soon.

It isn’t until you feel a droplet against your head and sit up to face him that the Doctor realizes he desires that life so strongly it has reduced him to tears. 

“Doctor? What’s wrong?!” 

The care in your voice, the way he can tell you already feel for him, the bond you have automatically slipped back into without even trying. He has made an imprint on your life again, he couldn’t help it. He was here to save you just one more time, to set things right so that he and his time machine could grieve and carry on, that was his purpose here, but he has gone too far. There is no logical way that he can leave unnoticed and in any which way he left you now, he would hurt you. While it would only be a fraction of the agony he has lived in without you, he cannot bring himself to hurt you in any capacity, not again. 

“I have to show you something.” The Doctor tells you, standing up from the sofa and taking your hand, grabbing his jacket with the other and leading you to your front door. 

It is silent as you step into a pair of slippers big enough to fit your fluffy socks in, staring up at the Doctor in confusion and concern, and it is silent as the two of you walk the short distance between your house and his police box. 

Taking a deep breath, the Doctor pushes open the door and gently tugs you inside. Your legs falter behind him and he turns to face you, seeing an exact replay of the shock and wonder in your eyes as he did on the first occasion he brought you here. But there isn’t time, not anymore.

“Not a policeman, a time traveller. This is my ship, it’s bigger on the inside.” With your hand still in his, the ancient god rushes through the necessary clarifications as he leads you through the main control room, down a flight of stairs, and to the door that he previously couldn’t bear looking at, that the Tardis had moved closer to the main control room than it had ever been before.

The Doctor’s other hand is shaking as he reaches for the handle, but he cannot delay this any longer. He has gone too far.

Turning the handle dowards, he pushes the door open, the gesture weak but taking everything from him, his arm falling limp at his side. The room glows at your arrival, the Tardis sensing your return and greeting you in a warm smile. And despite the overwhelming strangeness of it all, you manage a small smile back at her. 

The Doctor feels your hand slip away from his as you cautiously step into the room, while he feels an invisible barrier denying him entry. After everything, he does not deserve the right to stand in there with you.

“This universe is not the only one.” He begins, voice light as he focuses on telling you a story, providing an explanation of what came first, forcing himself to forget what came after until he has no choice but to tell you that, too. “There is an ever expanding number of galaxies and worlds out there in this universe and others, and time is like…a cabinet, with folders pressed together that are so similar, only those who know them well enough could tear them apart. Parallel worlds.” 

His eyes are fixed to you as you seem to glide around the room, gaze lingering on every trinket you see, until you reach the fireplace to the left of the door. It bursts to life at your presence, flames roaring and firewood crackling, warming your slippers, but you neglect to notice that, otherwise entranced by the photographs that decorate the mantelpiece. Frame after frame, all different sizes, some photographs not framed yet, but placed there still, waiting to be stood with pride amongst the rest. Your own face, and the Doctor’s, smiling back at you in each and every one, with backgrounds of countless different places.

“I was lucky enough to meet you in a world parallel to this one. We…traveled together.” He takes a deep breath, watching you pick up some of the photographs to examine them closer, a confused frown on your face as you stare at them with such intensity. “There are planets safe in the sky, stars that sing songs of that version of you for saving them, even just for visiting them. That version of you was like…a sun, to many a planet, spreading an infectious joy wherever you went…to none more than me.” With a sad smile, his gaze drops to the floor, the line of your doorway that he cannot cross. “I took you from the planet that created you, the stardust from which you were born, and because of me, that world is now without you.” All light drains from the Doctor’s voice then, the weight of his crimes crushing the flicker of his spirit that only you could bring back. “What should have been an easy pit stop on an asteroid became the worst day in existence. It was your birthday- not that you remembered, you hadn’t been living earth days for some time, but you had mentioned how much you enjoyed celebrating and I couldn’t strip you of that human right along with everything else.” As kind as his gesture had been at the time, on reflection it is morbid, cynical and cruel. Everything he did that led you there had grown sour in the absence of you. “I took you to the largest asteroid belt in history, so that we could have a picnic there and you could take another photograph for your collection. But when we arrived…” The Time Lord swallows the lump in his throat, remembering every agonizing second as though it was happening all over again. “Colonizers, that was what they called themselves. A disorganized group of criminals; a broken cyberman and discharged jadoon, among them. They had stolen a vortex tunnel, which in itself was a terrible crime- they thought they could control one but not even Time Lords managed to master them. My history and their anger towards me for it was waiting outside the Tardis doors but because it had been clear when I’d set the picnic up, I didn’t think to scan the perimeter again. I sent you out there first to surprise you, and they-” Trembling fists clench at his sides, closing his eyes in a pained blink before opening them to a grave frown. “They’d already grabbed you and before I could say anything, they’d thrown you inside.”

Having already placed the photographs back on the mantelpiece, you watch the wonder of a man you’ve come to know crumble with shame. 

“What does a vortex tunnel do?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper so as to not upset him further by verbalizing such painful memories for him too loudly.

“Vortex tunnels are a risky means of escape. They pluck you from where you’re standing and send you hurtling across space and time with no definite destination. They could send someone to random coordinates, floating in space, to certain death- there is no way to predict them.” The Doctor answers, keeping his words factual and objective to regain some composure.

“Why would anyone want to use one?” You question gently.

“Desperation. Based on their unpredictability, they are illegal and kept in stasis, but there have been cases of criminals that use them to avoid trial and execution.” He replies.

“Couldn’t outer space police track them down, or something?” You aren’t quite sure you understand the full extent of the events, feeling that certain aspects are missing and it is down to you to piece together what you can while trying to save the Doctor from reliving such pain.

“Vortex tunnels don’t just send you across time and space, they erase your mind entirely. In the highly unlikely case of someone being tracked to where the tunnel had spat them out, they have no memory of their crimes, so cannot be charged for them. The creature that they were, all but ceases to be.” His voice is light again, fragile this time at the thought of the person he had known being erased from existence and left stranded. “There was no way for me to trace you, not even with a psychic link in the Tardis, because the psychic link with you was gone, your mind as we knew it, was gone. The Colonizers jumped into it afterwards, of course, to escape me.” The Doctor rubs his face with his hands, then places a palm against the doorframe. “She’s the reason I’m here. She mourned you so deeply that she ripped a hole in the fabric of reality to bring me to a parallel world, just to save you one last time, to make our last memory something better.” His hand falls to his side. “But I went too far, again. I stayed too long, made too much of an impression on this version of you, your life here. Now, leaving will hurt you, but I can’t take you with me. Not only do I refuse to take you away from the world, the family that is yours a second time, but I cannot replace her. As similar as you are, you are not her, and I know it. Something has felt wrong from the moment I arrived and as much as I’ve tried to ignore it, I can’t anymore-“

“What family?” You interrupt him, stunning him into silence for a moment.

He is so shocked by your question, he manages to meet your eyes for the first time since opening your bedroom door. “Your family, your parents.”

Your brow furrows, expression lost. “I…don’t have parents, Doctor.”

The Time Lord stares at you, dumbfounded. 

And then he’s walking towards you, stepping across the invisible barrier and breaking the distance to stare into your eyes, read what lies beyond them, a stern frown etched in his features. “Yes, you do. As different as parallel worlds can be, if you did not have parents, you would be a very different person. Your mother picked out your living room curtains, your father built the coffee table in there-”

You shake your head, interrupting him again. “Those were both part of the house, they were there when I arrived.”

Too perplexed to continue this interrogation manually, the Doctor takes your hand and all but drags you back to the main control room. Retrieving his sonic screwdriver from his jacket pocket, he scans your brain and then transfers the data to his monitor, eyes reading the Gallifreyan data displayed over and over again, trying to make sense of it.

“Is there something wrong with me, Doctor?” You ask, beginning to worry based on his expansive knowledge and lack of ability to give you an explanation.

Looking from his monitor to you, he scowls. “Arrived.”

“What?” You question.

“You didn’t say the furniture was there when you moved in, you said it was there when you arrived.” His eyes slowly start to widen. “You saw the Tardis. When we first landed here- she automatically blends in with the world around her, but you saw her. And when I told you to call me the Doctor, you didn’t question it, not once. Despite being introduced to you as John Smith, you never called me that, even in private.” Slow, hesitant steps towards you, as though he’s scared to approach what you could be. “You didn’t question anything, throughout my explanation. Not the time travel, not the Tardis or referring to her as ‘she’, not parallel worlds, not the alien species I referenced, not how we met, the places we’d been- you only started asking questions in the end, about the only things that - out of everything I told you - you didn’t already know.”

His words sink into your skin slowly, your mind finding it much more difficult to digest this information than it had everything else the Doctor has previously told you, and he’s right, all of that should have raised more questions from you.

The Doctor reaches for your hand so slowly, and you don’t know why, but you accept it, instinctively. A small smile blooms on his face, the tiniest glimmer of hope as he looks between you and the Tardis console.

“She wasn’t sick, oh, you sexy thing- that’s how she brought us here, she was tracking you across time and space, pinpointing the anomaly of you, thrown from your own timestream and into another.” He whispers, bringing your hand to his lips to place a kiss against your knuckles. “If we fly away from here, if we go back to your Earth, the timeline will correct itself and you should remember everything- we can’t let this anomaly continue or it could tear apart time and space in some grandiose butterfly effect!” 

And he lets go of your hand to run around the console, pressing buttons and pulling levers with an exhilarated grin on his face, the Tardis whirring with excitement, while you just stand there.

“All this time, I thought she couldn't find you, silly old Doctor! I was slow on the uptake, as usual- I hope the Shadow Proclamation can forgive any ripples in the continuum that follow this, but-”

“Doctor, wait.”

He stops suddenly, the wondrous time machine collapsing into silence. 

“The fact I already trust you as much as I do and don’t feel terrified by this frankly alarming turn of events, suggests you and the Tardis are right, but…remembering an entire life that, as of now, I don’t fully recognise I’ve lived, how will that feel?” For the first time since meeting the Doctor in this world, you are scared at the thought of what comes next.

Understanding your concern, the Doctor returns to you and takes your hands in his. “Quite honestly, I have no idea, I’ve never seen the recovery process from a vortex tunnel. I can only guess that it will feel overwhelming, it could send you to sleep, but whatever happens, I will be right here, and you will be fine. I promise you. I will never risk you again.”

He holds your face in his hands, gaze locked with yours.

Taking a deep breath, you nod. “Okay.”

The Doctor smiles at you. “Keep your eyes on me and reach for the lever on your left, you know the one.”

And like it’s second nature, your hand grabs the very lever he’s referring to, bringing a beaming grin from the Time Lord as you tug it down. 

With a wheeze and a groan, the wonderful time machine lifts into the sky and drags herself out of the parallel world, beginning the journey back to the one you came from. Through the time vortex, your knees buckle, winding you and forcing you to collapse into the Doctor, who holds you against him so tightly, slowly lowering the two of you to the floor to hold you on his lap, arms keeping your body safe as your mind races a mile a minute.

“You can do this, we’re almost there. Come on (Y/N), hold on, for me.” He murmurs into your ear, comforting you through the tears that wrack your body, memories attacking you from every angle. 

Regardless of how happy the majority of those memories are, to experience them all at once and at the same time as all of the sad ones, the painful ones; to feel every emotion you are capable of feeling simultaneously and remembering every instance in which you have felt every one, in a microsecond; a human mind can only cope with so much.

The memories of his smile and laugh overlay every flashing image of every place you’ve been together, every species you’ve encountered, friend you’ve made, planet you’ve explored, until it all fades to black and you are empty again.

Only this time, instead of waking up in a simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar house with a mental block on how you had arrived there and no understanding of who you were beyond the corporate life you led amongst billions of your kind, your eyes flutter open to your home. Sitting in a chair beside your bed, he watches over you, your guardian angel. The delirium with which you scan the room around you, acknowledging the crackling fire and the familiarity of your bedroom on the Tardis, makes you feel as though you have slept a thousand years.

“Doctor? What-”

He interrupts you, gently shushing you. “Rest, (Y/N), you need to rest, please. Recovering and reliving your entire life all at once and in under a minute is not a normal process for anyone, you need to let your mind recover.”

Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you nod at him. “How long have I slept for?”

“Three days.” 

With eyes like a deer in headlights, you sit bolt upright in bed, immediately starting to feel dizzy and the Doctor jumping from his chair to steady you, propping your pillows up behind you.

“Three days?!” 

The Doctor nods. “Yes. Had I thought about this recovery process, I probably would have picked a more comfortable chair.”

Your jaw drops. “Tell me you have not been sitting there for three days straight.”

And the ancient god is silent.

You sigh. “Doctor!”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “If I told you I hadn’t been sitting here for three days, that would have been a lie, so I thought it best not to say anything!”

Shaking your head in disbelief at him, you shuffle to the side of your bed that is pressed against the wall. “For goodness’ sake, you ridiculous fool.” You pat the empty space beside you on your bed. “Get in here.”

The Doctor’s eyes widen. “Y-You need the space to rest!”

You hold his gaze. “Before getting to the parallel world, how long had it been since you last saw me?”

He avoids your eyes. “I wasn’t keeping count, we were just drifting while she tracked you- it doesn’t matter.”

Frowning, you look up at the ceiling. “Tardis? On the monitor above my bed, can you tell me how much time had passed between my disappearance and the two of you arriving on the parallel world, in Earth days?”

And as always, she is ever so happy to listen to you. The monitor above your bed flickers on, displaying a black screen with a single line of text. 

1096 days, 15 hours, 38 minutes, 4 seconds.

Having never been particularly mathematically gifted, you turn back to the Doctor. “...How many years is that?”

But he doesn’t have it in his hearts to tell you, to admit how long he was alone for, how long he and the Tardis grieved for, how long they drifted in space while she searched for you and he tortured himself with the guilt of losing you, the hopelessness of never being able to find you again. Retrieving his sonic screwdriver from his jacket again, he zaps the monitor above your bed and then returns the tool to his pocket, hanging his head.

Looking back up at the monitor, your eyes fill with tears at the change of text.

3 Years, 1 Day, 15 hours, 38 minutes, 4 seconds.

One hand lifts to cover your trembling bottom lip, while the other reaches for his hand.

“Three years?! Doctor, that’s-”

He cuts you off. “If the Tardis hadn't taken flight when she did, it would have been an eternity, I can assure you.”

The Doctor’s words hit you like a train, so suddenly and stopping your heart with a screech before it starts again, spluttering frantically in your chest at the impact. Sniffling and wiping your eyes, you chuckle, in complete disbelief.

“Well, daft old man, you know what that means, don’t you?”

Unable to resist the urge to lift his head and see your smile again, the Doctor meets your eyes. Without realizing it, he starts to smile back at you, silently asking you to continue.

And you do, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go of it to tap the empty space on the mattress beside you again, with a tearful smile that sets both his hearts ablaze.

“I think you need a cuddle just as much as I do.”

[inayakaisen]

Hiraeth

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary: You're drunk and insecure, Kaz puts you to rights again.

[drunken comfort (if you can call it that), insecurity, yearning, desiderium]

You stumbled into Kaz Brekker's office high.

It'd been a moderately good day for you, as good as you could get, short university classes, no calls from your mother, a job gone smooth AND a little after party at the Crow Club with your best friends.

By heritage, Fjerdan-Ravkan, but Kerch to the core- you'd promptly called your roomie and told her you'd be late, giggling at her worried questions.

"Business", you hiccuped into the phone after your second drink. You were an unfortunate lightweight, but that hadn't stopped you from trying to match drink to drink with Jesper as Matthias watched on disapprovingly.

Kaz hadn't joined, like usual. The two of you had grown somewhat close over the years- bonded by time and proximity and tension. He seemed to genuinely tolerate you- even seek you out, when he was in a good mood. In return, you chattered his ear off and bestowed him with your company, healing, and Inferni skills. He'd never know, though. He'd never know about the times you'd risked your college career just to go on another job with him, the times you'd penned poems only to fling them all into the fire, all the boys and girls you'd rejected at college, telling them your heart belonged to someone else. He'd never know, you told yourself as you snuck glances at his dark hair, his siren eyes, the way his gloved hand moved across the smooth surface of yet another mansion floor plan.

"And what're you staring at?" He said, eyes still on the map. He'd let you stumble into his room, collapse into the divan beside his desk and watch him as he planned the next job, curiously not complaining.

"Definitely not you", you retorted, falling into the usual snap and retort banter routine that the two of you had followed over the years. "Do you get any sleep at all?"

"More than you", he responded, finally glancing at you. His gaze dragged over you in a way that sent a tingle down your spine, but you knew better than to get too excited. He saw you as nothing more than a comrade, a healer, a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

"How many shots?"

"Huh?" Your eyes snapped to him, still disoriented. You sat on the divan, cross cross applesauce, head leaned back against the high headrest, higher than God.

"Then why are you so drunk?" He seemed deadpan as always, his dark eyes fixed on you. You squirmed.

"I might have had two brownies...I didn't know they were the special kind."

His lips twitched, irritation and faint amusement written across his face. "Of course you did. Why stop at two? Why not eat the entire tray and wash it down with a barrel of rum?"

"I didn't know!" You said in a voice that might have bordered on whiny. Alcohol made you sappy, and you didn't know what drugs did. A deadly combination of the unknown and emotional. "Trust me."

"Luckily for you, ignorance isn't fatal." He dragged his cane across the floor, standing up. "This time , at least. How many fingers am I holding up?"

You squinted, his gloved hands mildly blurry without your glasses. Nina had taken them off as you'd been getting ready, telling you that an hour or two without them wouldn't do you any harm.

"..three?"

"Wrong." He snapped. "Four."

He stepped closer, though not close enough. That was the problem with him, you thought drunkenly. Always close, never close enough. He was an enigma that you'd tried to unravel, a closed book you wanted to open and read and run your fingers through.

Something that'd never happen.

One of his hands straightened the collar of your dress, gloved fingers barely brushing against the sliver of bare skin exposed at your neckline. Your favourite black top, the one you'd so carefully layered silver lockets on in hopes that Kaz might wander down to the bar and LOOK at you. He was looking at you now, but it was too late. Your hair had strayed from its styling, your lipstick was rubbed away.

"You're a mess." He said under his breath, voice as rocksalt as ever but sewn with mild concern, and something soft, something quite like endearment...or were you too far gone?

"Clean me up, then." You looked up at him, eyes half lidded, already drowsy. But you didn't want to be. You wanted it to last, for him to be gentle and kind to you, for this rare moment to linger. But that was a dream of a dream. Maybe you'd always be left hoping.

You could only catch the twitch of his lips as you drifted off, the way the expression in his eyes changed, mirroring yours- vulnerability, concern, endearment, gentleness. You drifted off, but you caught the last word he said as your eyes shut, quiet and gentle,

"Always".

[phantomrose96]

Can't wait for the sequel where vlad peels danny off the putting green with a spatula, saying nothing but the look in his eyes could reduce the fenton parents to quivering masses of nerves

(Prometheus)

Wait. Wait wait wait *goes rifling through my closet flinging papers and junk and a cat somehow until I emerge with this* you're hitting pretty damn close to something I've got already which is Familiar Corpse. Which was an absolute Delight of a Vlad character study, for me. I'm frankly still chewing on it.

BUT I also delight in resetting everything and putting everyone in a new set of horrors. Because that's the right way to play with blorbos. And I am absolutely turning over in my head what Vlad's response would be in Prometheus... Surely Vlad has dealt on some level with this super-healing from fatal injuries. But anything THIS severe...? Is he maybe the one person who can understand Danny showing up completely whole and healed and mentally absolutely irreparable... or is this even beyond the threshold of what Vlad can fathom?

[breadbrioche]

kiss of life

so mun x reader

➳summary: you almost let your impulsive thoughts get to you while mun is asleep

➳warnings: really vague descriptions of a fight, sort of suggestive at the end but not really

➳word count: 1.5k

➳a/n: watch kim sejeong’s top or cliff music video here! My next work will be released when her music video reaches 1 million views

You can’t believe that this happened.

This seriously had to be on the top of the list of your major fuck ups because this really shouldn’t have happened. You cringe every time you think about it because you’re a counter! They were people who are supposed to protect others, and not get protected. But that’s exactly what happened.

It was a routine procedure; the evil spirit Hana sensed was fairly low leveled so only you and Mun were dispatched to deal with it. And it was going well but that was until another, stronger spirit appeared. You not considering that possibility was ultimately your downfall as you were completely focused on getting rid of the first one, not realising the other was approaching you from behind - and with a weapon.

The next moments were a jumble but you can recall Mun pushing you away, taking the blow himself. As he fell, the two evil spirits took the opportunity to run, leaving you with your teammate who was totally knocked out. Luckily, once you were back home, Ms Chu assured that there were no fatal injuries but you were still left with two evil spirits on the run and an unconscious Mun.

Watching him lay motionless in his bed, he almost looks like a sleeping princess rather than being the hero who just saved your life, as ironic as it is. He definitely looked the part too; even when he’s asleep So Mun is perfect. Especially with his silky hair, skin that all but glows when light shines on it and perfectly kissable lips.

You pause for a second. No way; there’s absolutely no way. You couldn’t kiss Mun, that would be insane! You shake your head vigorously, trying to get rid of such delusional thoughts. You couldn’t, you shouldn’t… but-

Betraying all your previous thoughts, you lean close to his face, hovering just inches away. So close that you could count every individual eyelash if you wanted to. Your eyes naturally wander to his mouth and observe how, with how lips are slightly parted, it looks as if he’s ready to receive a kiss. Only if you moved just a bit further, you would be able to-

Inhaling sharply, you clamp a hand over your mouth. You aren’t going to actually do it, reminding yourself. You’re just looking at him (and ignoring how you could’ve done that at a further, non-intimate distance). Panicking slightly, your eyes flicker back to Mun’s eyes to see if he’d caught you but to your relief, they were still closed.

Hearing your own frenzied heartbeat, you become acutely aware of your situation. Screw the incident from earlier, this was definitely the top spot on your list of major fuck ups. Even for you, this was a new all time low.

But before you could even think of what to do next, to your horror, Mun’s eyes flutter open and now you are literally face to face with the consequences of your actions. Fuck.

Mun called out your name confused, voice still rough after just waking up, which effectively snaps you out of your stupor as it causes you to fling yourself away from him instantly. A bit too fast as you lose your balance and tumble to the ground, landing on the hardwood floor with a thump.

In an instant, Mun leaps out of his bed and kneels down to assess you for injuries. He places a hand on your shoulder but you immediately push him away with a yelp - you couldn’t stand the thought of him touching you right now (if he did, your dumb brain would be too weak not stop yourself from imagining stupid delusions and you really can’t have that)

“Ah- uh- fuck, I’m sorry” you stumble, not really knowing what to say. “Just forget what you saw! I wasn’t actually gonna do anything, I promise!”

Mun’s eyebrows knit together while he pieces together what happened before he gasped, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.

“Hold on, were you going to kiss me?!” he yells before you hastily covered his mouth, cringing at the volume. What if someone else heard? That would be double the embarrassment and this is already too much.

“Don’t be so loud!” You hiss. “And no, I was only looking!”

He manages to wrestle your hands off his face, staring at you with a look you didn’t want to comprehend

“But it looked like you were though!” He insists, but you grimace and shake your head violently.

“What, are you some kind of princess who needs a kiss of life to wake you up?”

Mun chuckles at your response and leans closer slightly. His gaze is inquisitive, like his eyes are scouring you for clues to your upcoming answers for his questions. Mun is smart, the son of detectives after all, so you’re deathly afraid of the fact that he’ll see how you’re swallowing nervously, avoiding his gaze and just so obviously flustered and make a correct observation.

“Would you ever do it? Kiss me, that is.” Mun asks, sounding casual like this was a normal conversation topic. You narrow your eyes at him - just what sort of game is he playing at? If he’s trying to make you jump to conclusions, it sure is working for him.

“…what are you trying to say?”

Sensing your hesitance, Mun clasps your hands firmly. They squeeze yours firmly; you didn’t want to assume but, it almost felt like he was reassuring you.

“Do you like me? Because I like you and I wouldn’t have minded if you had kissed me earlier.”

You freeze. No way; there’s absolutely no way. You’re done, it’s over. There was no way this could be real. You blink hard, half expecting yourself to be hallucinating this whole situation - maybe you were the one knocked out and this was a dream. But when you open your eyes and Mun is still there with his dorky grin and all, you almost gasp.

“This is real, right? Is the guy I’ve been crushing on for ages actually confessing to me?” You murmur your thoughts dumbly. Mun laughs, nodding his head.

“So does that mean we’re dating then? I- I mean I’d love to date you but- I know that sometimes when twopeopleinagroupstartdatingthatcancausegroupdynamicsto-“

You’re so caught up with the explosion of thoughts suddenly coming at you that you hardly notice Mun leaning even closer to you and closing the space between your faces until he physically shuts you up, lips firmly on yours. But before you could even reciprocate, he’s moving away and licking his lips.

“Sorry,” Mun half apologises with a cheeky grin. “You looked cute, I couldn’t help it!”

At this point, you’re sure your brain is fried. You purse your lips together to try and formulate a response but nothing comes to you. If one simple peck had you this speechless, So Mun was going to be the death of you.

Without thinking you reach for the collar of his shirt and tug, closing the distance between you and replacing your lips on his. If Mun is going to be your cause of death, you’ll die on your own terms.

It’s initially awkward, Mun mimicking you earlier by being stunned still, but eventually you feel him relax into the kiss and even urges you to deepen it by gently pressing a hand to the back of your neck. There’s a sense of urgency to it, the both of you desperate to show your repressed feelings.

When you pull apart, you feel breathless as the adrenaline courses through your body. Shivers down your spine as you feel Mun’s strong gaze; it’s not overpowering but it’s confident - he knows what he wants (he wants you). Mun inches closer to kiss you again but before he could, your hand on his chest keeps him from moving.

“W-wait,” you huff between breaths. “Are you feeling okay? You were knocked out for a while.”

He rolls his eyes playfully with a huff; only you would stop an intimate moment just to ask about his well being.

“I’m awake now, aren’t I? I’m totally fine.” He assures you. “But there is one thing that still hurts a bit…”

Your eyes widen with concern, flickering over Mun’s body to find any hidden injuries. However, your concern is wasted when he just points at his lips which are curled into a sly smirk.

“Can you kiss it better?”

Letting out a disgusted scoff, you try to swat his face away from you but he catches your hands and makes you look at him. Mun silently pleads to you, putting on his best puppy dog eyes at you. You sigh, not having much of a choice right now.

“You’re so cheesy, you know that right?” You say before your lips meet Mun’s once again, starting like you never stopped in the first place.

[hyperactively-me]

Joooo got a new angst request for king!Simon 🤭🤭

Could you write a story where he has a nightmare about losing the reader with smut and an happy ending 🧎🏽‍♀️

sorry, there’s no smut in this one, i got carried away with the emotions and just felt like smut felt out of place here, forgive me warnings: nightmares, descriptions of death/mild gore

The moon cast a silvery glow over the kingdom as you both lay in bed, still recovering from the wound inflicted upon you by an enemy spy. It has been a few weeks since the attack, and you were recovering quite well, as the doctor’s had been saying. Yes, you were still weakened, but you were coming back stronger than expected. Your strength and resilience had not wavered over the past couple weeks Simon stood by your side through the long nights, his concern etched deep into his eyes.

One particular night, as the castle slept under the watchful eyes of the guards, Simon’s restless mind dragged him into a bloodcurdling nightmare. 

He watched helplessly as the spy plunged their blade straight through your heart, a fatal blow, the blade piercing through your skin like paper. The spy, face shrouded in darkness, withdrew the blood-stained blade, and Simon's heart shattered. He tried to scream, yell, do anything, but he was stuck in place. Your eyes met Simon’s, a silent plea for help pouring from your irises. Yet, he remained paralyzed, unable to shield you, unable to reach for you, unable to save you. He watched helplessly as you crumbled to the ground, streams of your scarlet blood seeping out from under you. 

“Simon,” you croak, hands shaking. “Simon.”

Simon tries to move again, limbs stuck in place, forcing him to watch the tragedy unfolding before him. He strains against the invisible chains that held him, a silent scream building within his throat. The realization that he was unable to save you, to respond to your pleas, shattered his very soul.

“Simon,” you called again, the sound hauntingly familiar and heartbreakingly distant.

With a final surge of power, he screams your name. 

“Simon!” 

He awakes with a gasp, eyes wrenching open as he flings himself off the bed in one fluid motion. 

You shriek as he launches himself out of bed, the room suddenly filled with disorienting shadows. Simon’s chest heaves with the remnants of fear, and he stumbles for a moment, still caught between the nightmare and reality. The echo of your shriek, a terrified response to his sudden movement, rings throughout the room.

Breathing heavily, Simon frantically scans the chamber, desperately seeking reassurance that you are safe. His eyes find you, sitting up in bed, wide-eyed and startled. The soft moonlight paints a silver sheen over your features, illuminating the fear and concern in your eyes. 

“Simon, what happened?” you ask, voice cracking slightly. “You were screaming, and I was trying to wake you up, but you…” 

Simon blinks rapidly, the last remnants of the nightmare slowly dissipating as he takes in your shared bedroom. He notes the way the windows are securely locked, how he can see the shadows of the guards standing outside under the door, and how his sword and knife lay adjacent to his bedside table. The echo of your voice pierces through his lingering fear, and he turns towards you, relief and remorse etched on his face.

"I... I had a nightmare," Simon manages to say, his voice raw with the remnants of fear. He moves towards you, needing to physically confirm that you are unharmed. His hands tremble, and the urgency in his touch betrays the lingering fear in his mind.

You allow his fingers to interlock with yours, providing a grounding presence. The moonlight illuminates the concern in your eyes as you study Simon’s face, automatically understanding the cause of the nightmare. “It’s alright, Simon. You’re here with me, and I’m fine,” you say soothingly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Simon exhales a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as the adrenaline wears off. “I saw... I saw you die, and I couldn’t do anything. It felt so real,” he confesses, vulnerability pooling in his eyes.

You, understanding the weight of his distress, wrap your arms around him, beckoning him to come back into the bed. “It was just a dream. I’m here, I’m safe. You keep me safe, the guards keep me safe,” you reassure him, the warmth of your touch gradually grounding him. “We’re both safe.” 

Simon allows himself to be guided back to the bed, sinking into your embrace. Your arms envelop him in a reassuring hug, and he leans into your warmth, pressing his face into your neck. Simon clings to you, biceps squeezing you in a crushing hug. 

“I know it was just a dream, but it felt so real… I couldn’t protect you,” Simon admits, his voice still carrying the pain of the nightmare.

You stroke his hair gently, soothingly. “Simon, you’ve been my protector through thick and thin. This nightmare can’t change that.”

He nods, finding comfort in your words. “I just hate the thought of losing you. It terrifies the fuckin’ life out of me.”

You don’t say anything, tracing reassuring circles on his back.

Simon takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of you. “I can’t lose you,” he whispers, weakness and love intermingling in his eyes.

“I'm not going anywhere, Simon. We have each other, and that's something no nightmare can take away,” you assure him, scratching his bare back with the tips of your fingernails. He shudders under your touch, snuggling deeper into you. 

Simon’s breaths begin to steady, and he releases a sigh that seems to carry the weight of his fears. 

“‘M sorry I scared you, didn’t mean to,” he grunts into your shoulder, fingers pressing into your plush skin. “Just was startled when I woke up.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, holding him tighter. 

Simon nods, his grip on you gradually relaxing. He lifts his head from your shoulder, looking into your eyes, his expression one of gratitude and lingering unease.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice a soft murmur. You cup his face in your hands, stroking a scar on his cheek with your thumb. 

“I love you too, Simon. More than anything,” you reply, a gentle smile gracing your lips. 

He leans forward and kisses you softly, gently nipping your bottom lip. As you break the kiss, Simon rests his forehead against yours. “I’m lucky to have you,” he whispers, sincerity threading through his words.

“And I’m lucky to have you,” you respond, your fingers tracing the contours of his face.

You both settle back into the bed, finding a comfortable position amongst the pillows and covers. Simon wraps his arm around you, drawing you close into him, making sure to not disturb your wounded side. You both find a comfortable position, limbs entwined and hearts beating in sync. He doesn’t let go of you the whole night. 

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[whorediaries-09]

ok so i had a thought, i want to write this but im not sure if its good, what if reader was like no. 1 ambassador of hookup culture and remus was an old-school hopeless romantic and these two would be like best friends and remus would like take her home while she's drunk and everything and one day they both just talk really flirtily while being tipsy and kiss on the road and fuck and start to date but then remus gets insecure abt whether reader thinks he's just a fling but then reader tell him i love you while being piss-drunk and vomits on his jacket right after and he just knows it was meant to be?

wolfstar variant you say?

burning flames or paradise;

pairing- remus lupin x reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort, substances. a/n- i left out the vomiting part cause it kind of gives me the icks. sorry!

little train.

'you didn't kiss me,' you say, pouting your lips. the taste of cherry wine lingers on your tongue. his amber eyes stare into yours, hot breathe craning your neck. amongst the drunk giggles of your friends and the party background, your ears stay perked solely for his words.

'you're too drunk,' he says, half bored, half bemused. it was no tell tale or word of mouth that you were flirty with literally everyone. the 'femme fatale'. the 'brand ambassador of hookup culture'. those were the nicknames that were notoriously famous for you during your school days.

but not once had you ever flirted with him. until tonight, when the cherry wine was high on your tongue, your words not in your control. he tried to reach out for the glass in your hands. you laughed, the sound contagious as always, pulling the glass away from his reach. he watches the liquid swirl before he stares into the glossiness of your eyes.

'won't you kiss me, lupin?' he shakes his head.

'why should i kiss you?'

you flatter your eyelashes, puckering your lips. as if asking for something. he's afraid he's way too sure about what you want.

and he might have just given it to you if you weren't so pissed drunk.

'because you don't actually want me to kiss you.'

you put the glass on the table. resting your back on the pillar behind you. he walks closer to you, so that he can hear you over the barring noise of the speaker.

'i think, lupin, its rather the other way around. its you who doesn't want to kiss me. you treat your mouth as if it's heaven's gate,'

'why should i kiss you anyways?' he asked. 'i don't remember us being in a relationship of that sort.'

you stick out your tongue, blowing a raspberry at him.

'at least take me home?'

*-

the lights in your apartment are revolting and far too loud. the dopamine of last night still lingers. so does the ever present feeling of headache after a lot too many drinks. you rush through the drawers of your nightstand, searching for painkillers. otherwise you fear, you might just burst your head.

your eyes fall on a glass full of water, a coaster used as a lid to cover it. on top, there's a sachet of pills and a note with scribbled with a handwriting you recognize all too well.

you take the pills, sliding the note from between the wood and the glass.

'you fell asleep by the time i brought you home. take these pills. i know you'll need them.- love, lupin.'

the sunlight filtered through your curtains. a strange figment of fear crossed your heart, boiling it with trepid heat. you realized you'd fallen for your friend a few weeks ago-at least had a little crush on him.

you took the pills, chugging down the water. your drunk memories flashed in your head like a film. the faded memory of you asking him for a kiss popped in your mind. so did the one with him declining the offer.

did you mess up your friendship? god you hated yourself.

you crammed your face into the pillow, muffling your scream.

*-

remus was surprised when he found you at your doorstep, wearing the scarf he'd knitted you on your birthday, flowers in your hand. and his favorite kind of chocolates.

'hi,'

'you should've said you were coming! i would've cleaned up...'

'come on you fold your socks, lupin. what are you on about?'

he smiled, an awkward curl of his lips. you leaned against the doorway. the smell of soup was distinct, stains on his apron visible. you noticed he wasn't wearing a t-shirt. just an apron. your eyes fell on scars on his shoulders, each telling a tale. some terrible, some horribly terrible.

'so you're just gonna stare at me or?'

fuck, you got distracted.

'you didn't ask me in,'

'you know you don't need to be asked in,' he said, moving as your footsteps faltered on his carpeted floor.

'what are you cooking?'

'sweet corn soup and some toast. didn't feel like making much,'

'lupin, that'll be my 5-star michelin cuisine if i had the energy to make that. now these, are for you,'

'for the record, you take your whiskey neat. and you take your coffee black at three. and what for?'

'you're drunk on life, and i think that's great. and these are as an...apology.'

he walked to the kitchen, turning off the stove.

'an apology...for what exactly?'

'oh, you know because i asked you to kiss me,'

'you asked me to kiss you. you didn't force me.' he says, sitting down beside you. there's a pregnant pause before you keep your hand on his thigh, letting your touch linger.

'it's okay,' he whispers. 'you were drunk.'

'i wasn't. i take my whiskey neat. a little bit of cherry wine does nothing to me.' he chuckles.

'you were piss drunk. you fell asleep on the way home! i had to call a cab midway.'

'accusations accusations,'

'are they?'

you stay silent. you let the charge in the air linger. you let embrace you, entangle you in its ruins. your eyes travel to his face. his dusty blonde hair tangled across his face. lips chapped, pale skin rosy with the bits of chilly air of autumn.

'why didn't you kiss me?'

'what?'

'i said, why didn't you kiss me?' your grip tightens around his thigh. 'i really like you, you know?'

'come on, don't be a bitter liar.'

'i'm not lying.'

he neared your face, hot breathe scanning your face.

'i would love to kiss you,' his hand cradles your cheek, finger on your lip, 'taste these beautiful, soft lips. but i'm afraid, i can't. i can't be a fling for you,'

'who says,' you whisper, nearing his face, touching your forehead with his. 'that you're a fling. i'm not lying. i really do like you. hell have you seen me hooking up with anyone recently? i do like you. just trust me, for once.'

'hopefully,' he says brushing his lips against yours, 'i can.'

'you can,' you confirm, thrusting your lips against him, your tongue loitering in his mouth, tasting him.

he really did treat his mouth like it was heaven's gate.

****************************************

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(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

****************************************

[dystopicjumpsuit]

hey hey hey, for the first kiss prompts-

the uncontrollable smile they break into either after or during the kiss itself with... Jesse!

happy writing <3

Thank you for the request @multi-fan-dom-madness! I got a flash of inspiration during the thotting hours, so I bring a Thanksgiving present for you. (That's totally how Thanksgiving works, right?)

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers! May your turkey be as juicy as Jesse’s thighs.

Pairing: Jesse x Reader (GN)

Rating: T but MDNI as always

Wordcount: 720

Warnings and tags: Fluff, banter, kisses

Summary: Jesse performs "emergency field medicine."

Suggested Listening:

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

There’s an ARC trooper in your office. He has his back to you as he inspects your shelves full of plants, holoframes, curios, and even a few actual paper books. You don’t recognize the kama, so he’s not one of yours—though you have no doubt that the Jedi generals would lecture you for getting attached to the troopers that way. 

Good thing I’m not a Jedi.

Whoever he is, he’s a big kriffing dude. ARC troopers always look extra imposing thanks to the pauldrons, but damn, this one must have needed custom armor to accommodate those muscles. His helmet is off, and all you can see is the back of his shaved head.

“Hello,” you say. “Can I help you with something?”

Translation: Who are you, and what the kark are you doing in my office?

He turns, and you catch a glimpse of a large Republic cog tattoo.

“Jesse?!” you exclaim, rushing across the office to fling your arms around him. 

He doesn’t even stagger a little bit as you collide with him, just wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. Impulsively, you press your lips to his cheek.

“When did you get back?” you demand.

He beams at you with a smile that’s too brilliant to be contained. “About ten minutes ago. Came straight here.”

“And I was stuck in a meeting,” you say with disgust, drawing a laugh from him. 

“I haven’t been waitin’ long,” he replies.

“Well, I’ve been waiting for you forever!” you exclaim. “How long is ARC training, anyway?”

An odd expression flickers over his face, and he hesitates before he replies, “I’m not actually allowed to say. Sorry.”

“That’s all right; I’m just happy to have you back,” you grin as you lean back to admire his new armor. “Look at you, Mr. ARC Trooper! You look great.”

“That’s ‘Lieutenant ARC Trooper,’” he says with a tiny smirk.

“You got promoted? Jesse, that’s amazing!”

“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d ever make it past sergeant, either,” he jokes.

“That’s not what I meant,” you laugh, slapping his chest and immediately regretting it when your knuckles collide with the hard plastoid armor. "Ouch!"

“How was that?” he asks.

“2/10, do not recommend,” you reply, shaking your hand to ease the stinging.

“Let me see.” He takes your hand gently in his and holds it close to his face to inspect it. “I think it might be fatal.”

“Better get Kix in here before I keel over,” you say, trying to ignore the warmth of his fingers and the rough texture of his gloves on your skin.

“No time,” Jesse replies gravely. “I’ll have to perform emergency medical treatment.”

He kisses your knuckles softly, and your heart begins to hammer in your chest.

“Did they teach you that in ARC training, or did you pick it up from Kix?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light.

“It’s a top secret ARC procedure,” he replies. “Very advanced medicine. I doubt Kix has heard of it.”

“I’m so lucky you were here to kiss it better,” you say. “I’d hate to die of a scraped knuckle.”

“Funny story,” he says. “This procedure requires multiple rounds of treatment.”

Your breath stutters to a halt. “It does?”

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to each of your knuckles individually. He grazes his thumb across them, and suddenly you forget all about the pain. 

“I think it’s working,” you say.

He raises his other hand to your face, stroking his thumb over your lips as his fingers caress your jaw.

“Better try one more thing, just to be safe,” he says as he leans close to you, his lips a breath away from your own.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Just to be safe.”

His lips brush against yours softly, and it feels like the galaxy stops spinning around you, because you’re finally kissing Jesse, and it’s even better than you imagined, and his lips are kriffing perfect, and he tastes suspiciously like the candy that you keep in a bowl on your desk, and you never want it to end. Eventually, though, you have to come up for air, and he cups your cheek as you rest your forehead against his.

“You know,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, “I’ve been waiting for you forever, too.”

[senlinyu]

Since ao3 is down, here is a thing that was supposed to be a twitter drabble but it got too long so I forgot about it for eight months.

Dying Wish

//open ended, pining Draco, theomione, Dramione (vaguely), Tragic Theo.

Almost everyone said that Theodore Nott marrying Hermione Granger was unexpected but not surprising. Theo had always been academically insufferable, and Granger was infamously so. The relationship could have almost been called inevitable.

Everyone had stories about the absurdly saccharine workplace romance that unfolded. Coworkers by coincidence, they both showed up for a cancelled meeting, the waiting led to a shared project, and from there a whirlwind relationship.

They were engaged within a year.

A beautiful couple, a perfect match. Despite Theo possessing the near fatal flaw of having been in Slytherin, he compensated for any suspicion held by Granger’s friends by having a tragic life story practically from the moment of conception. A mother who’d died horribly young, and a monster of a father who’d always considered his son a bitter disappointment.

Theo had never taken the Dark Mark, he’d played no part in the war. He was self-deprecating and funny, and knew how to make people like him because he cared about people liking him. The kind of man who was perfectly happy to become ‘Hermione Granger’s husband,’ unlike the previous boyfriends who always wanted her bright but not ‘too bright’.

Draco was happy for Theo. In a very detached and uninvolved way. He wasn’t such a cunt that he would resent his best friend for finding love, even if it was with a person he habitually went out of his way to avoid.

Granger was, after all, a menace with a vicious protective streak, and a known right hook. Draco, in fact, knew it personally. No one was ever going to hurt Theo again, she would make sure of it.

Theo, for his part, had spent his entire life looking for someone who’d let him love them completely. Someone to give his heart and soul to. His adoration for Granger was nauseating, an ocean of unplumbed depths.

The stars seemed to align for them, every piece falling into place to create a perfect match: Two positively revolting swots joined in matrimonial bliss, happy as could be.

No one asked Draco if he wanted to be in excruciating proximity to the entire affair, and yet he somehow was. He helped Theo plan his proposal, and then had to listen to Theo practise his speech over and over without wincing, and then illuminate over five hundred fairy lights , cue a quartet, and then fling a garden’s worth of rose petals into the air, before apparating silently away.

He was the best man. He planned Theo’s stag night. Slapped him across the face when he started hyperventilating, kept the rings from getting lost, and signed as witness to the union.

When it was done and they were off on their honeymoon, he left the reception, and went to Greece for six months in order to detox from the entire revolting affair.

When he finally forced himself to go back, he coddled himself by ignoring most of their invitations, and only accepted the ones where he could arrive late and leave early and barely speak to the hosts.

Eventually Theo stopped bothering him.

After all, it was bad enough to hear how revoltingly happy they were together without seeing them.

Malfoys were emotionally repressed on principle. His father used to say that falling in love was something only poor people did.

If Draco had to witness Granger making cow eyes at Theo, he would suffer indigestion, and his mother had always said he was constitutionally delicate.

He didn’t particularly like company anyway, and Theo’s friends were mostly Granger’s friends, which was not a circle Draco ever felt comfortable in.

His uninvolvement was going swimmingly until he received a short, informal note in shaky writing.

‘I need to see you. Please come. Theo.’

Draco had always been better at refusing formal invitations than personal ones. What the fuck would Theo suddenly want? After all these years?

He tried to ignore it, but the vagueness ate at him, niggling at his curiosity until he gritted his teeth and apparated to Nott manor.

Instead of an elf, or a butler at least answering the door it was Granger herself who opened it.

“Malfoy, you’ve finally come. Theo will be so relieved.”

He swallowed hard.

It had been a few years since he’d seen her in person. Wasn’t she supposed to be blissfully married? Weren’t happy people supposed to glow or something?

She’d been glowing at the wedding. Draco remembered all clearly the way her face had lit up when all the lights illuminated and music started, and Theo, despite Draco’s repeated warnings, was on his knees reciting a poem he’d written for her.

Draco had nearly died from second hand embarrassment.

The memory of how happy she’d looked while Theo compared her to the moon in iambic pentameter before hundreds of people, had been seared irrevocably into his skull. It would probably still haunt when he was a ghost.

She was not glowing at all now. She looked sad, and tired.

“Granger,” he said, even though he was excruciatingly aware that she was married.

He expected her to correct him out of habit, and then he’d retort that she would always be Granger to him, and then they would exchange empty banter and it would pass as conversation, but instead she just said, “Theo’s upstairs,” and led the way.

Draco expected to be led to a study, or a horrible mad scientist type lab designed for two, but instead it was a dark bedroom.

Draco baulked at the doorway, and Granger went in. He could hear the hushed murmur of voices and then she came back.

“He’s awake and having a good day, call if you need anything.” Then she left him there.

Draco watched her vanish back down the stairs before setting his jaw and entering the room. Theo was pale as a sheet, propped up with pillows, his face lit up at the sight of Draco.

“You did come, you old bastard.”

“Yes,” Draco said awkwardly. “Is Granger finally poisoning you for your family fortune?”

He’d prefer to avoid greetings or comments about how long it had been, or asking what was wrong. It was clear that something was incredibly wrong. Theo was thin and greyish, everything about him faded, not at all the picture of health Draco had assumed he would be.

That he was supposed to be.

Theo gave a wan smile. “I wouldn’t blame her, but no. My mother, you might not remember, it was a maladiction that killed her. Apparently I inherited it. Another thing my father didn’t manage to beat out of me.”

Draco’s chest clenched. “Theo, I’m—”

Theo shook his head. “It’s fine. I’ve—worked through it. Mostly. There are stages to grief apparently. That’s what the books say. I’ve moved through denial, anger, bargaining and depression. It’s not entirely a linear process but I’m mostly at the acceptance point now. Figured we should say goodbye.”

Draco just stared at him. “You can’t be serious. You invited me here for goodbyes? Fuck off. You can’t just give up like that. You’re married. You have a wife, you can’t die and leave—“

“If there was a fucking cure, Hermione would have found it,” Theo cut him off, his usually soft voice hardening in a defensive way that startled Draco. “We’ve looked. We’ve tried everything. You’d know that, if you’d ever come around. She’s been trying for years. Admitting she couldn’t—she tried so hard.”

Draco felt like he’d been struck. “I—I’m sorry. Of course you did. I’ve been away. Busy. I have responsibilities.”

Theo rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s alright, I know now why you didn’t.”

Theo sat up slowly. His body seemed shrunken, like a breath of wind could carry him away. “That’s why I needed to see you. I wanted to apologise. I’m sorry for not realising it sooner. I should have. Looking back—it’s so obvious.”

Draco forced a laugh. He had no idea what Theo was talking about but he was really not enjoying the conversation.

“Realising what? What’s obvious?”

“That you’re in love with Hermione.”

Draco’s entire body went stiff, something inside him crumbled and died as his heart stopped completely. His voice failed him the first several times he tried to speak. He looked away, clearing his throat repeatedly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You sound mad.” He fidgeted with the potions on Theo’s bedside table, peering at them. “What kind of potions does Granger have you on?”

Theo slumped back, his eyes fluttering closed, his eyelids looked almost bruised with exhaustion. “I think back a lot. Mostly the years since the war, once my father was gone and things were getting better. I was remembering how much time we used to spend together. You were doing community service for probation, that elves thing Hermione founded. And I was going from one bad relationship to the next like some sad puppy.” He opened his eyes. “I was remembering how whenever I told you about anyone I dated, you always used to sneer and said they weren’t good enough for me, and gave the worst relationship advice ever. You Sabotaged me.”

“You had terrible taste,” Draco retorted, still sorting through the potions and still not liking at all the direction the conversation was going in. “It was a mercy on my part.”

“When I told you about Hermione, that I ran into her, and I asked you what you thought, do you remember what you said?”

“I can’t say I do,” Draco lied.

“You said I’d never be good enough for her. Then the next week, you came around again, and I remember you looked terrible and I assumed you’d had another fight with your parents, and you told me if I was serious, I should get a job at the Ministry, mentioned the rumour she’d had a time-turner at school. She was the only person you gave useful relationship advice about. Looking back, I don’t think it would have happened without you. Any of it.”

“Theo—“ Draco shifted awkwardly, having run out of potions to look at, “—it was just a joke, You can’t assume things like that. Granger? Really? Of anyone I could have feelings for. Your wife?” He exhaled raggedly. “Have you forgotten our history? Unlike you, I was a Death Eater. I was in the war. Even before then, I was awful, and they brought her to the manor and I—“

He’s rambling, he knew he was rambling. He needed to fucking shut up.

“I would never have been able to—“ His voice failed and there was a stone lodged in the bottom of his throat and he just stood there trying to keep from smashing everything within reach.

He needed a drink.

He threw a hand up, suddenly angry and turned on Theo, glaring. “It was just a fucking joke. I don’t even remember it.”

Theo simply nodded. “You were right though. I wasn’t good enough for her.”

Draco scoffed at that, turning away, inspecting the view. “I’m sure you did just fine. I always heard that you two were revoltingly happy. People said you were like some storybook couple. You two were good for each other—that’s really all that—“

He was stammering again.

He cut himself off. “You were happy together. Everyone said you made her happy. And I don’t do happiness, it gives me a rash.”

“Shut up,” Theo’s voice sharpened. “Fuck. I forgot how much you talk when you’re lying.”

He gave a heavy sigh. “You wanted us together, didn’t you? You engineered it.”

Draco gave a long suffering sigh. “Theo, you’re a moron. Just because you claim to be dying doesn’t mean I’m going to put up with a conspiracy theory that I’m in love with your wife.”

“Fuck off. You were my only friend, and you were the only reason I didn’t accidentally sabotage the relationship. All the times I would have rushed things, you stopped me. You were the reason why I managed to pull off all my harebrain romantic schemes. You made it work. And somehow I ended up married with the friends and family I always wanted, that you knew I wanted, and where the fuck did you go? Where have you been since then? Not here, that's for sure.”

Draco glanced out the window. “You wanted a new start, Theo. It was all you talked about once your father was in Azkaban. I was the past. Once you were married, you didn’t need me anymore. I was a hindrance.”

“You manipulated me,” Theo said, looking unreasonably infuriated for someone who’d gotten to marry the love of his life. “You self-loathing fuck. You thought you had it all worked out, had everything puppet-mastered. You nudged me right into her path to love her for you. Pushed us together so you would be alone the way you’ve convinced yourself you deserve to be.” He sounded winded. “Fuck. I’d punch you if I had the strength. And the thing I’m the most pissed off about, is that I was so enamoured, I didn’t notice. I thought it all worked perfectly that time because it was meant to.”

If Theo was expecting a confession he was going to be terribly disappointed.

“Maybe it did. I don’t know what you expect me to say about any of this. Even if any of that were true, what does it matter?”

“It matters,” Theo said.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“It matters because you have to take care of her when I’m gone.”

Draco’s heart stalled for a second time, but he recovered faster. “I’m sure you can get everything arranged in advance so she’ll be fine.”

“That’s what I’m doing right now. I can’t ask her friends to do this. They love her, but they don’t understand how to care for her. She takes care of everyone, but she doesn’t remember to take care of herself. She needs someone to be selfish for her, who will do whatever it takes to put her first. I can’t be your proxy anymore, it has to be you now.”

Draco’s neatly manicured nails were biting into his palm, he didn’t even know when his fists had clenched. “Theo…”

“I have spent so much time worrying about her, feeling like I can’t go because who’d be here to make sure she was alright. I’ve considered everyone, and when I got to you, I brushed you off at first, because you used to talk about how you couldn’t stand her. But eventually I wondered, why did you do so much to bring us together? If you really hated her so much. You always knew what she’d like. You figured things out about her that it took me ages to piece together. And you’re actually a rather shit liar, now that I’ve been thinking about it, if you’d really hated her, you would have been a lot nastier than you were.”

“I still don’t see the point in this conversation,” Draco said in a bored tone. “Granger can take care of herself. Especially with your fortune.”

Theo exhaled, like he was too tired now to fight anymore. “You are missing the point on purpose and we both know it.”

Draco did not know any such thing, still it was difficult to keep looking at Theo and he turned away.

“You did a good job at it. I’ll admit, you are the manipulative person I have ever known, if I weren’t dying, I probably would have never known. But now it’s my turn to be manipulative.”

“Well a good rule of thumb is not to tell the person you’re trying to manipulate that you’re doing it,” Draco said in a dry voice, turning to face him.

Theo was holding up his wand and had a wry smile on his face. “Fair enough. But I do have one final piece of leverage.”

Comprehension slowly dawned on him. “Theo, don’t you—“

“Draco Malfoy, it is my dying wish that you care for my wife when I am gone. Support her in her grief, and help her find joy in her future. Be there for her once I can’t be. Help her find herself again. Do you accept?”

Death Wishes were magic out of old grimoires. The kind that only insufferable people like Theo Nott would know how to perform.

Usually they were curses pronounced as the person died, but a rare iteration was rather like an Unbreakable Vow, if Draco refused, Theo would not pass on after death but instead linger as a ghost, attempting to fulfil the wish himself. If Draco accepted and then broke his word, Theo would come back from the afterlife and haunt him.

Bullshit all around either way.

Theo’s wand pulsed with magic, waiting for Draco’s answer.

Draco stood glaring at him. “I hate you.”

Theo glared right back. “If you weren’t such a self-sabotaging, self-loathing moron I wouldn’t have to do this. You think I want you hanging around my wife? I don’t. But being your proxy was also a shit realisation, consider this my way of getting even. You will make Hermione happy and you will get over your self-hatred and do it yourself this time or I will haunt you and I will make sure Hermione knows exactly why it is that I’m doing it. Do you accept?”

The magic was humming louder, growing brighter and Theo was beginning to turn translucent as though the magic was draining his life from him.

“Fine. Yes! I accept.”

The magic flared out and flew across the room, striking Draco and fading into him. He clutched at his chest but the light had gone.

He looked up.

“Fuck you, you manipulative bastard,” Draco finally said, his heart was pounding.

Theo just gave another wry smile. “You know, that’s exactly what I wanted to say when you walked in.” He sank back into bed, looking winded. “I’m glad you came to see me. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t and I was going to have to come up with a whole extra scheme. You saved me a lot of trouble. All worth it for Hermione though, right?”

Draco turned without another word and headed toward the door, desperate to be gone, even though he could feel Theo’s wish like a brand inside his soul waiting to come alive.

“You should go see Hermione,” Theo’s voice followed him, already threatening to haunt him. “You know, she admitted once to fancying you a bit back when you were volunteering at the charity. She’d planned to ask you out, but you never came around after your probation was over.”