#the man LITERALLY HAD VISIONS OF ANOTHER LIFETIME

[transprince]

Btw nothing is more important to me then when media displays like. Prophets or seers or people with divine or magic visions as psychosis instead of just A Thing That Happens

[galactic-magick]

Maybe in Another Universe, You're Still the Man I Love: Viktor x Reader

Summary: You get sent to the same alternate timeline with Ekko and Heimerdinger, and you find out just how wonderful your life could've been.

Words: 2.1k

Author's Notes: Yeah so that finale sent me into deep grief and writing is the only way I can heal I fear. I hope you enjoy this interpretation of what Viktor could be doing in the alternate timeline.

“Are you alright, darling?”

Your vision comes into focus, though your head is still pounding. You’re extremely nauseous, feeling like your body is not your own as you become aware of the all-too-familiar voice that just spoke to you.

You’re sitting on a desk in an Academy classroom, journals and various papers surrounding you. The sun is shining through the windows, cascading gold onto the other desks and tables. It’s a peaceful, simple sight. Something that feels so wrong for precisely that reason.

“I don’t have another class for a while, you can talk to me,” Viktor says, brushing his fingers against your face. “Care to tell me why you’re looking at me like that?”

You suppose you look like you’ve seen a ghost, which isn’t so far from the truth. You must be dreaming—maybe hallucinating—anything to explain how this isn’t real.

“I…” you start, failing to find the words to say.

-

You storm into the lab, locking your eyes on the empty hexcore cocoon, then at Jayce.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t know!” Jayce fires back at you, clearly just as distraught as you are. “He woke up and told me he needed to leave me and this place. I have no idea where he went!”

“Why didn’t you follow him?” you scream, your mind spinning. Who knows how the hexcore changed him, he could literally be anywhere.

“He didn’t want me to! What don’t you understand?” Jayce slumps back into his chair, his face in his hands. As soon as he notices a tear fall down your cheek, his tone softens. “Look, I...we both know he’s been different since he started messing with the hexcore. He had told me to destroy it...but I couldn’t. And now he’s even more different. I’m so sorry,”

“Jayce…” you walk towards him. “I’m not blaming you for anything that’s happened. He’s been pushing both of us away for a long time. I guess...I just thought maybe when he woke up he’d love me again like he used to. Did he even ask about me?”

Jayce shakes his head, and your heart sinks even further.

-

“I think I’m dreaming,” you finally say, and Viktor tilts his head. “This...this isn’t real. We’re not like this, we haven’t been like this in a long time. You’re not...what are you here, a professor?”

He cups your face and kisses your forehead, “Darling, I don’t think you’ve been getting enough sleep, you’re talking nonsense,”

“No, no, no,” you jump off the desk and pace around the room. “If this isn’t a dream, then where am I? Some sort of other reality?”

“You mean to say you believe...this is not your world?” Viktor takes in your words intently.

“Well in my world, you fell out of love with me in favor of your work, and then you nearly died and got severely mutated by the hexcore. So yeah, I’d say things are pretty different,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Hex...core?”

“You don’t have that here?”

“Seemingly not,”

You sigh, perching yourself back on the desk, “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“No, I...I have theorized the possibility of alternate universes before, but I never thought I would come face to face with it in my lifetime,” he starts writing on the wall chalkboard. “I see no reason not to believe you. After all, my wife of this universe would probably not be saying these things,”

“We’re married?”

“Of course. Now tell me, what else is different in your universe?”

-

You’ve tried to find him everywhere—going all the secret places the two of you would go in the past, and asking people if they’ve seen him both topside and bottom. There’s no signs, not even a clue. He doesn’t want to be found.

You make your way back to Jayce’s lab, surprised to see Heimerdinger and a young man you don’t recognize with him. They fill you in on their concern about wild runes showing up around the city, and their plan to check on the hexgates. You’re desperate for anything to get your mind off Viktor, so you go along with them.

You’ve never been to the source of the hexgates before, and it’s even more grand than you imagined. One thing could go wrong and the entire thing would explode, but it’s precisely the potential of destruction that makes it all the more fascinating.

That is, until it becomes entirely unpredictable.

Your surroundings change at the blink of an eye—warped visuals and sounds you can’t make out. You scream for the others, but no one can hear.

-

You do your best to describe all the important events and details of your timeline, while Viktor takes notes on the chalkboard and compares what you say to his timeline. He seems particularly interested in his inventions in your timeline, and his partnership with Jayce—who’s no longer alive in his timeline.

“He died in an explosion here at the academy several years ago, it was a tragic accident that also killed a young girl from the undercity. He was a friend and a brilliant mind,” he pauses. “We...actually named our son after him.”

Your eyes widen, overwhelmed by this possibility of what could’ve been, “We have a son?”

“We do. And he’s perfect,” Viktor smiles softly. “You really are from a different time, aren’t you?”

You nod, trying to hold back tears. Why does this reality’s version of you get to be happy? Why does this Viktor get to dodge corruption and the hands of hubris?

Viktor gazes once again on the chalkboard notes, looking for patterns and causes for the differences in your timelines. Would he have reached the same fate if Jayce was still alive? What caused the Undercity to heal and thrive in his timeline but not in yours? Was this hextech you speak of really so destructive?

You are the same person he fell in love with, there’s no doubt in his mind about that, but you’ve been significantly more hurt than the Y/N he knows.

He steps close to you again, wiping the tears from your face and pulling you into him, “I’m so sorry your version of me has taken a different path.”

You sob into his chest, gripping his clothes. He runs his fingers through your hair and rubs your back, soothing you as if you’re his own.

But you’re not his. This isn’t your life.

You pull away, taking a deep breath, “As much as I want to stay here, I can’t keep taking over the consciousness of the me in this world. I need to find the others,”

“I don’t know if it’s possible for you to get back,” he says. “You say you got here through hextech, and that was never invented here.”

“We’ll find a way,” you run to the window, looking out to get a gauge of where you are. Heimerdinger might have landed somewhere here in the Academy too, and Ekko probably went back to the Undercity. But Jayce—if he’s dead in this universe—where would he be?

“Before you go,” Viktor places a hand on your shoulder. “Would you like to meet our son?”

Anxiety washes over you, your body going numb from the prospect. Would it only hurt you more to see a life that you could’ve created?

“Don’t you have more classes to teach, professor?” you smile, trying to turn your nervousness into something lighthearted.

“I’ll cancel for today. It’s about the time you usually pick him up from school anyway,”

He grabs his cane with one hand and takes your hand with the other, posting a quick note on his door as you leave.

-

You sit on a bench outside the elementary school, your heart pounding. This child is going to run out that building any minute, eager to see the mother he’s always known.

But you’re not her. You didn’t carry him, birth him, or raise him. You don’t have the same memories and experiences.

But you must pretend that you do.

You know which one he is immediately. He’s a perfect combination of yours and Viktor’s features, just like you’d imagined. His smile is contagious, and he wastes no time jumping into your arms.

“Look what I made at school today, Mommy!” he puts a crafty contraption in front of your face, a colorful collection of sticks and paper glued together.

“That’s so creative, honey, I love it,” but your attention is solely focused on him, his sweet face glowing with pride and joy.

“Quite the little inventor, aren’t you?” Viktor applauds him. “What else did you learn today?”

“We did reading and spelling. I can spell family now. F-A-M-I-L-E!”

“Close, sweetheart. There’s a ‘Y’ at the end,” you laugh,

“Are you sure about that?” he says, wincing his adorable face in thought. “Whatever. I learned how to spell brother and sister too, but I don’t have any of those. How do I get one of those?”

Viktor chuckles, “I’ll talk about it with your Mommy, how about that?”

“Okay!” he jumps up and starts walking home with the two of you.

-

What if I stayed? You wonder.

You’re playing with your son on the living room floor, with toys mostly made by Viktor himself. The house is small but cozy, a home you wish was really yours. What if you just stay in this dream reality forever?

What if you never find the others? What if there really is no way to get back?

But no, that wouldn’t be fair to the you of this reality. She’s the one who has this life, not you. Besides, Viktor and his son deserve their wife and mother back.

You hear a knock on the door, and Viktor goes to open it.

“Oh, Viktor, it is so good to see you.”

Your head swivels instantly towards the yordle in the entryway, “Heimerdinger! You found me!” you join Viktor at the door, “Where’s Ekko and Jayce?”

“I have not found Jayce as of yet, but I did find Ekko and sent him back to his timeline about a week ago. We found some hextech fragments and were able to use them to jump through time and space.”

“So...I can get home too?”

“As soon as you’re ready. We built the machine in a young girl’s lab in the Undercity,” he looks between you, then Viktor, and finally your son. His attitude of urgency dissipates as he begins to understand. “But...I could not blame you if you want to stay longer.”

Your son Jayce comes running to join you, grabbing onto your leg, “Who’s this guy, Mommy?”

“This is Professor Heimerdinger, he used to work at the Academy,” you pat his head, “Your dad used to be his assistant.”

“I’m sure you already have a brilliant mind, my boy,” Heimerdinger says. “Your parents must be proud.”

Little Jayce giggles.

“Actually, I would very much like to see this new invention you’ve built, Professor,” Viktor speaks up. “I’m now quite intrigued by the prospect of other universes.”

“I have no rule against you observing, Viktor, but I’m sure you understand I must destroy it after we all get back. It is too dangerous to be left here unsupervised,” Heimerdinger’s tone becomes more serious. “I’m sure Y/N has told you of the destruction hextech caused in our universe, especially to you.”

“Of course, Professor. I understand.”

-

You’ve never seen the Undercity look this beautiful.

It seems that the other version of you comes here often, so many people wave to you and little Jayce automatically runs off with some kids his age to play.

You meet a blue-haired young lady named Powder, who helped Heimerdinger and Ekko in their experiments. She looks so familiar to you, but you can’t place where you’ve seen her in your reality.

Heimerdinger explains how it works, and both you and Viktor listen intently. With everything up and running, you could go back this instant.

The pull to go back is strong, like an obligation to return to your rightful place in the universe. But the pull to stay is equally strong, as you gaze into your husband’s beautiful amber eyes that you want to find solace in forever.

“It’s your choice, my love,” Viktor says, as if reading your mind.

“I know I need to go back…” you exhale, tears welling in your eyes once again. “But I don’t know what I’m going back to,”

“I don’t know either,” he caresses your face, “But I do know you are strong in every universe,”

“I’m not,” you shake your head, “Not without you.”

“Don’t say that,” his thumbs smooth across your cheeks.

You nod, turning towards the device.

“Could you…could you kiss me one last time?” you ask.

Viktor wastes no time honoring your request, crashing his lips to yours with lasting passion. He pulls away only as you back into the circle, leaving you with one last affectionate whisper:

“I’m so fortunate to have met another version of you, my love.”

[feroluce]

NO OK BUT I'M STILL NOT OVER BOOTHILL AND DAN HENG AND THE JADE ABACUS IN ENA'S DREAM!!!!!

For some extra context, I have a whole henghill manifesto I wrote over here, but the tl;dr is that Dan Heng decides to use the Jade Abacus of Allying Oath to save the Express Crew the first time. Boothill urges him to think it over carefully, but he doesn't stop him. And then, the second time Dan Heng decides to use it, we get this instead:

And just! That's so!! so!!!

Because like. We see in the first battle against Sunday that that Jade Abacus is effective, like we really do just get an entire army lead by a whole-ass Emanator of The Hunt right to our location and ready to fuck shit up. It's important. It's incredibly valuable. That is a huge amount of power to hold in the palm of one's hand.

But Tiernan's relic works the same way.

Galaxy Rangers are terribly dangerous. Boothill comments on this when discussing Acheron's motives, because he can't believe anyone would be stupid enough to get The Hunt on their asses. They're considered to be on a level even above The Annihilation Gang.

And now, with the burial relic, he has a way to get thousands of them, almost immediately, and all in one place.

And you can't tell me that wouldn't be something extremely useful to Boothill, like literally life-saving. He's wanted by the IPC. He makes his living as a bounty hunter. His whole driving motivation in life right now is to do whatever he can, up to and including throwing away his own human body, to ruthlessly hunt down one man and kill him in revenge. Like that has to be dangerous, the IPC is a massive entity with far-reaching influence and money and power and weaponry. He surely must have already had some close calls.

Like can you imagine it? Galaxy Rangers are solitary creatures. If Boothill were to find himself near death, he would probably be all alone. Do you think he had regrets? Did he wonder if anyone would find his own burial relic? Did it feel the same way it did when they melted his flesh, replaced it with metal? Did he lay there with his vision slowly blacking out until he thought of home, and family, and the little daughter who he never even got to hear her first word, until he was so full of fury that he could prop himself up on his rage like a crutch and find help?

Tiernan's relic would have been like a get-out-of-jail-free card. Just for one time, no matter where Boothill was, someone would find him. The Galaxy Rangers aren't sociable or organized between themselves, but they help their own. Someone would save him.

He chooses to give all of that up to help Dan Heng.

And I just cannot get over it, especially the wording of it, the pause before he speaks, the gentle way he tells him to hold onto his once-in-a-lifetime treasure...!! He wants Dan Heng to leave this to him! He wants him to keep this precious item that will help him save his companions again in the future! And maybe it's just...wishful thinking, me reading too much into it? But I mean. Just the way he says it...

I really do think it comes from a place of deep kinship and respect. That there's a lot of thought and feeling behind that statement. Something from one Pathstrider of The Hunt to another. Boothill fought for his home and his family, he fought really really hard! But. Sometimes that just doesn't matter. And now he's watching Dan Heng fight for his, too.

When he made that decision the first time, Dan Heng was in the parlor car of the Astral Express. He was completely removed from any danger. He could have chosen to get the hell out of Dodge and not look back. Obviously we know he would never even consider such a thing, but it was technically an option, and Boothill watched him decide to go back into the proverbial lion's den for his friends anyway. And I'm sure that was part of what sealed his decision, to later use Tiernan's relic instead of the Jade Abacus to summon enough people to disrupt Ena's Dream. Because he greatly values ideas like righteousness and justice and saving people, and Dan Heng so beautifully embodies all of that and then some.

Boothill doesn't have people to protect anymore, only ghosts to avenge.

And there is just something so endlessly endearing about him wanting to help Dan Heng, to make sure his friend doesn't go through that the way he did.

[happi-tree]

kiss me on the sidewalk (take away the pain)

Taylor’s dealt with enough of this tragic angst bullshit for a lifetime.

So when he hears a large thump behind him and whirls around to see Lincoln Li-Wilson collapsed on the cracked sidewalk and bleeding profusely with no healers in sight, Taylor doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing, because this is not how things are supposed to go.

Or: Lincoln takes a hit for Taylor, and Taylor is left alone to hold his friend together until help arrives.

ao3

Hi, guys, new dndads fic! Wanted to get this one out before the episode drops and just barely made it in time. Enjoy some swiftli hurt/comfort!

Being the main character is not all it’s cracked up to be, sometimes.

Sometimes, you grow up never knowing your dad, but it’s all super cool because he abandoned you erased your memories of him for the plot left to protect you. Just another reason why it makes sense that Taylor Swift is the chosen one.

Well, not the Chosen One, but Taylor and his friends chose this for themselves (since nobody else was getting shit done), and he kind of thinks that’s cooler. 

Anyway. Taylor is the main character of this story (because fuck Normal, real life is anime if he has anything to say about it), and he has plenty of tragedy that enables him to back this theory up. 

Taylor’s nearly died a handful of times - to the point where he’s literally had his head severed from his body. He’s watched his father get cut in half, and most recently, his mom lost nearly her whole arm since he let his arch-nemesis (Willy, that fucker) get too close.

The point is, Taylor’s seen enough jacked-up shit at this point, and he can just feel the way that they’re nearly through with their quest. All that’s left, really, is to put the Big Bad in his place (six feet under, of course) and then they can timeskip to where he and his friends are all older and happy and maybe some of them are dating or married or have kids and they all meet up for dinner and drinks once a month. 

Taylor’s dealt with enough of this tragic angst bullshit for a lifetime. 

So when he hears a large thump behind him and whirls around to see Lincoln Li-Wilson collapsed on the cracked sidewalk and bleeding profusely with no healers in sight, Taylor doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing, because this is not how things are supposed to go. 

Golden strands of magic arc like lightning from Link’s outstretched hand toward one of the two dozen or so Doodlerized assailants that Willy decided to sic on them, and Taylor keeps its phoenix-bright comet-tail in his peripheral vision. 

Just looking at Link’s light directly is enough to blind Taylor, he’s found, sprinting forward with a silent casting of Zephyr Strike as the spell goes wide. 

Heh. Looks like Taylor’s newfound foe is too disoriented to prepare themself. 

With two quick flashes of his blade, another body drops to the ground.

Taylor quickly divests the corpse of its gun and wills his hands to stop shaking as he flicks the safety on and pockets the weapon, turning on his heel and running back for his friend.

“H-hey, you got ‘im,” Link says weakly as Taylor kneels down in front of him. “Good job.”

“Thanks. Fuck,” Taylor says, with feeling, as he wracks his brain for any information from the countless survivalist’s first aid books he’s read over the years and coming up short because there is so much blood. Because there is a veritable puddle of red blooming around Link, and his jersey is absolutely soaked in crimson, and this really, really doesn’t look good. 

Link needs Normal. Sparrow. Some sort of healer. Right fucking now. 

This is bad, this is so, so bad.

“Norm!” Taylor yells, really wishing that he had the Message spell or a goddamn cell phone right now. “We could really use some heals over here, man!”

No response, which is typical, seeing as how Normal and Scary appear to be entangled with fending off their own Doodlerized opponents, and the various father figures and Dood are similarly occupied. They’re also all on the far reaches of the mall parking lot, which is, you know, par for the course at this point.

Of course having a nice, regular time introducing Dood to the concept of the teenage mall hangout would go disastrously wrong. Because clearly it was getting too slice-of-life-y in here. 

Of-fucking-course. 

Link inhales sharply, and Taylor’s attention snaps back to him. Link’s trying to apply pressure to the wound, hands clasped over a spot on his side and desperately attempting to keep the blood inside his body where it belongs. Taylor feels a little nauseous when he realizes his friend’s long fingers are covered in the stuff, partially-coagulated bits of his own gore caking his fingernails, smeared across his knuckles, still leaking through his hands and adding to the dark pool beneath him. The air smells suffocatingly like warm metal. 

Taylor slings his go bag off his shoulder, tears through its contents until he finds a wad of medical gauze (not nearly heavy-duty enough to be effective against this, Taylor really should’ve stocked up on better supplies ages ago when they started this saving-the-world shit, but at least it’s better than nothing), and leans over his friend. “Hey,” he says, voice sharp and clipped in a way Taylor himself hardly recognizes, “let me.”

He pries one of Link’s hands away just enough to fit the whole roll of white fabric, places his hand on top of it, unfolds it a little bit to cover as much of the bullet wound as he can. He presses down hard (perhaps a bit too hard, if the way Link grunts is any indication).

“Sorry,” Taylor mutters, because he is, because it’s all he feels like he’s been saying lately. 

Sorry Willy fucked with your head, Scary. Sorry I didn’t protect you enough, Mom. 

Sorry you’re bleeding out and it’s all my fault because I haven’t been fast enough, smart enough, vigilant enough, anything enough.

“You can move your hands out of the way now, I’ve got it,” Taylor says, attempting to dull the spike-sharpened edge of his voice into something soft and steady with minimal success. 

One of Link’s sticky hands rests limply atop Taylor’s as the other falls to the side, and Taylor kind of wants to throw up.

The hand atop Taylor’s strokes gently across the back of his hand. It leaves a messy streak of red on his paler skin.

“Hey,” Link murmurs, “It’s gonna be okay, right? You’re gonna be okay.”

Taylor’s gaze lifts to Link’s face incredulously because in what world is this okay, and his friend’s eyes - he can’t tell if they’re misting with unshed tears or if they’re fogging over, but something is clouding those honey-syrup irises and neither of the options are good at all.

Taylor presses down a little harder, just to hear Link’s breath hitch again, just to watch the way his vision seems to clear for the briefest of moments.

“Link, stay with me, man,” he commands - though this voice feels too rough and wild and wobbly to carry any sort of authority. “Just stay with me, just hang on, just stay awake, please, I can’t -”

“I will,” Link replies, wheezing a little. “I’ll - ‘ll try my best. C-can I lay down, though?”

“Yeah, dude, of course,” Taylor murmurs, trying to gesture with his head rather than his hands before giving up and saying “Put your head on my lap, okay?”

Link complies, though not without a few awkward adjustments and grunts of pain, and Taylor tries to mentally steel himself for waiting until help arrives.

God. This was supposed to just be a chill day where they could all act their age for once, let their eyes adjust to the yellow-sun-daylight, not have to worry as much about the impending threat looming over their heads.

And now, his best friend is lying atop him, bleeding out, probably minutes away from dying, and Taylor can’t do anything about it. 

It’s not fair, he thinks. This isn’t even the final battle, not even a mini-boss! This is just some monster-of-the-week type of shit and now Link is dying and Taylor feels like something’s deeply broken in him, too, spilling out and slipping through every crack and crevice, gross and ugly and terrifying and they’re not even eighteen yet, not even adults, and Link is so kind and brave and loyal and strong and steady and protective and stupidly, stupidly self-sacrificial, and -

Link’s breathing is far too shallow for Taylor’s liking, or maybe that’s just the sound of his own lungs rapidly filling and deflating in his ears as he tries to think of anything to say to keep his friend awake. 

Taylor’s unmoored, unsteady, adrift without Link by his side, and god, why did he let himself get this attached if all people are ever going to do is leave him, and he doesn’t want Link to die, not when he’s made Taylor’s life better in every conceivable way, and -

Taylor jolts at the feeling of something grimy and sticky and slightly clammy against his cheek. 

He looks down, and Link’s clearly trying to maintain focus through the pain as he wipes some moisture off his face with his thumb.

“Hey,” Link says, soft concern made jagged by the blood attempting to seep through the gauze, between the gaps in Taylor’s fingers.

“Hey,” Taylor repeats back, helplessly, blinking away hot tears as fast as he can because blinking means not looking at Link and, god, he hadn’t even realized he was crying until now. It comes out with a wheeze, like the syllable was punched out of him, and then with a gasp, and then another, and then another, and Taylor can feel his chest constricting and fuck, how is he supposed to be any use to his friend when he can’t even breathe right?

“No, no, no, Tay, don’t - ah - cry for me,” Link says, unsteadily and ragged and so unlike the Link Taylor knows, except it’s exactly like the Link he knows, because providing reassurance is, for some goddamn reason, a priority for him even when he’s bleeding out onto the concrete and asphalt.

Taylor shudders at Link’s touch and his chest heaves as he tries to force air into his lungs, leaning into the hand that still lingers at his cheek and hoping that the wordless (undeserved) gratitude comes across.

Link is cupping the side of his face insistently, fingers brushing gently beneath his eye, up his cheekbone, tucking stringy hair behind the shell of his ear, almost as if he’s trying to memorize as much as he can by feel, immortalize his bone structure and acne scars in his mind before its gears stop turning completely. The thought rips a hole through Taylor’s chest, causes his eyes to well up with moisture and for frustrated, shame-hot rivers to wind down his cheeks.

“You’re… really adorable when you’re all -ah - pouty and frustrated, y’know,” Link says, a hazy, dreamlike quality entering his tone, and oh, no, Taylor does not like what that implies. “Not l-like this, though, I don’t like seeing you cry like this.”

“Well, don’t get yourself hurt like this, asshole!” Taylor snaps back, because really, the nerve of this guy to be dying on him and then complaining about seeing him sad.

“I had to,” Link says, gravely, simply. “I saw that guy take aim at you, and it - ah - was, it was you or me. Easy choice,” He finishes, and he has the absolute audacity to smile the slightest bit, lips turning up at the corners weakly.

“You’re a healer!” Taylor yells, face blotchy with tears and frustration. “You could’ve just healed me! I would’ve been fine!”

Taylor, not for the first time in this adventure, wishes desperately that whatever powers are at play would have granted him some magic that was actually useful, healing and wonderful and holy like Normal’s or Link’s or, hell, even powerful and dark like Scary’s, instead of just cheap party tricks that help him run away and hide.

It’s not fair that Taylor can’t give Link what the other boy has given him many times over. It’s not fair that the world feels like it’s standing still, timed to Link’s uneven breaths, and it’s something that he can’t outrun, can’t make disappear.

“Oh,” Link breathes, “Ha - ah - got me there.” 

Taylor presses his hands firmly against Link’s wound, because he has to be good for this one mundane thing, at the very least, has to be of some use, somehow, sets his jaw and grits his teeth against the shame burning white-hot with infernal hellfire behind his eyes.

“I,” Link croaks, “I didn’t really think about it, then, ah, I just. Moved.” There’s a sound that sounds like a frankly awful mix between a chuckle and a wince, and then he says “Guess you do crazy things when you’re in l-”

He trails off halfway through his sentence, eyes becoming blearily unfocused as he looks to the side.

“Link,” Taylor prompts, because whatever feverish statement Link had been about to make feels important, for some reason.

“Link,” Taylor says again, louder, and is met with no response.

“Hey, Link, Link, Lincoln, come on, this isn’t funny, listen to me, damnit!” Taylor can barely hear the sound of his own voice over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, because Link can’t be dead, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

He almost wants to shake him, but he can’t because that would mean taking pressure off the wound and that’s something that Taylor cannot risk when Link’s chest is (thankfully, blessedly) still rising and falling. But maybe not for much longer. 

“I can’t lose you,” Taylor sobs, already past hysterical and bordering on flat-out manic. “Lincoln, please.”

“I - uh,” Link says, kind of unintelligibly, but it’s Link and he’s lucid enough to try to speak and Taylor’s crying even harder out of relief.

“S-orry,” Link manages, turning to look at him, “ah - kinda got lost in thought there. Y’were saying?”

“Fuck you, man,” Taylor hisses, emphatically. “I thought you died!”

“Sorry, just - can I kiss you?” Link asks suddenly, eyes wide.

“What the f- now?” Taylor blurts in response, because truly, where the fuck was this coming from?

Link makes a little laughing sound that turns into a wheeze that’s punctuated by more warm blood spurting against the gauze Taylor is pressing to his friend’s side. 

“We’re married,” Link says as Taylor splutters, rapidly trying to get his mind to wrap around any of this. “It’s not that c-crazy, ah, of an ask.”

“It kind of is when you’re bleeding to death!” Taylor exclaims, his voice heightening to a near-hysterical pitch. 

“You don't - ah - have you if you don’t want to,” Link says in a tone that is probably supposed to be reassuring but absolutely nothing about this situation is remotely close. “I just thought it - it might help. Distract. From the - uh, pain? And I… I kinda miss it.”

Oh. It’d never occurred to Taylor that Link being previously married meant he’s technically kissed someone before. Kissed them often enough, enjoyed it often enough to long for it. 

His stomach twists oddly at the concept. 

Taylor’s never really… thought about what it would be like to kiss someone. Beyond the abstract, of course. He doesn’t even know if he’d like it. 

But, as far as first kisses go, sharing it with his best friend sounds… almost nice, if it weren’t for this entire ordeal. 

And if Link wants this - if it’ll help keep him here, keep him present, give him something to feel beyond the agony he’s surely suffering and keep his mind off the pain - well. Taylor would be a pretty shitty right hand man to deny him that.

“Okay,” Taylor says shakily. 

“Really?” He can’t tear his eyes away from Link’s face - partly because of the strange dichotomy of awe and agony that paint his features, and partly because he’s afraid of looking down and seeing nothing but red. 

“Yeah, if you think it’ll help,” Taylor hears himself respond. “If it’s what you need.”

“It is,” Link says simply. 

If Taylor doesn’t look down at the blood staining them both, he can almost imagine the adrenaline pulsing through his veins is for an entirely different reason. He can imagine Link is in his lap because he wants to be there, and that the hand still resting on his cheek is a sign of affection and not just his best friend desperately clinging to his warmth for comfort, and that the way his eyes are glossed over are from desire and not from excruciating pain. 

“Okay, I’ve, uh, never done this-“ Taylor starts to say, because of course stupid teenage nerves get the better of him when his closest friend is dying in his arms. 

“I’m sure you’ll - ah - you’ll be great,” Link says, features softening briefly before screwing up in pain. 

Okay. Taylor can do this. Link needs him. 

“Just, uh, tap out if you lose too much air, ‘kay? Don’t wanna fuck up your breathing.”

“Mm,” Link hums, straining a bit to lean up toward him. 

Taylor leans in the rest of the way. 

Kissing Link is… well, it isn’t great. The angle is awkward so that Taylor can keep attempting to staunch the bleeding, and his lips are chapped and probably bitten raw from anxious habit, and Taylor can’t really do anything about either of those things. The kiss tastes salty with their sweat and Taylor’s tears and gritty with the grime from the ongoing combat, and Taylor can’t bring himself to close his eyes for fear of Link slipping away.

But he can feel the way Link’s smiling slightly against his mouth, so Taylor guesses he’s doing something right.

The hand that had previously rested on Taylor’s cheek comes around to cradle the nape of his neck, fingers gently tangling in battle-mussed black hair. The action has Taylor making a frankly embarrassing noise high in the back of his throat, and Link’s smile grows as he pulls him in impossibly closer. Taylor is pliant and trusting in his friend’s trembling grasp, letting Link guide them both because the boy beneath him clearly has more experience and Taylor frankly has no idea what he’s doing.

Taylor longs to reciprocate in every way he can, to rest a supporting hand between Link’s shoulder blades, to weave another in Link’s soft-looking curls, to make this kiss better for Link, because Link is good in a way that Taylor can never hope to be and he deserves all the love and affection and passion in the world. 

As it is, though, Taylor has to be content with pressing his palms against blood-soaked gauze and hoping he can make this up to him if they get out of this mess.

He funnels every emotion he can into all of the points where their bodies connect, a swirling concoction of terror and adoration and desperation and loyalty and affection. And there’s more than a little confusion that seeps through, because Taylor hadn’t thought about kissing Link before, but at the present moment, with Link’s full lips moving tenderly against his, it’s suddenly all Taylor can think about. And maybe he’d like to do this again, under better circumstances, to pull Link in close and give back the attention and care and devotion he’s always given him. If Link wanted to, of course. And suddenly, Taylor finds himself hoping that Link would want to, because Link is lovely and protective and kind and awkward and endearing and so, so beautiful, and -

Oh. 

Taylor’s always felt strongly for his best friend, but now, on the cracked curb of a mall parking lot with the sounds of battle fading to a dull roar around them - now, with Link’s blood on his hands and Link’s fingers in his hair and Link’s mouth against his own - Taylor thinks that maybe those feelings run far deeper than he previously thought. 

There’s nothing Taylor can do about the thoughts raging like wildfires in his brain. He can’t run or hide from them if he tried - he can only hold this boy’s life in his hands and stay with him, hoping that he has the strength to do the same. Taylor tries his damndest to speak without words, every insistent press of lips a chorus of stay, I’m not leaving, don’t go where I can’t follow, I need you here, I want you here, stay awake, stay with me, don’t leave, I’m here, stay, stay, stay.

And maybe it’s selfish of Taylor, but it’s true. If he has one more thing ripped out from underneath him, he thinks it might break him. 

Link pulls away, and Taylor lets him. His best friend’s breaths flutter against his skin in uneven pants, and Taylor’s heart beats frantically as he searches his face for any discomfort.

Taylor watches as Link’s eyes open, a soft smile pulling at his lips, and Taylor breathes out a sigh of relief. Link’s hands have migrated to latch around the back of Taylor’s neck and he leans into him, seeking out the comfort of Taylor’s warmth. 

(Taylor’s muscles strain in protest and the near-constant ache in his body intensifies, but he doesn’t mind. Not when it might be the last chance he ever has for Link to lean against him like this.)

“Thanks,” Link says, and his voice is raspy and so, so small, and god, Taylor just wants to hold him close forever, to shield and guard him like Link has always done for him, to ensure nothing like this ever happens again.

Link’s eyes haven’t left his since the moment they broke apart, and while the fogginess in them is a bit worrisome, his dopey little smile is enough to soothe the worst of Taylor’s anxieties.

“I’ve - mm - I’ve wanted to do that. For a while. A long time,” Link murmurs haltingly, still looking at Taylor as if transfixed, as if Taylor’s the only thing that matters, and Taylor feels unanchored from reality.

Who gave his friend the right to look at him like he’s his personal salvation? Who gave him the absolute nerve to only bring this up as he’s actively dying? Was Link just going to hold this inside himself forever, and would Taylor never have known otherwise?

A spark of indignation alights in the hellfire of Taylor’s chest, and he looks down at his friend, watches as Link’s lazy smile fades.

Good.

“What the fuck?” Taylor exclaims, seething more than a little. 

Link hisses a little, flinching, and Taylor quickly attempts to cool the demonic heat seeping through his skin.

“Why didn’t you ask before?” He says, trying to take a bit of the edge off his voice. 

Link looks like he wants to say something, but he moves a little too much and the gauze at Link’s side blooms with even more red, so all that comes out is a small, pained noise.

“You know what?” Taylor says firmly. “It doesn’t matter, because you are so, so stupid.”

Link wheezes in protest, and Taylor shakes his head, furrowing his brows - let me finish.

“When -” Taylor starts, “not if, when - we get out of this, I’m going to kiss the shit out of you for as long as you want. I’m gonna make you forget your own goddamn name if that’s what you want. Got that?”

Link’s eyes are a little less clouded now, and he smiles so wide that his dimples show.

(Taylor decides that he’s going to kiss those later.)

“Mmmm. I’d like that,” Link says, voice soft and fond, and Taylor isn’t sure whether he wants to laugh or cry. 

Taylor’s body can’t seem to make up its mind either. Some strangled sort of sound rips itself out of his throat, scratching long claws into his windpipe on the way up, and he blinks away hot tears as fast as he can because even a moment with his vision obscured could be the moment Link falls unconscious and Taylor can’t have that happen. His breaths are loud and fast and there’s static and ringing in his ears and Link looks pained but ultimately concerned for him which is stupid, so, so stupid because Taylor is fine, he’s not the one with a bullet wound gushing blood, he’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine.

“Hey,” A voice calls from above him, firm yet calm, between gasping breaths like its owner just ran from somewhere, and Taylor nearly leaps out of his skin, cursing himself for not being on guard enough to notice someone was coming, and -

Taylor looks up from Link for just enough to catch a glimpse of hazel eyes framed by heavy dark circles and smudged glasses, then snaps his gaze back down, shaking with some bizarre concoction of relief and adrenaline as he processes things.

They aren’t being attacked, it’s just Normal’s dad (Uncle? No, dad, he’s wearing glasses), Normal’s dad is a Druid, he can heal, someone heard Taylor when he called for help, Link’s going to be okay.

“Mister Oak-Swa- Swoa-” Taylor starts, but he can’t seem to get the words out with how much he’s shaking, mind and heart and mouth stuttering as he tries to get a fucking grip. “He’s hurt,” he finishes pathetically. 

“I can see that,” Normal’s dad says, enunciating each word clearly, barely loud enough to be audible over the din of staticky noise that Taylor’s mind has become. 

Taylor’s hands press a bit harder against Link’s side, and his friend makes a broken sound that might be a wheeze. 

Taylor looks down at his hands, and god, they’re absolutely coated in gore, a red-brown smudge atop his knuckles from where Link had swiped his thumb across them, and the gauze is a horrible shade of maroon, and it’s damp and sticky with blood and it needs to be changed out but it’s all Taylor has, and the world starts to blur at the edges of his vision and it feels like he’s been running for ages with how his chest is heaving even though his legs ache from sitting in this position for so long, and it hurts to look at Link like this, and something twists in Taylor’s gut and everything feels too constricting and there’s so much blood and he can’t breathe and he’s useless and he’s terrified -

“Hey, Taylor,” Normal’s dad says slowly, gently. “Kid, can you look at me?”

Taylor hears the words and he knows what they mean but he just can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away because his best friend’s life is draining out between the cracks in his trembling fingers and Taylor has to keep watching, he has to, because he can barely feel his hands anymore and maybe if he doesn’t look they’ll fall to his sides and Link will die and it will be all Taylor’s fault, and-

“Taylor,” Normal’s dad says, louder, authoritative, and there’s a hand (dry, not sticky with blood) grasping his shoulder and the weight of it wrenches his gaze upward.

“Agh - sorry,” Taylor says, “Sorry, sorry, sorry-”

“No apologies,” Normal’s dad says, searching Taylor’s face for something, his expression softening, and something about the downturn of his mouth and the gleam of his eyes seems deeply sad and tired in a way Taylor can’t possibly hope to examine, not when the blood coating his hands and the tang of warm metal in the air makes him want to be sick.

“Listen,” Normal’s dad says, jaw setting and eyes going flinty again. “Nod when you’re listening.”

Taylor inclines his head shakily, everything too garbled within him to form any sensical words.

“You did a good thing, okay? You did so well. You used all the resources you had at your disposal. You kept Lincoln stable until I could make it here. It’s going to be okay now, and that’s because of you.”

“Y’did good, Tay,” Link mumbles beneath him. Taylor glances down and Link’s smiling weakly up at him, rubbing gently at the base of Taylor’s neck. “‘Ll’be alright.”

“Yes, you will,” Normal’s dad says affirmatively, and Taylor clings to it like a buoy in a vast, tumultuous ocean. 

“Link,” the man says, “Normal’s healed you before, right?”

“Mhm,” Link says, eyes glassy and wide.

“Good. It’s gonna feel a little weird, probably, but you’ll be back on your feet as soon as it’s over. I’m going to touch your shoulder to heal you. Is that okay?”

Link nods, then winces a little.

“Taylor,” Normal’s dad says, “I want the wound to heal properly, so I need you to move your hands.”

“But-” Taylor starts to protest, and his stomach twists violently at the thought.

“I know,” he says, and he has that mournful look in his eyes again. “It’s scary, but I need you to trust me. Okay?”

“S’okay, Tay,” Link mutters. “You can hold my hands, if you want.”

Taylor would rather not tear his hands away from the bloody gauze and open the wound even further, but at the very least he needs to hold onto something. 

“Okay,” Taylor hears himself say. Then, “Now?”

“Now,” Normal’s dad agrees, and there’s a horrible ripping sound as Taylor brings his hands away from Link’s side, the gauze glued to them with congealed blood. 

Link winces, lifting his hands, palm-up, for Taylor to grab. Taylor takes them and squeezes tight, tries to force himself not to think too hard about Link’s shaking breaths or about how cold Link’s hands are even through the dirty gauze. Link screws his eyes shut as their friend’s father rests a grounding hand on his shoulder and inhales deeply, closing his own eyes in concentration.

When his eyes open, they glow a sickly green, iris and pupil and sclera overtaken by the color of luna moth wings. Mesmerizing luminescent magic siphons from beneath freckled skin, cloudy and moonlit as it writhes from the veins on the insides of his wrists, twisting and like the branches of a newly-grown vine, before meeting Link’s skin, seeping into it with a weak sage-silver glow. The open bullet wound at Link’s side becomes overgrown with green magic. Its faint shine spreads like moss over its surface, suturing it closed before fading away, leaving nothing but a slightly paler slash of Link’s skin in its wake.

“How do you feel?” Normal’s dad asks after blinking away the last motes of glowing green.

“Better,” Link says, letting go of one of Taylor’s hands to ghost curious fingers along his new scar. His eyes are bright and lively and not misted over in pain at all. “Feels a little weird to be on the other side of a Cure Wounds, I’ll be honest.”

Normal’s dad grimaces a little in understanding.

“Definitely beats actively dying, though! Thank you, Mister Oak-Swallows-Garcia.”

“Just Sparrow is fine, Boss.”

Taylor barely registers any of this, however, because his eyes are drawn to Link’s scar. It’s barely a pockmark, only a few shades lighter than his deep brown skin, and Link flinches a little against him when Taylor’s free hand brushes against it. It’s such a small mark, but it’s the difference between Link sitting against him, slouched over and tired but wonderfully, beautifully alive, and Link laying in his arms, limp and cold and dead.

Link carefully peels away the gauze still stuck to Taylor’s palm and slots their hands together. Slowly, he interlocks their fingers, runs his thumb along the side of his hand, and Taylor nearly cries at the gesture. 

(Link’s hands are still cold, but that’s normal, Taylor has to remind himself. Link’s always had cold hands, and their hands are clammy and sticky still but it’s okay because Link is squeezing his hand, a silent reminder of I’m here, it’s okay, you can relax, and god, Taylor would be lost without him.)

There’s a shriek of loud static that Taylor is pretty sure isn’t just in his head, and Sparrow sighs.

“Sounds like Dood just spontaneously combusted someone again,” Link observes.

“Yeah,” he agrees, getting up from his crouch and adjusting his glasses. “I’m going to get back out there, see if we can finish this off without any other injuries happening.”

“We’ll come with you,” Link says. Taylor nods, attempting to reassemble his brain into something that can withstand the chaos of the parking lot-turned-battlefield, wanting to get his limbs under him correctly and wincing at the ache, and where the fuck did he leave his cane-

“No, you won’t. You two are out of combat for the rest of the fight. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re an ice cream shop employee,” Taylor mutters. His voice sounds… off, shaky. Is Taylor shaking?

“Field medic’s, then,” he corrects amiably. “You need to focus on recovering.”

“But I’m-”

Sparrow cuts Link off with a pointed look, allowing his eyes to slide over to Taylor before looking at Link again, and there’s something significant about it but Taylor’s brain feels too scrambled to parse any meaning from it.

“Oh,” Link says softly.

“Take care of each other,” Sparrow says, and something about it feels final. “I’ve gotta go make sure your other friends are holding up okay.” 

Taylor watches as Sparrow leaves only in the most distant sense, focusing on clenching his hands against Link’s and feeling the sensation of his friend squeezing back.

“Taylor,” Link starts, and his gaze darts up from their clasped hands (still bloodstained, bits starting to flake off in pieces like peeled paint or grotesque confetti, warm against cold, alive alive, alive) to look at him. He looks so concerned - over him, again, Taylor realizes. “I’m alive. It’s okay. You saved me.”

He punctuates this with a light squeeze to both of Taylor’s hands, and combined with the warmth of his gaze (his eyes had been so horribly cloudy before, and Taylor had almost lost him) and his steady voice (he had been slurring his words, choking on them, near-delirious, and Taylor had almost lost him) and the slight, hopeful upturn of his lips (near-identical to the small, weak smile he wore as Taylor kissed him, and he almost lost him) something in Taylor shatters.

“C’mere,” Link says, sitting up a bit straighter and opening his arms, and Taylor all but launches himself into them, hands scrabbling to find purchase on Link’s shoulders, fisting in the grimy fabric of his athletic shirt as he presses his face into his friend’s chest.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, it’s okay, you can let it out,” Link soothes, rubbing circles into the back of Taylor’s shirt with his thumbs, and it only makes Taylor cry harder.

You nearly died, Taylor thinks frantically, breaths coming as rapid as the frenzy of his thoughts. You nearly died and I couldn’t do anything about it and I was so useless and pathetic and terrified of losing you and -

“Oh, Taylor,” Link says in between Taylor’s sobs. “Tay, honey, you gotta breathe, okay? Breathe with me, just listen and try to copy me, alright?”

Taylor tries to nod, but with the strength of the tremors that are running through him, it probably doesn’t come across. 

Link’s hand comes up to cup the back of Taylor’s head, guiding him to rest with an ear to his chest. Link’s lungs steadily expand and deflate, a consistent rising-falling pattern, and just below Taylor’s ear, his heartbeat pulses, strong and confident.

Taylor thinks about the way Link had barely been able to breathe properly through the pain and his vision blurs with tears again, the periphery growing dark, and Taylor’s breaths feel like they’re being punched out of him, leaving him floundering and weak and aching and miserable.

“Link,” Taylor gasps, wave after wave of sobs wracking his body.

His best friend holds him through it all, offering reassurances in between measured, exaggerated breaths.

“I’m okay,” he says. Breathe in. “We’re okay.” Breathe out. “You’re not gonna lose me.” In. “I’m not going anywhere.” Out. “You were so brave, I’m here, we’re gonna be okay.” In, out, in, out.

Fingers card gently through his hair as Link presses a gentle kiss to the top of Taylor’s head, and Taylor lets himself fall apart.

-

Taylor can’t tell how long he sits there in the circle of Link’s arms, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the way he breathes. He’s lost time before, but it scares him to think how much he might have missed, especially since they’re still technically on the fringes of an active battleground.

Eventually, though, his breaths even out and the last of his tears dry up, leaving his face a puffy, snotty, splotchy mess.

They sit quietly for a few moments, Link still combing gentle fingers through greasy hair with one hand and tracing meaningless shapes into the center of his back with the other, humming soothingly every now and then. 

Taylor pulls away first, wiping below his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“Got it all out?” Link asks, and Taylor finds no trace of pity in his voice or expression, only gentleness and concern, and it makes him want to cry again but from the dryness of his eyes Taylor knows there aren’t any tears left.

“Yeah,” Taylor sniffles pathetically, opting to hide his face in Link’s shoulder.

Before he can, though, Link carefully takes Taylor’s face in his hands, thumbing away mostly-dry tears. He leans in, brows drawn together as if he’s concentrating on something, and presses a soft kiss to the top of his nose bridge, just between his eyes. Gold and saffron bloom behind Taylor’s closed eyelids, and the stuffiness and congestion fades away a little.

“Better?” Link asks.

“If you almost die like that again, I’m revoking your kiss privileges,” He huffs in lieu of a response. 

“Kiss privileges?” Link echoes, raising an eyebrow.

“Typical,” Taylor gripes with no real heat. “You really had the audacity to make me realize I want you as you’re fucking dying, and you aren’t even taking my threat seriously.”

Link’s eyes go comically wide. “You want me?”

Oh. “I said that out loud, didn’t I,” Taylor says.

“Yeah, you, uh, did,” Link replies. “I thought I had made that up. Like a fever dream, or something. Um, wow. Are… do you really..?” 

Link looks so incredibly flustered, and it’s unbearably cute.

Fuck it, Taylor thinks, and he leans further into Link, bringing a hand to rest on his shoulder as he presses a chaste kiss to his friend’s lips. 

Taylor backs away, sitting in Link’s lap as he looks up at him through his lashes. “Does that answer your question?”

“Uh, not really?” Link responds, earnest and awkward and sweet. And then a shy smile pulls at his lips. “Maybe,” he says quietly, “if you try that again, I might get it.”

Holy fuck, Taylor thinks, eyes drawn from the quirk of Link’s brows to the smirking curve of his mouth.

“Okay,” Taylor says, splaying a hand between Link’s shoulder blades the way he had wanted to earlier, running another hand through Link’s hair and dragging him down to seal their lips together again. 

It feels much better to kiss his friend this way, finally able to hold him and treat him with the affection he deserves and be held in return. It’s unhurried, burnt-out adrenaline leaving him pliant and tired, and the sheer relief of it all has Taylor breaking the kiss to laugh hysterically, breathlessly against his lips. Of course it would take something this stupidly, horribly dramatic to get Taylor to realize what he almost lost.

Link softly laughs in response, and he rests their foreheads together as they attempt to control their giggling.

Taylor opens his eyes to see Link grinning with all his teeth, sunny and bright, his cheeks dimpling from the force of it, and Taylor ducks into his space quickly to place a tiny, fluttering kiss in each divot . Something warm and possessive makes its home in his chest, curling between his ribs, brighter than the solstice-hot flames of hell.

Mine, Taylor thinks, the word doing little to encapsulate everything he feels about the boy in front of him. I’m never letting anything take you away from me ever again.

He pulls away, and Link is looking at him like he’s personally placed the sun in the sky (well, they both helped with that, technically), like he’s someone worthy of being adored, and Taylor feels like he could collapse under the weight of his gaze.

He settles for falling wordlessly into Link’s arms again, and the breath is briefly knocked out of Link’s chest, but his arms come to circle around him, safe and protective and secure and wonderful. Taylor listens to the thrum of his best friend’s pulse with an ear to the side of his neck as Link rests his cheek atop his head, murmuring reassurances and praise in equal measure.

Taylor just barely hears footsteps approaching their spot on the curb of the sidewalk - he probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all, wrung-out as he is, if not for the way Link tenses around him, holding him a little closer as his head lifts from atop his own.

“H-hey, um,” Scary calls - and Taylor knows it’s Scary, recognizes the timbre of her voice, but the pitch of sounds more uncertain than Taylor’s ever known - almost like she’s afraid to speak.

“It’s just us, Normal and Scary,” Norm’s reedy voice adds with that same unsure edge. “The fight’s over, you’re okay, man.”

Link relaxes a bit around Taylor in relief, and Taylor glances up to see him blinking sheepishly at their friends.

“No casualties?” Link asks. Taylor just hums, sinking further into his arms, too exhausted from the whirlwind of adrenaline and emotions to do anything other than listen.

“Not on our side,” Scary confirms. “Dood exploded some guys, though.”

“I exploded some guys!” Dood chirps happily.

“Are you guys sure you’re okay?” Normal prods, voice tinged with worry. “My dad told us what happened. I’m glad he could make it in time, but I think I have a little more juice left if something needs healing.”

“I’m good. Uh, physically, at least,” Link says. “Tay?” he prompts, giving Taylor a nudge.

“M’fine,” he responds without lifting his head from Link’s shoulder, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “Achy. Sleepy. M’fine.”

“Okay,” Norm says, and Taylor can hear the uncertain frown in his voice.

“We should get out of here before what’s left of the police finds us,” Scary says. “Ugh, this fucking sucks. This mall had a Hot Topic.” The I’m never coming here again goes unsaid, but Taylor, as tired as he is, finds himself nodding with the sentiment.

“I agree,” Link says, shifting a little around Taylor, and Taylor clings to him tighter, refusing to let go. “Hey, hey, I’m staying with you,” Link mutters to him. 

The others blessedly don’t react when Link kisses the top of his head - or if they do, they don’t say anything.

“Did anyone find Taylor’s cane anywhere, or?” Link asks, then sighs at the silent answer.

“Okay, we’ll find that later,” he says, then, to Taylor, “I’m gonna pick you up now, okay?”

Taylor nods, arranging his arms sluggishly to lock around Link’s neck and his his legs shakily straddle Link’s stomach.

“Okay, up we go,” Link mutters, and gets to his feet a little unsteady, helped up by someone (Norm, Taylor guesses) while his other arm supports Taylor’s legs.

“Thanks,” Taylor mumbles.

“Thank you,” Link responds, though to Normal or to Taylor, he isn’t sure. Probably to both of them. “That really took a lot out of you, huh?” he asks quietly.

Taylor hums an affirmative.

“Well, it’s okay now. You got me, and I’m not going anywhere, ‘kay?”

Another hum. “Mmkay.”

“It’s okay if you wanna fall asleep on me,” Link says, ever the angel, back from the dead and whole and strong and lovely, and Taylor nods against his shoulder, puffy eyelids already closed, sniffling once. “You can rest now, I’ll watch over you.”

Taylor doesn’t want to sleep, not really, not when he just got Link back and could just as easily lose him again, but the soothing vibrations of his voice from where Taylor’s head rests against his neck and the secure arms around him and the steady cadence of his strides ease enough of his anxieties that he feels himself starting to slip into unconsciousness regardless.

After he wakes and they’re all safe, Taylor will ask Sparrow or maybe Normal about learning Cure Wounds (it’s a spell that Rangers can cast, after all), and Taylor and Link will have a long talk about what all of this means for them, and Taylor will finally make good on his promise of kissing Link until he can’t remember anything else.

For now, though, Taylor smiles weakly as Link ducks to press another kiss into his hair and drops into slumber in his friend’s protective hold.

[dorylinae-supremacy]

🪄 The Green Striped Hat 🪄

AU where magic historian Techno gets granted special permission to read a cursed book - The Green Striped Hat - written by a wizard known only as 'Philza', someone strongly believed to be the strongest magic wielder to ever exist.

Tags: Alternate universe - Magic, Technoblade centric, Dark Sleepy Boys Inc, Dark Phil, horror, kinda, mentioned death, insane Technoblade, bro is not stable, parasocial relationships, kinda, can you get parasocial with a dead ancient wizard?, Dark Technoblade too I guess, ~470 words, you get the vibes as you read

He is the first person to read it after its initial discovery. While how it landed in the magistrated library is shrouded in mystery, they do know a few key things.

One was that the first person to ever read it was rendered completely unable to transcribe it, having gone completely unresponsive after the first page. They remained that way until finally expiring 4 days later.

Another was that it was locked away for a reason that none knew. It had been hidden away, locked behind ancient runes and locks that required lifetimes to get through. Techno's reading of this book was quite literally centuries in the making.

The final thing they knew was that the only way to survive reading to the end was through a massive well of magic. Any and all attempts to read had a 100% mortality rate, the longest lasting survivor having made it just 10 pages inside.

Through careful research, they worked out that it ate away at mana, taking the reader as a host and consuming them as they continued to read deeper and deeper. A few even reported hallucinations to pair with this, visions varying wildly from person to person.

It had fascinated him all his life. From the day he heard about the book on the playground, he knew he had to read it. He needed to know what was inside.

Over the years, his obssession with the thing only grew. He dived into what little research there was available about 'Philza', learning ancient and long dead languages just so he could read straight from the sources.

His family became concerned, of course, pleading with him to stop and use his magical talents for something far less self destructive but they didn't understand how important this was.

They didn't know Philza like he did. No one knew the ancient wizard better than him. That was why he had to do this. He had to know what the mans last creation was before he disappeared.

His family were the first obstacle he had to face, that was all. It was a trial sent by him to test just how diligent he was willing to be. He passed that trial when he was accepted to the most elite magical school anyone could access - Crow's Perch Academy.

It was there that he spent diligently studying and remaining at the top of his class for this opportunity. In total it took until he was 24 for him to be offered the chance to read The Green Striped Hat.

They called it a suicide mission, he called it his destiny.

[camaro-and-smokes]

Harringrove Fics Masterpost

Masterpost for all my Harringrove fics (both on tumblr and AO3) below the cut. Unfinished fics marked unoriginally as unfinished.

UPDATE 31 Jan, 2024: I changed my blogname, so most of the links on my tumblr fic posts are now broken. Links below are fixed to work and you can always read all my fics on AO3, AO3 links work and everything is available there also without logging in. I hope you like to read these despite the trouble.

My Metalsandwich & Mungrove fics masterpost >>

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The Way It Should've Been -series (AO3 >>)

Steve meets Billy. They fall in love. This series follows them through the most important events of their lives.

Part 1: The Love of My Life 1/10 >> / AO3 >>

Part 2: Is She for Real? 1/16 >> / AO3 >>

Part 3: Little Bird Starts Nesting 1/? >> / AO3 >> (unfinished)

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

August 1/8 / AO3 >>

After his first year in college Steve comes back to Hawkins for the summer he hears there's a new king in town. It could be another easy summer fling and he'd be in charge, but little does he know what he gets himself into… (Title from Taylor Swift song)

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Dream a Little Dream of Me 1/21 / AO3 >>

Steve works as VP of marketing in a Fortune500 firm. He starts to have a recurring dream of a relationship where he feels content in a way he'd never felt before. "It's just another dream" he tries to tell himself. It's not like you can dream someone perfect alive, can you?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pretty (wo)man 1/12 / AO3 >>

This was the first night Steve had dared to actually stop by the red light district at all. He'd driven by maybe ten times the past week and spotted the blonde in the corner four times. He knew that he would actually have to talk to him at some point. But even the thought of being close to him always made him so anxious that he just couldn't stop the car. But as the vision of having the blonde in his bed haunted his mind stubbornly, he had decided that tonight would be the night when it would happen.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Get Out Of My Dreams, Get Into My Car 1/? / AO3 >> (unfinished)

1992 in San Diego, where Steve recently moved because of his new job, he runs into Billy - literally. Billy isn't exactly what he used to be when Steve had last seen him, but it isn't a bad thing. At all. By chance, they end up as roommates and, well…

or OMG they were roommates!

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The Family Values Program 1/? / AO3 >> (unfinished)

Co-written with Aggressiveviking

When society started to decline, morals deteriorate and disease wiped almost one fourth of the population in the United States, The Family Values Program (TFV) was launched—the last beacon of hope for the betterment of the American people.

Steve had thought he wouldn't need to join TFV thanks to his dad's riches, whereas Billy had done all he could to ensure he would be one of the few accepted to it, for his father's sake—hoping desperately to turn twenty-five before being matched and thus age out of the program.

So, when they got the message from the Matchmaking Service of a successful match, neither of them knew what to expect—and how badly wrong it had gone.

To Steve, finding out that he was matched with a man by mistake was just one problem. The more pressing one was his upcoming twenty-fifth birthday a week from now, effectively aging him out of the program. If their match was revoked, Steve would be cast out of the TFV zone, with a promise from his father for no financial support. Steve couldn't let that happen.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

A Shot for Life 1/? / AO3 >> (unfinished)

Billy Hargrove, a 24-year-old model with striking looks and undeniable talent, is on the brink of superstardom after landing his biggest gig yet as the face of Givenchy. The opportunity of a lifetime brings him to a three-day-long photoshoot in the Bahamas, where he meets the legendary photographer Steve Harrington, a 46-year-old icon in the fashion world.

What begins as professional tension quickly evolves into an undeniable connection, as Billy and Steve find themselves drawn to one another in ways neither expected. But with an age gap that invites scrutiny and careers that thrive on image, their relationship stirs up gossip and reveals old secrets, risking everything they’ve worked so hard to build.

Will they be able to rise above the lies or will the unforgiving spotlight of fame drive them apart forever?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Oneshots

Standalones, either my own or prompted from fandom events. Latest is always the last on the list. Enjoy :)

Surprise >> / AO3 >> Pure fluff, genderfluid Billy

Sugar >> / AO3 >> Pure fluff

The Smear >> / AO3 >> Domestic fluff, genderfluid Billy

King Size (only on AO3) >> Lemons

A Fair Deal >> / AO3 >> Fluff, the party

Cat in Heat >> / AO3 >> Lemons

Princess >> / AO3 >> Fluff, lemons

May I feel? >> / AO3 >> Pure fluff

Menace, My Beloved >> / AO3 >> Mild hurt/comfort

(I'm in Orbit) Stars Exploding >> / AO3 >> Fluff, feelings realizations, not really character death, happy ending

The Letter >> / AO3 >> Angst, unhappy ending, permanent character death

Wounded Deer >> / AO3 >> Angst, hurt/comfort

Oh Baby >> / AO3 >> Lemons, hurt/comfort

Snow on the Beach >> / AO3 >> / Podfic on AO3 >> Pure fluff

Take it off (drive me crazy) >> / AO3 >> Lemons

Little Siren >> / AO3 >> Merman AU, fairy tale

Screwdriver >> / AO3 >> Fluff, meet cute, innuendos

Snowfall on the Sahara >> / AO3 >> Fluff

Like a Virgin (only on AO3) >> Roommates, lemons with feelings

Something memorable >> / AO3 >> Kinda fluff I guess :D

Sunlight on his face >> / AO3 >> Fluff

It started with an ice cream cone >> / AO3 >> Lemons

Hello >> / AO3 >> Pining and fluff

Morning wood >> / AO3 >> Written for Tease Mates, lemons and pining

Even better than... >> / AO3 >> Lemons and fluff

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

[dinoplantsghost]

pairing: Tom Riddle x fem! original character

warning(s): tom is a warning in itself, 1940s: time-accurate prejudice, violence: t0rture (Cruciatus Curse), teenage behavior: drama and language

word count: ~2112

Disclaimer: I have a huge google doc that holds all of my drafts and I'm quite literally just copypasting everything, so if there are any typos/errors, no there isn't!! :)

-- omg this chapter is so short but im absolutely so tired with school so this is all im dropping right now unfortunately. maybe ill drop another one after this, idfk, we'll see !!! :D

Chapter List

The Magic of Friendship [6]

Tom enjoyed his quiet walk to the Astronomy Tower. He always preferred the nighttime over day. Though, it was only during his stay at Hogwarts. Anywhere else and he would choose sunlight over all; the sirens always went off at night. 

Hogwarts had changed his perspective on life, how special it was—how finite it was. You were only given one life, and you were expected to live it to its fullest potential; and Tom was full of potential. He was destined for greatness. 

One lifetime is too short for him. He needed more; more time to conduct his plans to bring the Wizarding World to its fullest capacity. Muggles were mean, crude, and above all, ignorant. They knew nothing of what they were afraid of. They were all going to die by his doing sooner or later. Surely, in a far away universe, his mother would be proud of him. 

When he turned the corner to round up the staircase, Tom saw a blur of blue illuminated by the moon before a pair of jade was shoved into his vision. 

“Where is Patrick?” The girl asked, her frames sliding off her flat nose. “I never got to catch up with him after the Quidditch match.” 

“Nott caught a stomach bug from dinner, and so did Mulciber.” Tom said, slipping past Saoirse as he made his way to his assigned telescope, far away from the nuisance that was she. 

“From dinner,” she echoed, unaware of the sigh that fell from the boy’s nose. “Are they okay? Maybe I should go check up on him—well, them—after class.”

“That won’t be necessary, they’ve been admitted into the Hospital Wing already.” 

Saoirse���s brows furrowed. “I know that tone; that’s the same tone my father uses when he’s lying. Why are you lying to me, Riddle, what happened to Patrick?” 

Tom fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Darling, why would I ever lie to you,” he said condescendingly. “All of this concern for a boy you just met; I dare say you fancy him.” 

“I don’t fancy him, whatever that means—” 

Saoirse was cut off, a tall and awkward man standing behind her in the shadows of the night. “You two,” Professor Jensen said. “Why haven’t you started your assignment? Class started ten minutes ago.” 

“Our apologies, professor,” Tom hummed pleasantly. “Unfortunately, Saoirse’s partner has fallen ill, and we were merely discussing temporary arrangements until Nott is better.” 

Jensen nodded, his shoulders relaxing at Tom’s soothing words. The boy always had a way with adults. “Well, then,” he smiled. “I’m glad Riddle is kind enough to offer assistance to you, Miss Saoirse; five points to Slytherin.” 

Saoirse couldn’t focus anymore after Riddle’s sass. The rest of class was silent between the two, their hands occasionally passing by as they reached over to grab something. She enjoyed it more when Patrick listened to her talk about whatever she felt like chatting about at the moment. It helped her practice her English. 

She was nothing but worried for him. Surely, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut around someone as temperamental as Riddle, right? Whatever the case may be, she only hoped she didn’t find the boy dead on the ground somewhere. 

“You know,” Tom muttered, his first words after the first hour or two of class. “Nott is awfully fond of you; he’s been reading in the romance genre lately.” 

Saoirse’s cheeks turned hot, brighter than the moonlight that reflected off her cheekbones and forehead. “That’s not a funny joke, you know…”

“It’s not a joke; it’s the truth. He’s usually by himself most of the time, but now he spends all his time with you. It’s amusing to see, actually.” 

Saoirse scoffed, “Well, I think that’s really sweet of him. Of course, you wouldn’t get it; you don’t seem like the type to believe in love or anything romantic. I actually can’t believe that girls waste their time with you.” 

“At least they have good taste.” He muttered, his ego flaring until fading away immediately when Saoirse whacked his arm.

 TR~S 

The first smell in the Slytherin dungeons that fills the nose is the pungent, stagnant water lingering from the dripping sewage pipes. The wear and tear of the castle is very noticeable since the school keeper deliberately avoids dirtier places that need more work than usual. However, the students of green and silver try their best to maintain the elegance that comes with a pureblooded community. 

The interior of the Slytherin common room differed from its outside completely; with pristine furniture and glistening marble columns, it was the home of a tight-knit group, often used for gossip and other disparaging remarks that are meant for the common room and the common room only. 

Somehow, by some miracle, Saoirse was able to convince Tom to let her in the snake den. She was too determined, too worried about Patrick and his friends—well, more of Patrick than his friends. 

The culture surrounding the Slytherin’s fascinated her. When she walked into their awfully green living space, Saoirse saw a couple of upperclassmen standing by one of the many glass windows that protected them from the Black Lake. Looking on and into the murky water, Saoirse saw merpeople waving their hands at the children, forming signs. 

The Ravenclaw shook her head, stomping her way to the left staircase that wrapped around the bulky statue of a man whom she assumed to be Salazar Slytherin. Remembering Riddle’s words, she walked down the hall to inspect each door, finding the one with the silver number of thirteen before knocking softly. 

“Hello? It’s me, Saoirse.” She waited patiently, nibbling on her nail folds before the door swung open, a weak and defeated Abraxas frowning at the girl. 

“What do you want?” He asked, his voice so unlike his usual tone of pride and ignorance. His hair was oily, slicked back and pushed behind his ears as bandages sat on his face and neck. 

She walked in, gently moving the taller boy out the way. “I heard what happened, so I came to see you all.” 

“No, don’t look at us; we’re ugly…” Groaned Eloise, his pillow muffling the sounds of his growing pains as it sat on his face. 

“That’s just what you look like, Avery.” she sighed. “Where is Patrick?” 

“He’s right there,” Abraxas said from behind, walking around to lay back down on the bed already occupied by Miles. “He knocked out cold after Tom left; he usually doesn’t get punished, so he isn’t used to the pain.”

Saoirse frowned, slipping her flats off before sitting at the head of Patrick’s bed. Her weight caused the duvet to dip, his limp body following its contours. With gentle hands, she picked up his head to rest in her lap as her fingers lost in his hair. She took his bent glasses off his nose and set them down on his bedside drawer. 

“Does Riddle always lash out like this?” She asked quietly, her wand in hand as she slowly healed his wounds, from the small scratches littering his skin to the large bruise under his left eye. 

“Not usually,” Orion uttered, “but it’s always harsh whenever it does happen; he has major problems.” 

Miles chimed in, his body rolling over to face the girl. “He used the Cruciatus Curse, if you’re wondering. It feels like a bunch of knives and needles are being stabbed into you all at once. It makes you lose track of time after a while.” 

Saoirse nodded, her eyes tracing the lines of Patrick’s pale and sickly face. “Why did Riddle get mad anyways?” 

She was met with silence from the boys. 

“Well, it’s complicated.” Louis coughed, his hair out of its usual tight bun as he rested on Cassius’s shoulder, who just so happened to be sitting next to him. “Tom was angry at us for not doing what we were supposed to, and he was mad at Patrick for hanging out with you.” 

“Why would he care who Patrick is hanging out with?” 

Eloise sighed. “Because we’re supposed to be ‘focusing on other things’ as he put it…like how we’re supposed to be looking for the Chamber of Secrets—” 

The rest of the boys, save for Patrick, groaned in disbelief as their friend was too delirious to realize his mistake. 

“Excuse me—Chamber of Secrets, what is that?” Saoirse asked, confusion written all over as she watched Abraxas throw a weak attempt at hitting the heir of Avery in the face, his deflated pillow plopping onto the floor. 

“It’s something Salazar Slytherin made when Hogwarts was built long ago.” Abraxas said. “The other founders: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, and Rowena Ravenclaw, had differing opinions from Salazar concerning half-bloods and Muggleborns. He harbored resentment towards anyone without a pure magical lineage, and so he created the Chamber of Secrets to house a monster that was supposed to rid the school of those he deemed unworthy of magic.”

“Why are we telling her this, this was supposed to be a secret.” Pressed Orion. 

“There’s no point in keeping it a secret, she’s already involved; it’s Eloise’s fault anyways.”

“I’m sorry that I feel like my head is about to explode, chicken boy.” Cried Eloise. 

Saoirse sat in thought, contemplating the information she was fed. Riddle, who made it his mission to be calm and collected, the epitome of gentlemanly perfection and the poster boy of Hogwarts, was merely a boy loyal to his peers and had major anger issues, it seemed. Why he was determined to open the Chamber himself was unknown to the girl, but he was playing his cards wrong. Riddle was driven by emotion in times of stress, as seen by how weak and fearful his posse was. Patrick was still out cold, Lestrange and Malfoy were hanging off the bed they were laying on, Black was sagging into a fluffy, oblong seat; Avery was on the bed diagonal from where Patick’s bed was, face down, and Rosier and Mulciber were in their own world directly across. 

“Does Riddle force you all to do things for him,” she whispered, breaking the silence between the group of boys. “Why do you put up with him? These abusive outbursts seem to be commonplace.” 

“Because at the end of the day, we trust him; he’s our friend.” 

Saoirse felt the weight on her lap shifting, causing her gaze to follow. Patrick sat up slowly, palms on his sheets in search of his glasses. The girl was quick to hand them to the boy. 

“Tom,” Patrick continued. “is very complicated, to put it simply. We know that we shouldn’t put up with his anger—his obsessions, but he has good reason to be obsessed. He promised us that he would do the world good, and if that means a few punches and spells here and there, then I would do anything to make sure his goals are accomplished.” 

The other boys made affirming sounds. Louis pulled away from Cassius, his back straighter and his eyes brighter than before. “Before we met Tom, we were nothing but a bunch of rich boys with a reputation to uphold. In our families, there are definitely other people our parents are proud of. But with Tom, he gives us hope; a purpose. Tom has pushed our boundaries time and time again, only to prove that we are worthy of our names, of this privilege he’s given us to be his followers—the Knights of Walpurgis.” 

Saoirse hesitated to speak, her thoughts running many miles an hour before she opened her mouth. “If I became one of his followers,” she started. “Would that help? I don’t like that you’re all beat up, Patrick.” 

The boy in question stuttered, “What? No, I don’t want you involved, Saoirse.” 

“Actually, it would help us,” said Orion. 

Everyone turned to face the melancholy teenager in the corner of the room. He leaned forward, forearms pressed against his knees and his palms clasped together. He blinked once, then twice, until Eloise stupidly made a noise of acknowledgement, slapping his forehead and then regretting it immediately as his head pounded against his skull. 

Avery tossed in the bed, his hands in prayer as he knelt in Saoise’s direction. “Please, lady of the exotics, I beg of you! Aid us with your pretty magic ways and your dainty, womanly touch; heal us!” 

As Saoirse begrudgingly raised her wand, Patrick sat beside her with a heavy heart. “Saoirse, please don’t tell me you’re thinking about joining,” he whispered. “The things we do, what we stand for—it’s nothing you want to be involved with.” 

“I can handle myself, Patrick; nothing bad will happen.”

Credit(s): Dividing banner (^^^) by Chen Lu (1436 - 1449) - "Plum Blossoms in Moonlight" scroll painting; sourced through Pinterest

[kpopjust4u]

What did you think was going to happen?

Post Date: 25th July 2022 Content: Smut (Slight Angst) - ATEEZ Yunho x Reader WC: 9.5K  TW?: Enemies to lovers/ Slow burner/ Profantities/ Lip biting/ Pinning against the wall/ Doll/ Baby Girl/ Dom!Yunho/ Sex Toys/ Choking/ Spitting/ Praise Kink/ Oral (Recieving)/ Spanking/ Restraints/ Unprotected (Wrap it up) Request?: Yes Masterlist                                    Prompt list

Prompts: 35 - “Say please” 63 - “What do you want me to do to you?” 88 - “Don’t tempt me”

“Oh, who’s that hottie?” you gasp, staring at the tall handsome guy, walking past you and your best friend Jongho, Jongho just sighs, not wanting to tell you but he has no choice. He knew if you knew that he knew, you’d torture him for a lifetime to get it out of him, which he was not willing to take that risk. Not this time around. “That’s Jeong... Fricking... Yunho....” he tries to sound excited with you about him, but in reality, can’t stand his guts, and certainly doesn’t want you to get bothered with him. “Yunho, mhm, cute name with a face too, what else has he got about him?” you ask, turning to your best friend whose head is in his hands, practically nearly under the table. “Nothing, only that he’s a total jerk, and no one should get involved with him. He’s bad news, Y/N,” the worry in Jongho’s voice should warn you enough but you couldn’t help but look back at the mysterious man in the queue to grab himself a coffee. 

“Y/N!” Jongho snaps his fingers in your face, pulling you out of the trance that Yunho had put you in. You only looked at the back of his head and yet he already had you under some spell, it was ridiculous. “Man, the only way he’s bad news is that he’s probably a mega chick magnet,” you giggle, smirking whilst sipping at your coffee as Jongho face palms the table, knowing it was going to be a struggle to keep you away from him. “I’ll literally torture you if you do get involved with him, Y/N. I’m not even joking,” Jongho states, giving you complete dead evils from across the table, pointing the finger at you to emphasise his point as you hold your hands up in defence, smirking whilst trying to stifle a laugh. “Promise me,” he asks, as you nod, “I promise~” you comply, voice almost whiny from the disbelief of his seriousness. Yunho couldn’t really be that bad.

In your defence, you haven't even been in a relationship since forever, so your need for some attention and more, overpowered any other thought you could possibly have, especially when an incredibly hot guy comes into your peripheral vision, the whole game changes. Anything and anyone goes, even if they're so-called 'bad news'. "Right, let's go and meet up with Charlie then," Jongho announces, making you come out of another daydream, this time as you slowly sipped at your getting cold coffee. "Yeah... sure..." you reply barely, taking a quick glance behind you as you head towards the door, making eye contact with Yunho. He seriously was something else, the smirk that plastered his face as he shoots you a wink almost makes you faint on the spot. "Come on, don't make me force you to leave," Jongho sighs irritably, pulling at your arm, to get your attention. That's when you thought you'd see Yunho for the last time. 

Throughout the day, you seriously couldn't focus on anything else other than the constant visual reminder that you, of all people, got a smirk off the town heartbreaker, Yunho. Despite the many attempts of trying to distract yourself around Jongho and Charlie, even a homemade coffee reminded you of the incident, and that's when you knew that you were doomed. You HAD to get to know Yunho, and even despite the fact that you promised to not get involved with him, there was something about him that made him too addicting to just let go of. Even when you attempted to get to sleep, you fall asleep to the idea of even getting a taste of what he could be hiding behind his mysterious demeanour. The dream that you had about him that first night after seeing him, could be only described as filth, but you were cool with it, waking up with the biggest smile on your face and a pep in your step. 

"What are you so happy about?" Wooyoung teases, poking at your cheeks as they puffed out a little from the smile plastered on your face, Jongho instantly whipping his head around, throwing it back in irritation form knowing exactly who it could be about. "I swear to god, Y/N. Let go of him already, you're too good for that low-life". "Oh, so it's a boy, tell me about him~" Wooyoung sings, giving his friend a cheeky look, going against the advice Jongho has audibly given you just for entertainment, however, his amusement in this comes to a steep end the minute Yunho's name gets mentioned. "So there is a boy, Yunho. He's quite a looker," you giggle to yourself, looking at the coffee in your hands, the rim of the cup touching your lips as you happily scoff to yourself, barely sipping from it. "You have to be joking right? Yunho is a waste of your time!" Wooyoung whines, apologising to Jongho for the attempt to get some juicy goss, instantly regretting it. "I agree with Jongho... for a change... Don't waste your time," he continues, nudging you slightly as if to lightly scold you. "I promised I wouldn't get involved!" you act in defence, pointing to Jongho who made you promise. "Good!" Wooyoung cries, "I'll torture him if he gets his hands on you!". 

After a little while, dealing with the two picking on you for your lack of willingness to let go of the thought of Yunho, you almost choke on your coffee with what Wooyoung comes out next, "Anyway, you could do better. Like Jongho for example, he's been pining for you since you became friends". "I'm going to murder you... He's joking... Aren't you, Woo?" Jongho gives him a death glare, giving you some relief, though you couldn't grasp the sincerity of Wooyoung's words when he said that. Jongho really did have a thing for you, just he was too scared to admit it to himself, never mind even tell you. "Of course I'm joking," Wooyoung reassures, but in reality really wanted the word out there, in hopes you'd give him a chance as a good wingman would. Wooyoung was a tease, the clown in school, so of course, everything he says you'd have to take with a pinch of salt so this wasn't anything out of the usual for you.

"Right, I'd better head off back home," you lightly tap the coffee table, chugging the rest of your coffee before getting up on your feet. "Already?" Jongho replies in surprise, looking at the time on his watch before watching you grab your belongings, "It's only 6 p.m?". "Yeah, well some of us have to get enough sleep so they don't pass out in work tomorrow," you reply, pointing to yourself to make a point, ruffling up Wooyoung's hair as you walk past. "Don't touch what you can't afford," he moans, attempting to tidy it up, all you do is poke your tongue out at him, giving Jongho a small hug before heading out of the door, saying your goodbyes and good nights just before the door closes behind you. "Oh, you're so dead," Jongho mutters, dragging his thumb across his throat, as an expression to match his words, Wooyoung starts to cackle in response, "Oh come on, I'm trying to get you laid and keep her away from Yunho!". "I don't need to be laid, just don't want her getting hurt," Jongho's tone turns soft, as the worry really sets in about what you could possibly end up doing.

In all fairness, you didn't live that far away from your friends, only a few streets away but something in you decided to take the longest route around to your flat. Almost making you really glad that you did. You're stopped in your tracks from capturing a familiar-looking face at the end of the street, panic setting in now that you're alone, without having Jongho to be your saving grace and pull you away. Instinctively, you attempt to make yourself look presentable, brushing out the creases in your t-shirt, tucking your hair behind your ears and for some strange reason, checking your breath, as if you were expecting to even get that lucky with him straight off the bat. Trying not to make it look obvious that you were attempting to look cool, you walk past Yunho with a brave face, giving your absolute all in trying not to look at him as you do so, as though to try and be invisible to him.

However, you were gutted when he doesn't react when you walk past, turning the corner as you clutch at your chest, checking your heartbeat, pacing through your chest, trying to catch a breath from holding it in for so long so you didn't break in front of him. You scramble through your bag to try and find your phone but jump at the sudden voice next to you, "Hi," the low voice says, but you take your sweet time in looking up at them, almost turning as white as a ghost, recognising the face. Yunho was so much more attractive up in person, especially as close as he was to you. "Hi?" you shyly reply, forgetting about why you were looking through your bag in the first place. "I think you dropped this," Yunho passes you your phone, a small smirk on his face as you grasp it, accidentally touching his hand from not paying attention to what you were doing with your hand, "I'm so sorry!". Yunho lets out a small laugh, waving his hand at you, "It's no problem at all... I, uhm, were you at the Moon Cafe yesterday? You look familiar?" he tries to act casual, but of course, he recognises and remembers you, how couldn't he. You were practically staring at him and following his every move with your eyes the day before.

With an awkward nod, you confirm his enquiry, his smirk turning into a small smile as you do so, "Your friend didn't seem too happy yesterday," Yunho announces what he observed, making your toes curl from the awkwardness, realising he had also been watching you too without you realising it. "Yeah... Jongho? He's just protective over me, my best friend for life," you announce, still nodding forcing yourself to stop before you make a fool of yourself in front of the hot guy that was actually paying attention to you, "Best friend? I thought he was your boyfriend with the way he looks at you," Yunho scoffs in amusement, especially when you react slightly worse than you should've to the idea, "He's definitely not my boyfriend, he's like a brother to me," you reply, nerves slowly starting to disappear slightly.

"I have to head off, could I possibly get your number?" Yunho asks, seemingly now in a rush after keeping you there for a little while. Without any hesitation, you indicate for him to give you his phone, fingers tapping away on the screen as you enter your number, leaving under your name, followed by a little flower emoji. A small smile creeps on his face, noticing the name, happily scoffing to himself as he admires the name. "Such a pretty name for a pretty woman," your heart flutters out of your chest at his little mumble, making your knees weak. "I'll see you around," he smiles, as you wave to him, disappearing around the corner. You find yourself being able to breathe again properly after he goes, heart racing as you rush back home, ready for the day ahead tomorrow.  

Going around your evening as you usually would, you throw your phone onto the bed, taking this time to go through your night routine, to get ready for work the next day. As you step into the shower, the water muffles the sound of your phone ringing in the bedroom. As the water runs down your body, the warmth of it reminds you of the warmth you felt earlier on, talking to Yunho. If only you managed to actually get to know him there and then, but you were relieved that you managed to at least give him your number, just now it was time to play the waiting game for him to actually message. You couldn’t help but relive the moment, remembering how warm his hand felt when you accidentally touched it, the smile on his face paints a picture in your mind. The way he looked at you made you feel so special, surely Jongho could be wrong about him, even if he used to be that certain way, maybe he’ll change for you. It was high hopes to have but you wanted to have them to keep you going. 

Coming out of the shower, you notice the phone screen becoming bright, notifications covering the lock screen. Your interest peaks as you walk towards it slowly with anticipation, and anxiety that maybe he's already started to text you. Partial relief runs through you as you notice the many missed calls from Jongho and text messages off of Wooyoung. Realising that you forgot to message them that you got home safely, you pick your phone up, putting it to your ear as you wait for one of them to pick up your phone. "Hey! Are you safe? Are you home?" Wooyoung panics down the phone, almost in a begging tone to ensure that you're safe. "Yes, and yes!" you titter down the phone, the sound of dramatic sighs could be heard from the other end, "Promise?" he continues as you roll your eyes at their need to always ensure your whereabouts. "I promise, now let me dry off so I can make myself food," you order, Wooyoung whining down the phone as he muffles a goodbye.

After changing into some pyjamas, you stroll to the kitchen, pondering on what you could possibly make yourself to eat, not really fancying putting in too much effort. "Ah, what to eat?" you whisper to yourself, gliding your phone onto the table as you make your way over to the cupboards, browsing through the various items that fill them. You decide to ignore the notification sound coming from your phone, guessing that it could just be some social update, and/or even Jongho and Wooyoung in the group chat, as you pull out packet ramen, the simplest thing you could possibly make with minimal to no effort at all. "This will do," you mutter, placing the packet down on the countertop, going browsing for a suitable pan that you could make it in. Whilst doing so, your phone starts going wild, constantly pinging as you slowly become irritable, turning around to pick it up, "What do they want now?" you whine, eyes widening and instant regret at your lack of patience with your phone going off. Of course, part of it was as expected, by the text message on top of your notification bar was completely unexpected.

Making food was now the last thought on your mind as you struggle to get yourself onto the chair, hands shaking at the notification that you contemplated clicking on. “Hey, Y/N. I guess I didn't introduce myself properly earlier, I'm Yunho. It's nice to actually meet you today," the text read. You place a hand on your chest, feeling your heartbeat through it, as you walk away from your phone temporarily, pacing back and forth around it. You wondered if it would seem like you were expecting it if you replied straight away if it would make you seem desperate to do so. However, you also wondered if leaving it without responding a little too long would make him think that you're ignoring him, blanking him. You didn't want either idea of you from doing either of those, unsure how to reply, never mind even answering him in the first place. You seemed so confident talking to him earlier, but it's like you're shy all over again.

With the feeling becoming overwhelming, you had no choice but to answer him, butterflies in your stomach as you wondered how to reply, whilst still trying to keep your cool. “Hey! It was nice meeting you today too," you replied, coming to panic if it was too casual and if you could've added more. though you had no hesitation in saving his number on your phone, under his name with a few hearts. “Shit, what if he texts when I’m around Wooyoung and/or Jongho and they see his name?” you second guessed yourself if it was the best idea to do that, instantly editing his contact, changing it so a fake name, hoping it would be fool-proof if that event ever happens. It shouldn’t be something that’ll happen, but you had to take pre-cautions, you wanted to find out about Yunho yourself without having them question you with everything about it, plus you promised not to get involved, you had no choice but to hide this one away for a little while. 

“I’d love to meet up soon, grab a coffee or something?” Yunho replies barely 3 minutes later, making your face brighten. But your head was miles ahead, thinking of scenarios between you both when in reality, you’ve only just started texting. Getting ahead of yourself was a foolish mistake to make but again, he has you under a spell, like he makes you feel something special, especially when he’s texting barely 3 hours after bumping into him. “Sounds like a plan, meet at the Moon Cafe at 3 p.m. on Thursday?” you reply, hoping you don’t come across as too forward trying to set up a plan, however, his reply makes you squeal on the spot, tapping your feet happily, “Perfect for me, see you then, beautiful”. Did he just call you beautiful?! You couldn’t believe it, you felt like a school girl whose crush just looked her way, completely dramatic but you were so excited, making the day in your calendar. “It’s a date” you squeal to yourself, bouncing around the kitchen, singing to yourself as you finally get back on track to making yourself food. 

- Time Skip -

Thursday rolls around a lot quicker than expected, waking up in bed with the biggest smile on your face possible, quickly checking your phone for any text messages, the smile dropping when you realise there was nothing to entertain you, not even a good morning off Yunho. What were you thinking? You barely know the guy to even expect a good morning message from him. In frustration with yourself for jumping ahead in your mind, you rub your face, laying in bed in silence, contemplating on whether or not it was really a good idea to meet Yunho behind your best friend’s back, even after they warned you to stay away from him. However you couldn’t let go of him, you wanted to at first, but the more you thought of him, it became your life challenge to know him, but you didn’t know whether that was out of lust, or just general curiosity to him, to become friends. 

“Hey, are you doing anything today?” Charlie texts, making you feel the slightest bit guilty that you’re gonna have to tell a little white lie, “Yeah, I’m really sorry. Got a load of work to catch up on,” you reply, sighing at yourself for doing such but the text message to come in after that makes all your worries disappear. “Hey, are we still on for later?” Yunho asks, as you almost instantly reply, “Of course, if you’re still up for it?”, but of course he was, he wasn’t going to pass out on an opportunity on getting to know you. Was it to build up your trust to break it, to get into your pants, or was it because he genuinely likes you? You didn’t think of these possibilites, you couldn’t in your eyes, he seems innocent and nice enough. Though the rep that he seems to have with Wooyoung and Jongho is something else, they worry that he’d do his best to get what he wants and dump you, like what he’s done in the past when he used to be their friend. Though they’d never disclose that, too ashamed of that information to even tell you. 

For the hour that you spent in bed, pondering about the day ahead, your attention is then put on the fact that you haven’t even planned an outfit to wear, which was unusual for you. You always prepared outfits the night prior, and now you’re in a panic. You had a few hours before you had to leave, which was enough time to get ready but the idea of not knowing what you’re going to wear makes you rush out of bed to your wardrobe. Now this was a challenge, to pick the perfect outfit to wear, you didn’t want to seem to dressy for a coffee date, but you didn’t want to go too casual. Throwing your clothes across the room, you fall to your knees, looking around at the mess of clothes that circled you, worrying that you’re not going to have the best thing to wear to really catch his eye. 

For minutes, you sit on the floor, staring at the clothes that surround you, noticing the perfect little top that survived being thrown out of your laptop. So you now have a top, just to find a pair of trousers to match. Scoungering through the mess of clothes, you find the cutest pair of shorts that would look perfect with the top, it was casual but still very smart, especially once you had done your hair and make-up, it’ll be a perfect look. Pulling yourself up to your feet, you rush to the mirror, holding the items of clothing against you as you smile to yourself, happy that you’ve managed to find something to wear, but the question now was how you’re going to do your hair. Though it really shouldn’t have been a question, you already knew that you were going to do a half-up, half-down hairstyle, pulling a few hairs out at the front, curling your hair slightly so it falls nicely and framing your face.

The clock ticks by quickly, as you come to the final touches of your outfit, pairing it with your favourite and best high-tops, with a pair of thigh-high socks. Mainly to save yourself time to shave your legs but to also add some great details to the outfit. Maybe you were possibly overthinking this outfit a bit too much but once you saw yourself in the mirror, all dressed up, your confidence sky-rockets. making you feel so good as you do a little spin. After taking some really cute photos of yourself in the mirror to save for another day to post, keeping up with your little white lie that you were busy, you slowly make your way out of your apartment. 

The anticipation of his reaction and the reality of what Yunho’s really like races through your mind as you make your way to the coffee shop. hands shaking from the nerves, trying to keep yourself calm as the cafe comes into sight. A tall figure stands outside, on his phone as you make sure that you look presentable, doing a mental checklist before moving further. Your nerves also start to skyrocket, and your confidence slowly starts to disappear, putting on a brave face, walking up to Yunho who greets you with a soft smile, waving. “Hey! You look amazing!” he exclaims, smiling as he looks you up and down, biting his bottom lip. “Thank you, I was worried that it’ll be too much to get coffee,” you giggle in response, his head shaking at your speculation, “No, it’s cute. But you’re cuter,” he’s charming, his smile makes your panic slowly disappear, heading towards the door, opening it for you, like a true gentleman. 

Sitting down with your coffees and chatting for a while, you slowly feel yourself starting to open up a little, nerves becoming non-existent as you feel comfortable around him. Starting to feel like you could really get lucky with this one. He’s charming and a gentleman, really listens to you when you’re talking. You couldn’t understand why your friends were so worried about you getting to know him, you couldn’t see a fault in him. That was until you noticed his phone lock screen as he went to get a second round of coffee, text notifications of what seemed to be other women, all of the texts along the same line, “Hey handsome... Hey baby...”. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing, you felt guilty for invading his personal space but something slowly started to seem off when his phone changed from the lock screen to the caller page, a name followed by a heart popping up, in an attempt to get hold of him. 

“Hey are you okay?” He asks, noticing the change in your facial expressions from just before he went to get coffee, you nod in response, forcing a small smile. “I think a friend tried ringing you,” you say, twiddling your thumbs under the table as he carefully places down the tray, “Oh... yeah. Just a friend, they can wait. I have a beautiful woman to pay my attention to,” he charms, putting his phone in his pocket, not even bothering to look at his notifications. His charms was working on you, you could’ve just been overthinking that there could be something off about him, his charm of calling you beautiful seems to work in making you forget about that, looking at him as he passes over your coffee. As you get talking again, he gently places his hand on yours as you talk about something of a familiar interest. 

The conversation is interrupted by the constant ringing of his phone, as he excuses himself to answer it, you watch his manerisms change, walking outside as he puts the phone up to his ear, smirking as he answers the phone. You tried to give him privacy but you couldn’t help but overhear him calling the person on the phone beautiful, exactly the way he did with you. Taking this time whilst he’s on the phone as an advantage, you text Jongho, needing some information about Yunho, something doesn’t feel right to you about him now yet you knew you couldn’t tell him that you’re out for coffee with him either. You just needed to know. “Y/N, he’s a player, he’s a fuck boy, he’ll charm you and then dump you on the side. It’s what he does, you’re an interest to him until you give him what he wants, then nothing, Like he’s never seen you in his life,” Jongho replies, words really playing at your heart strings as you really didn’t want to believe it but the amount of texts he has off various women, the phone call, calling someone else beautiful? You knew now that this was a bad idea. 

“Sorry about that, just work things,” he scoffs, shaking his phone before placing it back in his pocket, you're unsure of how to respond to him, grabbing your coffee, hands trembling as you attempt to drink it, but not even coffee could help your anxiety right now. What if Jongho was right? What if he was as terrible as he claims. You really didn’t want to risk it, “Was it really work though?” you bite slightly, shaking your head, getting up to your feet, leaving your coffee behind as you storm out of the shop. “Y/N, wait up!” Yunho calls after you, running behind you in an attempt to make you stop. “I’m not sure what you’ve been told about me, but I promise you that I’m not like that anymore. Especially since I laid my eyes on you,” he tries to sugarcoat it but you weren’t taking it. You didn’t know what to believe, “Oh, so you do play with women’s feelings? Make them feel special then dump them to the side?” you argue, whipping your head around to him, eyes red and puffy, preparing you for the tears that try to escape your eyes.

For a moment, you contemplate on giving him the chance but you weren’t risking yourself to end up like the many women he could’ve done this with you. “So you call me beautiful, make me feel special? And expect me to believe you when you say you have eyes for me now? Leave me alone!” you bite, running away from him as he stands there useless, not knowing of what to do himself. Of course he had to admit to himself, he made some terrible mistakes, but he genuienly meant what he said about you, since he saw you. No one else interested him, there was something about you that drawn him to you, but now he had no way of proving it. The only solution you could think of for this to stop thinking about him was to block his number, so the texts you could receive from him won’t be a constant reminder of how he drew you in. 

“Hey what’s wrong?” Jongho asks, bumping into you as you rush to go somewhere, not knowing where but far enough away from Yunho to think. “I thought you had work to- Y/N, you didn’t?” his voice his firm and disappointed, but more so worried for your wellbeing. You don’t answer him, looking at the ground as tears fall from your eyes, “That’s why you texted me asking what he’s like isn’t it? He tried it with you?” Jongho asks as you nod, but you weren’t even sure yourself. You didn’t know what he wanted to do with you, you were probably overthinking it all but it was weird how he had so many women message him, how he was so strange about his phone being out. “I’m sorry, Jongho. I- I just wanted to find out what he was like myself,” you cry, as he hugs you, not one for hugs or anything but for you he just wants to comfort you. “Y/N?” Yunho calls out, out of breath as he turns down the street you’re on. You pull away from Jongho, looking in the opposite direction from Yunho as Jongho stands in front of Yunho. “She doesn’t want to speak to you,” Jongho’s voice is low, almost growling as he watches Yunho panic about what to do on the spot. “I want to apologise, Y/N. I promise you, I have no intentions of hurting you,” his voice is soft but almost inaudible.

With a deep sigh, you turn around, looking at Yunho straight into the eyes, “Stay... away... from me. I hate that you drew me in, I hate that I wanted to think that today could’ve started something. I’m such a fool for being so attracted to you,” you mumble through your tears. Jongho looks back at you, and notices how you really thought you were gonna be different to Yunho, “I suggest you leave”, “Or what?” Yunho bites, looking down at Jongho who glares at him, trying to seem intimidating but backs off, realising that he’s going to do more harm than good in gaining your trust to believe him if he touches your best friend. The one that also used to be his at one point, “You got it, Choi Jongho, you’re trying to save the girl you love, making her think the worst of me so you could save her for yourself. Good luck pal, she only thinks of you like a brother,” Yunho stoops low before dashing off, watching Jongho as he leaves. 

“What is he on about, Jong? How does he know your name and you?” you ask, but he shakes his head, not believing he’d stoop so low about the comment about him wanting you to himself. “We... We used to be friends, until we found out what he does to entertain himself,” Jongho admits, watching your face fall. “And you didn’t think to tell me that you used to be friends with him before hand? I wouldn’t have attempted to get to now him if I knew that!” you bite, you know you shouldn’t he was only trying to help but that information would’ve been useful earlier on in the week before you even handed him your phone number. 

When you get back to your flat, you lock the door behind you, throwing your belongings to the side, you were completely done with the day and just didn’t want to see anyone. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, the idea that Yunho could possibly be telling the truth played on your mind but you knew you couldn’t risk it, but you decided to unblock his number anyway. You knew you shouldn’t but in all fairness, you didn’t even know what you were doing with yourself anymore. You wanted to feel something other than hurt and disappointment, but you could possibly feel that even more if you let Yunho in. 

Within seconds of you unblocking his number, he starts to blow up your phone as you watch his caller I.D pop up with every call he makes, watching and hearing your phone ring, not knowing what to do anymore. “Can you just please stop?” you ask your phone, holding it in your hand as your finger hovers over the answer button. “What do you want?” you answer, with a harsh tone in your voice, “I want to prove to you how sorry that I really am, please let me,” Yunho begs, as you could tell he really wasn’t going to let this down until you at least listen to him and his side of the story, properly. “Why should I? I’ve seen enough, your phone is filled from text messages from the various women you’re involved with, have you fucked and dumped them too?”. The sigh on the other end of the phone answered your question, “I’m going,” you mutter as he begs for you not to leave, “Let me come around, I can prove to you that you’re the only one I really care about now,” you sigh, fighting with your emotions as you really took a liking towards him, “Please?”. 

Within half hour, Yunho was at your door, gently banging his fist against it. Getting yourself prepared for the heartache about to come, you answer the door, slowly opening it, refusing to look at him. “You know, I really shouldn’t have you around,” you point out but he knows that. He wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t out of good intentions. “I know, may I come inside?” he asks softly, walking past you as you invite him in. “You have... five minutes to explain,” you state as he nods, getting ready to do so but you interrupt him before he could even get a word out, “What drew you to me in the first place? Lust? Another victim for you to abuse? What?” you ask, as he stands there scratching his head, “None of those. I saw you, and almost instantly fell in love, but the only thing keeping me back was-”, “Jongho... right...” you reply almost instantly, in a sarcastic tone. “I know you used to be friends, so you can’t lie to me about anything now,” you state as he gathered that would be the case anyway. 

When you gave him 5 minutes to talk, that turned into an hour, his apologies flying out and it started to become believable. “I really like you, Y/N. I know there’s no proper way to prove that to you, but I have no intentions on hurting you,” you scoff at his words, “But you were going to make me think that I’d be special to you, like you must’ve done with the other girls you had around your finger”. He couldn’t look at you, but he pulls out his phone, unlocking it, passing it over to you, “You can go through everything, I haven’t deleted any messages. Look at the recent texts with the women, all of me telling them that I can’t continue on with them,”. You hesistantly look, suprised when you come across him texting his friends about you, of how much he really likes you. That he knows he’s messed up big time but will do anything to make it right. 

That’s when you left the night on that, you made him promise that if you give him a chance to prove himself to you, you’d give him a chance. You were hesitant about doing so, but you really liked him too, you just were afraid of getting hurt, getting the rep that you’re easy and all. But it was a risk you were again willing to take. “I swear to you, you won’t regret giving me this chance,” Yunho smiles softly, taking his phone back from you. There was an inkling that you couldn’t trust him but you wanted to believe that you could, not holding him too much but you just wanted to see where this takes you. Only you could be the judge on whether or not he’s really worth your time. 

- Time skip - 

It’s been weeks since you’ve made the deal with Yunho, and so far, it’s been pretty good. Your trust in him slowly starts to build up, and the need to check in with him becomes non-existent. If he really feels so strongly about you, he’d have nothing else to hide from you. Throughout the weeks to follow, you slowly feel yourself start to get comfortable around him, he takes you out on little coffee dates, takes you out shopping, and just chills with you. It was all minimalist but he’s slowly trying his best to build it up, he really doesn’t want to ruin this with you. He wasn’t joking when he wants to do anything and everything for you. 

“So what do you want to do now?” Yunho asks, filling his mouth with pudding as you look over at him, sprawled out on your couch, “I’m not sure, but I’m getting a little cold over here on my own,” you innocently say, big-eyed at him, moving your legs slightly, tapping the space on the couch for him to take a seat there. Completely leaving his pudding, he rushes over, firmly sitting down, pulling your legs up over his lap. “I hope this is okay,” he asks, as you nod, smiling as you continue to read your book. This is the closest you’ve gotten to any sort of cuddling since trying to work things out with him. He was serious as he wanted to prove to you that you were different to him, and this was a perfect example of that. He didn’t attempt to make any moves on you, just wanted to get to know you, giving you little compliments here and there that make your heart flutter again. You couldn’t believe it, but it felt like you first met him again, but this time, actually getting to know the real him, you couldn’t help but feel something for him. 

“How's the book?” he asks, trying to peep over the top of your book to get some insight to it, “It’s really good. It’s about this girl who gets a job at a company and her boss is a guy she met the night prior. She hopes he doesn’t remember the day of her interview but shit gets spicy,” you giggle to yourself, showing him the cover of it. Yunho pulls a face, and you’re unsure how to read it, “What?” you scoff, but he shakes his head, “Nothing, just it makes me happy seeing you enjoy something,” he softly replies, almost in a whisper. You couldn’t help but laugh at how soft he was getting with you, hands gently on your legs as he watched you smile, “What are you smiling at?” he asks, putting a hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek but quickly retracting it. “I’m sorry..” he whispers, smile turning into a little frown, surprised when you pull his hand back to your face, “Smiling at you, stupid”. 

As you stare into each other's eyes, you carefully place down your book on the coffee table, inching closer to Yunho. “What are you do-” he goes to ask, all confused at your movement, but you shush him, putting a finger to his lips, covering his eyes before placing the softest kiss on his lips, only a little peck but it makes the colour of red fill both of your cheeks. “What was that for?” he asks, trying to not show a smirk, “Because,” you reply playfully, picking back up your book to continue reading the chapter you were on. “Don’t pick that book back up~” he whines lightly, as you cheekily show a grin, “Why not? What are you going to do? Take it off me to get more kisses?”. With his tongue in his cheek, he clicks his tongue, finding this tempting but remembering there are boundaries, but he couldn’t help but think of the feeling of his lips against yours again, “Don’t tempt me”. 

Your eyes widen at his comment, a smirk creeping on your face, pulling the book closer to your face, trying to hide it. “Don’t hide that beautiful face by a book, doll,” he whispers, pushing the book down away from your face with a finger with care, not to ruin the book. Your face is red from the blush that fills your cheeks, biting your lip nervously as your eyes meet with his once again, “Come here,” he instructs, pulling you by your waist closer to him. You’re flustered by his actions but don’t do anything to stop it, quite happy with how things are panning out. You’re now straddling his lap, facing towards him as he simpers, arms around you with his hands holding you by your lower back. With a swift movement, he pinches the book out of your hands, placing it where you were just sitting. 

For a moment, you just look at each other with admiration, but the tension to kiss overrides everything else, your lips crashing together within seconds. You’d argue that he was the one to initiate the kiss but you were too busy thinking about kissing him that you couldn’t actually tell. The kiss was tame and pleasant, your lips gently pressing against each other as your hands press firmly against his chest, a hand of his at the back of your head, holding you close. “What was that for?” you mock, pulling away as his smirk is now plastered on his face. “I couldn’t help it,” he mocks back, smug when he does so. With yourself feeling the increased feeling of some sexual attraction, you teasingly bite his bottom lip before jumping off him and heading towards the kitchen. “Oh you shouldn’t have done that,” he calls out, chasing you as you go into the kitchen. 

Trying to hold back nervous laughter, you turn around, greeted by him standing tall in the doorway, arms crossed against his chest, “What?” you ask, nervously laughing, as he itches towards you, standing over you, looking down at you. He raises his hand slightly, putting it against your jaw, tracing it across it, tipping your head back. It was clear that at that moment, you were worried about what was about to happen, but not in the negative sense, but you know at that moment you’ve messed up, his actions slowly turning you on more than you expected it to from just trying to test the waters. “What are you playing at?” his voice his deep and enticing, sending shivers all over your body, making you come out in goosebumps. “I didn’t do anything?” you try to act innocently once again, but his hand cups your face, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly. 

His face lowers, inching closer to yours as he gently gets your bottom lip in between his teeth, gently pulling on it as you whimper, trying to go into another kiss from here, but he pulls away swiftly. “Kiss me, please?” you whimper, earning a smirk from Yunho. His lips brush against yours, testing your patience, which didn’t last long, as you press your lips against his, instantly turning it into a heated kiss. Though for a moment, Yunho pauses, to make sure that you’re okay with this, though you gave no time into giving him the heads up that you wanted to continue, grasping at the back of his head to pull him back into the kiss. 

Suddenly, you’re pressed against the wall, without barely any room to breathe between the wall and Yunho, he hoists your leg up to the side of his hip, getting closer to you as he deepens the kiss, grabbing your hand with his free one, pinning it up above your head, holding your hand to ensure you can’t move. You didn’t know what you expected from him, but this definitely beats expectations already, whimpering into the kisses as his bulge presses against your lower abdomen. “All of these whimpers and I’ve barely touched you, doll,” Yunho cooes lowly, letting you get some breath, as you try to get him to continue to kiss you, but he’s happily satisfied by watching you crumble under him. “What do you want me to do to you, doll?” he asks, tilting his head ready for a reply, kissing your cheek, trailing it down to your neck, kissing and licking at the most sensitive spots, yearning for your reply through your moans that fall from your lips. 

“Anything, please. Yunho... please,” you beg, tears filling in your eyes from the overwhelming sensation of lust flooding your brain, willing to let yourself be his little play toy for the time being. Though he takes very kindly to this, his smirk seems to be permanently stuck on his face, “Anything?” he questions, raising an eyebrow as he licks his lips. You nod frantically, “Anything... Please... I need you,” you reply, moaning with every word you try to say, making him scoff, “Are you sure?” as much as you appreciate that he just wants to double check, and cares enough to, you just wanted, you needed to be touched by him, to feel something more than just the never-ending lust at this moment. “Get to the bedroom, now!” snarls, slapping your ass as you dash to the bedroom with urgency, obeying his every word. At this point, you realised that he really did have a metaphorical choke hold on you, being able to get whatever he wants from you and you’ll happily give it to him. 

It only takes seconds for Yunho to follow behind, wasting you shake with anticipation the minute he comes into the room, merely a smirk on his face, his eyes turning dark. “Do you have any toys?” he asks, scoping around the room as you rush to your bedside table, emptying it out onto the bed, the peripheral amount if toys falling onto the soft duvet. His eyes widen at the possibilities of fun that he could have with you with the various things that came tumbling out of the drawer, grouping them at the end of the bed before slowly kissing you again. “Good girl, now get on the bed,” he orders and you listen, carefully placing yourself in the centre of the bed, legs already somewhat separated ready for him. His hands trail over your skin, removing every single item of clothing off of your body, leaving you naked on the bed as he goes through your collection.

“This will do,” he snickers to himself, pulling out a pink vibrator from the collection, testing the vibration before edging close to you, placing himself over you as his lips attach to yours, a hand caressing your breast, pinching your nipples between his thumb and index finger, making you hiss at the pleasurable feeling. Widening your legs by placing himself between them, he takes a moment to admire your glistening core, already dripping from the build-up, “My baby girl is so wet already, looks so good, enough to eat,” he growls, turning on the vibrator and pressing it against your clit. The vibrations make you squirm, grabbing at your other breast, trying to hold back whimpers but he wasn’t going to let you do that. His hand moves from your breast to your throat, gripping tightly but comfortably enough so you could breathe.

Toying with your clit, he’s satisfied from your breathy moans and feeling you tremble under him, his movement with the vibrator, and the way he changes the tempo of it, makes you cry more than you ever thought could happen. “Open your mouth,” he orders as you do so, moans escaping. As you continue to moan with an agape mouth, Yunho takes this moment to spit in it, licking your lip afterwards, rewarding you with a sloppy kiss for behaving so well for him. “Oh, you’re behaving so well for me aren’t you baby?” he coos, caressing your cheek as you whimper, nodding to his question, thinking that he’d be kind enough to let you ride through your high that was building up at a rapid pace from the vibrator on your clit. Your face screws as it comes closer quicker than you expected to, barely being able to express how close it was as your moans and whines get more consistent, “It’s okay, you can cum baby girl”. Within seconds of him giving you permission, you cry as you cum, lips far apart as he sticks his thumb in your mouth, which you instinctively suck on, in an attempt to ride out your high quickly. 

The vibrator is turned off, as he uses his other hand to caress your thigh, cooing you through your high, letting you have a moment to recuperate, breathing heavily as you look at him through starry eyes, a small smile appearing on your face, “It’s okay baby, you can calm down. For now,” he chuckles to himself, realising how easy he can make you cum, using this knowledge to his advantage. “Are you okay to conintue?” he asks, as you go to touch yourself, but he slaps your hand away, “No touching yourself, you got me?” he growls, as you nod in response, knowing to obey him or you’ll get nothing at all. Noticing the need for you to be touched again, he removed his clothes until he was down to just his boxers, lowering himself onto the bed, so his head hovered over your cunt. “Does my baby want to be touched?” he growls, his breath makes your clit tingle as you buck your hips at him, answering his question. 

He licks his lips, coating them with his saliva before licking up your cunt, making you squeal from the feeling of his warm, wet tongue brushing up against your hole and your clit. Without even having to beg him, his lips attach around your clit, sucking lightly, licking as he moans, adding even more pleasure through your body. A firm grip is wrapped around your thighs as he wraps them around his head, fully giving him access, tasting your juices as you start to scream his name, not fully over the pleasure he just gave you with the vibrator, “Fuck... Yunho!”. He hums in amusement, “That’s it baby girl, scream my name,” he mumbles, smirking at the sight of you moaning as he looks up briefly, a face that he’d happily paint a picture of, “You’re so hot when you’re moaning,” he adds, making you squirm even more when his tongue attaches to your cunt again. 

Though this time, he wasn’t going to be so nice to you, letting you have hopes that he’ll let you ride out your high, sticking a finger into your cunt, before adding a second one, curling them up, making you pant with pleasure as he does so. With his fingers, he gently pumps in and out of you, at a steady pace to bring you to the urge to come again, succeeding before pulling away completely, seconds before you could even have the chance to release. You cry as he does so, going to use your hand to finish yourself off but he pins them down at either side of your hips. “What did I say earlier, doll?” he grunts as he forcibly pins your hands down, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, yearning an answer from you as his grip around your wrists becomes a lot tighter, “Not... to... touch.. myself,” you barely mutter, as he nods, “That’s it, now remember that, yeah?”.

Unable to even focus on anything anymore, you just want to beg for him to do more, to feel the high all over again. However you were scared for what he has in store when he finally gives you what you wanted, he’s already made you see stars by toying with you, by eating you out, it seriously couldn’t get better than that but you waited patiently to be proved wrong. “Yunho... fuck me!” you whimper through trying to catch your breath, trying to reach for him to get kisses to help calm you down but he just scoffs at you, “Only way you’re going to get that is if you use your manners, baby. Where are they?” your face screws at his question, you could barely even speak with all of these whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth, “Say please!” he orders once again, gripping your throat to force some manners out of you, but you don’t respond the first time he orders you to say it. 

With a swift moment, your face is now in your pillows, whilst your ass was up in the air, exposing your behind to him as he admires the view, grabbing your ass with a firm grip, “Say... please!” he growls, forcibly sending a smack across your ass, using this to his advantage to spank you until he manages to get you to say it, your ass turning red raw with hand prints from his slaps. “Say-” he goes to repeat it again but you manage to lift your head barely from the pillow, crying out from the painful pleasure that you were receiving, “PLEASE!”. Just before he even touches you again, he picks out a choker, with a chain attached to it, putting it around your throat as he pulls on the chain, entertained by how he could control you even more through this. 

You really didn’t have to beg for any more as with one hand occupied, holding onto the chain, firmly pressed onto your ass, the other hand lowers his boxers from around his hips, completely taking them off from his body, his cock standing erect at the perfect height at your hole. “Are you ready?” he asks in a whisper, as you nod into the pillow, preparing yourself but nothing could be enough to be classed as preparation when he slowly puts in the tip, carefully and slowly pushing it further into you, yearning a muffled scream from you. Once he fully enters you, he slowly starts to pick up his pace, letting you adjust to his size. He was so much bigger than you expected him to be, stretching you out as he starts to slap his hips against you, making you scream his name into the pillow that your face was planted into. 

Unsatisfied with the muffled screaming, he yanks on the chain, pulling your head up out of the pillow, letting you breathe as you scream loudly, loud enough that the whole street could hear you but he really didn’t care. The sound of you screaming his name as he pounds into you, his cock twitching inside of your cunt, makes him lowly growl, slapping your ass with his free hand before grabbing it, leaving nail imprints. “Oh, baby girl... You feel so fucking good, and it’s all for me,” he growls, pulling you up completely, wrapping an arm around the front of your torso as he fucks you mercilessly, growling into your ear, hand around your throat loosely, making you crumble. 

“Fuck... Yunho... I’m going to cum!” you cry, as he kisses down the back of your neck, and across your shoulder, not answering you as he doesn’t slow does his pace, keeping it the same so you go through your high, unable to hold yourself up. You were so lucky he had a grip on you otherwise you’d fall into the mattress. Your legs tremble as your juices start to drop down your legs, his cock being painted white as you cry out, screaming his name again as you ride through for your high. Though there was no sign of Yunho stopping, not until he reached his own high, overstimulating you as he continues to pound into you. 

Gently lowering you down onto the mattress, he places both hands on your hips, gripping so tight on them that they were bound to leave a bruise the minute he lets go. Adjusting himself slightly, lifting a leg up, he forcibly picks up the pace, making you cry under him as he slowly comes to his own high, growling as his cock twitches inside you and your walls pulse around him, making him come closer quicker. “Fuck!” he shouts in pleasure, pulling out of you before pumping himself over your ass, droplets of his cum painting it white as he pants. “Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, taking a moment to appreciate what’s just happed, before running to the bathroom to get something to clean you up. “How are you feeling?” his voice is soft, and light as you whimper through heavy breathing, dropping your legs as you curl up, legs aching and shaky from being railed mercilessly. “I’m... okay...” you manage to mutter, giggling as you struggle to get up onto your feet. 

Yunho panics, seeing you trying to walk makes him wrap his arms around you, holding you up as you rest your head against his sweaty, bare chest, wrapping your arms around him, the faint scent of his cologne filling your airways. “You’re not going to drop me now are you?” you ask in a panic, remembering his old ways and couldn’t help but let it play in your mind, Yunho doesn’t react badly, knowing you’d still have anxieties over his past. “I promised I wouldn’t do that to you, and I’m gonna keep that. I love you, Y/N” he confesses as you look up at him, a small curl on his lips as you nod, remembering the promise he’s made. A soft kiss is placed on the top of your head as he picks up his hoodie off of the floor, as well as your underwear, “Here”. A smile creeps onto your face as you slide his hoodie over your head, big enough to reach down to your knees, having to roll up the sleeves to expose your hands. “You’re so cute,” he giggles, cupping your cheeks, putting on his underwear, tackling you back into bed, kicking off the toys at the end, pulling you in with him as he wraps himself around you. “I promise, I’ll never leave your side”. 

[noface-phantom7]

Bodyswap: The Art of the Trade

A Case of SCP-1879: The Indoor Salesman

(Part 1)

“So, will you take it?”

“How the fuck did you get into my house?” Nick stumbles, and then trips over the couch as he desperately scrambled away from the weird man that stood over him in a well-pressed suit and a huge attaché case on his left hand. He had spent the last two minutes or so explaining some sort of product Nick couldn’t comprehend—both because the ‘salesman’ spoke way too fast, and because Nick’s scream was louder.

“Now come on Nick, I don’t have time for this. Just—” The man waves off, striding towards him with long legs. Nick crawled to the base of his stairs, trying to get away in panic. “—say yes, take it. I need to meet a quota by tomorrow, man.”

Nick had just been watching the news a while ago, chilling after he got home from work, when he heard knocking from the door under his stairs. He thought it was a raccoon that somehow slipped inside his house, but to his horror, it was a man that had the widest grin on his face.

“What do you want from me?” He repeated, grabbing at his slipper then brandishing it in front of him. Nick had seen weird things at work—his students mostly, and he’s very exhausted, yet this thing in front of him was way weirder and didn’t seem to be a hallucination of any sort.

“Where were you for the last three minutes?!” The man snapped at him, throwing his hands up before grumbling about something. “Look, I’m offering you a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I need you to just say yes.”

Nick’s eyebrows furrowed, and tried to recall what he picked up from the weird salesman. He could remember something about the life of his dreams, something about getting what he’s tried to work for in his ‘entire existence’. “Are you trying to sell me insurance?” was the first thing he blurts out.

“Insurance?” The salesman asked, credulous, before slapping his forehead. “No! I’m literally selling you a new life! How was that hard to understand?”

This confused Nick further, though he had already caught himself as he slowly rose to a seated position on the first step. He looked at the salesman, who was grumbling under his breath again, before turning back to him. “...what scam is this?”

“It’s not!” The salesman snapped again, stomping his foot on the hardwood floor in annoyance. Nick almost cracked a small laugh at the red-faced man in front of him, slowly inching his way back to the couch. “Look—just help a poor man out, and say yes? No harm in trying.”

“I don’t have any money.” Nick replied, stifling another laughter as the salesman rolled his eyes. It was the truth though—he had been working his ass off to earn more than enough for rent and basic expenses, saving a buck or two here and there once every few pay checks. “I’m serious, I can’t pay for the perfect life or whatever.”

At this, the salesman’s lips curled into a smile. “I’m not asking for money, I just need your ‘yes’ and we’re done.” He crosses his arms as he says so, tapping on foot on the floor in anticipation as Nick ponders on an answer.

He was still a little confused about everything, from this weird man to his offer, he even considered calling the police but his phone was nowhere in sight. Thinking he had nothing better to do to make the man go away, and still thinking it was a scam of some sort, Nick only sighs and shrugs as he rises to his feet.

“Sure, whatever.” He tells the salesman, who raises an eyebrow at him. “What, do I have to say yes?”

The salesman nods, before stretching a hand out. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Nick reaches out to meet the outstretched hand, and once he makes contact, the salesman wraps his hand around his before grasping it tight. He grins at Nick, nodding at him in approval, before squeezing his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The moment the last syllable left the salesman’s mouth, Nick felt a tug deep inside him as his vision whited out for a moment. It was quiet, he felt the air moving around him though all he saw was bright light drowning out the features of his environment, blurring and morphing together until it all went black for a second.

There was a snap, and the air felt heavy and humid as he felt as if he was dropped off a couple of feet off the ground. He stumbles a little backwards, maneuvering his feet to regain his balance as he felt impossibly heavy…and broad. When he opened his eyes, the change of perspective disoriented him, and he had to blink a few times until it left him.

Nick lets out a huff of breath, spreading his arms to stop himself from falling backwards—both of them likewise felt heavier than he remembered, until he managed to root his feet on the carpeted ground. The first thing he saw was the change of environment—what he distinctly remembered was his small living room, instead he found himself in the gym.

He caught his breath, and the other jarring thing was that he felt himself towering over everything, like he was a beast. This prompted him to look down, and he almost jumps back once he sees the tight-fitting black top and sweatpants he wore—which was much different than the hoodie and old t-shirt he wore a moment ago.

Nick gasps and blinks, staring at his arms to see the size difference, until he finds a floor-length mirror before him, to which he stares at himself in both awe and disbelief pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

He runs a hand over his chest, tracing his bulging pecs with his palms then giving them a squeeze. Then he places a hand over his abdomen, feeling hard abs underneath the thin clothing. It was true—he had been trying to gain this much, yet he never could because of both laziness and how busy he always was at work. Nick grins at his reflection, this time feeling his face—he seemed to have gotten a little younger than he was supposed to. Still, the thrill from everything didn’t leave him as he flexed his new arms in front of the mirror.

“Fuck,” Nick mutters to himself, smirking at the low sound of his voice. “I’m huge!” He grins fully at himself, flexing his arms even tighter in different poses. He didn’t know what was happening, or what just happened, but all he certainly knew was that whatever the salesman promised—he delivered. He could even feel himself starting to harden, full-mast.

He looks around the empty gym, as an idea crosses his head. He grips the outline of his new throbbing member through his pants, biting his lip to suppress a moan, as he starts to massage it whilst staring at his new reflection.

“I’m gonna have to break you in.” He whispers to his reflection, before plunging one hand inside his sweatpants with a grin.

—

At around the same time…

—

Kevin sighed, sitting on the floor as he stared at his palms, contemplating the offer. He knew this man—in fact, it was through his schemes from years ago that Kevin even made it where he was today. Now, that same grin and well-pressed suit haunted him, offering yet again a way to change his life. It would’ve been easy to say no, the same way when this salesman would turn up at his home selling him random items for bizarre prices like: a bit of your attention! or your vision, and Kevin was quick enough to say no—at least to most of them.

This time though, he was really considering it again.

“Come on Kev,” The salesman told him, tapping his foot on the carpeted gym floor. “I know you want it, I’m sure the guy I’m offering you would take the deal too.” He added, almost as-a-matter-of-factly.

The salesman came at the right moment—Kevin had been relishing this life for so long; gaining and bulking everyday, even scoring himself a great career as a fitness coach and then modeling here and there. Yet, after all these years, everything seemed to become lackluster by the day.

He wanted something new—something different like a new challenge to face.

“Look, I can even give you incentives.” The salesman tries again, muttering something under his breath that was barely audible to Kevin, though he did hear something about fortune.

“Okay.” Kevin says after a moment, breaking the salesman’s ranting as he raises an eyebrow at him. He grins at Kevin, muttering excitedly as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “At least let me keep the memories of the body I’ll end up in this time.”

He nods at Kevin who rose to his feet, staring at his hulking reflection for what would be the last time. “Sure sure, you know the procedures..” The salesman waves him off, recalling the time he was put in this stud’s body without an idea who he was.

“Deal.” Kevin says, nodding as he held his hand out for the man to shake. The salesman winks at him, before wrapping his other hand over Kevin’s huge palms, and then shakes it to seal the deal.

“Sold.”

He didn’t even see the salesman grinning at him, instead, his vision going white like it did nearly a decade ago. Kevin knew this feeling all too well, including the tugging sensation inside of him as his soul was pulled out and then pushed into a different body—it was weirdly euphoric, and he remembered how he jizzed himself the first time.

It didn’t last very long, as he felt the soles of his feet plant themselves into the ground. He immediately felt the change in stature and size—he was way smaller and slimmer than he used to be, which was jarring, but he felt lighter even as he moved his arms around.

Kevin felt the carpeted hardwood floor beneath him, and only then did he notice he was in this person’s living room. He wore only a hoodie and a thin boxer (where he could already feel a wet spot forming), and one of his feet had a fluffy slipper on while the other was bare.

Consulting his memory, he discovered this body’s name was Nick Collins—he was now a high school teacher, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes and chuckle when he rifles through his memories; and though most looked bleak, he had a slight idea how to switch it up.

Before anything else, he runs through the house in search of a mirror, to fully see what he has to work on. Kevin relished the light feeling after being heavily muscular for the past years, and though he’d been used to cardio and marathons, this felt weirdly different and unique. He smiles to himself, and finds a full mirror in one of the hallways.

“Hmm,” Kevin hums to himself, examining his face in the mirror and running a hand on his chin. He looked about a year or two older in this body, though he did look decent and good enough. “Yeah, I can work with this.” He adds with a grin and an approving nod at his reflection. He rummages through his new memories again, until he gets distracted by a warmth emanating from below, rubbing against his pants.

Kevin sighs, laughing to himself as he brings his eyes down. It didn’t seem as huge as his old one, yet it felt just as hot and perhaps the girth was the same once he let his hands graze the tip. Instantly, he felt a jolt of pleasure course through him—the boxers were thin, and he wasn’t wearing anything else underneath it.

He rolls his eyes, as a mischievous smirk breaks out of the corner of his mouth.

“Well, this is one way to settle in.” Kevin whispers to himself, not holding back from moaning as soon as he lets the beast out of his pants. It was even more impressive than he expected, and he felt a little drool escape his lips. He just shrugs, and tells himself. “Fine, time to explore myself first.”

—

Elsewhere, the salesman watched the two men engaging and having fun in their new respective bodies. He couldn’t help but smirk, as he nodded his approval at both of them. “Another great deal.” He told himself, ticking off the names of both Nick and Kevin off his list—though he still had a few names that he had to visit sooner or later to sell them the same thing, since it seems to be the easiest to peddle these days.

He switches his screen off at the same time as both Kevin and Nick had their sweet release, spreading their new essence all over their new forms. The salesman was all too familiar with these, in fact he even recorded them to sell, but that wasn’t the point now—he had to go meet his other customers.

The salesman grasps the golden knob of his office door, cracking his neck and then taking a deep breath, just as he twists it open and steps through it to find his next client.

[justfandomwritings]

By The Norns (Part One - Soulmate!Loki)

Pairing: Loki x Reader, Soulmates AU

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Nobody was harmed in any way in the making of this story... but there was some arson.

Summary: She wasn’t a goddess. She wasn’t even an elf or a dwarf. She was a mortal, a Midgardian, a human. To Odin, she was a curse. To Loki, she was a second chance.

Notes: Don’t worry. Despite what the chapter and the description may make you think anyone whose read my stories before will know I am not a fan of soulmate aus that take away the character’s choice. This chapter is set up. Stick with me on this. I promise. Posted in honor of @muna1412​ being very excited at the prospect of another soulmate au.

This is not related to Loyalty in any way... I just have an unhealthy obsession with Soulmate aus. 

Fate was a funny, fickle thing. Loki knew that much. After all, he’d met her. 

Them, to be more precise. The Norns.

Urdr, Skuld, and Verdandi were their names: Past, Present, and Future, as they should be known.

It was they who watered the tree, and they who grew its leaves. The task fell to the Norns to write, shape, create, and control the fate of every being under the branches of Yggdrasil. 

A poor, dwarven craftsman working on the surface of Nidavellir, a beautiful, golden elf living on a hill in Alfheim, a meager, puny human scurrying around the surface of Midgard. It was they who made the dwarf rich, who killed the elf in his sleep, who let the human sow the land. They did not exchange the gold; they did not wield the dagger; they did not draw the plow. But it was by their hand, by their grace and mercy, that the worlds turned, that life waxed and waned, that the Realms drew breath. 

Every birth was through their will. Every death was by their hand, and everything in between was because they decided it would be so.

All fell under the gaze of the Norns. The kitchen cook, Andhrimnir, who served the Aesir’s table at night, owed everything to the Norns. They allowed his birth into Asgard. They raised him above the station of a lowly tavern boy. They gifted him the family he cradled so dearly to his chest.

Odin, King of the Nine Realms, Protector of Asgard, owed everything to the Norns. He was born by their choice. He survived a thousand battles because they said he would do so. He married Frigga because they put her on his path. His sons��� 

Well, one of his sons.

Loki knew the exact moment Odin stopped looking at him as a son, the exact moment Odin chose Thor over him, the exact moment Odin turned his back on him, the exact moment his father marked him disappointment.

It was, like all things, the doing of the Fates. The Norns.

Fates were theirs to command from the highest branches of Yggdrasil down to its very roots. From king to beggar, slave to master, aristocrat to pauper, farmer to merchant, sailor to soldier. From Loki to her. She was their doing.

Love was an inevitable part of life. Not even the Norns, with all of the power of the gods and then some, could stop that. Humans, Aesir, Elves, Vanir, the sentient beings of the Nine Realms felt an overwhelming urge towards emotion, and one of the strongest, one of the most inevitable, was love.

They couldn’t stop it, but they could direct it.

It fell under the purview of Fate to decide who one loved. People, god and mortal alike, fell in and out of love all the time. 

Sometimes, though, every now and then, the Norns would reach down and touch two beings. The Norns would take two souls in two bodies and braid them together, weave them together, mold them together, as if they were one.

Those who knew magic well, those like Loki, could see them, watch them, doing this. 

They could see Urdr floating, invisible amongst them, deciding the pair. They could see Skuld, plucking up their souls. They could see Verdandi tying them together.

Loki watched them when they took his soul.

“Mother, Mother,” Loki tugged on his other’s silk skirts and pointed up into the rafters of the Grand Hall. “What’s that?”

Frigga followed her son’s gaze and gasped. Magic was not her proficiency, though what little she had she wielded well. She had enough to see the Norns, floating ghostlike in the air over her younger son. She had enough to see his soul in their hands, and another at their side. 

In the old days, before that fateful night, it was considered an honor to be chosen by the Norns. It was a guarantee of a great, powerful destiny in the future. It was a promise of passion, understanding, and respect on the horizon. It was the mark of one who would know true love. 

The Midgardians called them soulmates. The Aesir called them the destined. 

“The Norns have touched Loki,” Frigga whispered to Odin at her side. “They are gifting him a match.”

“With who?” Odin asked because he could not see them for himself.

Frigga squinted in the direction of the apparitions tying together Loki’s future. “I cannot tell. She appears to be…” Frigga’s eyes whipped around to Odin, “Midgardian.”

Odin turned up his nose and sniffed.

Midgard. The word, the world, that had sentenced Loki to a lifetime of second best. 

His ‘destined’, his ‘soulmate’, his curse.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was centuries before the soul tied to Loki’s found the body it would spend its own life in.

(Y/n), her parents named her. 

They weren’t sure why they named her that. When asked, they said they saw the name once in a book. Or was it on the tv? Or in a dream? 

Neither could really remember. All they knew was that, as she grew, the name suited her perfectly. Almost as if fate itself had chosen it for her.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For centuries, millennia even, her soul had been lingering on the edges of reality, existing but not quite feeling. She floated through time and space, following the ties that bound her to existence, waiting.

By the time her soul entered her body on Earth, she had existed longer  than any other Midgardian ever had or would in all of history. She had lingered for years just out of reach of one of the most powerful beings on Asgard, her soulmate. Lifetimes had passed her by in the blink of an eye, and though she didn’t remember any of them, they remembered her.

Her soul hovered above its mate, basking in the magic that dissipated into the air around him like smoke. She breathed it in, soaked it in, drew it in.

In many ways, even subconsciously, she showed her age, her mate.

Even as a baby, she never woke her mother up screaming, to the jealousy of her mom’s friends. She was the model toddler, even through her terrible twos. She almost never cried and rarely threw temper tantrums. They called her a prodigy when she started speaking in full sentences before time doctors even expected her to be learning her first words, and they called her a genius when she learned to read full children’s books while other kids were still struggling through their first alphabet flashcards. Even though she ran around playing in the mud or splashing in puddles, somehow her clothes were always pristine. She taught herself faster than the teachers could and skipped two grades in elementary school alone. She was suspiciously charismatic for such a little girl and made, literally, hundreds of dollars off her lemonade stand. She listened to a family speaking another language in the store once and ran up to them to answer a question they had; when her parents asked her how she’d learned to understand or say that in another language, she had no idea what they were talking about and seemingly hadn’t even realized she’d done it. 

And yet there were other things, darker things. 

When she was born, the nurses didn’t question the little shock of static that jolted through them as they held her. No one commented how, in the right light, the baby’s eyes could look terrifyingly aware. She lied as easily as she breathed and almost never got caught. A girl made fun of her friend's hair once at school, and that night ended up being rushed to the hospital by her parents with all the signs of a heart attack in a five year old child. She liked having things her way, and even when her parents refused her, they always found themselves oddly compelled to do whatever it was anyways. She had an affinity for snakes that often found her letting them in the house. The pranks she pulled on her little brother sometimes got out of hand and often resulted in loud crashes and screams, though by the time any adult arrived nothing ever seemed broken. Her father used to joke that she must be some kind of shape shifter because he swore that, from day to day, her eye would change their color. Sometimes, when he looked in them, he swore they weren’t his daughters, but when he blinked and looked back they always returned to normal. 

Most of it was written off as the simple oddities of a child or exaggerations of first time parents. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Superheroes did not exist when (Y/n) was a child. 

It would be another decade before Tony Stark would stand on a stage and proclaim before the world, “I am Iron Man.” It would be even longer still before Peter Parker would put on a red and blue jumpsuit and call himself, ‘Spiderman’. Bruce Banner hadn’t even begun his research into the serum that would be his ultimate undoing. Dr. Stephen Strange was finishing up med school. Thor hadn’t made his presence known. Wanda had just been born. Hawkeye and Black Widow were still assassins working in the shadows. No one outside Wakanda had ever heard of the Black Panther. Vision hadn’t been built yet, and Captain America had been dead for decades. 

Even if they did exist, it wouldn’t have helped (Y/n). Most of them weren’t born super. Most of them became so by lab experiments or radioactive insects or training or technology. 

In the world (Y/n) grew up in, there were no superheroes. And if there were no superheroes... then what was she? 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was 12. 

It was her big day. 

Not her birthday, she didn’t particularly care about birthdays. Something about them just felt off to her. When she turned 11, she asked her mom if she could have two of those candles that were shaped like the actual numbers, and she’d put them pressed against each other on top of the cake. She ran around all day telling everyone she was 1,111. Some people laughed, but mostly to humor her.

That was why she hadn’t had a birthday party when she turned 12. She didn’t like people fake laughing. It felt like lying. She didn’t particularly mind lying herself, but she hated thinking that people were lying to her. Especially because she could always tell when they were. 

No, instead, she had this. The Science Fair.

She’d won first prize the night before. She knew she had because one of the judges had told her she’d won.

That morning, they would be handing out the awards, and she was so excited for everyone else to know the secret, to know that she was the best, even better than the older kids in her class.

The judges were walking up on stage, and any moment, once they got past the category winners they were going to call her name.

“In third place we have Jesse Martin with his project in the biology category!” 

A cheer went up that, judging by the pitch, absolutely must have been from Jesse’s mom. The other parents in the room clapped while Jesse ran towards the stage, turning red in the cheeks from his family’s overzealous encouragement. 

“Congratulations, son,” the Dean smiled as he bent down to shake the boy’s hand. The mike picked up a small bit of Jesse’s anxious thanks before he ran to join the line of winners.

“And in second place we have, (Y/n)! With her wonderful….” 

Second place. 

But Mr. Sellers, the science teacher had told her she won. 

Was he lying? Did he honestly think second place was winning? Was he just saying that to shut her up? Or was he being mean? Did he want to laugh at her when his real favorite won? 

The parents were cheering her, including her own. Her father was nudging her towards the stage, but she didn’t at all appreciate the gesture.

No. They told her she was going to win. 

Her face screwed up in pain, and she balled her hands into fists.

At the back of the room something exploded. 

A scream went out. 

“Fire!” Someone shouted. “Fire!”

The poster boards up and down the hall were catching fire. It jumped easily from paper to paper. It didn’t help that there was no smoke, for some odd reason. That the sprinklers, that the fire alarm, didn’t turn on.

Someone grabbed (Y/n) by the waist. Her father no doubt. 

(Y/n) barely noticed. She was still upset staring at the trophy on the stage over his shoulder. 

Slowly, before her eyes, it began to melt.

She smiled. Good. If she couldn’t have it, no one could.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“She caused the fire.” He whispered, staring down at the floor in front of him with glassy eyes. 

“Wayne, that’s crazy; you know it is.” 

“I saw it with my own eyes, Elle. She clenched her first and suddenly Christina Danvers poster exploded. She gets second, and the first place project explodes the moment she throws a fit?”

“Our daughter doesn’t throw fits.”

“Not normally, but she did today. She was about to, and then everything caught fire.”

“Wayne, you can’t be serious about this right now.”

“She was smiling.” He whispered. “When everything burned down, she was smiling.”

(Y/n) listened silently from the hallway as her parents talked.

She loved to eavesdrop on her parents late night. They never knew she was there. It was another one of those odd coincidences of her life that (Y/n) was the only person in the house who never made the steps creak when she walked up and down the stairs. 

She was old enough to know what they were saying, what they were implying. It should’ve bothered her more than it did.

(Y/n) walked back upstairs, silent as the grave, and opened her closet.

She needed the duffle bag her father kept tucked away in the top of her closet, but she was nowhere near tall enough to reach it. As the door slid open, the bag teetered on the edge of the wire shelf and fell to the floor. 

“How convenient,” (Y/n) mumbled to herself. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey Kid,” The man shouted at her out the window of his semi-truck. “What’re you doin’ out here at night? It ain’t safe!” 

(Y/n) shrugged. “Not safe at home either.” 

The man gave her an understanding look. 

(Y/n) watched him carefully as he opened the door of his rig and offered her a hand. 

Her mother had always told her not to talk to strangers, but (Y/n) had found she could always tell what people wanted. Besides, she was pretty sure she was a greater danger to them than they were to her. 

“Where ya’ headed?” The man asked.

“West.”

“I can take ya’ as far as Texas.” He offered. 

(Y/n) hopped off the curb and grabbed the man’s offered hand, hauling herself up into the passenger seat. 

She didn’t know where she was going or why she was going there. But something inside of her told her she had somewhere to be.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Time On.... Part Two

Thank you very much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed. I have just come back from a hiatus and a great deal of why I went on said hiatus was the stress of managing ‘added features’ for lack of a better expression. I like writing. I don’t like formatting or managing the blog side of things. 

As such, no taglists. Please don’t ask me to be on a taglist. Keeping track of it stresses me out too much. I don’t feel like doing it. I don’t appreciate being pressured into doing it. In the olden days of tumblr, people used to follow each other, and I promise you that feature still works. If you follow me you will see part two when it’s posted. 

[giordirossi]

drrutherford​:

.

She runs.

Like a bullet from the muzzle of a gun. Like an arrow loosened from a bow.

No sooner has she left that he’s accosted by a Russian, who socks him in the face just as he turns around. Gideon stumbles back but is immediately struck again, another blow to the face that he’s surprised doesn’t unhinge his jaw. 

‘Keeping you alive,’ she’d said when he’d asked what the hell she was doing, which is rich, considering he’s dealing with her mess and she’s nowhere to be found. But with adrenaline pulsing through him and the gruffness needed to survive, it’s easier to frame it that way than acknowledge he’d been the one who’d ordered her to run.

“C’mon, you Russian scumbag…” He taunts the man, hoping he’ll live to regret the moment. Inwardly, the Rutherford counts how many seconds it’s been since he’d lost sight of Giordana, hoping to slow down her pursuers long enough to forfeit the chase.

“Give me what you’ve got.”

This time when the man lunges, Gideon’s ready for him. He dodges the first blow before swinging the plane of his hand into the man’s throat, catching him off-guard and making him double-over instantly. He doesn’t stop to celebrate the short-lived victory, reaching instead to grab for the Russian’s throat, using it to slam him against the wall. The action winds him; the other man’s almost as tall as he is, and he hasn’t sparred even for practice in a long time. He has more fight in him than is generally expected – Johnathan himself had overseen his early training, a lifetime ago – but these days, most of his practice is limited to shooting at the gun-range. 

He hasn’t kept fresh much in the way of offensive skill… He hasn’t wanted to.

But when another hooligan joins in and whips out a knife — he almost wishes that he had. He knows when to tap out; he hasn’t practiced disarming an opponent in hand-to-hand combat in literally years. In a last-ditch attempt to buy time, the Rutherford shoves the Russian he’s got scruffed in the other’s direction, and makes a run for it.

He’s so afraid he’ll feel a knife plunging into his back at any given second that he practically jumps out of his skin when someone yanks him abruptly into a doorway.

“Fuck!!” The expletive leaves his lips even as Giordana’s features become clearer in his adrenaline-blurred vision. “… Fuck,” he breathes, swallowing a lungful of air as she drags him through the door and into an unfamiliar building. “Where-… What is this?” Gideon asks breathlessly, mistrustfully; ignoring the question about his wellbeing. 

+

The sudden curse is a welcomed sound. It means he’s still got his tongue and his face hasn’t fractured beyond repair, which is a far better outcome than most are granted by a flock of enraged Russians. Particularly those hunting down a woman who brazenly murdered one of their own and then taunted them with said knowledge. So, despite his brief involvement, he should count himself lucky to be alive at all.

“Just a café. It’s fine, they’re closing.” Giordana gives a polite wave to the elderly owner, who merely grumbles in Italian and offers an exasperated flick of his wrist while disappearing into the back. Which leaves them to whatever mess they’ve concocted. No, she concocted... with the most unwitting of partners.

Another glance out the window before she meets his eyes in the half-light, attempting to parse shadow from bruise. “Are you injured?” It’s a question she won’t easily overlook. While his face had obviously taken at least one blow, her concerns lie elsewhere–– with the unmanageable, grave deformities only someone like Giordana could inflict. Those not solved with ice packs or quick stitching. 

“Do you have a death wish? What the hell were you thinking?”

[a-room-of-my-own]

sometimes it feels to me as if some radfems on here were just raised in such a liberal home that they don't even know how badly women and girls were being shamed for having multiple partners during their lifetime. not even 20 years ago, it was already "not done" to date around, and girls who did hook-ups were called names. but now we're supposed to pretend that the opposite is true- and that all of society affirms women having sex casually, and doing whatever they want?

so you get these insane ideas like pretending it's all progressive and feminist to tell women to keep their legs closed, or to just not have casual sex. did they forget what the point of birth control was? do they not realize that without that, "keep your legs closed" was literally the only option they had? the entire abortion debacle is about women being made equal to men in the way that they can control when they have children, and it can be an actual choice. but apparently that's been forgotten now! nah, instead let's just tell every single woman that she should go on a "sex strike". like that's gonna overturn the overturning or something? do they think the conservative judges are gonna get up, check twitter, and go "oh, wait, they're not having casual sex anymore! damn, my bad! guess we'll allow abortions again. we love women having casual sex so much."

For those who are younger than let's say, 25, it seems like a solution because they grew up in a hypersexualized society overloaded with pornography. But it's just like transactivism, it's maybe 10-12 years old. So it's recent, but it's their teenage and young adult years when they began their sex life. Many of them have an unhealthy relationship to sex because they educated themselves with pornography, and their vision of sex is for many of them entirely coming from porn, you can see it just with their choice if words.

I was wondering why they were using acronyms like "PIV" and acting like sexual intimacy is a to-do list of different sexual acts. To me that sounded like prostitution: how much for PIV, how much for anal etc... In fact it sounds like porn. It's categories, disconnected from one another, it's not a shared moment, it's a 10 min YouPorn vid, and instead of fellatio-PIV-anal you just "skip" the PIV part. No one has sex like this in real life.

Also the idea that they can't see why women would enjoy sex. Well of course, if you've only watched pornography you'll think sex between a man and a woman is demeaning and violent, that there's no way women would want this.

They're just like some "asexuals", porn-sick and inexperienced, afraid of sex and fascinated by its most violent expression. That's a recipe for puritan knee-jerk reactions.

[donutloverxo]

Princess

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs and welcome and much appreciated. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+. Please🙏🙏

Based on a request. Dividers by @whimsicalrogers.

Summary - Your pussy is sore so Curtis uses your mouth.

Warnings - explicit sexual content (m/f) , age gap (reader is in her early twenties, Curtis is 34), innocent/naive reader, dub con, oral (m receiving), soft dark!Curtis, au, porn without plot.

Pairing - Curtis Everett x reader

Word count - 2k

You were jerked away when you heard the knob to your room on the snowpiercer rattling, and then being closed as his footsteps followed.

You didn't remember a lot before the train, you were just a kid when the old world came to an end. 

You saw glimpses of grass and sunlight in your dreams, you weren't sure if they were dreams or just fragments of your imagination. 

But even in your wildest dreams, you didn't imagine a bed this soft and a room this big. Big enough to fit the bed and two dressers and a large mirror. It was decadent and all you could wish for and more. 

So it should make you happy to be here. In a comfortable bed like a princess. Shouldn't it? 

It didn't. You wanted to enjoy this time while it lasted, but your gut told you that you were temporary. Just here to warm the leaders bed. 

"Curtis…" your face heating up as he studied you, his powder blue eyes twinkling in the dim light, getting rid of his coat and cap. Goosbumps erupted all over your body as you held your soft comforter upto your chest,to give you some sense of modesty and dignity even if Curtis had taken it all from you and made you a woman just weeks ago. 

You used fantasy to escape your grim reality quite often. It's easier to dream of a Prince Charming riding on a white horse to save you then to accept reality for what it is that you would've been stuck working in the greenhouse for the rest of your life… all alone. 

"How many times do I have to tell you?" he hissed, tearing the comforter away from you, holding onto your wrists to reveal your beautiful breasts to him. "You're mine now. You can't hide from me."

"I'm sorry…" you hung your head in shame, and so you wouldn't be caught peeking a glance at Curtis pulling his shirt over his head, followed by him unbuckling his belt. 

He was… beautiful. You never knew anyone could be so handsome. His shoulders wide, a light scattering of hair all over his torso, multiple scars on his body. But they only, strangely, made him more appealing to you. 

He climbed on top of the mattress, nudging your knees apart and situating himself between them. He growled as he looked at your bare sex, using two of his fingers to part your lips as you hissed in pain. 

"It's… I'm… sore," you explained when he looked up at you. 

He nodded back to you, pushing barely an inch of his forefinger inside you, he didn't want to hurt you. Your pussy was clearly swollen and overworked. If he gave into his urges he would be sure to cause you pain, and even worse, lose what little trust you have in him. 

He had suffered enough to last him seven lifetimes. He already knew he was going to hell for all that he had done. It wasn't like he could doom himself anymore by forcing you to be with him. And he deserved you. After all that he had gone through. You were his light at the end of one long and shitty tunnel. 

He pulled his hand away when he looked at your face, pinched in pain. Instead settling on fondling your breast as he thought about how to take care of his erection. 

He had taken your body four times the previous night, which was why you slept the day away. How he managed to go out and get stuff done, and be the leader was beyond you. 

"You like what you see, princess?" He taunted you when he caught you staring at his hard cock. 

The little pet name was initially what he used to mock you and how shy and delicate and innocent you were, but now he had come to cherish you. He wanted to protect you as if you were his sweet little scared princess and he was your brave knight. 

You immediately averted your eyes and started sputtering nonsense, your brain froze and you literally didn't know how to answer him. And Curtis had made it very clear that when he asked you a question you were to give him a proper, clear and honest answer. Or face grave consequences. 

"Um, yes?" Which was the truth. You had seen a few male genitals in your life, they were all… not very appealing. But it was different with Curtis. His was beautiful and intimidating at the same time. 

"Then how about," putting his leg over yours, he crawled to the top of the bed, kneeling before you with his hard, pulsating length was right in front of your face. "You make me happy."

"Oh…" you simply stared. Your friend had told you that you were 'one lucky bitch' to have a man like Curtis who spends hours pleasuring you with his mouth, his fingers, and his manhood, but never forced you to return the favor. You didn't even know how you would go about doing that. 

You had explored your own body before. Partly because of your curiosity and partly for some relief. But Curtis touched you in a way no one else could, he made you climax harder than you ever had before, you were pretty sure you passed out once from the sheer intensity of it. 

But… how does one go about doing the same with a man's special place? 

"Hm," you looked at his slit, it looked somewhat similar to your bud, you held onto his length, putting your thumb over his tip where the pearly liquid oozed out of--with which he often loved painting your whole body with, or pump you full of it and just watch it seep out of you. 

You realised how bold you were, that you should seek his permission before touching him there, you looked up to see him pleased with your actions so you decided to keep going.

You lightly pressed your thumb on his slit, making him hiss, you whipped your head up and pulled your hand away. 

"Sorry…" you sniffed, your vision becoming blurry as your eyes teared up, "I've never.. I don't know what to do. I'm sorry…" you sobbed. 

"Stop," he said softly, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

You really were such a scared little lamb. Years of pent up frustration, where he had to make do with just his hand, didn't help making you feel safe with him either. But what the hell was he supposed to do when he had such a beautiful woman next to him as he slept? 

"Just listen to me. Can you do that?" he asked, cupping your jaw as you meekly nodded. "Open your mouth as wide as you can," he told you, pulling on your bottom lip with his thumb. 

Oh. It made sense. He puts his mouth on you so you should be able to do so on him as well. You opened your mouth with an 'ah', panicking just a bit when he put his hand around your throat, but he hushed you and asked you to relax. Since your body, mind and soul really did belong to him now, you immediately calmed down, knowing that he won't hurt you. Not too much anyway. 

He pushed his length in your mouth. The taste wasn't at all what you expected. Not that you were sure what it would be like anyway. It tasted creamy and salty at the same time. You coughed and sputtered around him, your spit trailing down your chin. You thought that the mess would make him angry but then you recalled how much he enjoys the mess he makes of you. 

He stopped when he felt his tip hit the back of your throat on his palm, "Good girl," he cooed, stroking your need. "Look up here," he ordered as you looked at him through your big doe eyes, "Keep looking at me okay?"

You didn't know if you were expected to give a verbal answer, because you couldn't… Not with a mouthful of Curtis. So you nodded the best you could. 

"Hands on your thighs," he said as you put your hands on your bare thighs with the palms up. "Right now just sit there… just like that," he rasped as he pulled his hips back before bucking them forward, "And look pretty. Fuck… that mouth of yours… and it's all mine to do whatever I want with…"

He was making love to your mouth, just as he did between your legs. 

You did as you were told, sitting and taking his assault on your mouth and throat. His ejaculate, your tears and your saliva drooling all over your lap. He was making love to your mouth, just as he did between your legs. 

You could feel slick running down the side of your leg, not wanting to ruin the pristine white sheets and to create some much needed friction you closed your legs together. 

He stopped his hips, the tip of his cock still in your mouth as he saw you squirming. "Touch yourself." He said. 

Your eyes widened as you realised what he meant. You couldn't risk pulling him out of your mouth to protest. You were too embarrassed to do that in front of him as well. 

"That's an order," he growled as he fucked in to your warm mouth, making you choke around him, pushing him closer to his release. 

A shaky hand made its way to your core, past your pubic hair and between your thighs. You tried to emulate how Curtis touched you. 

First he touched your thighs and kissed them all over. Then your ass and then he'd tease around your lips, torturing you for what would feel like forever before touching you where you most needed him. 

You gathered your intimate juices, spreading them around your vulva before rolling your pearl between your fingers, moaning around his length. 

"That's it, princess… come on, come with me," he groaned, slowly fucking into your mouth, holding off his release so he could watch you fall apart as he came in your mouth, one hand tangled up in your hair and another pinching and twisting your nipples. 

Soon you were whimpering, you tried to tell him that you were close. Thankfully he seemed to understand as he picked up the pace. Fucking into your mouth till you could feel streaks of his release on the back of your throat. 

You held onto his thigh so you could sit upright as your orgasm washed over you. Your nails digging into his skin as you screamed around his length. 

"Swallow it all," he commanded as you gulped down all that you could. 

You took in some much needed oxygen as he pulled his softening cock out of your mouth, your chest heaving as he laid down beside you and pulled you into his body.

He thought you'd want to sleep after. Since you were so swollen and tired. He'd have to take it easy on you from now on. Maybe use your mouth every now and then to give your pussy a rest. 

But then… 

Were you grinding against his cock? 

He propped your chin up so he could look at your face, the most innocent look on it. 

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Um… are you done?" you asked, tracing a scar on his chest. 

"You want something, princess?" he asked, pinching your buttock as you yelped. 

"I was thinking… we could make love? It doesn't feel right not to. You know?"

"Right, of course, princess. Since you asked so nicely." He smirked as he climbed on top of you. 

Taglist -

Permanent: @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @thehumanistsdiary @navybrat817 @la-cey @captainsdolly @bluemusickid @zaddychris @the-wayward-robot @aikeia @kidney9-9 @notyourtypicalrose @selfcarecap @miraclesoflove @saiyanprincessswanie @gotnofucks @efferuse @americasass91 @coffeebooksandfandom @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes @sweeterthanthis @cloudystevie @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @tenaciousperfectionunknown @labella420 @golden-ariess @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @starbooty

Chris Evans characters: @patzammit @denisemarieangelina @angrythingstarlight @goldenfightergir @dangerouslovefanfic @melchills-j @xserenax-13

[the-modern-typewriter]

If it's not too much trouble, do you think you could write a snippet where the heroine gets kidnapped by a band of monsters and brought to their king, who reveals that she's the reincarnation of his dead wife?

“You’re the reincarnation of my wife.” 

For a beat, Lily stared at the king of monsters. But, only for a beat. “Well,” she said, “maybe you should be nicer to me than. It’s rude to kidnap your reincarnated dead wife. Doesn’t say anything good about your relationship.”

It did make sense - flashes of memory that she had always dismissed as a persistent dream, the weird occurrences, the time she had seen the wedding ring of another lifetime in a museum case and been whacked by a sense of longing so fierce it felt like hunger. Still. It was a lifetime ago, and flashes of memory did not a marriage make. Also, he’d kidnapped her. Also, he was the king of monsters.

He smiled; the fondness of his expression so strangely human on his features. 

“And now you sound like her,” he said. “Lilith.”

Lily folded her arms, jutted her chin up. “I’m not her.”

Life was full of comparisons enough that she really didn’t feel like being held up to the pedestal of a dead spouse, for reasons that really had nothing to do with her at all. It wasn’t like she thought, hey, I’m going to be born with a dead woman’s face because that’s not creepy at all! 

“I know,” he said, simply. 

The admission took her by surprise. She considered him, her heart hammering.

In terms of potential husbands, when it came to physicality alone she could admit that the former queen of monsters could have done worse. Her ex-husband of another life was terribly beautiful, and most likely the reason why humans were the only species to experience the uncanny valley when it came to their lookalikes. He was humanoid, but anybody looking at him would be hit by the jangling sense of ‘not human’. He was tall, taller than the average man, with a cruel handsome mouth, and his eyes...

Well, they were like black holes. Monstrous. Difficult to tear her attention away from, like she might be drawn into his centre and devoured and...

Her breath caught, as she realised that she was close enough to touch. She barely remembered moving towards to him. 

He placed his hand gently over her eyes and the feeling vanished. 

She swallowed hard and wondered if he’d intended her to approach or if that simply happened when mortals met his gaze. Her heart slammed. King of monsters. Kidnapped. Indignation aside that wasn’t something she should dismiss. Being his reincarnated wife was not necessarily any safer than any of the horrors she had pictured on the journey to his home.

“I know,” he said again, softly. “I have commanded enough ghosts in my time to know that, as haunting a vision as you may be, you are not the same woman. I have not spent a life with you, nor you with me. Your experiences are different, you are different. I would not do her the disservice of pretending otherwise.”

His hand was warm against her skin, too hot for human touch. She could feel, even if she hadn’t been able to see them when looking at him, the brush of phantom claws extending from his fingers. If he manifested them properly, he could likely slice her head like a melon and...

“Why am I here?” It came out as a whisper, raspy and scared. “Are you going to kill me for daring to look like her? Or-?” Possibilities churned nauseously through her head.

Marriage was supposed to be sacred, loving, but everyone knew that wasn’t always the case even when reincarnation and literal monster kings weren’t involved. He had seemed reasonable so far, kidnapping aside, but kidnapping was a very large thing to put aside and people’s moods could be stormy. Someone seemingly kind could turn violent in an instant. Bad things could happen behind closed doors. 

“You are not her,” he said. “But you are her reincarnation. You have memories, don’t you?” 

She wondered if it would be better or worse for her to confirm that. Still, however he phrased it, she was pretty sure it wasn’t actually a question. She pulled back from his hand, this time taking care not to meet his eyes. Dread gnawed at her.

“Those memories will only continue to grow clearer,” he continued. “And they contain information that others would use against me. And they will.”

“You can’t keep me here!” It blurted in panic.

“Now you don’t sound like her.”

Well, okay, technically, he probably could but she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life a prisoner in the realm of monsters. She had a life! She liked her life, weird things aside!

“My enemies would hunt you for your face,” he said. “And I doubt they care about hurting you as much as I do. You are not a reincarnation of anyone they loved.”

“I mean – but your enemies—”

The sheer enormity of the situation was starting to sink in, and it left her dizzy, overwhelmed.

“You will find, Lily,” he said, “that people will commit as monstrous acts as the monsters can when they believe it is for the greater good. I am sorry you had to get caught in the middle of this, but I am not willing to let my people suffer and be slaughtered for the sake of one mortal girl. Minos will show you to your room.”

This was happening. This was actually happening, wasn’t it?

She met his eyes again, without thinking, desperate for some magic words that would free her from this fate.  Once again, she found she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

“I’m pretty sure your wife wouldn’t want you to—”

“My wife would want what was best for her kingdom,” he said, raising a brow. “As I’m sure you know.”

She gave up on that lie.

“Yeah, fine. Your wife was a poisonous bitch. Maybe you should worry about me then if you’re going to force me to be here against my will. Let me go or I will make you pay for it.”

He looked at her, then, in perhaps the way that people might look at their reincarnated beloveds. With a longing so fierce it felt like hunger.

She’d stepped closer to him again, unable to help it. She should raise a hand to cover her face, but that expression…

He’d loved her face. He’d loved the woman in Lily’s memories, delighted in her wickedness, mourned her and missed her like something vital was torn away from him and-

Lily slapped a trembling hand over her eyes.

She was playing with fire.

She didn’t have the full memories, but she did remember things. She did remember him. His lips on hers, his warm hands, his wings unfurling like shadows to blot out the sun.

She did not love him, certainly, and she was not the queen of monsters.

But she remembered the echo of that feeling when she saw it on his face so plainly.

His fingers closed around her wrists, pulling her hands down like it was the easiest thing in the world. She snapped her eyes closed but that felt vulnerable too, because now she was standing before the king of monsters with her eyes closed unable to see his next move.

“This,” his voice was low and dangerous against her ear. “Was not what I wanted either. You think I enjoy watching you parade around with my wife’s face? I appreciate that it is not your fault, which is why I am not going to drop you into a nice safe pit where I never have to look at you again, but if you think-”

“Deliciae.”

The old endearment, Lilith’s endearment, her language, slipped from Lily’s lips like a warning shot.

He shut up and let go of her as if he’d been scalded.

“Let’s not pretend,” she said, her voice quivering, “that you would ever be able to stay away when I have her memories. Memories are all you have left. It’s why you can’t bring yourself to just kill me, isn’t it? If information is what concerns you that would be the obvious solution.”

She didn’t want to be a prisoner but she didn’t want to die either. 

And so, they stood there at a stalemate, seething and torn up and tangled in ghosts.

“Minos.” The king’s voice came out meticulously controlled, too steady for it to be true calm. “Take her to the guest suite before I do something I’ll regret.”

That time, Lily let herself be led away.

[seancekitsch]

You did once a reincarnation au with Cahir and Nevinna and I’m curious if you would like to write it again? If so maybe with prompt 7 and/or 27?

it’s a short but cutie

“I can’t believe it took this long for me to find you again,” you sigh against Cahir’s neck as he continues to kiss up and down your neck and jawline. You’re in his apartment on his futon, and luckily both of his housemates are gone for the night. What started out as ‘watching something that just got put on the Criterion streaming platform’ quickly became you straddling his lap and kissing him senseless. It had been like this a lot lately. Could it be that you were making up for lost time? How many years had it really been between reunions?

Cahir shifts under you, adjusting his pants but then quickly reattaching his hands to the small of your back, firmly kissing your lips and swiftly parting them with his tongue. He kisses like a man starved, pulling and groping you closer. His tongue explores every crevice, every muscle, and every tooth of your mouth; mapping and memorizing how you feel, learning you from the outside and within. You kiss back just as greedily in return, tongue diving from the soft inside of his cheek to his molars, feeling him in every way. He growls, just slightly, into the kiss as his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, holding you in place to kiss you until your oxygen runs out.

When Cahir finally pulls back, you’re both panting, trying quickly to regain your air and senses. Your hands come up to cup his face and you let out a breathy chuckle, pressing your forehead to his. He gives you another peck on the lips for good measure.

“I’ll find you in every lifetime,” he whispers, holding onto you like a rock parting the tides. You nod, and both of you are grinning so wide it could break your faces. How beautiful, to find the man of you literal dreams. His eyes had haunted you for years, sleep filled visions of riding horses through the woods, of a group of friends to travel with, of a castle that filled you with dread. But amongst all of that, his eyes. His eyes and his hands and an intense yearning to be in his arms. His name on your tongue when you wake.

You wonder which Fellini film he’ll tell his roommates you watched today.

[hercleverboy]

the waiting room

spencer reid x fem!reader

summary ↠ the three times Y/N waited for spencer, and the one time he waited for her. (based off of this blurb)

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ mentions of death as a result of potential illness, spencer’s headaches, mri scans, swearing,  indefinite ending. 

word count ↠ 2.9k

dedicating this one to two of the literal loves of my life, @voidsfilm + @ellesgreenaway ♡

“What is stronger than the human heart, which shatters over and over and still lives.” — Rupi Kaur

Spencer had always hated hospitals.

He found it so conflicting, how a place could hold so much hope for life and promise for the future, and yet also hold so much heartbreak and despair and agony.

The strong disinfectant smell wasn’t his favourite thing, either. He hated how the bright lights always irritated his eyes, and how the hallways all just looked the same, so bleak and lifeless.

Most of all, he hated the waiting room. 

The navy-blue carpet that lined the floors, wooden chairs that were always, without fail, extremely uncomfortable to sit in. The way that nurses and doctors would walk past the room, eyes full of pity and sorrow. With his job, he’d seen more waiting rooms than he would’ve liked. He spent more time than he wanted to in hospitals, talking to victims’ families, and even sometimes having to witness them receive such heartbreaking news. On one or two occasions, he’d even had to be the bearer of bad news himself, the one who had to tell expectant family that their loved one was gone. It only added to the list of reasons why he despised hospitals.

Then there was the other side of the coin. He took frequent trips to the hospital, but unfortunately more oftenly as a patient than an FBI agent. He wouldn’t say he was reckless, but he didn’t exactly put much value on his life. Or at least, he never used to. He figured it was because he was the only one on the team without a family to come home to, without people who were dependent on him. And so, if it came down to it, he would willing take off his Kevlar vest and put down his weapon while talking down a gun-wielding unsub. Of course, he’d get the third degree from Hotch later, but he could live with that. And then he met Y/N, and he realised that now he had someone counting on him, someone waiting for him to come back home to them, he couldn’t afford to be so careless in the field.

Though sometimes, despite Spencer’s best attempts, things still went wrong. Y/N had seen the inside of the hospital waiting room more than most, often because she’d get called by one of his team mates to alert her that he’d been injured in the field. And without him ever asking, she’d drop everything to be there for him, even if it was his own stupidity that had landed him in those situations. 

The first time was after he’d been shot in the knee. Y/N had been midway through her workday when she’d received a call from JJ telling her that Spencer had been injured. She knew that it was only a leg wound, that he would be absolutely fine, but that didn’t stop her from being worried. She’d been sat in the waiting room, waiting anxiously for a nurse to come by and update her. 

As soon as she got the all clear to see him, she’d breathed out a sigh of relief and made her way to his room,  catching his attention as soon as she entered.

He gave her a tight-lipped smile, grimacing slightly at the pain shooting through his leg. “Hi.” 

She chuckled at that, moving to stand at his bedside. “Hi baby, how are you feeling?” 

“I’m ok.” He smiled, reaching up to tightly grasp one of her hands in his. “You didn’t have to come all the way down here, you know.” 

“Oh, stop.” She mumbled with a smile. “You know how much I worry about you.” 

He grinned at that, the warm feeling that he always got when he was with her spreading through him. He used the grip he had on her hand to pull her down to him, so his lips could meet hers in a sweet kiss. “Hotch has demanded I take some time off to rest, or whatever.” He murmured against her lips. “So, I’m all yours.” 

“Hmm, and what you mean by that is that you need someone to take care of you at home for a few days?” 

“Well, I did get shot in the leg, you know. Taking down the bad guy...” He gestured to his bandaged-up knee, a pout on his pretty pink lips. 

She let out a laugh at that, amused. “Alright, Superman. Let’s get you home, shall we?” 

The next time Y/N found herself in the hospital waiting room was a year later, when Spencer had been suffering from painful, unexplainable headaches. 

Initially, Spencer hadn’t wanted her to attend his MRI scan appointment, but it didn’t take much convincing for her to assure him that she wanted to be there for him. He’d held her hand in a vice-like grip on the drive to the hospital, only letting go when the nurse called his name to tell him they were ready for him. She’d kissed the back of his hand before he’d left, a whispered promise leaving her lips before he went, “I’ll be right here waiting.”

She looked around the empty waiting room, took note of its greying walls and stained carpet, and how awfully uncomfortable the chairs were. She thought of anything and everything that could distract her from the way she was feeling at that moment- knowing how scared her boyfriend was that there was something was wrong with him. 

Spencer came back to the waiting room an hour later, both relieved to see that his girl was indeed still waiting for him but frustrated with what little the doctor had told him. 

“Hey!” Y/N sat up straighter, putting on a smile for the sake of her boyfriend. “How’d it go?” 

Spencer just shook his head. “He says there’s nothing physically wrong with me. He suggested I should consider that it’s something more mental, but he’s wrong- he’s wrong, Y/N.” He sat down in the chair next to her, seeking comfort in her arms as he whimpered into the crook of her neck. “I’m not- I’m not crazy, am I?” 

And the truth was, she didn’t know. She was so afraid for him, worried that he was sick, dying, perhaps of something that the doctors hadn’t detected yet. It terrified her. Her hands ran up and down the expanse of his back, attempting to soothe his weeps the best that she could. Spencer grabbed fistfuls of the back of her shirt and breathed in the scent of her hair as deeply as he could to try and ground himself.

“I’m scared, Y/N.” 

That broke her heart to hear, but all she could do was nod in understanding, hoping her words would offer him some form of comfort. “I know, I know. We’ll figure this out, ok? Everything is going to be alright.” 

The next time Y/N inside of a waiting room was on what she could only refer to as the worst night of her life.

There were no words that could encompass the plethora of emotions she went through when she’d received a phone call from JJ, “Spencer has been shot. It’s- It’s pretty bad, Y/N. You need to come quickly.” 

When she got to the waiting room, she saw JJ and Alex sat opposite one another, a worry that made Y/N’s stomach sink on both their faces. She hurried towards them, tears blurring her vision. “Have you had any updates? Is he ok?” 

JJ looked up, shaking her head sadly. 

“What happened?” Y/N asked, her voice wavering. 

“He got shot in the neck. He pushed me out of the way.” Alex sighed, as though she was still in disbelief that he’d done that to save her. 

Y/N stared ahead in shock, dropping down into the seat beside Alex. Of course, of course, Spencer would risk his life to protect Alex. Y/N knew how fond he was of his colleague, how he idolised her, saw her as a sort of mother figure, even. 

Eventually JJ got called back to work, with Alex insisting that she’d stay with Y/N and wait for Spencer to wake. 

Y/N was so sick and fucking tired of the waiting room. Before, she hadn’t minded it, it had even bought a sense of comfort to her- because she was in a hospital, where they saved lives. But now? The familiar walls and dull navy-blue carpet made her feel nauseous. Not knowing whether her boyfriend was going to live or die was incomparable to any other time she’d found herself waiting in the same four walls. She was feeling everything and nothing all at once, she wanted to cry and scream, curse the universe for once again hurting a man that had done nothing in his life but protect others. Hell, part of her even wanted to laugh- laugh at the absurdity of the situation. If he died, - god, if he died - the world would’ve robbed him of a lifetime with her, the chance to live the life that he deserved.

She barely registered that Alex had left her side to bring her a coffee until she sat back down beside her. Y/N looked over at her, giving her a small smile as she gratefully accepted the coffee. 

Y/N brought the cup to her lips, relishing in how the hot liquid brought her a sense of warmth, and she wondered if she’d ever feel Spencer’s warmth again. She sucked in a shaky breath, speaking the first words she’d said in all the hours they’d been waiting. “You know he wants kids?” 

Alex looked over at her, sad smile tugging at her lips. “I do.” 

Y/N nodded, sniffing. “He’d be a phenomenal father.” 

“He would.” 

Y/N let out a small cry, trying desperately to hold herself together. “What if I never get the chance to give him that, Alex?” She cried, body finally giving in to the painful ache that consumed her entire being. 

Alex placed an arm around her, allowing the younger woman to lean on her shoulder for support. “You’ll get the chance. Spencer is strong, he’ll pull through.”

And sure enough, Alex had been right. When Y/N had been told he was awake, she couldn’t describe the relief that flooded her. After meeting Penelope in the hallway and being given a much-needed hug, she took a few deep breaths before walking into Spencer’s room. When her eyes landed on him, she felt the tears start to well again. She had to remind herself that despite the bandage on his neck and the numerous machines hooked up to him, he was there, and he was alive. 

She came towards him with the best smile she could muster, and he looked up at her with a drowsy smile.

“Hi.” She whispered, standing beside his bed. 

He grinned up at her, reaching out for her hand just like he always did. “Hi.” 

She squeezed his hand gently, reminding herself again that he was ok, though she couldn’t prevent the tears that began to tremble down her cheeks. 

Spencer’s heart throbbed at the sight, and he allowed himself to imagine the pain she must’ve been through, having to wait for hours to see if he was alive. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not the woman he loved more than anything else. “It’s alright, sweet girl. I’m alright.” He promised, wishing more than anything that he could pull her into his arms and soothe her, though the pain in his neck prevented him from doing so. 

“I could’ve lost you.” She whimpered, her other hand coming out to delicately trace the side of his face. 

“I’m right here.” He gave her hand three squeezes just to emphasise his point. 

She leaned forward, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. “You can’t ever scare me like that again.” 

Spencer chuckled lowly, nodding. “Yes ma’am.” 

“Promise me?” 

And though it was a promise they both knew he couldn’t keep, he granted her the reassurance that she craved. 

“I promise.” 

Y/N knew that wasn’t the last time she’d be sat in the waiting room, scared and anxious and hoping that the love of her life was ok. She knew there would always be a ‘next time’, no matter how many self-serving promises she asked Spencer to make. What she didn’t plan for, was that the next time she saw the inside of a hospital, it would be her fighting for her life. 

It had been a slow day at work for Spencer, with him managing to complete a majority of his withstanding paperwork. He sat at his desk, focused on how he twirled his pen between his fingertips, willing the clock to move faster so he could go back home when his phone rang, Y/N’s name flashing across the screen. 

He answered eagerly, though all eagerness was wiped away when it wasn’t her voice on the other end of the line. 

“Hi there, I’m looking for a Dr Spencer Reid?” 

Spencer’s mind raced, and he swallowed thickly before squeaking out an answer. “That’s me.” 

“I’m calling on behalf of Y/N Y/L/N, you’re registered as her emergency contact.” 

“Is she ok?” He croaked out, begging and pleading internally that all the worst-case scenario’s running through his head wouldn’t come to fruition. 

“She was involved in a severe road collision. You’re going to want to come down here-”

Everything past that was drowned out by the sound of Spencer’s heart beating quicker, so loudly he could hear it. He hung up, gathering his things together as quickly as he could and rushing toward the doors of the bullpen- running directly into one Derek Morgan. 

“Woah, easy there, kid. You got somewhere to be?” He joked at first, but erased all hints of a smile from his face when he saw the tears filling the younger man’s eyes. “What’s going on? Talk to me.” 

Spencer couldn’t form a sentence, only managing to splutter out a few barely strung together words. “It’s Y/N, she’s- she’s been in an a-accident and I need, I have to get to her.” 

Morgan’s eyes widened, nodding in understanding. “Alright, ok. You’re in no condition to be driving, let me take you.” 

Spencer wasn’t about to argue, already making his way toward the elevator. 

*

Spencer had always hated hospitals. 

But he’d also decided that he really fucking hated the waiting room. 

The doctors didn’t have any updates for him, no matter how many times he asked. So, he’d been forced to sit in that damned room and wait. 

He thought of how cruel the concept of the waiting room was. Waiting for either good or bad news, waiting to hear the words that would either fill him with relief or dread, signify the start of his life or the end. How cruel was it that people had to sit and wait, with the weight of the world on their shoulders and just hope their loved one was ok? 

With the first hour brought Spencer’s upset, tears trembling down rosy cheeks and whimpered words of disbelief that he could lose the woman he loved. He’d sat in the uncomfortable blue chair with his head in his hands as sobs wrecked through his body, with Morgan sat next to him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

The second hour brought with it a slither of hope, as a doctor came out to update them. Though it wasn’t good nor bad news, just that Y/N was still in surgery and was expected to be so for the next few hours. Spencer had again buried his head in his hands, his thoughts racing. The rest of the team arrived, joining the sombre atmosphere of the waiting room. 

The third hour saw Spencer grow agitated, angry with himself for not being with her, for not protecting her, despite how many times the team attempted to reassure him that there was nothing he could’ve done differently. They brought him cups of coffee with gentle reassurances, empty promises that Y/N would be fine, that she would pull through, but how could they possibly know that? 

In the fourth hour, Spencer sat staring blankly at the wall. He reminded himself of the future he’d dreamt of time and time again, and how he couldn’t imagine himself having that life with anyone else but her. He recalled the location of the velvet purple box he’d bought just a few months prior, hidden amongst pairs of his mismatched socks in the second drawer of his nightstand. What if he never got the chance to propose? To give her the life that he’d promised her time and time again when it was 3am and he was holding the love his life as close to his chest as he could get her. After all he’d done, the years of his life he’d given to helping to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, this was the thanks he got? What a sick twist of fate that was. 

By the fifth hour, he was exhausted. His eyes drooped but he fought to keep them open, choosing to ignore the pitiful looks JJ shot him when she saw him fighting sleep. He would wait for her, just like all the times she had waited for him. He recognised how the way that he felt must’ve been how Y/N had felt after he’d been shot the year before, and the thought almost made him sick. He ran over all the possible outcomes in his head, allowing his eyes to close for a single moment as he mentally calculated the statistical probabilities of each outcome. He despised how helpless he felt. For a man whose job was to help others in need, he’d never been a position before where he didn’t have the answer, where he couldn’t come up with a solution. His heart ached as the realisation that he could very well lose her settled over him, the statistic he’d calculated of her survival being a number that was way too low for Spencer’s liking. 

For the moment, he had no choice but to wait. 

It was all he could do. 

*

permanent taglist: @beyonces-breastmilk​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @thelovelyrose​ @averyhotchner​ @cynbx​ @calm-and-doctor​ @reidyoulikeabook​ @katexrichardson​ @jemimah-b99​ @muffin-cup​ @shadyladyperfection​ @rigatonireid​ @amoeebaa​ @mggsprettygirl​  @alltooreid​ @s1utformgg @awritingtree

spencer reid taglist: @reidtome