#this is completely self indulgent compared to the last one

[starcrossedmusings]

Pretty Hands

Pairing: best friend!Yunho x f!reader WC: 3.2k Warnings: eventual smut, reader has a thing for Yunho's hands (who doesn't??), swearing, fingering, choking, a little bit of degradation (he compares her to a whore literally once), PRAISE so much praise, Yunho talks reader through it (you're welcome), pov is kinda all over the place just let it be, Yunho is absolutely WHIPPED for reader teehee, probably some other things that I missed (let me know)

Summary: You and Yunho have been friends for years, and you tell each other everything. He suddenly takes a much more vested interest in your love life when you can't stop mentioning your newest interest.

A/N: This is entirely self indulgent and also I just wanted to get something full posted. The Phantom fic is turning out to be much longer than I originally anticipated (and so did this one once I started writing it). Let me know what you think♡

Stepping into Yunho's apartment had always felt like coming home, and today was no exception. You take your shoes off in the tiled entryway and pad your way through the main living area, calling out to him as you walk.

"Yun? I'm here!"

His muffled response flows down from the end of the hall, "Bedroom!"

You make your way through the back hallway and enter his room, finding him exactly where you thought he would be, focused in on his computer. There's a selection of empty drink cans and snack wrappers scattered around his desk, which tells you that whatever he's currently building on Minecraft has probably occupied the majority of his day so far. He pauses the game and turns his chair to face you.

"Whats up?"

"Got bored at home and my roommate isn't even trying to muffle her pornstar moans for her new boy toy."

Yunho barks out a laugh, "Does she seriously sound--"

"Just like it Yun I can't make this shit up. I'm starting to think maybe they're recording themselves in there."

Yunho wiggles his eyebrows as he stretches his arms up and over his head, leaning back in his chair. "Well, if I ever see your living room on Pornhub I'll be sure to let you know"

You crinkle your nose. "Ew. I do NOT need to know that."

"Whatever, don't act like you haven't been talking to me for weeks about how horny you are. If I have to hear about your vibrator dying one more time I'm gonna buy you a new one myself."

"You try getting unintentionally edged three nights in a row with a full charge, it's some bullshit Yun. Besides, I'm allowed to complain about my dry spell."

Yunho scoffs, tone playful and lighthearted. "Dry spell? It's been what? Two months?"

"It's been three thank you very much." You move to sit on his bed.

"Well some of us haven't had sex in much longer."

"Oh, please, that girl that San was messing around with was all over you at his birthday party last month, don't tell me you didn't take that opportunity."

Yunho raises his eyebrows in shock, leaning forward in his chair. "Wait, really?"

"Oh my GOD Yun you are so oblivious. Yes really. She was all giggly and twirling her hair and shit. That's like...girl flirting basics."

"I am not oblivious, I am actually quite observant. I could tell you things about yourself you don't even know. I just have my sights set on someone and that someone is not her."

You shoot him an incredulous look and snort out a laugh, leaning back to lay down completely on his bed, legs dangling off the edge. "Sure Yun, whatever makes you feel better."

You hear Yunho stand from his chair and feel his weight shift onto the mattress. He appears in your vision, a challenging playful sparkle in his eyes as he peers down at you. "Okay, fine. I can tell that you're trying out a new perfume, you just went shopping because your leggings are a different brand than you usually wear, and I know that you washed your hair last night because you're wearing it all the way down today."

You do your best to ignore the way your stomach summersaults at his attention to detail about you and your routines. You roll onto your side and prop your head up on your elbow, matching his challenging gaze. "Okay Sherlock Holmes. What kind of underwear am I wearing then?"

Yunho pauses to consider before responding "a thong, probably black." You grin triumphantly and lean in just a bit closer.

"Wrong. I'm not wearing any. You lose!" You stick your tongue out playfully at him and he swats your shoulder, falling back onto his mattress.

"You set me up!"

"Face it Yun, I'm just better than you."

"Yeah yeah, whatever" Yunho pouts, voice hightening slightly from surprise. He can feel a slight redness creeping up his ears and prays his hair has grown long enough to cover it. 'I'm not wearing any.' He clears his throat. "So why go commando? You finally planning to seduce your new conquest?"

"He is not a new conquest, he doesn't even know I like him."

"He will once he knows you aren't wearing any underwear for him" Yunho jokes, smiling cheekily. You smack at his chest.

"I didn't want to do laundry last night, asshole. Get your mind out of the gutter!"

"You're one to talk" he mutters under his breath.

You sit up fully and reach for one of the pillows at the top of his bed, slamming it down on his face. "Jeong Yunho I swear to god!" On your second swing, he manages to catch the pillow with one hand and pry it from your grasp, but not before giving you an entirely unhelpful image of his long fingers gripping the plush material.

"What?? All I ever hear you talk about lately is how tall and handsome this dude is and how much his hands make you drool."

"You sound jealous."

"I'm not jealous, I'm pissed that I have to hear all about him and don't even get to know what the dude's name is."

"I told you, I'm gatekeeping this time. You run your mouth too much."

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"Ugh FINE whatever," Yunho chucks the pillow back towards you and you dodge it, leaving both pillows on one side of the headboard, "You're so agitating."

"You know you love me Yun. But just for the attitude," You adjust both pillows and shuffle your way back until you're leaned against both of them, "no pillow for you for tonights doomscrolling session."

He huffs a laugh and scoots up to meet you, pulling out his phone and settling in against the headboard.

An hour later you get up to go to the bathroom, and when you get back Yunho has stolen both of his pillows. You frown and cross your arms. "Hey, asshole, those were mine!"

"Yeah?" He taunts playfully, "Well they were mine to begin with, and my back is killing me. So deal." You roll your eyes and cross back over to the bed, crawling over the side you've been sitting on and curling yourself into Yunho's side to rest your head against his chest. You feel him tense slightly underneath you before he moves one of his arms around your shoulders to let you lay more comfortably.

"There's no way in hell I'm sitting up against that cold ass metal frame you call a headboard." You mutter as you begin scrolling. Yunho's chuckle rumbles through his chest and tickles your cheek. You both sit in silence for a while, content to scroll on your phones. Eventually, you turn to look up at him from his chest.

"I meant to ask how your new project has been going. Whatever you were building when I came in looked pretty intense." You can see the faint tinge of red trail up his ears and neck--a telltale sign that whatever you caught him building makes him embarrassed. You sit up, propping your weight on your elbow and placing a hand on his chest to shove him slightly. "Ooooo now you have to tell me what it is!"

"It's embarrassing..."

"Tell me tell me tell me tell me--"

"Okay fine, fuck. I'll tell you if you promise not to laugh--"

"I won't I swear!"

"Pinky promise?" He holds his pinky out to you, and you raise a hand from his chest. Before you can lace your pinky in his, he pulls his hand up above his head. "I'm serious, Y/N, if you laugh I'll have no choice but to tickle you to death."

He's definitely not stalling because he has to come up with a reply, because he certainly hasn't been building a treehouse for you in what he hopes will one day be a shared server. Yunho thinks to himself that he would rather die than let you find out.

You scoff, "I won't laugh...and even if I did I'm not ticklish so your threat is a moot point."

Yunho drops his hand down onto the mattress. "Bullshit."

"It's not. I don't have a ticklish bone in my body."

"Liar."

You shake your head, and Yunho takes the opportunity to gently press the pads of his fingers into the sides of your ribs. The sensation hits you almost immediately, and you feel the tight feeling in your chest as he begins tickling you. You squeal and thrash around in his grasp, trying desperately to get away from his assault.

"Yun stop it--"

"Not until you admit you're a liar!" You begin to giggle and manage to roll away from him, but Yunho is quick to follow. He swings a long leg over your hips and pins you beneath him, a single large hand trapping both of your wrists above your head while the other dances across your ribs. "Admit it," He sings out.

"Okay! Okay fine I'm a liar!" You gasp out between laughter. Yunho beams down at you and immediately stops tickling your sides, leaving you panting underneath him--

Oh fuck...you're panting underneath him.

He can almost feel the shift in the air as he stares down at you. He knows he should move, just roll off of you and make up some bullshit lie about what he was building. You like someone else, and he clearly wasn't getting out of the friend zone any time soon. He's just making a fool of himself...and yet he just can't bring himself to stop memorizing the way you look splayed out beneath his hips. Eventually he forces himself to stop staring at the way your chest rises and falls or the sliver of your tummy that's poking out from underneath your shirt that's riding up. He locks eyes with you.

Your voice comes out softer than he's ever heard you speak before. "Hey Yun?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that mystery guy I've been telling you about? The one with the pretty hands?"

A twinge of annoyance flairs in his stomach and he can't help but grumble out his reply. "Yeah?"

"I'll give you a hint. He's got me pinned to the mattress right now."

Yunho feels his heart drop deep into the pit of his stomach.

"Like...like right now he does?"

You laugh lightly. "Yeah, right now, Yun."

Yunho swallows thickly as his head starts spinning. He leans down much slower than he would have liked to, giving you plenty of time to take it back--to laugh at him and tell him you got him good. He feels like his whole body lights ablaze when you close the final gap between your lips, and suddenly he is kissing you.

In almost any circumstance that you had seen Yunho kissing someone, he was always fast-paced--hot and heavy petting in the corner of a darkened bar, dares in drunken party circles--which is why you were floored at the reverence he was kissing you with now. His mouth was steady and intense against yours, his hands roaming slowly across the expanse of your torso like he was memorizing the feel of something priceless. You gently pull your hands from his grasp and tangle them in his hair, pulling him closer and matching his intensity with your fervor. You feel his hands make their way to the lower hem of your shirt, and your skin erupts in goosebumps as you feel his fingers ghost along the sliver of skin there. He breaks the kiss and you feel his breath fan across your face as he pants. His hands gently make their way to rest just under your shirt, not quite pushing the fabric up. He locks eyes with you.

"Is this okay?"

You chuckle gently. "Yes, Yun, you can touch me. I want you to touch me." You watch his eyes darken and his hands start running up your torso, pulling your shirt up with them.

"Where do you want me to touch you, baby?"

You exhale heavily and arch your back into his touch. "Anywhere...everywhere...I don't care."

Yunho smirks and feels his ego inflate. "You don't care? Hmm..." He starts planting kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck. Slow. Teasing. "If I remember correctly, you seemed pretty keen about having my hands in some specific places baby. Can you refresh my memory?"

The low whine that escapes your throat nearly sends him spiraling. "You know where...don't make me say it."

He does know, but there's nothing he wants to hear more right now than to hear you say it. He brings one hand up to your chest, cupping one of your boobs and squeezing gently as he continues peppering your neck with kisses. "Was it here? Or..." His hand trails back down and grips your hip possessively, "Here, maybe?" He hears you huff and feels your hand wrap around his wrist. You try to tug it up, and he chuckles softly but allows you to move his hand. He nips your earlobe and asks lowly, "Where do you need my hands baby?" He feels his cock twitch in his sweats when you wrap his fingers around your throat, guiding him to squeeze the sides gently. Your hands run down his chest and drop to your sides as he squeezes a little harder. "Fuck, look at you. So pretty with my hand around your neck."

You whine and buck your hips up, desperately looking for friction. Yunho coos as he looks down at you, wanting to have the image burned into his memory. He adjusts his position so he's sat on one side of you and brings his free hand to your thighs, squeezing the flesh there and watching the way you spread your legs for him. "Pretty girl, I need you to use your words. Spreading your legs like a whore isn't gonna get you what you want." He revels in the way you throw your head back onto the mattress and close your eyes, frustration evident already on your face.

"Need your fingers, Yun. Please."

Holy shit, he could combust right then and there. He smiles and traces his hands along the inside of your clothed thighs. "Good girl. So polite for me." He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings and pulls them down and off, leaving you bare from the waist down. "Sit up for me baby. I want you between my legs."

Yunho sits on the edge of the mattress and allows you time to sit up, moving to sit in between his thighs. He hooks your legs over his, leaving you spread and completely at his mercy. A shiver runs down your spine as the pads of his fingers run across your thighs and you gasp as they brush against your core. He presses kisses into your neck and chuckles, "You're already soaking wet, what's got you all bothered hmm? I've barely touched you..." Yunho hums and teases your entrance with this middle finger. He can feel you clenching. "Do you like my hands that much baby? All it takes is a little choking and you're putty for me." He pushes two fingers inside, pumping slowly and curling back to find your sweet spot. He feels pride flare through his chest at the noise you make, a mix between a whine and a moan that eggs him on.

Your toes curl as Yunho almost immediately finds your g-spot. The pace he sets is almost perfect, and when he begins rubbing tight circles on your clit your eyes roll back into your head. The pleasure is a building wave, and it's all you can do to keep yourself remotely still as he continues pumping his thick fingers in and out. "Oh my god, Yun, please don't stop!" You clench helplessly around his fingers and let your head roll back to rest on his shoulder.

"Awe baby I'm not gonna stop. Not until I see how pretty you look cumming all over me. Will you do that for me, sweetheart?" he coos, bringing his other hand back up to your throat and squeezing lightly. "Will you cum all over my fingers? I bet you want to right? Wanna come on my fingers while I squeeze this pretty neck of yours?"

You whine and preen at his words and arch your back. Your legs begin to shake as Yunho's circling on your clit quickens pace just slightly, the thrusts of his fingers audible from the squelching between your thighs. Your breath quickens.

"My pretty girl, you're such a mess for me, aren't you? Can you hear how wet you are? All soaked for me? I bet your hands don't feel as good as mine hmm?"

You shake your head no violently, whining as he continues to talk lowly into your ear. Your orgasm builds quickly, and at this point you have no faith in your ability to speak coherently.

"No, they don't do they? I want you to show me how good my hands feel baby. Let go for me, sweetheart."

Your breath catches in your throat as you tip over the edge, and the feeling of your release washes over you. Your whole body jolts in his grasp as he continues pumping his fingers. You feel him squeeze your throat gently, just enough pressure to remind you that he's got you.

"Atta girl, look at you! Doing so good for me." You whine and buck your hips, orgasm still riding through your body. Yunho nips at your neck lightly and slows his pumping to a stop as you continue to shake. "That's it baby, just grind on them for me." The final aftershock of your orgasm finishes, and you go limp in his arms, leaning all of your weight back into his chest and breathing heavily.

Yunho pulls his fingers out and admires the mess you made on them before popping them into his mouth. He's still rock hard, and the taste of you on his fingers makes him twitch again. He'll definitely need your help with that later. He uses the hand around your neck to brush a stray hair from out of your face. "How are you feeling?"

You huff out a breathless laugh and turn your face to nuzzle into his neck. "How do you think I feel? That was...wow."

He can't help the goofy smile that crosses his face. "Oh really? Tell me more, I'd like a full report." He jokes, pulling the two of you down to snuggle on his bed. He grabs a throw blanket from your side and pulls it over the two of you and nearly melts when you curl closer to him, burying your face into his chest.

"Give me a few minutes to recover and I'll show you exactly how I'm feeling right now." Yunho rubs a hand up and down your back.

"I look forward to that."

"And then afterwards you're going to show me what you've been building."

Yunho chuckles and kisses the top of your head. No way in hell.

[starrluvs]

𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐊𝐔𝐄𝐈 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐎 + 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

summary: just complete thirst about the lin kuei brothers and you sitting on their face

cw: afab reader, oral (fem receiving), facesitting, established relationships, submissive/bottom tomas, (literally my religion omg), tomas cums just from eating you out :( , mdni !

wc: 1k

a/n: im ovulating and i just had to write this omg im sorry this is so self indulgent

𝐁𝐈-𝐇𝐀𝐍 | 𝐒𝐔𝐁-𝐙𝐄𝐑𝐎

being the eldest brother and grandmaster of the lin kuei, bi-han has had his fair share of experience with sexual encounters. and as much as he’s been on the receiving end of oral, he’ll only give back to a partner he deems worthy of his love and time. getting to this point with bi-han took some time, but it was sure as hell worth it.

bi-han’s cold tongue had no mercy on your quivering state as he continued to flick your clit in all sorts of motions and patterns. you were instructed to hold your orgasm because you knew bi-han loved it most when you came around his cock and milked him, but he definitely wasn’t making this easy for you.

the tips of his fingers were starting to grow frost as they dug into the flesh of your thighs and ass. despite you being on top, the cryomancer controlled your pace with the way he rocked your hips back and forth. as always, he was in control while he worked his magic. 

suddenly his actions on your clit came to a halt. you were going to let out a sigh of relief and calm yourself down for a moment, but bi-han had no intentions of letting that happen. with a loud yelp, you unexpectedly feel the cryomancer’s strength and he positions your hole directly to his tongue and your clit to the tip of nose. 

with no time for you to breathe, bi-han dives straight in and runs his tongue around your gummy walls. the feeling of his cold muscle inside of you made you squeal and jerk your hips on instinct– ultimately causing your clit to smudge against his nose, making you gasp and arch your back. 

bi-han groans and pulls your pussy deeper into his face, making you feel the vibrations course around your groin. the grip on your hips was now deadly as the cryomancer denied you of moving your hips at all. he continued to feast on you as if you were his last meal–

and maaaybe you accidentally came on the spot without his permission… (you were totally in for it now.)

𝐊𝐔𝐀𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐆 | 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐈𝐎𝐍

this man is a pussy eating champ. when compared to his brothers, he easily has the most skilled tongue– and that means you’re in for one hell of a treat. unlike his older brother, kuai liang’s favourite pastime is pleasuring you and that pussy of yours that he’s head over heels for. 

kuai liang’s hands reached up to fondle your breasts as he moved his tongue in and out of you repeatedly. your back was arched as your hands grabbed onto the headboard for support to hold yourself up. the obscene slurping sounds that came from kuai liang’s actions bounced off the walls and flooded your ears, only heightening your arousal. 

as he continued exploring your velvety walls, you feel the pyromancer take your nipples between his index and thumbs. you squeal at the feeling of your sensitive buds being tended to and your hands shoot down to tangle your fingers through his dark locks– which was messily undone from his usual well-kept bun while some free strands stuck to his forehead.

kuai liang moans in response to your hands gripping tightly at his hair, and you can feel the intensity growing more by each second that passes. he’s done this more than enough times with you to know when you were close. he could tell just by the way you slurred out his name. 

once telling you to let go, he grabs your hands away from his hair and intertwines his fingers with yours. his brown orbs dont break eye contact with you, and you know exactly what he’s expecting you to do–

as if you two could read each other’s minds, kuai liang sticks his tongue out and flattens it, encouraging you to chase your orgasm. and of course, you do as he wants. your hips rock (almost uncontrollably) back and forth against his warm tongue. your back arched, head rolled back… and those pornographic moans escaped your lips…kuai liang’s eyes stayed on you the entire time.

he could truly spend eternity beneath you, nose deep in your pussy.

𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐕𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐀 | 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 

the youngest of the three was most likely the least dominant compared to his brothers. most of your sexual encounters with tomas consisted of you being in charge and praising him like the good boy he was- especially if you're sitting on his face.

his head was cushioned between your thighs as your warm pussy rocked against his face– back and forth. back and forth. back and forth. your pace was under control as you kept yourself  calm and composed… which was the complete opposite of the czech assassin smothered beneath you. 

he was a complete mess under you and you loved it. his tongue was messily lapping up all your juices that were also trailing down to his chin, neck, and some that even spilled on the bridge and tip on his nose. 

tomas’ moans and whimpers were muffled by your pussy that was practically suffocating him, causing you to let out a small moan yourself before teasing him about how loud he’s being. in response, you hear him struggle to muster out an apology, but that wouldn't matter…

noticing that you were wearing nothing else but an oversized shirt from tomas’ wardrobe, you mischievously smile down at the youngest lin kuei brother. his doe grey orbs looked  up at you, trying to clear the daze in his head to figure out what you were thinking.

though, the last thing you seen was his eyes widen slightly before you push your (his) shirt over his head, denying him to see anything– trapping him completely with your pussy. all you do is continue to moan and grind his face, telling him how good he was for still pleasuring you. 

while striving to snap that coil in your stomach, you completely stop your motions as tomas lets out an obscene, muffled whimper. you feel something from behind splat on your lower back and ass. looking back to see what happened, you couldnt help but giggle–

tomas was panting heavily from the way his chest heaved up and down, and his seed was spilled all over his stomach, which also landed on you… he truly was the cutest.

[imaginariumwanderer]

Mkay last post before logging off. Featuring silly pixel art I made w/ my mouse.

This chart was actually made out of pure self-indulgent a while back with no intention of being posted, I ended up scribbling(?) all over the thing. Hopefully it's readable when zoomed in.

It's "my ship in 5 minutes" but I can make it 30 if you want. WARNING: Tons of sappy yapping+pixel art download under cut.

About "tropes": The trope is called Angel-Devil shipping, oh but I don't think PV is an angel. He's more like a God for SM (at least that's my preference)… Thinking at all the possible tropes that suits them make me really wonder why some people consider Shadowvanilla a crack/pro ship. Enemies to lovers or villain/hero ships have been pretty archetypal since the day of olds. Compared to all the ships I've encountered in the past… Shadowvanilla is more or less the "slightly out of the norm" on the "problematic ships scale" <- typing this out make me feel like an old fandom veteran haha

About "how it happens": I have no idea where to put PV on that chart. He's the one who approached first, but not out of romantic intents, him falling for SM is as unexpected as can be. SM fell first and slowly, and in 'slow' I meant decades upon decades. It's inevitable, painfully so, spending all those years watching over this cookie who's so perfect in his imperfections, how could one not feel something? Of course it's not so simple, that 'something' is a horrid mixture of disgust, envy, hatred, understanding, both the need to preserve and destroy… And maybeee the tiniest crumb of affection? SM realized something around the first couple hundredth years mark, he then spends the next thousands in denial of it. No matter. Whether it's PV or the Soul jam, his birth-given rights. SM knows what he wants and he WILL get what he wants. (He's wrong on both fronts. And somewhere in the back of his mind, SM knows that. But he'll never admit it. He'll never ever admit anything. Until it's too late. In a way, the same goes for PV)

About a certain someone who's not clingy, but would die for attention: I think PV gets lonely easily. As he's hyper-aware of himself and considerate of others, appearing clingy is the last thing PV wants. So PV would put extra efforts in taking care of those around him, be it cookies, animals or the greenery in his garden. A healer is always busy, always helpful. If he's always needed by others then he would never be afraid of being alone. Ironically enough, this ended up making PV come off as a little overbearing. As of late, the only ones able to see through the facade are Hollyberry cookie and you-know-who.

Other scattered thoughts: These two are completely different yet can't be more similar, on the various sliding scales they're either stuck to one another or are flung to both ends. On another note, honestly I can't see these two doing anything domestic together, the most I can see is cooking, which is basically the same as magic in the cookie world. Anyways, are they in "love"? Are they dating? Not really, no. It's more of a a parasitic-turned-symbiotic-soulbond, a will-they-won't-they-destroy-the-world situationship (iykyk) I do enjoy relationships that's hard to put into words. Their feelings are somehow romantic, somewhat deranged and something much, much deeper.

My desire to ship these two comes from the desire to see them grow beyound their archetypes. Being with PV does give SM the chance to be horrible as can be, yeah, but I'd like to think SM does have a personality outside of being a villainous tormentor. He spends so long observing others, and now for the first time he's being seen. Now SM have met someone who can see right through him, who can glimpse into those dammed vulnerabilities of his. Being with SM does let us see PV in his darkest moments, but it's at the same time the moments where PV can shine the most, to prove SM that his ideals isn't naïveté or simple platitudes. In canon, SM+PV works well as enemies, but it is the many contradictions born when romance is added into the mix that got me shipping. They simultaneously break down and bolster one another's greatest traits. Like binary stars, they orbit around the other, so close yet so far apart, lest they collide. They could've been so perfect for each other. But not in this life, or the next, or the next...

Pixel art time! I have way too much fun w/ Smilk's many faces, his and PV's combined came to around 22 expressions. These are quick to made due to their small size (25x25 px). Zip file includes both the og and 75x75 sizes. I don't mind if any Vanilla milkshakers might use these, just please remember to read the my art terms and conditions first! (which can be found in my About)

Some disclaimer: some images may have different names. This is the first time I'm using Getuploader so sorry if something broke.

Link

[palskippah]

Hi! There are role swap AUs of them already and I love them so much, so I tried making my own too! You should know that this is entirely self-indulgent like anything else I draw askdaslds

There is Mareach and Bowuigi bc yes alskdklasd and a tiny bit of one-sided Luaisy that leads to nothing because Luigi's a married man 😔

I had other drawings of them, but they're not colored yet and I wanted to share the idea already sjsjs

Here's some ideas for this AU!

-Mario's the Mushroom Kingdom Princess and his parents are the King and Queen. Luigi used to be the other princess, green princess or green princess Mario (as in, his bro Mario, not his last name Mario 😔), but he married Bowser and became the Queen of the Darklands :y Everyone in there respects and remembers his name, he's built a really good reputation for himself by simply being himself, in this house we believe in the 'Luigi is the Darklands' hero' hc too. Their aunt and uncles (and cousin) rule Sarasaland.

-(King boo's a Darklands ally but still hates Queen Luigi from that one time he wiped clean his mansion when the king kidnapped Mario. Luigi's scared of ghosts still too, but Junior always reassures him he's gonna beat them up if they try scaring his mama (I drew it actually, I'm gonna color it too!))

-When the bros were 20 Bowser at first tried kidnapping Princess Mario, and Mario was ready to beat his ass but they ended up talking about ally-making and ruling a kingdom as Bowser just got crowned king. Mario advised him to listen to his advisor and other stuff and by the time Luigi caught the koopa ship, ready to bonk Bowser in the head with his comically large hammer, the princess and king made plans of starting a treaty.

>Anyways, they met often after that when Bowser went to plan the treat with the Mario King and Queen. Luigi fell for Bowser and Bowser fell harder and Mario regretted talking to Bowser and should have instead just beat him up. He's happy for his bro though. When they married and had Junior and adopted the koopalings he decided that he was very happy that he talked to Bowser. He loves how happy Luigi is.

-Princess Mario accomplishes many things and excels at almost anything he tries, and all the toads treat him as a hero as well as a princess and all, so his dad doesn't think he's a failure, but still bothers him by urging him to get married ever since he turned thirty. He often compares him to Luigi, who got married at 23 and in the present had eight kids with his husband. Mario doesn't give a shit about marrying soon, but wished his dad would stop being annoying. His mamma is a sweetheart as always and often tells her husband to leave him alone. King Mario is stubborn as hell though (his two boys got that from him), so he doesn't.

-Peach and Daisy are cousins and they were trying to start a business together, though they weren't still sure about what (you know as Princess Peach and Daisy have many businesses together in canon aksdla), but before they could settle anything they somehow fell in the pipe and Peach landed in the Mushroom Kingdom and Daisy in the Darklands.

-Bowser still steals the Super Star, but in hopes of giving Luigi the coolest anniversary gift ever, as it's their seventh and all that. He very often gives him all sort of things, like great statues, many many dresses and all the stuff that he knows Luigi loves. Being the himbo he is, he's genuinely concerned that Luigi wouldn't like something unless it is completely new and has never been gifted to him at all. Of course, Luigi would love anything he'd give him, because Bowser's gifts are always made with love. By the end of the things, Luigi tells Bowser so and calls him an idiot affectionally, and also makes him return the Super Star. (movie-like, you know, since this is somehow a retelling alksdlasd)

-Based on what I read at discord, if you're who wrote it, pls know that i love your ideas jsjs- Bowser has set up many statues of Luigi that are of a nice stone color and has gems in its eyes to glow under the lava and the sun when it's out. Imagine that one Luigi render where he's got an arm raised and the other nicely by his side and he's smiling, that's the main statue of Queen Luigi sjjds. They contrast greatly against Bowser's, that were made to make his fierceness stand out, unlike Luigi's that highlight his kindness.

-In the piano scene, Bowser is playing and singing and Luigi's laying on his stomach over the piano's surface (no idea if that's possible but humor me alkdalsd) and listens with the most besotted expression ever, resting his face on his palms. When Kamek interrupts them Luigi's not mad or anything, but Bowser really glares at the magikoopa.

-Junior finds Daisy and brings her to the castle, in hopes that his mama and papa will help her, because they're the greatest people in the whole world and they can do anything.

-Daisy and Luigi quickly become friends, making Bowser jealous of the other human, especially because Daisy from time to time looks at Luigi as if she like-liked him. Not that he thought Luigi had eyes for anyone else beside him, but it was still annoying. And Diasy, for all she annoyed him, seemed to fully respect that Luigi was happily married.

-Daisy teases Bowser mercilessly too, at first clueless that she's supposed to be terrified and respect this guy like everyone else does (maybe Junior takes her to him first, and completely forgetting Junior's initial rambling about his family, she doesn't realize Bowser's the king, but when she meets Luigi, she sees his crown and fancy clothes and immediately knows she gotta be respectful to this guy. She doesn't know how royals are in this lava world, after all), but she keeps doing it, knowing the koopa king may look terrifying but he's mostly bark and no bite.

-DK and Mario are friends and they often meet up to beat the shit out of the other, or sparring as it's called, I think. The first time they did it, Mario got the cat power up and destroyed DK in front of the kong king and other kongs, and since then Cranky doesn't dislike Mario so much, and the others respect him greatly too.

-Mareach,,, they look at eachother and sparkles are in there too. Peach doesn't brutally throw Mario to the ground or anything, but he loses his breath anyways because of her beauty. Also, Mario's type is beautiful tall women (and tall idiot men, maybe his dad suggests DK as a husband and Mario's like ew dad, we're just friends. Or maybe... Donkareach... I like the fics that has them, but idk for this).

-Toad as a wingman, he doesn't care how obvious he is, he's gonna make Princess Mario and his new friend Peach be together, because they clearly like-like the other.

That's all I got for now askdalsd thanks if you read my ramblings, sorry if there's mistakes in writing.

I'm gonna color the stuff I got left and maybe draw more, but knowing myself I dunno if I will anytime soon 😔 Also I go back to college the next week sadly sjsjd

Got any thoughts on the AU? Tell cuz I'd love to know c:< but only if it's nice thoughts, I'm sensitive akdalsd

[seventhcallisto]

Chapter 1 — "why didn't you answer my call?"

—Deep Down.

Toc/cw; read prologue or you'll be v confused!! Touching. Nothing much except world building. Language. Heats are the omega equivalent for periods(without the bl00d). I said what I said. Heat suppressants work, they just sedate the need for a knot(#worldbuilding). Angst at the end, lots of it throughout(it gets better I swear.)

It's not a surprise when the majority of unanswered texts come from mingi. You left without warning, and to think; he thinks he was the one who sent you to the hospital. All because he simply bumped into you. You feel bad. You feel terrible. Yet you're so scared you're gonna say something and reveal what really is going on.

Your hip, ankle, shoulder, and elbow ache. Your hips for two reasons. You scratch at the bandage on your elbow.

"You want me to lie?" You mumbled into the speaker. On the other side is your manager, no, not jongsik, but the overly obsessive and pushy manager that takes care of most of the groups publicity and what can and will be said. "I don't want to lie to them, they'll figure it out" you continue, growing more upset.

"Just until your next uhm. Cycle. Then the company can break the news publicly and personally to them." Song Pilyoung. Mr. Pil. Answers, as if expecting you to say that.

It hasn't even been a day since your last heat. You're supposed to keep up with your lies and completely change demeanor and body back to your old self for a month? When you know your obvious behavior will be to coddle and preen at any affections from the alphas you so desperately missed during your heat.

Seonghwa, who knows when the slightest thing is off with you. Who can tell when you're sick based on how you act and watches you so intensely under his pretty keen eyes, even when he bites you, ever so gently, you think, compared to the aggressive chomps he does to the rest of the guys.

Yeosang, who genuinely likes to be near anything that smells like you or makes him think of you, which he shyly admitted, who ever so gently leans his head on your shoulder when he has a stressful day. Yeosang who you constantly are seen next to, brushing arms gently with.

Mingi who continously hugs and drags his long limbs across you, because you're the only member who won't complain and will put up with him, who shares his food with you, but only you because he likes the way you follow him without questioning what it is you're being fed. but it's indulgent. You like how he casts himself on you and the way he grabs your chin when he wants you to try a piece of food.

Yunho who can't help but hold your hand whenever he's next to you, because an alpha and beta can have that public privacy without being seen as dating, yet you hope he doesn't feel the quickening pulse vibrating your fingers, yunho who defends your name and includes you in any type of conversation if you're nearby.

San who, for some reason, always flirts with you the hardest, only for you to plainly respond or brush him off because you're a beta, and you tell him so - not because you know he doesn't mean what he says, right?. San who sits side by side with you and makes sure the blanket covers you when you sit at award shows, even going as far as to take his own suit jacket off and maybe cover you from prying eyes.

Wooyoung, who gatekeeps you too much when he gets the chance, who stands behind you to make sure you get up the stairs safely, and so no one peeks up at you. Who always tells you about the drama with other alphas cause he knows you don't gossip, wooyoung whos smile makes you smile, whos lips make yours want to gravitate towards them.

Jongho, who you baby yourself - but always steps up to take anything on your shoulders that seems too heavy. Even during any type of game, he'll give you the answer and never regret it. He who will share his jacket and shuffle closer when he sees you shivering. When his eyes meet yours across the room just because you assumed he was searching for something, he holds the contact until you pull away. he warms you more than the jacket he lends you whenever it seems the slightest bit cold.

Hongjoong, who lets you sleep in his bed when you have a nightmare, who people say favorites you the most. how his calming scent always drags you under and sparks fireworks within you, how you never indulged yourself to scoot closer and be wrapped up in his arms anywhere at any time whenever he looks at you. He who leaves his clothing in your room, who silents everyone immediately when he knows you have something to say.

When did you realize you felt like this? For a while, actually, you would never say that, though. Feelings are feelings, yet you'll be with these guys the rest of your life, and you don't want to ruin anything. Plus, you're just another pack member. You're genuinely sure all of those moments can be because they're protective. You highly doubt they feel the same.

"I can't promise anything" you sigh as you tell Mr. Pil. "Great, I've got a driver on his way to you already, he's picked up everything you'll need for the month."

Perfect.

You see yourself out of the idle apartment. "Bye, gorgeous!" Yuqi and shuhua wave down the hallway. Miyeon is the one to walk you down, making sure you make it out safely.

You've washed yourself of their scent as much as you can. A bag of fresh, unworn and recently bought clothes are given to you provided by miyeon after your shower. You've got to undo ever being there, so you scrub yourself free of every scent of them. A new bottle of shampoo, conditioner, body soap, and perfume is given to you. Each of the members have an assortment of things they don't use or didn't want anymore. Which is very convenient for you.

From the pile, they each pick out things beta-you would have liked. Current omega-you doesn't have the same nose beta-you had. So you have to rely on your best friends' scents and recollection to give you things you would have liked. Which is how you smell as close to as you did before. You just tweaked a bit because you gotta like at least some of your smell. The girls give in. Your new permanent scent. A smell; omega-you indulges in which you didn't before. A lingering scent of sweets and tropicals you try not to get used to under the chaotic neutral tone your old scent gave off, a love-hate feeling.

You pull the hoodie snug. Miyeons pants are a bit tight, considering she doesn't work out as much as you do. A plain black and white track suit. "This is me," you sigh as the sleek black car pulls up. Miyeon is silent, yet you wait for her to speak anyway. "You're always welcomed here, you know that, right?" She nudges your shoulder with her hand.

"I know."

"And if you need anything. Anything. you call or text." She adds. "I know." "You know we love you, new sex and all" she smiles, you laugh. "That's very reassuring, thanks, love you too." You want to hug her, but you'll know it'll undo the scent process you just spent all morning working on.

"If anyone gives you problems, tell em idles' got your back." she grins, pressing a single digit finger to your forehead. "Bye cutie pie," she ushers you off the sidewalk and towards the car.

The ride back is full of anxiety. How are you supposed to explain the reason you haven't responded to the number of messages they left? Maybe cause you were actually too busy going through a terrible, disgusting, uncomfortable heat by yourself with no relief for days on end.

You can't say that though.

"Mr. Chen, are the guys at the apartment?" You speak to the driver. He's an older omega man, one you've come to know personally. The man in the passenger seat, an alpha, doesn't seem to care when you talk to him. "No miss, they're at the stadium filming." Chen glances at you through the rear-view mirror. "Filming?" You repeat. "Yes ma'am, filming for the music video starts today.."

Right. Of course. How could you forget? You've memorized everything down to the tiniest detail in the span of two weeks before your sudden omega sex came and distracted you. But you doubt you'll be picture perfect. At least in your own eyes.

The car passes the turn to your apartment. You can see the building in the distance. "Mr Chen, are we not going to the apartment?" The man in the passenger seat sits up and turns around to look at you. His eyes hold irritation. "Listen, beta, we're going to the filming site. Yeah? Got it? Be patient. Sit back."

If you were childish enough, you would have kicked his seat. You scoff. Falling back, letting the disrespect go. You gotta let it go. Don't fist fight a random alpha with a superiority complex.

Don't do it.

As soon as chen comes to a stop at the designated location, the alpha pops open his car door. You wait for him to get between your door and his. Boom. You slam your door open on his tush.

He pulls back, glancing between you and the door. There's a flare to his nostrils. One, you know only a pissed person would showcase. And god, is it satisfying to slam the door behind you and smile like the petty person you are.

"Woops," you simply say. His pissed face urks you to stand your ground. He doesn't hesitate to walk up to you, a crazed look in his eyes. "You-"

Your name is called in the distance, and you know exactly who's calling it. Your head whips, and your heart skips a beat. Running straight towards you are the guys, emerging straight from the field to your right. They look unreal, like they popped out of a commercial.

Mingi is the first to slam into you.

"Hey, ow!" You laugh, pulling him in tighter. The alpha, whose energy dissipates, turns away as if he wasn't about to go off on you.

Mingis arms are a welcoming feeling. He twirls you around, taking on your weight like it's his own. There's a certain desperation in his tight hold. You feed into it, pulling him just as tightly by the shoulders.

"Are you okay? Why didn't you answer my calls?" He pulls away only enough to scan your face. Maybe you really shouldn't, but mingis face is picture perfect. Whatever the makeup artists have done to make him look this good, it surely is based on hard work and years of perfection. Or maybe it's just mingi.

You stutter to answer, "I'm sorry, I wasn't.. really allowed to" it's half the truth. His hands fall to your hips, silent as he takes you in. "I'm sorry," he says, pulling his lip under his teeth. He genuinely looks sorry. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Mingi! No, I'm fine, completely." You pull his hands off you, missing the smell of sea salt and jasmine. You spin around. "Fine! See? Mingi.. i-"

Another pair of arms scoop you up. Silencing whatever you were saying, it's yunho this time, smiling ear to ear. And immediately after, waiting patiently next to mingi is San, his eyes flicker behind you, but as soon as you look his way, he catches your face. "Hey," he says so simply, with that sneaky grin he always has, yet you can tell he wants to say more.

"Hi," you say simply back, pulling both Yunho and San into a tighter hug. "How was it?" San asks, his voice is so sultry, something you missed, your mind goes haywire. "What?" Your face falls. "How was being away for so long? You missed us, right?" San laughs.

"Missed you? Never," you joke, pushing them both away when you catch Jongho and Yeosang jogging over. Jongho scoops you up next. His arms are tough, obviously, from working out so much lately. You take a well needed whiff of him. Fresh florals, mahogany, charred sandalwood, and laundry invade your nostrils. His head falls over yours, pulling back to let yeosang get a hug. Yeosangs arms are lean, but his hug is soft when he pulls you close, breathing you in.

Wooyoung and Seonghwa are last. Which you find surprising. Seonghwa, who usually pulls you into a half hug- full-on, brings you in. He smells like leather, dark coffee, and vanilla cream. There's so much more, but you're pulling away before you can smell him some more. Wooyoung locks you in, tilting you on your heels back and forth. He's the smiliest of the bunch. He sets his face on your shoulder, and his hands squeeze your sides comfortably. San scoots past the two of you, popping open the trunk.

The trunk, where your bag is. Full of assortments of scent blockers, heat suppressants, and the many smells the girls gave you so you can get by for the month smelling like your old self. Panic sets in, yet you try to seem as casual as you can when you twist in wooyoungs hands. "San, I got it!" You somewhat shout. San looks up, confused, pulling the shoulder strap over his shoulder. Wooyoung still has you in the tightest embrace around your waist.

"You really want to carry your own bags?" Yunho scoffs at the idea, mingi takes the other bag next to san. One you don't even remember throwing in. "I'm a big girl. I can take my own bags," you mumble. Wooyoung laughs from just over your shoulder. His lean body presses directly into your back. He's so very warm. You try not to think about it, opting to continue struggling.

"Woo, c'mon," you slump, you're not getting to that bag. It's no use, you're too exhausted to fight against him. He laughs. "It's just one bag beta, I'm sure your big girl attitude can be put aside for now," Woo loosens his hold around your waist, patting your hip with his large palm.

Seonghwa continues for him, a certain upset tone in his voice. "You just got out of the hospital. I don't know why you're here instead of resting at home."

You gulp when San slings the backpack around. "What did the hospital give you anyways?" He chuckles. You count heads, realizing hongjoong isn't here. "Where's -" the door behind you slams.

The alpha from before storms around the driver side. Everyone stops to stare. San shares a look with seonghwa. "What's his problem?" Wooyoung whispers to you, his breath fanning your ear. You scoff silently. "Egocentric alpha." You grumble.

"Got it," he laughs, he's missed you. Pulling you away. The guys all fall behind you two.

The cold of spring is fading away. It no longer nips at your nose. Soon, summer will roll around, and filming will get exhausting more than it already is. Your clothes whip around at the slight gusts of wind. Your makeup isn't caked on for once. Thankfully, you have a new makeup artist this time. Your scent still lingers. You'd have to reapply scent blockers soon. The bottle shifts between your fingertips, twisting and pulling at the lid. You subtly rub it around your scent glands. The chatter of the guys behind you cast in the background of your attention. Hongjoong is just a little bit away. You haven't seen him since you got there. Makeup and clothing took at least an hour or two.

Even though he's right there, you miss him. Hongjoong stands by the filming aquitment, speaking with the crew. You take your time walking up, having just now realized hongjoongs hair is back to the pretty brown you know suits him.

"Joong," you call, a blanket shrugged over your exposed shoulders. His shoulder straightened at your voice; his head whipped around. "Hey!" He calls, a genuine smile lighting up his features.

Hongjoongs figure is still so welcoming. The pack leader has always had that effect on you. It takes everything in you to pull away from the hug. "We missed you," he says earnestly, his hand resting on your neck where your scent gland is. "How are you feeling?"

You sigh, "I'm feeling good," it's somewhat true, although genuinely exhausted from the entire week of being poked and provoked by doctors and annoying alphas. what really got you was your first heat.

"You should be at home, not working." He huffs, reaching up to pull the blanket over you further. "I want to work," you nod, confirming it to yourself. He chuckles. "Yeah, right"

"Take it easy, kay?" You smile. "No promises"

It's the next day when the sun begins to set. You realize you're your biggest enemy. You will never be satisfied with how you contort your body to follow steps. 4,5,6. You repeat. 4,5,6. You stare as you watch yourself perform on the monitor.

There's a tension in the air, the staff can feel it, and the guys can feel it. Everyone moves around freely around you, the guys getting ready to perform the next sequence of steps. Yet you don't care if you're the one giving that tense energy off, your feet stand firm. "One more time, please," you ask the tech crew to repeat the video. A hand falls on your shoulder. Yunho calls your name softly. "Yeah?" You respond, not paying attention to what he says.

4. 5. 6. 4.5.6.

You watch as your lines loosen. This solo shot of you is cursed. Why can't you keep your movements sharp? "Beta," yunho calls firmly. You lift your head, catching his brown eyes with your own. "You're perfect." he guides your chin when you want to turn your attention back to the monitor. "No- look, my arms -" you go to point.

Yunho roughly turns you fully towards the monitor, and his hands fall by your waist. His chest presses against your back as he bends over you, and his head leans over your shoulder. "Look," he takes the word from your mouth. Pointing at your arms as you dance around on screen. "Your arms are fine." His silver hair brushes against your cheek. "There's nothing wrong with your shot. It's perfect."

And it's not because the alpha uses his firm voice to make you listen. It's the way yunho so passionately stares at you, like he believes what he says wholeheartedly. His eyes never slip from over your shoulder, even when yours keep falling back to the monitor.

"Okay," you listen. Yunhos hands fall off you, stepping away. You miss his warmth.

You're a week into the month when suspicion arises. Seonghwa is the one that finds your unopened bottle of scent blockers. "Hey," he says, twiddling the bottle in his nimble fingers. Your eyes shoot up from your phone, watching him stand in your doorway. "Are these yours? None of us had to get a refill." it's such a normal question because seonghwa doesn't think about it. All of the guys use scent blockers to perform for concerts or events.

But you're honestly choking. "I uh- I got a new bottle last week," you gulp. Quick, excuse. Excuse!. "Oh" His eyebrows furrowed. You haven't performed in about a month since the comeback is soon. "Yeah, i - that smell thing I had going on? That's what those are for." You loosely point.

"They're supposed to help," you gulp. Please take the hook. Seonghwas eyes scan you over once again, then back at the bottle. "Are they working?" He finally says. You blank.

"I don't know, can't really tell," you mumble. "Can you?" You sit up, scooting further down your bed. Seonghwa walks into your room. His scent mixes in with the smell you've had to endure all week. "Yeah, I suppose." You can see the gears behind his eyes moving.

"You suppose?" Your eyebrows furrowed. He bites on his lip, pulling at his earring. "Mm, you smell like you usually do.. but.." he thinks about it, scanning your room. His eyes finally fall on your face, urging him to continue. "Never mind."

Seonghwa exits your room without another word. You're in silence by yourself. The suspicion makes your anxiety skyrocket. He left his shirt behind on your bed.

You take it. Why not?

Hongjoong is late coming back again from the studio. He smells stressed beyond belief, even from where you sit across the apartment. He hangs his jacket up in the hallway. And you hear the slow pattern of his feet when he walks down the hallway. Your head falls on the arm of the couch, eyes focused on the TV. Hongjoong calls your name in a whisper. You look up at his tired eyes.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" He questions you. You have half the energy to laugh quietly. "Says the one in the studio at.." You check your phone. A picture of you and the girls on the lock screen. "4 am.. why aren't you?" You set your phone back down, pulling your feet up so he can take a seat on the couch without you hogging the whole thing.

He gladly takes it with a heavy sigh. His hand falls to your ankle poking out of the blanket, and you shiver slightly at the chill of his rings. "How are you feeling?" You scoot to sit up, leaning on your hand. "It always gets hectic before a comeback," he huffs a smile, turning towards you. "How are you?" His finger brushes up your calf. "I asked first," you glance back.

He smiles, a tired one, one he always has for you. "Why were you still up?" He changes the question. You take the hint. Laying back down on your pillow that's propped up against the couch. "I wanted to wait for you," you whisper.

The silence is comfortable. Hongjoongs fingers rubbing circles on your ankle. You reach down to grasp his hand, his tired eyes blink back at you. "Lay with me?" You ask, perhaps you shouldn't. But in your sleepy state, you're bold enough to ask, scooting over to make room for him. He doesn't answer but scoots up enough to take the spot next to you. Face to face. "Nightmare?" He asks, as if giving you an excuse, his eyes bore down on yours.

He's so pretty, you think. His eyes are so soft under the darkness. You question if he's one of the prettiest guys you've ever seen, an uncommon trait for alphas. You hum, taking the lie. "Yea"

Your eyelids slink as does his, the rhythmic breathing between you two casts over like a lullaby. Eventually, his arm falls over your hip. Alice In Wonderland playing in the distance, a sound you've gotten used to as you fall into the solitude of sleep.

The next morning, the comfort of the couch is something that you want to fall back into. You want your beauty rest, but the sun keeps beating on your eyelids. You turn in the grasp of the blanket, it has a tight hold, you wiggle to get comfortable.

The fan of someone's breath hits the shell of your ear. Your eye pops up, blinking at the sun coming down on you from the window. You turn to feel the body pressed against your back. Slowly turning so you don't wake them up.

Hongjoongs face is mere centimeters away. His hair falls over his face in waves. You want to reach out and push it away, kiss his eyelids, and touch his face ever so delicately. Your head lays on his arm. Hoongjoongs hoodie rid up his forearm, the scent gland on the bend of his elbow directly in front of you. Hongjoong smells.. like a ripe pear, tahitian vanilla, the heat from the sun, and sweet spices. You nuzzle deeper into his warmth, sighing gently into his chest.

Still foggy from sleep, every second that passes, you fall further into a dream state. Hongjoongs soft and quiet breathing echos in your mind.

Pictures pass in your vision, memories you haven't yet explore dance beyond the border of your sight. You dance silently, following where you lead yourself. Through doors that open without a sound and a floor that is void, your feet patter and swirl like raindrops on water. A distant noise echos. Hands reach out for yours, an assortment of them sticking out from the void and invisible walls that surround you. But you don't reach back. Your movements flow in a rhythm. When you stop to breathe, you sink into the floor. And fall continously. Echos of your struggles and inner thoughts consume you.

You wake up with a shudder, sitting up abruptly. You pat around you, you're in your bed. Hongjoong isn't here. You hope it's not because of what you said. You hope it's not because you made things awkward. You fall back into your comforters, sighing heavily. You stare at the crack in your bedroom door, watching figures pass and go. They block out the sun. The first to stop in the twenty minutes of you staring is Jongho. He pushes your door open softly. Two solid knocks hit your door.

"Want to get some breakfast?" He leans in, jongho is already dressed and ready. You hope he was waiting for you to wake up and ask you to tag along. You smile. "Yes"

The walk is brisk, just down the street to the coffee shop you visit most often in the morning. Jongho holds the door open for you, and you thank him. The smell of coffee hits you straight on. A pleasant surprise that makes your stomach grumble. Your mask stays put on your face, as does jonghos. Your arm wraps around his, a subconscious thing on your part. He doesn't pull away.

The line isn't long. A few stand around, picking and choosing their order. Many of the seats are taken. Chatter echoes in the large shop. "The usual?" Jongho nudges you, pulling your attention from the crowded strangers. He takes the lead compared to when you always do, you don't fight him about ordering like you usually would. "You know it," you smile, although you know the mask will block it. His eyes pull up, and you can tell he's smiling back.

You're compliant to the way he orders everyone's breakfast and drinks, something jongho finds strange for your behavior but boosts his ego a bit. You tell him the rest of the orders he forgets, leaning up to whisper it in his ear. He leans down and meets you halfway, so you aren't straining your still healing ankle. His hand falls to your mid back, steadying you.

"That's it, Thank you."

You lean up against the free space in the waiting area. Propping yourself up against the cold stone wall. This area is just as busy. You know the order will be a while. Jongho takes the spot next to you. Bumping shoulders. "How's your elbow?" He touches your arm gently.

You look down at it, a distant memory compared to the week you've had. "It's fine, it wasn't that bad." You shrug it off.

"If it wasn't, why were you in the hospital for a week?"

A lump forms in your throat. You advert your eyes to anything else. "I.. they wanted to run tests." That catches him off guard. "Tests? What for?" He leans on his shoulder to face you.

"Because i.." swallow the lump, don't word vomit. Please don't word vomit.

"Because I'm a -" ding! "order for Mr. Choi Jong!" Saved by the bell. God, it's so perfectly timed. Jongho stares at you for a second longer, his eyes scan you for answers. Like he's hoping you'll continue. Your mouth is glued. When he adverts his eyes, the emotion that crosses his features is like you did something terrible. He leaves to get the order when you don't look back up at him.

What are you doing? Are you crazy? Your hand falls to your forehead, rubbing the tension away. Jongho is silent the entire walk back. He takes the load of drinks and bags by himself, a few strides ahead. When you offer to help, he pulls away. "It's fine." he simply says. You flinch at his tone.

Just two more weeks.

The second week starts rocky. You haven't talked to yunho since the monitor incident. As well as jongho still being upset at you, hongjoong, avoiding you like the plague, and seonghwa not even giving you the time of day. You don't know what you did.

Your bed feels empty, as does your heart. You toss and turn all night long. Barely able to get any sleep for hours. A knock breaks you out of your tossing and turning habit. "Come in" you turn towards the door.

Mingi stands with his pillow tightly wrapped in his arms. Although childish, you find him cute. "Hey," you push yourself to sit up. He looks shy when he shifts on his feet, rolling his palm over your doorknob. "Can I sleep in here tonight?" He asks, it's mumbled, but you make out what he's asking.

Your lips poke up into a smile. You don't answer, just scooting over to the empty spot you were just upset about. You give him your warm spot instead. He giddily falls atop your spot, snuggly placing his pillow under his head.

"I sleep better in your room," he laughs, his eyes turn into cresents, and you stare at the way his face squishes into the pillow. You gently wiggle off the glasses from his nose, setting them aside on your side table. "It's because my room isn't messy," you snicker lightly.

Mingis whispering voice is just his normal voice, just less loud. You don't mind, though. You give him space. He hardly fits in your bed, yet he says he's the most comfortable in it. You can't tell if he's saying it to make you happy.

Mingi calls your name softly in the dark. "Yeah, mingi?" You whisper back, tucking your arm under your pillow. There's a few seconds of silence. It's uncommon when mingi is around. "I'm sorry again," he says so softly. You sigh. "it wasn't you mingi, you didn't do anything to hurt me that bad.." You close your eyes, excuse.

Excuse.

"...I had to get checked out because of my weird scent change thing going on." It's not true. You're feeling sick from lying so much. He hums. "So I didn't hurt you?" You laugh lightly. "No, min, you didn't hurt me." Your eyelids close. "I would never hurt you on purpose," he slurs in tired words. Your eyebrows furrow.

"I know.." You hear him shuffle closer. He reaches to grab your hand from under the pillow. His grip is soft. Your eyes stay closed.

Is this real?

"I'm here if you ever need anything." his thumb catches yours, intertwining your fingers. You sigh softly.

The amount of lying all week weighs heavy on your shoulders, mingi, who genuinely says what he means, twists your heart between his words. You try to breathe through the sudden sting of tears welling up in your eyes.

"I know." You answer with a shaky breath. You slip your hand out of his, and your world feels as if it's crumbling. Turning on your side away from him.

Just half a week. Half.

It's getting repetitive. Filming for another episode of a variety show you don't care for currently. You just miss your bed. You miss your boys. You miss being normal. You miss not having to hide. You miss being a beta.

"Your turn!" A finger points in your direction. You blink for a few seconds, gathering your wit. "i.. what am I supposed to do?" You laugh to cover the fact you weren't paying attention. The camera shines just out of view.

To keep up with performances, the majority of the boys all yell out the instructions. You get it, just a bit. San and Yeosang are at the top of the tower, having climbed all the way up with their gear.

You have to climb the tower. "Do I have to?" You bounce on your feet anxiously, looking towards the camera. Staff buckle you into your gear, the chatter getting lost whilst you get stuck in your head. You're not a big fan of heights.

You're really not a big fan of heights. You start noticing that when you shuffle across the platform to collect a red scarf. The premise of the game is to collect your color accessories, whilst also not allowed to go back if you miss any. Whatever team gets the most accessories wins. You're on Yeosang and Sans team. Paired in three.

Your rope is tied to san, whose rope is tied to yeosang. You don't think you got the strength in your arms to keep going. You power on anyway. Slipping your hand between spray painted fake rocks and clawing your way up.

Your helmet keeps slipping down your face. Surely, it's unfair that you got a helmet that doesn't even fit you. And dangerous. But mostly unfair.

"You got this!" Sans yell encourages you. You're in a particularly tough spot. You have to reach sideways to grab a pair of red sunglasses. It's the last thing you have to grab to win.

To your left, the blue team, which consists of wooyoung, yunho, and hongjoong, yells to each other. You try to drown it out and focus on your own team.

You just gotta reach over. You wedge yourself as close as you can.

Just reach. You can hear the game hosts encouraging you on, shouts of surprise.

Your fingertips just barely scrape it, almost knocking it off the ledge it's on. You shuffle, your single hand holding onto a rock is getting sweaty. You breath cautiously, reaching out again.

It's so close.

And then you grab it.

Shouts from San and yeosang make you smile. You're proud of yourself. You go to turn back, slipping from your left foot. Oh no. You're slipping, trying to get a solid hold on the rock. You slip the sunglasses on your head, hoping to be able to get your right hand free to grab the ledge.

San and yeosang are only a few feet up, not close enough for you to reach for. You've got to maneuver yourself out of the spot you're in. You don't know if you can. You wiggle and twist your waist, stretching your right arm above you.

Your fingers wiggle to get a good grip on the jagged red rock you grabbed. You're not as muscular as you thought as you try to use your right arm to pull your full body weight further up.

You strain it so, to the point where when you finally get yourself up. You have to shake off the hurt. Just two more rocks. Two more big reaches.

Two seems to appear a lot lately.

Distant shouting of all the teams catch your attention. Wooyoung is gaining speed. He's on his last accessory, a few feet behind you. When he sees you staring, he smirks like a predator, gaining speed.

Your movements are calculated but rushed. You keep pushing the helmet back on your head. The sunglasses slip down over your eyes, somewhat blocking your view. You're sweating bullets at this point.

Yeosangs hand is a saving grace. He pulls you up by your right wrist whilst san pulls your left arm. As soon as you get up, you book it to the table you have to put the accessories on.

Your team wins. Confetti cascades around you. You cheer happily, jumping around and laughing out of breath.

How it feels to be victorious.

You look to yeosang and San. They stare, shocked.

You wipe the sweat off your brow. The sweet scent hitting your nostrils.

Oh no.

You swipe the sweat away as quickly as you can, pulling the roll on bottle out of your pocket. Hurry. You try to twist the top off. Rolling the scent onto your scent glands and over your forehead as much as you can.

It's no doubt in your mind. They smelt your real scent. They know. You don't turn to look. You don't even want to know what they're thinking. Your breathing turns shallow.

Fuck.

Your world is crashing.

This time for real.

You take the emergency stairs. Ignoring the calls of yeosang and san. Stripping the gear off of you as you go. You don't care if you're ruining the victory shot. You just gotta get out of here.

You're wondering the hallways when wooyoung finds you. Hot tears stream down your face. Why are you even crying? You don't know. Maybe you're scared this will change everything. Maybe you're scared you messed up again and ruined it.

Wooyoungs hand is a soft pull to your wrist. You yank yourself out of his grip. Pain flashes his features. He says your name gently. You continue to sob. "What? What now" you huff. Wiping your tears harshly.

"Tell me what's wrong -" "Nothing!" You painfully shout, stepping away from his distressed smell. "Nothing is wrong. Nothing is ever wrong." You laugh at your situation. Wooyoungs hand clenches in the air. His hair falls over his eyes messily. He's still in the outfit he was wearing for the game, minus the gear. It's as if he came looking straight for you.

Just for you.

Wooyoungs mouth falls open and close. You dont think about whether or not he has something to say. You don't want to even look. "Just go away, please"

Wooyoung face is painted in pain. You know he doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to react. "Omega, please." he whispers.

Your sobs stop. Your tear stained face whips around, and your shocked face is evidence you weren't expecting that.

His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. "We need to talk," he sighs, allowing him to walk up. He takes your wrists in his hands gently. His thumb rubs soothing circles on your wrists.

Silently, tears stream. You don't have the energy to pull away.

You ruined everything. They know.

A/n; cliff hanger bc my phone is glitching out BAD. IM SORRY! hopefully, the two chapts will make up for it. Thanks for all the support ♡.

Taglist: @lelaleleb @bratty-tingz @0325tiny @smilefordongil @atinytinaa @unripeapple7 @ja3hwa @stopeatread (thanks for your support ♡)

[528-hotline]

ignoring safe words with matthew 🤭🤭 just asadcssf

also can i be 🍓 anon of its free?

ignoring safe words. with matthew !

warnings | dubcon, rough sex, watersports, squirting, piss, dumbification, dacryphilia, overstimulation, choking, creampie, ignoring safe words … literal filth :3

word count | 700+

a/n 💌 oh my… well you came to the right person 🫨 yes you can be 🍓anon !! i hope this isn’t too much for you cuz i’m definitely not a sane seokryu… hehe the writing in here is not due to self indulgence, really…. (lies!!) after he kept on posting hot shit even if i was gone here, i think this drabble made it clear that i’m NAWT okay. 😁 my thoughts will stop here i’m sorry hehe (^^) i hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

DARK CONTENT ahead ! read with caution (18+ only)

“look at you, my dumb pretty baby… all pathetic and stupid over my cock…”

you were all sprawled on matthew’s bed, legs hanging on his shoulders, thighs quivering from sensitivity and overstimulation. it’s already the fourth round and matthew doesn’t have intentions to stop at any second. the longer he rams into your pussy, the pleasure slowly turned into pain overtime.

“m-matt, red! red! please!” you close your thighs from the overwhelming and mixed sensations you have been feeling throughout as you try to push away his pelvis away.

“nonono baby… open your goddamn thighs…your stupid pussy wanted this, right?” he coos at you as his strong arms pries away your thighs, spreading you apart, having a complete view of your cum-drenched pussy from earlier. the sight added more fuel to the flame as he carries your thighs, bringing it to his arms, his thrusts going deeper and faster. “your pussy feels so good, can’t get enough…”

“red, matthew! please, red! ‘m gonna pee, please l-let me!” you yelped, looking away from matthew as you cried in tears, fighting the pain away as he continuously pounds your poor, overstimulated pussy.

he lets go of your thighs just to grab your jaw with one of his hands, looking at your puffy eyes, eyes all reddened from crying. as his other hand lands on your clit, pinching and rubbing the slippery, reddened bud between the pad of his calloused fingers.

you squealed at the action, pain and pleasure hiking up at the same time, making you cry out loud as tears fall down your flushed cheeks. matthew licks one of your tears away with his tongue, he then chuckled evilishly from your response. you were scared and aroused at the same time. “look at me… i’m gonna fuck this pussy till you’re too dumb to even walk, you’ll like that, right? yes, of course you fucking do…” his hand travels down to your shoulder, pushing you back into the sheets agressively and proceeds on choking your neck.

“nonono, red! please– matt, it hurts! p-please! wanna– shit!” your voice almost strained as you tried to speak before you were all out of breath. speechless, you were only able to let out soft cries, thighs shaking uncontrollably from holding your bladder and the pleasure from matthew repeatedly hammering your pussy with his cock and playing with your clit. his actions made you weaker than ever, succumbing under his control, realizing that resisting was no use because he’s too strong. comparing matthew to you, you were already used up like a ragged doll.

“your dumb pussy wants a release, hm? gonna give you what you want, yeah? you fucking cockslut…” he coos at you, shaking your head in response even if you knew it was no use on stopping him. matthew lets go of your neck and your clit, pulling your thighs even closer his cock, sinking even deeper. he knew he reached your sweet spot when you gasped and by arching your back. he smirked to himself, as he decides to thrust in to that certain spot continuously, thrusting into you in an animalistic pace. a high pitched moan came out of your mouth as you grab on to the sheets, your knuckles turning into white. your bladder was already holding on to a thread and a knot in your stomach snapped when matthew did one last sharp thrust out of you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck—! agh!” you gasped out, your back arched, your eyes rolling back, reaching your high once again. jets of piss landed all over his abs and torso as your hips quiver from releasing both your cum and piss all over him. you felt numb all over and your brain all scrambled up from the feeling of pain and pleasure altogether. matthew throws his head back, groaning, feeling his warm cum shooting inside your walls. he finally pulls out his cock, his cum flowing out of your pussy, as both of your liquids mixed, seeping into the drenched sheets.

“that’s it… piss all over me baby…” your warm piss still flowing out uncontrollably while he slaps and run his cock all over your poor pussy until you’re all emptied out.

“ngh… no more, please…!” you hiccuped, all empty and passed out. matthew hovers your spasming body, trying to recover from the overstimulation that he has caused, giving your neck with peppery kisses.

“i hear you baby, but expect to be wrecked like this all over again.”

[superectojazzmage]

Watched the Nimona movie last night. Review I guess. It was pretty damn good. Definitely would’ve probably been regarded as Blue Sky’s magnum opus if they’d gotten to release it instead of being fucked over by Disney. Very cute, very funny, very powerful in the right moments. A thing that stuck out to me is that it’s really only an adaptation in the loosest sense of the word. It takes the core premise and beats of the comic but is functionally an entirely different kind of story that does its own thing. And given that ND Stevenson was heavily involved in production, I suspect that was intentional.

The comic was much darker and more downbeat in a lot of ways, plus it was significantly longer and thus could afford to be slower paced. But more than that, it was a lot more meaty in terms of themes and scope. The whole “LGBT allegory” element was there, but it wasn’t the sole focus, the comic was a story about a lot of different things; not just an LGBT experience, but also discussion of fantasy genre tropes and clichés, criticism of other fantasy deconstructions, character study, exploring what it means to be a hero or villain, critique of the glorification of crime and cruelty in underprivileged communities, corruption in governments, peer pressure, the senseless and self-perpetuating nature of violence, the worthlessness of revenge, etc.. And above all that, it was a story about trauma and people’s responses to it, with Ballister representing people who actually deal with their problems and move on while Nimona represented people who let their mistakes and suffering and grief consume their identity, or worse, use it as an excuse to indulge their worst qualities and take out their feelings on everyone around them.

The movie, by contrast, has a much more narrow focus. The LGBT allegory is front and center and basically the entire focal point of the movie, aside from a spattering of themes about the danger of zealotry and rigid fundamentalist thinking. This gives the movie a much tighter narrative and pacing that suits its inherently shorter runtime, but also leads to a ton of changes to the story either to convey a different kind of message or just work better in a different medium. Most obviously in how Nimona is vastly more sympathetic in the movie and essentially really is the silly gremlin the comic fakes you out into thinking she is, scrapping the comic’s twist that she was a genuinely bad person who was completely serious about wanting to be a villain, caring nothing for the lives she destroyed with her behavior and idolizing Ballister because she thought he was the same as her and would thus tell her what she wanted to hear (i.e., that she was justified in killing and destroying everything around her in the name of getting even). And in the changes to the Institution’s history and nature. And all sorts of other things.

All in all, I feel if you go in comparing and contrasting the movie and the comic, arguing which changes are for the better or worse, you’ll be setting yourself up for disappointment in either direction because they’re two different beasts and it’s like comparing apples and oranges. So keep that in mind if you’re a fan of the comic watching the movie or a fan of the movie wanting to look into the comic. I think ultimately I still like the comic better, but that’s purely my personal opinion and there’s plenty that I think the movie did better.

Some other observations:

Riz Ahmed my beloved, thank you Mr. Stevenson for this perfect casting. Literally perfect for Ballister.

Acting in general was very good. You can tell this was a passion project for a lot of people, not just Stevenson.

Only two changes that are objectively bad are Ambrosius losing his awesome Van Halen hairdo and changing Ballister’s last name — Blackheart is a way cooler name than Boldheart and it’s a pointless change, one that I’d argue even hurts the narrative since it makes it too obvious that Ballister isn’t actually a bad guy.

The animation is really great with fantastic expressions, stylish movement, and wonderful aesthetics that perfectly suit the story, but there’s times where it feels a little off. But there are parts where it looks less “movie” and more “cheap mid-2000s CGI-and-Flash cartoon show from France”.

The humor can be a hit and miss, in a “going through the motions of a Hollywood animated comedy for kids” way. The movie excels when it’s either imitating the comic’s Old Internet sense of humor or going hard on the drama, but there’s bits where it seemingly slams on the brakes to do Illumination-esque Twitter humor and those bits definitely throw off the vibe.

Having an actual straight up attempted suicide in the climax was shockingly ballsy. I genuinely can’t believe they went there, but I’m glad they did because the film wouldn’t have felt nearly as raw without it.

I don’t know how they managed to make the Director even more of an asshole than in the comics, but they did.

[pls-hold-me-im-justa-weeb]

One Piece characters as S/Os on your birthday

Yo ho it’s my birthday so here’s some completely self indulgent head canons for some of my faves. (Fem reader implied) (unedited because I've been working all day)

Luffy (just a sweet baby even tho I don't really simp for him)

SFW

He forgot he remembered a week ago and got you a present.

Scrambled for something to give you and found the present he forgot he got you

It was perfect. Then remembered that he remembered last week and woke up today forgetting it was your birthday

So technically he didn’t forget.

Nags Sanji to make you your favorite flavor of cake (or dessert) even though he’s already started on it along with the rest of the feast.

Spends the entire day plastered to your side, doing whatever you want

When the feast comes, he shares some of his food. SOME. You can have a bit, but the bites you do have are the best ones from his plate :)

NSFW

You better believe you're getting the best oral you've ever had tonight. Man's tongue knows how to EAT.

He pulls out all your favorite positions AND kinks

His stamina takes over and leave you boneless and cumming over and over on his dick.

ALL the praises (degradation or not, depending on what you like) during it, but aftercare is so sweet.

Like bath or shower, cuddles, snacks, water. He would walk around butt naked though so you gotta remind him to put on pants.

Gives you another present, one that is meaningful and sweet. He put a lot of thought into it :) and it definitely did not make you tear up and sniffle when you hugged him.

Zoro (I simp so hard for this man. I'm the type who thinks I can get him to shower. Fight me.)

SFW

Does he know it's your birthday? He doesn't remember right away, and it's only when someone wishes you a happy birthday at breakfast (Sanji probably) that he remembers. Give him a break he's a sleepy boi

Is sweet to you, doing small things that add up to make you feel loved by him.

He's not glued to your side. He gives you your space and time with the rest of the crew, but he does train on the deck so he can be near you.

He already knows the cook is making your favorite foods, so he's not worried about that.

He watches you closely, trying to count the number of times he sees you smile today to make sure its enough. He loses count when he gets focused on his training.

You might be worn out by Luffy's endless energy that is focused on celebrating your birthday, so he'll basically kidnap you to go take a nap so you can have a break.

Will take a shower before the feast for once.

He drinks at the feast, but not as much as he normally does. He won't get drunk because he wants to remember every moment of this night as clearly as possible.

If you don't drink, he'll try sips of your drink between his alcohol, trying to compare it.

If you do drink, he'll cut you off as soon as you start to get a little more than tipsy. He wants you to have the buzz that you like, but wants you to remember and experience the night clearly.

NSFW

This man has been fantasizing about what to do to your body all day. How can he draw the most sounds out of your pretty lips?

He says the filthiest things in your ear, nipping your earlobe and sending shivers down your spine

Foreplay is usually pretty quick with him, both of you wanting to get to the meat (lol) of the night, but not tonight.

Tonight he basically worships your body according to what you like best. degrading? "your hole is perfect for me, slut. Such a dirty little whore for me". Sweet praise? "god you're perfect you know? feel so good around my fingers. Taste better than any sake"

Don't want to do the work? Good thing he factored it into his training earlier.

if you want to have him begging for release, he'll start getting whinier and whinier as the foreplay continues. He's enjoying this as much as you are.

If you're the one who wants to be begging and screaming, prepare for the time of your life. Every kink he can fit into one night is happening. Every position that hits just right, he folds you into.

Will cum wherever you want him to.

Law (Me? trust issues? Lol but he's smart and a nerd and has tattoos piercings and is just a badass and sdlifhosighsofj okay? He fine as HELL)

SFW:

Honestly Bepo reminds him that it's your birthday

He thought it was next week, so hadn't gotten a present for you yet

Panics but doesn't tell you

Finishes his work the fastest he's ever done it, and skipped studying for the day.

By the time he sees you, it's lunch. He feels so bad (doesn't really show it but you can tell)

You hug him and rub your cheek on his goatee for scratchies, and it makes him feel better.

Crew celebrates that night with games and food and just a party in general

Law sticks to the side nursing his drink, not one for joining in on parties.

You jokingly ask him to dance with you, but he agrees.

You have to end up leading because he's about as elegant as Corazon when it comes to dancing. He picks it up quickly though.

If you're not a dancer, you play card or board games with him. You can't tell if you're lucky or if he's letting you win.

Either way, he eventually drags you to his office and admits he doesn't have a physical present for you. But if you want a piercing or tattoo, he can do that for you.

You're stoked. The two of you discuss where, (design it if it's a tattoo), and set aside time for tomorrow. Both of you are too tired tonight.

If you're not into body mods of any sort, I feel like he can draw decently well, so he would admit that he doesn't have a present for you because he thought your birthday was next week, but he'll ask you what you want him to draw.

NSFW:

All I gotta say is that this man knows his anatomy, and knows your body probably better than his own.

He studies and memorizes your reactions in an instant.

Whether it be giving you head, or feeling you around his cock, he hits that one spot over and over.

His aim is incredible, and knows that a steady pace can make you cum much faster than a varied one (you lost track of how many times you came, twitching with oversensitivity)

The words that fall from his mouth are filthy but you love it

He might actually focus more on praising you and making you feel loved while absolutely ruining you with orgasms because he feels bad he forgot your birthday

I think he can go like three rounds max in a night, so he'll basically edge himself until you're begging or demanding for him to cum.

He will bring out your kinks to make up for forgetting your birthday, but the aftercare is so sweet.

He'll be so sweet and gentle with you during the aftercare and whatever you need or want.

The two of you fall asleep still naked, and he holds you in his arms as he kisses you on the head, whispering "Happy birthday, my love"

[another-lost-mc]

Gonna be completely honest tho. Like yes they are hot in the vampire au but I would be terrified. Like I hate needles and all of that and idk I just feel like I'd be too freaked out for it to be enjoyable? Does that make sense??

A/N: Honestly, same here, anon. lol I think my own MC would find the whole situation exhausting mentally if not physically. There's a lot of valid reasons why any MC might not want to get caught up in this whole mess.

In a lighthearted vampire AU, the characters might feel that vampirism is more of a nuisance than anything else. Ultimately, I think they'd still try to prioritize MC's wishes and comfort over their own needs. It would motivate them to find an alternative solution for blood/feeding (especially if it were a long-term/permanent condition).

This Sucks! | Why They Don't Want to be Vampires Vampire!DEMON BROTHERS x gn!Reader, 0.5k words, SFW Content warnings: references to canon-typical vampire behaviours including biting/blood-drinking. More from the vampire!au

─── LUCIFER

Lucifer doesn’t like depending on anyone for anything. This would be an extra burden for you personally, and the last thing he wants is for life at his side with them to be even more challenging. His brothers would be unbearable if he tried to claim your blood for himself, and he knows in his heart he doesn’t want to share you. (A trivial concern is that his fondness for Demonus, even a blood-infused version of it, might be ruined by vampirism—it’s one of the few luxuries he allows himself to indulge in.)

─── MAMMON

Mammon's too greedy to share you. If you don’t want to donate your blood, that’s even better—that way no one gets to feed from you! He’s also going to be busy figuring out how he can capitalize on blood alternatives if the condition isn’t temporary.

─── LEVIATHAN

Levi's disappointed because vampires in anime are so hot cool, but he’s intimidated by the physical intimacy of it. Oh, and he hates the thought of others wanting to feed from you too. (What if you compare them and you prefer feeding the others more than him?!)

─── SATAN

Human pop culture is so inconsistent with their monster lore. Satan understands that the reality of feeding a vampire (or in this case, seven of them) is daunting and less appealing than the fictional version you've read about or seen in movies. Besides, he has enough anger management issues to deal with—bloodlust would be an extra hassle. He's one of the first to volunteer to find a better a solution for feeding if the vampirism is permanent.

─── ASMODEUS

Asmo doesn’t want to drink anyone’s blood. Wouldn’t it make his breath smell? What if it gets all over his clothes? If he drinks from you in his bed, the stains might ruin his expensive Devilmoth silk sheets! He might seem superficial about it, but his biggest complaint is the possibility that feeding might scar you or hurt you in some way. Leaving his mark on you sounds appealing, but not like that—especially if you're already hesitant about the idea. (He's secretly worried one of the others might try to talk you into something you don't want to do, and he wants to make sure his own judgement isn't clouded so he can help protect you.)

─── BEELZEBUB

Beel has so many issues with hunger and self-control that the thought of being hungry for your blood upsets him a lot. He’s so scared of hurting you, and when he’s out of control with hunger it's difficult to stop him. What if the others can’t subdue him in time? What if—? No, he doesn’t even want to think about it.

─── BELPHEGOR

Belphie assumes that drinking blood would act like a stimulant, so the last thing he wants is to feed from you. Why would he do something that makes him more energized and makes you tired in the process? (He’s not sure he can convince you to only feed him, and the idea of having to share you with the others—except for maybe Beel—is intolerable.)

[chiriwritesstuff]

Meet Me at the Farmers Market! - 1. Jealousy, Jealousy

Farmers Market! Joel Miller x Confident! Plus Sized F! Florist Reader

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: What does a Contractor do in his spare time? Sell his wood carvings at the Saturday Farmers Market, of course! A Grumpy x Sunshine Joel Miller series collective of one shots, Updates every Saturday!

Rating: M

Word Count: 1063

Warnings: Jealous! Joel Miller, Tommy is a meddling little shit, Reader likes to ogle her too-hot market neighbor (I mean, who wouldn't?!) no outbreak! Verse Joel Miller, everyone has asses that just. Don't. QUIT!!!!

Summary: Tommy thinks y'all should stop dancing around your feelings for each other and just date already.

A/N: Hello there!

This is completely a self-indulgent fic! I was completely blown away by all of the interest in this series, and I want to thank every single one of you who has liked and reblogged my series masterlist so far!

This isn't going to be in a linear format or have continuous chapters, but will be more of a short-story format between the lives of Joel and his Sunflower. Hope you all enjoy!

Divider by the lovely @saradika

"You know, I think you guys should date."

As Tommy helps you unload a basket of baby's breath from your van, you look at him and ask, "Is that right? Pray tell, Thomas Miller, Why do you think that?"

"Well, for starters, you're crazy about him," he replies, waggling his eyebrows. "I can see how you stare at him like he's the finest cut of meat at Whole Foods. I should get you a drip cloth for all that drooling you be doing," he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest.

You roll your eyes and shove a bucket of single-stemmed roses into his chest. "Oh please. I think it's more concerning that you just compared your brother to a piece of meat," you say as you place a checkered tablecloth on your foldable table, preparing for the morning market.

"His head is definitely full of it," he laughs. "Besides, I think he's crazy for you too."

You laugh and reply, "All he does is complain that my tent is encroaching on his 'walk space' and how my bouquets attract all the bees. I don't think he's said one nice thing to me since I started vending at the market."

"Don't you know that the more you hate, the more you love?" he teases. "I know my brother," Tommy says, motioning towards your grumpy, yet attractive, next-door vendor. Joel, in his green flannel and almost too-tight jeans, it's criminal, really, how nice his ass looks in them - finally acknowledges the two of you with a roll of his eyes.

"Tommy," Joel yells across the way, "I could use some help, once you're done flirting with little miss Sunflower over there," he says, placing his crate on his table with a little more force, mumbling to himself as he calls for Sarah.

"See? He's jealous. Thinks I have the hots for you," Tommy appraises your form, whistling. "I might have mentioned how you looked really nice last week, you know, in your denim cut-offs. And he might have mentioned that you had an - and I quote - ass that just doesn't quit."

"He did not!" you reply as you playfully whack his arm with a towel. "Come on, help me with this sign so you can go back to Mr. Grumpy Butt over there. Wouldn't want him grumbling about how I stole his brother…"

"He's a big boy, he can manage. He only has those little critters that he carves, and you have buckets of flowers. I'd like to think that my services are better utilized here, don't you think? I mean, look at him!" Tommy motions to Joel, who has stopped setting up his stand and is openly glaring at the both of you, his hands clenched and knuckles turning white. "I'm doing you a favor, honey bee. He's just shy under all of that grumpy ass attitude. Just ask him out, see where it goes." Tommy crinkles his eyes at you as he pats you on your head.

You swear you see Joel looking at the both of you as Tommy winks at you and heads back to his 'Reclaiming Miller' stand.

"What kind of a business name is that?" you think to yourself, chuckling as you close the doors of your van.

Later, as the market comes to a close and you place the final empty bucket into your van, you walk over to Joel's 'Reclaiming Miller' stand as he folds a tablecloth.

"Do you need a hand?" you ask sweetly.

"I got it," he replies with a grunt, dismantling his fold-up table and propping it against his truck. "It's funny," he adds, glaring at you, "that Tommy is nowhere to be found when I need help but magically appears once your van rolls in," he shakes his head. "Why don't you put him out of his misery and just ask him out?"

"… sounds like you're jealous, Mr. 'Reclaiming Miller'."

"Trust me, I'm not," he replies, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel as he tries to accommodate the Texas heat. You try very hard not to ogle the veins that run down his arms, swallowing as you try to remain indifferent to the very hot, grumpy man in front of you. You had a crush on Joel ever since you started the Saturday markets, approaching your new neighbor with a small bonsai tree as you introduced yourself. He took it from your hands carefully, inspecting it with a bit of wonder in his eyes. "Your tent is three inches off from your marker, by the way," he replies as he places the bonsai off to the side of his display table. "You might want to get that checked out, don't want to get a fine or anything like that." You decide then that he's one of those vendors, the ones who are sticklers for the rules and complete nightmares to those around them, but yet…

He is rather nice to look at, you think.

"… why would I ask someone I'm not interested in out on a date, Joel?" you reply, approaching him. "I mean, he did tell me that you thought I had an 'ass that just doesn't quit'," you say in his ear, tiptoeing up to his broad form, "is that what you really think, Miller?" you tease, his Adam's apple bobbing. "What if I want to ask you out? What would you say? Would you say yes? Because I think I would like that if you did."

But then, to your surprise, he smiles.

"… I thought we already got past dating, Sunflower," he replies as he kisses you, soft and sweet. His hands grab your hips as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. His hands travel to your ass, squeezing them as he groans into your kiss.

"Besides," he adds, "You know damn well how much I appreciate this ass." He winks, slapping it for good measure.

“Yeah, yeah, Miller. I'll see you at my place later?” you say as you head over to your van. “It's your turn to choose the movie tonight, if it's a good one you might just get laid” you tease.

“Oh baby girl, I'll get mine regardless, don't you worry,” he replies hungrily, waving as he enters his truck. “You just wear that thing I like, and I'll make it worth your while, promise.”

“You better!”

[ooffmlsorry]

Law comforting you when you're teary from PMS

A/N: another self-indulgent one, folks...and not one of the ones I'm supposed to be writing. You could read this as pretty early on in knowing Law, hence why he's referred to as "Captain Law" several times.

T/w: period talk and mention of cramps/blood, reader has a vagina

During your last bloody run-in with the Marines, you handled things perfectly fine. Actually, and you wouldn't say this to anyone but your reflection, you did stellar. Covering the Heart Pirates' backs with your sniper rifle, ordering your flying fire cat Moremi to evacuate as many of the injured as possible, and calling out threats as you saw them. You kept a cool head despite your and Moremi's injuries, the danger, and the constant pumping of adrenaline in your veins. The crew was impressed, as a new addition you had a lot to prove...especially to Captain Law.

And then there was the drop off. After things settled a little, after you were cocooned within the metal safety of the Polar Tang, your body betrayed you.

Waking up in the middle of the night to a familiar ache in your abdomen, you shoved Morimi's warm, purring mass off of you to shuffle to the bathroom, and sure enough, even in the dim light the bathroom could see the dark stain of blood on your underwear.

Of course.

Horrible timing as usual.

You thought you had another week, which would've been enough time catch up on organizing your reports, cataloging your discoveries properly, and helping Captain Law care for the injured, but you didn't...clearly.

You took care of it and stumbled back to bed, so exhausted you could barely keep your eyes open.

You woke up to your energy completely sapped; your brain and body blanketed with an inescapable shroud of fog. Despite your crewmates waking up around you and getting their day started, your body wasn't moving. Or rather, the part of your brain that could list everything you wanted to do today, everything you expected yourself to do today, was a tiny whisper compared to the heaviness of your eyelids and limbs.

"I'm just so tired," you said into Miremo's fur, curling into her further. She was like your own personal heating pad.

It was infuriating. Just days ago you were bandaging wounds cheerfully, despite your grim situation and collecting stories from the islanders. And now...it felt like there was nothing in the world that could make you move.

Much later than everyone else you eventually made your way to kitchen to eat something before your cramps got worse again. Your breakfast, which forced a pitiful laugh out of you, were the quickest snacks you could grab and a glass of milk. The thought of eating in the kitchen crossed your mind and was quickly swallowed by the haze floating around your skull. You didn't realize the thought had occurred until you were already in bed with Moremi again. Was your brain really that far gone?

Now couldn't be a worse time, except maybe during the battle, but still! There was still so much left to do and you were in bed! Doing nothing except eating breakfast! Even your own slow, lazy chewing was getting on your nerves. The sounds of the crew going on with their duties outside the door only made everything worse.

Weak. You're so weak.

Tears started to sting your nose and eyes.

"Great," you sniffles. "So I'm just going to sit here and cry."

Not that you had much against crying, but there was still so much more to do. So much you could be helping your new crew with. So much you could be doing to safeguard all the new tales and knowledge you had gathered.

Moremi twitched as tears sizzled and steamed on her fur. She shifted on top of you to nuzzle your arm with her nose but otherwise didn't move much.

Just then, the door opened, and none other than your captain Trafalgar Law entered. His eyes found you immediately, a scowl formed on his lips.

"Y/N-ya, you're still in bed. Your injuries weren't that severe. Did something happen?"

Exactly. He's right. Get up.

"No," you wipe your tears away. "Just being lazy, I'll get up, captain." Moremi growls a little at being shoved off. You know she's more upset that you're getting up when you shouldn't than at being moved.

Law stops you. "If you're ill please stay in bed. I'll tell the others to keep away from you."

You almost wish that was the case. Your cramps weren't even that bad, you were just exhausted....exhausted like everyone else probably was.

"No, I'm not. I'm just exhausted."

The last thing you expected was for Law to sit down on your bed next to Moremi and grab your face. His hand was gentle but cold and smelled like some kind of medical cleanser. He lifted your chin to observe you, looking for something.

"Open your mouth."

You do so almost without thought.

He continued to examine you. "I don't have lazy crewmembers," he said.

Even with your captain's words, you didn't feel the urge to get up, which only made you despair further.

Tears started to sting your eyes again. With Law squeezing your face a little, they rolled down your cheeks immediately. "I know...I'm sorry, captain."

Law's eyes widened in shock and he let go as if burned. "Y/N-ya." Law sits awkwardly, clearly at a lost for words. "I...I didn't mean to scare you, if that's what it is."

The tears take you over completely. "No, I'm just so tired." You sobbed. "And there's so much to do, but I can't. I can't even think straight. I stand up and my body hurts and I can't fight it anymore. I don't have it in me. I'm just so, so tired. I'm sorry I can't do anything." You sobbed into your hands, covering your face and cried.

A long silence followed, so long you thought Law had left, and then, the weight of his hand on your shoulder pulled your face from your hands.

"You did well in our fight, you need to rest." He spoke matter-of-factly but tenderly. You had never heard him speak so carefully to anyone.

"But you're--"

"We're different people," he said. "If you tried to help now, you'd accomplish nothing. I think we both know that."

Your eyes already felt heavy. At some point you had started to lean as if falling over. You began to doze in front of Law but you saw no judgment in his eyes, just a softness that released the knot of restless guilt in your stomach.

"I told you, I don't have lazy crewmembers. That includes you." Law slowly guided you into laying down and pulled the covers around you with surprising kindness.

"I'll have Ikkaku bring you something real to eat when you wake up. Just rest until you feel better. We can handle ourselves."

You didn't realize Law lingered watching you sleep soundly for a moment before turning the lights off in the cabin with a small smile.

[luvmyoui]

jealous

myoui mina x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: gaslighting, self sabotage, cursing

word count: 2k

synopsis: "you could have anyone you want, why would you wanna be with me

a/n: apology for not posting i'll know😞😞😞 also i wrote the summary for this w one song in mind, wrote this while listening to another, then quoted a completely other song😭😭😭

“Just leave me around already!” you shouted out, stomping over to your shared room with Mina slamming the door. 

Mina stood there, dumbstruck. Never had you ever used a tone like that with her, but these past few weeks you seemed to only be picking fights. Mina obviously was intensely worried, she couldn't help but wonder what she had done to get you so upset. 

Your relationship with Mina was nearing perfect, well that was until your mind decided to start fucking with you. You knew it was wrong, Mina hadn't done anything to warrant such a reaction from you. You had just come home from work, and Mina, who had also just arrived at home, asked about your day. She could only assume that your boss had been extremely bitchy with you with how you reacted to the question.

When the door to your room slammed and you twisted the lock, you slid down to the floor, cradling your head in your hands. “fuck, fuck, FUCK!” you mumbled out, talking to yourself. You deeply regretted what you had said to her, you knew she was tired, she had also just come back from a full day of work. You hated that you potentially hurt her. But that's what she’d eventually do to you right? Someone like her could never truly like someone like you. How could such a perfect person love someone so imperfect? 

You loved her, you did, with all that you were. But the lingering thought that she could leave you the moment she found another woman attractive never left. She could have anyone in the world, why would she want to stay with you? You were only lessening the blow for when it finally came, detaching yourself from her so when she left it wouldn't hurt. If this was really meant to lessen your hurt, then why was it that every time you saw her face fall at your mean words that your heart shattered a bit more in your chest. Treating Mina like this hurt you more than you thought imaginable.

These insecurities had never been present before, you were never one to be insecure nor jealous. Seeing Mina with Sana though, it reminded you of everything you were not. The way Sana’s hand slid up Mina’s arm, the way Mina would laugh it off, not removing the hand on her. You could feel it coursing through your veins, envy. You would never be able to compare to Sana, not her long straight beautiful hair, nor her cute smile. Hell, you thought that you’d choose her too had you been mina. Sana was everything you were not, everything you were not and more. She was everything you were and weren't. 

Seeing mina return the flirtations had you overcome with sadness, why would she indulge in that with a girlfriend. You didn't know Sana, not at all. Maybe if you did, you would’ve known that Sana was like a sister to Mina, that she had grown up with Sana. That Sana was nothing more than a best friend that liked intimacy. But of course, you didn't know, you didn't know and so you did the only thing you knew to do. You withdrew, you started to distance yourself from Mina, often being rude and dismissive. 

You could tell it hurt her, but she never said anything back. Not wanting to let her anger get the best of her and accidentally say something that might hurt you. How considerate she was, even while getting told to shut up. She loved you, and hurt was the last thing she’d want to see on your pretty face. She knew where the line was drawn and no matter how much you crossed it, she refused to. 

letting out a sigh, Mina let herself fall back onto the couch behind her. she would talk to you later when you weren't as mad. she thought back to these last few weeks. how drastically your behavior had changed. Where you used to constantly be all over her, always touching her in some way. she now found that you’d barely ever lay a finger on her, often flinching when she initiated physical contact. this hurt her greatly, she just couldn’t seem to understand what brought on this change. 

The longer she waited, the more overcome with exhaustion she became. Her schedule today had been packed, with interviews and more things of the sort. She hadn’t even eaten dinner, nor changed, having come home just a minute before you. sooner than later, she succumbed to the exhaustion, falling asleep on the couch. 

You awoke the next morning, curled up on the bed you shared with Mina, puffy eyed. you checked the time on your phone, seeing that it was five am. One more hour ‘til your work starts. you looked around, noticing that the big bed was empty. A sigh fell from your mouth, sadness and self hatred overwhelming you once again. The reasonable side of your mind yelled at you to wake up and stop doing this. Sadly, the other part of your head was screaming louder at you. whispering that promises would be broken, she’d just leave you in the end. 

You got out of bed and went to go take a shower and get ready. Upon leaving your room after getting ready, you found Mina curled up on the sofa very clearly shivering. You could hear the cracking of your heart from within. in that moment you didn’t care a bit for the voices screaming at you. You only cared for the girl who might catch a cold in her own house.

You picked her up bridal style and carried her over to the bed. You refused to be stopped by the fact that you weren’t strong enough to carry her and pushed through. With your will, came power, the strength to carry her smoothly suddenly entered your body. You carried her to your shared room with her and tucked her in bed. You turned on the small heater next to the bed and faced it towards her. 

You left a soft kiss on her forehead and then left for work. Breakfast was overrated anyways.

Unlike every other day, today you came home to the beautiful face of Mina painted with anger. you didn’t acknowledge the obvious anger on her face and just brushed past her to the kitchen. Before you could take a step in that direction you found yourself being aggressively pulled back. a yelp escaped your lips at how unexpected it was. 

“Sit down.” Mina said, her voice tone serious and commanding. If you were anyone else you definitely would’ve. but you were you in the end. 

“I’m hungry-“ 

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” Her voice held no room for arguments, and even you knew better than to argue. 

Following her command, you sat. She sat down next to you on the couch and took your hand in hers staring deeply into your cold eyes. She couldn’t figure out what you were thinking, your eyes now cold, a stark contrast from how they used to be. 

“Baby please, talk to me. I know something’s bothering you, please, just talk to me.” Mina softly begged, her thumb drawing circles on the back of your hand. 

“i- uh-“ As soon as you felt your resolve dropping by the slightest, it all came back in a flash. Her flirting with Sana, everything. You pulled your hand away from Mina, so fast one might’ve thought it was a burn. 

“I don't know what you’re talking about. You’re probably just imagining things.” You said standing up and attempting to walk away. 

“y/n please, i know something’s up.” Mina once again pleaded, grabbing your hand, stopping you from leaving

“Nothings fucking up. You’re literally making shit up, and fucking let go of me. You’re so fucking annoying.” You said once again ripping your hand away from Mina's grip.

This time Mina didn’t allow it, gripping your hand tighter in response to you trying to pull your hand away. She pulled you back onto the couch and this time she stood up. 

“Just tell me what's wrong, and stop giving me so much attitude! You’re not my teenage fucking daughter that im just gonna put up with this!” Mina yelled, angry at the words you were spitting at her. 

“I- i think we should break up.” you stuttered out, in hesitance averting your gaze from Mina’s. 

“No.” she said flatly

“W-what?” you questioned, the possibility of this response never crossed your mind. Your gaze shifted back to Mina, trying to gauge her feelings, you couldn't though. You couldn't figure out what was going on behind those dark eyes of hers. You felt the the tables had just been flipped, you were now in her shoes. On the receiving end of her anger.

“There won't be a breakup until you explain why.” Mina said in the most monotone voice you’d ever heard from her. 

“I just- i dont l-love you anymore.” 

“Stop lying, you aren't fooling anyone with that.” Mina said, a laugh accompanying her words, you could practically feel the condescension dripping off her words.

You could feel the suffocating feeling in your throat creeping in, why couldn't she just understand and leave you alone. “I dont- i dont love you anymore. Just let me fucking leave!” you yelled out the end, frustration overtaking you.

You could feel the tears forming, the familiar feeling of butterflies in your stomach. Not the good kind of butterflies though, the ones that came along with a feeling of dread, the ones that you hated. 

“Stop fucking lying and just spit it out! What is going on with you?!” Mina shouted at you. You felt incredibly small at her shouts, sure you had done the same, but you had always been overly sensitive. You could feel the water leaking out of your eyes before you knew it. 

Mina was being so mean to you, she had never raised her voice at you before. You had taken her kindness for granted and now you were faced with the opposite of it. “J-just l-leave me alone.” you hiccuped out, covering your face in embarrassment. 

Why did you have to cry now of all times? You cursed your body for giving this kind of reaction to her shouting.

“Baby, please. Just talk to me.” Mina said, much softer this time, wrapping her arms around you. 

You found yourself instinctively cuddling into her embrace, shaking in her arms. “Why should I even stay with you if you're just gonna leave me in the end?” you mumbled into her chest.

Mina’s eyes widened at this, she held your shoulders and pulled you away to look you in your eyes. “Why would you even think that?” Mina questioned, clearly taken aback by your assumption. Had she done anything to make you feel that way?

“You're just gonna leave me for a prettier girl like Sana when you get tired of me.” You mumbled, pushing yourself back into her chest, embarrassed for talking about your emotions. 

“Babe, Sana’s like my little sister. And why would I leave someone as pretty as you. I don't think anyone could even come close to you in terms of beauty.” Mina said, holding you tight and kissing your head. 

“I don't know, I just saw you with Sana and just I don't know, it made me realize that you're way out of my league and you could just- leave me anytime.” 

“But I don't wanna leave you for anyone. I love you not anyone else.” Mina softly whispered into your ear. 

“I'm sorry,” you whimpered out, pulling your head out of her chest to look in her eyes as you pouted. “I’ve been such a bitch to you. I don't know how you put up with me.”

“I’d rather fight with you all night than spend a peaceful night with someone else.” Mina whispered out before softly connecting your lips with hers.

You could only be left in awe at the fact that it was always you she chose. 

[asimplearchivist]

‘ 𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓵 𝓶𝔂 𝓿𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓮 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ steven, unbeknownst to him, meets the love of his life at one of its lowest points. pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader word count ☾ 15.7k a/n ☽ [gif credit] ⤏ aka my personal love letter to one steven grant (and myself, because I want to be loved like I love just once).⤏ i am going to be completely honest on this one, guys: this is a borderline self-insert fic that is 100% self-indulgent on my part bc i have felt like shit the last two months and want to treat myself. ⤏ i kept it as a reader-insert because a) some people (including myself) enjoy experiencing different ‘pov’s of reader-inserts, per se; b) it’s easier to be kinder to and romanticize myself when it’s ‘not me’; and c) i feel that it’s still vague/inclusive enough to be counted as a general reader-insert versus labeling it strictly as a self-insert/original character. i really only describe personality traits and the reader being petite, really (bc nothing comforts my 5’0” ass more than knowing i would actually be able to kiss the boys without craning my neck all the way back tbh). i use a few southern colloquialisms, too, just fyi. :) ⤏ typical moon knight fanfic disclaimer: I don’t claim to know very much about did beyond what I’ve gleaned from both the show, the various meta posts I’ve read on tumblr, and from other fanfics themselves, so please forgive and correct me on any glaring discrepancies/issues I may have presented here (or link me any posts that discuss more accurate representations of did, perhaps—that’d be greatly appreciated). some of the terminology/technicalities escape me. I tried my best to get their voices and characterizations just right, and I sincerely hope I succeeded bc they’re very special to me. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽

The first time Steven met you, it was strictly by happenstance.

He had always considered himself a man with many friends. Although his routine was relatively simple compared to other Londoners who thrived in social settings and spent all of their free time anywhere but home to mingle and chase tail, he had familiar faces he saw frequently. He committed their names to memory when they’d give them off-handedly, he made a point to speak to them in passing even if he or they were otherwise occupied, and he kept a mental list composed of all the details he was able to glean strictly from observation when they didn’t readily volunteer the information.

Perhaps it was a little silly. All lot of them had trouble remembering him, sure, but he couldn’t hold it against them—tons of people had trouble keeping track of faces and people. Sure, JB never quite got his name right even after Steven had worked at the museum for a couple of months by now, but he was a busy man monitoring the security cameras all day long and stayed distracted (with his infatuation with otters, no less—as endearing of a trait as any for someone with a secret soft side). Donna stayed in a tizzy, always worked up over something beyond her control (Steven couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be dealing with the higher-ups trying to meet goals and attempting to exceed them). He didn’t really dislike them for it, even if it had grown rather grating as of late. (Even if it would only take them both a moment to look at his conveniently given and placed nametag.)

Crowley didn’t talk much, all part of the gig, so Steven didn’t hold their one-sided conversations against him, either. The gentleman with the broom cart (whose name Steven never had managed to catch, as gruff as he was) seemed only to ever respond with grunts. The security guards, the tour guides, the usual suspects on the morning and night bus rides…Steven interacted with them all, and they had enough good graces to acknowledge it most of the time.

Over time, however, as his dreams (or perhaps more aptly named nightmares) grew more vivid and more bizarre, as he seemed to lose track of time more and more (how exactly does one manage to miss an entire weekend when one isn’t a blackout drunk?), and as Steven’s anxiety led him into taking more and more precautions to make sure his self-diagnosed sleepwalking disorder didn’t strand him on the other side of London (again), it became more readily apparent that those people with whom he took such care to converse did not seem particularly inclined to return the favor. Sure, he’d accidentally nodded off a few times leaning on the other passengers in the morning bus, ran a little late at times getting to the museum (much to Donna’s ever-increasing ire), and maybe got a little carried away with his nattering when he got invested in something he was excited to share information about, but…would it really kill someone just to respond long enough to reassure him that he wasn’t virtually invisible?

It was one such morning after he overslept, convinced he was late, and worked himself into a right and proper state trying to get to the museum on time that he realized that it was, in fact, Sunday, not Saturday. Much to his bewilderment but proven by his phone, the museum stood barren and closed, doors locked and lights off. He stood at the entrance staring at his dumbfounded expression in the glass for a good five minutes, thoughts racing as he tried to recall anything about the previous day. There was no way he slept an entire day, right? He hadn’t been staying up too late trying to manage his disorder, even if he had been running a little tired lately.

His distress was punctuated by a fat, chilly droplet landing right on his nose. The early spring weather was unseasonably cold this year, leading to an abnormally wet season (as if rain could ever be abnormal in London, but the meteorologists remained convinced), and within seconds of Steven turning and trotting down the steps the skies parted and released their torrential downpour as if just to spite him specifically. Everyone else in the immediate vicinity, if they weren’t holed up in their cars or the myriad establishments bordering the museum district, already had their umbrellas up to shield themselves from the frigid onslaught, ambling along and circumnavigating the puddles lingering from the storm the night before..

Steven shrank into his coat, tugging the collar up and over his head as best he could as he crossed the street and aimed for the first building he saw with its neon, ivory OPEN sign glowing against the gloom—on the corner directly across from the museum entrance. The door was heavy, the handle cold enough he was surprised his palm didn’t stick to it, but he managed to pry it open and tumble inside.

A few people glanced up from their tables to give him a range of skeptical to humored looks before going about their business. Steven hedged to the side of the door in case someone else came in, dripping onto the old hardwood with no small amount of regret.

It was a coffee shop. Comfortingly warm against his numb face, he basked in the scents of espresso and sweets permeating the place. His attention was caught by the bookshelves on the wall to his right, and he was entranced—all until a barista slipped out from the kitchen and addressed him with a croon. “Oh, goodness, look like the weather caught you!”

Steven almost accidentally ignored you thinking that you were talking to someone else (for so rarely did someone speak to him in a tone that wasn’t irritated or dismissive). After his cursory glance in your direction, he did a double-take, realizing you were looking right at him.

“Yeah, I—looked at the forecast wrong, methinks!” he responded sheepishly (and he had—he’d been expecting Saturday’s overcast mist, not Sunday’s shower). “I’m makin’ a right mess, aren’t I? I should probably go before I warp the stain—”

“No! No, just wait a second.” You raised a placating palm before dipping below sight behind the counter. You emerged and rounded the corner next to the display case holding a towel, walking right up to him and offering it to him with a sympathetic smile. “I can’t count the number of times I thought I could beat Mother Nature,” you joked. “It sucks that it’s been so cold on top of it. I’m surprised I haven’t gotten sick.”

Steven accepted it graciously, muttering his earnest thanks as he went about mopping up his sopping curls. Once he’d wiped all the rain he could off of him, he handed it back to you. “Hope I don’t get one, neither,” he responded. “It just wouldn’t do to catch cold in the middle of all this, would it? No.”

You chuckled a bit, eyes glittering with mirth. “Maybe it’ll help if I get you something hot to drink?”

Steven glanced at the menu hanging on the wall behind the counter, eyes rounding a little at the prices. He’d overspent on books again after payday, so he was having to be a bit more frugal this week than usual. “Oh, no, don’t go to the trouble, I’ll just call a cab and get a ride home before it gets too bad.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” you assured him, wringing the towel between your hands. You hesitated only a heartbeat before you leaned in a little closer, smile turning a bit bashful. “I’ll make it on the house, how’s that sound?”

Steven normally considered himself one to give where charity was concerned, but he had to admit that the sound of something warm on his urgently empty stomach was divine at the moment. He cleared his throat, glancing towards the other customers still wrapped up in their own little worlds. “No, I couldn’t—wouldn’t want anyone jealous that they’re not gettin’ the special treatment, you know.”

“It can be our little secret,” you offered quietly, winking conspiratorially at him.

He blinked, heat creeping up into his face. “Oh, well. If you insist, then…just this once?”

“All right.” Your smile lit up your entire face, and you headed back behind the counter to deposit the towel in an unseen hamper.

Steven followed, training his eyes on the menu—the standard fare was reasonable, with alternative options for dietary restrictions. A lot of the custom concoctions did seem lovely, and he was a tad surprised to discover that they served breakfast and lunch, also—with vegan options, most notably. “Wow, I never even knew this place existed. I must’ve been walkin’ right by it this whole time.”

“Do you work at the museum?” you inquired, folding your arms over the counter and propping your chin up in your palm.

“I do, actually,” he beamed, though it was dashed a tad with his next confession. “I want to be a tour guide one day—you know, I’ve been studyin’ up for it and all—but they’ve got me in the gift shop. For now! They said they’d move me up with a new position becomes available.” They said that they would consider him for the role, but Steven clung to his hope that they’d soon realize how bloody good he’d be at it, as hard as he’d been working for it for so long.

“You always have to start somewhere,” you replied warmly. You gestured to the shop around you. “This is just to hold me over ‘til I’m finished up.”

“Are you a transfer student?” Steven asked.

Your brow rose slightly, but your smile didn’t waver. “How observant. Most people ask me how I got lost on this side of the pond.”

“It isn’t often I see Americans anywhere but in the more touristy spots,” he agreed, “but the university is quite prestigious. You must be very academically successful if you landed a transfer scholarship like that.”

“It took a lot of work,” you admitted, “but it’s been worth it. I never thought I’d do anything like this, and I would’ve laughed at you a couple of years ago if you’d told me I’d move this far away from home. I’ve never really been the traveling type, but I’m so grateful that I’ve had the opportunity to do so.”

“What are you studyin’?” Steven inquired. An English major, perhaps—you struck him as the literary type with your articulation, despite your soft, southern drawl.

“Oh.” Your face darkened and you fiddled with the hem of your sweatshirt—dark gray, warm flannel, with a silver astronomical design embroidered into the front. “Well. I went to a university back home and got a degree in writing—” Nailed it! “—but I was notified at graduation that I qualified for this so I thought why not? It’s a bit self-indulgent, really, as I’ve always been a history nut, but I’m, um…” You reached up and scratched the nape of your neck, glancing away as though embarrassed. “...focusing on Egyptology?”

Steven’s brows shot halfway up his forehead. “No kiddin’!”

“Nope,” you confessed, a bit sheepish. “I picked up a book with pictures of King Tutankhamun’s treasures when I was three and I’ve been in love with it since. Maybe it’s a little niche, but it makes me happy—I’m taking other history classes, too, so I’ll end up with an Ancient History major with a minor in Egyptology—that’s just my main focus since I always wanted to be an Egyptologist when I was little. I don’t know that I could ever stand the heat, though, so I’m happy with writing in the comfort of my own home.”

“No, that’s great!” he raved, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m a bit of a history buff meself! The museum has a huge Egyptology exhibit coming up next month, so I’ve been brushin’ up on it all. You know, in case I get to audition.”

“Oh, yeah?” you tried, emerging from your shell just a bit. “Do you have a favorite period?”

“New Kingdom, definitely,” he said immediately. His heart was thrumming, and he was trying (in vain) to contain at least the majority of his enthusiasm. “There’s just so much material to go through. All the texts recovered from Deir el-Medina fascinate me to no end!”

“Yeah, Paneb was a right bastard,” you joked. “He had the whole town stirred up all the time. But we’re not going to talk about Ea-Nasir.”

“Oh, yeah—imagine keepin’ all your hate mail for posterity,” he returned, strumming his fingers against the inside of his sleeves. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m an Old Kingdom gal,” you said with a chuckle. “Pepi II’s letter about the pygmy won me over. Not to mention all the drama with Teti’s assassination. The workmen’s village at Giza? Oh, how could I pick one thing?”

Finally! Finally, it felt like Steven was talking to someone that spoke his language!

“It’s really hard to, isn’t it?” His stomach was starting to grumble. He cleared his throat, tamping down his anticipation just enough to concentrate on the matter at hand. He glanced up at the menu again, a little remiss with some of the unfamiliar choices—most of those displayed were coffee, but he’d been trying to curb himself off of it in favor of cutting out caffeine altogether for a better sleep schedule. “I, um…sorry, got a little sidetracked there. What would you recommend that’s decaf?”

“Oh, I love chai,” you told him. “Most of the teas we carry are decaf, though we do have decaf coffee, too. We’ve got all the usuals like chamomile, mint, Earl Grey…” You tilted your head slightly. “I’ve been avoiding caffeine since I was a teenager—it makes me antsy.”

“How do you normally take your chai?” he queried, curious.

“As an iced latte,” you said. “Cold foam, cinnamon, whole milk. I like it warm, too, especially this time of year, but there’s something about it iced that I can’t seem to part from—maybe that’s the southern upbringing in me.” You gestured to the equipment behind you. “Would you like to try it?”

“Yeah, sure! But with oat milk, please?”

“You’ve got it, darlin’,” you beamed, and set to work immediately. “I usually drink a small since it’s a bit sweet, that okay?”

“Certainly.”

Never would Steven have thought that he’d find such a deeply kindred soul a stone’s throw away from his workplace he’d never even noticed before today. He had to confess that he was charmed by you almost instantly. It had been a while since he’d met someone so engaging and open—not to mention generous and drop-dead gorgeous to boot! Ironic, really, that the foreigner was treating him more kindly than his native kinsmen. What did the Americans say about southern hospitality?

“Thank you so much,” he said when you returned with the cup and set it in front of him. “It looks great!”

“Go ahead and try it,” you suggested, “and if you don’t like it, I’ll replace it for you with something else.”

Steven had absolutely no intention of telling you to your face that he disliked your favorite beverage, even if he did decide it wasn’t to his taste—much less make you go out of your way to make him another free drink. But as he sipped the heady, sweet mixture the spices melted over his tongue. Despite being served cold, the flavors warmed his mouth and settled cozily into his belly.

“Oh,” he suspired, licking the foam from his lips, “that’s lovely. You’ve won a convert.”

Your smile was nearly blinding with delight. “I’m glad! It’s not for everyone, certainly, but those who do like it always seem to love it. No in between, I guess.”

Steven resisted the urge to suck the entire thing down, folding it between his hands instead as he committed more details of your appearance to memory. Your black apron was a bit big for your frame, dwarfing you a bit, but your sweatshirt did, too—your jeans were well-fitted but not snug. You were wearing very little makeup, just a touch around the eyes, but it emphasized your lashes like a fawn’s. While comfortable, if a bit plain, your ensemble made you seem like the epitome of homey.

“How long have you lived in London?” he asked after another delightful sip.

“Since the start of spring semester,” you said. “It was a big adjustment to show up at the tail end of winter, but I think I’ve gotten the hang of it now for the most part. I still get lost occasionally, but that’s why Google Maps was invented. I’d be up a creek without a paddle without it.” You leaned against the counter again, bracing yourself on the stained surface and gazing up at him as if there existed no other person in the world. “I live right next to the campus, but I work here to get away even though my scholarships carry most of my bills and fees. Ironic, though, ‘cause I don’t exactly consider myself a socialite.”

“You’ve fooled me,” he said with a chuckle. “Bit odd bein’ an ambivert, yeah?”

“I really only talk a lot when I get excited or when I’m with people I’m comfortable being around,” you confessed shyly. “I’ve been told I talk too much about stuff nobody really cares about, so I try not to bother anyone.”

“Now who on earth would have gone and told you that?” he pressed, heart aching all the while. How many times had he been told the very same thing, sometimes with less polite wording?

“Oh, not exactly like that,” you rectified in a hurry, “it’s just…you can tell, you know? When someone isn’t really paying attention to anything you’re saying. I usually get interrupted anyway, so sometimes I find it easier just to keep quiet.” Your skin darkened again, and cleared your throat as you dipped your face to conceal it with a hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I went into all that. See? Rambling too much—words got away from me.”

It was like looking into a mirror—so much so that Steven almost felt a bit of deja-vu.

“No, don’t be sorry,” he said softly. “I understand completely—really, I do. Better than you might think.”

You raised your gaze back up to him, and he understood at once why the philosophers and poets both waxed so romantic on the concept of windows to the soul. He could see your tenderness, your diffidence, your sincerity all there in your jewel-like eyes.

“People talkin’ over you all the time,” he continued with a low murmur, looking down at the cup when the intensity of your stare grew too much—just like looking directly into the sun, “actin’ like you’re invisible or somethin’. Gets frustratin’, yeah? Couldn’t even bother to act like you’re there, could they? No. Seems like too much to ask.”

“Yeah,” you said somberly, but when Steven dared a glance up at you, your expression was one of complete understanding. Never before had he felt so seen. “It doesn’t help when you’re really not a people person to begin with.”

And now that Steven considered it more deeply, he realized that you were right—why did he prefer to stay home rather than go out? Keeping company with a goldfish certainly wasn’t an extrovert’s definition of a good time. Hell, the only reason he really went out of his way to engage with those on the fringes of his daily routine was because he felt it was rude not to because of constant exposure, not because he was itching to have the conversations themselves. He worried constantly that he’d overshare or annoy people, when most wouldn’t even think of it.

He let out a soft laugh, pressing a palm across his forehead.

You quirked a brow, your expression perking up just a bit at the sound. “What?”

“I just realized I’m not really a people person, either,” he said, shaking his head. “Thought all this time everyone else was just awkward at social interaction.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, and there was that ephemeral sparkle of mirth back in your eyes. “Well. Better late than never, right?”

“Right.” He paused, then set the drink on the counter to fish around in his pocket for his wallet. “Here, since you’ve been an absolute angel—”

“Oh, no, please,” you said, waving your palms at him in an attempt to dissuade him, “it was my pleasure. Finding someone else as big of a nerd about Ancient Egypt was tip enough, thank you. You’ve made my whole day.”

And even though his morning thus far had been an utter disaster, Steven believed that you had made his entire day, too.

“Well, all right.” He pointed a finger at you with a wry, toothy grin. “But next time you won’t be able to talk me out of it.”

“Next time?” you echoed, and the unadulterated hope in your eyes made his heart clench.

“Yeah,” he said, “where else will I be able to order the ambrosia of the gods? And nerd out about ancient civilizations? Not all baristas carry a double-edged sword like you do.”

You bit your lip, rolled the hem of your sleeve between your fingertips, and looked down and away. “Oh, stop it. It’s really just a hobby.” You gave him another cheeky smile. “But, if it would make a difference to you, since you seem the type…” You leaned in across the counter, and Steven found himself copying the action as though you had magnetized him. “...there’s a bookstore upstairs, too.”

Oh, bloody Nora, as if you weren’t already perfect enough.

It wasn’t until Steven returned home, soaked to the bone and shivering from the cold that seeped into his bones after running from the cab into the apartment building, that he realized he hadn’t thought to ask you for your name. And he was normally so reliable about it, too! He kicked himself for it the rest of the day. He hadn’t even looked to see if you’d been wearing a name tag (pretty sure you weren’t, because he would have noticed it, surely), but he had been so disarmed by you in general that every other thought had flown from his brain.

After that, with the scribbled ingredients on the cup immortalized forever via a picture saved on his phone, he developed a fast habit of stopping by there at least three times a week. He had to rearrange his budget just a tad to ensure it did not turn into blatant overspending, but all the teas were excellent and the food was even better. Oftentimes he’d grab at least one meal from there one the days he did decide to go, which varied depending on how terribly he’d slept the night before. Most of the time he opted for lunch since he was afforded only a half-hour break and it was the closest spot to the museum. (The vending machines didn’t have much in the way of variety, vegan options notwithstanding.)

He learned your name the next time he saw you, which had taken a couple of separate attempts—evidently you’d been filling in for someone else for extra hours that dreary morning, as you usually came in for the closing shift during the week due to your morning classes, and typically were station in the bookstore upstairs, at that. You’d confessed that a lot of the part-timers were still inexperienced, and the staff oscillated so much that you had to juggle multiple positions throughout the week in order for the business to keep up efficiency.

Steven decided, at some indeterminate point a couple of weeks later, that you must be sunshine incarnate. Even if there was barely any daylight seeping through the brumous mantle looming over the sleepy city,  you lit up the place with your warm smile, easy laughter, and gentle soul. He could spend countless hours talking to you, although he was usually only limited to the time allotted between him ordering and someone else coming in to do the same. After he got off work late after inventory (again), on the rare occasion that he’d missed lunch and needed supper, you gave him some of the free handouts the employees were allowed to take home and let him sit and talk while you locked the place up.

It was just so easy. Where he’d struggled to even introduce himself properly without making himself out to be a bumbling fool with everyone else with whom he’d interacted, fighting against an invisible current of perceived disapproval and rejection, engaging with you was as natural as breathing. You shared so many adjacent passions with him, the both of you had never once run out of topics to peruse. When either you or he would bring up something with which the other was unfamiliar, all ears would be given in total enrapturement. You got him. You understood him. It was such a relief to have finally found someone with whom he felt comfortable enough to natter on about the Edwin Smith papyrus for a solid thirty minutes without ever losing interest. Neither still had he stopped to imagine what it would be like to be so caught up in what someone else had to say, because you sure knew a hell of a lot about mythology, too—listening to your humored yet romanticized renditions of the tales delighted him to no end.

Your book recommendations were always impeccable, likewise—although you did primarily focus on fiction unless conducting research for your own books, your taste in storytelling relied upon well-developed, detailed, and impactful characters that carried the plot rather than the other way around. (You seemed to genuinely enjoy all of his recommendations, too, despite your general avoidance of nonfiction other than history, much to his relief.) You had a soft spot for romance, whether it was found in modern, historical fiction, fantasy, or sci-fi settings, and Steven took careful note of your mentioned favorite stories, scenes, and characters when he read them himself. You’d both even started annotating and trading books to exchange reviews, and your infectious adoration of certain authors and series decidedly did not help his book collecting problem—although you confessed that you shared the same issue (only to your bank account, though). The used section of the bookstore upstairs was his dream, really—he never thought he’d manage it, naively, but he was actually starting to run out of bookshelves in his flat.

You were fiercely intelligent, hilariously witty, and unbelievably kind—a breath of fresh air where London normally left him suffocated. You were the one ray of sunlight that could pierce the gloom that would encroach on the fringes of his mood no matter how badly he felt. Visiting you was the one routine that kept him grounded, even when he only seemed to lose track of more and more time as he went along—it kept him sane, seeing the way your whole face would light up like a supernova whenever he’d slip through the door. It made him feel normal.

So when a full month had flown by since your first meeting (a happenstance for which Steven would be eternally grateful), he found himself relying on your anchoring presence more and more. The occasions that he was waking up from sleepwalking in completely random places around London were increasing at a worrying rate. No matter how many additional precautions he added to his flat in feeble attempts to keep track of and prevent the episodes (each one perhaps sillier than the last), he never could seem to determine any rhyme or reason for them. His dreams (and sometimes they edged into the territory of nightmares) were growing more frighteningly vivid and visceral by the night, even if he was following every technique suggested by Google to help mitigate his condition.

The evidence was stacking up more rapidly against everything that he’d thought he knew than Steven could neither comprehend nor keep up with—despite thinking that nothing about him could ever be anything but ordinary, a small part of him was truly starting to wonder whether he’d somehow dodged a psychiatric diagnosis all of his life. He felt like he was going mad, watching the lines between what he’d thought were conjurations of his sleep-deprived mind and what he’d been convinced was reality inexplicably blurring beyond any conceivable recognition. ( Was he mad? Had he always been mad?)

Dreaming that he had woken up in the Alps with a frankly ludicrous series of events following shortly thereafter was one thing—the angry booming voice in his head notwithstanding. Discovering that Gus had been mysteriously replaced overnight was another (because there was no way he had regrown a fin—he’d double-checked every pet site reputable enough). Finding out that he had lost track of an entire weekend, accidentally standing up a date he didn’t even recall initiating in the process, almost pushed him over the edge—it had certainly dragged him to it, nevertheless.

Then the secret compartment in his flat, the burner phone and mysterious key, the countless missed calls from a stranger named Layla, who had sounded so deathly worried about whoever in the bloody hell Marc was…Steven didn’t even want to think about the second new voice in his, grave and severe and sounding a little too much like his own to be of any significant comfort, or the mummified apparition of a plague doctor, or Lovecraftian eldritch horror, or previously undocumented cryptid that suddenly decided to start haunting him, for that matter.

But Harrow was real. His odd little cane with the creepy, glowy eyes was real. The magic scales tattoo on his arm that moved without him flexing his arm and changed colors on its own was real. His followers were very, very real. That jackal, with the frothing, rabid, snapping teeth and the milky, glassy eyes and the malnourished, gangly limbs and the wicked, scrabbling claws and the deathly, musty stench was, somehow, terrifyingly real, despite having been invisible to the security cameras.

The security cameras that had captured Steven’s own grim scowl, resolute brow, and defiant, dark eyes—but it wasn't Steven, because he didn’t look like that, even though he shared the same face with the stranger on the footage.

Marc. His name was Marc.

Why is he stuck in my bloody head?

Marc’s property damage, somehow having managed to kill the ghastly creature, if the lack of physical remains and other evidence indicated, and save his life ( ...their lives?) in the process—and at the very least, Marc had kept his word on that front—ultimately cost Steven his job. Several thousand pounds’ worth of property damage, in fact, which somehow Steven was going to have to be able to afford paying off (in increments, at least) to avoid legal prosecution—while also being suddenly and unexpectedly unemployed.

Bloody hell. The not-so-patient request to turn in his bloody nametag had somehow stung more than the pamphlet handed to him boasting the most excellent psychiatric care in the city.

(...He was mad, wasn’t he…? How had he not known? How had he missed all the signs?)

Left remiss with very few ears into which to confide, he spoke in Crowley, always the listening sort. He expelled his tizzied thoughts until he was able to regather them into some vague semblance of order, and decided his next course of action: to chase the one lead he had to hopefully deduce whoever Marc was. It seemed simple enough, although daunting. A simple image search would take him to the location associated with the logo attached to the keychain, perhaps the only source of answers to all the questions brimming in his harried head.

He wanted to know. (But should he?) He had to know. (...Did he really?)

Reeling with inconsolable stress, insurmountable anxiety, precarious emotions, and now the tumultuous internal debate of whether to delve into the affairs which Marc had warned him very explicitly not to, Steven turned to the only other person whose word he valued and trusted above all others in his immediate vicinity (save, perhaps, his mum).

It was mid-afternoon by the time he crept into the coffee shop, and fortunately it was vacant as a couple of university students breezed past him with paper sacks laden with books tucked into their arms and laughing raucously as they headed back out into the sunny spring day. Another barista was slumped behind the counter scrolling on her phone, so Steven knew you were stationed upstairs instead.

He picked his way gingerly up the winding wooden staircase, wincing every time his weight caused a plank to creak in protest. He avoided looking at the narrow windows for fear of seeing any more reflected shapes in them that he couldn’t control, eyes trained resolutely on his feet as he focused on regulating his harsh breathing in an attempt to manage his racing heart.

It was in this way that he ran right into you upon stepping into the bookstore proper. You carried a stack of new prints taller than your head and nearly dropped them all upon impact. Steven’s arms latched out to steady them and you, apologies already spilling from his lips before he could even think of a comprehensible reaction. “Oh, bullocks, sorry—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I should’ve been watchin’ where I was going— bloody hell, where’s my mind?”

“Steven,” you laughed breathlessly, recognizing his subdued voice and fluttering hands without even seeing him, “it’s okay! No harm done, see? Not a one dropped.” You lugged them over to the display table and set them down on the vacant surface with a soft grunt, swiping your sleeve over your shining forehead. “Whew! Updating all the new publications is a pain. My back’s killing me. I’ll definitely regret all this tomorrow.” You turned back to him, all sunshine and smiles with your terracotta sweater and the gold hoop earrings (clip-ons, he knew, because you’d never had them pierced) dangling amongst the loosened locks framing your face. “It seems a little early for your lunch break, Steven. Are you off today or have I just managed to lose track of time again?”

Your innocuous, innocently humored phrasing should not have sent him spiraling again, but…after the last week of hell that he’d endured, who in their right mind (because he surely wasn’t in his) could blame him for the already tenuous grip on reality he’d been clinging to with only whitened knuckles and sheer force of will?

Your expression fell instantly as tears welled more quickly in his eyes than he could reign them back in, slipping over his cheeks.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry,” he blurted, face burning as he reached up to swipe away the undeniable evidence of his breakdown—in front of you, of all people, Christ alive, he really was losing it—with the edge of his sleeve…to no avail. More tears followed immediately thereafter, blurring his vision, dripping from his chin as he ducked his head and buried his face behind his covered hands. “God, I’m sorry, I don’t—I don’t know what’s come over me, I—”

There was a split second of silence on your end, though he scarcely noticed it but for his pulse raging in his ears and the deafening roar of his thoughts deafening him to any other sound. He barely registered your urgent call over your shoulder further into the bookstore, muffled by the harsh rasp of air dragging in and out of his lungs faster than he could dictate. He was shaking all over, adrenaline coursing through him a kilometer a minute, and his knees were on the verge of giving out from beneath him.

The warmth of your fingers curling gently—always so gentle, you were—around his wrists provided just enough of a distraction to open his eyes again, almost afraid of what he might see. But as you tugged his hands away from his dampened face, standing so close that your clothes were brushing against his and your breath fanned over his face, your eyes drew him in and dragged his thundering thoughts to a murky but much more manageable muddle.

Your brow was wrinkled with worry, mouth set in one of the few frowns he’d ever seen on your otherwise sunny disposition (even when harassed to no end by customers of the ruder variety, although your customer service smile was, decidedly, much colder and not nearly as welcoming). Your eyes were brimming with questions, but you uttered none of them, only, “Come on, there’s a quiet corner in the back.”

Steven allowed you to lead him by the hand like a child through the winding, ceiling-length bookcases into a musty reading niche set up with a lounge chair and ottoman next to a window spilling golden light onto the floor and highlighting every mote of dust that floated through its brilliant stream. You guided him to sink into the chair with a light hand on his shoulder, adjusting the ottoman back to give you enough room to sit directly in front of him. Your knees pressed into his, and when he shakily extended his trembling, open palms with a desperate snivel most people would have found repelling, you only laced your fingers with his and squeezed his hands tight enough to let him know that he could do the same.

“What’s wrong, Steven?” you murmured, beseeching him with your fractaled irises—the sunlight was illuminating every last shade and striation of color in them, more brilliant a palette than the shade ever granted justice. It gilded the edges of your features and the sweep of your fawn-like lashes in gold leaf. “Did something happen?”

Boy, didn’t everything happen—all during one weekend, no less?

The broken, wet laugh that leapt from his lips didn’t startle you, but it did make him jump. He lowered his gaze to focus on your hands clasped firmly in his, studying the creases in your palms, the whorls and arches of your fingerprints on your fingertips, and the light, faded smattering of scars in between—all to avoid the magnetic intensity of your gaze. “What hasn’t happened?” he croaked, throat burning with the effort it took to speak without loosing the gut-wrenching sob clawing ferociously at the pit of his belly. “I can’t sleep, I ruined my date, I lost my goldfish, I managed to get fired from the most pathetic excuse of a job anyone could get for something I didn’t even do, and I think I’m quite literally going mad.” He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting, feeling more tears slip out and trickle down his flushed cheeks. “Nothin’ seems real anymore. I can’t keep track of time. I’m seein’ things that would make an asylum patient have nightmares, but then it’s all comin’ back and tryin’ to eat me, and—” He clamped his mouth shut with a whimper, dropping his chin to his sternum to shut out the intrusive thoughts digging into the back of his mind. He unconsciously ripped his hands free from yours and knotted his fingers in his curls just to feel the ache. “—oh, God, I can’t—it’s too much, I—”

“ Steven, ” you said softly, hands threading through his arms to cradle his face and to thumb away his tears as you leaned in and nestled your forehead against his hairline, lips brushing his brow as you continued to murmur in a low, soothing tone that pierced through the noise like Apollo’s arrow, “it’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you—nothing’s coming after you in here, okay? Just our quiet, little safe place. I want you to breathe with me, okay? Just a little, I know it’s hard to concentrate, but just try for me, okay? You can breathe between if you need to. Want to try? Okay. In…one, two, three, four…out…one, two, three, four. And again. That’s it. You’re doing so good, darlin’, just focus on me. Feel my hands? And my knees? The chair, your feet on the ground, my forehead. Smell the books, the candle, your cologne, my perfume? Hear the traffic outside, the music in the other room, my voice? Okay. Good. Look at me, Steven. Please?”

He raised his head, trembling still but not nearly as close to convulsions as he’d been mere minutes prior, and you interlocked your fingers with his once more to hold them between you as you drew back just enough to peer unflinching into his eyes.

“Good. There you are, darlin’.” Your gentle smile was as precious as molten gold. “You see the books, too?”

He nodded once, unable to tear his eyes away from you. Had you always looked so divine or was he still experiencing delusions?

…No. No, he couldn’t be, because there was nothing about you that wasn’t so blissfully, sincerely, relievingly real. You were just that ethereal. How had he never noticed it before?

“Okay.” You squeezed his fingers lightly. “Can you tell me one thing that you can taste?”

“My…my tea, from this morning. Ran out of oat milk so I had to drink it straight.”

“There we go.” Your expression tightened just slightly at the edges, scanning his own carefully. “Better? Just a little?”

“A bit, yeah.” He sniffled again, swallowing roughly and finally managing to look away. “Sorry about that. You know. For…breakin’ apart in the middle of your shop like that. You…you didn’t have to stop what you were doin’ just to give me a pep talk.”

Your brow furrowed. “Steven, you were having a panic attack. I wasn’t about to go back to sorting the BookTok smut table while you looked on the verge of collapse.” You shook your head slightly, as if in disbelief. “You wouldn’t have come to me for no reason, so I can take ten minutes to help you calm down. I’ve been running around like a headless chicken all morning and I haven’t had enough time to stop. I’ll be fine.” You squeezed his hands again. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I’d fix it if I could.”

Oh, how he wished that you could. He’d let you do anything you wanted if he could just feel normal again.

“Do you want to talk more about it?” you tried gently, tilting your face down to gaze up at him through those utterly enchanting lashes. “It’s okay if you don’t. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, for whatever you need, whether it’s to listen or just to sit with you.”

He swallowed, nodding jerkily. “Yeah, it’s—just complicated, yeah? A lot to take in. I really don’t mean to be a bother, I just needed—”

“Steven Grant, you are not a bother to me.” You single-handedly stole the breath you’d helped him regain not minutes prior. “You can tell me anything, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“I…okay.” He drew in a deep, shaky breath, held it, and released it in a hiss from between his chattering teeth. “I’m…investigatin’ somethin’. It might be dangerous, I don’t know. But I’ve got too many questions to avoid it anymore and I…I’m scared. Terrified, really. Everything seems like it’s fallin’ apart and I’m losing grips on it the tighter I try to hold on.” He blinked away another fresh onslaught of tears filming over his eyes with no small amount of frustration. “I feel like it’s my only option, to move forward, you know? I just…wanted to make sure I’m not hallucinatin’ everything around me first.” And that was the reason he’d come here, wasn’t it? Because you never failed to make him feel safe and secure and human, no matter the storm.

You studied him for a long moment, considering. But instead of accusing him of being a loon, you only tipped your chin to seek out his gaze once more—and he, like a moth to flame, was inexorably drawn to it. “Do you want me to go with you?”

The offer took him by surprise, but he knew immediately that it shouldn’t have. You had a protective streak a mile wide—he’d observed it in your fierce defense of your coworkers against irate and lecherous customers alike, as well as the thinly contained fury you’d only had enough strength to withhold in all but your tone when he’d finally vented to you about Donna for the first time. As much as he’d like to see you rip out her cheaply applied extensions one by one until she cried, he had made you promise never to start a fight with her. That you would offer first to accompany him to a destination he’d unthinkingly labeled ‘dangerous’ before anything else, regardless of currently sitting in your workplace that demanded more of you than it ever should any single person, reassured him—but he couldn’t ask you to get involved. He wouldn’t, because it was dangerous—whatever was going on inside his head (and outside of it) was something he was increasingly suspecting was beyond the scope of his present comprehension. The last thing Steven wanted was to get you hurt, too, just by proximity.

“No,” he said firmly, and your brows rose slightly. “No, I don’t—thanks for the offer, I really appreciate it, but you shouldn’t…I don’t want you at risk.”

“I don’t want you at risk, either,” you pointed out softly.

“I…” Well, shit. “...I know. But I’ll be okay. I think. I know! I’m just going to take it real careful and just see, yeah? It’ll…it’ll turn out all right. Right? Yeah.”

Your grip tightened, and your gaze turned sharper than he’d ever seen it, even at your most agitated. Deadly serious, with no room for avoidance—as if he’d ever want to avoid you. “Steven.”

He stiffened. “Y-yeah?”

“If anything happens,” you told him slowly, “I want you to call me, okay?” He opened his mouth to respond, but you interrupted him for the first time in the two months he’d known you. “I mean it. I’m not going to push my way into your business, but if you ever feel like you need help, do not hesitate to tell me. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he suspired. Why was his mouth dry all of a sudden? When had he started sweating? Was his blush as obvious as it felt?

You regarded him for another moment, scrutinizing his expression—perhaps for any traces of falsehood—before nodding and releasing his hands. You reached into your pocket and drew out your phone. “What’s your number?”

Steven recited it to you nervously, fiddling with the hems of his sleeves. You typed it in, saved it, then sent him a message that buzzed in his back pocket. (He never thought that he’d get your number in a context quite like this .)

The lapse of silence continued, stifling in its weight, until your expression softened once more into something far less grave. “...Do you trust me, Steven?”

The answer came without hesitation. “Of course,” he breathed.

Your eyes were so damned deep, he’d drown in them willingly. “All right. Just know…whatever you need, okay? I’m just a phone call away.” You swallowed, then glanced away for the first time since he’d walked into you. “I don’t like seeing you scared. It scares me. ”

He was about to apologize on reflex, but the words died on his tongue. He noticed that you, too, had started to fidget with your fingers, rolling a wrinkle in your jeans. He reached out and laid his hand over yours, drawing your attention back to him. “Where’d you learn that trick? You know, the one about the five senses?”

“I had really bad anxiety when I was a teenager. Had an acute spell for about six months straight that made me hate sleeping because the thought of waking back up to deal with it all over again the next day kept me up all night. I lost a lot of weight because my stomach stayed upset and I didn’t have an appetite at all—it took a long time to go back to eating normal afterwards because my stomach had shrunk.” You looked so vulnerable, uncomfortable with baring yourself just a little bit more to his sympathetic gaze, but doing it anyway—all for his undeserving benefit. He squeezed your hand, this time. “I did a lot of research at the time to find ways to mitigate it. Figuring out the biological basis of it helped me to rationalize my triggers and responses so I could understand how to manage it better. It’s fight, flight, or freeze at its most dire state—so once I learned that, I was able to talk myself down by convincing myself I was safe.” You traced the roughness of his palm, and a flicker of something passed over your face before he could register it. “That trick isolates stimuli so you can focus.”

“That…that makes sense. I’ll have to remember that one.” He cleared his throat quietly. He hadn’t known—you hadn’t told him any of that before, never had indicated that you’d had such a rough time of your anxiety that you so often made light of in passing. “I’m so sorry you went through that. It sounds horrible.”

“It was. But it taught me to be more aware of how my mind and body work, if nothing else. And despite all the hardships, I never looked for a way out, just…a way through. And I did get through it.” You sat up a little straighter, cleared your throat, and glanced through the bookshelves before you returned your attention to him. “Are you sure you don’t need me to…?”

“I’m not going to ask you to play hookey for me,” he told you, smiling and using what was hopefully a playful tone. It seemed to work, because the tension in your shoulders eased a bit. “I will let you know if I need you.”

“Promise?” you prompted, extending the pinky of your free hand.

“Pinky promise,” he assured, linking his with yours and marveling at how petite you really were, dwarfed by the breadth of him. He’d never really noticed that, before, either. (How had he not?) “I’ll let you know what I find out, yeah? Once I get it all straight in my noggin’.”

You nodded as you both stood and started to weave your way through the labyrinth back to the main area of the bookstore. “I’m holding you to that, Steven Grant. If I don’t hear from you I’ll be putting out a search warrant.”

“I don’t think it’ll be that bad,” he fibbed—just a little, because he hated seeing you worry like this. He’d evidently never really given you good reason to worry about him before, and he felt immeasurably guilty despite the comfort you’d brought him. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.” You flashed him a small smile, less enthusiastic than usual. “Now that you’re not working, we could actually eat together since my lunch break’s always later.”

Tentative, as though you didn’t want to send him over the edge again. He appreciated it more than you’d ever know.

“I’ll be here. Just give me about a fifteen minute heads-up so I can make it on time?”

“Will do.” As he approached the exit, you reached out and brushed your fingertips along the blade of his hand, arresting him on the spot. “Steven. Please be careful.” You glanced over at the other clerk with his back turned towards the pair of you, organizing the table you’d abandoned in favor of bringing Steven down from the brink. “I care a lot about you,” you confessed softly. “I don’t ever want to see you get hurt.”

Steven sucked in a sharp, shaky breath, folding his hands over his stomach on reflex. His body sagged and his heart puddled into the pit of his belly. “I care a lot about you, too, love. But you don’t have to worry about me gettin’ hurt—just think about the other guy! I’ll just give them the ol’ Grant one-two!” He shadow boxed to punctuate, and your quiet chuckle soothed his fluttering nerves. He stilled, then, and dropped his arms to his sides awkwardly. “...And thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t…you know. Likely would’ve gone right bonkers, yeah?”

“You’re always welcome, Steven.” You hesitated, fists tightening, before you reached out to grasp his arm lightly, only enough for balance, and Steven’s rattled mind struggled to keep up with your hurried motion and didn’t catch up until after the fact—you leaned into him, all sweet perfume and warm softness, to press a chaste kiss to the dried, tacky tear tracks that would surely leave salt on your lips. You were back down flat on your feet and a full pace away from him by the time his mouth dropped open, and your embarrassment was glaringly obvious. “Take care. For me?”

“Of course, love,” he said softly, watching perplexedly as you nodded, mouth thinning, before you darted around behind a bookcase and out of sight.

Oh. You were shy.

Steven pressed his fingertips to his tingling cheek all the way down the stairs, stumbling a couple of times before he convinced himself to get a grip before he did break his promise and accidentally kill himself not two minutes after the fact. He floated through the coffee shop back onto the street, sinking his back against the wall, and closed his eyes to reclaim his breath.

The first genuine smile of unfettered delight he’d had in what felt like eons wormed onto his face, and Steven let out a dreamy sigh. He shifted, caught a whiff of your perfume, and realized that some of it still lingered on his coat collar. He resisted the sudden urge to bury his nose and to revel in it, clearing his throat and fishing his phone out of his pocket instead to start off his investigation by determining which storage company Marc’s key belonged to.

Your text waited for him, poised under his thumb. ‘Don’t be a stranger, Steven. Laters, gators! :)’

His cheeks ached with the widest smile he’d had in his life.

When the plane from Cairo landed at its destination in London’s biggest airport close at nine-thirty, well past dark, approximately two weeks later, Steven finds that he has never felt so tired in his (admittedly limited waking) life—even during the time of depriving himself of sleep in an effort to control his supposed ‘sleeping’ disorder. He’d…dozed, he supposed was the only way he could describe it, while Marc had fronted during the flight. Leaving Layla in Cairo had been hard on him (both of them, really), so Marc had needed some quiet time to himself.

Steven couldn’t quite find it in himself to blame him in the slightest.

 Marc and Layla had finally squared things away after Khonshu had finally released them—both Harrow and…their relationship. While Layla finally understood Marc’s motivations for all his blunders (and him personally, more clearly than she ever had in their married life, sad as it was to say), they both agreed that it would be for the best to go ahead and part ways. Too much damage had been done, the foundations of their relationship fractured by all the secrets and half-truths Marc had kept, and he had shattered her trust with his noncommunication.

She did make it explicitly clear that the entire ordeal in no way stopped her from caring about him (and now Steven, she made sure to add), however—Marc’s relief had been palpable, even while Steven had kept quiet and to himself listening to them discuss everything in the dingy motel room they’d shared the previous night before he’d departed. They mutually agreed to keep in touch, because while Marc had freed himself (and therefore Steven) of Khonshu’s servitude, Layla was still working with Tawaret as her Red Scarab. Hurt though he was (with mostly himself to blame, he’d admitted), Marc was protective more than anything—and though Tawaret had wormed her way past his initial suspicions with her sincere desire and success in helping them crawl their way out of the Duat, historically he didn’t exactly have a healthy relationship with Ancient Egyptian deities.

He hadn’t spoken much to Steven since then, but Steven was okay with that. Marc was a man of few words, he’d learned, and Steven suspected that it was best to give him space—regardless of when (or if) he ever decided to talk about it. Steven would be there for him either way (figuratively and literally). He’d need to make sure to remind him of that fact when they were both a bit better rested and recovered from the world-ending battle that they had managed to win by the skin of their teeth.

Steven hadn’t had the pleasure of knowing  Layla very long—and while perhaps some of his initial attraction to her could have been attributed to him inheriting at least some of Marc’s own memories, feelings, and familiarity via sharing the body, Steven was grateful that they could remain friends, at least—it spoke lengths of how close she and Marc truly had been, for her to still be willing to stay in contact despite everything that had happened. She’d made sure to send them both off with a tight, rocking hug for each of them, pressing a tender kiss to either cheek as they had seamlessly traded places per her request without so much as a shudder.

“Take care of him, okay, Steven? And you stay safe, too,” she��d murmured into his ear, her mirth belied by her melancholy. She’d paused, then reached up to adjust the lapels of Marc’s jacket lying crooked across his clavicle. “I trust you to do what I couldn’t.”

“I’ll certainly try my best,” he’d returned with a timid smile as she’d drawn away with sparkling eyes not only from fondness. He’d tried to ignore the stinging in his as he’d cleared his throat of the quiver that had threatened to creep into the back of his throat. “He’s a bit of a git when it comes to lookin’ after himself, yeah? But I’m kind of stuck with him, so…good to try to make the best of it, you know.”

“Thank you.” She’d seemed earnest in her gratitude, then, easing back another half-step. “For helping us. I owe you more than I fear I could ever fully repay.”

“You don’t owe me a thing,” he’d returned easily. He liked Layla—perhaps, in another life, he could have loved her, too, if things had turned out different, or if Marc had given him the opportunity. Marc’s envious accusations at the dig sight hadn’t hit quite so close to home as to ever confirm such feelings in himself—she was still virtually a stranger, in spite of him fearing for her life and trusting her with his without hesitation—so while he ached to see things between her and Marc end like they had, all he could focus on was that he was thankful they’d had the opportunity to meet. “You take care of yourself, too, all right? Don’t get into too much trouble kickin’ tail and takin’ names.”

She’d let out a wet laugh at that, not-so-subtly swiping at her eyes. “I will, Steven,” she’d said, and then Marc had taken over.

Until now, anyway.

Steven understood completely why Marc needed some time to himself after all that—perhaps better than anyone. It was why he was extremely grateful that, once all the process of checking out and fetching luggage was done, Marc receded in silence to the back of their shared headspace and left Steven standing at the front entrance of the airport with a flagged cab waiting expectantly for him on the drive below.

He hefted Marc’s duffel a little higher on his shoulder, curling his hands around the strap, and descended the steps quickly. He settled into the back seat, wrinkling his nose a bit at the faint but pungent scents of sweat, alcohol, and puke lingering there.

“Where to, mate?” asked the cab driver, sounding as bored as Steven would admittedly be if he had to drive people dead on their feet home in such dreary weather as this—it had stopped raining, thankfully, but mist still hung in the air and puddles littered the ground, causing any nearby lights to glisten and glitter off the wet surfaces.

Steven hesitated.

He…hadn’t really thought this far ahead, admittedly. He realized with a start that he hadn’t been home since Harrow’s cop friends…lackies… whatever had snatched him under the guise of a real investigation and arrest. It was probably a mess after they had ransacked it. It would be a miracle if not-Gus was still alive. He’d be lucky if none of his nosy neighbors had broken in to pilfer his things.

Steven fiddled with the strap pensively, evidently taking too long for the cabbie’s thinning patience. “Hear me, mate? Where do you need to go?”

It was almost instinct, the way that the coffee shop’s address spilled from his lips with some embarrassment—embedded into his memory since he’d ordered rides there on his days off. The cabbie flicked on the meter and took off once he’d entered it into his phone, and Steven tried to suppress his flustered response at agitating the man because what harm had he caused by waiting a moment longer than what was considered punchy? Nothing. It wasn’t Steven’s fault that the man was irritable. (What cabbie worth his salt relied on Google Maps, anyway? But then again, what cabbie worth his salt couldn’t be bothered to order a deep enough clean after toting about what must have been the cataclysmic aftermath of one hell of a stag party?)

Seeing and doing everything he had in Egypt had given Steven a slightly different outlook both about people in general as well as himself. People were, mostly, harmless—unless they were trying to resurrect and put into power an entombed goddess of destruction, anyway—so what difference did it make that Steven existed in the same place and time as them? It didn’t give them the excuse to be rude or dismissive or critical. Plus…while they’d given up that fancy healing armor (and that rather snazzy suit, unfortunately), Steven could still defend himself if need be. He had access to Marc’s muscle memory now that no more barriers stood between their psyches—he’d held his own against Arthur bleedin’ Harrow quite well, if he did say so himself, thank you very much. He’d still have to get used to the motions, sure, but…never before had he felt more capable and assured in his own abilities. He had Marc to thank for that.

Even still, as he steadied his breathing and calmed his heart, Steven frowned and directed his gaze out of the window to focus on the streets rolling by outside. The coffee shop didn’t close until ten, and you usually didn’t make it out while locking up until ten-fifteen. But because Marc had left Steven’s phone in London (in his storage locker while getting supplies, Steven suspected), Steven had been unable to contact you at all. Given the domino's effects following him leaving the coffee shop in pursuit of Marc’s unit, he hadn’t had time enough to memorize your number (and believe him, under any other circumstances, he would have done so as soon as he would have had the chance). He’d promised you lunch the next day, as well as to check in to let you know he was all right, but by the time Steven had woken back up post-jackal boxing extravaganza, he’d had to deal with Marc’s…less than ideal interrogation techniques.

Things only had…devolved from there. Steven really and truly didn’t care to give any of it much more thought—not until later, when he could see clearly without his eyelids drifting shut.

Steven wrung the hem of the jacket’s sleeves between his fingers, worrying the inside of his cheek while he did so. Even throughout…all of that…Steven had found his thoughts straying inevitably—gravitized, perhaps—back to you, over and over, no matter how hard he’d tried to concentrate on…well, you know, saving the world. Even when he’d been distracted, and terrified, and fighting for his life, he’d recalled snippets of memory so visceral he’d glanced over his shoulder more than once to make sure he was just imagining things.

Your features drenched in sunlight like a goddess in your own right. Your eyes glittering as you tittered in genuine mirth at once his silly little jokes he cringed over every time he departed from your reassuring company. Your smile warming him inside as much as your meticulously brewed teas did going down. Your lilted, soothing drawl, the shape your mouth formed as you’d snowball into a lecture on how ridiculous all the internet conspiracies about aliens building the pyramids because the Egyptians were too primitive to accomplish such feats but the Romans were esteemed geniuses of their time with all their architectural novelties, the unfettered passion that brought such vivacity to your normally demure, soft-spoken demeanor.

He had missed you. Terribly so. More than he would’ve expected, but he was unsurprised.

You’d no doubt have loved to have seen Egypt with your own eyes—you’d confessed your daydreams about it to Steven on a couple of different occasions, had told him how long you’d wanted to take a vacation there to visit all the sights and witness them for yourself. You’d shared, mortified and only after some gentle prodding on his part, that you’d even constructed an itinerary, once, complete with hypothetical flight times, prices, and locations, hotel reservations and rates, eateries recommended by locals, starting from the delta and traversing all the way up to Abu Simbel, as well as every notable tomb, temple, and archaeological site or tourist spot in between. “Maybe one day,” you’d said, so wistfully yet despondently that he’d wanted for nothing more in that moment than to sweep you up and take you there himself.

At the time, he had pictured your reactions to Cairo, Giza, and Alexander the Great’s no-longer-lost tomb with perfect clarity—your excitement would have known no bounds. You would have stopped to inspect and decipher each artifact and inscription if you’d had time enough to do so, ecstatic at the chance to lay your hands on such marvels (respectfully, of that Steven had no doubts). Steven would never have wanted you involved in such close and constant proximity to danger, but he’d still imagined it for his own sanity. You’d been his lifeline, in a way—even with his fleeting, misplaced infatuation with Layla—the thought of not making it back to London, back to you, was what had kept him going at the most harrowing of points.

As partial as you were to the mythology, you’d have been beside yourself to discover that the deities so long thought fabled—for better or for worse—were as real as anything else in this odd little home humanity called Earth. He’d sooner throw himself back into the ravenous sands of the Duat than have you anywhere near that bloodthirsty pigeon, but then again Tawaret had been an angel by comparison, so…maybe you interacting with her wouldn’t have been too bad.

You were his first recurring thought whenever he’d wake (whether he had emerged to the front or from slumber), and you’d been his last thought when Harrow had shot Marc—panicked, screaming, terrified knowing he’d failed to keep his word. When Khonshu had forced the breath back into their lungs, Steven had nevermore felt such relief at proving himself wrong.

He’d convinced Marc to loan him a little spending money, after all was said and done, and had visited a secluded marketplace to browse the vendors’ wares. He’d found a little statuette of Djehuty hand-carved from lapis lazuli, about as long and as wide as his index finger, and while the merchant’s asking price had been outrageous (and because Steven had no talent for haggling, try as he might), Marc hadn’t scolded him too badly for shelling out the questionable stack of bills. It wouldn’t go far in the way of a peace offering, perhaps, but he could use it as some sort of proof if things didn’t go over well.

You weren’t naturally a skeptical person, though, he reminded himself. You had taken him at his word during his mental breakdown without even batting an eye. You valued honesty and communication above all else, prided yourself on your integrity, and Steven knew that you would at least hear him out and consider his (rather implausible) story before you rejected it.

Maybe he could still salvage this. Maybe he wouldn’t have to give Marc one more reason to blame himself for something he’d claim that he ruined. You were a reasonable woman, driven by logic and intuition rather than emotion and feelings. Steven had always admired you for that, for your tendency to avoid taking sides, to play devil’s advocate, to balance and weigh all options, thoughts, facts, and opinions before daring to formulate your own.

A keen little set of scales you were, weren’t you? Yeah. If only you’d have been there, somehow, to help sort out his and Marc’s mess—it likely would have gone a lot smoother and faster. (Maybe they would have actually managed to balance before it had almost been too late.)

“Most everything down this way is closed for the night—you sure you want me to let you off here? Or would you rather me take you someplace else?” groused the cabbie as he eased to a stop on the street corner (because of course—why would any cabbie worth his salt take a man to his requested destination only to offer a longer drive if but to rack up a higher meter?)

Despite Steven’s increasing indignation (he was firmly placing the blame on his and Marc’s shared jet lag because he was just so tired and he would never normally get so irate by a man doing his job, no matter how lazily), he hesitated. Only the security lights were visible through the sheer blinds drawn over the windows to conceal the interior, and he couldn’t make out your shape at the till or anywhere else, for that matter.

Perhaps it had been wishful thinking to hope you’d still be there, or even on the shift for tonight at all. You’d probably worried yourself to death fretting about his sudden silence—no, scratch that, you definitely had fretted. Was he going to have to call the nearest police station to have them take down a missing persons report? Had you even filed one like you’d threatened to? Or had he inadvertently hurt you by what could in any other conceivable circumstance be taken as ghosting to the point that you no longer cared for his well-being?

The thought made his heart clench. It ached more than he might have been readily willing to admit. Oh, he had gone and messed things up royally, hadn’t he? The one person who’d actually treated him like a person (outside of Marc and Layla, of course) could very well hate his guts now. It sickened him, almost made him want to lock himself away in his flat and curl up under his duvet and hide for the rest of eternity.

But he couldn’t. Not on the off-chance you had recalled his concerns, had believed his worries, and still thought him innocent in the matter. Not if you were still waiting for him.

“What’ll it be, mate?” drolled the cabbie, muffled by a gargantuan yawn he didn’t bother to stifle. “I’d rather not sit here all night, you know.”

“N-no—I’ll stop here, thanks.” Steven patted through Marc’s pockets until he found his wallet, then rifled through the neatly organized mixture of bills until he found English currency as opposed to Egyptian—with enough for a decent tip, because Steven always tried not to be a knob. “You seem like you’re workin’ on fumes, mate, you ought to go home and get some sleep.”

“Sleeping’s for the dead,” he deadpanned, and Steven let out a breathless little chuckle as he shuffled out of the cab onto the curb and watched it round the corner and out of sight.

If only he knew.

The air was warmer than before Steven had been carted off to another continent, a bit muggy as the humidity settled like cobwebs in his lungs. He grimaced and unzipped the jacket, edging closer to the windows to squint inside properly.

Still no signs of life. Steven rested his fingertips on the dribbled glass, dropping his head. Marc still had the storage key in the bag, somewhere—he supposed that he could try going and getting his phone, but that would run the risk of the business not being open at all hours and require that much more time to charge the blasted thing back from the brink. Perhaps he’d be better off to wait until the next morning to try to sort his life back out—he wouldn’t be able to stand staying on his feet for much longer.

“ ...Steven? ”

He stiffened, straightened in an instant, and turned to see you standing at the corner, keys still dangling from your fingers after locking up and coming around the back. An impulsive glance at Marc’s watch told him that you’d finished up early—it was ten on the dot. Your expression, bleached by the cold ivory streetlamp looming over your head, was slack in disbelief.

Steven—despite having rehearsed over the last two weeks what he could possibly say to explain himself, to apologize for his abrupt absence and radio silence, to entreat you to at least hear him plead his case, to beg for your forgiveness and to seek it by any means necessary just so he could talk to you again—fell terribly short of his expectations as the moment came…and went.

His greatest shortcoming, that: his seemingly endless supply of words failing him when he needed them most dire.

“...Hiya,” he said meekly, raising his hand in a shameful little wave—then groaned internally and resisted the overwhelming urge to bury his face in his hands and pull at his hair in frustration.

Real chuffed she’ll be with a response like that, ol’ chap. Bollocks. I’m an utter pillock, aren’t I?

“S-sorry,” he floundered, face burning as you continued to stare at him with rounded eyes and a gaping mouth. You looked caught between fight or flight but trapped in freeze mode, every muscle in your body rigid as though the sight of him reviled you. His heart twisted, but he couldn’t find it in himself to blame you. He’d be right pissed at himself, too. “It’s…been a bit much, the time I’ve had. I’m proper exhausted after that trip. Not that, uh…not that it’s any excuse, yeah? I’m just having a bit of a hard time not fallin’ asleep on my fee— oof! ”

You’d moved before he could even track the motion. Had he looked away or dropped his head and closed his eyes out of humiliation? Had he almost blacked out again even though Marc made no sign of himself known? Or was he just that tired and you were that fast on your feet? (Of course you were nimble, juggling books and drinks all day long at a breakneck pace. Why would he ever have thought otherwise?)

He supposed it didn’t matter in the end, really, because your arms were coiled around his neck to drag him down closer to your height, your face was buried into his (no doubt grimy) neck, and your hands were trembling as they gripped his nape and threaded into his matted, oily curls as though your life depended upon it. Your breaths were muffled and warm against his throat, as were the tears that smeared against his thundering pulse, and it took Steven an embarrassingly long time to come to his senses and return your vice-like embrace with his own shaking arms.

“You scared the shit out of me, Steven,” you sniffled into his collar like a secret, voice tight and hushed with the ferocity of your feeling. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Steven swallowed roughly, throat tightening and eyes filming over with the familiar hot sting he’d been doing his damnedest to hold down until he’d returned to the safety of his home—but he supposed that he already had, so what was the point in resisting anymore?

“I thought I’d lost me, too, love,” he whispered raggedly, his tenuous resolve crumbling like sandstone as he buried his face in your hair and crushed you against his chest as tightly as your clothes allowed. His tears finally slipped free of his eyes as he squeezed them closed in an effort to shut out the world around him. He could feel your heart hammering against his chest even through all his layers, your earthy perfume saturating his lungs, your inherent warmth seeping into him so like the sunshine you epitomized in his mind. You didn’t give any inclination of letting him go anytime soon, and he had no such intention, either. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you murmured, voice cracking with the strain of keeping yourself in check, pulling your head back just enough to peer up at him with a warbling smile. The hand on his neck slipped around to cup his cheek in your palm, thumbing away the wet streaks trailing towards his chin. Your eyes darted over his features, scrutinizing, as though you were committing the sight to memory—as though assuring yourself that he was really real, really there, really corporeal and not an apparition. “God, darlin’, don’t be sorry, I’m just—I’m just glad you’re okay. Are you safe? Are you hurt? Are you still in danger?” You mirrored your own touch with your free hand, cradling his head as though you held the entire world between your fingers, stroking the corners of his mouth in reverent reassurance. “Where have you been? I tried looking, asking around the museum, but nobody knew where you’d disappeared, and I—I thought—” You let out a sob from between gritted teeth, quivering despite his desperate grip on your upper and lower back. “—I feared the worst, after what you said the last time I saw you, and I tried talking to the police, but they thought I was crazy, and…I’ve nearly worried myself to death wondering where you’d gone.”

Nailed it. Unfortunately. Steven let out a watery laugh, biting his lip briefly before tugging you back under his chin so you wouldn’t see the conflicted emotions fighting for prominence on the limited canvas space of his face. “Oh, love, I’ve been to hell and back,” he joked quietly (one you wouldn’t get, not yet, and one he didn’t particularly care to explain), rocking you from side to side and anchoring himself with the weight of your body against his. “But I never stopped thinking about—about coming back. To you. Not once.”

Your arms slipped under his to squeeze him tight, slowly but surely soaking his shirt with your relief. Steven was uncertain how long the pair of you stood like that, getting progressively more damp from the mist and more chilled from the cooling breeze, and finally he withdrew enough to tenderly pat your cheeks dry with the hem of his sleeve. You laughed a little at that, a frail but joyous little sound, and Steven could hardly contain himself—but you beat him to it.

“You look exhausted, darlin’,” you said softly, face pinching a little as you took in his drawn features. He was sure Marc had sat up through the whole flight, as antsy as he was—the body hadn’t gotten sufficient enough rest in so long Steven was surprised neither of them had yet to collapse. The deep purple semicircles marring the heavy undersides of his eyes were sure to be sights to behold. You traced his brow, temple, and cheekbone with a featherlight touch of your fingertips. “You said you just got back?”

“Yeah,” he responded, eyes fluttering shut at your gentleness with a long sigh. “I wanted…I needed to see you. To let you know I made it back, and that I didn’t mean to shut you out, and…to tell you what happened.”

“Are you sure you’re up for it?” you pressed carefully. “You’ve obviously been stressed about it. You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable talking about.”

“I want you to know. It’s…it’s important. To me.” He cracked his eye back open, taking in the minutiae of your features, too—you seemed just as bad off as he was. “But I don’t want to be a bother.”

You gave him a sharp look, and your last reaction to a similar statement he’d made rang clear in the back of his mind without you even having to echo your response.

“You just seem tired, too, is all,” he said. “Didn’t want to keep you up any later.”

“I’ll stay up all night if you asked me to,” you told him firmly. “Whatever you need. I meant what I said.”

‘I’m here for you.’

“I…could I ask one teensy favor?” he started, hating how small his voice sounded. “Just this once?”

You quirked an inquisitive brow.

“I…don’t really want to sleep by myself tonight,” he admitted sheepishly. “My place got broken into and…I’m not sure what it’ll look like when I go back there. I…I don’t want to be alone. Could I…?”

“Of course,” you said immediately, already reaching down and grasping his wrist. “You look like you could use a good meal, too—I’ve got some leftover minestrone that I could heat up for you. It doesn’t have any animal products in it.”

Oh, he could kiss you.

“I don’t mean to impose,” he prefaced, “but…that honestly sounds heavenly.”

“You’re not imposing. Come on. The bus will be making its stop soon—don’t want to miss it in case the rain starts up again.”

Steven allowed you to lead him along the street, perfectly content to allow you to guide him. The longer he went, the more difficult it was to stay focused. The late bus, one he’d usually been forced to catch when Donna had thrust him into inventory duty, was virtually empty save a couple of other night workers having finished up their shifts. You settled Steven near the back, setting him against the window and perching yourself in the aisle seat with a watchful eye directed towards the other passengers.

Steven found himself nodding off, forehead pressed heavily into the window, when your fingers tugged his wrist lightly. “Hey. Here, lean on me—I don’t want you to get a crick in your neck.”

Hardly conscious of it, Steven allowed you to direct with a cupped hand his temple to rest on your shoulder, sinking listlessly into your side. The press of your warm palm on his cheek remained as you murmured something he didn’t quite catch, too drowsy to recall anything afterwards besides the sweet scent of chai on your breath.

You roused him at the correct stop, and he managed to keep his wits about himself long enough to take in the new, unfamiliar surroundings. The university campus loomed on the other side of the highway, impressive in its splendor, and your flat was located in a nice but affordable gated complex that he suspected you’d chosen for convenience and security rather than luxury. Multiple other residences lined this side of the road, likely housing the majority of students.

“I’m on the top floor, but luckily they have elevators,” you murmured to him as you used your key card to buzz through the gate and unlock the side door to the main corridor. You led him through the place, let him lean against you while the mechanisms’ hum lulled him, and the first thing you did upon letting him into your apartment was have him sit on the loveseat. “Give me your feet.”

“Oh, don’t—you don’t have to do that,” he protested, even as you kneeled on the carpet and pulled one dusty boot up onto your knee to untie the laces. “Please, I couldn’t ask you to—”

“You’re not asking, I’m doing,” you responded mildly. “Steven, you’re a blink too long away from going comatose—just let me take care of you, okay?” Your lips thinned for a moment, conflicted, before you dropped your gaze to your fingerwork before tugging the heavy shoe free and setting it to the side and reaching for his other foot. “I missed you. Let me do this, please.”

He had precious little will to argue, lesser so to refuse any sort of doting you might decide to bestow upon him. Steven Grant was many things, and a weak man was one of them. “I…all right,” he said softly.

“Good boy.” You patted the side of his leg with a wry little smirk that did funny things to his blood pressure, removing the other shoe, and leaving it with its twin. You stood, knees cracking, and made a placating gesture. “Wait here, I’ll be back in five.”

“All right,” he repeated sleepily because he couldn’t help it—his eyes were already falling shut again. He became dimly aware of an added weight draped over him, but it wasn’t until you came back and sank into the cushion next to him that he jerked back awake and realized you’d pulled the heavy knit blanket off the back of the couch over him.

“Here,” you said, pressing a large mug into his hands. “I know microwaved leftovers aren't as good, but I’ll be lucky to get you to down anything before you pass out on me. Again.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, drawing up a spoonful and blowing the steam off it. It smelled divine, and his stomach pinched and growled as though it, too, had wrenched itself awake.

“Stop apologizing,” you said, eyes twinkling. “It’s kind of cute.”

“Only kind of?” he tried, slipping the spoon into his mouth. A salty medley of flavors bloomed over his tongue and Steven was convinced he’d been sent to Aaru after all. “Oh…you never told me you were a king’s cook,” he mumbled.

“I am a bit proud of my cooking,” you chuckled. “I had…tweaked that recipe, to see if you’d like it, actually. I just so happened to have made it last night.” You glanced off to the side, briefly, towards the floor-to-ceiling window that lined the far wall and displayed the heart of London in all its twinkling glory. “Good timing, I guess.”

Steven ate as much as his waning patience could stand before propping the mug between his knees and tentatively resting a hand on yours draped over your thigh. You looked back to him immediately, the only light in the room spilling off to the side from the kitchen and casting all but the curve of your face in shadow. “There’s too much to explain in one night,” he began with a sigh, “and, honestly, it’ll probably take me a bit to work up to some of the…worse stuff. But I did want to tell you what I figured out about my sleeping disorder.”

“All right.” You shifted and contorted to face him completely, folding your legs crossed under you and lacing your fingers with his. “Did you get an official diagnosis, or…?”

He tried to ignore that in favor of staying undistracted. (It didn’t work very well, and he squeezed your hand back.) “Well. Sort of.” He recalled the certainty with which had (sparingly) detailed their ‘insanity’, the clarity with which the Duat had conformed to Marc’s self-perception as an institutionalized patient in an asylum. “It’s not a sleeping disorder.”

“Okay,” you responded encouragingly, expression neutral.

“I have…well. We have…” He sighed, ducked his head, and scratched at his hairline. “...Have you ever heard of Dissociative Identity Disorder?”

“I took a psychology class back home, yeah.” You frowned slightly. “What, like…Multiple Personality Disorder?”

“Yes.” Steven’s eyes were drawn to your hand, and he turned it over to inspect the lines of your palm with his blunt, callused fingertips (no longer a mystery why they stayed in such rough shape, he mused). “I’m, uh…well…it’s harder to…to say out loud, I guess.” He faltered, then, eyes flashing up to beseech your understanding. “I want you to know that we’ve worked things out as much as we could, so it’s a lot better than it was, but we’ve still got a ways to go, I think. Just—just know that we’re sound of mind, and neither of us would ever, ever hurt you.”

“Steven,” you said gently, realization slowly dawning in your softening gaze, “I never once had doubts about that.”

“I…good. That’s good.” He swallowed. He’d seen the stereotypes in popular media just like everyone else ever had, and while Marc had indeed hurt people, his remorse told Steven just how little he’d enjoyed it (that being none). “Okay. So…there’s this little American man that…lives inside my head, I guess. Marc Spector. Bit of a twit when you first meet him, but he’s not a half-bad bloke once you get to know him.”

Steven paused, waiting for a biting remark from the nearest reflective surface—but your offlined television remained passive. He let out a breath of relief.

Your expectant, patient silence spurred him on. “That’s what I thought, anyway—that he lived inside my head, that is. Just started poppin’ up out of nowhere, tryin’ to scare me off of figurin’ everythin’ out. Didn’t realize ‘til later that he was just tryin’ to protect me and being a real sorry arse about it.” Steven pressed the flat of his thumb into the crease of your palm, feeling your steady, calmed pulse thudding against his skin. “Turns out…I’m the one living inside his head.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but you didn’t interrupt him.

“He had a rough childhood,” Steven continued, voice carrying over into a rush, “lost his li’l brother. His mum blamed him for it…did some things she shouldn’t have. Marc…developed an alter based on a fictional character from his favorite movie.” He let out a shaky sigh, dropping his chin to his sternum. “Doctor Steven Grant, debonair, world-traveled archaeologist extraordinaire.” He cleared his throat, voice lowering. “I think I may have fallen a bit short of his expectations.”

He had only learned the terminology in the snippets of time Marc let him front while he and Layla were still organizing things in Cairo, looking up articles to learn more about their shared mindscape.

“I…remember our childhood,” he said, much more quietly, “but not any of the bad parts. He let me keep all the good memories. I never remembered Mum except on the good days. Learning all this…was really hard. I never thought…I knew I had gaps in my memory, but I didn’t think…I never figured it out until the wall between us got broken down.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “When…when Mum died. I didn’t know. Marc couldn’t control it anymore, and…things happened. He moved to London, got me all set up with the flat and the job at the museum, and he was finishing things up so he could…I don’t know, fall to the wayside and not come out anymore? I’m not really sure how that works…if it would even work, like that.”

He didn’t dare look up at your expression. You’d fallen completely still and eerily quiet.

“So…yeah.” He was whispering by now. “I guess that makes me the fake identity.”

“Steven Grant,” you interjected, voice low and calm, “there is nothing about you that’s fake. I don’t ever want to hear you say something like that again.”

He gulped, peeking up at your resolute expression. “Yes, ma’am,” he croaked.

“You’re the most vibrant, thoughtful, selfless person I’ve ever met,” you said, gripping his hand so tightly he felt your pulse in each of your fingertips—he wouldn’t be surprised if your prints melded with his. “You have filled my life with more joy than I’ve felt in years. I give thanks almost every day that I had the privilege to have met you at a time when I needed you most.” You leaned in closer, eyes sparkling like the stars faintly visible on the horizon beyond your balcony. “For whatever reason that Marc Spector may have created you, he did a damn good job of it. You embody every positive trait anyone could ever hope to have. You are undoubtedly one of the best men I’ve proudly called my friend. And whatever you went through, with him or without, I have no doubt in my mind that you are integral to him, a part of him he idealizes. Even if you’re an alter, not the original owner of this body,” with this, you tapped his shoulder with your free hand, “you are just as important and just as precious to me for it.”

Steven thought he had cried enough, but his eyes betrayed him yet again. Only a couple of tears slipped free before you were smearing them away, steadfast in your presence, knees pressed into the outside of his thigh. He sank into your touch, shutting his eyes in relief.

“You can tell me as much or as little about the rest of it as you want,” you murmured. “And I apologize in advance for anything that I may accidentally say or do out of ignorance—but I promise you, Steven Grant, I will stay by your side as long as you’ll have me. No matter what.”

“Even though I’ve turned out a little crazier than you may have expected?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood with such a feeble attempt at a joke—but the words came out a little bleaker than he had intended.

“You’re not crazy,” you stated, “you’re a survivor. Both of you. And I am so very grateful that you survived.”

Steven did not remember falling asleep after that. He did not remember you taking the mug back to the kitchen and turning the lights out. He did not remember you leveraging him longwise across your loveseat, a couple feet two short for him had he not already been curled up, piling multiple blankets over his lanky form and carefully slipping a pillow from your bed under his head. He did not remember you tenderly combing his unkempt curls off his forehead, gazing at him with love brimming in your eyes, and laying a lingering kiss between his brows.

He did, however, remember in perfect detail the sight of you slumped over in your recliner, facing him, wreathed in the most beautiful golden sunrise he’d ever seen in his life.

[mikodrawnnarratives]

TW IMPLIED CHARACTER DEATH

TW BLOOD

(Just like last time, it isn't really graphic but I'm tagging just so you know)

@naffeclipse

Part 1 | This is Part Two | Part Three | Extra

It. Probably won't need a part 4

I'm doing this all on one cps file so I sure hope so kjlfdkfljs

i'm at like- 750+ layers i'm so sorry my file

...there might be a part 4 but it'll be small sketches and aftermaths

Once again, long post under the cut:

I am not the only traveler, who has not repaid his debt.

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Take me back to the night we met

- The night we met by Lord Hurdon

Alright, I didn't make too much of an effort to hide it but how many of you guessed it was gregory and how many of you didn't see it coming?

Gee I wonder who Gregory's companions are

Okay if you don't have a nugget of who these companions are then my rambling below makes it a little more obvious

Anyway, this little comic of self indulgence to mend my broken heart says "YO what if Gregory and other characters saved Vanessa like they did in canon"

It certainly would NOT be easy for Vanessa once she wakes up to that realization. But there are factors that make it a little bit easier for Vanessa to cope compared to other children.

Since Gregory and others proved they could fight and free her as Vanny, it gives her mind a little reassurance that they aren't completely helpless.

Plus, I like the idea of the GGY story (Dr Rabbit) existing as this au's equivalent of the same experience, that would mean Gregory has had his own bad experiences with Glitchtrap and so it wouldn't be like some random kid going against a threat he was unfamiliar with

She still distances herself a lot earlier on and the more time passes, the older Gregory gets, the less he looks and sounds like a kid.

Those make it much easier for Vanessa to stand being around them as time goes by. Earlier on, she only really interacted when absolutely necessary. But she did grow a small soft spot for them.

She remained pretty closed off about herself over the years and never delved too deep about her past. Ness left frequently for her own hunting jobs and at one point Gregory asked where she went. Somethings made it seem like these hunts weren't just random and different

He didn't get an answer of course. But later that day, Vanessa told him about Y/n. In vague terms. This is the most information he ever gets about Vanessa's past.

So Gregory's got no idea who to expect to see showing up to the gravestone ltr on and is just like

Gregory: cool, ur mysterious enough for it to be believable ur related to my mysterious older sister/mentor figure Wanna hear a story

Y/n: ...yes.

Forgive him his brain is ever so foggy from grief and no slep

Anyway, Y/n picked a day to visit Vanessa when they knew they were stable enough not to lash out and attack any humans that may happen to also be visiting the graves. They had eaten pretty recently but not so recent that they were vulnerable.

It's pretty early in the morning where it is still dark and the rain provides some more protection.

If you couldn't tell before, many MANY years have passed since Y/n has been human. Think somewhere between 20-30 years. And while, they still hate who they are now and aren't mentally okay, they've gotten a semi-solid understanding of their limits and what they can and cannot tolerate and when.

And, even though they are nervous, they can manage to have this conversation with Gregory for now.

Why are they talking to Gregory so willingly? despite the risks?

well

the next part will explain that

[greetingfromthedead]

Welcome to a new world of lust and desire!

This is a series of smut oneshots taking place in an Alternate Universe where our beloved Trigun characters are dragon shifters. There is a loose sub-plot connecting the chapters to one another, but there is really no need to read any of this for the plot.

Attention: This is a Trigun x succubus!Reader collection with different partners, both male and female!

Introduction

The Trigun characters here are all dragon shifters unless said otherwise. Generally they are much larger than regular humans, hovering at around the 8ft mark, unless they are Meryl, who is still small compared to the others, now more like a regular tall woman. The dragons have their own affiliations (Vash = Sun Dragon, Knives = Moon Dragon, Wolfwood = Storm Dragon etc) and that comes with its own quirks. They can also shift at will (partially or completely), but they do always keep their horns. You are a succubus (human sized), feeding off their lust and growing more powerful as you get fucked by those delicious creatures. Your presence alone drives them crazy and you are well aware of it, taking advantage of it at every turn. Your goal is to make this nest of lust even more potent as that's what gives you life.

My version of the characters and their dynamics is a bit of a mix of all the different iterations, but their descriptions are generally kept vague enough so you can imagine whatever version you want and add your own HC to it as you please. Occasionally I am self-indulgent, like physically describing Wolfwood as a softer, untoned, tanned, hairy man. And Vash has a skeletal prosthesis cause I like the look and have plans for it.

Premise

All the dragons of the world have been pushed into living in one small area, focused around a mansion built into a mountain. Faced with their dwindling existence, the last remaining shifters indulge in each other, seeking passion and relief from each other's bodies in a messy polygamous dynamic. This lustfulness sends ripples through the fabric of the worlds, accidentally summoning you, a succubus from a hellish plane, into their midst to sow even more desire and mischief.

DISCLAIMER!!! VERY VERY VERY IMPORTANT TO READ BEFORE YOU CONTINUE:

This is a work of fiction. Duh. Don't take it too seriously. For all intents and purposes, all the sexual acts are consensual!!! Any dub con is fictional and play pretend. If it makes you feel better, they had the talk behind the scenes and the safe-word is "hullaballoo". Obviously I do not condone any non con or dub con irl, leave that shit in fiction and if anyone disagrees, they can fuck off to Hell. Do read the tags and TWs of the fics, but be aware that my tagging skills are "meh" and I occasionally forget things.

Oneshots (in order of events)

The oneshots are connected, but there is no need to look for a plot, feel free to read what you want in whatever order you want.

Drop of Lust (M/M/F ft Vashwood, 5k) - as Vash and Wolfwood have their way with each other, they accidentally end up summoning you into their world, but you don't get to watch them for long as they are drawn to you and include you in their fun. You make sure they both understand just who you are by bringing them unmatched pleasure and allowing them to fuck you into heavenly bliss.

Ignorance Brings Bliss (Vash, 2.6k) - Vash wants to take care of you by giving you the option to use the large Roman style bath and bringing you food, but due to some misunderstandings, you both end up wet and wild, finding alternate uses for some of the food items he brought with him.

Seduction (Knives, 3.2k) - You seek a warm embrace to spend the night, following the music through the mansion. You find a grumpy Knives playing the organ in his room and use your arts of seduction to completely wrap him around your finger, making him desire you more than anything else in the world.

More coming soon...

Didn't get your fill or not quite what you're looking for? Check out my MASTERLIST for more PG and Explicit Trigun content!

[perzawa]

EVE, PSYCHE, AND

THE BLUEBEARD’S WIFE | 4.1K

OCT 1ST: FIRST TIME

kinktober masterlist

♡ suguru geto x fem! reader

forbidden desires was the nature of young witches such as yourself, and just like the women centuries before you, it was time to indulge. you’d always been safe and traditional with your practices, but after going into a spell rut, you decide forbidden magic can’t be too bad.

♡ warnings/tags! mentions of blood but only a few times, reader is a witch and geto is like… a fake human??, breaking rules, oral (male receiving), riding, reader takes geto’s virginity, top/dom reader and sub geto

“Do you really wanna risk banishment?”

Nobara’s words from a week ago continued to echo in your ears, even after you were kneeling in front of your black altar, preparing for what would be the most dangerous spell you’ve ever performed. Yes, you could and would risk banishment for the only thing you’ve been interested in pursuing for years. The council was a self-righteous group of elders whom no one truly cared to listen to, so why would you? Your spells were yours, and no council could dictate when, where, or if you should practice them.

Her concern was appreciated, but nothing could sway you from this. Every witch knew the frustration of a spell block, that feeling of wondering when (or if) inspiration would ever return. People didn't judge witches too harshly for it, but you held yourself to a higher standard. You could do more than just keep repeating the same spells or, even worse, rely on others' work.

This is more or less how you came in contact with forbidden magic, a path few witches dared to explore—those who had, often met unfortunate fates or had to flee to distant kingdoms. Banishment was a lesser punishment for such an offense, and the worst was execution. Yet, oddly enough, the fear of these punishments didn't haunt you as much as the dread of becoming a dull, uninspired witch who depended on the spells of others. (No shade to other witches who did the same though, of course.) Even if your legacy ended at 22, as long as you were known for something - you’d be grateful either way.

You casually reached for a pin, mustering a deep breath before pricking your finger with it. The pain was fleeting, just enough to make you wince. A tiny bead of crimson welled up on your fingertip and dripped into the vessel you had prepared, staining the herbs you’d already placed in the bowl red. The room remained dim, bathed in the soft glow of tea-light candles which did not help with calming your nerves. Even seasoned witches found themselves getting spooked from time to time and you were no exception.

Still, you pressed on and began your chant once every herb, lock of hair, and drop of blood was in the bowl.

"By moonlight's grace and starlight's dance, in the cauldron's brew, I take my chance. With magic's touch and spells so fine, a person's form, I now design," you chanted six times before striking a match, setting it ablaze, and tossing it into the bowl to complete the spell. You sat quietly on your knees, observing as the assortment of herbs transformed into ash. Forbidden spells, like this one, demanded a greater amount of energy compared to most natural spells and you were beginning to truly feel the effects the moment you finished the incantation. Your head throbbed intensely, causing you to groan in pain.

Despite the pain, an unhinged smile twitched along your cheeks as you realized the spell was now manifesting. The last step was to discard it. Overflowing with excitement, you grabbed the bowl of dark ash and crimson blood and swirled it as you headed to your bathroom. Properly disposing of a spell meant returning it to nature, but you couldn't risk anyone discovering your secret, so you swiftly flushed it down the toilet, offering a quick word of thanks to nature for its help and the materials it provided.

Returning to your room was more of a struggle than you cared to admit. Carefully, you anointed your space and performed a fast protection spell before plopping into bed, completely drained of energy. Regardless of your pounding head or the intense fatigue you were feeling - you didn’t regret a thing.

It wasn’t long before you were fast asleep, unaware of the spirit you’d “created” materializing beside you.

***

The headache that bothered you the previous night was now completely gone as if it’d never been there. Thoughts of the sin you’d committed clouded your mind but you eventually swatted them away, wondering if the spell even worked. Forbidden or not, any spell that came from centuries ago could be a hit or miss. You sat up, yawning and wiping the tears from your eyes as you scanned your room, your head muddled from your deep sleep. However, as soon as your gaze landed on an unfamiliar, raven-haired man, your eyes widened, and a startled scream escaped your dry lips.

"Oh my God!" You scrambled backward, bumping your headboard with a painful thud. A soft moan of discomfort escaped your lips as you reached behind to rub your aching head, brows furrowing in confusion. The man appeared equally startled and afraid, his dark eyes wide as he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

And that was when you realized. Your gaze shifted to the empty bowl on your altar, which had contained your spell - the one you'd flushed down the toilet the previous night, an act that had nearly drained every ounce of your energy. Fear gripped you for a moment, but soon, it transformed into a sense of pride. You lowered your guard, blinking slowly as you pulled yourself out of bed and approached the man – or rather, the creature. People created with witchcraft occupied a gray area; they weren't necessarily human, but they weren't demons either.

As you took a closer look, you noticed he was completely nude, a detail that had escaped your initial observation while you were still in bed. "God, I'm so sorry," you mumbled, hastily grabbing a blanket from your bed to cover his body. He was still silent, his eyes just staring up at you as if he were afraid of you. Though, you understood why he would be. Your eyes roamed over your creation, from his dark hair (the same color you'd envisioned in the spell) to his well-built, pale frame. He was remarkably handsome, a testament to your successful intentions for his appearance.

You knelt, leaning in close to his face in a way that might be considered rude if he were an actual person with social skills. "Can you speak?" you asked, your eyes locked onto his and your arms on either side of his legs.

He was silent for a moment before finally nodding. "Yes. Yes, I can," he replied, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. An inhuman smile stretched across your face, making you look more like a demon than the man sitting in front of you.

"Good. Great, actually," you said softly as you finally pulled away from his face to stand up. You paced around, the reality of your situation finally setting in. But instead of scaring you, it only excited you to no end. "Okay. He’s here and he’s real. He is a person… a person that I made,” you repeated to yourself.

The man nodded slowly, his eyes filled with confusion. It was apparent that he wanted to speak but seemed too hesitant. Sensing his discomfort, you decided to break the ice.

"Hey," you said gently, turning to face him. "You can speak, you know? I'm sure we're both feeling some of the same things right now."

He continued to stare at you for a somewhat uncomfortable moment, causing you to feel a twinge of regret. Spells were forbidden for a reason, primarily to protect both the spellcaster and those around them. There was no inherent good or bad magic; it all depended on the intentions of the person wielding it. In your case, you had no malevolent plans for the being you'd created. So why did everything suddenly feel so eerie? The situation was starting to unnerve you.

"Or, you know, don't speak if..." you began, but he cut you off by shaking his head.

"I'm sorry. I'm just confused, I guess?" he admitted. "I've never been here, and I don't know who you are either."

Your eyebrows raised slightly as you nodded understandingly. I should've introduced myself already, you thought. You proceeded to tell him your name and explained your role as a witch in your coven, hoping it would help him make sense of the situation.

"And, well," you continued, "beyond all that, I created you last night. I'd been working on you for a few weeks, but I only completed the spell yesterday."

You could see him piecing your story together, and finally, understanding began to dawn on his face. When you had performed the spell, you already had a specific appearance in mind for the man, and you were relieved that it seemed to have worked. However, according to the spellbook, it typically took spirits created through magic days or even months to manifest a physical form. There was a considerable amount of energy required for them to materialize in the physical realm fully. This left you wondering how you had been so remarkably successful in bringing the man in front of you into existence.

You had initially anticipated creating a spirit that could speak or interact with you on some level for the first few weeks. Then, if you were lucky, you might have achieved the desired appearance. Good for you, you were lucky. That or you just made a grave mistake that would only reveal itself when it was too late. You huffed out a small breath before flashing a little smile at him. “I haven’t thought about a name for you yet, have I?” You paced around a few more times before deciding on one. “I think I like Suguru. Do you like that too?”

Suguru nodded, causing you to smile. Good. Everything would work out for you because you were an amazing witch who never failed her craft.

As the day passed, the thought of confiding in your best friend about your predicament hadn't even crossed your mind. Instead, you dedicated your time to educating Suguru about the specific things he could and couldn't say or do if you were to release him into society. Since the spell had been cast in your home, his spirit would remain bound there unless you chose to release him willingly. You wanted to be cautious about when and how you would release him if you ever did. Although it took some time for him to adapt, he eventually grasped the concept.

Before you knew it, the sun had vanished, and the room was bathed in the gentle glow of the waning moon, its light sneaking through your partially closed blinds. You and the creature had settled into a cozy conversation over the past few hours with your legs crossed, sporting a faint smile as you hung on to every word he shared. Each word that flowed from his lips held your rapt attention, and you found it impossible to divert your gaze from him.

“So, you risked your freedom to create me?” He asked, his hands idly toying with the hem of the shirt you’d offered. For someone who’d been planning this for weeks, you found yourself unprepared for Suguru’s arrival. Fortunately, you had a collection of shirts and jogging pants, mostly relics from past relationships best left undisturbed. You chewed your lip for a moment before offering a tentative nod, his question echoing the concerns Nobara had raised just a week before.

"Yeah, I did. But I promise, nobody's going to find out, okay? So don't worry," you reassured him, a playful grin spreading across your face. The thought of anyone besides your best friend discovering your secret had you contemplating fleeing your kingdom and coven without a second thought. Your eyes wandered over Suguru's form, pondering the different ways you could test just how "human" this creature might be. Did he need to eat? Did he share any of the same needs and desires as humans? Many experiments would be needed to test him out and see the true depths of your creation.

So it only made sense that you continue to the next course of action. His body was strange to you, while also exciting. There was much you were unsure of and needed to know.

"Hey, Suguru, mind if we experiment a bit?" you finally asked after a few moments of contemplative silence. You didn’t mean to sound so bold, but you weren’t even sure if he had consciousness or feelings. A typical person may feel uncomfortable by that sentence, but there’s never been a documented case of human emotions or morality being replicated through magic.

So while it was alright to be nice to him, you figured you didn’t need to hold back too much.

He tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy before giving a hesitant nod. “Experiment?” He asked, causing your cheeks to burn from how adorable he seemed. Despite your complete size difference, he was so cute to you.

Without responding, you patted a spot on the bed for him to lie on his back. "I'm really curious about you, and I want to try some things, but only if you're alright with it," you reassured. He cautiously laid on his back, the strands of his hair that had once covered his face now exposing his features.

You were careful, your gentle fingers tugging at the shirt you’d given him to wear. Suguru understood what you were communicating and he pulled the fabric over his head until he was half nude. The flesh on his body was legit, you thought. It was flexible, soft, and supple—like a true human. Humming, you began dragging your hand down his chest, pinching at his skin carefully to observe it. “I’m surprised by how… beautiful you are,” you began, fingers still testing him. “I thought I’d fuck up bad and you’d be like, a vengeful demon… or something.”

At that, Suguru laughed.

He raised his brows, allowing you to continue exploring his body. Or was it your body? The details were still unclear. "And who says I'm not?" he quipped. Your gaze shifted to his face, holding eye contact for a moment before a smile spread across your lips.

"You're not. I've been around more than I can count, and I can tell you wouldn't touch me," you teased, moving to a different area of his body. Leaning over him, you began playing with the strands of his jet-black hair—the most impressive property of his body so far. Even after being a witch for so long, there were things even you couldn’t begin to explain. He was perfect. So, so perfect. Your fingers dragged along his scalp, massaging it until you decided you were finished.

Once you pulled away, your eyes were met with a sight you hadn’t expected from an artificial being.

“Suguru,” you said softly, your gaze settled between his legs at his hardened cock. Heat swarmed your cheeks and lower abdomen at the sight, causing you to cough in embarrassment. Suguru blinked at you, unbeknownst to your unusual reaction. Sitting up, he looked down between his legs, following where your gaze was.

"Is this bad? Should I be embarrassed?" he asked, his eyes suddenly widening.

You quickly shook your head, your throat feeling dry. It was almost impossible for you to speak, but you pressed on through your panic. "No, no, definitely not," you said softly, your eyes locking with his, your gaze intense. “I didn’t expect this. I don’t even know how this is possible.” With a shaky hand, you reached over, your fingers pressing against the obvious bulge in his pants.

The groan that fell from his lips was enough to make your cheeks as hot as lava, forcing you to retract your hand quickly as if you’d been burned. “Did that… did that feel good?” You could barely recognize your voice because of the rasp.

He nodded, catching his lip between his teeth as he began to nibble the flesh. An act that was so human to you. His surprisingly normal mannerisms and appearance were still things you weren’t able to find yourself getting used to. Especially the reaction his cock was having to you toying with his body. You sighed, unable to catch yourself before saying something that made you feel sickened by yourself.

“Do you need… help?”

His eyes were lidded now, hands placed on his lap as his cock continued to throb against his pants, just begging for a nice, tight hand or a warm mouth to help it. He whined softly and nodded, his pants tighter now. You weren’t sick and you weren’t some lonely woman who couldn’t get laid under normal circumstances. There’s nothing wrong with this, you thought. Who are you to refuse someone’s need for assistance?

“Okay,” you said. “Okay. Put your… fuck, put your back against the headboard,” you instructed, watching as he obeyed without a second of hesitation. How long had it been since you’d been in bed with someone? A week? Two? If it was taking this long for you to remember, you were sure it’s been longer. A small sigh fell from your lips as you recalled Nobara telling you to get out of the house and date more, but you were too preoccupied with your spells. Now what would she think if she found out you were fucking an artificial human? A literal being created with your life force.

Pushing the questionable morality of the situation out of the way, you focused on one thing—helping him.

With one swift motion, you’d pulled his pants down to hang at his ankles, his throbbing cock smacking against the hem of his shirt. You huffed out a small breath, even more impressed by the sheer size of him, causing you to squirm on the bed.

He was big. When you saw him earlier, you obviously didn’t just stand there staring at his soft cock, but there was such an astounding difference between now and then that you were gaping. His tip was an angry red, white beads of precum pooling at the head and dripping down his tan shaft. The lewd image caused you to swallow, lubricating your very dry throat.

His hips bucked expectantly as you leaned down, kissing his head first. The salty precum clung to your bottom lip, sticky but thin as you opened your mouth, lowering your warmth onto his needy dick. Your tongue slid down his shaft as he hit the back of your throat, resulting in you gagging. Your hand found itself on his base as you pulled yourself up a little, your tongue swirling around his slit as your hand stroked him.

Suguru hissed, his rough hands finding solace in your hair as he gripped a little too close to your scalp. You winced in pain but endured it, bobbing your head along his impressive length and using the sounds of his groans to motivate yourself further. You finally pulled away after moments of choking, saliva dripping down your mouth and chin. Your eyes narrowed at his cock as you licked his essence from your lips, surprise evident in your features. He didn’t taste normal in the slightest. Whereas most men were salty and bitter, he was sweet and mildly acidic—a taste you genuinely enjoyed. “Fuck, you taste good,” you said to yourself, your hand wrapping itself around his base again. “How’s that even possible, huh?”

“Please don’t stop,” he begged, his hips thrusting into the air again as you stroked his cock slowly, focused on milking him. “Feels like I’m gonna… Just feels so good,” he rasped, his eyes tightly shut as he basked in the pleasure of your soft hand against his hot, heavy cock.

You nodded, continuing to use your saliva to lubricate his cock. “You’re gonna cum, Suguru. That's what that feeling is,” you explained, a prideful smile finding itself on your lips as you finally brought him over the edge, watching as hot spurts of white stained your hand and his shirt. Suguru panted, his cock twitching before falling onto his covered stomach. His lidded eyes followed the sight of your tongue lapping his cum from your hand. He twitched again.

By now, you were already squirming, the heel of your foot placed against your clit as you began to grind for any amount of friction possible. Little mewls escaped your mouth but you were too lost in the feeling to get embarrassed. Suguru’s cock began to grow in size once again from watching you, his hands squeezing around his own length to replicate what you’d done to him.

“You want more?” Your hands were easing your own pants off now until you were in your plain, white panties. There was an evident wet spot that sent a shiver down Suguru’s spine the longer he looked at it. When you were creating him, it wasn’t like the thought of sex taking place didn’t pop up in your head a few times, but you trusted yourself enough to not take things in that direction.

Despite feeling almost disgusted by yourself, the familiar heat in your stomach was demanding something more.

“Please? I do want more. I don’t know what I want, but…” he trailed off, his hands still wrapped tight around his hard cock as he trailed from your eyes, back to the print of your pussy. It was almost instinct the way Suguru craved to feel you around him without any actual knowledge of anatomy or sex.

You nodded and straddled him, no reluctance in your actions. Gulping, you pulled your soaked panties to the side, not caring that you hadn’t even prepped yourself properly. All you craved was the ache to be soothed by the big cock you’d enjoyed sucking so much. Slowly, your body dropped down to his slicked cock, the stretch enough to make you wince but you still took it until he was completely buried to your hilt.

Suguru’s hands were on your hips now, tightening as you rolled your hips. Your pussy was twitching around him, grateful to have a cock buried deep after what felt like years without one. It stung, and his size was almost uncomfortable—but you still began to move yourself on top of him. Little moans were falling from your lips as you slowly bounced, your head buried in the crease of his neck, realizing he was allowing you to take complete control due to his ignorance. “Feelin’ good? Hm, ‘Guru?” You asked, your voice a mere whisper.

“So good… feels so tight and hot,” he cried out, praising the way you were sucking him in deep. Your pussy was so familiar with him even though this was only the first time your bodies have met. You were clenching around him tightly, sucking him in and then letting him slip out repeatedly.

“I know,” you gasped, rocking yourself on him before bouncing quicker than before. There was a slight burn in your thighs but it didn’t matter compared to the delicious feeling of his cock dragging along your wet, aching walls. With shaky hands, you gripped his black strands of hair, pressing little kisses to his sweaty neck in the process.

Though you were both moving a little awkwardly, he was still spurring you on. Each and every groan, grunt, and thrust was causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. “S-Suguru,” you called, pulling away from the assault on his hair to reach for his hands. You pulled his thick fingers near your clit, assisting him in getting you off. “Feels good when you touch girls right here,” you explained, locking eyes with him.

“Like this?” he asked, his fingers moving in expert circles. His fingers dragged along your clit vertically before switching to tight circles again, using your own slick to lubricate your button. The act was too much and your body knew that, making you respond by convulsing as your stomach filled with heat once again.

“Fuck, yes, just like that.” Your pussy began to tighten impossibly tight as you finally came hard, coating his tan shaft in your clear, sticky release. Suguru followed suit, burying his head in your neck as he began humping into the air like a dog. His skilled fingers never stopped their assault on your engorged clit, even after your powerful climax.

Suguru whined as his cock throbbed deep inside, shooting thick ropes of cum into your waiting, unprotected womb. The two of you were left shaking, huffing messes, your arms wrapped around his neck and his fingers hovering over your wet cunt.

After moments of silence, you finally cleared your throat, pulling away from his neck. There were no regrets to be had. Not from the beginning when you were creating him and not even when you were cumming around his cock.

You wished for something something new. Something different. Something forbidden.

And you got it.