#i am drained and this is so much longer than i expected and needs to be edited so bad but it's the sixth

[emphistic]

Interlude

A/N: did i write this in half an hour? yes. am i crazy? of course.

"Ah ah ah. I never said you could leave yet."

You immediately stopped in your tracks upon hearing a familiar deep, raspy voice at your back, coming from the confines of your shared bed.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

You whipped your head around, and were met with a set of half-lidded eyes in a shade of deep red. Their owner was propped up on one elbow atop the messy sheets, yawning loudly before running his long fingers through his unruly locks.

Sukuna was never a morning person, and his shifts always started later in the afternoon, so he always used it to his advantage.

Blinking once, twice, thrice, as you nervously averted your gaze away from your very enticing boyfriend, who only continued to stare at you sleepily.

The thought of going back to lay in your comfortable, warm bed was already something you wanted to do terribly, but adding Sukuna into the mix, too? This was like trying to drain the sea.

Merely one look at the pink-haired man, who was only covered waist-down by the blankets on his legs, was enough to pull you back beneath the covers and curl into his side.

However, you had already called sick two times in only a fortnight, and those bills were not going to pay themselves.

Unfortunately for you, or not unfortunately, you and Sukuna had been over this many times. Sukuna always told you, "I don't understand why you keep going back to that shitty job anyway. Just let me take care of you back in my place, I provide substantially for the both of us, anyway."

And besides, there really wasn't a way out for you no matter what.

Sukuna had had so many clients back-to-back lately, that he was forced to stay at the tattoo shop for nights on end. On top of that, Choso was unavailable for God knows why, so Sukuna had to fill in for him as well. And if that wasn't enough, sessions would take longer than expected because clients just wouldn't stop flirting with him, moving or twitching, accidentally messing up his work, talking so obnoxiously to the point Sukuna couldn't even pay attention, etc.

Only recently — just the night before, he was finally granted the chance to come home to you.

And you best believe he was going to spend every hour, minute, and second reminding you that you were his, and his only.

Not even your job's employee, apparently. Sorry not sorry.

But, it's not like you wanted to leave him anyway. You had missed Sukuna as much as he had missed you, if not more.

Phone calls while he was on break, sending memes through your text messages, playing together on Game Pigeon, FaceTimes while eating lunch together, were your only escapes from the sad, miserable Adult Life, into just Sukuna and You World.

"Baby, you know I have to. But I'll be back before you know it, okay? And besides, you need the free time. They've been working you nonstop—"

"I'm fine, not even tired. Don't you dare worry your pretty little head about me. As for free time . . ," Sukuna's held a mischievous glint to them, "how about you spend my free time with me?"

You bit your lip, in contemplation. Although you knew, clear as day, what would happen in the end despite everything.

Deciding to make a run for it, you swung your legs over the bed and planted your bare feet on the freezing-cold floor of your apartment. But before you could even stand up, a thick arm swiftly made its way around your waist and pulled you back to meet a hard, bare chest.

Sukuna was now sitting up.

You lightly gasped, as he brought his lips to your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin.

"Don't think you can run away from me just yet, doll. I haven't seen you in days, and I'm not going to be apart from you for another second."

You squirmed in his grasp, but when you realized his strong hold around your middle wasn't going to let up any time soon, you sighed, and, left with no choice, only slumped back against his chest.

Sukuna grinned, victorious, once again.

The rays of the early sun filtered through the cheap window blinds, and you fluttered your eyelashes, squinting to hide away from the inevitable.

"Yeahh," Sukuna laughed, "that's right, princess. Just listen to me from now on."

You frowned, turning your head around to narrow your eyes at Sukuna.

"Now, what can we do with all this free time? I'm thinking we should try something new." Sukuna raised a brow teasingly, twisting your body around and settling you onto his lap with your thighs on either side of his.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself, mister. I'm only staying for five more minutes," you crossed your arms.

Sukuna placed both of his large hands on your hips; it seemed like that was their default resting spot. Every chance he got, they would always end up there. No matter the setting or occasion.

Sukuna let out a deep laugh, "We'll see about that."

-

"Five minutes? You said? Either way, I don't think you're even able to move your legs at this point and walk out of this room."

"S'kuna, you're—ngh—not funny!" Your nipples hardened, and rubbed raw against the material of your shirt.

You braced yourself by placing both hands on the headboard, but it didn't look like anything could help stable you now.

Sukuna licked a stripe up your dampening clit.

Your situation wasn't looking too good. It didn't help that your asshole of a boss just had to call you right then and there.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna smut #jjk x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna

[arkiliastuff]

Always You

One shot | Noah Sebastian x Female Reader

Warnings : Fluff, a tsundere/upset Reader and a teasy Noah. (I can't deal with this man anymore he's too hot I can't stop thinking about him)

A/N : First of all, I wasn't planning on writting another one shot about Noah soon, but guess what plans changed. Also I didn't expect to be this long again, but how bizarre when it comes to Noah it gets longer...👀 And it turns out I like this fanfic very much 😌 Plus, listening After You by Meg Myers actually helped me a lot in the writting process. Hope you'll enjoy it ! :D

~ The little bean Taglist : @talialovesmiw

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You were walking back from the bar you were at, during the evening. You walked fast, irritated. Noah was a few feet behind you, looking at you with a grin on his face as he loved seeing you pouting and being flustered.

He teased you during the whole party, getting each time closer to your face as you tried to hide it, crimson red. You weren’t able to focus on anything else. You tried to talk to the other guys who were here, enjoying the break of a night party at the bar like you all used to do when they were back from touring. But you couldn’t even have a chat with any of them for more than five seconds. Noah was always by your side, putting an arm on your shoulder, or kept looking at you with his smile killing you each time.

He also knew and felt when you were watching him. While you were pretending to talk with the boys, you saw him in the corner of your eye, flipping his hair back from his face. This was something that always makes you lose your mind. This guy was completely draining every brain cell of your brain, the thought of him never leaving your mind. You were mad at him. He was teasing you way too much. That was unfair. Since he knew you had a crush on him, but tried to hide or deny it in front of him, he kept acting like that. You felt like he was only playing with your feelings and that’s why you were angry.

He knew how handsome he was to you and you were losing it. And so, during the party, you decided to leave because you couldn’t handle Noah anymore. You were about to explode if he went closer to you once more, your lips getting close every time. You were out of breath. You needed fresh air. So you left, telling the guys you were going home. And guess who decided to accompany you? Yes. Him. Noah. When he saw you leaving, he followed you, his stupid grin still on his sexy face. You let out an angry groan to hide how you were so flustered by his presence. And here you were again, walking fast in front of him trying to put some distance, but he quickly caught you up.

“Mad at me, princess ?” He said while walking by your side, still smirking.

You couldn’t take his teasing game anymore. You had to say something, otherwise, you were going to collapse at your feet. That’s the last thing you wanted to show him. Being vulnerable in front of him and admitting his teasy flirting was working so much on you. But you tried to keep it together, your anger helping you to hide a bit longer how you were drawn to him.

“Yes, I am !” You let out, angry.

“Oh? Why? What did I do ?” He said, acting innocently.

“You !!--” You clenched your fist, restraining yourself to punch his beautiful face “You know exactly what you were doing the whole night.”

“Well, you tell me.” He kept smiling.

You inhaled, getting ready for what you were about to say. You stopped walking, in the middle of the road, facing him, still with your red cheeks.

“No matter what I do, trying to talk to the others or even doing nothing, I always think about you. It’s always you. You. Over and over again. It always has been. You’re so selfish, Noah. I can’t get you out of my head. It’s been months since I have a big ass crush on you, and everyone seemed to know it before I told any of them. But you, you didn’t realize it until, God knows when, and now you’re playing with me! And I’m tired of this !! Just tell me what you want already !”

This sounded more like a confession than being angry at him. But you actually wanted to tell him your feelings for a long time. You were madly in love. So much that seeing his perfect face hurted you so much. You didn’t know how you could keep this up when you were hanging out with him and the boys. He was occupying every single one of your thoughts and dreams. You had to tell him at some point. You weren’t planning on getting angry at him. Yet, he really did push you to the edge. Somehow, he seemed to not mind you getting angry at him. He actually loved it. He kept his stupid smirk, like he knew you were giving up on avoiding him or pretending his teasing didn’t affect you. He leaned to your height, looking straight into your eyes.

“Well, I’m glad you only think about me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He said quietly, teasing you once again.

If you weren’t red enough, well you were purplish red, like a tomato about to explode. You felt every inch of your body burning, of anger or desire, or probably both. He had such a hold on you that you knew it was useless to fight or try to struggle with him. He always won and always will. Even if you already lost this battle with him, you tried not to admit your defeat as you crossed your arms against your coat.

“You’re still playing with me, are you? I knew it. You don’t feel anything for me, you just want to see me being madly in love with you to flatten your ego ?” You accused him.

He shook his head, still smiling at you but more genuinely this time.

“I’m teasing you to only see your reactions, pushing you a bit more to the edge, because I love seeing your cute face when you’re angry…” He said softly, still seductively teasing you.

He brushed his thumb on your red hot cheek, his cold gloved touch surprised you.

“... But I’m not playing with you or with your feelings. I will never. You’re too precious to me. I care for you, Y/N. I really do.”

You felt your heart flinch when he spoke your name so softly, his touch and words soothing you that made you uncross your arms.

“I guess, I’m also the one in denial who didn’t want to admit my feelings for you” He kept saying more gently “ Will you forgive me ?”

He put both of his hands on your cheeks, waiting for your answer. Was this real? You weren’t sure anymore as he teased you way too much. So you returned him the favor.

“Well… I’ll forgive you if you really mean what you’re saying to me.” You faked a pout.

He grinned again, loving you being the little brat you were.

“And what if I showed you that I really mean it ?” He said.

“Then do it, before I do it myself.” You said firmly, anticipating what was going to happen.

He smiled as he leaned closer to you, finally meeting your lips. You’ve been waiting for this, for so long. He probably had too, since how he pulled you closer against him, his strong arms caging you, deepening the kiss. This was even better than you expected, despite being in the middle of the street, people passing by behind you. But neither of you paid attention to the surroundings. It was just the two of you. You kept kissing each other until you were both out of breath. But you wanted more, you craved him.You wanted to taste his lips again. And as you stared at his darkened eyes you could tell he wanted to. The only thing that was pushing you back to go further was.. well processing your real first kiss with him. And also your own hesitation to keep going like this. Noah could see the messy blushing look on your face and he couldn’t stop smiling at the sight, with you in his arms, brushing slowly your fingers on his cheek.

“Finally giving up your shell ?” He teased once more.

You rolled your eyes in exasperation.

“And I see you’re not done teasing me, are you ?” You replied back.

“I’m not and I won’t stop. This is just the beginning. I’ll keep teasing you all night, baby.” He smirked.

You blushed at the idea of what he might do, but you forced yourself to not think about it.

“Ugh… Why am I not surprised? I should’ve expected that from you. You’re so annoying.” You pouted, raising your eyebrows.

To his dismay, you left his embrace, infuriated again and turned your back on him.

“That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m coming home.” You let out, upset and tired of his teasing.

Yet Noah wasn’t done. It took him a few steps to catch you again. He grabbed you lightly by the wrist, stopping you from leaving. Then, he pulled you close to him, holding you from behind with his arms around your waist. Feeling his warmth in your back made you sweat as your body’s heat was increasing quickly.

“What the..? What are you doing ??” You stumbled, blushing again and almost ready to fight him.

“Don’t leave just yet.” He whispered to your ear “Let me hold you for two seconds. Then I’ll walk back home with you."

You expected him to tease you again but he seemed more sincere and serious this time.

“Fine…” You capitulated “But no more teasing, alright ?”

“Hmm.. No promises.” He mouthed, hiding his face in your neck.

You grumbled a bit before releasing the pressure and exasperation of his teasing, actually enjoying the cuddle. His breath was soothing you as he was inhaling the sweet perfume of your hair. Both of you stood in the middle of the road, hearing the cars passing by during this cold night. You were glad Noah was there. Indeed, he was keeping you warm, his huge body covering yours like a blanket. Two seconds had passed but you wanted to stay like this a bit longer, despite the cold getting through your thighs. Noah felt you were shivering and that’s when he decided to break his embrace.

“Come on, let me walk you home. At this rate, you’re going to freeze to death.” He said, gently holding your hand.

His tender touch caught you off guard but you didn’t complain. As long as you could be a little longer with him, that’s all that mattered. You looked at his gloved hands, so big compared to yours intertwined with his. Then you looked at Noah, staring at his profile and how he looked so gorgeous no matter which angle.

“That’s so unfair.” You mumbled in your scarf, hiding your red face.

“What’s unfair ?” He asked, looking at you, amused again.

“You…” You began and continued “You are so unfair. I cannot comprehend how you can be such a teasy fool and be so gentle at the same time ?!”

He smiled, with the kind of smile he always does. The one that showed his perfect teeth and the curve of his cheeks going up, making all of his traits harmonize together. The kind of smile that always made you melt. With that, he let out a soft chuckle, which sounded like a sweet melody to your ears. God, how much you loved seeing his genuine smile on his face and hearing his laugh.

“I guess, it’s just the way I am.” He replied, simply.

You were not really convinced by this answer though.

“You’re just surreal. Like you’re coming out of a dream.” You stated.

“Yet, I’m right here, Y/N. Right next to you.”

Your hand still in his, he gently put the tip of your knuckles to his lips, leaving the sweetest kiss you ever had.

“See? Is that enough to prove it to you ?” He smiled, satisfied to see you red as a traffic light again.

“Um... I guess so…” You stammered, avoiding his gaze, too much flustered for your own good.

The way back to your flat went well somehow. At first, you felt awkward about the silence between the two of you, but seeing that Noah didn’t mind it did ease you. He was enjoying this peaceful moment with you. Even if you were less tense around him, you were still processing what happened. All of his teasy behavior and him admitting his feelings for you was quite a lot to assimilate. You didn’t expect it to be that mutual.

As you were lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize you had arrived at your front door until Noah told you.

“We’re here.” He spoke softly.

You felt your heart ache when you were about to let go of his hand. He took his time, as he didn’t want to let go either. You remained silent though, not knowing what to say or to do.

“Well… I’ll see you next time. Good night.” He said.

Panic started to rise in your chest, your heart beating so fast, as you saw him about to leave.

What did he mean by “next time” ? He couldn’t leave you like that.  You wanted to see him as much as you could before he went back touring… And God knows when he’ll be back.

Without any other hesitation, you rushed to him and grabbed a piece of his black coat sleeve.

“Wait..! Can’t you stay a bit longer? At least… stay here for the night. You can sleep on my couch and you can go back in the morning. If you want.. of course.” You begged.

You stuttered at your words at the end, not sure if your request was appropriate. You lowered your head, staring at your feet as the embarrassment rose. You kept holding his sleeve, not letting him go this time. Noah turned around and leaned a bit to cup your face so you could look at him.

“Look who’s the needy one this time.” He mused, making you blush “Sure, I’ll stay with you. I’m fine sleeping on the couch.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he accepted your offer. You just nodded at him, smiling nervously as the both of you entered your apartment. You took off your coat and scarf before leaving your boots in the doorway. Noah did the same while following you in your living room. You started to put more cushions, a pillow and a blanket on the couch that you took from your closet. Then, you realized how small your couch was compared to Noah.

“Actually, I’ve realized that it might be better for you to sleep in my bed than here...”

He looked at you, tilting his head on his left, smiling at you.

“Oh ? How interesting. You want me so badly in your bed, huh ? You could have just asked right away, you know.”

You stepped back, waving your hands at him to undo the teasing he was doing to fluster you even more.

“No, no ! Erm.. I just don’t want you to hurt your back or anything… You know what, I’ll sleep on the couch myself."

“Or… If your bed is big enough for the two of us, we can sleep together.” He teased, getting closer to you.

Oh, no. Why did you invite him to your place again ? Right. Because you love him.

“I’ll promise I’ll behave.” he smirked.

Your eyes widened before stepping a little from him, trying to get yourself together.

“Well, you better be ! Or I’m kicking you out of the bed.” You warned him.

“Deal.” He chuckled.

Once you set up your bed with Noah’s help, you went into the bathroom to get changed into more comfortable pajamas. Not like you were nervous about how ridiculous it would look or not like you cared about Noah’s opinion either. He said he wasn’t going to do anything. Yeah, it was better to keep it that way. For now. Too many things happened during this night. You were barely realizing he was here, at your house, sleeping in your bed with you. As you were brushing your teeth, you were overthinking the situation. Come on, get yourself together! But how could you remain calm as the man you’ve always dreamt about was here now ?

You spat your toothpaste before washing your mouth and heading back to your room. Noah was sitting at the edge of it, undressing his black coat and his dark sweater, just to be comfortable in his turtleneck shirt. You never imagined a man could look that good in a turtleneck shirt. Timidly, you cleared your throat, interrupting your own fantasies.

“Sorry, I don’t have any other clothes that would fit you. But I have an extra tooth brush, in the bathroom’s small cabinet, if you want…”

He smiled at you so lovingly, putting his cheek in the palm of his tattooed hand, visibly moved by your concern.

“Worried about my well-being, are we ? How thoughtful of you.” He grinned

“Well.. Yeah..! What about it ?”

“I think it’s adorable.” He said softly, a large smile still curling his lips.

“Oh, shut up and go to the bathroom already !” You gave up.

He stood up and went to the bathroom, brushing his teeth. A few minutes later, he lied down in the bed next to you. You tried to hide your smile in the blanket, as you were getting close to him.

“Happy to see me, here ?” He said, amused to see your happy face.

You nodded shyly as an approval, making him grin again. You got closer to him, facing his covered torso before lifting up your chin to gaze at him.

“So… When are you going back touring ?” You asked.

“In two days. I’ll help everyone get everything packed up tomorrow. Which is why I’ll leave early when the morning comes” He replied quietly.

You felt a bit sad, imagining him leaving already, but that was a thought for later. You rolled a bit more with the blankets, like a sushi.

“Thank you for staying tonight, Noah.” You mumbled after a short silence.

“My pleasure, sweetheart." He responded softly while stucking a strand behind your ear.

His gentle touch made you melt again. You snuggled a bit closer to him feeling his warmth and breathing his cologne. How relaxing it was. Noah wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you close to him.

“Goodnight.” He said, leaving soft kisses on your forehead.

As you were going to sleep, you barely heard him. And also you hardly remembered saying “ ‘Love you” to him.

When you woke up, early in the morning, the other side of the bed was empty. You put your hand on the mattress, hardly feeling Noah’s warmth. He left early as he said last night. You couldn’t help but feel a bit melancholic as you stroke the bedsheets to remember his presence. You missed him already. Then, under your touch, you found a piece of clothing, hidden under the blanket. You recognized it. It was Noah’s sweater. The one he was wearing last night. As you were wondering why he left it, your phone buzzed on the nightstand next to you. Curious, you picked it up.

Noah : Thank you for the night, princess. The bed was comfortable with you cuddling me. You can keep the sweater as a souvenir. Love you too.

You let out a small laugh while you read his message, holding his sweater close to you. You could still inhale Noah’s perfume, as if he was still with you.

“Idiot…” You murmured to yourself with a smile.

He sure was a teasy idiot but you loved him so much. It was impossible for you to get him out of your head. And you liked it that way.

#bad omens fanfiction #badomens #bad omens fanfic #fanfiction #bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian x female reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens band #noah sebastian fluff #fluff

[suuuupernovaaa]

ngeyn

ngeyn [ŋɛjn] adj. tired

Anonymous Request: Neteyam x F!Reader where she’s super mentally and emotionally drained and exhausted?

+

Anonymous Request: Neteyam x Omaticaya reader where she flinched during an argument?

In this fic, Neteyam is an adult (about 20) at the beginning of Avatar 2.

762 words

The journey has been longer than I expected. Neteyam's parents had told me it would be, and still, it was harder than I thought.

The last year has been hard on all of us. Everyone has suffered, and we are all tired, and I try to remember that when I feel worn out or want to complain. I try to keep quiet, and almost all of the time, I do.

Leaving the only home I have ever known has put me over the edge. I agreed without hesitation, because Neteyam is my mate, and his family is my family; I will go where he goes, no matter how far - but I miss my parents, and my own siblings, and it's hard to imagine that I may not ever be able to see them again.

As much as I love the Sullys, as much as I am a Sully... I am something else, too.

When we arrive, the beautiful shores that the Metkayina live on ease my worries for only a moment, until I see the icy reception of their Tsahik. Neteyri and Jake do their best to defend our family, and we're allowed to stay.

But they look at us like we're aliens, and one of them grabs my tail, pulling a little too hard. I yelp, and Neteyam turns on his heels, hissing.

"Neteyam!" his father calls, and Neteyam turns to him, eyes narrowed, and we fall back in line with the family. We are led to two pods, mauri, they call them, side by side. Tuk bounces happily along, and Neytiri is clearly displeased. We walk past them to our own pod, just next door, and I set what few things we have brought inside.

"It's nice," Neteyam says, and I stare at him, dropping our bags. "We have to put on a brave face."

"I'm too tired right now, Nete."

He approaches, reaching out and grabbing my arm. "I know. Chin up. It will be okay."

More forcefully that I mean to, I yank my arm from his grasp. "You don't know that! Stop pretending like everything is okay. Everything is... everything is bad, Neteyam. Allow me a few moments, to grieve my parents, and our home, and our way of life."

It will be hard to adapt here, to submit to being a student, to learning all the different ways these people live. I liked our old ways, and our old home, and I don't know who to be mad at.

Neteyam reaches out again, and I flinch away. He stands up straight, backing away.

"Y/N, I'm sorry."

Finally, I break. I have been trying for a long time to remain strong, a steady support for Neteyam, but I can't anymore.

I keep thinking of my tail being pulled on the beach, and wonder what kind of people we've settled with. Now, their cruelty has caused me to flinch at my own mate, who has never laid a hand on me in that way.

Tears spill from my eyes, and I fall forward, into Neteyam's open arms. "I'm sorry," I manage between sobs, and we sink to the floor. Neteyam cradles me in his lap, rocking slowly back and forth, as if I am a child.

I feel as foolish as one.

"I am grateful that these people have taken us in, and I am grateful for you, Neteyam, always. I'm just so tired, and I want to sleep. The thought of learning a whole new way of life is... exhausting."

He runs his fingers through my wind-tangled braids, separating them gently. "We don't have to do that today, Y/N. Today we will just rest. Tomorrow, we can worry about everything else."

Slowly, Neteyam lays back, pulling me along with him, laying me beside him. Our legs intertwine, and he cradles me to his chest.

"Just sleep now, as long as you need to." He presses a soft kiss to my temple. "Tomorrow, we will figure this all out together. You're not alone."

It's just the reminder I need. Even though I'm sad, and tired, and scared... I'm not alone. I have Neteyam, Neytiri, Jake, Kiri, Lo'ak and Tuk, and they all treat me as one of their own.

Jake calls me daughter, Neytiri calls me beloved, and even if I miss my parents, I have a true and wonderful family here.

Most importantly, I have a mate who holds me tenderly and kisses me softly while I cry, and gives me some of his strength when I need it.

We will get through it, together.

#neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam fic #avatar 2 #avatar twow #avatar way of the water

[ctitan98official]

Anonymous: sub Miranda priestly? 👀🙏❤

Fuck yeah! I’ve always had a head canon that she’s a sub. She’s just incredibly stressed and definitely needs to be taken care of. Reader, as usual, is gender neutral. Let’s get into it!

You had been Miranda’s assistant for much longer than most. You attribute your staying power to the fact that you just don’t really care about wearing expensive clothing and the latest styles. You want to be true to yourself. You don’t care if you fit in with everyone else’s expectations. Of course you dress professionally, but you don’t go overboard. You’ve done your research and understand the business, however, you’re not getting discouraged and drained by it. You’re confident in yourself and don’t feel the need to put up a facade.

Sure. Nigel and Emily tease you. But slowly, they’ve come to accept you for who you are. You three often go out for drinks after work.

Miranda, however, has apparently not warmed up to you as much. (That’s actually not true, though. She’s just really good at hiding her attraction to you.) She still won’t call you by your actual name and sends you on ridiculous errands. But, she has also started asking for you to bring the book by the house. She only sends people she trusts with the book. You’re honored.

Today, Miranda is in a much worse mood than usual.

You, Emily, and Nigel are chatting and making each other laugh when Miranda arrives. She’s half an hour later than she typically is and that’s seemingly contributing to her frustration.

She storms in and flings her jacket on your desk, unintentionally knocking Nigel’s scalding hot cup of coffee all over the front of your shirt and in your lap.

If Miranda noticed what she did, she didn’t acknowledge it. She goes right into her office and closes the door.

You hiss in agony as you bite back some cuss words.

Nigel gasps and immediately grabs some tissues to try and soak up the spill on your desk. “Are you okay, Y/N?” He asks, horrified.

“Yeah, Nigel. I’m fine… But, I can’t walk around like this all day.” You say and grimace at your stained clothes. “What the hell am I going to do? I don’t have the time to run home and change.” You ask.

Nigel looks at Miranda’s closed office door. He can tell she’s going to be a while. He turns back and grins at you. “Where do you think you are, Y/N?” He says… And immediately decides to make you his next project.

Nigel gives you tons of clothes to try on. You tell him he’s going overboard, but he just glares at you and you shut up.

By the time you’re done, Nigel has picked out the perfect sleek suit for you to wear. He helps you style your hair and tells you to go look at yourself in the mirror.

“Wow… That’s me?” You ask in shock. You look like a completely different person.

Nigel nods with a pleased smile. “It’s certainly an improvement.” He says jokingly. “Keep up that usual confidence and people are going to think you own Runway.” He winks.

“Thanks, Nigel. I really appreciate it.” You tell him.

“Don’t thank me, I was just tired of seeing you dress like an accountant.” He says, crinkling his nose.

You roll your eyes and get back to the office. As you walk in, Emily almost spits out the tea she was drinking before she starts coughing violently.

You raise a perplexed eyebrow. Emily’s cheeks are burning. “What is it, Em?” You ask.

Emily composes herself and clears her throat. “So, you actually look decent for once. Hell must have just frozen over.” She says, trying to seem disinterested in how great you look in your new outfit.

“Haha, very funny.” You say and go to sit back at your desk.

Before long, you hear Miranda’s voice from her office. “Emily.” She says. You huff. She said it in the tone she uses when she means you.

You quickly get up and walk in with a notepad and pen. “Yes, Miranda?” You ask and look down at the paper to get ready to jot some stuff down.

Miranda doesn’t speak immediately.

The silence makes you look up at her in confusion.

Miranda’s face can’t hide the shock she clearly feels. Damn. You look really hot. She can’t help but wonder how much better it would look off of you, though… With your hands exploring her body… Shit! Pull yourself together, Miranda! She thinks harshly to herself and tries to snap out of the trance you’ve put her in.

She knows what a heartthrob you are (She’s not dumb), but this… This is just not fair to suddenly spring on her.

You clear your throat after Miranda’s been staring at you for a while.

The editor slightly shakes her head before her brain gets the message to start working once again. “Get Marc on the phone and make a reservation at that place I like. And Patricia needs to be picked up from the groomers.” She says in her calm, but demanding voice. Her momentary internal freak out has finally passed.

You nod. “I’m on it.” You say quickly and leave.

Miranda clenches her jaw. This is Nigel’s doing, she’s sure of it.

——————————————————————————

The rest of the day goes by routinely. Impossible demands are met and you take great pleasure in your efficiency. Later on, Miranda leaves for the day and you finish up some work before going to take the book over.

You get to the townhouse and enter… However, there is an immediate and noticeable tension. Something is wrong. You hear a man’s furious voice and… Miranda’s. You can tell she’s trying to placate whoever she’s talking to, but the man’s voice only grows louder. You’ve never heard Miranda so… Shaken up. You look up at the stairway balcony and see two frightened little redheads peeking their faces out at you. They are silently pleading with you to do something.

Your vision goes red. You stomp up the stairway and make your way to the sound of Miranda’s voice. She sounds… Scared. You turn the corner and see a man, about Miranda’s age, yelling and berating her. You’re almost positive that this is her husband. You and Miranda’s eyes meet. She is so relieved to see you.

The man reaches out to grab Miranda’s arm roughly, but you immediately pull him back by his collar before he can lay his disgusting hand on her. You shove him hard up against the wall, seething. “Alright, you’re done, asshole! Let’s go!” You tell him and drag him harshly down the stairs with your arm tightly around his neck.

“Who the fuck are you?!” He shouts, grunting in pain from your iron grip.

“Your worst fucking nightmare if you continue to make bad choices.” You say darkly. “If I see you back here again we’re going to have a problem. Get it?” You ask and violently shove him down the townhouse’s front steps.

The man stumbles and trips over himself. He splutters as he gets up and looks at you stupidly.

“Beat it!” You yell at him.

The man sees the rage in your eyes and decides to get going. He’s not going to mess with you.

You watch as he leaves like a pathetic idiot. You make sure that he’s gone before closing the front door, locking it, and sighing. You turn around and see Miranda at the top of the stairs.

Her eyes are red from crying and she looks so… Vulnerable.

Cassidy and Caroline begin to sob as they hurry over to hug their mother.

“It’s okay, bobbseys. Mommy’s here.” She assures. Wow. Her voice is so soft and warm right now. You… Love the sound of it like this. It’s comforting.

You quietly make your way up the stairs. “Are you all okay?” You ask gently.

Miranda sees you approaching and begins bawling herself. She reaches out to pull you into a group hug with the girls. “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you.” She says.

Your eyes grow wide. You’ve never heard her say thank you before. You enjoy the feeling of them all in your arms. You could certainly get used to this.

You four finally pull away from each other, but Cassidy immediately clings to your side. She feels safe with you. Not to be outdone, Caroline quickly grabs onto your other side. You look to Miranda in astonishment and she can’t help but chuckle tearily as she looks at the shock on your face.

“I would say that you have won these two over.” She says with a smile and looks at her precious daughters.

You decide that you rather like the idea of the girls approving of you.

Miranda leads you all to the girls’ bedroom and Caroline and Cassidy immediately hop in the same bed and cuddle with each other. Miranda tucks them in and sits on the edge next to them. “Now, bobbseys. I know that was very scary.” She says. “But Y/N protected us.” She says and looks at you in gratitude.

“Thank you, Y/N.” Caroline says.

“Yeah, thanks, Y/N!” Cassidy eagerly adds.

You blush intensely. “My pleasure.” You mumble out, embarrassed.

“Stephen will not be a problem any longer.” Miranda says, looking back at the girls. First thing in the morning, she’s filing divorce papers against that son of a bitch. A restraining order too.

“So, Stephen’s not going to live here anymore?” Caroline asks.

Miranda cups her face. “No, he won’t, bobbsey.” Miranda promises.

Caroline nods, feeling relieved.

“Now, would you like a song to help you fall asleep?” Miranda entices.

The girls eagerly nod.

Miranda turns to you and pats the bed next to her. You quickly take a seat and can feel her lightly leaning against you. She’s so warm. She gently holds your hand and squeezes it.

Miranda sings a beautiful Yiddish lullaby. You are once again falling in love with her voice. You could listen to it constantly.

The girls are soothed by their mother’s singing. They quickly fall asleep.

Miranda ends the song and kisses each daughter on the head before standing up and guiding you out of the room. She turns off the lights and closes the door.

Miranda grabs your hand and leads you to her bedroom. “Y/N, I… I can’t thank you enough.” Miranda says, breaking down once again.

You wrap her in a hug. “Hey, it’s all going to be okay.” You tell her and rub her back.

Miranda lets herself cry for a minute and you calmly whisper soft reassurances in her ear. You will never let anything harm her or the girls again. Something about your dynamic with them has completely changed. You will protect them with your life from here on out.

After Miranda has allowed herself some time to cry, she suddenly pulls back and looks at you closely.

You look back at her. “Miranda?” You ask.

“I… Feel safe… With you, Y/N.” Miranda reveals. She’s just pinpointed why she loves being around you. Every time at work when Miranda has forgotten something or made a tiny mistake, you swoop in and fix it… And now… This. You’re like her own personal superhero.

Miranda’s statement makes your heart rate pick up. You love that you make her feel secure.

“I think that… I haven’t felt truly safe and protected like this since I lost my father.” Miranda realizes and looks you in the eye. “I… Want you here with me, Y/N. Please, will you stay tonight?” She pleads.

You had no intentions of leaving anyway. You wanted to make sure Stephen was really gone. You smile. “Absolutely. I’ll go sleep on the couch.” You tell her. “Good night, Mi-”

“No!” Miranda all but shrieks.

Your posture becomes rigid. Miranda’s never raised her voice before. It’s quite startling. You turn to look at her but Miranda suddenly cups your face.

“Please… Stay in here with me.” She begs.

You can’t say no to her. You nod. “Okay.” You agree.

Then… Something happens that totally changes you for good. Miranda leans forward and places a gentle kiss to your lips. Your brain short-circuits for a second before you kiss her back. Her lips are so velvety. You need more.

Miranda moans softly and it’s the most tantalizing thing you’ve ever heard. She pulls away and looks critically at you. “Nigel knew what he was doing when he dressed you.” She says with a small smirk. “What an evil way to torture me all day.” She whispers.

You laugh and wink. “You can blame yourself for that. You spilled coffee all over me.” You tell her.

Miranda is mortified. She doesn’t remember that. “I… What?” She asks, confused.

“Forget it. I’ll tell you later.” You grin and start to trail kisses down to the base of her throat.

Miranda whines as she grips your hair, wanting you to keep going. You carefully pick her up and lie her on the bed before positioning yourself on top of her. “Let me take your shirt off, doll baby.” You tell her and begin unbuttoning her fancy blouse.

Miranda all but melts as she sees the feral look in your eyes. This is what she needs. To be taken care of and… Completely worshipped.

Note: Haha, so no smut, but the unexpected dom/sub dynamics were really fun to work with on a more emotional level. Depending on if y'all like this one, I may write some smut for it. Hope you enjoyed this!

Masterlist

#miranda priestly #the devil wears prada #dwp #miranda priestly x reader #devil wears prada #emily charlton #nigel kipling #caroline priestly #cassidy priestly #meryl streep #emily blunt #stanley tucci

[missingn000]

a note about tpg's hiatus

hi everyone!! i've missed y'all <33 i want to share a quick note on tpg's hiatus, and how long it will last.

first and foremost, the tl;dr: i will not abandon tpg. the story remains incredibly important to me, and this hiatus is only that: a hiatus. i will return eventually, and while i am not exactly sure when "eventually" is, i hope to begin updating again soon.

now the long explanation. tpg's hiatus has lasted much, much longer than i expected. it wasn't until i took a break that i realized how mentally and emotionally drained i was after writing 600k+ in 2 years, along with being an engineering master's student then starting a job in aerospace. especially after writing sukuna's backstory (75k+ words in one month), my brain was utterly fried. all in all, it's been a lot.

as some of you may know, i started watching one piece in september. and i love it! it's an incredibly fun, well-written feel-good series. it's been a refreshing mental break to engage with a new series, especially since jjk canon has been so disappointing in both content and writing quality. 

if you check my ao3, you'll notice i took a break from jjk with other series in the past: namely dr. stone, sxf, and natsume yuujinchou. this is necessary for me to remain creative and explore narrative themes that i bring back to tpg when i return to it. but by the time my recent hiatus started, it had been well over a year since i engaged with any other series than jjk, and it was starting to take its toll on me. i'm almost caught up on one piece now, which means i'll be able to focus on tpg again soon.

when i return from tpg's hiatus, updates may be slower. releasing 15k+ word chapters every 2-4 weeks was incredibly mentally taxing and required much of my time and focus to constantly be on the story. it wasn't healthy, and other areas of my life were impacted negatively. it can be easy to forget that i'm a real person with real-life responsibilities writing this story in my spare time for free -- even i sometimes forgot this. 

another note on why taking a break has been so necessary is my mental health. when season 2 released and toji + satosugu was animated, the fandom exploded and tpg's readership drastically increased. while this meant an influx of amazing love and support, i also started to receive rude and hateful comments and messages.

don't get me wrong: not everyone has to like tpg. that's totally fine! but as a very sensitive person, receiving hate took a huge toll on my mental health and motivation, and i have needed time to recover from it. i've been doing better mentally lately, and have taken some measures to reduce unkind interactions. i'm working on becoming less sensitive in the meantime so i can handle it better if/when it happens again.

since i've been feeling guilty about not posting jjk content, i haven't been on tumblr quite as much, but i'm still around online on both discord and instagram. mutuals can request my priv @chiidoriii on IG, and my discord is @MissingN000 -- just shoot me a message with who you are when you request! i'll still post fic updates on both new stories as well as tpg content and previews on tumblr, so please stick around :)

thank you so much for your patience with me! i love you all so much, and truly appreciate your support. love, chi <333

[supernaturalscribe67]

Lucky

Words: 4,699

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Dean/Sam Winchester x Trans!FTM!Winchester!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Mention of surgery, references to top surgery recovery, slight gore (maybe?), language (also, maybe?), loving and supportive family members, fluff

Summary: Top surgery was never something the reader thought was possible. With the help of Sam, he was able to make his dream come true, and his brothers are there for him to help while he's in recovery.

Request:

I would absolutely love Dean and Sam with a younger trans brother who just got top surgery and is in recovery? Just fluff of like helping him wash his hair or getting things for him and reassuring them? Love your content so much!! It so nice to see some more trans content in the supernatural fandom :)

@cometcreates

A/N: I am so sorry this took a little longer to get out than I planned - work has been extremely hectic and draining recently - but I hope you like it! Let me know what you think! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Much love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

People define luck in many different ways. Some say luck is a dollar bill lying on the ground, some say it’s a passing grade once they get their tests back, and others say it’s their true love. (Y/N), however, would define his luck as waking up every morning in the Men of Letters bunker with his brothers. 

Years ago when he came out to his older brothers as transgender, although they were a little confused at first, they were fully supportive. They did everything in their power to make sure that their little brother was comfortable, not only in their home and out in public but in his skin as well. They purchased a binder for him, got him better clothing, adjusted rather quickly to his name and pronoun change, and got defensive - sometimes a little too much - whenever someone misgendered him. With all that they were doing for him, (Y/N) couldn’t imagine how luckier he could get. He already had an amazing support system, what else could he need? 

At the end of last year, Sam approached him and asked him if he had been wanting to get top surgery, something they had talked about once or twice, but never regularly. When (Y/N) showed his interest in getting the surgery, Sam told him that he had done some research about different places where he could potentially get the procedure done, as well as all the criteria that certain places needed for him to qualify. After they sat and talked for a while, they concluded that, with Sam’s assistance, they would get started on (Y/N)’s journey toward top surgery. 

The months following consisted of semi-monthly visits with a psychologist Sam found in Hays, KS - all of the medical professionals required a steady diagnosis of gender-dysphoria from a registered psychologist to be able to consider the patient for the operation - as well as reading up on the aftermath of the surgery and what was to be expected. Of course, (Y/N) knew he would get all of the information from his surgeon before it was done, but he wanted to make sure he was well-informed and nothing was left out of the consultation. 

The consultation went well, and, after waiting for an eternity in the examination room, the doctor finally came in and set up the date for the surgery. (Y/N) was over the moon, and he immediately began to count down the days. Sam and Dean helped him get all of the necessary items he needed for the surgery recovery; various snacks, scar care creams, a surgical binder, a mastectomy pillow, and an extremely cozy blanket that he had begged them to buy. Even after they had gotten everything on the list, occasionally, they would buy something they thought would be beneficial for the recovery period. 

Then, they waited. Day after day went by and (Y/N) found it difficult to focus on hunting rather than the anxiety and anticipation that bubbled within him, but his brothers kept him grounded in times of distress. They could tell just how excited he was, and they never wanted to dampen the mood by turning his focus back on the job. They wanted him to keep that enthusiasm even after he had the surgery. When the day of the surgery came, they didn’t even try to calm his excitement. Just seeing how happy he was made them feel the same. 

The surgery went well. The recovery was going to be the hard part. The doctor made sure to prescribe him pain medication, which the brothers had picked up before they left the surgical center to head back to the bunker, and gave him a pamphlet describing all of his recovery needs in grave detail. Of course, they had already been well-prepared for the occasion, but it was nice to have it on hand. (Y/N) stayed in the hospital under observation for two days until he was finally released, clad in nothing but a pair of shorts, some slides, his surgical binder, the drainage tubes and bulbs connected to each incision underneath the binder, and one of Sam’s flannels that rested against his shoulders, keeping the front open to allow his chest to breathe. After he was wheeled and loaded into the back of the car, the three brothers made the drive back home. 

By the time the Impala edged its way into the well-lit garage, the sun had gone down, and the night sky was littered with stars. It wasn’t a long way to Lebanon from Kansas City, about five hours depending on traffic, but the trip wasn’t entirely painless. (Y/N) was thankful for the medications he was given after his surgery, but the bumpy backroads in Kansas were ruthless and did little to provide a comfortable drive home. He initially tried to sleep through the journey, but every pothole they hit - accompanied by an apology from his oldest brother - sent another wave of discomfort coursing through his chest. He had never felt more joy in his entire life than when he saw the familiar dirt road as he and his brothers got closer to the bunker. 

Dean parked the car and killed the engine. He turned, arm draped over the back of the front seat. “You feeling okay?” He asked. 

(Y/N) glanced over at him and gave a small nod. He adjusted himself and winced as the pain shot through his arms and chest. “Just sore, hurts like hell. When am I due for my next round of meds, Sammy?” He turned to his older brother in the passenger’s seat. 

Sam looked back at him for a moment and then down at his phone screen. “You should be able to take some more now. Why don’t we get you inside and into your bed first? That way we can get you something to eat and drink with your medicine.” 

“No food,” (Y/N) groaned. “I don’t feel like eating now.” 

“You have to eat something.” 

“Fine, I’ll eat some crackers, or something small, or one of those snack cakes I got, but I really can’t eat anything filling right now. I’ll eat some more in the morning when I’m feeling better.” 

“Alright,” 

“Now, can someone let me out? These doors are surprisingly heavy.” 

“Yeah!” Dean said, quick to jump out of the car and head towards the back passenger’s side. He opened the door and held out a hand. 

(Y/N) smiled weakly as he reached over and grabbed Dean’s hand. He was slow to move out of the seat and plant his feet on the ground. When he stood, his legs shook, but he let out a sigh of relief. His legs were weak. The recovery had consisted of laying in his hospital bed and, occasionally, getting up and taking a few steps inside his room, just to keep the blood flowing in his legs. With the lack of energy he had and the five-hour ride back, his legs felt completely numb, as if they were made of Jell-O. 

Dean held (Y/N)’s hand tightly while his opposite arm wrapped around his waist. He moved him away from the car and shut the door. The two of them made their way to the bunker door. Sam jumped out of the car and caught up with them as they walked inside. When they were greeted with the metal stairs that landed in the War Room, (Y/N) stopped. He let out a sigh of defeat. 

“This is going to hurt like Hell,” he mumbled. He reached a shaky arm over and grasped the railing until his knuckles paled. 

“We’ll take it slow,” Dean nodded softly. 

(Y/N) returned the nod and they began to walk down the stairs, one step at a time. The entire time they walked, Dean held onto him tightly, both of their eyes cast down towards the steps. Each step, despite the snail’s pace they walked at, made a jolt of pain shoot through (Y/N)’s back. A pained expression crossed his face multiple times as he pressed his lips together tightly. 

Finally, they reached the bottom of the stairs and another contempt sigh left (Y/N)’s lips. Sam brushed past them. 

“I’m going to grab your crackers and water and meet you in your room, okay?” He placed a gentle hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder. 

“Sounds good,” (Y/N) flashed a thumbs-up towards him before Sam walked down the hallway, toward the kitchen. 

(Y/N) was a little quicker when they walked through the halls, and he was thankful when they reached his room. He wasted no time parting himself from his brother and making his way over to his bed. Despite his shaky legs, he held himself up well. He turned on the lamp on his nightstand, illuminating the room with a faint yellow glow. 

His bed was neatly made with multiple pillows resting at the head - the doctor recommended that he slept elevated for the first week or so and then slept on his back for several months afterward. It would be an adjustment, but (Y/N) knew that he could get used to it. 

He climbed into his bed, careful of the collection bags on his chest, and crawled underneath the layers of blankets. Instantly, he relaxed into the plush mattress, head resting on the stack of pillows behind him. Dean waltzed deeper into the room, eyeing him carefully. 

“You okay?” He asked. 

“Better now that I’m in bed,” (Y/N) looked over at him. “Although it just feels like I’m in another hospital room.” 

“At least you won’t be eating any more hospital food,” 

(Y/N) grimaced. “Don’t remind me of that, I’ll throw up.” 

Sam entered the room, a bottle of water in one hand, the white bag with (Y/N)’s prescription narcotics tucked under his arm, and a small sleeve of saltines in the other. He set the water bottle and saltines down on the bedside table and opened the bag. He took out the orange pill bottle and fished out an oval-shaped white capsule. He handed it to (Y/N), who took it gratefully. He popped the pill into his mouth and drank some water to wash it down. 

“You should probably empty those soon,” Sam said, gesturing towards the bags that rested against (Y/N)’s stomach. 

(Y/N) glanced down at them and shook his head. “The doctor said every twelve hours should be good. They changed them right before I left the hospital, so they should be fine for right now.” 

“Alright, if you say so,” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you need anything? TV? Books? Some snacks?”

“I’m good, thanks. I think I’m going to catch some shuteye for a bit. That car ride took all the energy out of me.” 

Sam nodded and turned to walk towards the door. “If you need anything, let us know.” 

“I will, don’t worry.” 

“Seriously,” Dean piped up. “If you need anything, even if it’s small, just holler or shoot us a text.” 

(Y/N) couldn’t help but chuckle. The overprotective nature of his brothers was something that never changed. “I promise I’ll call if I need anything.” 

Dean and Sam both gave him a small smile before they turned and left the room, closing the door behind them. (Y/N) marveled in the silence. No nurses walking outside of his room, no snoring from his brothers on the pull-out beds, no heart monitors beeping constantly. It was peaceful. He reached over and turned off the lamp light, flooding the room, once again, with darkness. The darkness was something he missed. He would never take his pitch-black room for granted ever again. 

He awoke six hours later, around the time when the medication began to wear off and the pain resurfaced. He had tried to reach over to the nightstand and grab the pill bottle, but his arms were too stiff. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, a grunt falling from his lips. The pain wasn’t as bad as it had been the day after surgery, it was mostly the sore tenderness he felt in his chest and back that bothered him. When his feet touched the floor, he was able to lean over and grab the pill bottle with ease. He uncapped it, took out another capsule, and popped it into his mouth, followed by a drink of water. The medication would start working in twenty minutes or so. 

The ache wasn’t only in his chest and back, however. As he downed the water, he felt it fall into his stomach. A gurgle sounded from his gut and he placed a hand over it. He probably shouldn’t have taken the medication on an empty stomach. He needed some food. For a moment, he considered the saltines on the bedside table but quickly tossed out the idea. They didn’t sound as appetizing as they had before he went to sleep, and even then he had only accepted them to make his brother feel better. He wanted some real food. He wanted some of the snack cakes that he got for the occasion. The real question was; could he get up and walk to the kitchen by himself without bothering his brothers? It was still early, so they were most likely asleep. They had been with him the entire time he was in the hospital, and he wanted to make sure that they got the sleep they deserved. 

(Y/N) placed his hands on his knees and let in a deep breath, his eyes falling closed for a second. With a quick exhale, he hoisted himself off of the bed. His legs quivered, and he had to reach back towards the bed to steady himself. After he stood for a couple of minutes, the blood seemed to flow back through his legs. They were unsteady, but less than they had been before. He shuffled his way towards his door and opened it, glancing up and down the hallways. He then made his way towards the kitchen. The sound of his stomach growling echoed throughout the corridor. 

“Damn, I’m getting you food, calm down,” (Y/N) mumbled to himself. 

It took a lot longer for him to get to the kitchen than it had taken to get to his room the night before. He was slow, uncomfortably so, and he hated it. He felt like an old man. At least I’m an old man without tits, he thought. 

When he got into the kitchen, he walked over to the pantry shelves and glanced up. Sat on the second highest shelf were the cupcakes that he had been craving. Those delicate, chocolatey, packaged goodies. They were teasing him with the pictures on the front of the box. He wanted one so bad, and he couldn’t even reach them. He could barely lift his arms enough to reach the shelf directly in front of him. He tried to scour the shelf in front of him for something that sounded at least a little bit appetizing, but nothing made his mouth water as much as the soft, chocolate cakes near the top of the pantry. 

Curse you, Hostess. 

Just as he was about to give up and pick something from a more accessible shelf, the sound of padded footsteps echoed down the hallway. (Y/N) turned his head towards the door as Sam entered. Sam furrowed his brows. 

“Hey, what’re you doing up?” 

“Oh, the pain medicine wore off, so I took another one. Plus I’m starving,” he then turned his gaze back to the cupcakes. 

“Do you want me to make you something for breakfast? I can make scrambled eggs.” 

“Sure,” (Y/N) shrugged. “But…I really…want a cupcake.” 

“For breakfast?” 

(Y/N) looked back at Sam. His bottom lip was pushed out in a small, child-like pout. His eyes were big and his brows were tilted up slightly. It was his own signature puppy-dog eyes. Sam’s puppy-dog eyes were good, but (Y/N)’s was better. Those eyes were the reason behind him getting to pick a place to eat or what movie they watched most of the time. 

Sam sighed as he walked over, grabbed the box of cupcakes, and ripped it open. He took out a package and handed it to (Y/N). (Y/N) beamed and ripped the plastic open. He took a big bite of the cupcake and hummed happily. 

“Ok, you have your cupcake, but I’m still going to make you some scrambled eggs. You need to have some real food in you.” 

“Cupcakes are real food, Samuel. Maybe you’d be happier if you ate one once in a while.” 

“And maybe you’d be happier if you ate healthier.” 

(Y/N) stuck his tongue out at Sam. Sam rolled his eyes and smirked before he walked over to the fridge. Meanwhile, (Y/N) trudged over to the table and sat down. 

“You should probably change your bags soon,” Sam said. 

(Y/N) glanced down at the bags and noticed that they were halfway full. He cursed under his breath. “Let me enjoy my cupcake and then I’ll empty them.” 

“Do you need help?” 

“Nah, I got it, thanks, though.” 

Sam smiled and nodded. Without hesitation, (Y/N) shoved the rest of the cupcake in his mouth, a hum of pleasure emitting from his throat. Sam grimaced and turned away. (Y/N) glanced over at him. 

“Don’t judge me,” he mumbled with a mouthful of food before he stood up and made his way to the bathroom to drain his bulbs.

Three days had passed, and (Y/N) had already started feeling better. His movement had increased, the pain was starting to diminish, and the fluid that filled the bulbs slowed. His mental health had noticeably improved and every time he looked in the mirror, admiring his newly sculpted chest, the smile would never fail to stick to his face for hours on end. One thing that he didn’t like about the recovery process though, something that stayed a consistent issue, was the lack of personal hygiene. 

When his doctor told him that he wouldn’t be able to shower for a while after the procedure, he didn’t think that it would affect him as much as it was. Granted, he still took whore baths, using a damp washcloth and some soap to clean his body off the best that he could, but he could still feel the grime that coated his skin. Specifically, his hair was what bothered him the most. It was wet with grease to the point where it could stand up without any assistance from haircare products. (Y/N) felt disgusting. He needed to get his hair clean, quickly, and he couldn’t do it by himself. If he leaned over too much, the strain on his chest would cause the pain to flair up. He needed help. Sam had been busy researching and assisting other hunters who had called while the brothers were on a break from hunting themselves, so (Y/N) went to the next best person.  

(Y/N) knocked on Dean’s door rhythmically. A faint ‘come in’ sounded from inside. He opened the door to see his brother on his bed, lying on his stomach, eyes glued to the television screen in front of him. 

“Hey,” Dean said with a smile. “How’re you doing, kiddo?” 

“Pretty good. The pain’s not as bad today. I was wondering if you could help me with something, though.” 

“Sure,” Dean reached over, grabbed the remote, and turned off the television. He shifted himself so that he was sitting down on the edge of the bed. “What do you need?” 

“Can you wash my hair for me?” 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to shower yet.” 

“I can’t get my chest wet, but I can clean the rest of my body. I’ve been taking whore baths for the past couple of days, but I haven’t been able to get my hair cleaned. Could you help me with that?” 

Dean hummed and pursed his lips. “Yeah,” he said as he stood up. “Meet me in the bathroom, I’ll be in there in a bit.” 

(Y/N) didn’t wait in the bathroom for long before Dean rounded the corner, a chair dragging behind him. He placed the chair in front of the sink and gestured to it. 

“Sit,” he said. 

(Y/N) awed. “It’s like a trashy hair salon.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and chuckled. He grabbed the shampoo and conditioner from the bathroom cabinet as (Y/N) sat down in the chair. He leaned his head back so that it rested against the cool basin. Dean walked over to the sink and glanced down at his head. He grimaced. 

“Damn, kid, you definitely need to wash that hair.” he reached down and touched a lock of his hair, wincing as he pulled his hand back, studying the sheen that the hair left on his fingers. “Ew.” 

“Thanks,” (Y/N) deadpanned. 

Dean smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you all cleaned up.” 

Dean turned on the hot water, the spout shooting out the liquid into the sink. Dean began to run his fingers through (Y/N)’s hair. (Y/N) instinctively closed his eyes. Dean wet his hair, pouring the water over the locks with his cupped hands. 

(Y/N) could remember the last time he went to the hair salon. He was young, around the age of six, and Bobby had taken him to get his hair done. Even though Bobby seemed uncomfortable the entire time he was there, he wanted to make sure that (Y/N) had a somewhat normal childhood experience. (Y/N) was ecstatic, and enjoyed every minute of the haircut. His favorite part, however, was when the stylist was washing his hair. It was something about the way her fingers caressed his scalp, massaging the product into the roots of his hair, that brought an overwhelming sense of bliss. Dean’s fingers weren’t as gentle and soft as the stylist’s, but he sure knew how to give a good head massage. 

Two fingers gently tapped against the side of (Y/N)’s head. He opened his eyes and looked up at his brother. He hummed in acknowledgment. 

“I said ‘Do you like it’?” Dean repeated, a smirk curled into the corner of his lips. 

(Y/N) slowly nodded. The suds dripped down from the side of his head and caressed the outside of his ear. “Feels nice. You should have gone to cosmetology school.” 

Dean laughed. “I meant your chest. How do you…feel now?” 

“Oh,” (Y/N) let out a short laugh. “Honestly, I feel great. I don’t have to bind anymore, which means I won’t have to worry about hunts and catching my breath. I no longer have to worry about if clothes will fit me because of my chest. I don’t look in the mirror and hate what I see…” his voice trailed. “I look in the mirror and I see me. The me that I was supposed to be.” 

The two of them were silent for a while as Dean poured water over his hair, washing out the soap. His fingers caressed the back of (Y/N)’s scalp, watching intensely as the conditioner ran down the drain. 

“You know, if it makes you feel any better, Sammy and I always saw you as our little brother. I mean, you never really did all that girly crap - makeup, playing with dolls, stuff like that. You were always interested in playing with the mud. The amount of times that you would get in trouble with Bobby because you would bring mudpies into his house, or whenever you would track mud inside when it was raining. He got so pissed,” he chuckled, and (Y/N) joined him. 

“But then you got older,” he continued. “And it started to seem like you weren’t really my brother. But…something wasn’t right. I knew something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Calling you my sister felt wrong. I started calling you my little brother again whenever I told people about you, and then it felt right. When you told us you were transgender, it all made sense to me. It clicked. You never really were my little sister. You were my little brother, just with a few extra parts. Now that you got your surgery, I can see just how happy you are. How comfortable you are, and that means more to me than anything else.” 

The conditioner was gone. (Y/N)’s freshly washed hair laid against the basin. Dean reached over to the cabinet and grabbed out a small hand towel. He ruffled the towel against (Y/N)’s damp hair, making sure to get all of the water off of the side of his face and his ears. When his face was dry, he helped him sit up. 

“And me seeing you like this, I have never felt more proud of you,” Dean concluded. 

(Y/N) glanced up at Dean, brows raised. His wet hair dripped onto his naked shoulder. “Really?” He asked in a quiet voice. 

Dean smiled softly. “Yeah. I’m proud that you told Sam and me how you felt. I’m proud that you got the courage to go through with the surgery, and,” Dean knelt in front of the chair. “I’m proud to call you my baby brother.” 

A lump had formed in (Y/N)’s throat. His eyes glimmered with tears that pooled in their corners. Without saying anything, (Y/N) reached forward and wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, pulling him into a loose embrace. Dean placed his hands on (Y/N)’s back and smiled into the hug. 

“I owe you and Sam so much,” (Y/N) spoke softly. “You guys take such good care of me.” 

“You don’t owe us anything. That’s just what big brothers are supposed to do.” 

“Not even if I bake you a pie?” 

“Now, if you decide to bake a pie, I won’t turn it down,” Dean pulled away and held his hands up. 

(Y/N) sniffled and wiped the tears away. “I should make Sammy one of those fancy salads he likes.” 

“Oh, he’ll go crazy for that,” Dean mumbled. “Him and his damn rabbit food.” 

“You go crazy for pie, though.” 

“Yeah, but pie is good. Actually good.” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, causing Dean to chuckle. Dean stood up and brushed his jeans off, stretching his arms above his head. 

“What do you say we get Sammy and go watch a movie?” Dean asked. 

(Y/N) smiled. “I’d like that.” 

“Great! You go get Sammy and I’ll get the snacks.” 

Dean turned and jogged out of the room. (Y/N) stood and tilted his neck from side to side, noting the small strain in his muscles. (Y/N) grabbed the back of the chair he had been sitting in, but stopped as he saw himself in the reflection of the small mirror. His eyes scraped over his body, from his head down to his exposed hips. He shifted so that he could see his torso from the side.

It was almost as if he was in a dream. Like, at any moment, he would blink and wake up in his bed with his breasts still attached to his chest. For years, he had been wanting to get top surgery, but it never seemed like something he was able to achieve. Never in his wildest imagination did he see himself standing in front of a mirror and feeling proud of the body that he stood in. He no longer saw the body of a woman, the man he was trapped inside and desperately attempting to claw his way out. He saw a man, who he truly was, the real (Y/N) Winchester. 

And as he stared at his chest, a smile appearing on his lips, the words Dean spoke echoed in his head;

I’m proud to call you my baby brother.

Now, (Y/N) Winchester could confidently say that he was the luckiest man alive.

#Supernatural #supernatural #SPN #spn #Dean Winchester #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #sam winchester #Dean Winchester x Male!Reader #Sam Winchester x Male!Reader #male!reader #trans!reader #Male!Reader #Trans!Reader #Winchester!Reader #Brother!Reader #Sam Winchester x Brother!Reader #Dean Winchester x Brother!Reader #FTM!Reader #Supernatural Imagine #Supernatural Scribe

[crowfeatherquill]

To Aid and Be Aided, Pt. 2

Link to Pt. 1

--

That shocks Astarion fully back into his body -- possibly for the first time since they’d entered Szarr Palace.

“Go to-- excuse me?” Tathlyn shrinks away from Astarion’s sudden ire, but Astarion can’t find it within him to reign it back in. He’ll ask forgiveness later. For now, “Is that all you think this is? That you’re some…some disposable resource to be drained and discarded as soon as you’re no longer of use? To be-- consumed?”

Cazador’s voice echoes over his own as he says the word and it kills any trace of hunger that might have lingered, leaving only the cold nausea of dread in its wake.

“Well. Not discarded, I’d hope,” Tathlyn says and the rueful humor in his tone makes Astarion wish an eternity of violence on whoever did this to him, “I believe I’d be what the druids call a renewable resource. If properly cared for.”

Astarion rises part-way out of the water, flooding the stone and washing away most of the blood still lingering there. Tathlyn seems taken aback by this and Astarion uses the opportunity to take his face firmly in his hands and demand eye contact.

“Tathlyn. Darling. Heart of my heart, you are not a resource. Renewable or otherwise. No more than I am.” 

Tathlyn tries to flinch away from the implication and Astarion holds him fast. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to manage this if he doesn’t do it now.

“I love you. I adore you and I’m…I’m grateful. That you’d be willing to do that for me after everything else I’ve put you through today. But you are not my mother or my sire, and I am very much capable of feeding myself.”

Tathlyn simply stares at him, looking somewhat in awe. It breaks his heart a little to think that a statement which seems so obvious to him should come as any sort of a surprise to Tathlyn.

“Now,” he continues, pushing past the quiver of emotion in his voice, “You are going to get in this bath -- with or without me, your choice -- and you are going to let me fix…this.”

Tathlyn’s expression shifts from awe to bemused indulgence with a slight twitch of one eyebrow and one corner of his mouth.

“Am I, now?”

“Yes,” Astarion replies, more firmly than he feels he should be able to get away with, “You are. Because…you wanted to know what I really wanted. And I’m telling you it’s this.”

Tathlyn’s brow takes on an uncertain tilt, but he leans his face into Astarion’s hands and closes his eyes briefly.

“Alright.” He is just as soft when giving in as he is when he insists. Every time Astarion thinks he can’t possibly love this man any more, Tathlyn finds new ways to defy expectations.

The way he removes his clothes is unceremonious and to the point. And with each article he sheds, it becomes more obvious that he has not actually paused to do more than the bare minimum since they returned from the crypt. Bruises bloom across his torso, some of them bad enough to imply cracked ribs, and though the gash on his arm seems to be the only one actively bleeding, there are several more scrapes and cuts that need tending. His hair is streaked with red and only roughly secured out of his face. His face, which, now that Astarion is really looking, is beyond exhausted. He looks as though he’s managed to miss several nights of sleep in the last twenty-four hours alone.

The whole thing makes Astarion ache for him, and sets his resolve tenfold. If no one else out there is going to bother taking care of him after everything he’s done for all of them, Astarion damn sure will. It’s the least he can do.

Once he’s stripped down to the skin, Tathlyn sinks into the water with a wince and a sigh. He leaves a respectful distance between himself and Astarion, which Astarion quickly closes, taking Tathlyn’s injured arm in soft, unhurried hands and beginning the process of washing the wound clean -- thoroughly clean. Tathlyn, to his credit, does not flinch, despite the way it must hurt.

When he’s finished, he lays Tathlyn’s arm gently on the side of the bath, out of the water, to be bandaged later, and moves on. He tends one injury at a time, with a singular focus, as the water grows cloudy again around them.

“Darling…” he ventures, “Have- have you stopped at all since we got back?”

“Took my armor off,” Tathlyn almost-mumbles, his usual enunciation sapped along with his flagging energy, “But, uh. No. Not really. Had to…make sure Halsin and Karlach were alright. And you. ‘Specially you.”

Astarion frowns and brushes the cleaning cloth over a raw scrape on Tathlyn’s jaw that he’d initially mistaken for a patch of dried blood. Tathlyn seems content to lounge, eyes closed, mostly still apart from the occasional involuntary wince.

“And…no one bothered to help you, did they?”

It’s a purposefully leading question, and not particularly subtle at that, and it doesn’t take long for Tathlyn to catch on to precisely where it’s meant to lead. He takes a slow, measured breath and levers himself forward, more upright. His exhale is equally measured, if constricted in pain. Astarion’s hand goes to his chest as if to stop him -- put him back to reclining where at least he’d seemed comfortable -- but Tathlyn just takes him by the wrist and presses through until he’s leaning forward, the two of them nearly touching foreheads.

With his free hand, Tathlyn takes Astarion by the chin, running his thumb over Astarion’s lower lip.

“Before you start, you should know I didn’t ask them to,” he says, and though it’s apparent he knows it was foolish, he seems more intent on diverting Astarion’s indignation. “No need to go crusading for justice on my behalf. This,” he indicates his own battered body, “is no one’s fault but mine.”

Astarion can’t help a derisive click of his tongue against his teeth as he pulls his chin away from Tathlyn’s grip -- though the hand Tathlyn has trapped against his chest stays where it is.

“It should’ve been obvious,” he gripes, “You shouldn’t have to ask -- you’re injured.”

Tathlyn has the unmitigated gall to laugh. Astarion seethes at the way the sound makes him fall in love all over again. How dare he be so disarming while Astarion is trying to maintain a perfectly reasonable level of scorn.

“I am also a grown man,” Tathlyn points out, fondness softening the edge of every word, “You said something to that effect just a bit ago. Something like…you’re not my mother and I can look after myself?”

Astarion tries to glower at him, but Tathlyn only shifts the hand he’d pulled away from to the nape of his neck and brings their foreheads back together, toying with Astarion’s hair until he shuts his eyes and lets out a forced breath of resignation.

“I’ll be alright, love,” he insists, “And anyway. Tell me you’re not enjoying bossing me around. At least a little?”

“As if I would ever admit it. I’d never get another chance.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Astarion elects to ignore the things that thought does to his insides, pulling away from Tathlyn’s grip instead to survey the state of the water.

“We’ll need to clear this again,” he says, aiming for a businesslike tone and getting mostly ill-concealed fluster. “There’s still your hair to deal with and I refuse to try washing it in this murk.”

Tathlyn raises a brow and releases his grip on Astarion’s wrist.

“If there’s something you’d like me to do, you’re going to need to be a little more direct than that.”

Astarion is not really capable of flushing anymore, but his expression betrays that if he could be, he would be.

“Of all the times for cheek, now? Really.”

Tathlyn attempts an innocent shrug and fumbles into a cringe of pain partway through. Astarion starts back toward him and realizes he doesn’t know precisely where he can touch that will help rather than make things worse. The thought leaves his hands hovering, nervy and unsettled, until Tathlyn bats at the air in what he supposes is meant to be a gesture of dismission.

“S’alright. I’m okay. Promise.” He seems to second guess the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, and then, after a moment of re-assessment, “Nothing’s broken, at least. Pretty sure about that.”

“Then sit still, damn you. No more of this teasing, not if it’s going to hurt you.”

“Yes, nurse.”

Tathlyn’s expression should vex him, Astarion is quite sure, but somehow he can’t manage to stay upset with him for more than a moment. He turns his attention to getting the water clean -- a feat of magical engineering he might even be impressed by under less distressing circumstances -- and, perhaps a little reluctantly, pulls himself out of the bath to sit at the edge.

The air is cool against his skin -- not unpleasantly so, but enough that he can see why there are dressing gowns set aside in easy reach. Tathlyn is looking up at him with that curious furrow in his brow again.

“It’ll be easier with me up here,” he explains, “And behind you. If you don’t mind.”

Tathlyn hums, a sound on the crossroads of understanding and consent, and Astarion settles at his back, picking through the various soaps, oils, and perfumes as he goes. 

The first thing is to pluck at the leather tie Tathlyn uses to hold his hair back until he’s able to get it to fall loose. It always takes him a little by surprise just how long Tathlyn’s hair is -- he so often wears it tied back that Astarion forgets. It’s a sorry sight as it cascades into the water -- dull, sweat-mussed, and somewhat tangled -- but this, of all the things he’s done, feels like familiar territory.

He coaxes Tathlyn’s head back so he can wet his hair all the way to the scalp, and begins the laborious process of working out the knots, dirt, and blood. He watches as he works, as Tathlyn seems to drift in and out of focus, evidently soothed the point of lethargy under Astarion’s careful attention.

“You know,” he says, in a precious moment of lucidity, “The Matrons used to do this. With each other, mostly, although sometimes trusted servants got to help.”

Astarion’s hands go still in Tathlyn’s hair but he restrains the comments that come to mind the quickest. Instead, he simply prompts, “Go on…?”

“It always seemed…like the kind of thing you only ever did for someone important,” Tathlyn elaborates, though Astarion is still not entirely sure what to make of where he’s going with this, “It was a privilege. To get to bathe somebody else. To be bathed was an even bigger one. It’s…nice. I guess. To feel special like that. With you. Not a servant.”

Astarion laughs softly and bends down to kiss Tathlyn’s forehead at the hairline.

“You are special to me, my sweet. Even if it seems I have to remind you every now and again.”

Eventually, Tathlyn’s hair returns to its usual color, and Astarion helps him adjust his posture so he can recline against Astarion’s legs while Astarion takes the now-clean strands into a towel he’s spread over his lap. He doubts Tathlyn will be awake long enough to let it dry completely, so he does what he can while he has the opportunity -- gets as much of the water out as he can reasonably manage and works it into a loose braid to keep it out of Tathlyn’s face.

As he works, Tathlyn goes more and more slack against his legs, so that by the time Astarion has well and truly finished with his hair and goes to move, he finds he’s pinned by what must be most of Tathlyn’s weight. He sighs -- more affectionate than he can really manage to be exasperated -- and brushes his knuckles across Tathlyn’s cheek and jaw, hoping to rouse him as gently as he can.

“Alright, you,” he says, “I think if we stay in this damp any longer we’ll start growing mold.”

Tathlyn shifts, but instead of leaning forward like Astarion expects him to, he presses stubbornly back against Astarion’s legs, pinning him more firmly in place.

“You said stay still,” he says, in the most wheedling tone Astarion has ever heard him use, “So I got comfortable. Now you want me to move?”

“I don’t suppose it would entice you at all to know that you’ll likely be more comfortable in a bed?” Astarion pushes back against Tathlyn with his knees, trying in vain to apply enough pressure to shift him without hurting him. “You know -- like the ones we paid for upstairs? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but they’re quite nice.”

“Seems cold,” Tathlyn responds, “I’ll stay here if it’s all the same to you.”

Astarion lets out another forced breath -- this one a bit more irritated than the last -- and gives one last fruitless shove against Tathlyn’s back before giving up entirely.

“And how would you know whether it’s going to be cold? You’re hardly even awake.”

“You’re cold,” Tathlyn insists, “Since you got out.”

“I am for all intents and purposes a corpse, darling. We’re not exactly known for retaining heat. And besides, that’s what the dressing gowns are for -- now are you going to get up on your own or shall I arrange for you to be lifted? Because I should warn you -- I’m not going to be able to do it, and the only person I can think of who could and isn’t currently recovering from a nasty bout of ‘dead-a-few-hours-ago’ is Lae’zel. And something tells me you’d rather I didn’t call her in here.”

“Hmmm. You make a very compelling argument,” Tathlyn concedes. Mercifully, he shifts his weight forward, freeing Astarion’s legs from his devious trap. “Could maybe use a little help, but I’ll try my best not to drag you in.”

It’s an awkward process, what with Astarion not being particularly strong, but between the two of them, they manage to get Tathlyn standing more or less on his own while Astarion finds what he judges to be the most comfortable of the selection of robes. He returns loosely draped in one that’s lightweight and a deep midnight blue -- more for modesty than any real insulation -- and offers the thicker one to Tathlyn.

While Tathlyn goes through the somewhat-stiffened motions of wrapping himself in the robe, Astarion stoops to pick through the injury kit they’d abandoned by the side of the bath for bandages -- the one thing there is left to do, now that Tathlyn is clean and mostly dry.

He holds his hand out, expecting Tathlyn to extend his injured arm and let him finish tending the wound, but instead finds himself taken by the arm and pulled into a tight embrace. Tathlyn’s body radiates warmth and he rubs one hand over Astarion’s back as if he’s attempting to encourage circulation. Astarion has to fight not to melt and forget the bandages entirely.

“Darling,” he clears his throat, pointedly, “This is lovely but I can’t actually get at your arm while we’re like this.”

“Leave it. It’ll heal.”

“Mmm, no, I don’t think I’ll be doing that. I am decidedly unwilling to let you stain those perfectly good linens. Now give it here. It won’t take long.”

They part -- though Tathlyn stays as close as Astarion will let him -- just long enough for Astarion to bandage Tathlyn’s arm securely, before Tathlyn pulls him back in and brings his head to rest on Astarion’s shoulder. Astarion presses a gentle kiss into the crook of Tathlyn’s neck and tries not to inhale too deeply.

“Y’know…offer’s still open, if you’re hungry,” Tathlyn says, as though that isn’t the furthest thing from Astarion’s mind at the moment.

“I think it’s about time we got you off your feet, hm?” he prompts in lieu of an answer, “You’ve had a very long day. We can leave that for tomorrow.”

Astarion’s words are quiet, coaxing, and not particularly subtle, but they seem to be enough to put the matter to bed at least for the time being. Tathlyn nods mutely into Astarion’s shoulder.

Their quarters are quiet when they enter -- many of their companions having retired to bed, and those who haven’t having settled into whatever evening routines they’ve begun to establish during their stay. Astarion and Tathlyn fall into bed together, as has been their habit for some time now, and though Astarion still has far too much to think about to find rest yet, Tathlyn sags against him as soon as they’re off their feet.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, the words mostly breath for Tathlyn’s ears alone, “Feeling any better, at least?”

“Mm,” Tathlyn adjusts his posture slightly more towards horizontal, and tugs Astarion with him, “Much, actually. Just…tired.”

“I’d expect nothing less, darling. You’ve been through so much.”

Tathlyn’s brow furrows and he shifts, slightly. Opens one eye.

“You too, though,” he says, tone taking on an edge of insistence, “You alright?”

Astarion pauses to think before he answers. Tathlyn’s weight rests comfortably against his side, still giving off vital, living warmth, and keeping him from drifting off beyond the confines of his own body again. The lingering phantom feeling of Cazador’s blood on his skin has faded entirely. Some pain remains on the periphery of his awareness, and the hunger still lurks, as it always does, but these things are not new, and not urgent. They can be addressed some other time.

“I am, I think,” he says, with as much finality as he can muster, “Or at the very least I’m on my way. Consider your duties fulfilled for the moment.”

Tathlyn yawns and settles deeper into his slump.

“Never stop taking care of you,” he mumbles, “But…that’s alright. For now.”

Astarion occupies himself running his fingers across Tathlyn’s back until he feels his lover’s breathing even out and deepen in rest. Tomorrow, all the crises of the oncoming apocalypse of the Absolute will surely crash back in on them, and Tathlyn will chase off after the next impossible errand -- and more than likely drag him along whether he cares what they’re doing or not. Odds are they’ll end the day just as battered and exhausted as they did today, if perhaps less distraught. But that’s to deal with after dawn. For now, none of it matters. They simply rest.

#bg3 #bg3 oc #bg3 spoilers #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 oc #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #m!tav #male tav #drow tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion romance #astarion romance spoilers

[maggeemoo]

Tarnished Mirror; Ch. 1

-[CW: Brief mentions of Suicide]-

“I was expecting you’d be here soon enough.” Neo stood still as she stared up at the Blacksmith, starting to rethink her quick decision to jump into the colorful leaves of the Tree. “Hm? Oh, I see. You don’t quite know what to do here, do you?” Neo shook her head, a tiny bit of tension draining from her as the Blacksmith’s voice began to calm her. Her thoughts raced with the last few things she saw outside. The others saving her by using the smoke of the leaves, the cat screaming as she snuffed its life, the others nothing more than thankful that Ruby was still herself. Just thinking about Ruby was met with a pang of guilt, with how she forced her to practically commit suicide, and when her desire was filled, nothing but emptiness was what she felt. “You seem… sorry. You only wanted vengeance–no, closure–and you got it. There have been others that came here for the same reasons. But that doesn’t matter anymore. Now you have a choice to make, a choice that is yours and yours alone.”

As the Blacksmith spoke, a wide array of weapons rose from the ground. Some familiar and some not, some too heavy to even think about and some so light they could float. But there were two weapons whose weight and quality couldn’t be described: one, a parasol with an impossibly sharp blade inside.

The other, a pair of weapons. A sharp shield with scooped indents on either side, and a weapon capable of swapping between a Javelin, Sword, and Rifle. Though Neo’s eyes briefly lingered on the all-too-familiar parasol, the other pair grabbed her gaze as the Blacksmith continued.

“Your choice is who you want to be. No matter what that choice is, as soon as you make it you will be the person who wielded that weapon. It seems you’ve already left yourself behind once, but you are still you. Should you choose, that will no longer be the case.”

Neo couldn’t help but approach the case with the paired weapons inside, still glancing back at the parasol. With every glance, though, it felt heavier. She had held that same weapon for so long and she knew that it was her perfect weapon, so why did it feel so wrong now? Why did these bronze weapons seem so much more fitting?

“Those weapons are as good a choice as any. Do know that every weapon has its weight, that every person who wields a weapon has burdens. While picking up their weapon may release you of your troubles, you will be shouldering theirs.”

Pressing her hand to the case of the weapons, Neo felt an inherent rightness. Like a river finally reaching an ocean, an immaculate completeness. She could feel tears start to well up as the Blacksmith somehow perfectly put her messy thoughts into words.

“You’ve taken so much, so you think it’s time you gave back instead? If that is your choice, then very well.”

Neo closed her eyes as she noticed all the other weapons sinking away, giving a final glance to the parasol before feeling her new weapons in her hands. She feels her body suddenly change, and the last thing she sees is a gateway into a jungle in the Ever After as her memories slowly fade. As she steps through, the Blacksmith speaks again. “Just as I have done for the others, you will be brought to when you are needed most. Though it is not my part to influence your fate, I wish you the best of luck, Pyrrha Nikos.”

================================================

Just as the Gateway closes, Pyrrha realizes she has no idea where she is. She thinks out loud, and though her voice comes easily it feels odd in her mouth. Every word feels strange to say, like it was the first time she was speaking at all.

“Where am I? Wasn’t I just… What’s happening?”

Pyrrha tries and tries to remember anything, but all she sees in her memory is the impact of the Wyvern Grimm against the tower where she was fighting. Everything feels fuzzy like she was looking through stained glass and hearing with ear muffs on.

“I must’ve gotten injured… But nothing hurts at all. Maybe a dream thanks to hitting my head? No, everything feels too… real, too coherent…”

All Pyrrha can think to do is look around. Trees all around, a thick canopy shading her from too much light, and herself with her weapons. She starts to pat all over her body in search of any injuries or abnormalities and finds nothing. Nothing save for a lock of her hair, a chocolate brown instead of the usual red. She pulls and brushes at the brown, assuming that it’s dirt or mud stuck into her, but nothing comes out. As her motions get more manic her thoughts do as well, her mind drifting to her friends.

“Calm down, calm down. Something happened, I just have to figure out what exactly. The last thing I remember is getting knocked back by that impact, so I must’ve hit my head hard enough to lose whatever happened next. I can’t be far from Beacon, if I get somewhere high up I could look around and find my way.”

Now with a concrete goal, Pyrrha let go of her hair and glanced around. Upon spotting the Tree through a gap in the canopy, she quickly heads straight towards it. But then she realizes that the vine she just passed looks familiar, and that vine too. And didn’t she just walk past that rock? Something is wrong. So Pyrrha sat still for a moment, confused. To test her growing suspicions, she tore a vine from a nearby tree and wrapped it around the branch of one ahead of her. She tied it snugly and then kept moving forward. As she emerged from the thick bushes she saw that same tied vine. Pyrrha balanced her spear on her forearm and used her semblance to magnetize it, now seeing that the direction she was trying to go was north.

“North isn’t an option, okay. How about south- okay, I guess that’s north too.” Pyrrha says as she turns around, seeing that her spear-turned-compass thinks that north is all around her.

Now just using the faraway Tree as a landmark, she turns and finds that her path isn’t infinitely looping anymore. As to why, she doesn’t know, but thankfully she finds a site of interest soon after to distract her. A small clearing with one strange tree in the center. She reaches for the strange, clock-like fruits but notices on the opposite side of the tree lies one of the fruits on the ground, clearly dented and smashed. From the damage to the fruit, it looks like it was frantically smashed in, and clearly, this was quite a long time ago as its metal parts are rusted so badly that just picking it up nearly breaks it in half.

“I couldn’t even hope to guess what this thing does if it was working, but I don’t think I want to find out. Someone must have found out and broken it, and it looks like it took a few hits to do it.”

Pyrrha glances around after she sets the strange fruit down, not seeing much. She does spot a lightly trodden path though, and as she nears the end, she finds a small camp that looks recently visited, but currently unoccupied. She keeps a good eye out, but goes ahead and scouts the small camp.

“Small tent, campfire, and… Perfect, a map of the area. Apologies to whoever is living here, but I’ll be sure to thank you later.” Pyrrha thought out loud as she also found a small pouch with some jerky in it, quickly stashing it away for when she inevitably got hungry. As she looked around for anything else of use, she saw a small note written in scrawling, frantic writing that has a sort of… familiar twinge to it. DON’T FORGET:

-Clock fruits: Harvest by cutting the vine instead of plucking, Jinxy wanted one in exchange for another year or two. Done, but go barter since Jinxy lied and only gave a month

-Check the Monster’s Grave, make sure he didn’t come back again

-Wait, make sure none of the Monster’s victims fall for the clock fruits like he did

-If the Monster comes back then don’t fight, reminding him of what he did to Penny works faster

“...Penny? What the… This has to be a different Penny, right…?” Is all that Pyrrha can say, her thoughts again being said aloud. She looks over the note again and on the back sees more manic words, but written in handwriting that she finally recognizes. The Monster isn’t back he just never left I am the Monster please please please Penny I’m sorry please someone anyone help me kill me

Despite the agitated writing, Pyrrha recognizes the handwriting nearly instantly, the shorter note on the back being clearer than the scrawled front. “Jaune…?”

================================================

(That's the end of Chapter One, everything past this is just me the author rambling~ And here's a link to Chapter Two!)

Hello everyone! I doubt that anyone really knows me, I don't post much but I wrote this quite a while ago and recently touched it up a little and finished what I think is a good "Chapter" of sorts! I think it could be shorter or longer, but after months of on-and-off writing I finally got to a point where I think it works well enough on its own, which is something I strive for with writing since there are a lot of times I condemn a WIP to the shadow realm known as "Write later."

Anyways I'd just like to thank one person in particular, @pilot-boi for at least somewhat entertaining an idea I had a few months back. Had it not been for you saying that you like the idea even a little, this short work may have never existed and would have never been posted, so thank you so so so so so much. I've written a lot of things that just kinda came out of nowhere that not a lot of people have found interesting so I never bothered to post them anywhere, but the tiny bit of encouragement that you gave me was a spark. I can only hope that spark stays lit long enough for me to write this AU out fully, and maybe for me to give the series an ending that I think it needs.

Thanks everyone for reading, and have a wonderful day/morning/night~ Toodles!

#mirror man au #tarnished spartan #Tarnished Mirror AU #rwby au #rwby #writing #fiction #fanfic #save rwby

[coeluvr]

So I just read the demo for the first time and… are you okay? Like do you need to talk to someone? Cuz holy shit, that was depressing. Don’t get me wrong, it was great, but I am just mentally, emotionally, and physically drained now (don’t ask me about that last part). All in all, I really enjoyed it, but I do have some thoughts.

Firstly, I don’t understand how anyone from Rosea (except for Hunter, Fadiya and her mom, and maybe Helios) has any fans. Like did they just forget that everyone else (including Lancelot) contributed to the total destruction of our family? Everyone’s over here shipping Lancelot and Luceris, and to be fair, if this was a different story I would too, but like… they’re the enemy? Speaking of Luceris…

Dude is on some shit. Like I get it’s the point, but everything about our relationship with him just feels weird and wrong, and I’m counting the days til we can kill him. Until then, I guess I’ll have to make do with disrespecting the memory of his dead wife at every opportunity. Also side note, but as a Straight Male tm it does feel a little weird having to fake a romance with another guy, especially a guy that’s like fifty years older than me lol (Luceris really isn’t beating the Catholic Priest allegations)

The rest of the cast are a lot of fun, and I’m glad they all at least have sympathy towards MC. I think Hunter is the coolest character ever and I want to be them, and Fadiya can do no wrong in my eyes. Vincent sucks, but I haven’t really spent much time with him so maybe that’ll change. Helios I feel sorry for. He’s a nice guy and I do like him a lot, but he’s unfortunately collateral damage in my crusade against Father Luceris. I hate that we have to hurt him to get revenge, but it feels very realistic and gives your decisions a lot more weight.

On the flip side, Soarine is perfect and has never done anything wrong in her life ever. If Soarine has a million fans, then I am one of them. If Soarine has ten fans, then I am one of them. If Soarine has only one fan then that is me. If Soarine has no fans, then that means I am no longer on earth. If the world is against Soarine, then I am against the world.

All in all, I love what you’re doing with this game, even if I do have to take a twenty minute break after each playthrough just to decompress lol. I can’t wait to see where this goes and am gonna stare at a wall until the next update drops. Thanks for making such an interesting story and give Soarine my love 💚

Lol hi, anon!

First of all, I'm fine 😭 I'm like that one happy guy that writes horror whose name I keep forgetting but I bet someone knows who I mean.

Regarding the characters from Rosea that are not all that great having fans, I don't know why that's unexpected to you if I am being honest lmao. In every fandom I've ever been in, there have always been people that like the antagonists. I enjoy Lancelot and Luceris' dynamic but I feel like that's to be expected since I literally created them. 💀 The day I write in all of the side couples you'll combust. /j

But also you don't have to fake a "romance" with Luceris? 😥💀 I can only think of the husband comments MC can make and those are entirely optional so...

I'm glad you like the other characters! Soarine is indeed everything. 🙇‍♀️

Thank you for your kind words! 💗

#coe answers

[rubydubydoo122]

I finished chap 11...

I am so drained, I was debating if I should lock myself in a toilet cabin for the last minutes of my shift and I checked out right in the dot. My manager made a comment about it. What's with society and being expected to work longer than what is said on thr contract?

That entire last section with the poem and dissociation was so capturing. I am glad I left off yesterday at the scene where Bruce told Jason he could be legally alive again. Almost calling him Todd-Wayne.

Then Jay calling Bruce Dad. Ugghhhh my heart, the sugar. Which it highly needs with all the bitterness.

For me it already came of in the way that Jay did realize what is happening with him, with the zoning out on the cancer ribbon and the flashcards, and only accepted it when Jason read Narnia to him

~🔵

Hahahaha, yeah, it was a really draining chapter. It's a really draining fic, actually.

As a writer, I realized the way to make darker moments more impactful is by adding a light. Like the art technique Chiaroscuro. it makes it more dramatic, and it's kinda like those dreams where you're flying and then suddenly can't and you're falling and yeah.

yeah.

Writing dissociation is so much easier to than writing an actual scene. I can leave out so many details and it makes sense because they're dissociating

I live for Jason calling Bruce "Dad" if you can't tell yet. And younger Bruce said something along the lines of "I love you." when he hugged Jay.

And Bingo Bongo right on the Bullseye!! Jay's totally reasonable thought process was, "I'm just overthinking, if I stop thinking about it, it'll go away."

It did, in fact, not go away.

For anyone wondering, the fic is "In Every Universe; Still I Rise" I really hope I can get the next chapter up by next Friday

#jason todd #batman #batfam #dc comics #red hood #dick grayson #bruce wayne #ask me questions #ask me anything #asks #ask

[bigfan-fanfic]

Acrimony (Batdad Fanfic)

one shot where batdad comforts jason after he comes back to life angry, thinking his father hates him for the murders and batdad just hugs him and says he loves him very much

Hey, I LOVE writing Batdad fanfic! Leave me asks or comments if you wanna see more, or help flesh Batdad out more or what content you'd like to see!

The door opens with a bang before you can open it.

And there he stands, wearing a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants, with a gun pointed in your face, a new streak of stark white in his hair.

There's so much that has changed - every mark, every scar, every blemish - all of them have been erased from his skin, and he looks older and stronger now.

Even his eyes - the same shape but now the wrong color, green instead of blue.

Just when you start to get the twinge of fear that maybe your boy is gone, perhaps forever -

He lowers the gun, horror crossing his face.

This has all been less than a second.

Jason's horror becomes a scowl, but you notice he sets the gun out of his own reach.

"I thought you were Bruce."

"Do we really look that similar?"

"No."

Silence. He steps aside, letting you in.

"I know you're the Red Hood." you sigh. Better to get the preamble out of the way.

He freezes, deeply uncomfortable.

"Why, Jaybird?" you ask, simply.

"Why what?" he scowls deeper, bravado entering his voice.

"Why didn't you come home to us? To me?"

This doesn't seem to be what he was expecting. "Pop, I... I..."

"I missed you so much." you say, voice choked with unshed tears.

This is not what Jason knows, not the terrain he's comfortable with. Hidden weaknesses, stifled sobs, keeping your emotions in check. Your freely given affection and your ability to deal with your emotions was the biggest obstacle to your relationship and the thing he loved most once it had been overcome.

"I was angry, Dad." He says. If it had been Bruce, he could summon up all that anger in a second and use it - he could remember his reasons in a second. But with you... he feels so guilty. In striking at the father he blamed, he wounded the one he wished would comfort him. "I am angry. So much, and I... I don't know why. You replaced me... so fast."

You have anger on your face and he is shocked. "No. We never replaced you, Jay. You're our son. And nothing changes that. Not you dying, not this, not anything."

He gives a horrible, aching sound. Not quite a wail, but a release of pain he kept inside. "I killed people, Dad."

He's called you Dad for years. Longer than his biological dad who abandoned him. Longer than Bruce, who he tried it out on for a few months but couldn't quite make it feel right.

Bruce cried when Jason asked to go back to calling him Bruce. He said whatever would make Jason comfortable was what he wanted, but it killed him inside. Does Jason know that?

Bruce could barely talk when Jason died. Blamed himself. Sobbed one night wishing it had been him instead. Jason was his son.

"Jay..."

"I'm sorry. Dad, I'm so sorry. I'm still so fucking angry and I hurt so much... I still wanna kill. I wanna make people hurt so I don't have to anymore. I hate myself for feeling this way. I killed bad people, but... I'd take it all back to make you not hate me."

You cross the room in three strides and hug him. Instantly the fight drains out of him.

"I love you, Jason."

"I don't-"

"I love you, my little Jaybird. Whatever you've done, whatever you feel. I love you, and I know Bruce does too. I can't fix everything, not in one night. And I know we have a long way to go. But kiddo, we need you back. Please... come back to your family. There's never been a moment your absence wasn't felt. I need my son back."

Jason sobs into your shoulder, melting. He doesn't know if any of this can be fixed. Logically he worries that seeing Bruce will only provoke him.

But his dad is here making everything better.

And the doubts have no place when his father hugs him.

So for now, he just exists in the moment and lets himself be a son again.

[ovaruling]

You made a post earlier about how you are feeding stray cats. Since it seems like you're very concerned about the environment I wonder why you are doing this. Aren't stray/outdoor cats horrible for the environment? Mostly because they kill animals that are actually important for nature like birds and rodents. Not trying to be rude just wondering why you think feeding them is a good idea, because it's basically helping a population that has no place in nature and does nothing but harm.

look, i’m not without my weaknesses—i can’t look at a starving stray cat and not feed it. maybe others can, but i can’t. i never claimed to be a paragon.

however, i must clarify something and also point out that i think im doing my part more than your average stray-feeder—i spend 1-2 hours each day trying to trap the cats. every day, from 4-5pm and sometimes later. i drop what im doing to spend time on it.

i have a folding chair to sit on and stake them out, a new implement of a bathroom mirror from a construction site that i set up next to the feeding station (to see the cats without startling them), and a large dog crate in which i put the food.

i recently caught 2 of the said stray cats last week and had them fixed and they will no longer be contributing to the environmental decline, nor will they ever produce litters. i’m working on a third.

i feed on my own property and i have caught and fixed and thus removed from the environment approximately 20 or more cats since i was like, i can’t remember—10, 11, 12. somewhere around there—i was in some degree of childhood when i started. i still use the same large dog crates i had back then to catch them. it takes weeks, sometimes months. sometimes a year or more in the case of my toughest one, an aggressive feral male who was causing issues in the neighborhood and who is now my housecat and best friend and wreaks no more havoc. i didn’t give up on him and it ended up being for the better bc no one else was going to give enough of a shit to spend the time it was going to take to catch him. (i’ve said this before but, i had to go on 3 rounds of antibiotics bc he kept biting me horribly every time i tried to catch him)

all this to say: my success in catching stray cats is owed largely to my patience and my willingness to spend hours gaining their trust by feeding them and having them associate my presence with food and fresh water.

so i know it’s not without criticism to feed them, but i do put in hours and hours each week feeding these strays specifically to try to catch them—and i often succeed. (edit: i don’t always. there are a few cats i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to catch, but i won’t stop trying.)

this is what ive been doing my whole life and i will continue to try to make an impact on my local environment in this unique way. i don’t expect others to understand my methods and the specific way that i do things (it’s different for each cat depending on how i assess their personality and needs and habits etc etc), but the fact that i’ve removed 20 or more strays from my neighborhood over the last decade or so is an impact that matters, i think.

especially since i pay out of my own pocket to take them to the vet, to fix them, vaccinate them, and treat them for any and all ailments, and i also have housed them myself or rehomed them. it’s a huge drain on my resources but it’s one i am happy to do for the rest of my life. not least bc no one else in my area is bothering to do anything about them.

so—take that for what you will. that’s my contribution and it’s not perfect but i think i do a good job at reducing the number of stray cats in my local ecosystem and i have to conclude that because of that i MUST have reduced a lot of the environmental destruction that they would’ve otherwise done. much better than anyone else who lives around here, that’s for sure.

tl;dr—i am basically doing the job my local animal care & control is supposed to be doing about stray cats, for free, by myself, at my own expense and on my own time—and i 100% cannot do that job without feeding them

edit: i didn’t mean for this to sound as defensive and doth protesting as it did—i realize i’ve never quite explained exactly What it is i do with regard to stray and feral cats, and of course i can’t expect others to read my mind or know my life and motivations just from scattered posts i make lol. i hope i answered your question somewhat, and im happy to answer any more that you have.

#v #vp

[slytherinshua]

IM RIGHT HERE

genre. fluff. hurt/comfort. warnings. spoilers for at a distance, spring is green (obv). jun has a nightmare. crying. past trauma mention (child abuse/domestic violence). pairing. yeo jun x fem!reader. wc. 1.3k. request. no. a/n. for my baby jun </3 his backstory srsly broke me when watching and all i wanted to do was hug him so tight and shower him w kisses.

Jun had been doing better than ever. After struggling through freshman year, he knew that sophomore year couldn’t be any worse. After all, what did he have to worry about? He had his true friends, Sobin and Soohyun, by his side. And he had you always there to support him, to love him. To be honest, he felt like he could take on the world some days. 

But, the thing about trauma is that it never goes away. There’s no way to erase what happened in the past, or pretend like it didn’t happen. Jun could ignore it— he was very good at that, pretending to be fine. Jun’s past haunted him every single day. It was always there in the back of his mind. He could focus on other things, his friends, you, having fun, being kind to people, smiling… but it was always there.

You had learned over the months of dating him that it came out the most at night when he didn’t have anything else to think about. Lying there in bed prompted his brain to think about it over and over again. He hated it. He would have dreams about it, too. Getting beaten in that room. His father yelling. His screaming and crying. And the pain. He would wake up in tears, heaving and shaking.

You had only been there for it once, late at night when Jun had passed out before you, and you were planning to leave, but couldn’t quite get yourself to leave his side. So you stayed in the kitchen, quietly peeking at him sleeping every so often, cooing at his cute face and fluffy hair. You were glad you had stayed that night, because he had woken up not much later.

 It scared you, seeing him so distressed. His comments that day told you that he was somewhat used to the nightmares. “I’ll be okay”, “I’ve dealt with it before”, “Don’t worry”, “It’s fine”. Those words flowed so easily out of his mouth that day, as if you were the one who needed to be reassured. But when he said it was fine, you knew he was lying. You could see it in his face, in his soft doe eyes filled with fear.

After a couple months of dating, and by drunken chance, you had properly slept over for the first time. Jun was a big cuddler, which you loved. He slept like a baby when you were around. As long as he was in your arms, he felt safe. You found you slept better with him all curled up beside you, as well. His soft breathing helped you relax, made you happy.

You stumbled through the door to Jun’s apartment, discarding your bag and shoes as fast as you could before you no longer had the will to keep your eyes open. You were absolutely drained. It was past 2 am. Your stupid boss had kept you overtime to do a deep cleaning even though you had done overtime for your coworkers too many times to count. 

But, you were home now, and that’s what mattered. Though you hadn’t officially moved in with Jun, you spent more time at his apartment than your own at this point. Half your clothes and things had migrated over to his shelves and closet. You joked that you were like a married couple. Jun responded with teasing, as always.

“What are we, a married couple?”

“We could be. What’s your ring size?”

“Jun!”

You smiled at the thought, hurrying through your nighttime routine to get to bed and be close to Jun again. You had barely been able to text him all day. It would be best to get to sleep as fast as you could so you could wake up to him next to you. 

You found him already fast asleep just like you expected. Curled up under the covers. You noticed he was hugging one of your pillows which made your face break out into an uncontrollable smile. He was such a cutie. You slid under the covers, making sure not to disturb him. You lay on your side, watching his sleeping face for a minute before your eyes flickered shut on their own and sleep overtook your tired body.

Jun shifted around in his sleep, eyebrows furrowing and sweat building as the scenes replayed in his head. He was right there, watching it unfold over and over again. He hated it. It was torturous. No matter how fast he moved, he could never reach the door quick enough before his younger self was dragged through and screams were all he could hear.

He gasped, eyes opened wide, chest heaving. He knew it would happen tonight. He predicted it. He had been feeling overwhelmed all day with texts from his mother who had gone to see his father for reasons he could never understand. It stressed him out more than he could say. He should’ve mentioned it to you, but you were so busy with work he couldn’t bring himself to.

But now, here he was, unable to calm down. It was like some creeping terror was creeping up through his body, through his stomach and up, up, up until it reached his neck and he couldn’t breathe. His vision felt clouded and the tears dripping down his cheeks certainly didn’t help him calm down. 

He needed something to ground him.

“Baby?” Your voice sounded soft and a little groggy, and knowing that you were there only made Jun cry harder. You quickly pulled him into your arms, knowing your touch could calm him down eventually. “It’s okay, Jun. I’m right here.” You kept whispering soft words to him, patting his back gently, pressing soothing kisses to his forehead and hair. The sound of his choked back sobs was your least favourite sound in the world. Your heart felt like it cracked into a million pieces, and you hugged him a bit tighter.

You heard his breath stabilise just a bit and you breathed a sigh of relief. Gently cupping his face in your hands, you pulled back from the hug just enough to look at him. You wiped his tears and fluffed his hair, calling him cute until he eventually broke out into a smile. 

“I hate seeing you cry.” You mumbled sadly. Jun nodded, whispering a soft “sorry”. You shushed him immediately, “It’s not your fault, baby. It’s never your fault.”

“Thank you.” The words came out in a soft way that made your heart melt on the spot. You absolutely adored the boy in front of you. “C-can we cuddle?” He asked shyly, face a little puffy from crying making him look 10 times cuter. 

You giggled, hands automatically moving to squish his cheeks adoringly. He let you, staying still and just staring at you with his big eyes. “Of course, whatever you want.” You told him and then pressed a kiss to his nose, making him scrunch it up from the ticklish feeling.

“I love you.” He said, arms circling your waist and hugging you to him in a way that made you giggle until he was laughing too. 

“I love you more, you know?”

“No- No, I don’t know.” He quickly protested before grinning.

“I do!” You persisted, savouring his boyish smile, lighting up his features, bringing butterflies to your stomach.

He giggled and then suddenly his lips attached to yours, softly moving against them until you welcomely kissed him back. Even when you pulled back from the kiss, Jun whined and pulled you closer again, reconnecting your lips. 

You giggled and pulled away, speaking before Jun could occupy your lips again, “You just want kisses tonight, don’t you?”

He nodded quickly, humming in affirmation, “Will you give me more kisses? Wanna kiss you more.” He mumbled with a smile.

“Come here.”

↳  k-drama taglist: @yeonjuns-redhair

#﹒fics 𓈃 ⵌ #yeo jun #at a distance spring is green #at a distance spring is green fic #at a distance spring is green fluff #yeo jun fic #yeo jun fluff #jihoon fic #jihoon fluff #park jihoon #park jihoon fic #park jihoon fluff #wanna one jihoon #wanna one jihoon fic #wanna one jihoon fluff #kdrama fic #kdrama fluff #kdrama fanfic #at a distance spring is green fanfic #yeo jun x reader #park jihoon x reader #jihoon x reader #fluff #fanfic #fic

[good-beanswrites]

That LCSYS and OoA crossover got me wondering about Fuuta.

How does he feel about being in Mahiru's place and Amane being in his place? How does he act around them?

How does he act during his interrogation?

Poor guy isn't cut out for this role, but he's doing his best! I had some format fun with this one -- I took your OoA chapter of his interrogation and put Fuuta's LCSyS thoughts in between, I think it worked out well! I discovered some new things about Fuuta's mindset in the au through the process of writing, it was really interesing :0

(Trigger warnings for suicidal thoughts, including a brief mention of Haruka's situation. There's also something about Fuuta repeatedly stopping Es from getting Shidou.)

Fuuta heard Es' footsteps approaching. He took a measured breath. In and out. His exhale trembled a bit from nerves. He figured he could use that to his advantage.

Es entered the cell and took in the layout. Fuuta was propped up in a hospital bed, his neck and torso securely braced and his left arm in a sling. He was kneading a Jackalope stress toy with his right hand, digging his nails into it. More stress toys stood on the table to his right, and Es almost tripped on one a few feet ahead. As Fuuta saw Es approaching, he dropped what he was holding and swatted the rest out of his reach.

"Been a… while, Warden," Fuuta said. Es was expecting more malice in his tone, but he sounded like his life force was draining.

Fuuta hadn't liked the idea of playing the damsel in distress. He wasn't some sickly bedridden patient with a quivering voice and trembling limbs. Thankfully, Mahiru and Mikoto had talked him into taking a different angle: some of their favorite books and movies featured a battle-weary hero, weak from the fight and scorning the cowards that didn't fight alongside him. That seemed doable, he thought. He put an extra pant into his breath, hoping to evoke the thought of messy wounds from his brawl with Kotoko.

"Fuuta… you…" They pulled a chair to the side of the table and took a seat. "Are you okay?"

That's their opening? What kind of fucking question is that?

He kept Mahiru's pointers in his head, picturing a bloodied and bandaged knight, or maybe an action hero resting up after getting riddled with bullets. He forced his voice to come out more tired than he felt.

"…look like it?" Fuuta responded. If he was angry, his voice did a terrible job of showing it.

Es didn't know how to respond. Do I look like it? was obviously a rhetorical question, but they needed to show some tact.

After a moment, Fuuta spoke up again. "…look awful… don't I?"

Still unsure of what to say, Es nodded slightly.

Heh. Good. Time to twist the knife a bit. Play the confident card, make them feel guilty. They'll see how strong I am -- how strong I've always been -- and what a mistake it was to let me fall so far.

"Could've been worse. Could've died."

Es stared down, pondering their next words. Several seconds passed.

Fuuta watched them. He felt a sinking in his stomach. Their sullen silence wasn't what he'd been anticipating. He wouldn't have been satisfied with a lot of possible responses, but he'd still been expecting something. Where was their respect? Their remorse? Their pity? Anything? He reached his arm out.

A loud knock on the table got their attention.

"Oi… talking to you." Fuuta's irritated glare met Es as they lifted their head.

"I'm sorry," they said, "I'm… I'm not sure what I can say."

"Don't know what to say? I almost died because of… you don't know… Even so, it's a miracle I … If Shidou had taken any longer, would've been over for me. Don't blame him, though.

I think I've said too much -- Shidou said only a few sentences at a time...

It was impossible to keep it short, though. Es just told him that they have nothing to say in defense of his near-death. Did he really mean so little to Es that they wouldn't even dignify him with an explanation?

"…Oi, say something."

"Sor-"

"Sorry won't cut it." Fuuta sounded more pained than angry.

That was easier to accomplish now that he was actually feeling some pain. After everything, all Es had to say was a half-hearted "sorry."

So, they really don't care about me...

Es took a breath. "…Kotoko did this to you?"

Well then, I guess I'll just have to make them care.

"No sh… agh…" Fuuta gasped for air.

"Fuuta!" Es got up and walked to his side. "I'll go get Shidou-"

"Don't!" Fuuta's eyes betrayed his desperation.

Only when my pain is thrown directly in my face do they give a damn. And they were going running off to Shidou, anyway! Though maybe...

After they locked eyes for a few moments, Fuuta let out a chuckle. "Look … you … down on me, like always. Must be so happy to see…"

"I- no, I'm not. I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't think Kotoko would-"

"Beat me to near-death? What'd you expect … you affirmed her…"

"I…"

"…thought she wouldn’t have … same crime here in…"

It seemed Es was finally listening, finally trying to open themself to him. And all of the sudden, Fuuta hated it. He felt paranoid under their gaze. He wasn't sure if it was fear of them seeing through his false injuries, or fear of another judgement from them. Regardless, he felt his pulse race with the way they were watching him.

"Oi, quit standing… staring…"

"I’m sorry, I didn't think-"

"Useless… apology…"

But what else could Es do besides apologize? Stand their ground and contradict Fuuta while he was in that pitiful state?

Fuuta was tired of their weak apologies. If Es had the conviction to name him guilty, they should toughen up and admit it.

With a deep breath, Fuuta forced himself to stay slumped into the bedsheets. He was getting riled up, but couldn't afford to look to strong.

"Really didn't think it'd… turn out… Me too. All I did… call some bad person out… say what's wrong was wrong…"

Es' gaze had become intense again. Those eyes, staring into his. Studying his injuries. Studying his expression.

Staring.

Staring.

Staring.

"Their reasons were b-" Fuuta gasped and clutched his chest. Es began to turn towards the door, but Fuuta grabbed their cape with his right hand.

Why can't they just offer help themself? Why do they go running off to someone else at the first sign of trouble? Am I really so disliked they can't face me?

Es swatted his hand away. "Hey, you can't just grab me like that."

"Don't dare…"

"Fine, I won't get Shidou. Yet." Es stood in place and waited for Fuuta to regain his voice.

Fuuta pretended to catch his breath, using the time to muster up something to say. If he wasn't so insistent on Es taking some responsibility for themself, he'd consider letting them call Shidou and just end this whole interrogation. He was ready to jump up and start swinging.

He itched to leap out of bed and give Es a real piece of his mind. He repeated the others' advice and pleading for him to keep his temper in check for the sake of the experiment. He thought of Amane -- how eagerly she awaited her own interrogation. All of this had been her plan, after all. As miserable as he was, he wouldn't ruin everything before she got her turn.

No, I will not steal her trial.

"You judged me… said I was unforgivable… without the whole story… How's that any different?"

"Excuse me?"

"That's so hypo- khh!" Fuuta slammed his hand on the table, trying to play it off as an emphasis, but that didn't mask his pain.

"Careful, Fuuta! You'll hurt-" Es gave up on that concern when Fuuta glared.

Pssh, like they actually care.

"Someone died because of you. You're saying I'm the same?"

"I didn't think they'd die!"

"But you knew people would dogpile them."

"I wasn't acting alone. Anyone else… out of my control… Why'd you pick me…"

"Milgram has judged-"

"Milgram doesn't make any f-"

Maybe Es should have put their foot down and called Shidou regardless of Fuuta's wishes. But something compelled them to hear him out. "Don't push yourself."

He tried to gauge if they were being sincere. He wasn't sure if he only mistook it as genuine concern since he was hoping for that so very badly.

Fuuta was clearly annoyed, but he took a breath and continued. "Still don't see it? We're just the same!"

"Me? The same as you?" Es couldn't deny Fuuta's point. They both made their judgments without thinking that someone could be seriously hurt—or dead.

That's got their mind turning, huh? I've got 'em now -- even if they don't feel like taking responsibility for my condition, I can subtly get them to take responsibilty for anothers'.

Fuuta was not known for his subtlety.

"I'll tell you. They were just in middle school. Maybe closer to Amane… than you…"

"Amane…" Es already knew this from what they gleaned from Fuuta's first video, but it didn't register how close in age their victims were. Wait, why were they thinking of Amane as a victim? "Amane… huh… I noticed you two have been spending a lot of time together lately."

"You kidding? Don't change the subject... You don't talk about her like… Only one who cared before everything went to hell. You made her go through it. Decided she wasn't forgivable… painted a target… She could've died too! Then we'd be exactly…"

"Don't put me on the same level as you."

He took another moment to calm himself. His "broken" arm clenched into a fish underneath the blankets. It made sense that Es wouldn't want to talk about the other prisoners during his interrogation, but their avoidance of Amane made his blood boil.

"Are you not-"

"I'm just doing my job. Nobody told you to go online and decide who are bad people and harass them. You made a game out of judgment. This is what I'm supposed to do."

Fuuta laughed at Es for still failing to acknowledge their similarities. Then he winced in pain. Then he kept laughing and mocking Es for taking their job seriously.

It was difficult to keep up the act the whole time, but he was always quick to recover each time he slipped up. He was doing this for the others. All hope for himself was lost, but at least he could do this for the others.

Es snapped back. A pointless, cyclical conversation. Fuuta stopped Es from calling Shidou no less than three times.

If he had to sit here and suffer through this interrogation, so did Es.

Eventually, the bell brought the conversation to a halt.

Silence.

Why was Fuuta so quiet?

"Hey… Fuuta?" Es leaned over to get a better look at his face. His eyes seemed glassy, and he seemed to be breathing more slowly. "Fuuta… I'll go get-"

"Don't. Not worth…"

"Worth what?"

"If you're not going to… forgive… what's the point… living?"

Fuuta would just chalk it up to getting too in-character, when the others asked.

"Don't say-"

"Everything hurts so much."

This feeling of betrayal. Of loneliness. The fact that I was the first named unforgiven. The fact that I'd be the first attacked, making me the victim -- not a hero, nor a warrior. The fact that you knew all along. You knew I was none of those things. You saw right through my act, to the real me, the one who is a victim. And that's why you acted the way that you did. You're trying to do your job without hurting me any more, as if I'm something fragile to be handled carefully. And that hurts most of all.

To keep things on track, he added,

"Painkillers don't help… Strange wonder I survived. Is it really worth it?"

"Worth it…" What could Es even say about that? Anything they could think of was either more unwanted pity or…

A cold accusation that Fuuta was bargaining his life for forgiveness. Es's thoughts flitted back to Haruka's interrogation- no, that comparison was unfair. Haruka's loaded intentions were worlds away from Fuuta's resignation. How could Es dare…

"I understand… this job requires resolve…"

"Resolve? You really have resolve… just kill me. With your own two hands. Don't hide behind the rules."

Look who's talking...

"I can't do that. I can't sink to the prisoners' level. It's my job as the warden to make a fair judgement. I… I have to judge each and every one of you… no matter how much they plead, cry, or bargain… even if they are dying right in front of me."

"What is even the point? You give a damn about my life, forgive me! If not, kill me… get it over with."

The words came tumbling out. Fuuta tried not to think so hard about what he was saying. It was all in character. That was it.

For some reason, he got the sinking sensation that he'd be pulled aside later to explain himself. He wasn't sure who'd get to him first. Yuno? Shidou? Kotoko? Now that he thought about it, it would probably be Mahiru.

"Bargaining tactics won't work with me."

"Not like I care. Or… if I get out of this alive, I'll… kill… you…"

"Fine by me. If we truly are the same, then I'll have had it coming. Now, Prisoner no. 3, Fuuta, sing your sins."

Fuuta breathed a sigh of relief.

Fucking finally...

#milgram #au combo!! #es #fuuta kajiyama #order or attack #lights camera sing your sins #we are fuutaposting (FOUR posts across blogs??) then going to SLEEP its past my bedtime -_- #i was busy today so i stole some peaceful me time to write >:3 but i stole too much and now its 1am.... alas...... #it was really fun setting this up like directors commentary asdfsdf (which i have an actual one to do from you still) #i expected for him to have more anger and impatience but i realized hed be pretty emotionally hurt still #also yeah. i think hed be in a bit of denial about his self-harming thoughts and unsure why they just start spilling out #then has to unpack A Lot behind the scenes #i think if it were anyone else hed go 'screw it - im going to ruin this experiment and call es out and everyone can go home' #but because he was moved by amanes mission specifically he has the bare minimum of self control to keep the act up ;--; #i wanted to include more of the fun behind the scenes mv details that hes aware of but it never really came up 🤔 #thank you for the ask - this was so fun! :0 #drabbles #maybe? more like a parasite drabble latched onto your writing 😅

[walnutcookie]

can i ask what cheddar's curse is :333333333 3 33333 :333 :#3333333333333333333333333333 :3:#3333

HI I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKEDDD. :33 THANK U SO MUCH FOR THIS ASK /GEN. you have unleashed hell i am about to write so many paragraphs /silly /pos

ok to rb!

I need to draw a picture of them without the shadow sometime but. basically that glint in the shadow over cheddars face?

thats not their eye. they dont have an eye there anymore. instead it is a jewel :]c a cheddarstone to be exact. And it is very cursed!

still need to figure out exactly how it goes but when the blue cheese manor burned down they reached for the cursed jewel that their family had and They survived! They technically cannot die! but living isnt exactly easy

inside of them is a ton of Dark almost ink-like goop,, its like. Anti-life force. It seeps through their skin slowly and if it seeps out too much cheddar has to fight for control. if it gets really bad they lose control entirely. the only way to keep it from seeping out is by absorbing pure life force. they can obtain it through being around someone as they die, but more effectively they can kill people themself. Which is pretty easy since!! touching anti-life force kills a person IMMEDIATELY literally all cheddar needs to do is touch someone and theyre dead.

of course, if people knew that she was doing this, theyd be arrested immediately so theyve found ways to be sneaky about it :]c

for one, they cover themself up as best as possible. Literally from the head down its completely covered - giant coat, gloves, boots, etc. plus the hat covers not only the jewel in their eye but the anti-life force goop growing on his face!!! They avoid being in crowds or tightly packed spaces and theyre careful not to ever touch someone - while the clothing helps, it doesnt completely negate the curse, so while a brush of the shoulder may not kill the person itll at least drain them which will look suspicious.

obviously this quote wasnt related but shh its about Universe A. to me

cheddar has basically made themself untouchable (both metaphorically and literally).

say, theoretically, they need to take another victim. theyre travelling with macaroni on oh, say, a train, and they find a random cookie isolated in a train car with nobody around to witness anything. they peel off their glove and put their hand on the victims mouth, muffling their scream and killing the person instantly, and then they gently lower the body down so it doesnt make a noise as it hits the floor. next they use a knife to stab the person a few times - theyre already dead, but since touching them wouldnt give any indicators toward the cause of death, they have the perfect opportunity to create a false story behind the murder of this cookie and frame someone else for it. all they need to do after that is call macaroni to come see and he'll practically do the work for them!!!

ive mentioned this on one of my posts before but i headcanon that macaroni. cannot. stand. mysteries. he has to have them solved ASAP otherwise he CANNOT rest easy. he wont be able to eat or sleep very well at all. it makes him so anxious as much as he loves mysteries

Cheddar uses this to their advantage! theyve created a person in macaroni's head - someone whos lazy, who doesnt put much effort into their work, someone who doesnt rely on real evidence very much. How would someone like cheddar manage to frame someone else for a murder theyve committed and get away with it? especially since cheddar is around macaroni 24/7 and hed never expect them to do something in like the five minutes that they sneak away. not to mention cheddar has been working for the cbi even longer than mac and why on earth would a cbi agent kill someone for (seemingly) no reason??? In reality cheddar is actually much smarter and observant than they make themself seem but mac is in HEAVY denial about it because he doesnt want to have to think about his work partner being a murderer. Better to come up with other solutions (which cheddar so generously offers to him by framing people) than to point the finger at cheddar and raise dozens more questions that may be left unanswered. Plus the thought that all of the deaths cheddar caused would technically partially be macs fault. And as much as cheddar annoys him, mac has grown pretty attached to them.

someone could literally yell at mac and say LOOK!!! CHEDDAR HAS BLOOD STAINS ON THEIR COAT OH MY GOD!!!!!!! and mac will just laugh and say Haha that must be from lunch yesterday :) LIKE. cheddar has just made the perfect alibi for themself. they can never be accused of any crime because mac will defend them no matter what just to keep his own sanity

all of the killing and murder and crime aside cheddar is. Fucking miserable. shes so insanely touch starved bro they havent had a hug since like 1806 (except for like one person CCOUXGGHT COUCGHE GOUCGH ROUCYEO CAPPUCCINO COUGH COUCGH SPUTTER COUGH thats another post entirely though if anyone sends an ask abt it ill talk about it) and they try to make themself seem unlikable towards macaroni and try to distance themself from people and avoid relationships because even just a high five or a brush of the shoulder could be fatal. its too much of a risk, and its not one theyre willing to take.

he is fucking Smitten for macaroni theyre so head over heels for that girl but they just! CANT!!!! they cant get close to him because then he might DIE and not only would they lose the person they love but that would mean that their precious alibi is gone and theyd have to be extra extra sneaky about things to make sure that nobody catches them committing crimes. not to mention because of the way they act macaroni fucking HATES HIM. one sided yuri my beloved

anyways yaay ill stop there before this post gets too long X] theres more stuff about these two (including actual yuriful fluff NO WAAY) if youre curuois or have any other questions just shoot me an ask id love to answer!!!!

as always i dont think this is canon by any means it is all just my silly headcanon au because i think cheddar should be fucked up As a treat👍have a nice day If you read all of this i loveyiu so much /p

#cheddar cheese cookie #macaroni cookie #cookie run au #🎉 rambles #universe a au #tw murder #murder #i guess ? #ask to tag

[sillysistersusi]

Reach You In The Dark

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Summary: Finarfin and Eärwen after the first kinslaying.

Arafinwë could barely see through the veil of tears, but he could hear Eärwen's cries, and that was almost worse.

He had never seen her so distraught and in so much pain. It was one of those moments in life that you didn't believe were true. They felt like a bad dream that you just wanted to wake up from. And Arafinwë wanted to wake up so badly.

They were gone. His children were gone and he didn't even know if they had helped in this massacre. Were some of these deaths their fault? Had they wielded those swords and spears and shot those arrows?

Arafinwë didn't want it to be true, but he couldn't shake this feeling. It was as if an icy coldness was settling on his skin and little spikes of ice were digging into it.

He had known some of these people. They had been cousins and friends of Eärwen and they had often visited them. Their children had been there too.

Could his beloved little ones really be capable of doing such a deed? Or had they just stood on the sidelines and let it happen? And would that really have been better? Because even if they had only watched, they would still be partly to blame, but-

His throat burned and a sick feeling spread through his stomach as images flooded his mind. Images of Findaráto holding a bloody sword in his hands, those hands which he used to write poetry with, of Aikanáro shooting an arrow at unarmed elves with trembling hands, of Angaráto closing his eyes as someone was struck down, of Artanis fighting her way through the ranks alongside her cousins.

His wonderful children. It seemed like yesterday to him when he had cradled them in his arms and read to them, and now they were to be responsible for such destruction?

He didn't know what he should feel at that thought, but he knew what he did feel. He could never hate them. Not for the fact that they had left. Not for what they had done to the Teleri. Not for listening more to Fëanáro than to his words. Not for causing their mother such grief.

It was the curse of a parent, Arafinwë thought, to still love his children as much as the first time he had held them, even if they now where monsters in some eyes.

As Eärwen's cries slowly faded, he was brought back to the present. He needed to focus on the now and repair the destruction his family had left behind.

He blinked tears from his eyes to get a clearer view and soon found Eärwen. Her bushy, silvery-white hair was all tousled, she had most likely brushed her hand through it several times.

She stared at him. Her tears were everywhere. He couldn't tell if she was still crying because her whole face was wet. She was still shaking, but she was no longer sobbing. Maybe she just couldn't anymore.

After a moment, she reached out a hand to Arafinwë for help.

"Ara." she breathed wetly. "Ara." Her face was all distorted and he wondered if he would ever see her laugh as carefree as she had only weeks before. When they hadn't expected their peaceful life to find an end so soon.

Arafinwë also reached out a hand and took her trembling, cold fingers between his.

"I am so sorry," he said softly, more tears escaping his eyes. His family had instigated this and he didn't know how he was ever going to make up for ir. If there even was anything that could.

Eärwen stepped closer to him and pressed her face against his chest. "You are not to blame for what your brothers did." Carefully and timidly, he put his trembling arms around her and pressed his face into her hair. It smelled of Eärwen, of home. Of a security that felt just so far away.

He hadn't thought he'd hear her speak again so soon, but that sentence alone seemed to have drained her of all her energy. She leaned her whole body against him and clung to him desperately, as if Arafinwë was the only thing keeping her alive right now.

Arafinwë knew that she was to him.

#finarfin x earwen #finarfin #earwen #arafinwë #silm #silmarillion #silm fanfic #the silmarillion