#ive only worked jobs where you have to add it up yourself

[hyewka]

choi yeonjun. | c.yj

PAIRING ▸ bsf!yeonjun x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ fluff, smut, a bit of angst

SYNOPSIS ▸ in which getting your male friend prettied up for a party goes weirdly left.

WARNINGS ▸ sub!jjun, femdom, grinding, protected, dacryphilia 

NOTES ▸ parenthesis around an event refers to the past!! anyway its been like, a hundred years since ive gone ghost but i promised to come back with a fic and here i am!! its a silly best friends fic lol nothing more to it but i always enjoy any semblance of feedback, it'll motivate me greatly <3 enjoy this meal hehe.

tags: @soobhns (hope you enjoy it babes ^^)

"THE HELL'S YEONJUN DOING?"

You swirl your cup, tilting your head as you watch the new topic of your conversation touch up his hair a little too much, running a hand through his unruly strands as his legs barely work to have him stand up straight when a girl approaches him.

Mark looks concerned as he adds in, “And who the fuck got him in those bunny ears? Is it easter or something, geez”

You snort, your drink sputtering out of your mouth, spraying some of it on Taehyun. “Oh my god, Y/N, gross!” he groans loudly, jumping back as if he’s been hit by a water balloon.

“Sorry,” you giggle, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, your eyes still glued to Yeonjun. He’s fumbling awkwardly, trying to maintain a conversation with a girl who’s very clearly interested if the finger trail down his bicep was anything to go by. The rooftop air is especially chilly today, and you wonder if Yeonjun’s goosebumps are any visible to her. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, completely out of his element.

“It’s probably some stupid hazing shit, he never backs down from those.” Hyejoon mutters, scrolling away on her phone.

“But bunny ears? For hazing that seems weak as shit.” Mark responds, seemingly as interested on the train wreck thats about to ensue as you are. Then suddenly, he turns to you, eyes still trained on Yeonjun and the pretty girl. “Dude you’re practically his twin sister—why’s he acting like that?”

You cringe internally at that, smacking Mark’s arm. “Ow! The fuck?” he hisses, rubbing his arm. Twin sister? Oh god, you do not like that one bit.

Not at all. “Shut up Mark.” He only grumbles as he backs away.

You would rather shower in spoiled milk than be referred to as Yeonjun’s sister in any capacity—and it has absolutely nothing to do with what happened a few hours ago.

...It does add on to the grossness of it all though.

—4 hours ago …[5:21 PM]

The moment you step into his flat, you dash down the narrow hallway and into his room, launching yourself onto the bed with a triumphant yell. The plush mattress bounces slightly under your weight giving you a fleeting second of bliss before Yeonjun bursts in, diving towards you. "Not with your outside clothes!" he whines, trying to wrestle you off. "You're contaminating my sacred space!" he adds with mock seriousness, his efforts both frantic and hilarious.

You stick out your tongue childishly, and it serves the job to tick him off. “Man, you’re such a pain,” he groans.

“What should I do anyway? Change into PJ’s I haven’t brought along? Besides!” you retort, struggling to pull your makeup bag out from your tote while Yeonjun’s weight presses down on you. With a triumphant grin, you finally free it and wave it in front of his face. “Where are we supposed to do this then?”

He snorts. “The couch, duh.”

The mere thought of that dark green monstrosity, old and beat-up, sends a shiver down your spine. The last time you sat on it, its worn fabric had felt like sandpaper against your skin, and the patches of stuffing poking through made it seem like you were sitting on a nest of lumpy scars. You couldn't even sit through twenty minutes of the movie with Yeonjun before you had decided to move to the floor.

Your upper lip curls in distaste. “No chance. You need to switch that thing out ASAP.”

Yeonjun shrugs nonchalantly, clearly not as repulsed as you are. “What’s wrong with it? I mean, yeah, it’s seen better days, but it has character.”

“Character? More like a biohazard waiting to happen,” you say, grimacing. “I’m not risking sitting on that thing again. Also, get off, you're killing me.”

Yeonjun lets out a long, resigned sigh, knowing that arguing any further would be a losing battle. "Fine," he mutters, shifting his weight off you. "But at least take your shoes off. You're genuinely a psychopath," he adds.

You relent, rolling off the bed and kicking off your shoes with exaggerated care, just to appease him. Yeonjun narrows his eyes, silently watching you with a playful glint in his gaze, his arms crossed over his chest. You can almost see the gears turning in his head as he observes your antics. "What?" you finally ask, catching him off guard.

He blinks, momentarily flustered, then quickly averts his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Just counting down how many more years I have to deal with this," he says, gesturing vaguely at your exaggerated movements.

"Yeah, yeah," you say, waving your hand dismissively. "You know you love me."

"Keep telling yourself that," he replies, but his tone is light, the grumble fading away. You click your tongue, making sure to stick out a solid finger behind his back when he stands up to head to the bathroom. Prick.

But you can't keep up the act much longer when you look down at your outfit. It's not overly complicated but you still haven’t thanked him for helping you feel a lot more confident in it than you would've if he wasn't by your side ranting about silhouettes and all his other (not-so) stupid fashion advice.

With a sigh, you allow yourself to flop back onto his bed, your fingers sinking into the soft duvet. As you lay there, you take in the new decorations he's put up on his wall. He only recently moved here, and it's already looking a lot more like him than the last time you paid him a visit. The posters of his favorite bands, the quirky art pieces, and the sleek record player that sits atop a vintage-looking stand, surrounded by stacks of vinyl records—everything screams Yeonjun. Even the smell your brain finally registers as his signature scent subtly creeps up your nostrils; sandalwood, fresh linen and hints of citrus. It calms your nerves—like your body's trained to associate anything about Yeonjun with feeling safe.

You reach out for a familiar-looking photo strip on his desk, your finger stretching as far as it can until you manage to snatch it.

It's a sequence of three pictures of you and Yeonjun back in... high school? Freshman year considering you're sporting a terrible bowl cut that looks like it was done with a soup bowl and a pair of dull scissors. Yeonjun, on the other hand, smiles big with his braces, the metal gleaming under the photo booth's flash.

And just like that, you're suddenly reminded one thing; Yeonjun's always been there with you, for you.

("She's a total bitch anyway."

You gasp, hitting his arm. "What?!" he exclaims, affronted. "I'm starting to think you really enjoy abusing me."

"You just- you can't say that about women!" You try to sniff back the snot running down your nose, but it's futile.

He rolls his eyes. "She slept with Heeseung behind your back. Shes’ earned the title."

You shut your mouth and turn from him, not believing you're seriously trying to defend the ex-friend that had taken enough of a liking of your crush to sleep with him. It isn't the worst offense in the world but considering she's done it behind your back instead of telling you upfront...it leaves a bitter enough taste in your mouth to end the friendship altogether.

"I...really liked her, and I really liked him," you mutter, the admission feeling heavier than you'd expected. "Do you think I'm being childish? It's not like I was dating him or anything."

Yeonjun wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in as he taps his hand rhythmically against your arm.

The summer heat lingers in the air, the warmth from the sun-baked concrete seeping through your clothes. You can feel the rough texture of the sidewalk under your palms, gritty and familiar. "Nope. Feelings are valid."

A silence overtakes you both as you watch the fifth car drive by you. Distant chirping of crickets mingle with the occasional rustle of leaves in the slight breeze. The neighborhood is alive with the soft, ambient sounds of summer nights: a dog barking in the distance, the faint laughter of kids playing a few houses down, the low murmur of a television through an open window.

Suddenly, he tightens his arm around you, providing a comforting squeeze. You lean into him, finding comfort in his presence.

"You know I'd never do that to you, right?" he says softly, breaking the silence.

You look up at him, narrowing your eyes playfully, "Sleep with my male crush? I've always questioned, I don't know."

He gives you a betrayed look and you burst out laughing.)

It's weird how often you reminisce about the past...especially these past few months; sappy and overly sentimental shit that you try not to dwell on every time you hang out. Is this how old people feel?

There's always a time and place, it's just not when he farts into a pillow and practically Dutch ovens you with it. Now, that memory you'd rather attempt to forget as you close your eyes, throwing the photo strip back on his desk exhaustingly.

You don't notice that he's out until you feel water dripping onto your skin. Your eyes shoot open in horror, seeing his face inches from yours, freshly washed and hair slightly damp. He's leaning over you with a look of resignation mixed with amusement, a towel slung over his shoulder. "Enjoy your nap?" he asks, a mischievous grin spreading across his face before he shakes his head vigorously, sending a shower of water droplets from his hair onto your face.

You yelp and scramble up, swatting at the water droplets. "Yeonjun, seriously?" you sputter, wiping your face. "You're such a child!"

"That's ironic because you're even more of a child!" he rebuts with a pout, mimicking a petulant toddler. Talk about ironic. You narrow your eyes at him before exhaling sharply out of your nose, sitting up to make room for him on the bed.

He plops down beside you and it takes you a second to take your eyes off his face—freshly scrubbed and still slightly damp—before remembering why you're here in the first place. Makeup.

Right, makeup.

—3 hours and 12 minutes ago …[6:09 PM]

It was over seven months ago when you and Choi Yeonjun, slightly drunk off soju and beer, were giggling uncontrollably over the dumbest jokes in the dead of night with Beomgyu, his (now ex-) roommate, passed out on the floor. Turns out, shaky hands proved to be absolute dog shit when it came to drawing a straight line. You had silently panicked as you attempted to clean up the eyeliner that you've horrendously drawn on. You had really, really wanted him to like it.

Originally, it started off as a way to tease him, begging to apply eyeliner and some eyeshadow on his lids because you think he’d look gorgeous with them, to which his lips quirked up to, whining about how no man wants to be called ‘gorgeous’ and oh how emasculating it was. Plus, Yeonjun had an inkling your intentions were far less innocent than you let on.

When he finally surrendered around... the sixth time you bring the whole thing up, you admit that your idea of making him look like a clown and getting a good laugh out of his reaction moves itself out of your thoughts the moment he ushers you to scoot next to him and work your magic... whatever that meant.

But hey, it all worked itself out. Oddly enough, from that day on, you think putting makeup on Yeonjun quickly became one of your favorite pastimes beating your recent liking to duck herding (yes, it's a real thing you've spent way too much of your time investing in).

You like to think he enjoys it to some extent too, given the number of times he's let you practice on him, even if he would never admit it outright. But regardless of how relaxing you think it might be for him, he seems to go out of his way to make it as tedious as possible for you.

Every time you start working on his makeup, he fidgets and squirms like a restless child. He'll make funny faces just as you're about to apply eyeliner, or he'll suddenly sneeze, causing a puff of powder to explode into the air. Thankfully it doesn't last long, he either tires himself out or feels too bad to continue torturing your patience. Either way, you appreciate doing this for him a lot more when he's half asleep and relatively still.

Like now for example.

You're like, 99% sure he's dozed off. Considering he's spent the week cooped up in his apartment studying his ass off for two exams, it's not very surprising the all-nighters are catching up to him. Which is exactly why you're wondering the reason hes' chosen to go out to this party anyway.

His breathing is slow and steady, and his head lolls slightly to the side.

Just as you start to apply a touch of blush, his voice breaks the silence. "Don't make it look too obvious."

You’re caught off guard that he's in fact not asleep. "I won't."

"And no crazy blue tint."

You groan, pulling away from his face. Not this again. "C'mon, I only did that once and you've been holding it over my head for three months dude."

He cracks open one eye, peering at you with a mix of exhaustion and amusement. "You made me look like a smurf."

"It was artistic!" you splutter, not believing you're back to arguing about this again. "And you looked good!"

Suddenly, his mouth closes and he cocks his brow. Then his lips twitch into a suppressed smile.

He closes his eyes fully, trying to hide his amusement. "There's absolutely no way you just let that get into your head." you whisper, truly astonished at who you've chosen to be acquainted with for more than half of your life.

"Blah, blah, blah," he mutters, waving a hand dismissively before settling back into the pillow, a small smile playing on his lips. "I know I'm handsome, thank you for the reminder."

You open your mouth to retort, then close it…open it again…and close it once more, dumbfounded. Yeonjun's insufferable when it comes to anything that has to do with his face. His ego is practically impossible to pop.

But if you had to be completely honest with yourself, you don't blame him. You especially don't now as you try to ignore the fact that he's staring you down while you apply tint to his infuriatingly perfect shaped lips. You would never admit that one out loud.

Or the fact that you've thought about kissing Yeonjun a dozen times in the past. You seem to have some weird fixation on them. You would even go as far as to replace thought with imagine. Hell, you’ve been friends for ten years, it would’ve been odd if you hadn’t at least once...right?

It's normal.

("You're weird."

You snap your head around to him, frankly offended, "What?" Is there even a chance of enjoying a party with this nuisance by your side?

"Don't act dumb, you've been staring at my lips the entire night." Yeonjun tilts his head, puckering his lips, "Trying to kiss?"

You're horrified as you blink rapidly, your cheeks burning red, completely caught off guard. "N-no? How drunk are you?"

"That was a no with a question mark. We can try it out if you want." He shrugged, leaning in closer to you, of course with his lips annoyingly puckered and his eyes closed.

You're standing in the cramped kitchen of a typical frat house, the air thick with the smell of spilled beer and cheap cologne. The counters are cluttered with half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and discarded food wrappers.

Without thinking, you had grabbed the nearest drink and thrown it at him. The cold liquid had splashed across his chest, soaking his second favorite shirt. You know it's his second favorite because he's managed to pester you about it two years after this incident.)

You don’t necessarily like Yeonjun; hell no, you just absolutely appreciatively despise how well he's grown. He’s always looked cute—you distinctly remember the countless girls who handed you notes for him in elementary school or some who've befriended you in high school to try and get his number. You just never reckoned you’d be one of the girls checking him out.

As you finish applying the clear gloss to his lips, you can’t help but let your gaze linger. His eyes are closed and his lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks, and those lips— god damn it are they stupidly inviting.

You gulp down the irrational thoughts bubbling up, trying to focus on anything but the quickening of the beating in your chest. You’ve always been the one in control, the one who didn’t fall for his charms like everyone else. Is this a side effect of being under a dry spell for longer than a month? Being stuck in the unfavorable position of lusting over your long time best friend?

That must be it because when he flutters his eyes open, the world seems to pause. Just for a second, all that fills your thoughts is just how absolutely gorgeous he looks. It hurts.

“Done,” you whisper, your voice barely steady. "Went with the au naturelle look, per request."

“Thanks,” he replies softly, his smile warm and genuine. But then you're sitting there longer than you intend to and the silence stretches out longer than appropriate, and he snorts lightly. "What?"

You blink out of your daze, shaking your head, laughing airily. “Nothing." You clear your throat, awkward. "You just look... pretty.”

But then his reaction to that pulls you right back in your trance. For the first time, a cheeky reply doesn’t leave his lips. Instead, he’s silent and he looks…shy. That's new.

“Gorgeous,” you correct yourself, nodding. “You look pretty gorgeous.” Can you say that? You don't have a clue.

“Aren’t you just complimenting your makeup skills?” He teases, though it doesn’t nearly have the same effect as it usually does when his eyes are so doe-like, giving him a weirdly innocent look. 

You would never describe Yeonjun as a puppy, but if you had to before this, he'd be more like an annoying chihuahua. Right now, he's anything but. He looks innocent. Innocent and beautiful, like a hybrid mix of an angelic, golden retriever. "Besides, maybe not the ideal impression I want to make tonight. Does that whole pretty boy thing work with women? We're probably not that advanced into the world yet. Hey! You're a woman so you should know; do you think it's going to be a little threatening or—"

His rambling fades out by like, the first word— you think you might as well just be under a spell. Because once again, you find your gaze's zeroing in on his plump, pink lips.

Fuck... should you just go for it?

Your heart races, pounding in your ears, and every rational thought slowly slips away to go knows where, leaving behind only the burning desire to close the distance between you.

Just as you lean in, a phone dings, shattering the moment. Yeonjun’s eyes flicker towards the sound, subtly breaking the spell.

He pulls out his phone, glancing at the screen with a slight frown. “Taehyun said in the group chat that he’d pick us up.” He whispers. “Meaning I don’t have to drive or anything, yay.”

You smile in response, or try to as you try to gather your scattered thoughts.

“When’s he coming?”

“Uh, hold on. Let me ask.” You should move away, just a little further—you really, really should. Take your chance now and go to the bathroom to calm yourself down. It's the combination of Yeonjun being unfairly attractive, the fact that you haven't had sex in ages, and the proximity. If you eliminate one of those factors, you won't make the huge mistake you're so, so close to making.

But…you don’t want to. You don't want to ignore the burning desire of jumping his bones right this moment...for lack of better words.

“He hasn't even showered yet, Jesus christ.” Yeonjun snickers, looking down at his phone then back up at you. His squeaky laugh dies down pretty quickly when he notices you aren't sharing the humor, silently putting his phone face down on the bedside table. “What?” he says again. The shy expression’s back, his eyebrows tilt up and he looks like a damn kicked puppy…exactly your type.

Your eyes twitch and narrow with hesitation as you bite the inside of your cheeks; this feels wrong. You could stop it from going any further, keep your juvenile attraction from altering anything between you and Yeonjun. But when his tongue flicks out to wet his pink lips, you curse the gods for making the forbidden apple irresistibly tempting.

"Your teeth are pretty."

He furrows his brows, clearly taken aback. "That's an odd thing to—"

"I like it when you smile," you blurt out, your voice barely above a whisper.

"...Th...ank you?" He stammers, confusion mixed with curiosity in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, then out. "Yeonjun. Can I fuck you?"

He blinks. It’s silent as his eyes dart around like this is some elaborate prank, expecting a group of people to pop out with a camera in his face. You can see the visible gulp in his throat, his fingers hesitantly toying with the hem of your shorts, showing that he absolutely knew jack shit what to do with his hands. “Can you what?” He laughs nervously.

You've always imagined how it'd be like to kiss Choi Yeonjun.

And now that you’re experiencing it, all thoughts about this being a silly little thing you’ve entertained ever so rarely, hits the fan.

He feels against you like everything you imagined and more; the pillowy softness of his plump lips that feels so comfortable as they open slightly more each time it could lull you to sleep. His breathing that comes out in short gasps the harder you press yourself against him, having you dig your nails further into his face. His pitched whines drowned out by your feverish lips as you kiss him over and over again, feeling yourself get hooked by the minute.

You should stop. You should.

That’s what you plan to do when you finally pull away from the kiss, wipe your lips of any remnants of him, get off the bed and sprint the hell out of his house, then preferably find a way to blame it on female hormones or whatever. College guys never question that, do they?

But for the second time tonight, your mind draws blank and your eyes are stuck to his face, the slight smudge of the tint you applied and his heavy lidded eyes, his rising chest, the print of your nails showing up red on his cheeks…God, you’ve got absolutely no self control. “Um, do... that?” You breathe out.

You haven't entertained the idea that he might reject your advances, until now that is. And then what you've just done would probably be counted as assault. And it'd be too awkward to speak ever again and oh god, what the fuck have you done—

Your reverie's broken when Yeonjun suddenly leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer before he finally moves you to straddle his lap, the initial hesitation gone. The intensity of his response takes you by surprise, but you quickly melt into it, your body responding to him with an urgency that matches his own. The makeup kit gets knocked off the bed in your fervor, and neither of you care.

“Yeonjun. We—we won’t do this again right?” You ask, breathless, as you start to roll your hips slightly into him in an attempt of reliving that incessant need at your core.

“Yeah…yeah.” he sighs out, seemingly a goner when you increase even just a bit of friction.

“This is like, totally a one time thing that we’d just randomly bring up in a game of truth or dare as a fun anecdote and—and we’d be like those cool best friends with a cool little platonic relationship that’ve hooked up once. Totally normal.” you ramble, your resolve breaking as you grind against his rapidly growing boner. “Right?”

“Mm, totally.” he whines, his eyes heavy with lust. He looks completely consumed by the sensation he’s feeling and it fuels your desire for him tenfold. You kiss him again, your noses bumping against each other as you take his pretty lips in yours over and over again. You pull away slightly enough to catch your breath, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips, glistening in the dim light. Your faces are only inches apart, so close you can hear the gulp he takes, his breath warm and ragged against your skin.

"Whatever you say." he murmurs, his voice husky.

Oh. Oh.

This is totally unfair.

You brush your thumb gently across his bottom lip, savoring the way he shivers under your touch. "Whatever I say, huh?”

He nods slightly, “Yeah.”

You bite your lip before deciding to trail kisses down his jawline, your breath hot against his skin. You can feel his pulse quickening beneath your touch, the small gasp escaping his lips as you press a lingering kiss just below his ear is something you can only describe as maddening to your state. “You’re sensitive,” you note lightly before continuing your journey down his neck. 

You gulp when he decides on finally gripping your ass, taking a bit of control on your pace. He rolls his head back slightly, chuckling, “Fuck, gonna make me nut in my pants if you keep goin’ like that.”

You need to hear more of the whining, more of his cute noises and more of his pathetic display. You want to hear him beg.

“Hands off.”

Clarity washes over his eyes a little more as he falters, his hands lessening its grip, blinking perplexed. The innocent looks back almost immediately and it drives you insane. “Keep them above your head, you don’t get to touch me unless I tell you to.”

You don’t wait for a reply before immediately sinking down to nip at his neck again, soothing the spot with your tongue, and he gasps. Yeonjun whines like earlier and it’s so …primal. Actually you don’t even think he would’ve protested in the first place because he seems entirely fine like this, completely at your disposal as his moans start to pick up intensity way quicker than you anticipated. 

"Holy shit," he breathes, his voice barely a whisper. "You’re driving me crazy."

You smile against his skin, leaving one last kiss before pulling back to meet his eyes, which he visibly pouts at. You cup his cheeks. "I know. But don’t get too excited just yet.”

He lightly scoffs, “Way to stroke your ego.”

“Learned from the best.” you retort, your hands moving quickly to unbuckle his jeans.

His breath hitches as he watches you. “Are we really going... all the way?”

You pause, raising a brow, searching his eyes for any hesitation. “...Do you not want to?”

“Condoms in second drawer.”

—2 hours and 1 minute ago …[7:20 PM]

“P-please...please. Please. Move. Just a little." he hiccups the last plea, his tear stained face buried in your neck. "You're s-so fucking cruel," he says, his voice muffled.

"Sorry, I kinda like it when you're crying."

His breath shudders against your skin; you can feel his desperation, his need, and it sends a thrilling rush through you. You gently pull back, just enough to see his face, his eyes wet with unshed tears, his lips parted in a silent plea.

Slowly, deliberately, you let your hands trace the lines of his body, feeling the tension and desire coiled tightly beneath his skin. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, savoring the soft gasp that escapes him. "My jjunie's such a good boy," you drawl.

He trembles under your touch, his hands gripping you tighter, silently begging for more. You move your hips up slightly, just enough to elicit a strangled moan from him, the sound raw and needy.

"Do you like it when I make you cry?" you murmur against his ear, your voice a sultry whisper.

He nods frantically, unable to form words, his breath hot and ragged. The sight of him so vulnerable, so utterly at your mercy, ignites a fierce desire within you. You bite your lip, relishing the power you hold over him, the way his body responds to your every touch, every whisper.

"Are you usually like this?" you suddenly muster to ask, finding too much enjoyment playing with this poor boy.

He only whines as a response and you laugh, increasing your pace on his cock as you go up and down. "Y'know...so pliable."

Yeonjun bites back a sob of pain, feeling like he's going to die from the power he’s exerting to hold back. He grips onto the sheets, his fingers turning white from the strain. "Aw, look at you, poor baby. Am I going too slow?"

He nods again, more vigorously this time, drool seeping out the edge of his lips as his mouth hangs open, thinking you're going to spare him just a bit.

If you're going to do this once with him, you'd rather do anything but.

His face falls when you suddenly stop, his eyes blown wide, hair a disheveled mess; he looks absolutely debauched. This time more closely resembling a fallen angel. "Fuck me on your own if I'm so bad at this."

"I didn't- you're not bad at-" even when he tries to respond, he doesn't hesitate to try and switch positions, but you immediately put a stop to it, pressing him back down firmly. "No. I'll still be on top."

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, eyes wide. "Then... how?"

You shrug, a teasing smirk playing on your lips. "Figure it out."

You gasp when he starts massaging your breasts, not expecting the sudden touch. "You're the worst," he moans against your tit once he engulfs your nipple in his mouth, suckling rather roughly while simultaneously raising his hips off the bed, struggling to slam his cock in a fitting pace.

His bangs fall over his eyes, and his lips are swollenly red from how hard he's bitten them. You would label his determination adorable if it wasn't for the fact that you currently had him stretching your pussy out.

"Yeah— but probably the best fuck you've had in a while." you manage to grit out.

"You humor yourself."

You can't take him too seriously when his words are so slurred and barely coherent with how eager he is to bury himself between your tits and lather them with his spit.

"You're such a dog," you purr, "C'mon, don't give up on me doggy. I can tell you're just desperate to let it all out."

He groans, sucking harder as he starts up again, frantically fucking up into you. You can tell hes already a goner when his eyes start to roll to the back of his head, the moans of your name short and incessant.

"Don't get dumb on me already."

He whispers sorry's over and over again, nodding his head.

"Fuck--f-fuck, why're you doing this to me?” his breath hitches, whining like a baby. What you're completely unaware of as you get lost in your pleasure— the last thing Choi Yeonjun wants is to get out of this looking like a desperate bitch. Especially to you.

But he simply can't help it.

Hes' never been under these circumstance. Hes never sounded like this for any girl, hes never let himself get this vulnerable. And for it to be during sex? It's the closest thing to a nightmare.

But he can't dwell on those thoughts when you lean over to his ear, showering him with praises on how pretty he looks and oh how well he's doing. That he's just getting you so fucking close.

When you pull away again, the only thing that's on his mind is just how...pretty you look.

“B-bet you tell other guys that all the time,” his smirk twitches at that, getting himself worked up.

You tilt your head. “Calling them pretty?” you implore, rolling his nipples between your fingers just to elicit that perfect reaction from him; he gives you just as much, half gasping half moaning against his better will, “A few, yeah” you tease.

That doesn't seem to be the right thing to say because his face immediately falls and your intention of having light banter goes to the back burner as you slightly panic, feeling bad and kissing him in attempt of making it up to him non verbally. But that doesn't do the job because the moment you pull away, he's still frowning.

You sigh, rubbing your thumb on his cheek affectionately, "But you're the one I'm most honest about."

He doesn't hesitate to lean into the familiar touch, and you can't help but coo at how cute he's acting. "You mean that?"

You press your forehead to his, your breath mingling with his, and nod. "Mhm, the prettiest."

That does it.

Slowly, he starts to thrust upward, trying to match the rhythm he had previously set. You can feel his desperation, his need to please you, and it sends a thrill through your body.

"That's it," you purr, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "Show me how badly you want it baby."

He groans, the new angle allowing him to hit deeper inside you with each thrust. His hands find their way to your hips, guiding you to move with him. You can feel the tension in his body, every muscle working to bring you both closer to the edge. You purposefully clench around his swollen cock and he buries his head against you again. You let him as you thread through his hair.

"You feel so good, you smell so good, you—" he breathes, his voice trembling with the effort. "Please, let me—fuck, cum please—c-can't hold it any longer."

You press your lips to his neck, sucking lightly as you murmur, "Not yet, baby. I want to feel you beg for it."

His thrusts become more frantic under you, the sound of skin slapping against skin being proof, his breath coming out hot and ragged against your skin. "Please," he begs sweetly, his voice a desperate whisper. "I need it so bad. Please, let me cum. I'll do anything."

Your own desire reaches a fever pitch as you watch him unravel beneath you. "Anything?" you tease.

"Anything," he repeats, his eyes locking onto yours, filled with a mixture of desperation and adoration.

With a wicked smile, you finally relent, moving your hips in sync with his thrusts, the friction building to an unbearable intensity. "Cum for me," you command, your voice low and sultry. "Now."

His body tenses, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he finally lets go, the release hitting him with shuddering force. The sight of him coming undone beneath you pushes you over the edge, your own climax ripping through you, leaving you both breathless and trembling.

"Holy shit."

You chuckle, collapsing to his side, both of you now staring at the ceiling. But slowly, the realization starts to set in.

You just...had sex with Choi Yeonjun. Whatever bliss you were stuck in, dissipates as nut clarity takes over. You just fucked your best friend. And even worse, you dirty talked. Suddenly, you feel shame and embarrassment course through your bloodstream, making your cheeks burn and your stomach twist.

"D-did you... like, cum?"

You avoid eye contact, preferring the staring contest you're having with his stupid ceiling as you wrap your naked body with his sheets. "Yep."

An awkward silence hangs between you, the air thick with unspoken emotions. You can feel his eyes on you, searching for something, but you keep your gaze fixed on the ceiling, counting the imperfections in the paint.

"Splendid," he finally says, the word hanging in the air.

Splendid...splendid?

You burst out in a fit of giggles, unable to hold it back. The look of disbelief on your face is mirrored by the amusement in his eyes. "Splendid? Really?" you manage to say between giggles, your body shaking with laughter.

He blushes, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "What? I use big words when I'm nervous."

"Splendid's a big word to you?"

"Okay, low blow."

"Man, just pass me my clothes," you laugh, shifting to sit up on the bed. The blanket is draped over your chest, and you look at him expectantly as he fetches the ones that got on the floor.

He watches you, a slight smile playing on his lips, but confusion clouds your eyes. What's he expecting? "Turn around."

He looks even more puzzled as he says, "But we just had sex. Like penis in vagina sex. I saw it all."

"Yeah, and never again, Yeonjun," you retort, still giggling as you reach out for your clothes. "Just turn around."

He rolls his eyes but obliges. "Fine, fine. I’m turning around."

You quickly gather your clothes, slipping into them while keeping an eye on his back. "Damn, so that really was just a one-time thing."

"Mhm," you hum, then get off his bed fully dressed to go to his bathroom and at least make your hair look presentable. As you run a brush through your hair, you glance at your reflection, shaking your head at the state you're currently in.

Meanwhile, Yeonjun is still in bed, naked and absolutely spent, watching you as you step out of the bathroom, heading to his closet to fetch him some pants since ...there's a big wet spot on the ones he was going to wear to the party. As you rummage through the closet, something catches your eye, and you pull out a pair of familiar bunny ears.

Your bunny ears from high school.

You come out of the closet, holding the ears up with a look of surprise. "You still have this?"

Yeonjun glances over, his eyes widening in recognition before he breaks into a sheepish grin. "Oh, those. Yeah, I found them a while back and couldn't bring myself to throw them away."

You break into a grin, walking over to the bed, playfully placing the bunny ears on his head. "You look ridiculous," you laugh, pulling out your phone to take pictures of him.

He groans but doesn’t stop you, knowing it's futile. "Great, now you're going to have blackmail material for life."

You snap a few photos, giggling at how silly he looks. "Oh, absolutely. These are going to come in handy."

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly as the ears flop around. "Just promise you won't show them to anyone. My reputation can't handle it."

You laugh, tucking your phone back into your pocket. "Don't worry, these are just for me."

See?

You and Yeonjun are just fine. Was it a little awkward the first few seconds? Sure. But there's absolutely nothing in the world that can get in the between of you two.

—present …[9:24 PM]

Noticing how much more comfortable he seems now, everything else fades into background noise— he’s almost right back to his usual self. Something about that bothers you as you take a big gulp of your drink, feeling the burn as it slides down your throat. Suddenly, you stand up, blinking away the dizziness. “I need to sober up. Hyejoon, come with me to the bathroom.”

“Huh? Oh, okay.”

It’s a hassle to find the bathroom, but when you do, you quickly lock the door behind you and your friend. You rush to the mirror, staring at your reflection before turning on the water to wash your face.

What’s wrong with you? Is there something wrong with you? It must be the alcohol.

“You feeling alright?” she whispers, her brows furrowing in concern.

You splash your face with freezing water over and over again, trying to snap out of it. The one question that plagues your thoughts over and over again feels dooming; did you make a mistake?

“Hey,” she pulls you back to face her. “Are you okay?”

You stare at her in silence for a bit until you end up cracking a firm smile, “Yeah, just needed to get my head out of the gutter.”

[iid-smile]

#06 ୨ৎ ⸝⸝ @berryzai ⋆

how did i COMPLETELY skip over this ask omg this is adorbs! the amount of dazai lovers ive got is crazy 3, 20 and 21 are all headcanons, but 21 has a realllyyyy short drabble 🤗 (can you tell my brain started to fart the further down you go? im not proud of it but i legit have no idea what else to add)

#3 🍰 | your anniversary

he brings you to an art museum! dazai always gets interested in what you're interested in, so don't be surprised when you lose him half way through and he's on the other side of the building

treats it like a birthday and buys a cake for the two of you to share + he brings some to work the next day <3 (only for him, he doesn't share)

also buys the clothes/accessories of your dreams, and he does it every time. sometimes he just knows what you want

definitely the type to buy jewellery on an anniversary. sometimes he likes to scare you with a ring, but it's usually a bracelet or necklace.

changes his ringtone every anniversary to your favourite song at the time. he loves hearing you hum along whenever somebody calls him

#20 🍦| love language

acts of service

he learns how to do laundry for your clothes so none of the dresses get ruined. he reads every single care label and has separate hampers for separate conditions

shoos off weird guys trying to flirt with you before they even approach. he doesn't want you to close off yourself when you're already having fun, so no strangers are going to ruin that!

carries you to bed when you overwork yourself. he's half debating between letting you sleep at a desk/table with his coat draped over you, or making sure you're comfortable and won't be sore the next morning

always makes sure ingredients are stocked and goes grocery shopping for you. he does get into a bit of trouble, but he does the job

quality time

dancing. dazai loves big dresses, and is 100% convinced that he has to dance with you every time you put one on.

back and forth banter. he banters with literally every person he knows, but it's special when it's you.

physical touch

you're affectionate, so he's affectionate too.

a big hugger, and also the type to massage. he puts his hands to good use all the time, and your shoulders are within easy reach, so...

randomly touches your waist if he's just walking past, or playfully taps your forehead when you're laying around

#21 🍦 | where they like to kiss you

hands

admires the fact that you can create lovely work with your hands

he kisses them as if you're actual royalty, so he gets on one knee and everything.

he also massages them if they cramp up

forehead

it feels right

an easy spot if your hands are too busy, and isn't complicated to kiss. basically it's a good spot no matter what you're doing

he likes kissing your forehead a lot in public or if you visit him while working. it's not too showy, but not too closed off either, if you know what i mean

you've had your gaze trained on the light pencil sketches in front of you for an unimaginable about of time. perhaps dazai had been walking around you for a bit, but you really didn't notice. "i'm busy, osamu." you say without looking up, feeling his fingers graze and tug at your ear.

"i know, i just wanted to kiss you first."

just that comment manages to make you draw your eyes away from the paper you were so focused on. "but i'm—"

"your other hand doesn't seem so busy to me..." he muses, his fingers sneaking up underneath your palm and seizing it in his grasp. "what's with you and avoiding my kisses? do you not like them?"

for a little while, you look conflicted, then a smile overcomes your features. "you distract me." you respond simply, a teasing lilt to your voice.

damn him for being such a good actor, as he almost had you fooled, his face looking so disheartened as he stared down at you. it only takes under a second for him to softly grin, kissing all over your knuckles. "as i should."

event masterlist

[gaiathemexicanbeauty]

Imagine: Mike is back at his mall security guard job, and reader works at the support desk, but more specifically; is in charge of the lost and found.

1st time was because he found an forgotten phone (or something), and was told to take it to the lost and found, where he first met reader.

Then he starts being extra vigilent when walking around, looking for any item that looks misplaced or lost, no matter how unimportant, just as an excuse to go to the lost and found to talk to reader

(Ive never done this before, so sorry if i did anything wrong!)

lost and found | mike schmidt x reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: none! just a nice little fluffy piece about a sad sad man lol <3

to the asker, i hope you know that i saw this in my inbox and literally squealed, i was waiting for someone to drop a mike request

i hope that this is to your liking, i was going back and forth trying to decide how to start this off and coming up with tiny little ideas to add

also this probably goes without saying, but i have never worked at a mall nor interacted with mall staff if i can help it so if anything sounds off, feel free to correct me

to anyone who also writes on tumblr, pls tell me how you avoid using y/n, i tried to work around it as much as possible but some times just called for it

you hold your polite (albeit strained) smile to the blubbering woman walking away, unsure what to do with yourself as whoever she stands with rubs her back in comfortable circles. another lost wedding ring, gone to the test of time as long as the mall shall live: it's not that you didn't feel bad but after wedding ring #120, you kind of start to get used to the routine of things. lost and found wasn't your first choice when you first started working here but as long as you were getting a paycheck, you weren't going to complain. your side of the mall was rarely visited anyway, giving you the opportunity to do plenty of people watching when you weren't rummaging through piles of lost sweaters and purses.

you let out a quiet sigh once the customers are gone, sitting back in your seat and picking up the book you had once been reading; not like there was anything better to do. fully immersed in your book, you don't even notice the footsteps coming up to the counter. "um, hey." you jolt a bit at the sound of a voice, your gaze snapping from your book to whoever is standing only a few feet away. you have to hold back your reaction when you meet his eyes, tired but trying their best to look interested; it takes you a second to realize this is security and not another customer. "shoot, sorry." you mumble with an awkward smile as you sit up, resting your book in your lap to give the man in front of you your full attention. "how can i help you?" with a thin-lipped smile, he holds up a purse; from the looks of the logo on it, it's obvious this is designer.

you whistle as you take the purse from him, examining it with raised eyebrows. "well, you don't see this everyday. someone should come back for it, thanks." you say, flashing a grin at the security guard as he gives you a much more genuine smile. "no problem. if i had known lost and found got to see stuff like this, i would have put in to work over here instead." he says with a chuckle, folding his hands in front of him as he leans on the counter. "oh, we don't get interesting stuff that often, i promise you." you say with a roll of your eyes, putting the purse behind the counter; anyone in their right mind would come back for this thing. "enlighten me." before you can say something, the security guard outstretches a hand to you with a smile. "i'm mike, by the way. i work security." he says as you shake his hand, raising your eyebrows at him playfully. "(y/n). to give you some insight into how very little happens here, try and guess how many gachapon toys i have behind this counter."

and just like that, you've made a friend; not that you'd admit that mike wasn't sore on the eyes this soon. you just found it easy to talk to him considering you had never seen him around up until this point. after your first meeting, mike would regularly stop by whether he had something lost to leave with you or not: if you were lucky, he would even join you for lunch or walk you out at the end of a shift. little by little, you couldn't help but anticipate his arrival, the same relaxed smile always on his face much unlike the first time he'd approached you.

it's been almost a month by this point, you've had so many lost items deposited to you that after a while, throwing things away or reselling them (specific orders from your boss who was rather shocked at how many items you had in the back room) was required after a certain amount of time: not like anyone came back for them anyway. today was no different than the rest, the sounds of buzzing conversation in the distance from the more crowded areas of the mall. you pop the gum in your mouth as you paint your thumbnail a light-yellow color, scrunching your nose a bit at the smell of the nail polish. you blow softly on it, your eyes glancing up to scan your surroundings. what you see nearly makes you laugh. mike is walking over, seemingly at his normal pace before something catches his attention; whatever it is, you most definitely can't see it. when he stoops down to inspect it, he makes a face that you can only decipher as him being slightly annoyed. he catches you looking at him, an embarrassed smile on his face as he makes the rest of the walk of shame over to you when he realizes he's been caught.

"well, what is it this time? a broken watch? some cap with an unexplainable stain on it?" "what kind of person do you take me for? i'm just a faithful employee trying to do my job." mike says as he extends his arms with a playful smile, making you role your eyes as you abandon your nail polish to look up at the man in front of you. you close your eyes as you hold out your hand to him expectantly, waiting for him to drop something into your palm; after how often he came around, you made it something of a guessing game as to what mike was going to bring out. surprisingly, it's small, definitely plastic from the muted sound it makes when it lands in your hand. "it's a toy." "warm enough. you can open your eyes." you start to say something, opening your eyes and inspecting the item in your hand before you pause.

a small, plastic cat sits on a swing, it's paws holding on to the small chains attached to a brightly colored tab; it's obvious you could hang this off a shelf. your cheeks redden a bit as a sheepish smile grows on your face, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear as your other hand holds it up to inspect it further. you'd never actually stopped at the capsule toy machines yourself, starting your collection only a few weeks after starting your job when they popped up so frequently at the counter. "you like it?" you blink at mike as he smiles fondly at you, one hand propping his chin up; you swear you can see a hint of smugness in his gaze. "it's..yeah. it's cute." you say, unable to help the way you giggle a bit as you hang the toy on the edge of the counter. "good. better hope no one come's looking for it." he chuckles softly, his eyes dropping from yours for a moment as you stare in delight at the newest addition to your collection. "i wouldn't give it to them anyway. not knowing you got it for me." mike's lips part a bit in shock, a scoff of disbelief leaving him despite the smile on his face as you smile up at him knowingly. he tries to defend himself, stuttering to say something before you're called by one of your coworkers. "duty calls." you giggle as you rise from your seat, pretending not to notice the way mike is still trying to recover from being caught as you make your way over to your coworker, a smile tugging at your lips.

SECOND ONE SHOT IN A WEEK HOLY MOLY THIS IS NEW to the asker, i hope you enjoyed this, i tried to add my own little spin to things just to give it that little extra romantic flair lol BUTTT i hope that all of you are having a good rest of your day/night/afternoon and stay safe! :D

[hymnism]

release the list

(i feel like i should mention these are all games ive personally played so if any of these make you go "why isn't [GAME] on here it's probably cuz i haven't played it. anyway)

(obligatory mention to hades/disco elysium/omori since they're some of my favorite games but im sure everyone already knows about them. they are lovely games and you should play them 👍)

darkest dungeon ($25) - turn based roguelike where you recruit mercenaries and send them on dungeon explorations and make sure they don't die of stress or starvation alongside the regular monster attacks. notoriously difficult. imagine bloodborne but turn based

ftl: faster than light ($10)- real time roguelike where you control a small crew and pilot a spaceship on the run from a rebel fleet. manage power and weapons on your own ship while targeting critical systems on the enemy

loop hero ($15)- a roguelike where your character will automatically walk in a loop while you use cards to add terrain with different effects such as spawning monsters to give you loot or increasing your healing. very unique with a beautiful pixel artstyle and banger soundtrack

moonlighter ($20)- a roguelike rpg where you go dungeon diving and try to bring back as much loot as you can so that you can sell it in your shop

shadows of doubt ($20)- early access. a first person sandbox detective simulator where each case is procedurally generated. randomly generates a town with npcs that all have names and addresses and relationships. put together clues from a crime scene and try to catch a killer before they strike again. work odd jobs between cases to keep yourself fed and housed

ultrakill ($25) fast paced first person shooter with a style system ala devil may cry. you play as a robot fighting through the layers of hell. mankind is dead. blood is fuel. hell is full

crypt of the necrodancer ($15)- a rhythm based roguelike dungeon crawler where you and your enemies are only allowed to move on beat. banger soundtrack goes without saying

everhood ($10)- a rhythm based rpg where you play as a red doll who had their arm stolen and is trying to get it back. battles involve moving between 5 lanes to avoid enemy attacks. if you like undertale you'll like this

spiritfarer ($30)- management and adventure game where you play as a spiritfarer who needs to care for spirits on her boat before leading them into the afterlife. incredibly charming and touching game. you will cry

let's school ($20)- management sim where you build and manage a school and help students graduate by setting up different courses. addicting and has a very cute artstyle

let's build a zoo ($20)- management sim where you. well where you build a zoo. a very silly game that includes a morality system where you can choose to be eco friendly and help repopulate endangered species or you can exploit your animals for their meat and produce. also has an animal splicing mechanic. haven't you ever wanted to make a giraffe with a duck head

the wandering village ($25)- early access. a city builder with the twist that you live on the back of a giant wandering beast named onbu. you help care for onbu as he wanders though different biomes that force you to adjust your resource production as some things become unavailable (such as water in a desert)

frostpunk ($30) a survival city builder where you build around a central core and try to prevent everyone from freezing to death in progressively colder temperatures

monster sanctuary ($20)- a metroidvania style creature collector with a unique combo meter that will continue to build and increase your damage based on the number of "hits" you can perform (healing buffs and shields also count as hits) and each monster has different skill trees that you can upgrade and customize

coral island ($30)- farming life sim with a unique underwater area where you can live and farm and raise aquatic plants and animals. you work to help restore the island after and oil spill ruined the surrounding ocean. i should mention that although this game is technically not in early access it is still unfinished and missing large chunks of gameplay/interactions/story. however there is still a healthy amount of content and is still a fun game as it is

apico ($20)- a beekeeping sim where you keep bees to make and sell honey while also breeding and releasing them to help restore their numbers in the wild

spirittea ($20)- a management and life sim where you manage a bathhouse for ghosts and help the townsfolk who think they're haunted (they're right). basically a cross between stardew valley and spirited away

cloud meadow ($20)- early access. this is a porn game ⚠️ a farming sim where instead of regular animals you have anthro characters and you can breed them either yourself or with each other and have them help in combat or on your farm. very cute artstyle and amazing animation work

[sinon36]

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part VI

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Warnings: torture, violence, gore, mistakes.

- the sixth time you meet it’s after a lot of frenzied searches

- the missions have been slow a while now; you mostly act as a handler for TF141, alongside Laswell; the boys got used to your calm voice in their earpieces, guiding and directing them through buildings and underground bases; your “hacking” skills come in handy when Laswell gets caught up with something else

- they always come home in time for you to get supper together; it’s a nice way of living; so different from the loneliness you felt before; now you have a small family to call your own; the banter between you and the sergeants feels the air; you throw jokes to one another; Price quietly chuckles at his younger subalterns; Ghost on the other hand stays silent most of the time;

- you always sit next to him, in the mess hall, in briefing rooms, in helis, or cars; it’s something he’s not sure yet how to interpret; yes, the two of you got along just fine; you have the same dark humour that makes the other soldiers in the base shiver when they hear you laugh at your jokes; you can sit in comfortable silence for hours; you don’t pry into each other’s lives, which he’s thankful; you hadn’t even asked him his name, and you already know one another for more than two years; he won’t admit but he doesn’t like the way his heart feels when you laugh at one of Soap’s jokes, or discuss with Gaz one of the new books you’ve bought, or even when Price comes close to you, peaking over your shoulder and talking quietly with you about the files you’ve got in front of you;

- Ghost does not allow the thought, that he might be jealous on his comrades’ interactions with you, take roots inside his mind; he can’t; you’re just doing your job and you just happen to enjoy the 141’s company, in the most platonic way; he knows that your bond is far superior to that of the other’s; you saved his life, saw his face, and he in turned saved yours; that must add up to something;

- yet he feels that something’s wrong with him; Price pointed out that ever since you joined TF141 he seems quieter, and less present; he’s becoming more and more his namesake; he denies that, and argues that he’s just tired, now that he’s getting older; Price calls out his shite; the captain is older than him, and he’s far more active than him;

- but the captain can’t do more than that, a friendly conversation; yours and Ghost’s relationship is extremely professional; he rarely sees the two of you interact in the common room, or anywhere else for that matter, that’s not the battle field or the briefing room; you also work incredibly well; you two and Soap had made quite the trio when it comes to field work; he affectionately calls you the Unholy Trinity of Task Force 141; trails of body are left in your wake and almost all missions go well without the tinniest hitch; the men joke around that surely you are some kind of witch that made a deal with the devil to have success; you laugh and chalk it all up to skill, hard work, and a shite ton of sheer luck;

- though you keep reminding them that your luck will run out one day, they ignore you, joking that you’ll have to tolerate them until you retire; you’re not as optimistic; you’re the realist of the whole team; you know the risks are ten times bigger than theirs

- most of the times you go in alone, unarmed, no back up, no communication; you only have yourself to rely on; and you know that when the fatigue catches up with you, you’ll slip up, make a mistake, that’ll get you killed or worse

- and then the worst you feared happens; you go MIA during a simple infiltration; the boys find no trace to indicate where you’d been taken to or by whom; Laswell can’t find any sign of you, no matter how hard she tries, or how far she’s stretching her informant network; nothing; denial turns to angry searches, busting down doors and torturing anyone they come across; that turns to desperation, they start looking into the most unrelated events they find, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they get a glimpse of your name, or an alias, or something, no matter how small; and that turns to silence, they stop bringing you up, start avoiding your name or anything that might point out you’re not there; after Laswell mentions you in one of their briefings, that the time to change your status to KIA is due, Ghost smashes the chair you used to sit in

- it’s one of the most violent reactions he’s had outside the battlefield since you’d disappeared, and Price starts to worry that his lieutenant will do something stupid if they don’t find out what happened to you; he threatens Laswell to not touch that file of yours; ‘Not yet, Kate. Not yet.’ He says in a sadder and calmer voice    

- acceptance never came; the thought that maybe you’re not even alive, buried somewhere unmarked, or body burned beyond recognition is a thought they’d long banished; wherever they went they kept their eyes peeled for you; their hope of finding you never wavers

- and then their prayers are answered; they get something; it’s not much; a 3-second clip; it’s blurred, to few pixels to really make out any details; and the camera seems to be moved violently, barely catching the hunched posture of a person tied to a chair; Laswell got it form one of her contacts; it’s from a half destroyed hard drive they recovered from heli the dropped out of the sky

- it’s not much; actually, is far too little to go on with; the video doesn’t show a face, nor reveals any names; the background so dark they can’t make out anything; But they agree it’s you; from the size of your body, to your complexion to the colour of your hair, now longer and falling over your face; it’s been months since they last saw you but they know it’s you   

- ‘Proof of life’ Price concludes; ‘But fur who?’ Soap voices the question they all thought of that; ‘It don’t matter’ Ghost points out, voice gruffer than ever; ‘Where is more important.’ Gaz specifies

- they get to work; they comb the crash site, having received the location from Laswell; at first they don’t find anything; but Ghost’s keen eyes find it; it’s a small piece of silvery metal, wedged in the dirt; it’s only half, but he can make out the letters clearly; cyrillic letter; he grunts; ‘Price…’ he shouts to get everyone’s attention; when they come closer he shows it to them; ‘Russians’ they conclude

- the hunt begins; Nik is there to smuggle the Brits over the Russian borders and to provide them with an extraction vehicle, in his case an old rusty Russian helicopter, that can barely fly under the radar, it flinches and grunts at every gust of wind, but it’s as covert as can be; they don’t bear any insignia visible on their black camo uniforms; their faces tucked under black balaclavas; even their guns are Russian, some AK-47 Nik provided them with no striations on the barrels; they even agreed to keep their mouths shut, letting the captain converse with anyone that they might encounter; no one can no that a team of Brits put their feet on Russian soil

- they carefully went over all the details just like you got them used to when you did infiltrations; they are as prepared as ever; the plan is simple; take out the guards that make their rounds through the facility and take their place; that will give them sufficient time to look for you and find a way out to get you out; “if” they find you; the information came through Laswell and it was already a couple weeks old; chances are you’ve been moved;

- they search everywhere; you’re not there; time for plan B: infiltrate their data base; Price gets his hand on a computer and plugs the USB containing the backdoor virus; it takes some time to install, then to reboot the whole system; Laswell gives the green light that they’re in; they get out of there leaving no trace that they ever were inside

- the next two weeks are gruesome; Ghost spends most of his time destroying the punching bags in the gym; he barely eats and barely sleeps; he starts hearing your voice in the night when he climbs the ladder to the roof, perched up like an owl, having a smoke away from everyone; he hears a soft whisper, or a small chuckle; he’s going crazy, he thinks; crazy with worry for you;

- it’s been years since Simon felt worry for someone; when his family was killed, he vowed to never get close to another soul again; but then you had to save him; you didn’t even know him; risked your life for a stranger that cannot repay you for that act of kindness

- but he can; he can make sure you’re safe on missions; that’s why he’d always stalk your figure through the scope; that’s why he’d have you with him and Soap every time you’d split up; so he can keep his eyes on that pretty face of yours; that’s why he’d threaten the other marines on base with the court martial when he’d hear lewd comments about you being their whore and so much worse; he’d be wringing their necks if Price didn’t keep such a close eyes on his actions  

- he misses you, and your presence, and your sweet perfume, and your voice, and your eyes that would look straight into his when he told you a joke, smirk matching his own; he missed the way you’d drink your tea together in the morning, in silence broken only by soft sighs and the sound of the sofa under your weights; if he got up before you he’d make sure to boil enough water for two mugs and he’d put the tea in the moment he could hear your footsteps heading to the common room; he was so accustomed to you that he could make out your footsteps even in the busiest corridors; lighter than most, almost quiet but quick, lively; he misses that too

- the way you’d make your away towards him and with a nod take the seat next to his, softly brushing his shoulder with yours in an unspoken acknowledgement… I’m here, next to you… your simple touch made his skin boil underneath his clothes and yearn for more; he’d take advantage of situations out in the field; he’d grab you and help you climb over obstacles, he’d give you a head anytime he felt you needed it; and you’d never refuse his help;

- he’ll be dammed if he doesn’t find you; just like you found him when you first met

- two weeks pass by slower when you’re almost always awake, Simon knew that already; but he’s the first to get on the tarmac when Price gives the order for heading out; Laswell managed to pinpoint your location; one of the Russian commanders moved you to an off the record, but not really cause ‘Russians are shit at keeping a low profile.’ Laswell adds, compound where they’d keep foreign prisoners for interrogations; the American woman sends them out to get you out and wipe any witness that has seen your face

- exactly what Simon wanted; the green light to do what he’s best at: mauling his enemies;

- the compound they keep you in is underground, ventilation system outdated, like pretty much any piece of technology they keep; they record the interrogation on an old Sony camera; you doubt it can register your mumbled responses, not that you’d say anything useful; you’d match every question with a curse in a clear American accent; you don’t want to give them anything that might be traced back to your British boys;

- they can’t get anything out of you; not your name, not whom do you work for, or where you’re from, what you were looking for when you infiltrated their operation, etc.; they were met with an unsurmountable resistance; no matter how many times they’d beat you, drown you, burn you, cut you, electrocute you, or humiliate you; they took away most of your clothes, leaving you in your underwear and what little remained from your tank top, enough to cover only your upper torso; you were cold, hungry and in pain; you had been in this condition for months; but you wouldn’t give up

- in the academy they taught you that the longer you lasted the more chances of being found; that thought has crossed your mind more than once; but you don’t allow yourself to hope; that would only weigh you down the more time passes; no, you look for ways to free yourself and learn the personnel’s schedule; and you wait for the best opportunity

- that window of opportunity is near; for a week now you worked on pulling out the nail in the chair that holds the chair’s handle together; you managed to pull out the nail and twist your wrist to try and scratch at the rope; the motion is uncomfortable and painful, the skin of your wrist is cut open by the rope that soaks up your blood; you’ve been at it for hours, trying to cut yourself loose; and you finally manage; surprise overtakes you as the rope unravels and your hand is free; the limb aches with exertion as you shake it to get the flow of circulation to get back to normal

- then you lean forward and grab at the knife left there from the previous session, still wet with your blood; freeing yourself is more strenuous than you would have imagined; as you bend down to free your ankles you almost pass out from the sudden rush of blood to your head; you lost of it, enough to hinder you in your escape; but you push through

- when you stand up you grab the chair for support and move in slow motion afraid you’ll pass out; you have a plan in mind already; get dresses in the coat left on the hanger by the door, and lay in wait for the interrogator to come back for another round; now that your body is filled with adrenaline times moves slower, but it doesn’t take long for the door handle to start to move; you wait for the tall and skinny man to enter; if he were a little leaner you wouldn’t have had a chance; but this failed physician that took to torture won’t even know what hit him; you stab him in the neck with a somewhat quick strike;

- he dies drowning in his own blood; you manage to drag his corpse under the table, leaving the pool of blood untouched; maybe they’ll think that you finally bled out and someone took your corpse to the morgue to be burned; you don’t care as you grab the handgun off his waist; the same one he’d threaten you with when you wouldn’t answer;

- judging by the thick clothes your assailant wears you know outside is cold; so you do what they told you at the academy; you undress the corpse an take his pants an shoes; they’re huge on you but you can’t complain; you shiver at the warmth still trapped in the wool fibres;

- you make your way outside checking for any guards; you found none, as expected; you heard the Russian complain that is too cold and stuffy down here that nobody but him frequents the lower levels; some people don’t know to shut up and you are glad to exploit that; with his gun, knife and car keys in hand you make your way through the dark corridors; you follow the boot prints left on the filthy floors;

- the only guards you encounter are the ones stationed by the door that leads to the stairs; you make quick work of them; one shot for each of their heads; you almost fall down on your ass as the gun kicks back in recoil; you take a moment to lean on the wall taking a few calming breaths

- your ascend is slow, laboured breaths escaping your gaping mouth; you strain your eyes and try to decipher the word on the walls marking the level and the facility; you’re looking for the parking lot; you find it after climbing to the second to last level; Russians really don’t know how to keep a facility secure; as you climb the emergency stairs there is no one to stop you; they underestimated your ability to escape this hell hole; their mistake

- as you reach the parking lot you look for the physician’s car; it’s a rusty red Lada; it’ll do just fine; as you get in the passenger side you start hearing gunshots; it’s faint; maybe you imagined it; but no, it’s there; you don’t wait to find out what’s happening, as you turn the key in the ignition you pull out of the spot and quickly drive towards the exit; whatever firefight broke out in there, pulled away every guard from their stationary position; for a moment you think about TF 141, but you quickly dismiss it

- you make your way out, a little dizzy from the spiral ascension; once out of there you notice that there’s forest around, and some snow; you hit gravel and as you look back you notice the exit; the only indication that there is something men made here; you doubt that tunnel can be spotted from a drone; the trees block the line of sight; that confirms your suspicions

- the gun fire must be coming from another escapee, not as lucky as you; you drive down the dirt road following every twist and turn hoping you won’t see any other cars; you check the glove compartment; now that the adrenaline rush is over your body aches like never before; you search for some pain meds but you only find a wallet with some cash in it; Russian rubbles, enough to keep the car going for a while; maybe you’ll find a gas station; it’s risky but you are I dire need of food and water; that might give you enough strength to push forward

- the 141 moves quickly taking care of the two sentinels at the mouth of the tunnel; two well placed shots and they’re down; Gaz and Soap move the bodies in a bush and hide their car in the tree line; hopefully nobody will come looking for this two in the next crucial minutes; they comb through the facility dropping anyone they encounter; their pistols bear silencers masking the loud sounds; they move deeper and deeper, but soon the alarm is sounded and a full fight ensues; the guards are no match for the 141; they drop like flies; but the fight costs them precious minutes;

- Ghost breaks away from the rest of his teammates; he knows they got it; he needs to hurry to find you; he needs to make sure you are still breathing, and that your pretty eyes still hold fire in them; he gets to lowest level where the holding cells are; he checks behind every grate and every door until a he gets to what seems to be the place they torture the prisoners

- he notices how filthy and cold it is; but what makes his blood freeze is the chair and the large pool of fresh blood; no…, he’s too late; he came to late; a wave of blinding fury surges and like a tsunami Ghost thrashes the room; he stops only when he discovers the body of a tall Russian man behind the desk; his throat slit; pants and boots missing; atta girl he can’t help the smirk taking over his face under the balaclava; you were capable, he knew that, but you still manage to surprise him; he gets out trying to radio in the discovery to the rest of his teammates

- the radio crackles with static, concrete walls too thick for the signal to penetrate; he’s made his decision; he’s going after you even though he knows Price will kick his ass later; you need him; probably not as much as he needs you; he chases the droplets of blood you left on the ground as you walked towards the emergency staircase; at the door, two more casualties; no, you didn’t need him; you had it handled

- in the parking lot he finds a military truck with the key in the ignition; he follows you as quickly as the car gets on the dirt road

- you drive for what feels like hours; your mind is struggling, eyes out of focus and body feeling heavier with every minute; you don’t know why or when the car starts to shake and tilt, you feel yourself flying out of the seat; everything goes black

- Ghost’s eyes scan the road in front of him through the thick snowfall; he almost misses the red car that swerved of the road and now rests on the side in a ditch, snow piles on top almost making it disappear; he gets out of the truck and approaches the car pistol pointed at it; he wipes away the snow that covers the window on the driver’s side; inside he can make out a body that’s laying on its side face obscured by the thick collar of the jacket; he pulls the door open carefully and nudges the body to see if they’re conscious or not; when there’s no movement he peels the collar from their face

- Simon thinks he is no longer able to panic; he survived through his father’s and brother’s abuse; then he joined the military where they taught him to surpass any fears and to control himself; then the Mexican cartel who buried him alive; that experience showed him what terror looks like; only to return home and find all the people that he held dear massacred; Ghost is the result of so many horrifying events; he is the cautionary tale of what prolonged survival in a malignant environment looks like

- the level of fear matches that of when he found the body of Beth hugging Josep’s smaller one; he acts without thinking, grabbing your limp and cold body and pulling you out of the wreckage; your head is bleeding from where you hit it on the window; lips are blue and your skin cold to the touch; he checks for a pulse; he can’t tell if he feels yours or his own; his hands are trembling with rage and powerlessness; he grabs for the radio’ telling Price he’d found you but you need medical assistance immediately; there’s no answer on the other side; just static

- he hoists you up and takes you to the stolen truck placing you in the front seat; he climbs in the driver’s seat letting you down slowly over the seat head resting on his lap; he puts the heat on high trying to make you warm again; he checks for your breathing and he’s thrilled to find that small puffs of air come from your open mouth

- he starts driving, he doesn’t know where; he neds a safe house to treat your wounds and to keep you safe; the snow is falling heavy, making impossible to see where he’s driving; then he sees it; to the side he can make out a building in the tree line

- the abandoned cottage is nothing more than a ruin; but it has four walls and a roof and he’s glad to see a small fireplace, dry wood abandoned next to it; he puts you down on what he can only assume is what remained of a thick rug long forgotten by its previous owners; he works quickly and efficiently, in mere minutes a fire burns casting a warm glow in the barren room

- he moves to work on you; he peels the jacket off only to find that you are nearly naked under the stolen clothes; he gets angrier at the Russians wishing he could bring them back only to subject them to the same kind of torture they did you and some more; he quickly checks for deeper cuts or signs of infection; but he can’t find none; they must’ve given you antibiotics to keep you alive as much as possible;

- he cleans the cuts with the antiseptic wet wipes his med kit contains; then he dresses the wounds with gauze; your thin body looks like a mummy from the amount gauze; he addresses your head next wiping the blood of and bandaging your forehead; he sighs in relief when your lips and skin slowly turn pink from the warmth; you lay in between his legs as he sits on the floor, your head laying on his thigh

- he tries contacting 141 again, but to no avail; looks like he’ll have to hold out here tonight; he’ll stay awake to protect you until you wake up

- it’s morning when you stir, he watches your face intently from above you; your eyelids groggily open eyes trying to focus; as you lay eyes on brown ones, hidden behind a black balaclava you start to panic; you weakly push at his hands and chest, mumbling and trying to get away from him; he doesn’t relent though; his grip is firm on you and in a commanding voice he orders you to sit still; hearing your name does the trick; you didn’t tell those fuckers your name; and his embrace is not restraining more like protecting; you think hard and try to remember eyes flickering over the balaclava; ‘Ghost…’ you croak when your vocal chords decide to vibrate; ‘Gho…’ you repeat even more brokenly; he shushes you and reassures you that yes, he’s here and no, he won’t go anywhere; not without you; that puts your mind at ease and you close your eyes again

-when you wake up again is noon; he feeds you some water through cracked and dry lips and he gives you a dose of morphine to help with the pain; that sends you back to sleep

- the third time you wake, you are being carried by strong arms; the sound of blades cutting air becomes louder and louder; Ghost walks backwards shielding you from the snow that’s being picked up by the gusts of wind;

- he climbs the heli; Nik greets Ghost, as Soap and Gaz pull him and you inside; the ride is silent, no one says anything; the Russian pilot takes you to a better equipped safehouse

- you wake up to someone entering the room; you’re in a warm comfortable bed, IV connected to your wrist fluid being pumped in your veins; you open your eyes to a dark-haired man bringing in a tray of food; you panic again when you hear him greet you, voice laced with a deep Russian accent; he sees the look on your face and he slowly puts the tray on the table; ‘Don’t vorry, I’m Nick. A friend ov 141. I von’t hurt yu, agent’; he tells you it’s nice to finally put a face to the name, and that you are prettier than Gaz told him; you watch him in silence, regarding him with apprehension; when he stops talking, you look to the door and ask for Ghost

- he chuckles knowingly and then informs you that “your boy” is being ripped a new one by the captain just outside, and he leaves you to tell Price that your awake; you don’t have time to correct him cause he already out the door; Price walks in soon after, you’re glad to see him; ‘Ah, there you are’ he smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes; he asks you how you’re feeling; numb thanks to the morphine; he wants to know what happened

- it was a trap; they were waiting for you, Russians; they wanted to know who you were and who did you work for; you told them nothing; he knows; he asks you about your time in the facility; you don’t quite remember much, just the torture and the questions; he tells you that you did good, and that you need to rest now;

- Gaz and Soap stop by to talk to you a bit; you tell them you’ll be fine; and then you ask for Ghost; they rub their necks a little ashamed; you asked them what happened; Ghost got scolded for going AWOL in search for you; Price even threatened him with the court martial; you huff; and swing the blanket off; you sit at the ledge of the bed; you’re glad to find you’ve been clothed in a pair of slacks and a long sleeve shirt; you grab the IV needle and pull hard on it; then you stand grabbing the table for support

- the two sergeants move forward to catch you if you fall; you wave them away and move towards the door; you search the living room for any signs of Ghost; instead, Price and Nik talk about something at the dinner table; when Price sees you up and about, despite him telling you to rest, he mutters a ‘Bloody stubborn they are’ and points toward the kitchen; you thank him; you can hear Nik commenting something about you and Ghost deserving each other; but you keep walking, slowly, one hand on the wall for balance

- Ghost stands by the window, his back turned to you; he ignores your poor attempt at greeting him; without thinking you cross the distance and hug his waist burying your nose in his hoodie; he tenses

- ‘I’m probably high right now,’ you nuzzle your face in his back inhaling his scent: soap, cigarettes and something you can’t quite tell; ‘thank you, for coming after me’; you let go of him turning to go back to rest; he grabs your upper arm and gently turns you; he watches you closely, you can feel his breath on your face, and smell the cigarette on his lips; his balaclava is pushed up his nose; he stares into your eyes as he speaks ‘Tell me to stop’ his eyes shift to your lips

- ‘Please don’t’; he kisses you, deeply and for a long time; you pull away for air ‘Ghost, I…’ ‘No,’ he cuts you off; ‘Simon, my name is Simon’ you smile lost in his pretty brown eyes; ‘Simon Riley’ and he surprises you taking his balaclava off; you stare at him, trying to memorize every scar and blemish; he’s handsome, in a rugged way; blonde hair, pale skin, and brown eye; you kiss him again.                                                

Previous part here.

[linos-luna]

i was wondering how seungmin would react to a s/o who was naturally obedient, but has some depression and anxiety ? do yoh think he would use that to his advantage; would he prefer a obedient or bratty s/o ? (yandere seungmin if you feel comfortable with that)

also ive read most of your works and i enjoy them all a lot !! please keep up the great job and take time to stretch <3

Naturally obedient with depression and anxiety… sounds like me actually 😭

Thank you so much! I appreciate you 🥺💜

Hope you like~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Obedient s/o ❣️🔪

Yandere!Seungmin x Reader

Warnings: manipulation, yandere, masterbation, fingering, mention of depression/anxiety,

• Yandere!Seungmin would definitely take advantage of it.

• It would confuse him at first but he loves it.

• he would definitely prefer an obedient s/o over a bratty one. He has no patience for nonsense.

• he loves making you touch yourself whenever he wants

• boosts his ego

• and he knows about your depression and anxiety.

• He knows your insecurities and will constantly make you feel like you need him, thus you want to please him, making you more compliant.

————- 🎀

You’d be getting ready to go out when he suddenly stops you.

“Hey, come here.” Seungmin wouldn’t even look up from his phone. He’d be on the couch, waiting while you go to him.

“Yes?”

“Where are you going, pretty girl?” He asks, curiously.

“To the store to get groceries…”

“No you’re not.” He said with a smile. “Go to the bedroom.”

“…okay.” you nod and go to the room.

Seungmin follows after you and watched as you stand in front of the bed. You turn around and look at him.

“Strip.” He says bluntly while crossing his arms.

“Yes seungmin.” You nod again before you start stripping of your clothes.

“Slowly”

You slowed down and took your time.

“Take a seat, darling.” He says while patting the bed.

“Hey seungmin-”

“Sit!” He interrupts and you do right away.

He goes to you and kissed you deeply. “You’re never leaving me… right?”

“No Seungmin, I’d never leave you.”

“Touch yourself.” He says bluntly.

You start fingering yourself. As you do so, he goes next to you and rubs your head.

“Good girl.” Seungmin says with a smile. “You’re a good girl… add another finger.”

As he says so you insert another finger, two fingers now slowly going in and out.

“I’m the only one that will ever love you.” He says while putting his hand over yours, helping you thrust faster. “I’m the only one that finds you pretty. The only one that will take care of you. Right baby?”

“Y-yes, Seungmin.” You say in a breathy tone.

“No one else loves you like I do.” He says while giving you a kiss on the cheek. “Say it.”

“N-no one will love me like you do…” you say nearly panting.

“Pull your fingers out.”

“S-seungmin, I-I have to-…”

“Do it or else I won’t love you.” He says and you quickly do so.

Seungmin knows you’ll listen to him no matter what but he cruelly loves playing into your anxiety. You often get depressed when he mentions that no one loves you but he does this to make sure you don’t leave. Seungmin loves taking advantage of your obedience.

He has full control of everything you do and loves it.

[rorywritesjunk]

Be gentle with yourself as you uncover Your best kept secrets yet to be discovered

Buggy meets an infamous pirate who dabbles in magic that everyone seems to be after, but they only have eyes for Buggy. Why is he so special?

Rating: PGish. Warning: None. Buggy is Buggy. A/N: My "Howl's Moving Castle" fic based off the movie because I never read the book. It will have different moments than the movie just to omit some things. This story uses "You" but I couldn't not give the character a name and for some reason "Shore" is what I thought of. And Shore is referred to as they/them, nonbinary, and breaks hearts wherever they go. Buggy is Sophie in this fic, is 22, and not always in a good mood.

Title comes from "Better In The Morning" by Birdtalker.

Taglist: @lostfirefly @fanaticsnail  @youreinthewind 

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Buggy definitely had his work cut out for him as a maintenance man. 

There were creaky stairs, some loose floorboards, a wobbly chair, and shelves falling off the walls left and right. As he fixed one in the main living area, another one would fall somewhere else in the ship. Was Shanks somehow doing this to be obnoxious? Buggy sighed as he hammered in another nail to secure a shelf before giving it a few shakes to make sure it was secured. Why did he say he was a maintenance man? 

The table was… okay. He had enlisted Luffy to help him clear the table first of dishes and other nonsense, but the boy broke one plate the second he picked it up so Buggy just had him get out of his way. He didn’t want to clean up after the boy while cleaning the rest of the ship. 

Buggy spent time cleaning the table off, sanding down any roughened edges, and hammering in any loose nails. In the end, it looked better than when he first walked in though it had still seen many meals at it. There were stains, dents, and scuffs in the wood, but that didn’t bother him that much in the end. 

“Mister Bogey, what’re you doing next?” Luffy asked as he stood there with a broom. He thought he was being helpful by sweeping, but honestly, he was just making a bigger mess by creating dust clouds.

Buggy sighed. “It’s Buggy. And I’m going to hang you outside by your toes if you keep making a mess, kid!”

“I’m helping!” Luffy insisted.

“You’re helping make a bigger mess!” Buggy shot back as he pointed to the stairs. “If you want to sweep then do it out on the deck!”

“But I want to help you!” Luffy insisted, gripping the broom handle tightly in his hands as he pouted at Buggy. That made him pause for a moment. He wanted to help, really? Buggy… wasn’t used to that. Back at the circus he stopped asking for help because the times he did he was met with resistance. Why should he expect help now from a kid? He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tightly as he tried to think of a task Luffy could do that would actually help him.

“Fine. Can… you organize the dirty dishes by what they are?” Buggy asked, knowing he would need to tackle that task sooner rather than later. “Silverware, plates, bowls, cups. Organize them like that.”

Luffy took in what he was asking and nodded before hurrying over to the sink where the dishes were piled up. “I can do that!”

“Carefully!” Buggy ordered. “No more broken plates, kid!”

“Okay Mister Boogie!”

“It’s Buggy!”

~

Buggy replaced a step that had snapped in half that led up to the main deck. He and Luffy weren’t able to get up there without much difficulty, so he had the boy find some scrap wood so he could fix it and Buggy was pleased that the boy came through, finding an old step stool that had seen better days, so Buggy managed to repurpose it into a step. 

He straightened up, rubbing his back as he looked proudly at his finished task. He never thought to add maintenance man to his list of possible jobs after leaving the circus, but so far he felt he was doing alright. Sure, every joint in his body was aching, he had some splinters, he hit his thumb with the hammer a few times already, causing it to bruise and swell, and Luffy only managed to break two plates and a bowl when he organized the dirty dishes for him. So far the day was okay.

“So, Mister Buggy, how did you come to find us all the way out here?” Your voice startled him as you came down the stairs, stopping just above the step he fixed. He looked up nervously, wondering if you could see through his curse or if you even remembered him. He hoped you didn’t. He didn’t want you to see him become a pathetic old man instead of… a pathetic young man who needed rescuing. 

“Oh, well… you see…” He wasn’t sure how to respond. Would you see through any lie he said? Maybe you’d kick him off the ship, fire him from this ‘job’ that he made up on the spot, leave him to die out in the wilderness to be food for scavenging animals. 

You held your hand out to him suddenly and he looked at you in surprise before taking it. Carefully, you placed your right foot onto the newly finished step, then the left, smiling at him as you looked down at him from it. 

“I hope to keep you around to fix things when they break, Mister Buggy.” You smiled as you descended the last few. “Please don’t go away any time soon.”

He hated how warm his face got at that smile, or the way his heart started pounding. Was this his heart giving out in his advancing age? Why were you still holding his hand? 

“What's in your pocket, Mister Buggy?” You suddenly asked, shaking him from his thoughts. He looked down, his free hand reaching into his pocket while his other hand held yours. He dug around for a moment and frowned, pulling out a snail shell and holding it out to you. Smoke started to come from the shell, it felt hot to the touch suddenly and Buggy dropped it, watching it land on the step he just repaired. It fell apart, leaving a sigil scorched into the wood. 

“What is that?!” Buggy asked. “I just fixed that step!”

You crouched down, waving your hand over it and Buggy saw the marks rise up from the wood and into your palm. It was a sight to see and he knew he’d have to get used to seeing magic in motion if he was going to live on this ship. You smiled at Buggy as you straightened up.

“Just a message from an old friend.” You told him, clenching your fist for a moment before opening it to show him your empty palm. “The Witch of the Waste sends her regards.”

Buggy bristled at the mention of Alvida but he didn’t speak, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. You said nothing as you brushed past him, heading over to Shanks and giving him instructions. Buggy only caught a few words, his hearing not what it was just days before as a young man, but he heard you say something about moving the ship elsewhere. Oh, were they stationary this entire time, or did it float around among the clouds freely? Buggy actually wasn’t sure, he hadn’t taken the time to look out.

You suddenly brushed past Buggy to get on the step he just fixed, giving him a smile. “I’m going to wash up. When you have time there’s a broken cabinet in my bathroom, could you fix it when you have time?”

“Uh, yes, of course!” He nodded. “I’m your maintenance man after all! I can fix anything!”

You chuckled softly and nodded in agreement. “I’m glad you joined us then. There’s a lot to fix around here.”

You ascended the stairs after that, leaving Buggy alone at the bottom. You were glad he joined, even if it was a surprise for all of you. It felt nice to hear that but he quickly shook the feeling off, figuring you were just saying that so he’d fix the cabinet sooner. He would get to it next, once you were out of the bathroom. It was just weird to feel appreciated like that but he tried to brush it off. Sooner or later you’d probably kick him off the ship to fend for himself anyway. No one wanted a pathetic maintenance man on their crew.

~

The main living space looked better now that Buggy repaired wall shelves, fixed furniture, and even washed all the dishes. It was a little more like a home now than a chaotic space. He felt proud of his work, though the next thing to do was check the chimney. While Shanks seemed to have no problem burning along, enjoying the stacks of wood Buggy had given him earlier, smoke was getting everywhere, and before Buggy could attempt to clean the soot from the wall, he had to see why the smoke was so bad.

“Can you hear me?” Luffy yelled up to him from the fireplace as Shanks looked up. Buggy had gotten outside onto the main deck, finding the chimney that was near the main mast. Was it safe to have a chimney like this? Wouldn’t sparks light things on fire? Then again, you were a wizard of sorts, so things could be enchanted to prevent that. He had a broom to knock loose any soot that built up. 

“I can, are you able to see anything, kid?” Buggy shouted back from the opening of the chimney. He was ready to shove the broom in bristles first, but he wanted to be sure it was safe to do so. Shanks would be just fine.

“No, I just see Shanks and hear your voice.” Luffy told him. 

“Get out of the way then!” Buggy shoved the broom down the chimney, gripping the handle tightly as he plunged it up and down, trying to knock loose as much of the crud as possible. He fought for a few minutes before it became easier. He must have knocked it all loose, so he looked down the chimney, seeing just a bit of the fireplace but without a fire. “Everything okay down there?”

“Shanks is out!” Luffy sounded panicked which worried Buggy, so he hurried back down as fast as his body allowed. He nearly tripped on the steps going down, but he stopped when he saw you at the fireplace, picking up a small coal surrounded by flame. He watched as you gently blew against it, seeming to breathe life back into it, before setting it down on two fresh logs. When Buggy approached, you looked at him with an amused expression.

“Please be careful with Shanks, we do need him around.” You told him gently as Luffy cheered as Shanks started bemoaning the fact that Buggy just tried to kill him. It was all an accident, really, but you didn’t seem mad at him. Instead you touched his hand gently and he felt the warmth of the fire for a moment before you pulled back and headed for the stairs to leave the ship. You spun a dial beside the door, Buggy watched it spin for a moment before it stopped and you opened the door, stepping outside and leaving the others behind. 

“Why’d you try to kill Shanks, Mister Buffy?” Luffy asked innocently. Buggy huffed in annoyance, scowling at the boy before he went to grab his makeshift tool box he cobbled together.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, and besides, Shanks is fine! A little soot won’t hurt him!” Buggy snapped at him as Luffy went to grab another piece of wood for the fire. “Now, I have work to do in the bedrooms, got it? If you don’t want any of your things thrown out, you better deal with them now, kid.”

Luffy’s eyes widened and he rushed past Buggy and up the stairs. His room was not the cleanest and he wanted to protect his treasures from him. Buggy smirked and looked over at Shanks; the flame was watching him carefully.

“Y’know, if I go out then that’s the end of Shore.” The flame told Buggy. “We’re connected, we can’t live without the other.”

“Well, that’s just dumb.” Buggy grumbled; he couldn’t imagine such a life of having someone to depend on. He depended on himself and that was it. “Try not to go out then, you silly little flame, if Shore needs you that badly.” 

He turned to head up the stairs but glanced back at the flame for a moment, thinking over what he said. Could you really die if Shanks was put out? Buggy didn’t really want to think about it, instead choosing to be more careful next time even if Shanks was annoying. With a sigh, he started up the stairs, wincing as his lower back and hips protested at the movement. Right, he was old. He needed to get used to it since he would likely be this for the rest of his now short life. 

He managed to make it up the stairs to the level where the bathroom and bedrooms were. Oh, right, he would need his own room, wouldn’t he? Though, he could just do with a cot, even if his old bones would protest it. Shaking his head, he headed for the bathroom, opening the door and freezing at the sight before him. Clutter, a cabinet resting on the floor, holes in the wall, and a tub and toilet that looked as though they had never been clean. There were bottles and products scattered all across the floor as well. 

How could two people live like this?

Buggy went to open the window first, wanting to get fresh air in there. Movement below caught his attention and he saw that they were actually moving, sailing over the rocks and terrain as clouds drifted by. Oh, this ship really did sail in a way, didn’t it?

“Shanks, is that you making the ship move?” Buggy shouted down to him.

“Of course it is!” The little flame called back to him. Huh, it was impressive, but Buggy wouldn’t say that.

“Guess you’re good for something then.” Buggy mumbled before he turned his attention back to the bathroom. Okay, it was time to start cleaning.

[dokpetra]

Ive def been in a slump lately and its hard to admit that :(

I had a mental breakdown following my birthday, I've had to move apartments, and I've had some intense family stuff going on. Helps to externalize it.

It's weirding me out to confront all the stuff I had my identity tied up in, that isn't carved in stone. Like I am not my bedroom. I am not my job, I am not my biofamily. Idk. Identity is seedy territory for me in a pretty lifelong way, in this age of identity I think it's come front and center for me that my self concept is like a piece of swiss cheese. I attach parts of myself to people places and things around me, and when those things change, so do I, and changing hurts sometimes.

But a lot of that has been in flux for me, for a minute I was unable to work and worried I might not be able to come back to it, I hadn't ever lost my mind as bad as I did a couple months ago, it was really frightening to be newly limited in my daily functioning due to my mental state.

Coming back to a new normal now, and idk, everything in my life is in relief, I'm looking all around me and feeling the ever faster passage of time, looking at how much energy I have in a day, and just going "how am I going to build the life I want?" And feeling like the numbers just don't add up.

But I'm not giving up on myself. I don't do well with change, I gotta be gentle with myself through that. And I can get to a place where I have more energy, and I know steps I can take to get there. And I can accept also that I have lifelong depression etc etc, and to some extent this may put a cap on my energy level.

Part of it is, before everything went topsy turvy, I was making a really concentrated effort to work on composing music daily, releasing stuff for the first time too. As far as things that I take on as part of my identity, this is an important one, and I haven't been giving the time I need to it. For sensible reason, moving sucks, especially in your 30s it turns out, and starting job again and being there for my family. And as was saying earlier, I want to make sure I don't push myself too hard, have tendency to do that. Still, it's feeling like, urgent to get my studio station set up and get right back to it. I don't expect anything from the music I release, I just need to do it, it's who I am and when I'm not doing it I'm not being myself.

Guess part of this puzzle for me is reckoning with how I am both bigger and smaller than I used to see myself as. Like, the combo of ego problems and low self esteem is so ironic. And the process of breaking down your ego while building your self esteem, it feels so wonky. But yeah, I matter. I only matter as much as the next person, but me and the next person both matter. And someone who feels like they matter is more likely to treat others like they matter. So it's important work.

Couple months ago I spent the better part of a week in my bed, not able to eat or sleep, on an internal manic fugue, lost myself on a fundamental level. To be back from that, I wish I felt more triumphant, but I'm just tired and sad about it. I can't glorify that suffering. It happened and I came out the other side a different iteration of this person. I saw how traumatized I actually am and idk, I'm more determined than ever to come up to bat for that person. My self.

So I may have felt like my ideal life was in closer reach prior to all this upset, but I don't think that's true. I believe that I believed it, but it wasn't accurate.

And what good is my dream room when it's packed with plenty of heavy memories and too expensive for me? Could it be better to be in a smaller, brighter room I can actually afford? I'm still resistant but I know it's true.

Healing can be humbling and the humbling factor can feel unfair when you're already down on yourself but... Idk! If my spirit made it through the trials of that week in bed hell, it can get through these transitions.

It's okay to be in limbo because limbo can lead you somewhere new.

So I feel kinda crappy at this juncture, and also, I believe in myself going forward, I know I can make my life into what i dream.

[thementalshawty]

Love your FS readings and the images you use for them! Thank you.😭🥹💜

The thing is, they always come after readers who are just minding their business and trying to help others. They never go after readers who are being messy with these celeb tarot readings which I find can be so invasive and toxic AF. Like why would you ever read that someone you don't even know will d*e soon, has mental issues or will suffer a miscarrage. Then further trying to readabout the celeb's fs or relatives saying some awful things about them. I think they are the worst tarot readers and part of the community because they say all this toxic bs without check and people lap it up. I think it's spiritually invasive and wrong to read on these people or anyone that doesn't consent, then saying f.... Up shit about them for kiii and views.

FS readers aren't doing this and most are providing general guidance to actually help instead about just being messy and gossiping (projecting)horrible s... about people.

FS readings aren't always frivolous or crazy, so many of them are very helpful! I've seen some saying how people need to work on their doubts or stop judging themselves and comparing themselves to others because none of that is helpful in the long run and is only pushing you out of alignment and its true! I had so much doubt that I wasn't going to meet my person or I'm on the wrong path because I'm not doing what others are doing within my friends group and these readings helped me push through that. I still have a few doubts but not as bad as before and now I’m just focusing on me and mine. Not looking outside to others or comparing because my journey is unique. Also reading about how my guides protect this Union and the journey towards it just gave me SO MUCH PEACE!! Feeling and knowing that I wasn’t crazy and my dreams were real, that the person I was manifested really was my fs and I needed to trust myself, my guides and the signs I had been given because it was real. These readings have strengthened me and empowered me so much and I’m grateful for YOU and other readers who do them and have gotten me to where I need to be mentally, spiritually and emotionally for my FS to come through as was destined. Sorry for my long rant and thank you!💜💕✨

No

Other

Fuccin

Words!

This was well said HENNNYYYYY!!!

And I will add

This is why I do it because of the ones I do help and do believe and that’s why the saying goes if you don’t Fucc with it, don’t bother it! Just stfu and keep scrolling. Tf you stopping commenting or feeling the need to share your opinion on sumn you don’t care for in the community that do? That just screams attention seeking trolls! Like cool you don’t Fucc with it, TF IT GOT TO DO WITH US THAT DO! Again putting others down because they themselves don’t get it! Keep believing and having faith, that’s going to unlock more about how to love yourself, you need to embody the love that you want your FS or whatever to give you, to manifest it so these readers are indeed putting self help through it and shadow work teaching you how to love yourself isn’t our fuccin job nor our fuccin guides job to provide your asses with shit! Spiritual guidance or not! Mfccas keep forgetting we connect to our guides so they can help US the individual! But we feel we can share clarity to everyone who comes across our readings, that in itself is more fuccin spiritual clarity and guidance that your asses should be getting because that’s our energy that we invested to get clarity for the ones who aren’t doing it for themselves. WE ALL HAVE FUCCIN GUIDES AND SHIT SO TAP IN IF YOU’RE NOT SATISFIED WITH WHAT YOU SEEING ONLINE OR WHEREVER! Love is a strength most people to weak and afraid to tap into, including myself! Which is why like you I enjoy my OWN PAC along with other readers and yeah sometimes they’re FS readings and they all ALLL EVERY SINGLE ONE IVE READ! Had given advice nothing but advice on empowering yourself to bring them in! To manifest ANYTHING! Intention must be set! Focus must be had all this sound like self work and awareness to bring in what you want regardless if it’s healing or love even abundance it’s wacc when they make you guys feel like it’s a toxic environment I don’t want you guys internalizing their bitterness it will become a part of you and you’ll stray away from your path! Which happens TOOO FUCCIN OFTEN! Don’t stop believing babe!

[renee-writer]

Baby Girl Chapter 15

AO3

“How could he have not...” His titrate is stopped by the ringing of his phone. “Special Agent Fraser.”

 

“You want the lasses back?” His wife eyes meet Murtagh ‘.

 

“Who is this?” he gestures Murtagh closer to hear.

 

“No, no, no. That is not how this is played. No answering a question with a question. Do you want them back? I am done with them, you see. I can leave them for you or dispose of them how I did the others.”

 

Murtagh is ringing Beauchamp  “Need a trace on Fraser ‘s phone, now!” he whispers.

 

“On it!”

 

“We want them back. How do we get that?” He keeps his voice calm.

 

“Not yet times up. You will receive a message “ A click and then nothing.

 

“Beauchamp ?”

 

“Damn it! He was bouncing off of to many towers. A few seconds more…”

 

“Don’t beat yourself up. He knew just how long to stay on.”

 

“He calls back I will have him. I swear.”

 

Jamie takes the phone. “Beauchamp, we know you will. In the meantime, analysis the call. Check for background noise and anything that can get us a location. “

 

“On it. Oh, I have something from the CC cameras. Just a split second but we get a partial face. Coming to everyone of you.”

 

“You are the best baby girl.”

 

“I know handsome.” She rings off .

 

They gather at the station. Jamie and Murtagh update the others.

 

“Reaching out, unusual for this type of suspect.” John murmurs. “Something got out of hand or this isn’t our guy.”

 

“I agree,” Gel stands in front of the board where the partial picture is now also hanging. “He seems young. Younger then we profiled. Maybe someone working with the main baddie…”

 

“A team? That would be unusual in itself, wouldn’t it?”

 

“Yes, you see…”

 

“I interrupt the bad new for more …” Claire is on their mainframe, “the message he promised,” she presses a button and disappears. In her place a dank floor and wall and then, the lasses on old hospital beds, IV’s running to their arms.  Close up shows that they are alive.

 

A voice. “Two million pounds, one for each lass. Delivery instructions will be coming.” The screen goes blank.

 

“It came up minutes ago. I am tracing the IP address but, I fear it is going to be a chase. Not that I won’t keep trying.”

 

“Thank you. Analysis the…”

 

“Video for any clue where they are being held. That process is already started. With the old hospital beds, I am thinking maybe an old hospital or medical facility. Tracing them now.” She replies to Geillis.

 

“Great job.”

 

“We need to get the locals in. I will go update them.” Mary heads out.

 

“Good. We need to show their parents the picture, see if it is anyone they recognize.”Murtagh adds.

 

“Guys, I got something. There are several abandoned hospitals in that part of Ireland but only one in the geographic area. Sending the particulars now.”

 

“You are a wonderful baby girl.”

 

“Thank you. Hold your applause though for there is more. The phone call, I found something, in the background. There is a very faint train whistle. The old Country Cork hospital has train tracks just a quarter of a kilometer away.”

 

“Simply brilliant.”

 

She blushes as he rings off.

 

“Fraser, you, Murtach, and John, head out to this hospital. Mary and I will update the families. No heroics. You go in with the locals.” She instructs.

 

They nod and head out.

[adhdheadcanons]

time card calculators for adding up your hours at work are! the! best! i would be lost without them.

[starforgedthor]

when you become untouchable {Vigilante | Adrian Chase} // one.

one. i come loaded with the safety switched off

Summary: After earning yourself several life sentences and a one-way ticket to Belle Reve in your early 20s, you've spent the decade and a bit since then establishing yourself as a loyal and effective tool for Waller and her team. As a meta-human who is able to completely know and understand the history of anything you touch, as well as master how to use it, and know exactly where the owner of the object is, but all only while touching the object, it's safe to say that you've developed a reputation as an unmatched hunter, though you've always felt hunter was too ominous a word for you and your upbeat nature.

So now you, Waller's pet supervillain known as The Chaser, find yourself as part of Project Butterfly, in the middle of suburban Washington. The only downside you can see is that everyone on the team is so serious; as the saying goes, if you enjoy what you do, you'll never work a day in your life! So fuck it, who are they to say you can't enjoy what you do, especially if you know you're good at it!? Unfortunately for everyone else, what you do is usually crime... and sometimes murder.

Need to Know: She/Her pronouns. villain!meta-human!reader. self depricating reader. chaos. implied dehumanisation. canon typical violence. possible smut in later chapter i haven't decided. slowish burn

[ masterpost ]

A/N: 2652 words. ive caved and im writing a villain!reader/vigilante series. this is different to the other oc/vigilante things ive been posting except that this is now the fic where The Chaser is a thing. im excited to write this, it's a lot of fun so far xx i would like feedback please!!!

Taglist: OPEN -- message or comment if you'd like to be added xx

If anyone were to ask your opinion on the team you were with, not that anyone ever did, you'd never hesitate to mention that you wished they'd lighten up.

"Careful, Kujo, your sociopathy is showing," Harcourt's voice was dry over dinner at Fennel Fields, though her lips were quirked with the slightest amusement.

"You know my confidence isn't an attack on you," you told her with blunt sincerity, brandishing a mozzarella stick like you're trying to emphasise a point - the grease that clings, the oil that burns, they're made in-house, the exact way to make them, bulk ordered bread crumbs, the machines that processed them, the crumbling, dough forming, wheat into machines, the wheat cut down in the fields, the breeze - "I'm good at my job, that's not bragging that's just a fact."

"Yes, but you're good at everything," Harcourt leans her elbows on the table, chin resting delicately on her knuckles, "isn't that the point of you? Wouldn't being insufferable about it get boring eventually?" She's wearing that thin, mean smile that's unfortunately flattering on her, and you sigh, as if terribly put upon, leaning against the half-wall divider your booth sat against.

"You'd think so," you sigh dramatically, "but considering I'm an idiot eighty percent of the time, I have to get my kicks in how I can," and you angle your head to show her your sharp, smug smile, and she rolls her eyes, sitting back in her seat. You take another bite of the mozzarella stick with a shit-eating grin.

"And they call you The Chaser?" Adebayo asks with faint scepticism as she processes the interaction she's just witnessed.

"Depends on who you ask," you responded lazily, finishing off the mozzarella stick in your hand, and immediately forgetting everything your brain had absorbed, had known while you'd been holding the breadcrumb covered cheese.

"I know who you are, I'm just confused as to why," she huffs a half laugh.

"Waller threw Savant to the wolves, you could have his name," Economos pointed out to you instead of answering Adebayo, though as he flicked a napkin at your face, it hit you in the forehead, "would be more fitting," he adds lamely, like after seeing you fail to catch the napkin, his heart's not in the change of names. The napkin flutters into your lap and you give him an unamused look.

After a beat, however, Murn is the one who answers Adebayo's initial question.

"Everything Y/N touches, she masters, and understands its entire history," he explains, while you leaned around him to shoot Adebayo a bright smile, "including whoever is the current owner of the object and where exactly they are and what state they are in, but only while she's touching it."

"Hence, Savant," Economos said, gesturing to you with a weak wave.

"Idiot Savant," you clarified with a good-natured eye roll, "if I don't make a very serious effort to remember something about the thing I'm touching, it'll-" you make an uncomfortably wet noise as you mime the information sliding out of your head through your ear. After a moment, you pick up your glass and take a sip of water - the restaurant owner's wife technically owns the cups, and you see the employee who filled it, every time its been washed by a busboy, every customer who's ever drunk from it, the cardboard box it had been bought in opened by the restaurateur's wife, the pallets of identical glasses being transported to the store it was bought from, the factory worker boxing it up, the mass production of the glasses, the heat to melt it into shape -

"Everything you touch?" Adebayo asks, incredulously, and then looks to the glass.

"This cup technically belongs to the wife of the restaurant owner; she's sitting on their sofa three blocks away with a Labrador puppy in her lap. She bought the glasses on sale; one was chipped in the set of four so they were eighty percent off," you said without a moment of hesitation, and then took another sip of water for effect, "they use a cheap brand of detergent here."

"I... don't know enough about this restaurant to verify that but it sounds impressive," Adebayo muses, a sentiment you could see honestly reflected in her eyes.

"Show off," Harcourt smirks, something a little proud in her expression that she's ducked to hide. After a beat, however, Harcourt surfaces; "she chose to call herself The Chaser because she's a bitch."

"There's literally no meaner way you could have phrased that!" Your expression lights up surprised outrage, but it's clear you didn't take it to heart, turning, "for the first few weeks -"

"Of your career as a murderer," Harcourt undercuts your moment, but you chose to ignore her.

"As a freelancer," you emphasised, before hesitating and conceding, "who yeah, was hired to kill people when word got around I was good at it," you rolled your eyes, waving your hand by your temple as if dismissing the thought, "anyways people started calling me The Hunter, and when I think of the name The Hunter, I think of like, Robin Hood, a green aesthetic and men in tights, which really just made me think of Green Arrow, and that guy? You wanna talk about unbearable, that's your man," you hoped your expression conveyed the earnestness of your hatred for him, before snorting dismissively, "and anyways, Hunter is such a heavy word for what I do; it implies I always kill them, which I don't."

After a beat to let your words sink in, Harcourt actually grins.

"And because she's-"

"Stop telling people I'm a furry!" You practically shouted over Harcourt with well worn exasperation, though her grin only got wider.

"Calm down, Kujo," her response comes with a fond kind of amusement the others had rarely seen.

"I called myself The Chaser because I thought it was light and befitting of the main reason I used to be hired," you said, voice lowering as the moment passes easily, "and now," you flourish your hands, before resting your elbow on the table and your chin in your hand, "I'm doing my dream job."

"Being part of a secret government task force?" Adebayo says incredulously, to which you shrugged easily.

"As long as I get to use my powers and travel, I'm happy; what are they gonna do? Arrest me again for following their orders? No," you snorted. Thankfully the moment I'd immediately derailed when Harcourt spots Peacemaker pulling up in his fully costume, a bald eagle in his back seat. The good mood that only you seemed to be able to elicit from her had disappeared, as did everyone else's.

When Peacemaker finally recognises you, his expression lights up with a strange kind of realisation and a 'oh yeah, everyone in Belle Reve knows Kujo', and you have to grit your teeth at that.

When you weren't working solo missions for Waller or the government, your powers were being used by your fellow inmates to find snitches trying to hide, settle disputes of ownership, or find out which guards were distributing contraband. Even in a power dampener collar, you had the faintest meta-human abilities, and it was more than a lot of folks you were locked up beside. Despite operating at your bare minimum while inside Belle Reve, a lot of people found you incredibly useful. It's a situation you preferred to forget; between being seen as a tool rather than a person, the unfulfilling requests everyone had, and how it felt like you were always scraping the bottom of the barrel to use even a fraction of your power, there was no time in your life you hated more.

After Peacemaker's comment, you find yourself quiet for the rest of dinner, far quieter than you had been before. Thankfully Peacemaker himself is loud enough for both of you, and no-one asks you any questions.

The dinner comes to a close, and you’ve still got half your plate unfinished in front of you. Everyone’s set to head home, or at the very least, head out for the night, but you’re still stuck in your head, memories growing teeth as you think back on Belle Reve and how powerless you had felt inside its walls.

“I’m going to grab a drink before turning in,” Harcourt’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, and you surface to see she’s the only one still in the restaurant, standing at the end of the table, watching you. She doesn’t ask if you’re okay, she doesn’t even ask if you want to join her, at least not out loud; she pulls a zip-tie out of her back pocket and offers it to you, wordlessly. The familiar routine brings a smile to your face, and you take it – you can see her, sense her there even with your eyes closed; it was her zip-tie to begin with, pulled from the pack this morning, and a week spent in a hardware store, shipped to the store with pallets all containing packets identical, packaged by meticulous machines, produced by the billions, fragile plastic warped from far bigger sheets -. With that, she gives a solid nod and heads to the door, following after the others. You loop the zip-tie around one wrist and only tighten it enough so it won’t fall off. Then, with a renewed spirit, you dig in to your meal, finishing it off.

It's as you’re finishing the last of your meal that you find yourself thinking about your own freedom for the night. You’d earned yourself several life sentences in the few years that you’d ‘freelanced’, enough time on your sentence that a lifetime of work with Taskforce X probably wouldn’t help you, but you were being unfortunately genuine when you’d called this your dream job. With a stipend from the government, getting to travel, getting to use your powers and often commit crimes, of which murder was not uncommon, it really was the ideal situation for you; people ask about your prospects outside of prison, but none of them seem to realise that you’d be doing this whether or not you were in prison, but now you can’t even get arrested for it. Call it Stockholm Syndrome, or even call it sad, you found it to be neither; you’re thrilled someone finally recognised you for what you’re truly capable of, and after almost a decade playing this part, you’ve been granted some trust, some wiggle room, some freedom in a sense.

So maybe you’ll join Harcourt at the bar, or find somewhere open late in town, or you could lay face down in the parking lot for an hour if the mood struck you; the world may not be your oyster, but this questionable town in Washington certainly was.

It’s only when you’ve finally decided to head to the bar and grab a drink with Harcourt that you finally notice the busboy who’s been hovering by the end of the counter, throwing glances at you ever few minutes, yet still trying to act covert. Wait… looking around, you see the restaurant is almost empty now, and sure it hadn’t been full to begin with, but it couldn’t be that – they’re closing in ten minutes. How long had you been stuck in your own head?

Immediately you’re calling out apologies; they probably could have left early if it wasn’t for you, but the minute you make eye contact with the guy in the red uniform who’s waiting, he’s brushing them off. As you’re attempting to pile all of the table’s dishes to make it easier to clean up, he comes over and tries to tell you that it’s no trouble. Still, you pile all the dishes and try and collect up all the cutlery to hand to him, trying to supress the nausea that always came whenever you were touching a lot of objects in rapid succession, the immediate flood of knowledge followed in mere moments by forgetting it all. Usually your gloves kept all of that at bay, but you’d had them off to eat and now –

You go to pass the guy your knife, handle first and unused, and in the half second in which you are treated to an encyclopaedic knowledge of this steak knife, amongst all other moments of this knife’s existence, is –

- suds from cheap detergent and a sink of water that should probably be drained, the scourer scraping off food remnants that cling, but then several minutes spent using the knife as a weapon; the movements being practiced are particular and harsh, movements sharp and deliberate. You know because the moment your fingertips had even brushed the knife you knew how to bed cut a steak as well as how to best cut a man, but this moment amongst the suds and grime is both practiced and in practice. There’s more times than you can count where you understand that someone was trying to practice flipping the knife, the night air cold, swearing each time it’s dropped or it cuts the user by accident; he’s used this knife enough that you understand how long it took him to actually get good at the knife tricks -

And the hands picking up the remaining cutlery are the same hands that taught themselves to flip this knife, to practice violence among soap suds. Maybe you’re jumping to conclusions, maybe it’s simply how he passes the time, trying to make himself cooler, or to defend himself. Gripping the knife a little tighter, you wince as you realise the serrated edge is pressing into the heel of your palm, not enough to bleed, but enough to steal your focus.

“Thanks,” the busboy says a little awkwardly once the table’s clear. You’re still standing next to the booth with the knife, “I can take that for you,” he offers. He’s disarmingly cheerful, though perhaps it’s only disarming considering the moments you keep replaying over and over in your head.

“Sure,” you murmur absentmindedly, and flip the knife in the exact way you’d watched him try to master for months in your mind; the way you master anything you can touch has always been an interesting gift, as if your body borrows the muscle memory of everyone who’s ever used it without you even having to think about it. The busboy blinks several times at the movement, at you now holding out the knife to him. Then, his gaze meets yours; in your mind, you see him stab at the side of the metal sink that he snaps the very tip of the knife off, only by a millimetre or two, but there’s the faintest dent in the sink that no-one else has noticed. It’s been months.

He takes the knife, and you find yourself blinking quickly as everything about this one damn steak knife immediately dissipates from your head.

“How’d you do that?” He asks, looking at the knife, “I’ve been trying to get it for ages but…” he trails off, and you look at the piece of cutlery in his hand.

“Man, I wish I knew,” you laughed, rocking back on your heels. You know now that he’s probably far more dangerous and capable than he looks, but you hadn’t bothered to memorise the moments. Something about a sink? He was asking about a knife flip; you knew you did it, you’d just never be able to really explain how.

“Sorry, I know that that’s kind of a dick answer,” you gave a weak chuckle, “I wish I could help you, but I’ve already definitely overstayed my welcome,” you hoisted your bag up your shoulder, “sorry about that,” you cast your gaze around the empty restaurant, to host by the till giving you a tired look, “again.”

And as you scurry out of the building, you call a final thanks to the kitchen, and decide you need a damn drink.

[cr4yolaas]

— melody of the moon . viktor x pianist ! reader

synopsis . "not all art forms are as pretty as the media portrays them." in which the sweetness you once shared with viktor throughout your childhood starts to disappear, and with that comes your downfall.

genre . hurt/comfort, fluff every now and then but more towards the end

warnings . lowk mean vik (but not intentionally), self deprecation (reader) , hints towards [self] harmful habits (reader - these are not romanticized), sensory meltdown (pretty vividly described. would not recommend reading if that upsets you), minor ooc viktor, czech viktor (pet names, plz lmk if i incorrectly used any and ill fix it) a few spots are completely unedited. if theres any more i should add lmk

words . 12.4k

note . tbh this was v self indulgent (as most of my works are) considering i play a wide selection of instruments and do many other hobbies lol. it started from a cute "omg imagine vik and a pianist rdr and he listens to them play in the academy" to this, where i wanted to capture and show how art forms like music and painting and writing isnt as pretty or beautiful for the creators as the world makes it seem. behind the pretty things we make there is suffering, in the way that you are collapsing in on yourself and what you enjoy seems more like a job or a chore than a hobby. ive read this fic over like 4 times and have never been satisfied with it but id rather post it now lol. anyways im talking too long here read the fic :)

the undercity was not a forgiving place. it would not cradle you in its arms of manmade steel or kiss you with chemical lips, no, it would pierce any delicate little heart with green-tinted skies – if you let it. this was common knowledge, to little ones and grown ups alike.

you did not let the polluted city deconstruct you. it was seen in the amounts of sheet music you had collected from bars and streets, and the gentle sound of your playing in the night when the streets were finally silent. whether it be on broken wood or untuned keys, you found a way to indulge in such a hobby, until it became all you knew. you were not popular, but there were at least a small number of people (which you could count on your fingers) that knew of your music in the night.

of these people was a boy on the taller side. he was not a stranger to sitting in on your midnight performances, and occasionally, he would slip a compliment about a certain piece you played before disappearing into the night, his accent thick on his tongue. although those were the only words he would ever exchange to you, you were grateful for his presence. he made your young heart flutter in a way that you could not describe in any language, his company and his admiration being something you sought each and every night.

conversations between you and the boy were not shared by mouth, but instead, by notes. some nights you would pound on the dirt-ridden keys until your fingertips burned, and it was those nights where he’d run away and come rushing back with a first-aid kit in his hands, a dorky smile on his face despite his concern. some other nights he would sit against the wooden legs of the piano as opposed to sitting atop a bumpy rock a handful of steps away, and some other other nights you would play so quietly, as if replicating raindrops. he seemed to enjoy it all the same.

there was a special day, however, one you keep close to your heart, that you will eternally treasure, where the quiet boy completely spoke to you. he nearly rushed to your little spot, an ivory-colored envelope in hand, a grin wider than the sun’s rays on his pale cheeks. his words gushed out of chapped lips, eyes lit with such excitement that even you could not express in a melody, and it was not until he pulled out a second letter, sealed with the same piltover symbol, that you too were overwhelmingly excited. and it was that day that he spoke to you, so close, that you could feel his minty breath on your nose, the joy dripping from the corners of his mouth falling onto your skin and lighting you up completely. the clank of his cane echoed against the surrounding stone as he gripped your hands tight, crumpling the paper of the envelopes evidently though not intentionally, before saying with an accent that would engrave itself into your life, “my name is viktor, and we will be successful together.”

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

the golden streets of piltover were not familiar to either of you. it was a stark contrast to the littered concrete pathways of the undercity that were uneven and contaminated with cracks that bore dirt and plants alike. but eventually, you told yourself, these golden streets will become my home.

in truth, you were still unaware as to specifically why you and viktor had been invited to piltover’s beloved academy. you hadn’t taken the time to read over your letters, but you trusted this man enough to believe you were there for good reason.

supposedly, your talents that were once hidden in the streets of the undercity were recognized by the academy, and they saw it fit to give you both an opportunity at growth. that same day, you learned viktor was a great engineer and scientist, and you felt a bit guilty for not witnessing his work when all you knew was him witnessing yours. he did not notice such a thing, and for that, you were grateful.

the citizens of piltover looked at you in either disgust or intrigue (although, not the flattering type of intrigue) as you traversed the gardens and the halls of the academy. you would return such looks, while viktor would merely ignore them, grabbing your hand to pull you over to something he found interesting. you couldn’t blame him, of course. this was new territory, a new setting full of possibilities that you would both have to get accustomed to – which required curiosity.

and of course, you were curious. there was no room or hallway or balcony left unviewed, no seat left unsat, no elevator left unridden. you were determined to make this a place of comfort for you, for this was the place where you would finally excel.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

a handful of years passed. you watched viktor become heimerdinger’s assistant, and you congratulated him as he progressed with his work. your admiration for him never faltered, although sometimes, you would consider it a hindrance in fear of it becoming an obstacle for both of you.

on your end, you entered competitions and performed at events, and the music room quickly became your home. it was difficult to become familiar with the piano at first – the keys were not in the same awkward tuning as before, and the sound was much louder – but you had learned to play with the unfamiliarities.

growth came swift for both of you. however, in this rapid advancement, you had failed to realize the drift between you and viktor, caused by the dedication you both had for your own separate subjects.

you only came to such a realization when he quietly entered your dorm room one night as you were playing, the light from the hall peeking in through the crack of the door. he dragged himself in, nearly collapsing beside you as you heard the sound of his head hitting the wood of the stool. “continue,” he urged in a raspy, hushed voice, a voice much older than the voice that belonged to the boy of the undercity. it was not only his voice, though. aging was normal, but it scared you sometimes, for you wondered if one day, you would receive news of his doom simply because of his overexertion. in short, you worried for him. the fear of losing him and being left alone was not one you could easily shake off.

at his request, you played, played until the tender blisters on your fingertips stung, until your arms arched, until you could not hear anything but the notes and the soft breathing coming from beside you. the moonlight caressed his hollowed out cheekbones, melded into gentle tufts of hazelnut, and flooded onto his lap. it was as if the youth of the night melted away the blemishes of his face, albeit only temporarily, starting with the heavy bags beneath his eyes and the weight upon his blackened shoulders. you relished in it.

the piece came to an end, viktor’s gaze falling upon the floor. there was a silence, until he leaned his head against your thigh, looking up at you as if you had crafted the world with your bare hands. the action alone made you crumble. “that was wonderful,” he complimented, a small smile tugging at the ends of his lips. he cleared his throat a bit before continuing, cheeks smeared with a smidge of red — he prayed the darkness of the night concealed it. “i apologize for… not being as present. we’ve, ehm, grown apart a bit. something i feared for quite a while.” he spoke in soft tones, as if he was scared that if he spoke too loud he would shatter you and the walls that kept you safe. even so, his accent remained prominent. “truthfully, i have always been admiring you-” he coughed for a moment. “you and your work, from afar. you’ve improved a lot.”

“as have you,” you responded, smiling down at him. you closed the piano, careful not to let the cover slam down. “and, as much as i’d like to continue this conversation, it’s rather la-”

“no.” viktor reached for your hand, and held it as tightly as he did that day in the undercity. his grasp, so warm and yet so rough, tugged at the strings of your heart you so desperately wanted to tie away. “please. let me stay a bit more. i fear i may not have more time tomorrow, or the day after that, or even after that. so please, let us converse here.” you could not help but chuckle as you gave into such a plea.

you made space on the piano stool, urging him to sit beside you. “let us catch up.”

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

soon enough, viktor had fallen asleep beside you while you were rambling on about your own studies. his head lay in his crossed arms against the wood of the piano, eyelids closed as if they hadn’t been closed in days, or perhaps even weeks. you let him rest there, afraid to move him in fear that he would wake up from what seemed like a nice slumber, and you retreated to your bed.

however, you could not sleep. it had reached a point where you stared at viktor’s slouched form in envy, because no matter how late in the night it was, you had not been granted rest. it frightened you, since this only made way for your thoughts, both peaceful and daunting ones, and rushed ideas would brush through your head, statements without a full stop or parenthese to close them off. you could not keep track of them. and of course, most of them were about the man sleeping right in front of you.

soon, the charcoal hues of the night were painted over by soft shades of morning clementine. your eyes ached, burning with a desire to simply sleep. unfortunately, you had to cast such complaints away, as the morning was nearing and there was, in fact, still a person sleeping in your room.

you tried your best to silently tiptoe through the piles and stacks of clothes and books and papers strewn across the floor to reach the kitchen, where you made a simple egg and toast. it did not take a genius to sense that viktor’s eating habits were lacking. you figured you would treat him, just this once.

eventually, he awoke, smiling at you with sleepy eyes and a yawn. he approached the table, trudging along with his cane, his cold hands just barely ghosting over yours as he leaned in to examine the meal. “it looks delicious.” his words came out sleep-worn and low, the lopsided smile on his lips almost reaching his cheeks. he gave you a small thanks before digging into his plate, content written on his face, the reaction making your stomach fuzzy.

you could get used to this. a little sparkle in your chest hoped that maybe, he could too.

but that was the last you saw of him. he left as if he were never in your dorm at all.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

the scientist was right about not being available for the next handful of days. you heard no word of his status, and when passing through the halls, his co-workers muttered something about him being contained in his room for longer than he should’ve been.

unfortunately, there was no time for you to be fussing over his personal life. as much as you wanted to worry, you had to practice for an upcoming event. supposedly, you were playing at a ball hosted by piltover’s council, a way to form connections between the various nations of valoran. this didn’t exactly excite you – surely, there’d be rumors of your past in the undercity, and you’d have to sit through the entire event and mingle with rich people, and so on. the pay was nice, however, so you took the spot.

as usual, you would play into the afternoon, then continue into the late night, praying to no god in particular that somehow he would hear you through the gold-framed walls of the academy (or, maybe you just craved validation). breaks were rare, which gave you more time to perfect your pieces. strings of moonlit dust slowly fell into the room, seeping through the linen curtains and casting themselves onto the grand piano set in the middle of the music room. you could’ve sworn there were dents in the keys from how much you pressed on them, the same notes repeating on your fingertips like a mantra. dizziness plagued your mind as you stared blankly at the keys you swore you had memorized, the room around you seeming to fall and sway, an effect of your tunnel vision. with perfection came distress, you supposed.

you allowed for your head to fall into your calloused hands as you groaned, the weariness of your work finally hitting you. perhaps, this is how viktor felt when he overworked himself with his experiments. you vaguely recalled him ranting last night about the exhaustion that washed over him whenever he simply sat down to think for once, his description of it rather weird to you before, but far too understandable now.

…

him again.

it was always viktor this, viktor that, swimming around in your pretty little head, even if he wasn’t around. honestly, you felt a fool, a fool who could not set their own thoughts and doubts straight. he haunted you without even knowing it.

you weren’t sure what you were to him. after all, you didn’t know much about him, vice versa. his birthday, his last name, something as trivial as his favorite color — all of them were a blur in the unknown to you. you were simply the pianist he had encountered in the undercity, it was simply a coincidence he heard your melodies in the night, and it was simply a coincidence that you had both been accepted into piltover’s academy, just as simple as that. to obsess and fall for him like this made you feel guilty, almost. the repercussions of love would strike back, said the little voice in your throat. to succumb to infatuation would only hinder you both.

you banged your head on the keys, paying no mind to the possibility that some student was passing outside and heard the noise. please be over soon, you pleaded to no one, for you could not bear the ache in your heart.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

the ball came and went. you absolutely dreaded the entire event, your fingers still sore from the long night. thankfully, you didn’t have to participate in many conversations with those who were far above you in terms of status – you would have embarrassed yourself, truly.

afterwards, you had fallen back into your routine of morning classes and afternoon practices, occasionally stopping by the school’s library and café late in the night before bed. then came the loop of massaging your hands every couple minutes and closing the piano lid in raw frustration only to open it again soon after, staring at sheet music until the notes blurred together and the rhythms were no longer countable.

it was a routine of destruction, but it resulted in beauty regardless.

however, today, someone else occupied the practice room that you often sat in. in your spot sat a boy, perhaps a little younger than you, thumping away at the keys you learned to love.

you were not envious of his skill or his youth or his passion, but instead, envious of his simplicity. sure, simplicity could be found in you and viktor, but now that you were by yourself, there was nothing but raw and disgusting self-desolation. there was a palpable difference between you both, for he lacked furrowed brows or burning red fingertips, and you lacked his pure calmness, the ethreality in which he sat with and conveyed in his tunes. he was smiling, even, the soft upturn of peach lips barely noticeable behind his cheeks, evidently proud of his work. of course, you were not going to say it was bad or sounded terrible or was void of emotion, because that was all it wasn’t, and that was what you longed for. the underwater reservoir of your heart rumbled, the pretty concrete pillars that you built for years upon years from the ground up finally cracking just a bit.

it was not until he ended the piece that he noticed you standing in the doorway, jaw hung just a bit loose in sugar coated awe. he struck up a conversation to greet you and the interaction passed by, your words barely engraved in your memory. he left with a simple goodbye, leaving the piano you once recognized as yours up for grabs.

simple, simple, simple. his easiness had you lost, and yet, you wanted so badly to replicate it, to wear that same soft smile and pass through practice as if it were quick work, not a chore or a wall or an enemy. you did not know his name, couldn’t even remember his face, but you wanted to be him so bad, so then people would look at you the way you looked at him.

so you sat. you felt the warmth on the chair that was once his pass onto you, the feeling uncomfortable while you tried to adjust.

you were hesitant. the desire to conjure up the beauty in which the boy had encapsulated right in front of you was so violent and unrestrained it burned you, burned your lungs and your dry lips as you struggled to cast away the envy and the longing to be him, to have that grace and overwhelming simplicity. jealousy was not an uncommon experience in art. but that did not mean it didn’t hurt you any less.

the sheet music sat in front of you, a new piece you had recently been assigned to learn. it wasn’t like you couldn’t read it, no, you could — you could piece together the rhythms and the chords and every sound almost perfectly in your head, but you could not convey it with your hands. perhaps it was the fear that you would not be as great as him. you were more experienced, you knew that, but you were flawed. marred hands and tear-stained cheeks were no stranger to you. you never wanted to rid yourself of them so bad.

you breathed deeply once, as if to blow away the unquellable sea of thoughts raging in your head, and you played. it sounded just as you had heard it in your mind, albeit a little awkward at the beginning, but it was going smoothly.

until it wasn’t.

the elegance that the piece should’ve been morphed into tornadoes of notes, your hands pressing harshly against the keys in not anger, but misery. you were reminded of the boy and his disgustingly excellent simplicity, his easygoing smile and perfect posture, the way he held himself up as if he were a god. you knew, you knew that you were not bad, that you weren’t exactly worse, but he brought a beauty to the art form that you have not once experienced. it was crushing you from the inside.

you slammed down an awkward chord midway through the piece to take a moment to breathe. you inhaled and exhaled as if you had been granted the privilege to do so, your mind blank and your eyes numb as you sat still.

this was bad. it was bad, terrible, revolting. you could stop it, maybe, if you wanted.

but you did not.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

it was as if the world was against you (it most likely was). viktor had returned from a week of non-stop experimentation, and had snuck his way back into your life all while you were in the midst of falling apart. it began with small talk, which was eased into ten minute passing periods. he would speak of building and formulas that you couldn’t wrap your brain around even if you tried, because you were a musician, not a genius. eventually, it would grow into full blown conversations, where he’d catch you studying in the library or in the gardens and greet you before diving into random topics, like the weather or your own hobbies or sometimes the most absurd concepts, like the sleep schedule of a snail. of course, you cherished these moments, you did, but somehow, someway, you managed to deceive yourself, your heart screaming that they were just tidbits of entertainment for him. there was no real emotion or meaning. just small syllables spoken back and forth to pass time, and you hated it.

you loved him, you really did, but he acted like he never sunk into the depths of his lab for hours on end without break, like he didn’t smile at you under the moonlight, like he didn’t drift away from you the moment you both had a chance at success.

it bugged you. but you did not speak on it, for you clung onto the little hope of restoration left inside of you in fear of being left alone.

you played along. slipped into his lab when you had the time and spoke about meaningless things. you talked about groceries and the funny thing your professor said in class the other day and the ladybug that flew through your window. this continued for days, to weeks, and you were content, because you were not lonely, and you were reminded of his presence often enough. maybe it was selfish. you would be a liar if you told yourself you were only doing this for the comfort of him being there. eventually, it also became a scapegoat, a way to cover up the stress bubbling up like bile in your throat.

viktor seemed to enjoy the company, but you figured it was only for the humor of it, because why else would he return with seemingly no care for his disappearance? it did not matter to you. you were finally piecing back together what once was — at least, to you, you were. if this is what it would take to fill in the viktor-shaped hole in your chest, you would do it. the longing was too strong to ignore.

such extenuated bliss would not last long. throughout the mini conversations and the giggles shared through lunch breaks, the envy that sprouted from your own field of study resurfaced (it was funny to you, almost, because all your time was spent admiring his subject and straying away from yours), at first gradually, then like a breaking dam.

you found yourself sitting in awe at your peers once more. not in the way that a child looks up at their favorite superhero, but instead in pure jealousy. of course, it was normal to be proud of your classmates, but for it to gnaw at your ribcage and tear apart your soul in this way was not. their progress only reminded you of your lack thereof. you were at a stopping point, you believed, where it all fell flat and everything became repetition without reason. because what were you supposed to do when you were reminded of your place in the academy? you hadn’t fought to get this spot, nor had you begged for it. it was granted to you, a luxury that those of your kind weren’t often given. that didn’t mean you’d be babied or treated specially — it just meant you had to prove yourself more.

you would do anything to be the star and not just the muse, because to you, it felt like you were locked in a stasis of watching those around you move forward flawlessly while you grasped at air for any bit of evidence that you were worthy of doing just that. you wanted to tear apart your sheet music, send your piano crashing down a flight of stairs, erase all contact you had with music, since it brought you nothing but anguish.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

although it looked like the exact opposite, viktor had been taking note of your downfall of sorts, through the rambles and fleeting conversations. he noticed you would not return til deep into the early morning, a great contrast to when you would often greet him with a goodnight in the early evening. the sight of your calloused hands and red-rimmed eyes plagued the man’s science-filled mind. he saw the callouses in your fingertips and the creases in your forehead and the unevenness of the hair in your brows, he noticed, he knew it all. he began doing comparisons of the past and present to get a grasp on just what was going on — because he cared. he just did not know how to express it properly, his body and mind and soul too consumed by work to understand how.

but it seemed as if this caring went unnoticed by you, and instead, only made matters worse.

viktor had finally released the breath he had been holding for centuries and approached you carefully, his voice nearly a breath, a whisper in the wind. it had been a long while since he spoke to you like that. he sat on the side of your bed as you flipped through thick paperback books that wore dust and stains alike (you told him someone else was occupying “your” music room — playing in the tightness of your dorm wasn’t as great, though) and treaded the waters lightly, bringing up the work you’d been putting yourself through and the energy you’d been exerting, all while staring at your back because you did not once make an effort to turn around to face him (you figured this was more small talk). and eventually, it led to him being straightforward, because his patience was thinning the more he tried to drag it on.

“you’ve looked quite tired recently, and it’s concerning me. surely, it wouldn’t hurt to… take a break for a bit? you don’t have to constantly work yourself to the bone,” he spoke, his accent hanging thick in the air and his worry evident.

there was a silence that followed after, the soft background noise of random notes coming to a halt as you breathed once more. the boiling water was, at last, tipping over.

“take a break? oh my god, viktor, look at yourself!” you quipped back, gesturing towards his frame with your hands. “i don’t think i’m delusionsal but i could’ve sworn you were trapping yourself in that stupid lab for days. and you want me to take a break? bullshit.”

the reaction was unexpected, for both you and him. you appreciated his concern, it made you feel whole, like you were not a ghost in the wind, but you couldn't help but scoff at the audacity.

had he truly waited this long? a bitterness welled up in your guts as you thought it over. there was no way he did not just now notice. you bit your lip, the maybes and what if’s passing by viciously. maybe he didn’t care enough. maybe he didn’t know how to say it. maybe he was just too scared.

you wanted to be genuinely angry at him, to throw the lamp on your table at him in pure and utter irritation and disappointment, to scream at his stupidity. but you could not. not when his eyes, despite being shaken with shock, held a grip around your heart.

viktor was desperate to calm you down, swallowing down the sourness in his mouth before spilling out, “well- i know, but i just don’t want it to happen to you too-”

“you cant be serious! it’s always been progress with you, always- always moving forward and getting better and accomplishments and all that shit. you don’t understand how bad i want this, how bad i need to work! i need to prove i deserve this spot, because everyone and everything right now seems to be telling me that i don't and i know i do, but- i just- i have no proof for it.” your breaths were speeding up at this point, your chest heaving with the need for air. not only that, but the air was becoming louder. you could feel the breaths of the wind on your skin and it was so cold, like a stab. you felt too mad. this reaction was not necessary at all. but you needed to continue, to empty out the contents of your piled up stress and weariness, even if none of it made sense. “you wouldn’t get it, vik, because you’re always doing so fucking good that you never have to stop and doubt yourself for even a moment. you conceal yourself in your little workroom and do all that shit and move on as if it was nothing, as if you didn’t lose hours upon hours upon hours of sleep and you didn’t lose at least a bit of your sanity.” viktor could only bite the inside of his cheek as he watched you and your walls break down before him, unleashing an ocean of melancholy and despair that had been contained for too long. “maybe you should consider that i want that! i don’t want what everyone has, i want to be them! i can’t just sit down and breathe for a moment like you can, i need to put in my heart and body and soul into this no matter how much it hurts because i need to show that i am not a lost cause and that- that i’m worthy of something.”

everything seemed to be slowing down and speeding up all at once. your face was numb, as if it were being pulled apart and stretched to inconceivable lengths. you could hear the twitch of your fingers as you yelled, your throat dry and sharp all at once. a tremble erupted for what felt like eternity through your leg, a subconscious attempt to distract yourself from the doom crawling on your spine. everything was happening all at once. the walls were crumbling, your blood was audibly pulsing and you could feel your veins move and pump in your arms, your teeth were scraping against each other, and the flesh of your cheeks was fucking rotting.

it was like you were watching yourself collapse. it was stupid.

“i cannot stop.” you could not process the dying down of your voice, or viktor coming up to you to root you back to earth, or the lightheadedness that pounded and chipped away at your head. your words came out muffled and tiny and broken. “if i do, i am nothing.”

there was a shared silence. you felt like you had sobered up in a second, but there was an echoing buzz in every limb, every corner of flesh, and it scared you. had you said too much?

viktor stood in front of you, his expression apprehensive as he approached you. he almost looked terrified, his hand hovering above yours for a moment before dropping down to his sides — it made you want to cry.

“let’s go for a walk. in the garden, at the back.”

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

“...and the crystal just sort of… exploded. i mean, it wasn’t bad, but it was definitely shocking. it was a tiny burst — could only hurt, say, an insect.” you hummed as you listened to viktor’s rambles, his words just barely reaching your ears. “but, i guess that just means i have more to explore. in order to make progress, you must explore even the darkest corners sometimes.”

“wow. i didn’t know you were one for inspirational quotes, viktor,” you giggled, a teasing lilt to your voice. he returned the laughter, smiling as he jested, “it’s my new side hobby. science gets rather boring sometimes.” viktor had managed to immerse you so well into his mindless babbles that you didn’t notice the small dents in your thigh, formed by the rhythmic drumming of your fingertips, the same ones worn by time and practice. you also failed to see your other hand fidgeting with the hem of viktor’s sleeve — but that was only because he did nothing to stop you.

“you’d be pretty good at that. well- you’re good at almost anything.” the last part was almost muttered. you were going too fast again, letting your unfinished thoughts spill out from the cracks between your teeth haphazardly. “it’s amazing, really. you always seem to be capable of rewriting the world — it makes me a bit jealous.” a bit was an understatement. “so many possibilities at your fingertips. the only possibilities for me are… winning more competitions and performing at the same balls and the like,” you chuckled, albeit a little awkwardly.

your footsteps matched each other, the clack of soles against the concrete humming in the air as you walked loops around the flower-filled bushes. wisps of wind danced around, kissing your once burning skin oh so tenderly.

it was peaceful.

oh.

you ran the thought back in your head. it was peaceful. it was quiet and soft and there were no loud noises banging around in your skull. instead, there was only the voice of an overthinker and the soft sigh that elicited from viktor’s throat. “i think the opposite. in fact, i think you have a handful of opportunities lined up for you that you are more than worthy for. and it’s more than that, you are excellent outside of your music. so do not say otherwise.” you bit your lip at the response.

“well, yes, but look at you,” you spoke with a smile, one that could not be distinguishable as genuine or forced. “you’re so ahead of me, ahead of everyone. ...sometimes i tell myself to hate you for it — of course, i don’t, but fuck, vik,” you breathed in heavily before looking at him. “it’s a miracle no one has torn you apart just for an ounce of your skill. because honestly, i might be the first one to.” the joke slipped out so easily, but the man wasn’t really having any of it.

“first off, please do not come after me like that. i do not want to have to prepare myself for such an attack.” the comment was half a joke, and half serious. “second… i did not know you felt that way. i’m sorry,” he spoke quietly. an apology was the first thing on his mind, and the last thing on yours. he did not care whether or not you asked why, but the answer would be simple either way. he was sorry for not reaching out sooner, for not trying to help at the start, for not being there when you needed him most. the list ran through his hand repeatedly, as if it were bound to haunt him forever.

at this point, you both had stopped at a stone bench placed underneath a tree, strings of sunlight hitting both of your faces, however, neither of you took the initiative to sit down. instead, viktor looked at your arms and hands as if to ask permission to touch you. you caved in.

viktor’s embrace was awkward and rough, but warm. he held you with one arm, his other stiff at your side for him to lean against. the touch was not covered in flowers and butterflies and it did not make you feel like you were in the clouds, but it made you feel at home. like you were safe, despite the way the fabric of his shirt clung a bit to the rashes left by the stressed scratching and rubbing of your skin, and despite the way his arm squeezed yours, so tight, like if he were to hold you a little looser you would slip. “your insecurities do not define you and they should not obstruct you. you, as a whole, are wonderful. it would not harm you to take even a moment to rest — not only do you deserve it, but it pains me to see you stress yourself with something that should be a talent you love and flourish,” he murmured into you, his words spoken from the bottom of his heart. “you are perfect as you. there is no reason to compare yourself to me, or anyone else. after all, look at me. you are the epitome of elegance and i… well, i cannot say much.” he chuckled softly.

you’d be lying if you said you did not want this to last forever. but forever was never really a good thing for you.

he let go of you, awkwardly placing his hands at his sides, switching his gaze from your stained cheeks to the flowers, back and forth. you sighed heavily as you fell into the seat behind your knees, leaning back against the polished stone and ignoring the way it uncomfortably poked and prodded at your back. “thank you, viktor.” his face lit up at the way you spoke his name, the little lovestruck gears in his stomach turning around. fortunately, you did not notice. instead, you exhaled deeply, staring up at the gaps between the branches and leaves above you.

“we’d go days without meaningful conversation — it scared me,” you muttered mindlessly, both to him and yourself, voice raspy with remnants of tears. “it felt as if i lost everything. but it never felt like you lost anything. like it was only you and your work against the world. so i suppose… everything, the jealousy and the emptiness just sort of clashed together. i never blamed you, though. the pursuit of excellence takes time, as you’d say.” you could not bring yourself to look at him completely just yet.

“i felt meaningless, vik. i know you didn’t mean to, but when you came back and disappeared and came back over and over again, and then now i find that you do care… it all threw me off.” there was much more to say, but you held your tongue in fear of your voice becoming wobbly again.

you caught a glimpse of golden eyes in your peripheral, his pupils full blown at your declaration. his lips cracked open, ready to spill with another apology or line of comfort, but instead came silence. the words would not organize in his head. he wanted to tell you everything he noticed, the change he witnessed in you both physically and mentally, he wanted to ramble on about how he saw the burning pink in the corners and saline coating your eyes and the cracks in your lips and the rips in your hands. no coherent strings of thoughts roamed his mind, but he tried — for you.

“můj miláčku,” he began in his mother tongue, then returned to your mutual language. “there has not been a second where i have not worried for you. i have always cared, and i have always noticed. i apologize for making it ever seem like i didn’t. i witnessed you go through hell and back once. i will not let it happen again.”

you wanted to sob.

“i’m well aware my… work obsession can appear distant. i can assure you i don’t intend to make it look like that.” he held your fingers delicately, before whispering, “you are the sun and the moon and every celestial body in between, i would never intentionally look away or cast you off.” here he was walking in unexplored land. this talk was unfamiliar to both of you, and quite forward. but it was a good leap. “should you ever feel… unworthy, insecure, anything of the sort, please do not hesitate to come to me. i would be more than happy to listen.”

you placed your head on viktor’s shoulder, muttering into his clothes a quiet “thank you.”

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

any chance of a break had been robbed from your hands. a few days after, a noxian-sealed envelope lay at your doormat, the letter being an invitation to an event in which you would play alongside other pianists. it was supposed to be a non-competitive gathering, a show of skills to hopefully get sponsored by some rich person from who knows where — but of course, one could only hope and pray for such a thing when you paired together several musicians from different nations, who all wanted fame and glory just as much as everyone else.

it excited you, at first. not only was it a free trip to noxus (this was rare, considering all of your performances were held in piltover), but it was a chance at proving yourself. proving that you were capable of everything your peers were, despite your upbringings from the infamous undercity. however, foolish guilt bit away at your bones for being so accepting of the offer when you should’ve been taking a break from the music scene, as viktor wished. at the time, unfortunately, you pushed away such apprehension. you were desperate to prove yourself just as deserving as the others, and this was your chance.

this confidence was only torn apart, crumbled, and crushed into pieces by the hands of your “competitors,” who had done nothing but perform. they did no wrong. but you loathed them all the same, for they unintentionally deconstructed your poppy-filled lungs and lit your cheeks aflame as you played beside them. the end results only deepened this false hatred — you watched as many other performers were offered opportunities and donations through the night, your little corner staying barely touched by the feet of the rich who came to watch and give. the few others who shared your discomfort soothed you only a bit.

your return to piltover was embarrassing, to say the least. you had come back empty handed, no award or recognition or honor to show off.

upon your shameful trudge back to the academy, viktor greeted you warmly, congratulating you despite your lack of accomplishment. he noticed you made no effort to get out of your performance outfit, the cloth hugging every inch of your skin so perfectly that he wanted to hold you then and there. but he did not. no, he had to restrain himself, because you came first in his mind. “you did great, either way. i could care less if you did better or worse than the others,” were his exact words. his words were beyond genuine, and instead of dwelling on the subject more, he offered to make you dinner so you could rest for the night. to him you were eternally grateful. an anchor that you had not requested, but one that came to you regardless. it made you giddy inside, little rays of sunshine peeking through the spaces in your ribs with every drop of attention and care he gave you.

the change was startling, at first. before you would’ve cursed yourself and the heavens for ever fawning over the man, but now, you reveled in the comfort, drank every bit of it you were gifted. you were a fool beyond words, your ability to fall to his feet so easily making you just a bit nervous.

viktor made a nice plate for you, urging you to dig in and relax for once. he played a record to “set the mood,” the sultry voice of the singer bouncing around the room and into your ears, and he congratulated you on your efforts once more. a smile, tiny but not unnoticeable, tugged at his lips, his face warm as he drank in the way you did your hair and the fancy shoes you put on just for this performance. he did not care if you were ashamed of your performance or not. you looked the part. with a mere glance, if he were one of those rich fools, he would’ve offered every bit of money he had to you. truly sublime, he noted to himself.

afterwards, he walked you back to your room, rambling about a new coffee flavor he’d recently found interesting, before sending you off with a goodnight. it was in these little acts that you remembered your roots with him. the little boy on the polluted streets who cared enough to sit through your tunes every night was now treating you to a meal. you smiled fondly at the thought, the once steady rhythm of your heart speeding up just a little bit. you could get used to this. maybe he could too.

but in the euphoria of the night, you failed to prepare for the morning and its blows.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

the sun was just barely creeping over the horizon as heimerdinger called you into his room to discuss his plans for your future at the academy specifically. you were weary with sleep, but tried your best to listen to every word he had to say.

“now, i have reconsidered this decision many times. there have been moments where i have thought about letting it slide, but those thoughts were… proven useless, as i was shown time and time again that i must treat all my students equally — that stretches onto, well, punishments.” you played around with your fingers, a way to calm yourself down just a little bit before the brick fell onto your head. the yordle continued on with his speech of sorts. “your participation has been lacking, to sum it up. we’ve talked about this before,” he breathed heavily, as if preparing himself to drop the bomb. you most likely have talked about this risk before, it just never sat in your head, for you were too deep in your desperate practices and fits of bitterness to ever comprehend it. the consequences were hitting now, you supposed. “there’s been a steep decrease in participation and performance — at least, that’s what’s on the report that was sent in.” the little man folded his hands beneath his chin, his elbows digging into the table before him. “...and, your event the other day only… strengthens my point, i suppose.”

you did not respond. if you did, the saline pricking at your eyes would’ve spilled over.

“i have always believed you deserved a chance at success — i feel exactly the same for your friend.” the reference to viktor threw you off-guard. this only rubbed salt in the wound, a disgusting reminder of how truly inferior you were compared to the talented scientist. you wanted the best for him, however, and you’d be damned if you let yourself be a factor towards viktor’s failure. he sighed, looking down at the tabletop as if he were guilty. “however, my disappointment has not wavered much over the course of the past couple of months. it is with a heavy heart that i send you off. not with anger, but with care. i… believe this can also be a moment to step back and breathe. you may need it. i recommend packing your bags before the sun completely rises, to avoid drama and whatnot. you know how the students gossip in the halls,” he chuckled emptily at his lackluster attempt to brighten the mood. “we at the academy will miss you dearly.”

and that was that.

you exited with a nod, your throat dry with silence. that was that. you were done, and any status or any sort of acknowledgment you had tied to the academy was cut. you did not plan on informing viktor or anyone else for that matter. it was too much at the moment.

the fact that your pitiful spiral into an anger and harmful passion so red, so detrimental to yourself (and maybe those around you) was so obvious sent a pang through your chest. this was the fruit that grew from your time spent wallowing in self-pity, from the irritation at yourself for being so stupidly consumed in jealousy of others’ progress that you could not notice your lack thereof. at the same time, however, it felt like no matter how much strenuous effort you poured into the music, you would never move forward.

perhaps the professor was right.

your dorm room sat still, despite the clutter invading nearly every corner — there were countless books stacked along the walls (you were too lazy to invest in a bookshelf, but it was always a passing thought) sticky notes and random papers were tacked up, dust and spiderwebs left unattended for months collected, but you did not care, for you knew once all of your belongings had vanished from this room, someone would come clean it all up.

you began with the smaller things, like binders of sheet music or potted plants you had been gifted over the years. then it grew into things like your clothes and blankets, then you were left with a bed and a piano. it made you giggle, almost, how those two things were the only pieces of furniture you really maintained. your bed sheets were made and the lid of the piano was free of dust and closed. a small photo perched atop the instrument, one of you and viktor on your first day at the academy, stayed in its spot, for you did not have the heart to pack it away just yet.

truth be told, the heaviness you felt in heimerdinger’s office didn’t linger as you cleared your room. it was therapeutic, almost. like you were tearing apart the pieces of your life that reminded you of things you did not want to be reminded of.

on the topic of things you did not want to be reminded of, viktor burst through the door, hair disheveled and cheeks red as if he hobbled without break (which he most likely did).

you watched as his eyes, constructed of mined amber and stardust, widened dramatically at the emptiness of your room. “what is the meaning of this?” he questioned almost accusingly. his gaze pierced through every bit of you, making holes through your skin and muscles and bones and everything in between. “do not move one bit. i need an explanation first.” you could not tell if he was furious or concerned.

“well- i was talking about this with heimerdinger for a while, and i guess he… figured now was the right time.”

the man shook his head roughly, brows furrowed in utter confusion. “that makes no sense. heimerdinger isn’t stupid enough to do something like that? to just… kick you out?” you picked at the skin on your lip as you realized viktor was firm in his belief.

“that’s so easy for you to say, vik.” your voice cracked. you did not want to give such a speech once again, but you could not help it. “you have never experienced the downfall of your sanity so harsh that it consumes you whole, because you are always progressing. i’m proud of you for that. but it is because of that, that you are also blinded. you don’t see yourself crumbling into little tiny pieces that you cannot pick up yourself. you’re just so… easily successful.” a sigh slipped from your lips as you messed with the hem of your shirt. blood was rushing to your cheeks, not in the warm and fluffy way, but in the way that you were so dizzy with brimming annoyance. you loved viktor more than ever, you would tell yourself that time and time again, but you could not help but feel irritated at his failure to understand that not everyone could simply move forward like he did. “heimerdinger is right in his decision. i’ve reached a hole too deep to salvage myself out of. you are… a fool to think otherwise.”

viktor’s face contorted into one of genuine worry. “surely, there must be something we- i can do? i could- i don’t know- ehm, talk to the professor about this? we could convince him, or-”

you grabbed his sleeve before he could turn around even a bit and whispered pleadingly, “don’t. i don’t want to drag you down with this. this is the result of my own mistakes.” it hurt to send him off, because all you wanted right now was his utter support and comfort and for him to hold you again, tight and lovingly and warmly, and for him to rush into heimerdinger’s office and speak whatever came to that pretty little mind of his first. but you could not wish for such things when everything you spoke to him now was true. this was your fall, so you would take the blow alone.

viktor looked at you as if you were mad in the head.

“drag me down? are you crazy? so you’re just going to let them kick you out? just like that?” you cast your head to the side, somewhat embarrassed to confirm his worries. you dragged your gaze up, watching as his face softened just a bit as he realized you were going to let it happen, his scowl fading before he looked back at you. “...alright. i cannot force you.” he slipped out of your grasp, dropping his arm to his side and staring you down, not with malice, but with betrayal. he was the one that promised you success in piltover, and yet here you were denying any chance of it. he did not loathe you for your decision — once again, god forbid he did — but that did not stop the pang in his heart. however, he did not want to hurt you once more. if that is what you truly wanted, he would give it to you in a heartbeat, because he believed you deserved everything you ever wanted. he stepped out of the room, giving you space and giving himself time to think.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

and think he did.

within a week, you were back. you had absolutely no idea why, but you were standing back in the same dorm, the corners uncomfortably clean, while a few others helped you move your stuff back in.

everything had been placed back where it was before you left. this was not the plan. this was not your idea of self-reflection. your piano beneath the window, books stacked beside the legs, and a rack of bags and hats on your wall next to your door. it was oddly neat, in comparison to the way you had strewn your clothes and mess along the floor with no care to clean any of it up. but now you could see a walkable path, even with all your belongings.

it was disgustingly unfamiliar. you did not like it one bit. you were back, and it was suffocating you.

during your return, there was no word of your scientist friend anywhere — not even his name was muttered. you supposed it was what you deserved, considering you hadn’t kept in touch with him in your absence. an eye for an eye.

your classes picked back up as usual. you didn’t make any promise to yourself to work harder or put more effort in class, because if you did, falling back into that hole you did before would only feel much worse. you did well regardless, catching back up to the class and regaining the love for your talent without fail.

you were doing so good at making this a routine. you could’ve sworn you were making actual progress for once, remaining on a straight path and finding joy in what you saw jealousy in before. of course, until viktor placed himself back into your routine once more, this time, less cautiously.

he’d been standing outside of the door to your class, his foot tapping against the ground impatiently. he wanted to speed up time or anything of the sort, just to get to you faster.

when you finally stepped out, his heart stopped.

you didn't go through any drastic change, obviously but it was like he was charmed by you for the first time, his breath hitching completely.

your eyes widened at the sight of him, his hair noticeably ruffled and a few tufts misplaced, and his suit a bit wrinkled. “viktor?” you muttered, astonished to see him before you as if he weren’t real. your books slipped an inch from the sweat on your palms, the man reaching out a hand beneath them with his free hand with an awkward chuckle.

“you’re back,” he breathed out, grinning from cheek to cheek, a sight you were not familiar with. maybe a little upturn of his lips, a smirk, but not a smile so big that you could see the pure joy spilling between his pearly whites, his gums stained with a new innocence you had not seen since your days in the undercity.

his excitement had you taken aback. “i… yes. i guess i am.” an awkward chuckle slipped its way out from your throat, as you were still confused. “i mean, i’m not really sure why i- wait.” you paused, looking viktor dead in the eye, his smile not wavering. as if he wanted you to figure it out. “you did this?”

“of course i did. why else would you be here right now?” he urged you to follow him down the hallway. hesitantly, you trailed behind him, recognizing the path as a way to the observatory.

you rarely went to said room, considering you had no interest nor business with it whatsoever. however, it looked polished, something you were not expecting. you thought that, maybe, there would be dust here and there and there’d be a few cracks in the floorboards or the walls, considering how old the academy was. perhaps, this was another one of viktor’s plans. you wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

the man ascended the stairway, his dress shoes clinking against the granite steps, motioning for you to follow suit. you were so close that you could feel the fabric of his sleeves on yours and his fingertips, strawberry kissed and blister-burnt, against your hand as he walked. he did not seem to notice, however, as he spoke in warm tones, his other hand fiddling with the fabric of his pants. “ehm… while you were away, i made something in my spare time,” he began, fumbling with the leather.

“spare time? i didn’t know that was in your dictionary, vik,” you giggled, the nickname making his heart flutter more than it should have.

“well- i mean, in the time that i was waiting for professor heimerdinger to accept my… request.” he thought about the way to place the words, rearranging them in his head because he could not help but let your plea for him to stay out of the situation loop around. he stood beneath the center of the glass dome roof while you took your spot beside him. “um, anyways. i figured, while i was waiting, i should make something for you.” he stepped forward before stopping to say, “ah, cover your eyes,” while his smile grew, little creases in his cheeks forming. at his request, you closed your eyes and covered them with your hands, resisting the urge to peek through your fingers.

the clank of metal against metal was the first thing you heard. your excitement increased as he told you to remove your hands, your gaze meeting his then the object he now stood next to.

the last remnants of the sun reflected off the glass of the telescope that viktor set up. it was no regular telescope, though, for it bore designs that you figured he made himself. engravings of planets and galaxies alike were littered over the metal, along with a little sticky note on the side that was written in a different language. “pro mou hvězdu,” it read, the handwriting recognizable as none other than viktor’s. you walked up to it, brushing your fingers against every part carefully in admiration. “you made this?”

“yes. for you, so you could see all that you are worth.” the words made your chest erupt with roses and lilacs that constricted your lungs and every muscle in your body, the walls of your throat tightening as all the yearning you collected over the years drowned you at full force. your lips parted then closed, the river of words rushing through your head refusing to come out. viktor took in your reaction and chuckled, making his way over to you and holding your hands in his, like always. “you deserve it. go on, take a look.”

you did just that, walking up to the relatively large telescope and peering up into the glass. by now, the sun had disappeared into the horizon, the sky a dark canvas lit by constellations. you see the stars, big and small, all floating around and burning bright. viktor pointed out certain objects for you, turning your gaze towards venus, which was noticeably larger than the other pinpricks of light around it. you played around with it a bit, eventually seeing the moon in all its nighttime glory.

“it’s beautiful,” you muttered, your jaw hanging slack as you soaked in the sight of the sky so close, so close that you could hold it all in your hands and caress it and pull it to your chest so tenderly. viktor sat right beside you, admiring the way you held onto the body of the telescope carefully and how you let a tiny smile grow on your lips, his heart trembling with the sudden urge to fall in love with you all over again. but he could not let it out. not yet.

you turned your head towards his, the curve of your lips growing once your eyes met. “thank you, so much.”

“anything for you, světlo hvězd.”

you huffed playfully, “what is with the nicknames that i can’t understand?” viktor laughed at your comment but refused to give a proper answer, claiming that you “didn’t need to know yet.”

“i would say i’m sorry for going against your wishes, but,” he paused, his head tilting up as he looked away. “i would be lying. you deserve all the chances. you may have felt as if you were unworthy of anything, but you deserve everything. i will say that a million times if i need to.”

you laughed, the sound hitting viktor’s ears beautifully. “why are you like this?”

“i am only like this for you. heimerdinger’s decision was completely and utterly stupid. so, i did whatever i could to bring you back.”

you wanted to kiss him then and there.

“enough. i think it’s time our virtuoso get some rest — i’ve kept you up a bit late,” he interrupted your thoughts, nodding his head towards the exit expectant for you to follow.

and with that, you let him walk you back to your dorm, his stare lingering on the instrument against your wall a little too long before he left with a soft goodnight.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

viktor laid in his bed far from peacefully, his mattress practically digging into his spine and shoulder blades and carving nighttime sorrows into his skin. he could not contain the instant rush of thoughts he was greeted with upon waking up. he was always thinking recently, a little too much for his liking. thinking about work. thinking about class. thinking about you.

you. viktor dragged his hands over his face, groaning into his palm miserably. it was stupid how much of his mind you had taken. this was not the plan. he had promised you success and fortune up in piltover, not his lovesick tragedies and playful little pet names in his mother tongue. did you even know of his feelings? if you did, did you return them at all? was he too bold, bold enough, or not bold at all?

love was stupid, viktor decided. but saying something that strong would mean calling you stupid. he tossed the thought out of his head immediately, throwing himself out of bed and into his bathroom.

truthfully, he felt guilty for it. he figured he did not deserve to worship you, to long for you this much when all he brought you was memories of your own misery. he had wedged himself back into your life, and with that, you had spiraled down into a hole that he could not describe himself. to admit his affection for you would be selfish, he felt. but he was too far deep. he feared that if he stopped here, he would leave you hanging all over again.

for once in a long time, he felt completely stupid.

on the other hand, you were absolutely lovestruck. you did not care for guilt or selfishness or any of those bitter feelings that would ever stop you. but at the same time, you were terrified. terrified of growth, of finally moving forward even though that was what you craved the most.

you waved the nonsense out — or at least, tried to — considering you were throwing yourself back into the hobby you kept at just for him.

personally, you believed that viktor had given you so much and you had given… what? there was no memory of you offering anything to him that amounted to the amount of gifts and time and care he gave you. it was unfair.

this was unfair. all of it, the envy, the pining, the stress. unfortunately, there was no going back. you had flung yourself full force into not only viktor himself but also into your studies. and with this newfound dedication, there was no time to sit down and think.

you breathed heavily after finishing the warm-up assigned by your teacher, his gaze not judging but calculative, as if he were sizing you up. “good,” he spoke firmly, jotting down notes of god knows what on his papers. maybe this was expected, considering your sudden leave and return — it was sure to have left a stain on your cachet. “now, onto your assigned piece. i’d like to go over measure 32, til the coda.” you did as told, your fingers stretching along the keys and pouring out memorized melodies in hopes of satisfaction. this wasn’t unfamiliar to you, rather, it was awkward. you had been in countless classrooms and apartments studying with various instructors, all of which pushed you to do your best. but this time, it was uncomfortable, what with the sharp stare given by your teacher and the tension in the air.

regardless, the session went by smoothly, save for the anxiety racking your bones. a break was needed, you figured. where, you weren’t sure yet.

eventually, you found yourself at the door to viktor’s lab with two cups of tea in your hands. with no hesitation or warning, you waltzed in, placing one of the cups that you ordered on viktor’s desk. this startled him, his head whipping around to see you standing right next to him.

“what are you doing here? hold on, go get- go get some goggles, a coat, whatever… equipment is available,” he rambled on, clearly still invested in whatever experiment he had going on, his hands moving even while he spoke to you. you only shrugged, heading over to the coffee-stained couch put beneath a window.

“no need. i trust you enough not to blow me up. or melt me. or disintegrate me.”

viktor’s face scrunched up at your comment, shaking his head lightly in disapproval. “seriously? you surely cannot put that much trust in me. i am a scientist, and an engineer. both roles tend to be very destructive.”

“yes, but you are viktor, too. so i think i’m right to put my trust in you.” the ghost of a smile on his lips did not go unnoticed.

you watched his back as he returned his full attention to his work, lithe hands returning to mixing colored liquids with one another before his stopped in his movements, turning his head to you. “ehm, remind me — why are you here again? last time i checked, it’s rather unprofessional for someone to be a highly dangerous lab without… you know, proper equipment and protection.”

“oh, right! i wanted to ask you if you could come with me tomorrow, somewhere special. i promise it’s not a trap or anything like that. but it’s a secret.”

he raised a brow questioningly at the odd request. “i suppose. just don’t kill me. i’m still watching my back, considering your comment about ‘tearing me apart for my skill.’” the joke flew over your head for a moment before it clicked, a loud giggle leaving your lips.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

you stood at the start of a wide bridge — specifically, the one that connected the undercity and piltover. viktor looked at you skeptically, as if he were unsure of stepping across, despite being from the polluted nation himself. “and we are here… why?”

“just- wait for it and follow me.” regardless of his worries, he did as told, trailing behind you into the depths of the city, the mask on his mouth sitting uncomfortably. as you walked further, he finally recognized the pathway, and the rocks, and the small opening in a more isolated part of the streets. there sat a lone piano, dirt collecting on the already rotten wood. you grinned happily while approaching the stool, adjusting it to fit your height and pressing down on the keys eagerly. the sound that came out wasn’t exactly unexpected, but it caught you both off guard regardless.

viktor took his usual spot on the rocks, settling his cane between his legs and on his shoulder. he would be a liar if he said he was not excited. the rush of nostalgia was soaking him whole, his eyes set on your face as you thought of a piece to play.

the notes came out awkward, at first. it sounded improper, like a mish-mash of random chords combined in hopes of making a valid sound. soon enough, it morphed into something far more beautiful, the discombobulated scales you performed turning into a melody that he instantly remembered as one you would play more often as a child. it was a tune that you would play on days when comfort was needed, when the poison-drenched city was more cruel than usual and particularly unkind to both of you. viktor relished in the grin you bore on your face, the same one that he remembered from your younger years, filled with a euphoric youth that he would cherish forever.

you played, played until your arms got sore and sweat beaded down your forehead and kissed your chin. viktor was sitting next to you by now, his back against the legs of the stool and his head against the top of his cane. “heavenly,” he whispered under his breath as you closed off the piece.

“i’m glad you think so.”

he brought himself up, motioning for you to move aside so he could sit next to you. paper hands made their way to yours, grabbing blemished fingertips with peeling skin with a care so strong it melted you. he always seemed to be holding your hands, although you never noticed the contrast. his were pale, ridden with lavender tints and bones peeking through skin while yours were time-worn and stained with bruises and blisters alike. you watched as he flipped over your hands to face your palms, tracing the lines in your skin gently, an amber-infused gaze locked onto you and you only, as if you were a masterpiece, a creation by the gods themselves sent to him. “...viktor?”

he did not move his attention from your hands, continuing to carefully draw mindless shapes and brush against the galaxy stains left behind by hard work on your flesh. “what do you see in these?” he spoke with intent. if any time was more perfect, it was now. he would pour whatever yearning was bubbling up in his heart of clay onto you now because he could not handle it any longer, not when you had brought him back here, to remind him of how long it’d been since it started filling up his chest to begin with. if any time was more perfect it was now.

“what?” he looked at you for a second, wanting you to answer the question. “well… i see scars. lots of them. they’re not pretty. i would call them battle scars, but… it doesn’t suit me.”

viktor lifted one up, awfully close to his lips, the other resting on his thigh. you could feel his breath so, so close, traces of cinnamon and mint fresh against your skin. “do you want to know what i see?” you merely nodded, too scared of your voice breaking apart if you dare spoke another word.

“i see flaws, but gorgeous ones. ones that are the result of your genuine effort and work and dedication.” his lips pressed against your knuckles, and he muttered, “i could hold these hands for centuries, til my dying breath, for they are the very hands that hold my heart.”

you could not hold the tears that spilled down your face, dropping against your collarbones and soaking your cheeks. he wiped each and every one of them with the pads of his thumbs, his calloused skin rough, but you did not care. cold hands held your face with the love and tenderness of an angel, his lips now ghosting yours, silently asking for permission to kiss away whatever baggage you held and wipe it off with his affection. you accepted.

such lands were untraversed by either of you. but it was as if you slipped right into place, his fingertips finding your jaw and your own finding his waist. to say viktor was happy would be an immense understatement. he was euphoric. the jar of collected ardor he kept stored away in the cabinets of his heart came spilling out all at once, bubbling and sizzling against your skin as he burnt you with his love, a love that he would give you over and over and over again. any selfishness he felt initially for simply wanting to carve pathways for you and place the stars in your hands and pick away the thorns on the prettiest roses so you could hold them was long gone. if you were the sun, then he was icarus.

“i would split the universe for you, moje slunce.” it was at this point that he realized everything he spoke and did was simply instinctual. the tips of his ears lit aflame as he put his forehead against yours, whispering an apology under his breath for his rashness. you did not care, not one bit. “i’m sorry. i do not… i was always asking myself for more time. as a result, i waited for years. on what, i do not know. perhaps it was us looping back here,” he gestured towards the rocks and the distraught piano. “that triggered it. maybe, i realized i was waiting too long.”

you cracked a smile towards him. “yes, you were waiting far too long.”

viktor would wait no longer.

[lin-nin]

HCs for finding their s/o hugging a pillow with their (the dsmp peeps) clothes as the pillowcase Because their s/o misses them?

Also, eat and drink and remember you're pog.

thank you sweet anon, you too are pog. Ive been eating and drinking plenty! Thank you for the concern. This is also v cute i might cry

Sapnap finding his S/O using his shirt as a pillowcase

Sapnap had gone out on an adventure with Dream and George, which wasn’t anything new. The only thing different this time was the fact was how long it had taken. You were fine the first few days, but as the fifth rolled around you had grown restless. It was so hard to concentrate and do anything when you had no idea what happened to your boyfriend, or where he even was. You would linger around your shared home, gazing out of the windows in hopes of his return.

You had dragged out one of his shirts, tugging it over his pillow that night and holding it close. It at least remedied some of the way you missed him. It wasn’t the same as actually holding him, lacking the warmth he always carried. It did it’s job, though, eventually guiding you to sleep. Sapnap, of course, had come home in the dead of night. He was relatively quiet, expecting you to be asleep. He had paused when he walked into your shared room and saw you cuddling the pillow close, though a large grin broke out on his face.

It had taken everything in him to not run over to you. Moving the pillow from your grasp had caused you to stir. In your tired state, though, you were more than glad to wrap your arms around Sapnap instead. “Did you miss me?” You could hear the affection and smugness in his voice as an arm pulled you into his side, lips pressing to the top of your head. You simply hummed, snuggling closer and falling back asleep.

Sam finding his S/O using his shirt as a pillowcase

Sam had been busy. It was normal, truly. You weren’t entirely unused to it. You were, however, unused to not being able to visit him. Not being able to do anything with him. With the prison on lock down, you only ever saw him at night and in the mornings. Even then, the hours were short and he was always too tired to talk. You couldn’t exactly blame him for it, though.

It was one of those later nights, after you had spent the whole day busying yourself. You were physically exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with Sam. He wasn’t there, of course. So the next best thing was pulling one of his shirts out and slipping it onto his pillow. Just to cuddle it close, head resting against it tiredly. It definitely wasn’t the same, or truly what you wanted. It worked for the time being, allowing you to slip into a light sleep as you waited for Sam.

He had felt guilty when he came home and saw you curled around to pillow. He knew he was so busy these days, but he hadn’t thought too hard on how you would feel. He was so focused on the security breach. Yet the way you had lifted your head, giving him that sleepy smile you often did when he came home late, let him know you weren’t too upset about it. He was happy to crawl into bed beside you, arms wrapping around you instinctively. He was thankful you understood.

Technoblade finding his S/O using his shirt as a pillowcase

Techno had a pretty bad habit of just going off on adventures as he pleased. Sometimes you would go with him, other times not. It always depended how you felt about it, how long the trip might be. Sometimes you were just content to stay home, tend to the dogs and the other animals around his and Philza’s cabin. Besides, it was very often that Ranboo would excitedly perk up at the mention of adventure, wanting to follow the older man. It was sweet to see how much he adored the other, as well as Techno’s tentative affection for the half-enderman.

This was such a case. Ranboo and Techno had headed out to get supplies, and you had happily sent them off with plenty of food. The days always bled together, and you were well aware of the passage of time but never kept count. You just focused on your errands, or exploring near the house. You never minded. The only time it was hard to tell was when a blizzard would sweep through the arctic. Which, of course, happened to happen. You were naturally worried for your lover and his ward. You didn’t know if it had been a day or a few, driven to stay in bed in search of warmth. You had, very early on, put one of Techno’s shirts on a pillow to hold close. To remind you he was safe. It was common for you on his trips. You just usually got it back into a chest before he arrived home.

You had fallen asleep, as you often did during snowstorms, holding it close to you when he arrived home. His chest panged at the sight of you so peacefully curled with it, shoulders falling and rising. He took care to be silent as he stripped himself down, eyes on you almost the entire time. You didn’t move until he pulled the pillow away, only whining as he easily replaced it with his own body. He found it precious that you slept with a pillow that had his shirt. It was okay, because he missed you just as much- if not more- as you missed him.

Schlatt finding his S/O using his shirt as a pillowcase

Schlatt was a relatively busy man. More or less. He was the president, it was natural he would have his obligations. Drinking through said obligations often made them take a lot longer than usual. Add that on to the fact that sometimes his work ethic wasn’t always the best by the end of the day? There was a lot of time you were left waiting up for him. Not that you usually minded. It was time given to you to tend to other things.

You minded tonight, though. You’d worn yourself thin, narrowly avoiding the angry words thrown your way from some of the Manbergian residents. You wanted to hide your face in Schlatt’s neck, hide away from the world and just bask in the scent of him. Yet you knew you couldn’t. Not until he came on. You had tried to keep yourself busy, but it wasn’t working. You could still see all of the hostile gazes directed at you for being an extension of Schlatt. A shaking sigh left your lips as you dug through the closet, picking up one of the discarded button ups and tugging it onto a pillow. It would work, right?

You had curled up tight around the pillow, trapping it close to you and hiding your face. It definitely wasn’t as good as Schlatt himself. It barely comforted you. Your head had popped up a little when you heard the door clatter shut, moving the pillow away from you. Eager to just be in his arms. He’d taken one look at the pillow, then you, and offered that crooked and amused grin. You ignored his laugh, beckoning him over. He obliged, of course, wrapping you up in his arms as you so desired. He did look forward to being able to hold you at the end of the day, even if he did tease you about how needy you were the entire time.

[spencersawkward]

*concussions and confessions//spencer reid*

summary: a near-death experience encourages Spencer to admit his feelings for his best friend, even at the risk of ruining their relationship.

pairing: Fem!Reader/Spencer

content warnings: oh boy there’s a lot. i’ll start with the nonsexual ones-- choking (again, not sexual), blunt force, violence, some angst. ok time for the fun ones-- unprotected penetrative sex, masturbation, sex dream, oral (male receiving), slight dirty talk, creampie. lmk if there are more that i missed! 

word count: 5.4k

A/N: hi omg so i actually combined two requests for this bc i loved the concepts and i didn't wanna do one and not the other. i hope i do both of these justice hehe thanks for sending them! also sorry if the unsub scene sucks-- i don’t usually write that way, so i tried my best. 

request(s): omg if you need ideas for baby spence can you do a one shot where he's the girls best friend (she's not in the bau) and they are in love but neither of them admit it and he is really hurt in a case or almost dies or something traumatic and only when he gets back they confess their love... and then have sex 😏 ive been thinking about this concept alot 😌

can’t stop thinking about baby spencer (like s2-s4) & his girl best friend losing their virginity to each other... can you write a one shot on this please?

masterlist

"when are you coming back?" you ask over the line. you're lying on your bed, legs in the air while you talk to your best friend. it's been a long day for you, but a longer day for him. it's always a longer day for him. 

"you know that I don't know the answer to that question." Spencer's voice is soft as he attempts to keep quiet. he's two hours ahead and, despite the fact that you're both night owls, the person he's rooming with tonight isn't. 

"I know, but there's this Korean film festival that starts tomorrow and I was hoping you would be here to translate for me." you examine your nails while you talk. Spencer lets out a disappointed sigh. 

it's only been a few days since he left, but it's been a week since you last saw him and it feels like a long time. whenever he's not at work, you two are joined at the hip. ever since you first met a few years back at a poetry convention in DC, it feels like he's the only person who understands you. which is weird, because you couldn't be more different as individuals. 

"you should bring one of your other friends." 

"bold of you to assume I have other friends." you joke. Spencer chuckles to himself and your heart flutters. you love his laugh more than anything in the world. 

"I thought that was just me." he says. 

"oh, it is just you," you reply flatly. "I was trying to make you feel better."

you can practically feel Spencer smiling through the phone. although you tease him pretty frequently, he's sometimes able to get in his own shots. it's what makes your friendship interesting.

"hey," you add before he can say anything more. "how's the case going?" 

Spence starts to detail the whole thing, and you listen intently, the timbre and smoothness of his voice comforting you as you slip beneath the covers of your bed. you like the way he enunciates his words, his strange manner of speaking, because it lulls you to sleep. 

you know he's talking about horrible things, but something about the sound comforts you deeply. when he's not around, you're wishing you had it bottled up. 

he lays out their profile as it stands, and you fall silent. it's getting pretty late and you have to be up early for work tomorrow, so it would be a good idea to get some real rest. plus, Spencer needs to sleep, too-- even though he probably won't. 

you remember times when he'd call you at three in the morning, his mind whirring as he played chess against himself and asked if you wanted to hang out so he could teach you how. you hate chess, but of course you said yes; you'd been head over heels with him since your first conversation.

eventually, you feel yourself start to drift off. you don't even really know what he's saying; all of it blends together until you're laying there, one cheek pressed to the pillow and the receiver against the other. 

"Y/N?" he says your name abruptly and your eyes, which have been slowly drawing shut this whole time, fly open. 

"yeah?" 

"go to bed."

"what? no, I'll wait until you're done." you shift. 

"I could hear your breathing change." 

"then why didn't you just hang up?" you giggle. he goes silent for a moment and you wonder if he cut out, but then he responds. 

"I wanted to say goodnight." 

it's like a cage of butterflies is unleashed in your stomach. you wrinkle your nose as you get nervous. god, you miss him. things would be so much better if he was back. not like he'd be in your bed even if he was, though.  

"then say goodnight." you prod. he lets out an awkward little sound. 

"now I can't because you made it weird." 

"how did I make it weird?" 

"I don't know, you just did." he's so clumsy, your face heats up. you want to keep talking like this until morning.

"goodnight, Spence," the words sound reluctant, but you try to cover it up by teasing him further. "see, was that so bad?" 

"oh my god, Y/N--" he tries to sound exasperated. 

"no goodnight back?" you raise an eyebrow even though he can't see you right now.  

a lengthy silence again. "goodnight."

"that's what I thought." before he can protest, you end the call, settle into the covers. moonlight beams on the walls of your apartment, and you start to think about your best friend. about all the nights spent curled up on his couch with two bowls of popcorn, his ramblings about how much he loves his job and him asking about yours. 

he's a great listener. every time you talk, he nods along like he's hanging off every word. it's nice to feel heard that way, to have someone care. and he's fun to hang out with, too. you've met his team before and they all talk about how hard it is to get him to go out, but they don't see the same side of him that you do. 

Spencer is nerdy and cute and kind and sensitive. he makes you feel special. he's everything that you've ever wanted in a person. but it's not like it would matter, anyway. he hasn't really shown interest in any girls-- much less you. even if he did, you're scared of ruining the friendship. 

the fallout of not having him around at all... it would destroy you. and something, even if it's torturous, is better than nothing. 

which is why, as you sit there and remember being around him, your fingertips creep below the comforter. a familiar routine, they move over your stomach, until they reach the waistband of your panties. for a moment, you hesitate. it's wrong. he's your best friend. but he doesn't need to know that this is how you handle the ache he puts between your legs. 

as your index finger slides down your slit, you feel the wetness already forming. Spencer's hands, his mouth. the thought of his lips pressed to yours while he fucks you, holding your body like it's delicate. 

you don't know exactly how it would feel because you've never had sex, but you want to find out with him. he's never done it, either. you don't care; all you need is to have him inside of you, to see how he looks when he's on the edge. 

your mind wanders to the image of him parting your legs and rolling his eyes into the back of his head. the sensation of him filling you up. falling apart. 

you slide a finger inside, gasping at the way your walls tighten and your imagination runs wild. that tongue, lapping and making you squirm, your fingers twisted in his soft hair. he's so sweet; his attentiveness would make your legs shake. you want to look into his eyes while he does it. 

you add a second finger, curl them and brush over the most sensitive part. the pressure of his hips grinding into yours. your body curves up at the way you start to finger yourself, the other hand stimulating your clit. it's almost overwhelming, the way his name tumbles from your lips over and over. 

you've never wanted someone so badly in your life; he belongs in your bloodstream. the sounds he would make in your ear before finally cumming and collapsing on top of you, spent. you want to tire him out and then do it all over again. 

you're greedy on the edge, indulging in every single image of him you can conjure up, every dirty thing you'd say. finally, you feel yourself fall, the orgasm intense as you bite back groans of pleasure and work through the high. it's amazing. 

you sit there, panting, feeling your heart beat in your chest. some things can't leave your head, they're so sinful. and the worst part is that you don't regret it in the slightest. 

...

Spencer can feel his pulse practically leaping against his throat as he makes his way through the empty warehouse. he should have waited for backup; he knows he should have, but it's too late now to go back and change things. 

he clutches his gun, pointing it in front of him while his eyes flicker wildly across the space. he's moving between enormous aisles stuffed with crates, not knowing who else is around. they said the unsub brought his newest victim here-- Spencer came first because was closest to the site-- but he hears nothing aside from the uneven rhythm of his own breath. 

every step is careful. he's thinking about how close the rest of the team must be. based on their distance from the station, they should arrive within six minutes-- but that doesn't account for the time it takes to put on their bulletproof vests, to get to their cars. 

truthfully, he doesn't know if he's going to have to do this on his own. and that scares him the most. 

there's no point in worrying. he swallows the lump in his throat and presses his back to one of the crates. there's a scraping noise a ways off that causes him to freeze. because of the echoes of the warehouse, the origin is indiscernible. he doesn't breathe, eyes darting between each of the openings into the aisle. 

after a minute of pure silence, he peels himself away and turns to head back out. 

and that's when the sound of wood cracking against bone startles him; he hears it before he feels it, but it's obvious when he crumples to the floor. like knife points pressing into his brain at all angles, the shooting agony in his skull. 

he starts to clutch at his head, only to be yanked off the ground by a meaty hand and thrown against the side of a crate. 

"fucking feds." the guy is enormous. gargantuan. he keeps his arm across Reid's throat, pressing down enough to restrict his airway. but Spencer can't even concentrate on the guy's face further than its rough outlines. his vision is going in and out, fuzzy at the edges from the blow to his head. 

he definitely has a concussion. 

"I..." he trails off. the huge FBI logo on his vest is a dead giveaway. 

"all alone?" the unsub has breath like rotten fish, spits each word into his face. "I won't even need my gun." 

Spencer's head lolls to the side and he catches sight of his own weapon lying helplessly a few feet away. there's no way he could get to it in time, even if he got out of this guy's chokehold. 

he tries to think of a way to talk himself out of this; after all, their profile said he'd be more susceptible to negotiation, but that's kind of hard to do with someone's forearm slammed against your trachea. he presses harder and Spencer sees stars. his glasses hang almost off the bridge of his nose, centimeters from falling to the floor. 

he starts to realize that he's going to die, defenseless and alone, in a warehouse. at the hands of a man who kills women because his Viagra doesn't work. but this doesn't incite the kind of panic Spencer always predicted he'd feel. the lack of oxygen in his brain causes him to go delirious. 

he misses home. his mom and his old house, even though things were hard. he misses Y/N, his team members. he wishes his team was here; he should have waited for them. he should have told Y/N how he feels. now she's never going to know. 

Reid is so out of it, he doesn't even notice the pressure being relieved from his throat until he collapses on the ground. the unsub falls, too, his cheek smashed by the force of the abandoned wooden plank. 

it's hard to tell what's happening until Reid lifts his head to see Morgan standing above him, preparing to handcuff the criminal.

"kid," Spencer never thought he'd be so glad to hear his voice. "what happened?"

...

you practically crash into Spencer's apartment the next evening, flinging your body through the front door with your spare key. 

"Spence?" you call out from the entryway. everything still looks the same, but when his colleague, Penelope, called you today to tell you that Reid had gotten a concussion after a run-in with an unsub, you rushed here as soon as you could. 

"in here." he calls from his bedroom. you don't hesitate, your feet carrying you there. you've been anxious all day; he didn't call last night or even text like usual. you were on the verge of panicking when Penelope called. 

of course, you knew that was the risk with Spencer. he knew the risk, too. his life would always be in the balance when it came to the cases, but he'd gone through so many at this point, you weren't thinking about it. if you did, you wouldn't be able to focus on anything else. 

when you walk in, the first thing you see is Spencer laying in bed in his silk pjs. there's a stack of unread books on his bedside table. his glasses sit on top. he's just laying there with his eyes closed. 

"oh my god." you mutter, dropping your bag on the floor and walking over. he opens his eyes with a slight smile. there's a purple bruise forming across his throat, light but definitely there.  

"hi." 

"what the fuck happened?" you ask the question you've been wondering the whole way here. 

"he hit me with a plank." Spencer explains, the phrase coming out like he's still confused about it. "I'm fine, just a mild concussion and a bruise because he choked me." 

you take a second to assess if he actually means that he's okay, or if he's trying not to worry you. he stares at your expression for a second. 

"Y/N, I'm really fine." 

"you don't look fine." you gesture to the fact that he's laying in bed. 

"my body is sore, but nothing's wrong with me. I just can't look at screens or read." this last part makes him much more melancholy, it seems. you reach down and ruffle his hair playfully. 

"sounds like a nightmare." 

"it is." he cracks up. 

"I'm glad you're okay." you sigh. your heart rate has slowed to a reasonable pace now that you know he's fine. Spencer gives a ghost of a smile, and when he pats the empty spot on the bed beside him, you kick off your shoes and climb over his body to sit down. "so... did you guys get him?" 

"the unsub?" he turns his head to look at you. something is in his eyes that you can't read. "yeah, he's in custody. we saved the girl he abducted, too." 

"well, aren't you a hero?" you grin, pinching his arm. 

"ow!" he flinches. "don't hurt the patient."

"oh, so now you're injured?" you giggle softly. his smile fades a bit, gaze trailing from your face to your legs. it isn't lustful or anything, more like he's taking in your existence. it still makes your heart flutter. 

"I wasn't really a hero, anyway," he sighs. "I got knocked down before I even found her." 

"oof." you wince. 

"yeah, it's sort of embarrassing. I went in by myself and--"

"you went by yourself?" you clarify, turning to face him. of course he did. 

"yeah." he avoids your gaze. 

"Spencer, I work in a stationery shop and I know you're supposed to wait for backup." you deadpan. he snorts, staring straight ahead at the wall. his hair is flat in the back from where he's been resting it against the headboard. 

"he would have hurt her if I had waited." he explains. your heart softens a bit at this. you know Spencer has a problem with saving people; sometimes he doesn't think things through. but you know that it's only because he cares. 

you smile gently, appreciating what a beautiful person he is. you don't understand how other people don't see him how you do. your hand reaches for his suddenly, and you find yourself snuggling into his shoulder. 

Spencer doesn't usually like touch, but he welcomes this, dropping his own head to rest on top of yours while you both stare at the wall. his silence feels heavy, more than it usually does, and you wonder what he's thinking. 

"I'm really glad you're okay, Spencer." your tone is low, like it's a secret. 

"you already said that." 

"shut up." 

"you care about me." he sing-songs with a smile, and you know he means it in a friendly way, but you don't care. it brings warmth to your cheeks. 

"whatever. you care about me, too." 

he lets out a slight chuckle. "when I started to black out, I thought of you." 

your heart leaps, even though the reason is pretty dark. "oh, yeah?"

"mhmm." he hums. 

"nobody's ever told me that they thought of me in their last moments of life before." you tease. there are so many things you'd like to say, but know you can't. he smells like himself and coffee beans, his skin warm beneath the silk of his pajamas. 

"I'd hope not."

"anything in particular?" you wonder aloud. 

"what?" you feel him tense beneath you, and that's how you know there's something he's not telling you. 

"were you thinking about anything in particular?" 

"someone's full of themselves." he jokes. you smack his arm.  

"humor me." more than anything, you want to hear his thoughts. you know you're reaching, but you don't care. 

"just..." he pauses, the next words coming out almost too quietly to hear. "things I never got to say to you." 

"like?" now you're intrigued. 

"no way." he laughs and you groan, turning and realizing that you've both sunk deeper onto the bed and are now practically lying down. 

"c'mon," you prod. you've flipped onto your side while you watch him, his eyes directed at the ceiling. "what if you'd actually died?" 

Spencer gives you a look, and you wish you could snap a picture of his face. the gentle features, the warmth in his eyes. he stares at you differently than before, and it makes your stomach flip again. "I, um." 

you start to trace your index absently down his forearm, where his sleeve has incidentally gotten rolled up. his skin is soft. you know that this isn't a friendly thing to do, but something inside you craves his touch right now. you almost lost him; you can't imagine how horrible that would be. 

"I wanted to say that I--" he gulps, muscles in his shoulder tight beneath your cheek. "well, I care about you, and I... I really love you." 

it's not the first time he's said it, obviously in a platonic sense. what affects you is that he's acting like it's a big deal. 

"I love you too, Spence." you smile softly. his chest rises and falls faster, his face tensed. 

"no, I mean--" he turns onto his side, using the action to distract from his own nervousness. he holds your gaze and you forget how to breathe as he speaks. every syllable is serious, but you note his fingers fidgeting at his side. "I'm in love with you." 

it's like all the air in the room has been sucked out. you swallow, unsure of how to react at first. you don't believe what you're hearing, simply because it doesn't make sense. you've been friends for a while, now, but Spencer has never made a move to ask you out or acted like he wanted anything more. 

your heart swells. 

"you're in love with me?" the words even feel surreal on your tongue. he takes it as rejection.

"I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry." Spencer rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, his expression turning to a cringe. he's about to sit up to hide the red in his cheeks, but you pull him back down by the shoulder. 

"not so fast, crazy boy." the corners of your mouth are turning up into a grin. you can't help it; every nerve in your body is alive. Spencer loves you. he feels the same way. 

when he sinks back down onto the mattress and sighs, preparing to say something that rescinds the statement to erase any awkwardness, you grab his face and turn it to yours. you don't kiss him, only force him to look. 

"I'm in love with you, too." 

his eyebrows fly up in surprise. "r-really?"

"yes." you nod. 

he takes a second to process this. you see about five different expressions pass over his face, each one reminding you of how earnest he is. and it's absolutely adorable. 

"well, that's good, isn't it?" he clarifies. you pretend to think on it. 

"I'd say so, yeah." 

he smiles. a genuine, rare one that makes your veins feel as if they're full of glitter. you're on Cloud 9. 

"can I kiss you?" you ask him quietly. he seems surprised at this, too, like he never thought you'd want that, but then nods eagerly. 

you close the gap between you on the bed, holding his jaw in one hand while the other rests on his forearm. your lips meet softly at first. he's cautious, scared of pushing you away. he hasn't kissed many people before. but he's good at it, letting you take the lead. 

there's no way to adequately describe kissing Spencer. every bone in your body turns to mush, immediately craving more contact. you slide your tongue across his full bottom lip, and he lets you in. his affection is the most loved you've ever felt. because sure, you haven't had sex, but you've kissed people before. 

never like this. 

one of his hands goes up to wrap around your forearm tenderly before he shifts to lie on his side. you wrap around each other, turning the kiss into a full-body embrace as you breathe in. you want more. your leg swings over his torso so you can pull yourself closer, and he groans into your mouth when your pelvis presses against his. 

the kiss gets more heated, his hands carefully but hungrily traveling down the curve of your waist. you flip so that you're straddling him without breaking any contact. 

you don't really think about the way your hips begin to rock against his, your pussy involuntarily working for friction. there are so many happy chemicals in your brain right now, you giggle against his mouth when his body bucks up into yours. he groans. 

"Y/N..." he breathes softly. his hands move from your waist to your thighs, afraid to dig his fingertips in. 

"what?" you sigh, licking over his bottom lip again. he moans at the way you keep grinding on his erection. 

"I wanna--" his eyelashes flutter when he gasps. "I wanna touch you." 

"do it." your palm is resting tenderly against his cheek. he responds by finally holding you down, sliding his body up a bit to grind against your center. you whine. "touch whatever you want, Spencer." 

his cock twitches in his pants and you push the hem of his shirt up while he uses one hand to massage your tits. the voracious, curious nature of his attention makes you sigh, touching his stomach. he feels perfect beneath you. 

soon you're grabbing at each other without any regard for grace. he's so horny, he's pawing at whatever he can while you do the same to him. the kissing gives way to straight panting while you look at each other. 

"can I suck your dick?" you whisper. Spencer's eyes widen. you've never seen him nod so fast. 

you press your mouth to his one more time before inching down his body, sucking on his clavicle, then his stomach. careful to avoid the purple marks on his neck. he watches you intently, memorizing the details of this moment for later. when you reach the waistband of his pants, you peek up. he strains against the material. 

your mouth drops open and you draw your tongue over the clothed bulge, maintaining eye contact. Spencer throws his head back. his voice is high. "oh my god, oh my god." 

you smirk, licking it again. he clenches his jaw. "I'm gonna c-cum if you don't--" he tries for words, but he's mewling and moving against your mouth. you pull at his pants, hooking your fingers in his boxers and bringing them down, too. 

Spencer bucks into the air when his cock hits his stomach. it's big, precum leaking helplessly out of the tip while he whines. you want him now. 

"wow." you smile. he stares at you, tensing his stomach as you wrap your hand around his length. he's trying to keep quiet, but as soon as you spit on it and start to pump him, his head falls back into the pillow. 

you draw your tongue up the underside, paying special attention to the veins, reveling in his reactions. he looks like he's ascending to heaven when you start to suck on the first couple inches.  

"o-oh, fuck..." he keeps moving his hips off the bed for more, so you sink down further onto him, hollowing your cheeks and moaning. "Y/N..." 

you groan in response, feeling yourself get wetter with every sound he makes. you can't believe this is happening, the way he threads his fingers loosely through your hair in an attempt to touch more of you.

he tries to keep his eyes open while you suck, but they squint with pleasure. he's a mess for you, shuddering gently when you take nearly all of him into your mouth. 

before he can cum, you pull your mouth off of him with a satisfying pop. Spencer moans. 

"was that okay?" you ask carefully. this is the extent of your sexual experience, and you want to do more with him, but you aren't sure how he feels. your best friend stares back at you like you've turned his world upside down. 

"y-yeah," he replies. his face is flushed. "definitely okay."

he's throbbing, occasionally twitching against his stomach as he waits for more stimulation. you eye him carefully. 

"what do you feel comfortable doing?" your voice is smooth. "we can stop now, if you'd like." 

"I--" he chokes on the word. "I don't wanna stop." 

"do you want to have sex?" you ask. Spencer bites his lip, whines. 

"mhmm." 

"I wanna do that, too," you breathe out, straightening up and pulling your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra, before getting to work on your shorts. you know you're practically dripping. he's been more vocal, but you feel like you're going to implode from the desire. "but I need to tell you something." 

"what?" he tugs your arm, coaxing you back to him and touching you greedily. you giggle as you kick your shorts and panties off somewhere in the room. both of you move like awkward teenagers. 

"I'm a virgin." you say. 

Spencer frowns. "really?" 

"yeah," you lick your lips. "so you need to be careful." 

"o-of course." he blushes, getting nervous again. "you know I'm a virgin too, right?"

"I know." you smile. he returns it sweetly, and the commotion of your bodies slows for a moment. you're so happy, you could cry. 

"what?" he breaks the comfortable silence. 

"I'm excited," you shrug. he's got his hands on your waist, rubbing his fingertips over your skin. then you remember something. "wait, are you allowed to have sex with your... injury?" 

"it's fine." he reaches up and kisses your throat with an urgency. 

"did the doctor say that?" your eyes roll while he sucks on your neck. he groans and pulls down on your waist so that your stomach presses against his cock. he ruts. 

"second opinion from me." he pants. you tap his cheek playfully, move up his body until your core brushes him. he whimpers when you reach between your bodies and grip his length in your hands. 

"you ready?" your voice is low. Spencer squeezes your thighs, eyes moving between your tits and your face. 

"yes." he sighs. you position it, slicking him in your pussy while he wraps an arm around your waist and moans for more. your chests are pressed together, looking into each other's eyes while you slide him into you. 

you have to go slow, the intrusion causing your jaw to drop. you don't breathe. he's got his eyes rolled into the back of his head.  

"Spencer." you whimper, dropping your head onto his chest when he's fully inside of you. his fingers rub patiently over your back. 

"are you okay?" his voice is laced with a moan, trying to resist thrusting. 

"yeah, just a second." you wiggle a little bit to test the boundaries. it hurts, but it also feels good. your clit is begging for more pressure, so you start to roll your hips. Reid moans loudly. 

"Y/N..." he whimpers. "don't stop." 

"you want more?" the need in his voice makes you hornier, and you increase the pace, despite the slight pain. you're so wet, he slides in and out without much effort. 

"so-- much more." he's gasping, hands on your thighs as he watches your naked body writhe on top of him. he's never been more aroused in his life, spurred on by your scent and form and the tightness that keeps clenching around his cock.

he understands why people love sex so much, now. he wants it every day, wants to fuck you in every position and pleasure you. the sounds you release in his ear, whines and praises, he would do anything for more. walk to the ends of the earth to feel you cum on his cock. 

his hand finds your ass, squeezes it. 

"this feel good, Spence? fucking your best friend?" you talk dirty and he twitches. you're always so sweet, the words coming out of your mouth for him are going to send the genius into a tailspin. 

"mhmm," he holds you down so that he can thrust up. speaking at all is a struggle with the way he's feeling. "perfect." 

you start to say something else, but he hits a certain angle and you let out a quiet yelp, hips jumping at the pleasure. "I'm gonna cum." 

Spencer gets a rush of relief because it's taking everything in him right now not to absolutely lose it inside your pussy. he's hanging on by a thread. "me, too." 

you use your position on top to stimulate yourself. both of you chase your orgasms roughly, the rhythm you created degenerating into clawing excitement. 

"cum inside me, Spencer." you beg him. it sounds like you would do anything to feel it, that sensation that you've never experience but have always imagined. and Spencer, his own head foggy with ecstasy, nods and opens his mouth to let out a loud groan. 

"Y/N, fuck fuck fuck-- I'm--" he shoots his load inside of you, rutting wildly and letting his head drop onto the pillow while he pants. you can feel it. strange, lovely jolts of his seed spreading. your hands, which have been resting on his shoulders, tighten and you reach your climax. you flutter around him, both of you still moving to ease the intensity of the high. 

it's remarkable. you're crying out, having the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life. you never thought your first time would be like this. but you're glad it is, muscles tightening and releasing with the mixture of emotions. 

you collapse fully, him still inside. 

neither of you speaks. his heartbeat thuds against your ear, and you hold onto him like letting go would be the end of the world. you can't believe you could have lost him. you don't want to think about it. 

"sorry I came so fast." Spencer apologizes breathlessly. you can feel his cum dripping down your entrance when he slides out. 

"I don't care." you mumble. both of you stay there for a while, his heartbeat changing to a pace that reminds you of genuine excitement. like a hummingbird. 

"we can try again, sometime." he offers. you lift your head to rest your chin on his chest. his skin is flushed, pupils dilated, hair messy. such a pretty boy. 

"we should try multiple times." 

he gives you a cheerful smile, and everything starts to fall into place. you took each other's virginity. "Y/N?" 

he likes to say your name, and you love to hear it. "yes?" 

"are we dating?" the bluntness of the question makes you giggle. you don't hesitate. 

"yeah." 

“good.”

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added/removed!): @reidsconverse @voidsfilm @xoxomgg​ 

[babesonly]

fic recs 2.0!

hello kings (gn) ive got significantly more fic than last time which means this is gonna be a little more organized than the last post bc it is much longer <3 categories in order are non casefic canonverse, casefic/roadtrip fic, finale fixits, endverse, non supernatural aus, and then non destiel ones. titles will be in bold for my favs! also within each category they’re in order from shortest to longest

Canonverse

I’m a tulip in a cup by godtiering (1.2k)

I worry that I never really came back from hell. I wonder why, if I got remade by heaven, I’m still the same screwed up kid that I always was.

Sometimes I worry I’m not into women at all.

"Guess not,” he looks at his shoes.

a REALLY good fic that’s basically just a look inside dean’s head during my bloody valentine do not read this looking for a fun time but please do read it

on vessels by flightsofangels (1.9k)

“You know,” Cas mutters into Dean’s bare skin. “When I was still… an angel, I used to dream that I would take you as my vessel.”

hello consumehimnatural fans!!!!! read newt’s fic right now its incredible

dean winchester is not a nicholas sparks protagonist by microcomets (1.9k)

Dean fell in love with Cas the way you fall asleep--slowly, and then all at once. Or some other hackneyed and trite bullshit. God, this is embarrassing.

dean is in LOVE. he’s also a disaster who keeps staring at cas’ hands. sigh

Stay by aeli_kindara (2.5k)

Coda to 13.06 (Tombstone). In which Castiel reckons with the aftermath of Dean's grief.

hello fellow widow arc fans <3 click here to see cas find out abt the events of advanced thanatology !

walking on a string by swordfishtrombones (2.7k)

Between the doomed offensive at the Firmament and the impending retreat from the ravaged northeast border, Castiel left camp long enough to answer one of Dean Winchester's prayers.

S6 DEAN IS A WAR WIFE. been really into early seasons deancas lately and this one is very good. god

the flesh of the mighty by Mudprophet (2.7k)

Ezekiel 39:17 "you shall eat the flesh of the mighty and drink the blood of the princes of the earth."

MY GOD. anyone who saw the @autisticandroids​ purgatory cannibalism talk and was interested read this right now. also anyone who enjoyed nbc hannibal OR raw (2016). if romantic cannibalism is remotely aligned with your interests read this right now. god

Sam Winchester, Ally At Law by alittleduck (3.3k)

Sam was pretty sure he could read every single gay friendly guide to coming out or supporting queer family members ever written and literally none of them would even imply that arguing with gay people that they were actually just homophobic constituted as "ally behavior". However, Sam was equally sure that none of those book authors had found themselves accidentally watching their brother get pounded by an Angel of the Lord at 9 am on Tuesday, so Sam was pretty sure he might actually still have the higher ground. Now, if only Jack would stop trying to bond with Dean using gay slurs long enough for Sam to convince everyone of that, he might just be able to cobble together some remnant of sanity or, failing that, dignity.

Or, the one where Sam desperately wants to invent PFLAG but Dean won't stop teaching Jack gay slurs

JACK VOICE HEY COCKSUCKERS. 

hummed low by microcomets (3.3k)

Dean pulls the Impala over at a cider barn about thirty miles out; doesn't really think about it, just sees the hokey orange lettering off the roadside and lets his hands guide the Impala off the interstate with gravel spitting under the wheels.

they get a nice day out together and dean has a gay crisis and it’s written beautifully mwah

Vena Amoris and Other Old-Fashioned Bullshit by pyrebi (3.9k)

In which angelic marriage bonds are apparently stupidly easy to trigger, Cas wages multidimensional war in Heaven, Dean can't catch a break like ever, Sam rather enjoys being a dick, love saves the day, and nobody consummates anything.

sometimes i think about this fic and it hits that at this point dean and cas would have been married for more than a year. cas my beloved...

an exploration of gender; angelic by sometimeswelose (4k)

Castiel's true form is made of electromagnetic radiation. He has spent the majority of his life, if you really want to add it all up and average the whole thing out, as a wavelength of celestial intent.

The thing about being made of light: it's light in the physics sense of the word. Castiel's waves are gamma, x-ray, micro, and radio. He's visible light too, of course, a visible light so intense that it is blinding to most humans.

hello trans cas community <3 he’s literally trans he was assigned genderless and then went hm actually i will be a man! love of my life

Some Boys are Sleeping Alone by prosopopeya (4.2k)

This isn't something that's okay, not for him, but it chases him through the years until it turns into something he can't -- doesn't want to deny. 

ohhh deans tenuous relationship with his sexuality my beloved...

love. worship. consummation. consumption. by redeyedwrath (4.3k)

ConsumehimNatural (copyright marcusantonius) the Series!

These are all snapshots centered around the idea of you know. Hunger in Supernatural. Both carnal hunger and other kinds. Fics are shown in semi-chronological order but this series is generally nebulously early seasons.

for ANYONE who is a consumehimnaturual this is required reading it is INCREDIBLE and gorgeous and very visceral and i am so very obsessed with it. thank you redeyedwrath for enabling my brainrot

the reach of human sense by perilously (4.5k)

“You know what Jimmy Novak looked like. You think he was beautiful—gorgeous, hot, all of it. It’s him. Not me. This isn’t my face.”

“But,” Dean says. He doesn’t know where he’s going with it. Just that Cas’ face is right there, brows drawn together and cheekbones gleaming in the lamplight. It’s a face that’s made his heart skip probably a couple hundred beats collectively since they met.

And it used to belong to someone else.

this one is just very nice <3 cas gets uncomfortable w dean calling him attractive since dean has never seen his trueform and they work it out

Down in the River by Ias (4.7k)

Alone in Purgatory and hunted by Leviathans, Castiel finds himself praying to the one person who can't hear him.

cas i love you <3 cas alone in purgatory praying to dean bc dean is the only thing he still worships i love you so much

Creature of Habit by trinityofone (5.1k)

The more you love someone, the more you want to kill them. Or: How Cas developed some bad habits, and Dean coped surprisingly well.

written in s5 when cas was depowered and completely nails the later seasons bitchy husbands dynamic it’s very good and fun <3

sink by crackers4jenn (5.4k)

"Where to?" A 9.06 coda.

very bittersweet very well written and also canon compliant so do not go into this one looking for a happy ending but i DO recommend it it’s very good

Sensational by castiowl (6.1k)

“When I first came to earth, it was advised that we temper the senses bound to our vessels. They were a distraction, we were told. An antiquated form of experiencing existence that would hinder our ability to complete our missions, whatever that may be. My true form can better facilitate these experiences. What you would recognize as heightened senses of sight and sound, among other things.”

Or, how Dean helps Cas experience all five human senses for the first time in one night.

early seasons deancas man. i love the sound part i love dean being so worried about doing a good job with this. god. read this please

Something to Protect by Sass_Master (6.2k)

Dean’s violent reaction to being unexpectedly woken has become something of a running joke among them, but Castiel can’t help but look past it to the underlying cause. It makes him ache to think that Dean feels so unsafe, so persecuted, before he’s even fully conscious.

Secretly, Castiel has been determined to work on that, to ease Dean into awareness in a less jarring way, smooth away one of the many stresses that follow him even in sleep. Now’s as good a time as any to try.

oh to sleep more soundly in the presence of someone you love...this fic is very nice i enjoyed it a lot

all this and heaven too by ftmsteverogers (7k)

“Hey,” Dean said. “I’m not ashamed of you, okay?”

Cas raised skeptical eyes to meet his.

“I mean it,” Dean insisted.

“I understand you mean it,” Cas said. “But I don’t think it’s any better if you’re only ashamed of yourself.”

hello trans dean community here is 7k of trans dean having to deal with his internalized homophobia now that he’s sleeping with cas <3 it is SO good

The wilderness. by orange_crushed (8k)

He takes a shower and the pressure is not especially good, but it doesn’t matter. It’s warm and he stands under the spray a long time. Human skin, he knows, constantly renews itself, shedding the dead cells of the epidermis. He wonders how long it will take until he is an entirely new person, until every cell on his surface is a new one. He looks at his hands under the water. It might take less than a month.

this might be the only post 9x03 fic on here with a happy ending actually? plenty of good melancholy leading up to it though <3 canon divergent after 9x03 though which means no 9x06 fanfiction gap but it is absolutely worth reading

till the juice runs by deathbanjo (8.4k)

Apparently whoever drew up the venn diagram of Dean’s sex life decided the circle labelled ‘good sex’ and the one labelled ‘sex with men’ should be kept far apart.

hello this one is SO funny dean finally gets comfortable enough with his bisexuality to start having sex with men and it goes so very bad every time so sorry about your shitty choices beloved </3

First Date by aeli_kindara (8.9k)

“We should go on a date. You and me.”

Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face. He wishes he had any idea what to say.

“I’m asking you out, Cas.”

this one is very sweet i liked it a lot <3 good refreshing little fic where they just get to have a nice evening together

Entertaining Strangers by cadignan (9k)

Dean settles on to his side, lying in the bed facing Castiel. “So you had sex without me and you bit all my moves. I think I deserve to hear about it, at least. What was her name?”

op im in love with you. premise is established relationship deancas and cas mentions he did have sex before dean and not only that it was a threesome. good for him <3 this fic is cas describing the story of what led up to the threesome and what happened during it while dean interrupts regularly. incredible

the shape you take by noviembre (10k)

“What?” Dean says, fake-offended. “I’d be hot as a girl, you know I would.”

And this is when he really, really should have stopped talking. When he shouldn't have whipped back around and asked, “Cas, if I was a woman, you’d fuck me, right?”

Because if he hadn’t said that, then he wouldn’t have had to deal with this:

Cas, meeting his eyes, forehead wrinkles all smoothed out like there’s nothing to be confused about anymore. Cas with something at the corner of his mouth that might barely be called a smile.

Cas saying, calmly and without hesitation, “Yes, Dean.”

--

Dean Winchester fucks around and, with the inadvertent help of some witches, Finds Out.

dean winchester your gender is diabolical. this fic is insane and its the only thing that matters actually. dean fully convinced its normal and straight to think about being a woman so you can fuck your male friend. incredible. op im proposing to you

Sinnerman by a_good_soldier (10k)

Dean listens to Nina Simone, reads Anne Carson, and makes out with a dude (sort of).

yall want to read about dean realizing he’s in love with a man as a direct result of learning to better respect women right?

you’re fooling yourself by cowboydeanwinchester (13k)

Dean Winchester and Castiel retire from hunting to raise baby Jack. Dean struggles to allow himself the things he truly wants.

Jack is two, Castiel and Dean are idiots, and Sam's gotta solve everyone's problems.

love a married couple who doesn’t know they’re married <3 everyone say thank you sam for bullying dean 

The Girlfriend Experience by rageprufrock (15k)

While it's not like Dean hasn't had a couple of truly regrettable hit-and-runs in his sexual history, this is probably the saddest fucking thing that has ever happened to him.

a classic for good fucking reason. we’ve all talked about dean thinking holding hands is too gay after having just had gay sex but my personal favorite was sam accusing dean of cheating on cas because dean bought condoms. incredible

No Kingdom To Come by domesticadventures (16k)

“We should fuck,” Dean says.

Cas looks up from where he sits on his bed, hair still damp from the shower, frowning as he places a finger on the page of his book to mark where he left off.

There are a million things Cas could say here; Dean has rehearsed them. After lunch, his restlessness had given way to a vague panic, a dread that matched his every step and crept along with him from room to room. Eventually, he had returned to his bedroom and spent the rest of the afternoon pacing back and forth, playing out all the possible scenarios. When Cas asks him Why? or Are you being serious? or when he sighs and says, in that way he has, Dean, he knows exactly what he’s going to do. He’s going to shrug casually, like he isn’t invested in the answer, like he isn’t desperate for an outlet, and say, Why not? He’s going to raise an eyebrow and say, What, are you not interested? He’s going to crowd into Cas’ personal space, he’s going to shove himself right up in there and whisper Cas against his ear.

Instead, Cas says, carefully, “Okay.”

literally the only quarantine fic i’ve ever bothered to read in any fandom and completely worth it it’s SO good. they become fwb and dean has an existential crisis and he keeps bringing up meaninglessness and death during sex

Bodies by Speary (18k)

It was a secret they never acknowledged even with each other. It would change everything, end everything if either of them ever dropped the act. So they became very good at acting, at keeping up the lie that gave them what they wanted. Even if that lie involved constantly seeking out temporary, consenting female vessels, Cas would do it. He told himself it was worth it for Dean. He just hoped that he could stop wanting more, or maybe one day Dean might stop pretending that he wasn't really sleeping with Cas every time.

i don’t even have anything to add tbh if that summary did not immediately make you click we are very different this fic is incredible. god. fellas do you ever make yourself a woman so you can fuck the man you love without him having to talk about it or confront his sexuality

it’s such a mystery (the way you know me) by fleeceframe (20k)

So the man crouching in front of Castiel is named Dean. He wonders if that’s supposed to mean something to him.

“Cas must’ve got hit with something earlier. He just dropped like a sack of fucking potatoes a minute ago. By the time I was checking on him, he had already woken up again, but now he doesn’t fucking know who we are.”

“I’m right here you know,” Castiel says testily.

Sam’s eyes are wide even as his eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks between Dean and Castiel again.

“What do you remember, Cas?”

“Firstly, that I’m not Cas. I don’t know who Cas is, but it’s not me. I don’t know who either of you are, either."

or the one where castiel is hit with a memory curse that makes him forget the winchester brothers and is stunned to find out he has a family... also why can't he stop thinking about dean?

BEST amnesia fic oh my god. cas my beloved you deserve the world. everyone read this that is not a request.

More Than Ever by Sass_Master (20k)

Dean’s getting some pancakes together for breakfast when Cas saunters in after a run.

He’s trying to focus on whisking batter, unfairly distracted by Cas a few feet away, breathing heavily and shining with perspiration. Dean’s been painfully aware for a long time that Cas is pretty easy on the eyes, but he’s used to seeing Cas buttoned-up and unflappable, looking straight-laced in a stiff oxford and an unflattering trenchcoat.

Now Cas is sweating, Dean’s borrowed t-shirt clinging to his skin, flushed from exertion and Dean really can’t deal with that in his kitchen right now.

this entire series is really good i enjoyed it a lot, i’m just putting this one specifically on the list bc the rest of the series is very explicit and this is really good as a standalone for anyone who wouldn’t be into the rest of the series!!

Being Dean Winchester by Anonymous (20k)

"You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of hell. I can throw you back in."

Who the fuck was this bitchy "warrior of God" doing talking to him like that? Fuck Cas-tee-el and his dumbass trench coat and abrasive motherfucking attitude.

Dean was done with this shit.

***

Wherein a monster of the week steals the essence of Castiel's vessel, so he must use Dean, recently raised from hell, as a vessel instead.

it is at this point i realize that there are more fics than i expected there to be on this list that involves a threesome with only two people/using the presence of a female body to act like what’s happening is heterosexual. deangirlism is a disease 

I Shall Not Want by domesticadventures (20k)

His grace is burning out, and the wasteland it leaves inside him becomes an echo chamber for all the memories, all the fear and doubt and self-loathing he's collected over the years. Things said and done hound him on endless repeat until he's convinced they’ll break through his skin and fill the silence of the bunker.

His head is killing him, and he sits hunched over an open book, not really reading, just digging his fingers into his skull and praying nothing slips through the cracks.

this one is GORGEOUS i love it so so much. dean and cas are both struggling so much to get by and they’re trying to support each other but fucking it up and they have to grow together and learn to cope with the fact that this is where their lives are and they fall in love i need everyone to read this

To Boldly Go by 8daysuntiltheapocalypseiguess (24k)

Title: Just One of Those Things Author: Impala67 Series: TOS Rating: M Summary: Four years into their five-year mission, and all the planets start to look the same.

In which Dean is not Gene Roddenberry, but he does write Star Trek fanfiction.

mx winchester writing star trek fanfiction to process his own trauma <3 this is a wip but it’s SO good and i also have not consumed a single piece of star trek media so it IS definitely readable to anyone who isn’t a star trek fan. please read this

where the weeds take root by deathbanjo (30k)

“Are you happy? Y’know. Just—being here,” Dean says, gesturing to the yard with his beer bottle. “Being with—I mean, you used to fight in celestial wars and—and save the world. Now you’re growing vegetables and talking about chickens.”

this is on here just for the 1.5 people who were putting off this one like i did for no reason. it’s extremely good and it is just gentle. i enjoyed it a lot

Heroes for Ghosts by pantheon_of_discord (42k)

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

Weeks pass, Castiel’s hope dwindles, and through it all Dean prays, keeping them connected. His voice is comforting, frustrating, and occasionally annoying, but in his solitude Castiel comes to cherish it. But then one day, without warning, Dean stops praying, and Castiel is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about his feelings.

yall ever wonder what it would’ve been like if the sam and dean arrest storyline in s12 was interesting? yeah <3

Teaching Poetry to Fish by aeli_kindara (52k)

In which Castiel teaches poetry to fish. Also, himself. Also, eventually, Dean.

(A series-long story, diverging slightly from canon after S14.)

cas learning about humanity through poetry before dean and thats what led to him developing enough emotion to be lobotomized....cas i love you so much

Emergence by ellispark (58k)

Something’s been missing from Dean’s life for the past three years, a void left after a hunt gone terribly wrong. He often feels a sense of longing with no discernible cause, a need to talk to someone who isn’t there.

A call from an acquaintance leads Dean to James Novak, a man who disappeared more than a decade ago, and suddenly Dean gets the feeling he’s found what he’s been missing. But James isn’t really James — he’s the angel Castiel, who’s wanted by angels, demons and hunters alike. And he may be at the center of the storm that wrecked Dean’s life all those years ago.

another cool amnesia fic!! for unknown reasons everyone forgot cas three years ago but cas didn’t forget anything. cas deserves so much love and support. god

a turn of the earth by microcomets (95k)

Dean’s your typical half-orphaned, monster-killing 22-year-old until a trenchcoated stranger crashes into his back windshield one September night, claiming he’s an angel that knows him from the future and that he’s on the run.

Frigging fantastic.

(Or, in which Castiel gets stuck in Dean’s timeline preseries and Dean kind of hates it—until he doesn’t.)

cas getting to meet and fall in love with pre hell dean just as much as he loves the dean he already knows oh my GOD. i love this fic so much. turn of the earth my beloved

Crossing Lines by sometimeswelose (122k)

Two Deans, one Cas - it's not as sexy as it sounds

Or

An ethics lesson from Hell

Or

The one where Dean from the past meets Dean in the present. They're not sure they like each other very much.

deans intense self hatred vs cas’ unwavering love for every version of dean oh my GOD also this is a wip fair warning but it’s so worth waiting for updates i’m having such a great time with this one i cannot wait to see how it gets ended

Plot Holes by saltyfeathers (160k)

Of course it wasn’t over after the apocalypse.

There was season six. Then there was season seven. Against all expectations, there was season eight. There were the alphas and purgatory, and then the Leviathans, and then the angels fell. Enter season nine. Loose threads Metatron, Abaddon, and Crowley have to be tied up. Sam, Dean, and Cas have to try to tie them while at the same time dealing with their evolving relationships and newfound graceless states.

Amidst all the chaos, someone has started publishing the Supernatural novels again. Convinced there’s something amiss in the pages, Charlie starts her own quest to suss out the truth behind the Winchester Gospels.

With the help of various faces, old and new, they must now not only deal with the typical runs of demons and recently fallen angels, but also reconcile the battles raging inside themselves, as the fate of the world, once again, quite literally lays in the palm of their hands.

saltyfeathers said i WILL make the plot holes in this show mean something because the showrunners are sure as shit never gonna adress them ! and i thank them for it bc this was a really cool read

Casefic/Roadtrip Fic

Deprived Of Every Planet by KelpietheThundergod (9k)

Dean's breathing is audible in the scant space between them, irregular. The motel room is dark, pale blue shadows falling in through the gaps in the blinds. Throwing a pattern of uneven white stripes over the bunched up covers. Over Dean's fingers twisted in the sheets. One half of him in shadow, softened by the dark. The heat of his skin. The tremble of him under Castiel's touch.

He caresses a hand over Dean's chest, slowly. Dean's mouth falls open, his body arching into Castiel's touch. Castiel stops over Dean's heart. Through the fever of his desire, he rejoices about the wonder of experiencing another's heartbeat through one's own senses.

Dean gasps, but then he turns his face away and towards the dark. Eyes closed tight and brows furrowed like something is hurting him.

Castiel stills.

“Dean?”

the case is background on this one but it Does take place over the course of a case so im putting it here. god touchstarved dean trying so hard to work through his shit for cas head in my hands i love this fic so much

before and after breakfast by spocklee (10k)

The monster of the week is a ghost who hates meat, alcohol, and feeling yourself. Guess who it is during the commercials.

chapter 2 of this one.....god. dean and cas you are both so unwell <3 i love everything abt this fic everyone read it now

we shovel all the ashes out by xylodemon (15k)

Dean’s always known things were headed this way. He just figured getting dragged under would be cleaner and easier than jumping in feet-first.

fics that make you go Oh they love each other...also there’s lesbians in it literally what else could you want.

thunder road by dothraki_shieldmaiden (20k)

After Chuck is defeated and the Winchesters settle into life without God, Dean Winchester is bored.

OR: Dean and Cas take a road trip and figure out some stuff along the way.

this fic is just like. it’s kind! this fic is kind it’s just a pleasant experience and i enjoyed it thoroughly. they’re in love and it’s good

Suck It, Judy Garland by GlitterDwarf, midrashic (20k)

It had to be St. Louis. Or, the one where Sam and Cas get fake married for a case, and Dean loses his mind.

actually im gonna defend dean here imagine youre dean and cas gives what definitely sounded like a deathbed love confession while making eye contact with you and then immediately afterwards fake dates your brother. who among us would not have been a bitch about this

best friends without benefits by lizbobjones (20k)

It’s nearing three a.m. and they’ve been on the road a long time. Sam’s been asleep in the back seat since eleven. Giving up and handing the wheel over to Cas and letting the guy who doesn’t sleep drive had seemed like a good idea.

the premise of this fic is so funny. cas voice dean you want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid. everyone read this

the taste of gravel in the mouth by deathbanjo (22k)

This is what Cas gave up Heaven for: greasy diner food, shitty motel rooms with even shittier cable, long car rides spent in complete silence except for the same six tapes playing over and over again, and a burnt-out husk of a man who can barely hold a conversation anymore.

alt version of getting rid of the mark of cain, the darkness never happens. this one is VERY heavy but it’s so good and it has a hopeful ending. ive read this one twice and loved it both times

Someone Who’s Feeling For Me by ellispark (45k)

Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight.

Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away.

Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

hello op please contact me. please contact me and let me see the inside of your brain. this fic was an unparalleled experience and everyone should also go through it. i love it so very much

Bumper Cars by mansikka (111k)

Two teenagers are missing from an abandoned carnival, and there’s enough to raise suspicion that their disappearance involves a ghost. Dean, Sam, and Cas arrive in town to investigate, though what they find leads them away from those teenagers, and on the trail of a ghost story that churns up things from their past.

Can newly-human Cas, and Dean, with the help of shipper!Sam, work out the mystery behind the abandoned carnival and its ghost, and along the way, figure out the riddle that is them?

one of my absolute fav case fics it forces dean to confront some aspects of johns parenting and work through some shit and also him and cas fall in love and it’s really well done. love this one a lot <3

Finale Fix-its/Finale Denial

Sorry Jimmy by K_K_TiBal (2.1k)

Based on the tumblr textpost:

jellydeans: so are cas and jimmy novak just up in heaven existing at the same time katebushstandean: #jimmy moves to heaven timbuku so that dean stops trying to make out with him every time they run into each other at the heaven grocery store

this one is just extremely funny. local midwestern heterosexual man is forced to play relationship counselor to the dumbest gay people in existence because one of them wore his face

Dean Winchester Really Needs To Make Some Gay Friends by AreYouReady (2.2k)

“Like, I’m trying to think if I’ve had, I don’t know, crushes. If I ever had a gay thing before you came along and just didn’t notice,” Dean said.

Cas suddenly looked down, and away from Dean. If Dean didn’t know better, he would swear Cas looked guilty.

“What is it, Cas?”

“You have had several… gay things before.” Cas still wouldn’t look at him.

“What? When? How come you know this better than I do?”

There was no way the answer to this question wasn’t funny as hell.

dean learning about gay ppl via the memories of dean smith...incredible.

tiny difference (between ending and starting to begin) by sunforgrace (2.4k)

Sometimes Dean catches Cas staring at the sky.

It doesn’t happen often. Not when Dean’s around to tell, anyway. But often enough that he starts to notice.

Eventually Dean starts to recognize the pattern.

Cas just doesn’t watch the sky. He watches the birds.

Chuck is gone, Cas is human, and the world is safe. In the quiet aftermath Dean and Castiel find each other again.

i really don’t have much to say abt this one it is just very good and they love each other so much

Bring Home by cenotaphy (3.8k)

Dean's phone doesn't ring on the drive back to the Bunker, but that's okay. Because—well, maybe Cas lost his cell, what with getting shuffled back and forth between a cosmic void dimension and all. And anyway, Dean doesn't want this conversation to happen over the phone, he wants to—he wants to talk to Cas face-to-face. They should talk face-to-face.

Dean will tell him—

Dean doesn't know what he'll tell Cas. Dean is, in fact, terrified by how utterly and completely he does not know what he'll say to Cas.

cas being forced to face the consequences of sending the risky text that was despair <3

dean’s coworkers vs the heteronormative agenda by cowboydeanwinchester (4.1k)

Dean started working at a local auto repair shop in Lebanon, Kansas about a year ago. His coworkers don't know much about him. Except that he has a wife. Or maybe he doesn't. But he has a kid. Who is either a toddler or a high schooler. Who is either named Jack or Sammy. He also might have a best friend named Cas, but that also might be his wife.

Truth is nobody knows what to make of Dean.

obsessed w people not knowing a single fucking thing about dean because he talks so much and never explains anything. this fic is SO funny

Enhanced Extraction Techniques by goldenraeofsun (5.8k)

The Empty takes Meg’s shape, Samandriel’s, Duma’s, every one of the thousands of angels Cas killed up in heaven. But in the middle of lecturing Cas in the form of Balthazar, it explodes in a burst of light and sound.

Dean Winchester stands in the aftermath.

the empty playing mind games on an awake cas bc it can’t put him to sleep is a thing i like a lot and this is very very good 

Speak Silence No More by rea_sunshine (8.1k)

When Dean imagined this moment, it went like this:

Dean bursts into the Empty—guns blazing, chin high, righteous anger coursing through him. No matter what form his plans and fantasies and whiskey-drunk-whispered-promises took, he is always, always successful. When he imagined it, he was finally the hero Cas deserved.

The reality of the moment is this:

It’s fucking cold.

dean and cas STILL managing to not communicate with each other properly after the confession is so funny to me and this fic does it really well. also i like that a human being in the empty, where humans do NOT belong, had some like. consequences

my heart is a compass by lagaudiere (10k)

“There you are,” the Empty says, in Dean’s voice. It’s cold, like Dean’s eyes are cold, his expression set in contempt. It’s the expression Cas feared, he realizes, all the times he thought about saying it. Revulsion. It makes him feel sick in the way that goes beyond physical, here where there is nothing physical left.

The moment before it happened had been so sweet it covered up all the hurt. For years, Cas had been holding back those words, biting down on his tongue to keep from saying them. And now he had said it, and he knew that it was good, knew that it was worth it. But on the other side there is only this.

--

In the Empty, Cas dreams of his regrets, until someone comes looking for him.

one of thee best dean rescues cas from the empty fics out there i love the way his memories are written i love how many of them were ones that this fic came up with to give me new things to have brainworms over instead of just making me more fixated on He Watched Him Rake Leaves than i already am

killing time by orestespdf (11k)

It's been four years since Dean saved Cas from the Empty and confessed his feelings in return, and in their Vermont lakehouse, the retired couple is now learning how to heal. One morning, Dean gives Cas a haircut.

(A character study of Castiel.)

perfect fic perfect fic no notes no complaints they love each other so much and now dean is giving cas a haircut and they’re spending the day together. god.

and every time we kiss, i swear i can fly by knameless (14k)

Every time, Dean tells himself it’s the last.

--

aka, twelve times dean and cas kiss.

a just boy best friends kiss for every season <3 mwah

for which no words exist by MediaWhore (14k)

'a prayer for which no words exist' // richard siken

"Dear Cas who art in my bathtub, give me the strength to be honest about how I feel. For your sake and for mine. Forgive me all the times I wasn’t in the past, all the words I should have said but didn’t. And please stay. Please stay with me when all is said and done. Amen. "

Dean rescues a newly human Cas from the Empty. That's the easy step.

mediawhore i am in LOVE with you oh my god this fic. this fic. dean taking care of cas after rescuing him dean wrapping cas in a blanket oh my GOD

swimming with the fish pond fish by februyuri (17k)

Some time between Dean bleeding out on a makeshift hook in a barn in Ohio and Sam making marshmallows on his funeral pyre, Dean was brought back to life. By Castiel. Again. Dean agreed to it if only to give Jack time to work out the glitches up top. So, now Dean’s back in the land of the living and things are ... actually good, for once.

Or, as good as they can be when demons are attacking Earth, Dean’s failing to get over why he died in the first place, and Cas is suddenly, inexplicably taking every opportunity to casually tell Dean that he loves him.

this is a wip! but it is so good and so worth the read i love it a lot and am very excited for the last chapter. it IS pretty heavy though dean has a LOT to work through

looking like a true survivor (feeling like a little kid) by courfeyrac (20k)

"Jack’s a clever kid—has been ever since he was born, maybe even before that—but Dean’s pretty sure he hasn’t figured out where they’re going yet. And Dean’s… Dean’s excited about it. He remembers planning surprises for Sammy when they were little—saving up quarters and sneaking off to the arcade the year he turned seven, or slipping a book Dean had seen Sammy admiring into his jacket before sprinting out of the store the year he turned twelve. There was only so much Dean could give him back then, hindered by lack of finances and transportation and a father who paid attention. Now, though, Dean’s got a wallet full of cash, a tank full of gas, and the freedom to give his kid the kind of birthday he deserves."

Or, it's Jack's fourth birthday, and the kid wants to go to Build-A-Bear.

EVERYONE READ THIS RIGHT NOW. that is not a request this fic undid me. oh my god. oh my god. they’re a family and they’re going to build a bear and they love each other. oh my god. also no it isn’t a baby jack fic he is 4 and he is also alcal

what’s missing is found (our souls can exhale now) by sobsicles (27k)

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. Dean's dragged into the mess, but he soon finds that it's the best thing that could have happened to him.

~~~

"But have you ever just met someone and maybe it wasn't from the first moment, maybe it was after all these other moments that meant more than you ever expected them to, and it seems like your soul just—just—" Kaia makes a helpless gesture with her hands, pushing out, and she breathes out loudly. "Like it can finally exhale. And that person isn't guaranteed to make you happy, but they're—they're important. You just know it, you can't even escape it, you can't let them go. Ever met someone like that, Dean?"

"I—" Dean halts, his mouth hanging open. He's looking at Kaia, who's looking at him, and his heart is fluttering in his throat like a caged bird aching to soar again. His mind threatens to spiral out of control, but he focuses, swallowing hard. "Yeah. Um. I—yeah, I have."

deancas AND dreamhunter we love to see it also dean DOES smoke weed with kaia and apologizes for pulling a gun on her what more could you want in a fic

Command Me To Be Well by prospopeya (28k)

Dean did a lot of thinking about when and how he would get Cas back. Months of it, actually, stretching into a year, because while Sam and Eileen were settling into their new lives, Dean was stuck. He was stuck in a faraway corner of the bunker, dark and empty and hollow, ringing with the sound of a vibrating phone.

So when he falls to his knees in that same room, exhausted, hurting, breathless, and he feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see Cas, he realizes that he doesn't have a single clue about what to do now. Getting Cas out had been easy--actually, it'd been the opposite of that--but the planning of it, the methodical desperation of one attempt after the other had been a familiar rhythm. It'd been soothing almost, solid, something to focus on that wasn't Cas's eyes, watery and jubilant in a way Dean hadn't ever seen that up close on anyone, let alone Cas.

And now Cas is pulling him to his feet, and Dean's stumbling, and he instinctually grabs Cas's arm, and his hand lights up with a fire that he isn't prepared for.

"Hello, Dean."

oh post despair lack of communication....oh dean refusing to work through his feelings...this fic is incredible i love it everyone who enjoys dean doing everything in his power to avoid talking about feelings up to and including having sex with the guy who’s in love with him multiple times should read this

break the skin (to break the barriers) by sobsicles (29k)

The first time she meets him, he's nothing more than an almost-missed appointment.

SOBSICLES TATTOO FIC MY BELOVED. dean grieving and getting tattoos and it turns into tattoo therapy. im SO in love with mitzi it’s insane. requires some suspension of disbelief for how long a tattoo takes but it’s an incredible fic and an unparalleled experience. sobsicles does not miss

ascend by quiettewandering (53k)

Something in the world is wrong.

Demon activity is rising where mysterious black substance oozes and unusual ecological events are shaking the world. Dean, grief hanging on his shoulders, restlessly searches for answers that might lead him to the Empty… and to Cas.

But what Chuck wrote can’t be undone. The narrative thread pulls Dean along, forcing him to comply. Because once a story already has an ending, it can’t be rewritten.

Or can it?

SUPER cool concept i liked this a lot i’m pretty sure everyone’s read it already but just in case someone hasn’t you absolutely should

oh sooner or later it all comes down to faith by sobsicles (62k)

Getting used to Heaven is something of a marvel. It ain't perfect, and Dean thinks he'd hate it if it was, which is probably why it isn't.

~~~

"You don't understand," Dean whispers, exhaling shakily. "I know you don't, because even I don't. The instant you were gone, I wanted you back. Cas, I wanted you back. I wanted—I wanted—"

Cas stares at him, searching his face. After a moment, his own face falls slack, eyes widening just so. "Oh," he breathes out.

Dean wants to be furious that Cas has figured it out before he has—whatever it is—but he's not even that surprised. Cas knows him too well, always has, even more than Dean knows himself. He's been kicking Dean in the goddamn teeth with how deeply he understands him, even about the things Dean doesn't, ever since they first met. You don't think you deserve to be saved, that's what Cas had said. All bundled up in impossibilities and power, this being that looked at Dean Winchester and knew every single inch of him, as if he had a right to each part.

"What?" Dean grits out.

"I love you, too."

the ONLY heaven fic. i do not read heaven fics bc i refuse to budge in my finale denialism i refuse to read fic where it is accepted that dean dies. i was hesitant to read this but god im glad i did it was so good. literally the best possible outcome of dean dying

Endverse

final fantasy. by orange_crushed (1.9k)

“If I’d actually been born human, would I have gotten sick like everyone else? Would I be running around gnawing on the neighbors?” Castiel tilts his head up and even from here Dean can see the black ring of his pupils, wide and dark as dead stars. He’s high as fuck and he’s been loading the guns for forty-five minutes. He stares into the space where Dean is. He smiles and shows his teeth. “Maybe you’d have already put a bullet in my head.”

"This is why you don’t lead storytime anymore," Dean says. "This kind of shit."

endverse last night on earth fics are something that can be so personal actually. god

The Last Song by Moorishflower (3.5k)

The very last song is the Song of Solomon, and Castiel sings it only for Dean. Set in "The End."

this is like. pre endverse and the tone is so like. wistful? is the best word ive got? it’s gorgeous i love it but fair warning there is graphic description of like. viscera and infected wounds

to think that we could stay the same by cipherwriter (6.5k)

cas has all he needs; himself, his creation, and enough power to continue this cycle for a long time. he's fine. dean wants to take care of him anyway.

oh my GOD this one is good it’s based off the thing of how originally endverse cas was supposed to be just sitting in a room killing and resurrecting the same cockroach over and over. very bittersweet at some points i love it a lot, do not read it if youre looking for something happy though lmao

the first church at the end of the world by withbloodstainedclothingon (11k)

The angels don’t eat the brain. Only Croats do that.

this one is fucked but it’s incredible it contains very heavy and violent subject matter and cas is an Actual cult leader he doesn’t just have orgies it is SO well done and i had a great time reading it i recommend it very highly if the warnings sound like something you can stomach

Down to Agincourt by seperis (1.1 million. i know. yes it’s a wip)

There is no such thing as a guarantee when it comes to war.

The outcome's known. Why try? Return your rusty sword to battered sheath, bow your head and bend your stubborn knee. Why take the field when you cannot win the war? But Harry -- he went down to Agincourt.

PLEASE. i know the length is intimidating i KNOW it’s a very long fic but please. please read down to agincourt i am begging you. head in my HANDS this series is incredible.

Non Supernatural AUS

Long-Term Relationship by bendingsignpost (2.7k)

Castiel says, budging over to make room for Dean on the couch, “I thought we should have a serious talk about our relationship.”

Reflexively, Dean laughs.

Castiel does not.

“Uh, Cas... you know we’re not dating, right?”

look man it’s bendingsignpost okay. it’s bendingsignpost it’s good and it’s sweet and you should read it

One White Lie by komodobits (11k)

Castiel takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. He doesn’t need to run through what he’s going to say – he’s already planned and edited and rehearsed it a thousand times. He is going to ask Dean Winchester out to dinner. If it’s not too forward, he’ll say, perfectly charming. You see, I’ve seen you around the neighbourhood and you always seem so earnest and I’d really like to get to know you bette— The door swings open, and Castiel panics.

He intends to excuse himself. He means to apologise and come back some other time. However, in a moment of blind fear, what comes out of his mouth instead are the words, “Could you spare a moment for Jesus Christ?”

do you ever pretend to be a jehovahs witness for months to hang out with the guy you like because you fucked up asking him out? yeah.

separate ways and sleeping dogs by sobsicles (53k)

Dean is three years sober when Cas comes back into town.

~~~

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Dean, once again, has to swallow the urge to offer to swallow something else. It's very hard to resist the gut-wrenching pull of want that hooks in his chest whenever he looks at Cas. And to think, he used to have him, used to be able to act on that want.

God, he's so fucking stupid.

Well, there's no point in kicking himself three years later for shit he can't change. He'll just sit right here and pretend that his fingers aren't twitching with the urge to reach out and touch. He can't do that anymore, and it's his own damn fault.

"Three years ago," Cas prompts.

Dean huffs a weak laugh. "Yeah. Eventful."

this fic hit me SO hard emotionally oh my god. don’t have much to say bc most of my thoughts on this fic are very personal but my god read this please

Everyone’s a Critic by Englandwouldfall (109k)

The one where uninspired chef Dean Winchester has a one night stand with the male (!) food critic who described the flavour of his garlic bread as 'closeted' and accidentally ends up dating him to try and prove that he's a kick ass chef, thank you very much.

(He may have a point about the 'closeted' thing).

this one is SO fun. dating the food critic who called your garlic bread closeted and lying about your career because you’re embarrassed and you want to redeem your food in his eyes but then you fall in love with him

Non Destiel Centric

gender? you mean that thing i have that pisses people off? by bigender dean winchester (homosexualitie) (946 words)

sam and dean paint each other's nails and dean abuses the technicalities of her gender. what more could you want? 

HELLO HE/SHE DEAN COMMUNITY oh my god the pure rush of euphoria reading this. oh my god. oh my god. 

the quiet road to a distant city by rottingbrains (1.2k)

Sam stares out the windshield again. They’re approaching a city, and she can see the lights in the distance. She’s past the danger zone, and she feels like the world around her reflects that in some way she can’t put into words- as if God is telling her that it’s okay. She did the right thing, and soon she will be past the lonely unknown and into the warm, forgiving light of acceptance. Or something. Come to think of it, the lights only look warm from far away, and she knows that the actual city will seem far less welcoming. Still. Best not to imagine the worst when it’s already going well.

required reading for transfem lesbian sam fans. fics that live in your ribcage to make your heart feel good

Four People Ruby Seduced & One She Actually Fell For (Or: Ruby's Epic Love Affair with Humanity in General and Sam in Specific) by tuesday (3.7k)

In which Ruby has a lot of sex, is not any kind of therapist that would be legal, and helps a few people out for her own reasons. (S4/S5 AU)

for everyone out there who enjoys ruby being a girlboss <3

Fractured Link by Trell (orphan_account) (5.5k)

Meg goes on, resolute despite the way Dean flinches, "He likes me. He likes me a lot, and I like him back, and that's probably good enough for both of us. But fuck me for saying so, Dean-o, he loves you, probably more than anything else on his daddy's green Earth, and you need to man up and give back what Clarence over there has been devoting to you for years."

this is meg/dean/cas which is not smth i really seek out but this was extremely good. set in s7 so it’s meg and dean and honey cas and it’s a lot of dean figuring his shit out and trying to forgive cas and i love meg a lot in this