#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.

[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...?

[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. 

[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.”

[dottores]

NEXT TIME, JUST JOIN US | TIGHNARI & CYNO

pairing: tighnari x fem!reader x cyno

summary: the last person tighnari expected to find at your place was cyno of all people, much less did he expect to find the two of you in the position that he did.

warnings: noncon voyeurism, male masturbation, cyno fucking you

notes: for @kxeya's kinktober

wordcount: 1.9k

he was just supposed to have come to bring you some documents. tighnari’s mind buzzed, thoughts whirring as he stood frozen outside the haphazardly closed curtain to your place, ears perked up and alert, eyes wide and mouth dry as he listened to the sounds coming from within.

high-pitch whimpers, low groans, the sound of skin on skin and a sloppy, wet squelching sound. tighnari’s face went red and his blood ran hot, his hand fell from where he had raised it to fling open the curtain, only just having stopped himself in time after registering what the sounds were. 

his sensitive ears rang, his breath shook, the documents in his other hand crumpled as he fisted it tight.

he told himself to walk away, to go back to his own place, wait to talk to you in the morning about the research. but it was hard to move his feet, they felt as if they were glued to the ground, and the moment that he finally gathered the strength to make his way back across gandharva, he froze again.

a low, breathy laugh, “ha, that’s it, just like that.” a heavy groan followed the words, the lewd sound of skin-on-skin picked up, faster, louder, but tighnari was caught up on the words—or more specifically, who had spoken them.

cyno?

tighnari’s eyes shot open, and he inhaled deeply, biting back the moan that bubbled in his throat at the scent of sweat and arousal thick in the air around him. past that though, was the unmistakable scent of cyno—and tighnari was reeling because he hadn’t even heard him enter gandharva, much less make his way all the way across the village to your place.

which rose another issue that made tighnari’s head spin—you and cyno? since when? as far as tighnari was aware, the two of you weren’t all too familiar with one another aside from the few times you’ve crossed paths. you were a new forest watcher, a graduate of the akademia that had been studying artificial elemental abilities before you had dropped out.

“oh god, cyno, feels s’good,” your keen was loud, loud enough that it had tighnari’s face bright red because didn’t either of you have a bit of decency? evidently not, he realized, as an even louder moan spilled past your lips with what sounded like a particularly hard thrust.

tighnari’s gaze drew up to the curtain, taking note of how it wasn’t fully closed on the left side—if he shifted just a bit, he’d be able to see what was going on inside. but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, shame slapped him right in the face.

creep, he hissed at himself, he was a creep for trying to spy on the two of you like this, but even as the words passed through his head, to tighnari’s absolute horror he felt himself moving. he shifted to the side, if only barely, peeking into your room.

one look and then leave, he told himself over and over again. tighnari’s curiosity had always been his fatal flaw, a vice that he just couldn’t quite seem to shake. sate your curiosity and then get out of here.

but unfortunately, it was a lot easier said than done, because as soon as tighnari glanced through the cracked curtain, he was frozen in place yet again—his blood burned in the best possible way, his lower stomach coiled, his fingers shook.

he swallowed thickly, he could feel his throat close up as he watched cyno fuck himself deep into you from behind, your upper body flush against the bed, hips pulled up.

it couldn’t be comfortable, tighnari thought distantly, but the thought slipped away as his gaze trained in on your face—your slack jaw, the drool pooling at the corner of your lips, the way your eyes knocked back with every thrust, the way each of your moans cut off sharply as cyno bullied his cock deep inside of you.

“cyno,” your voice came out as a half sob, garbled and slurred, sending a jolt of electricity down tighnari’s spine—an irrational fear that you had seen him. “cyno, gimme a sec, s’too much-“

cyno didn’t hear you, too lost in his own pleasure—tighnari watched, cock twitching as cyno leaned over you, pushing his cock inside of you impossibly deep as he pressed his chest to your back, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you up into a kneeling position, keeping your body’s flush together. 

tighnari’s ears flicked as he shuddered, thighs tense, tail swishing behind him anxiously as his body continued to heat up. he was grateful for his loose pants because otherwise he was certain that his cock would be straining.

he had to leave, he couldn’t just stand there and watch. he knew he was being creepy, that neither of you consented to being watched, that if either of you turned your head and saw him standing there he’d have no explanation for what he was doing.

but he just couldn’t draw his eyes away, mouth dry and hands trembling as he watched cyno’s hand slide up your body, curling around your throat, as he watched how your body stayed pliant for him, letting him use you however he wanted, as he watched the way cyno’s lips glided across the back of your neck to your shoulder before he bit down hard—hard enough to draw blood.

tighnari inhaled sharply, head light and mind hazy, gaze drawing down… down and down to where cyno’s hips were snapping against yours, cock pistoning in and out at an impossible pace. he could see the white ring around the base of cyno’s cock, how your cum dripped down onto your bed, pooling beneath the two of you.

his tongue darted out to wet his lips, an overwhelming urge to taste you clouding any and all reason. he shifted on his feet—too loud, evidently, because cyno’s head snapped to the side. tighnari could not move fast enough, he was certain that cyno had gotten a good look at him before tighnari had managed to press his back against the wall next to the entrance.

his heartbeat thudded in his chest, blood roaring his ears and eyes shut tight as he waited for the humiliation of cyno catching him spying on the two of you.

it never came.

did he not see? tighnari questioned, trying to push away the hopeful feeling in his chest. 

tighnari knew he should take this as a sign to leave, it was too close of a call to risk staying, but he could barely even think straight at this point. his senses were overloaded with the scent of sweat and arousal, sweet and hot and thick in the air, and his cock was so painfully hard that he didn’t think he’d be able to move even if he wanted to.

his free hand drifted down unconsciously, fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of his loose pants. 

don’t do it, he told himself, eyes sliding shut as his head tilted back against the wall, chest rising and falling rapidly. he knew that cyno’s sense of hearing was nearly on par with tighnari’s own, and he knew that cyno must have some sort of inkling that tighnari was there. but tighnari, yet again could not bring himself to move, a whimper built at the back of his throat, his fingertips teased lower, brushing his sensitive skin, tighnari’s hips jerked. 

but wouldn’t cyno have said something already if he knew tighnari was there? tighnari fought back, body aching for release. it couldn’t harm…

tighnari swallowed thickly, throat spasming. and he knew it was wrong, he knew it but he couldn’t stop the way his hand drifted lower, fingers curling around his cock fingertips smearing the precum leaking from his tip as he listened to the way you moaned cyno’s name over, and over, and over again, sobbing and whimpering, he could hear the way your fingernails were tearing at the bed sheets, he could hear each broken gasp that ripped from your throat. 

tighnari felt like he was overheating, breath shaky as his grip on his cock tightened, and he found his wrist flicking in time with each of cyno’s thrusts, the wet, sloppy sound of your cunt sucking cyno’s cock in had tighnari’s entire body trembling. he felt as if a drunken haze had clouded his mind, the combined sound of your cries and cyno’s low grunts, his imagination beginning to run wild.

it wasn’t as if he’d never thought about it before, in fact you were a frequent thought that crossed his mind when he was lost deep in his heat, rutting against his bed, face pressed against his pillow, panting and sweating, your name spilling from his lips on repeat. He supposed a part of him had felt stung when first stumbling across you and cyno, wishing that it were him in cyno’s position instead but now…

tighnari’s eyes knocked back at a particularly loud groan that cyno let out, body shuddering as he pumped his hand faster. now he wondered what it would be like between the two of you—your chest pressed to his, cyno’s flush against his back; he wondered how your mouth would feel wrapped pretty around his cock, taking him deep to the back of your throat while cyno fucked you from behind; and he wondered what it would feel like the opposite, with your cunt snug around his cock while cyno took your mouth. 

he wanted to watch you choke and drool and struggle to take him full in your mouth, he wanted to stuff you cunt full of his cum and press his fingers deep inside of you to lock it in there, he wanted feel the way your walls tightened and fluttered around him as cyno tilted your head back and fucked himself deep down your throat.

“‘m gunna cum,” cyno gasped, and tighnari could hear the way his pace picked up, the slapping sound of skin-on-skin heavier, faster and tighnari found himself matching cyno’s pace, hips snapping up against his hand, fucking his fist in time with each of his thrusts.

his hips were stuttering, his breath was ragged and quick, soft whimpers escaping his lips, your moans were deafening, the only thing he could concentrate on beside the pornographic sounds coming from inside the room. he could feel the coil in his abdomen tightening, his thighs tensing as he fucked his fist faster, throat bobbing, eyes rolling back. he bit down hard on his bottom lip to muffle the moan about to push past his lips.

cyno let out a low groan of your name and you let out a loud cry of his, the sound of skin-on-skin stilling just as tighnari’s hips stuttered against his fist, cumming all over his hand with your name on the tip of his tongue.

his entire body buzzed in the aftermath of his orgasm, high off of pleasure and realization slowly, slowly setting in.

what had he done? 

desperately he tried to recover so he could book it out of there, wiping his messy hand off on his pants, he did not register you and cyno talking in his frantic actions.

“you’re leaving again?” you asked softly. cyno leaned down to press his lips to your forehead.

“duty calls, i’ll stay when i come back,” he murmured.

tighnari was leaning back against the wall as cyno left your place and he swore his entire world spun around him—hand still a mess of his cum, breath little more than a shudder, his eyes shot open when cyno closed the curtain behind him, eyes focusing in right on tighnari.

“i-“ tighnari began, face red as he tried to hide his hand but cyno’s lips only twitched up, an amused expression on his face.

“next time just join us.”

[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?

[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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[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.”

[gingiesworld]

Fatal Attraction

Chapter Six

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader/ Wanda Maximoff x Jarvis Stark

Warnings: Angst. Fluff.

Taglist : @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff @bimad (if you want to be added to my taglist, please DM me or comment)

18+ MINORS DNI

Wanda remained in Y/N’s apartment throughout the night, lying awake in their bed as they stayed on the sofa, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, although they couldn’t sleep either. Seeing Wanda in such pain made them angry, furious that someone could do something so hurtful and deceitful to such a wonderful woman.

“You should sleep.” Y/N spoke up without looking away from their laptop.

“So should you.” Wanda stated as Y/N chuckled, turning around to face.

“Do you want some tea or coffee?” They asked her as she shrugged.

“Maybe some tea please.” She whispered as they gave her a smile before getting up and heading to the kitchen area. She watched as they poured her tea, she could see them shake, but not enough for someone to really notice. “Are you ok?” She asked them, causing them to chuckle.

“I should be asking you that.” They smirked at her as she just tilted her head as she leaned on the counter.

“Please be honest with me.” She pleaded with them as they sighed.

“I’m furious.” They told her honestly. “I want to kick his ass for not respecting you enough, for not loving you enough because his actions clearly state the opposite to the vows he gave you on your wedding day.” They turned to face her, their eyes gentle as they looked in her own green eyes. “You deserve to be treated like the queen you are. You should be worshiped and protected by the person who is lucky to call you theirs. You should be showered with love and affection every moment of everyday because, hell isn’t that what every woman deserves. She deserves to know that she will never be second to anything or anyone. She should always be number one.”

“Is that what you think?” She whispered as they nodded.

“It’s what I know Wanda.” They told her as they handed her the cup.

“You can’t expect me not to kiss you after that.” She breathed out as they shook their head no.

“You’re still married, Wanda.” They reminded her. “And I respect you so much to let you throw everything away.” They gave her a serious look before continuing. “I know that last night you saw someone who wasn’t the man you fell in love with, but I can see you still love him and I won’t want you to ruin the good person you are Wanda.” They started to walk away as she scoffed and shook her head.

“But we have already kissed!!” She shouted as she followed them. “And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I don’t know why, but I can’t help but want to feel like that again. To feel someone hold so gently and carefully like I am fine china that can shatter at any moment.”

“Wanda, you’re distressed.” They tried as they turned to face her. “You have been through a lot in one night.”

“No.” She shook her head as she stepped closer to them. “This is the clearest my head has been in months.” She had their back against the wall, their bodies practically touching. “I know what I want. I know what I need.”

“You’re married.” They reminded her once more before turning her around, pushing her against the wall, their gaze piercing through her soul. “I can’t have you destroy everything you have built for some quick fling.”

“You won’t.” She whispered as she caressed their cheek, sighing as she felt their forehead against her own.

“I need to go.” They told her before pulling away. “Gwen will be here to pick you up at 9am to take you to my doctor.” She watched as they left their apartment, their suit they had worn for the gala looking completely disheveled. Releasing a shaky breath as she leaned her head back against the wall.

The familiar floors of the building led a familiar person through to the office he had once visited as a child. Looking at the time on his watch as he entered the office to see Y/N pacing the floor.

“You know, I never expected to get a call at 3am.” He smirked as he watched them stop and turn to face him. His teasing demeanor changed to one of concern. “What’s happened?”

“I have been experiencing something.” They told him. “I can’t explain it but I think I have real feelings for someone who is completely off limits.”

“Is she married?” He questioned as he helped himself to a drink.

“Yeah, she is married to Jarvis Stark.” Y/N answered him.

“That trust fund brat!” He yelled as Y/N nodded. “I hate him so much. Did I ever tell you about what he did to a friend of mine, he was in the same college as him. You remember Peter?”

“Parker? Yeah.” Y/N nodded as they took a drink and lit up a cigar.

“Yeah, Pete was doing a project for his journalism course and do you remember the camera he got from his Uncle Ben?” Y/N nodded before he continued. “He smashed it before he beat his ass. They were in college for fuck sakes.”

“I really can’t stand him anyway.” Y/N admitted as Harry smirked.

“Then get back at him.” He suggested as Y/N shook their head no.

“I couldn’t do that to Wanda.” They admitted. “She means more to me than just a game or a tactic to get back at a complete and utter dick.”

“Well, I guess you are stuck.” He told them as he finished his drink. “I guess I can’t really help you.”

“I just wanted someone to talk to.” They told him. “I just needed my brother.”

“We have never been siblings!” Harry growled as he got closer to Y/N. “Just because we share the same father means nothing to me. You mean nothing to me.”

“Then why did you come?” Y/N asked him as he just scoffed before leaving the office, Y/N knew at that moment that they had hit a nerve within him, they just needed Harry to realise it himself.

“Wanda?” Nat questioned as she opened her door to her best friend. “Where have you been?”

“I needed space.” She answered coyly as Nat let her in.

“Pepper has been calling everyone looking for you.” Nat told her. “She mentioned that you had a disagreement with Jarvis and you just left.”

“What was the disagreement?” Wanda questioned her.

“It was about his new assistant.” Nat told her.

“No.” Wanda shook her head with a laugh. “That was not the disagreement, and right now I couldn’t care less of he started fucking with Hope.”

“Then what happened?” Nat asked her as she watched Wanda pace the floor. Wanda explained everything that happened, from the moment she had spent with Jarvis to this morning. “I am going to kill him.” She growled as Wanda shook her head.

“Y/N got me the plan b.” Wanda told her. “And they got me on their company health care plan so I can get birth control.”

“So you spent the night with Y/N.” Nat observed as Wanda chuckled dryly.

“Not how you’re thinking.” She admitted. “They even denied my advance and left the apartment. They wouldn’t even let me ruin my marriage.”

“I think I am starting to like this Y/N person.” Nat told her as she grabbed a couple of cups, making some tea. Using the rest of the day to catch up. “You need to get out of this marriage.” Nat blurted out as Wanda looked at her shocked. “I’m sorry, that was blunt but I need you to know that I have never liked him. You graduated college, got a degree and every means to make a career for yourself and he wanted you to be a stay at home wife, just so he could use you at his own leisure. That to me isn’t love Wanda, and that he lied about practically raping you.”

“Nat.” Wanda whispered as Nat shook her head no. “I do love him and I know the man I fell in love with is still in there somewhere.”

“Look Wanda, I know you want to hold out hope that this high school dream of yours will last a lifetime, but believe me, it has already died. It died the moment he tried to make you his own personal slave and spawn incubator.” Wanda chuckled lightly at her words. “I am just looking out for you. You’re my best friend and I want the best for you.” Wanda gave her a teary smile before diving into her arms, holding onto her for dear life and afraid to let go.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Are Louis and Lestat in an exclusive romantic relationship on the books? Show!stat likes 'variety' and the way I took it is as an open relationship, like they go out and have their fun, but the romantic attachment is exclusive and just the two of them, instead of a polyamorous relationship that has love among multiple people... Anyway, I'm asking because I'm trying to understand show!stat better lol. I don't think the show has been clear about it, but maybe they want us to be confused? That's their goal? Because I believe Lestat only goes to Antoinette after he gets the impression Louis is slipping away. And that he takes Louis' shame in vampirism as shame in being with him too? So I get him trying to find a distraction or whatever. But I struggle with understanding this, not because he's 'with' two partners, because I believe all relationship configurations are valid and well, if they live forever, maybe they need a more diverse sex life than us and sex doesn't equal love lol. But even in his 'non-exclusivity', Lestat is still... Exclusive? Like, he just seems to go to Antoinette. But he also doesn't seem to really care about her either, like, I know we only got Louis' POV and not his, but he let her lose a finger and kicked her out of her own home to have sex with Louis? If he was sleeping around it would've made more sense to me, like, yes, he needs diverse partners, scenarios, kinks etc to entertain his sex life. But this feels like having a side piece only because Louis is distant, but being ready to drop her as soon he feels like there isn't an obstacle anymore. Like, if Louis embraces vampirism, finds some peace with his existential crisis an grief and gets to a good, comfortable place in his life, maybe they can be fully together now. And if/when that happens, I'm not sure if Lestat would need more? Anyway, this makes me so confused, because he has this aura of an extroverted, social, sexy, life of the party etc kind of guy that you'd stereotype and associate with being eternally single, sleeping around etc. But he also took so long to try again after what happened between him and Nicky, then he was fell in love with Louis and stayed in NOLA because of him, they familial and domestic life with Claudia for years and were genuinely happy before everything... There are parts of him that feel pretty traditional and simple too. So I'm like that Oprah "what's the truth?' meme lol. Anyway, thank you and sorry this got so long.

:)) Lestat is… monogamous at heart. I think Sam said that at one point. He loves deeply, and fully, and fatally.

He loves Louis.

Their relationship is not the easiest. We have only seen an edited, distorted picture of it for now, we also know now that Louis (at least thinks) he made it awful for Lestat because he wanted to make Lestat suffer (as he was suffering).

Vampires have (what I call) feeding flings. What Louis does in SF. Fuck and kill. What Lestat obviously does, too, bc Louis expects Antoinette to burn when he comes back.

The problem is that she doesn’t. Because she’s more than a fling. She is a symptom of their problems. In the book Antoine later tells us (yes, in the book Antoine survives) that Lestat came to him to talk about what moved him, which he felt he couldn’t at home, because he felt he would be ridiculed. Lestat in the show alludes to that when he rants about Claudia in Antoinette‘s bed (in the hotel). Antoinette was a retreat.

As such she is both less and more than an affair, something that is made clear by her getting turned later. We are led to believe he only turned her out of convenience, but Lestat always only turns people from or for love.

The edited tale tries to play up the cheating and jealousy aspect, but that is not (all) there is to it. Louis‘ and Lestat‘s main problem came imho, when Louis stopped feeding properly and stopped biting Lestat - the vicious circle that came with the lack of intimacy and bridging of the maker/fledgling barrier.

I talked about that here:

So the truth… the truth is it’s not as simple as we are led to believe. In their good times Louis had no problems inviting prey into his brothel to (fuck and) kill. Or the soldiers in s1. Louis did not even comment on them being in their bedroom :).

I think I would put it: they’re as monogamous as vampires can be?^^

And we‘ll probably see more hints wrt s1 in s3 :)

[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.”

[artful-aries]

Genshin Headcanons: Ways They Show Affection (Dottore, Dehya)

Dottore

​​Affection is not the Doctor’s forte

​​The definition of calm, cool, and collected, he’s not going to just give you a kiss on your cheek or hold you in his arms

​​If anything, you’ll find yourself begging for him to pay some attention to you

​​The man just often gets sucked into his research, almost forgetting about your existence. You’re still special though, if anyone else interrupted his research, they would be dead by now

​​Still, for him to stop his research and actually give you attention, the stars need to align and he needs to be in a good mood

​​On these lucky days, he will gladly hold you hand as he works, or perhaps sit in his lap if it doesn’t impede his research and you promise to not squirm around too much

​​If you are really good and let him finish his research for the day, Dottore will give you the affection that you crave. Kisses, a warm embrace, the whole nine yards. He’s just….a little intense about it

​​Takes the time to tell you how wonderful he thinks your body is, but not in a sexy way

​​The way he talks, it almost sounds like he either thinks you’re the divine among mortals, or a prime candidate for organ harvesting. You still aren’t sure which he leans towards

​​Outside of physical affection, Dottore is thoughtful enough to leave you notes before he heads off to the lab to research. They are simple; telling you to take care of yourself, where you can find him, sending you his regards, nothing poetic but it shows that he does think about you.

​​He gives gifts…in the form of the results of his latest research. Sometimes it genuinely neat things, like brighter, more sustainable magical crystals. Other times, it’s strange amalgamations of things you rather remain blissfully unaware of

​​It’s almost like he’s showing off his abilities, like a cat that brings back a dead mouse for you to praise them for

​​

​​Dehya

​​Her affection is rough, but it comes in abundance

​​She totally gives you noogies on top of your head, plays pranks on you to get you flustered, or straight up manhandles you and flings you into an oasis pool. Having grown up mostly around men her whole life, she doesn’t see anything wrong with this

​​If you complain she will try to be more gentle; she won’t give you noogies anymore, but she won’t stop the pranks. Sorry, she thinks your shocked face is hilarious

​​Physical affection comes naturally to Dehya, she’s always got an arm around you, planting kisses on your cheek if other mercenaries stare at you for too long, etc

​​When the two of you alone, Dehya almost gets nervous about touching you. She wants to so bad, but she psyches herself out, thinking that she might go too far and make you uncomfortable

​​Dehya is a good gift giver too, she secretly saves up money from her jobs to get you nice trinkets and things that she finds in her travels

​​Her fatal flaw is that she is bad about taking you in dates; she spends a lot of quality time with you, but rarely thinks about taking you to any place fancy

​​It’s not that she doesn’t love you enough, the concept just seems a bit weird to her. Why would she take you to a stuffy place when she can spend that time stargazing with you out in the desert?

​​If you insisted she would make a good effort, but you would be able to tell she’s a little on edge and uncomfortable the entire time

​​The best time for Dehya is sitting under the shade of a tree at an oasis, soaking her feet in the water with you as you both laugh about everything and nothing at all

[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.

[merakiui]

thinking about stalker ex octavinelle, but they’re all varying levels of severe.

(cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, mentions of death/murder, obsession, kidnapping)

stalker ex azul keeps and cherishes every memory he has of you: gifts, birthday cards, clothes, undergarments, jewelry, photos, text conversations, and even voicemails. he stalks your social media accounts on an account impersonating one of your friends because you blocked his actual account. he religiously goes through his photo album, staying up late into the night to peer at his phone screen as he’s illuminated in the darkness of his bedroom with a rectangle of light. he replays the few videos he has of you and delights in your voice and your laughter. you may have moved on, but he hasn’t. he clings to the ghost of you, his hearts shattered beyond repair. he’s torn between blaming himself and blaming those around him for being the ones who ruined his relationship with you.

if you date another person and azul finds out (which he will; you can’t get rid of him that easily), he’ll really lose his mind. azul has always been good and sweet to you, albeit highly clingy and obsessive, but those are normal flaws! he’s not perfect; you said you loved him for him and those qualities are him! late into the night, he’s stalking your social media yet again, but this time he sees you with someone who looks too close to be a friend. azul doesn’t care who they are to you; he wants that person dead and gone. or maybe he ought to take matters into his own hands. maybe he ought to fake his death so you’ll think you’re rid of him for good while he lives quietly, plotting the perfect scheme to have you for himself once again.

stalker ex jade takes the break-up surprisingly well. he understands where you’re coming from and he thanks you for the enjoyable time he spent with you. he’s so politely mature about the entire thing, so you think that’s that and you’re finally free of him and his creepiness. unfortunately, that is not the case. jade follows you home from work or university or errands, a knife concealed in his coat. he thinks about killing you. he thinks about using the threat of a blade to scare you into loving him again. he thinks about where to stab you so that he’ll miss important arteries and won’t fatally wound you—he only wishes for you to feel the same amount of pain he felt when you decided to end a perfectly good relationship. it takes a lot to make jade thoroughly angry. it also takes a lot for him to become so obsessively invested in someone who wasn’t just a fleeting fling. you seem to have quite the magnetizing effect on him.

jade loves you so much he’s willing to kill for you. hell, he’d even kill you if it meant he’d get to be the only one who gets to be with you in your final moments. but he won’t. maybe. who can say, really? he’s in a foul mood and the fact that he doesn’t have you to hold or kiss or adore only deepens the pit of melancholic loneliness he’s found himself in. he’ll stalk you all the time; you’ve always been entertaining, so much so that he’s been hooked from the very beginning. it’s truly a shame when other people start to come into your life to console you. to protect you. to promise they won’t let anything bad happen to you. what do they intend to shield you from? the shadows? please. jade isn’t an amateur. he knows how to lurk undetected. he knows how to get inside your house. you should have paid closer attention to your keys when the two of you were dating. most importantly, jade knows how to efficiently end a life. when you come home and smell delicious foods being prepared in the kitchen, you’ll think your new partner is playing chef. but your new partner is sitting slumped and sliced in the bathtub in a pool of thick, sticky crimson. jade’s sunk into the deepest sea trench, but he’d rather be there with you than alone and cold. call him crazy, but he thinks he needs you more than he needs oxygen.

stalker ex floyd is always on the verge of violating his restraining order. his father wasn’t too pleased to learn floyd got into some legal trouble on land (the last thing he needs is more complications when he’s trying to expand their operations to land), so he was willing to pay you handsomely so that you’d stop trying to prove to the judge that a restraining order against floyd is necessary. you never took the money, even when it was practically a threat and not a choice. god, floyd hates that restraining order. how the fuck is a piece of paper supposed to help you? he could take your dumb paper and dissolve it in the sea. do you really think paper is enough to keep you safe from him? he’s so annoyed. the laws on land are so stupid; he hates it. he didn’t do anything wrong! is loving shrimpy so bad? he was good to you, wasn’t he? the two of you had such a nice connection. he was even going to propose! that’s how serious he was about you; that’s how much he loves you. he’s willing to tie himself to you forever because he adores you. but then you just had to snip the string that connected you and now he has to follow some lousy rules outlined on a lousy sheet of paper.

it really sucks when you cower from him when he tries to give you flowers and sweets. he hates it when you threaten to call the police and tell them he’s violated his restraining order yet again and it’ll be another ordeal that mr. leech will solve with hush money. as irritated as he is, he doesn’t hate you. he could never hate shrimpy. but right now shrimpy isn’t being very nice or fair. can’t he just see you once? he just wants to hug you again or maybe cook you a delicious meal. he just wants to be in your life again; he’s sick of peering in. he’s sick of barriers. he’s sick of being away from you for extended periods of time. it hurts his heart when he can’t be with you. floyd’s moods are very volatile now. if you thought he was scary before, he’s downright terrifying, always on the verge of snapping. after floyd’s beat your new partner to death, whether with his own fists or a blunt weapon, he’ll come to retrieve his shrimpy. fuck that stupid paper and the stupid land laws and the stupid authorities who try to separate the two of you. if you won’t come back to him, he’ll come to you. you don’t get to cut him out of your life. you don’t get to move on. you’re floyd’s shrimpy and he’s your floyd. he’ll treat you with so much care. his hands may have killed a person, but these same hands will embrace you warmly and lovingly. it doesn’t matter if he’s on the run now. if he has to drag you into the sea to avoid capture, he’ll happily do so. anywhere’s a home as long as his shrimpy is there.