#its started now but i still had more WORDS to say

[mariasont]

Office Sleepover - A.H

a/n: this is honestly kind of shit but whatever

might make this a mini series?

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: reader kind of flashes hotch, really inconsistent with how the gov works i'm sure, there's also definitely not an oven in the break room but in my world there is <3

wc: 3.8k

Hotch's voice reached you, but the words tangled into an indecipherable code as they hit the air. You nodded, a reflex, but it was as if your brain had short-circuited. You could make out fragments--a hit on you, stay at office, 24/7 protection, you can take the back office. But no matter how many times he said it, it seemed to ricochet through your head, making less sense each time. You were on a hit list? A hit list?

It all felt very made up, like a script ripped straight out of a tv show. Risk was a part of the BAU job description, but a hit list? For a fleeting moment, a chuckle hovered at the brink of your lips, but it was swiftly swallowed by a wave of dread that rose in its place. You blinked a couple times, probably too many in a vain attempt to clear the fog and bring Hotch's face into focus.

"But what about all my stuff? And you want me to camp out here in the office? For how long, Hotch? I mean, I'm all for overtime, but this is... this is a lot, and I--," you babble, your speech racing ahead of your thoughts. "And my baking? That's my biggest stress reliever. Not to mention my DIY projects--I can't just abandon my half-finished throw pillowcases. Plus, how many pairs of shoes is too many for an office closet?"

Your pout formed a delicate bow, and though he said nothing, his eyes softened. Hotch could feel the frown marring his features. He might never say it, but seeing you like this struck a chord, making it a little hard to breathe. 

Circling the desk, he planted himself in front of you, his hand settling on your shoulder. "Hey, take a deep breath," he urges softly. "Let's take it one step at a time. List out what you need, someone will bring it here. Your baking supplies, DIY projects, even your shoes."

True to Hotch's word, as usual, you found every piece of your life carefully compartmentalized into cardboard boxes, lined up carefully in the office that now doubled as your temporary room. There was an odd sense of dislocation in finishing your workday and needing only to count about thirty steps before arriving at your room.

You swung the door closed, the sound sealing the room as a deep sigh wrapped around you and you started sifting through the boxes. The pullout couch serving as your bed was less than appealing, its worn fabric making you grimace internally. Nevertheless, you diverted your attention, busying yourself with the organizing of your extensive collection of things. Spencer would definitely shake his head at the sight of the vast amount of clothes you had brought.

The irony wasn't lost on you; surrounded by the office's ceaseless motion, yet you felt more alone than in the stillness of your own apartment. God, this was pathetic, and you needed a drink, but you had a nagging suspicion the office handbook would have a thing or two to say about that. You spent a solid two hours attempting to infuse the sterile space with a touch of home, it wasn't perfect (at all), but it would have to do.

Rossi knocks on the doorframe, poking his head in with a grin. "I didn't realize we were redecorating the bureau in shades of bubblegum," he teases. "How you doing, kid?"

"Actually, it's blush," you correct with a mock-serious tone, meeting his smile with one of your own. "I'm fine," you insist, but Rossi's knowing look prompts a quick add-on. "I am, really, I mean I've always said I wanted my own office."

"An office with a view of the bullpen, no less. You're living the dream," he says, his eyes scanning the room. "Need any help with anything? Or anything else from your place? Maybe your favorite mug to make feel more like home?"

"Don't worry, I'm already one step ahead of you," you assure him, revealing a drawer brimming with mugs.

Rossi lets out a low appreciative whistle. "Why am I not surprised?" he chuckles with a broad grin. "Well, I'm heading out for the night. Remember, I'm just a call away if you need anything. And Hotch is still here, buried in paperwork as usual."

He left, and you were alone--a cue to try and cling to some normalcy of your routine; you drew the blinds and slipped into the comfort of your pajamas. You hauled yourself off to the office bathroom, reluctantly at that, and proceeded to attend to your skincare, brush your hair, and polish your smile with a thorough teeth brushing.

Eyeing the hallway warily, you made a silent exit from the bathroom, the carpet softening your footfalls. But in your rush to avoid prying eyes, you crashed into a solid wall of a figure, the force sending you tumbling backward. You hit the floor with a muted thud, your ass hitting the ground, legs splayed inelegantly in front of you. Your eyes rose to meet the firm, penetrating look of Hotch. Of fucking course.

There was a pause as Hotch's eyes drank in the sight of your flushed complexion and the wide, doe-like eyes that seemed to capture the light just so. He felt like his heart could stop then and there. And he knew it was wrong, but he certainly liked the sight of you sprawled below him. He blinked, breaking the trance, and offered a concerned, "Are you okay?" His hands were outstretched, ready to pull you back to your feet. 

Your cheeks turned a deeper shade as you held onto Hotch's hand, the feeling unexpectedly comforting, rough in yours but nice. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm all good, sorry about that," you managed to say, the words squeaking out a tad too eagerly. 

You stood up, and his closeness was all-consuming. You were suddenly intensely aware of every breath, every throb of your heart, and your mind went blank; the usual stream of thoughts replaced by a buzzing silence.

His eyes held yours for a fraction longer than necessary before he stepped back, creating a respectful distance. The hallway's warmth seemed to dissipate with the space, leaving you with an unexpected stab of disappointment. 

"Rossi said you'd be here. Anything I can do to help?" 

You rationalized the offer as a gesture of your goodwill, but a small part, well a big part, of you knew just wanted to be close to him, to be alone with him maybe--in the office, after hours, in his office. This was weird, I mean, you'd always admired your Unit Chief, but this was different. You chalked it up to the day's unfortunate series of events--you were tired, and lonely, and you needed desperately to snap out of it before you made a fool out of yourself.

"No, you need to rest. It's been a long day, and you've been through enough." He paused, his gaze assessing you. "How are you holding up?"

"At this rate, I'll need a sign that says 'I'm fine,' to stop the check-ins." Although you silently doubted that would deter him. You gesture to the surroundings. "And this? It's like a sleepover at work. Just hoping this so-called hit man doesn't show up."

Hotch internally recoiled at your words, leaving him with the sensation of a cold grasp tightening around his heart. He cleared his throat, the joke falling flat in the gravity of his concern. "I'll be here for a while longer. If you need anything, don't hesitate to come find me," he managed a nod before retreating to his office.

A while longer? You knew Hotch was a workaholic, but it now occurred to you that he must never sleep. Quickly, you gathered your scattered belongings, and made your way to your office.

The pull-out couch seemed even less inviting than you remembered, if that was possible. You perched on the edge, the metallic frame cold through the thin mattress. As you lay down, the couch seemed to swallow you in its awkward angles. Perfect. Tossing and turning, you struggled to find a comfortable spot. Eventually, exhaustion won over discomfort, the rhythm of your own breathing lulling you into a fitful sleep.

Your eyes flickered open at some point during the night and the blinds drifted apart, as if by an unseen hand, and through the gap, your eyes fell on a hooded figure, the face not visible in the dim light. Your muscles locked in terror, an icy fear clawing its way up your spine as you tried to move--to reach for your gun, to call out for Hotch, to do anything. But as if imprisoned by an invisible force, you could only watch, confined to the bed, as the figure crept towards the door. 

A scream tore from your throat, a raw and piercing sound that ricocheted off the walls and echoed through your eyes. This was it, you thought. 

Then, in an instant, you were awake and disoriented, your breaths coming in short bursts, and your body covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Your fingers clenched the sheets, the fabric twisting in your grasp as you fought to decipher what was reality. Your eyes snapped to the blinds, half-expecting to see the figure from your dream materialize, but the emptiness beyond them slowly calmed your racing heart.

With a throat dry as parchment and your pulse still echoing in your ears, you drifted from your room towards the break room. As you ambled past Hotch's office, you paused. The door, slightly ajar, felt like an invitation. Despite knowing better, a foggy curiosity nudged your feet forward. With a shaky breath, you eased the door open wider and slipped inside. 

His office felt different at night--it was quieter, more personal, and you felt like an intruder on Hotch's private world. You took a moment, absorbing the sight of his meticulously organized desk, the case files that were always present.

It was tempting to try to piece together the man from his workspace, but you held back. As you turned to leave, a familiar scent stopped you--the subtle hint of his cologne hanging in the air. It wrapped around you, easing the tension that had sunk into your limbs. Almost without thinking, you found yourself sinking into the couch.

The room, infused with his distinct scent, seemed to have your blinking growing heavier, more intentional. You nestled deeper into the cushions; the fabric familiar beneath your fingers, lulling you into a sense of security. Just five minutes, you thought.

Hotch's steps were slow, his eyelids having a hard time staying open as he made his way through the bullpen. He carried his briefcase, the leather handle worn and conformed to his hand. He contemplated a detour to your office, a silent check-in to ease his mind, but he dismissed the idea--you were probably still asleep, and he'd definitely look like a creep. Reaching his own office, he noticed the door ajar, a sliver of morning light spilling through the gap.

He stepped into the room, and time seemed to stand still as his gaze landed on the couch. There you were, fast asleep on his couch. Your hand lay gently under your cheek, a makeshift pillow softening the hard angles beneath, while your nose gave the faintest twitches. Your lips were parted as if mid-whisper and strands of your hair were splayed in a disarrayed crown around your head. He knew that in no way could that have been comfortable. It hurt his back just looking at you, but still you looked so peaceful.

He moved with quiet steps, heat creeping up his neck as he placed his things on the desk. Turning back to you, he couldn't help but notice the gentle dishevelment of your pajamas, buttons undone in innocent disarray, the fabric parting to reveal the gentle slope of your breasts. He felt an odd mix of emotions--a gentle chiding for finding you in such state, and the guilt of finding the sight so undeniably sweet. 

A quiet cough escaped him, more out of habit than necessity, as he approached a cabinet where blankets were neatly stacked--a nod to many nights spent just as you were. He draped one over you, his movements slow and unhurried, shielding you from potential curious eyes before finding his normal place behind the wooden desk.

He tried to focus--really, he did. I mean, he had a towering pile of paperwork and responsibilities that demanded his attention. But despite his best efforts, his gaze involuntarily drifted to you time and time again. It was as if he needed visual confirmation of your steady breathing to assure himself that you were okay. He thought about you here all night, alone, and he found his knuckles whiten against the grip of his pen. He knew you had security on you at all times, but somehow, he found no comfort in that.

Hotch's eyes flicked to the clock--7:30 am. You still had at least another half an hour before you technically needed to start work, although truth be told he would let you sleep as long as your body allowed. There was no way in hell he was going to disturb you when you looked so content. 

As Hotch worked, the morning light grew stronger, casting a warm glow over his desk. It was nearly 9 am when the sound of shifting fabric eventually roused you. You were waking up, blinking away the remnants of sleep, confusion etched on your face. As your eyes caught sight of the clock and Hotch, mortification set it. 

"Oh my gosh, Hotch. I am so sorry," you blurted out, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. "You could've woken me up--I... I should've set an alarm. And I shouldn't even be here, but I can explain, sort of..."

In a flurry of motion, you leapt from the couch, only to feel a sudden tug at your chest as a button from your top snagged on a stray thread. The fabric pulled open, revealing way more than what was appropriate for your boss to see. Your face turned a shade redder as you scrambled to cover up. Hotch, momentarily sidetracked by the sight of the cleavage of your tits once again, quickly refocused and interrupted your flustered explanations.

"It's fine," he assured. "Given everything that's happened, you needed the rest." He nodded towards the couch. "You're always welcome to sleep here if you need to--though I can't promise it'll be any more comfortable next time."

"Oh no, it was super comfortable, really," you insist, despite the awkwardness clinging to your words. Hotch gives you a look that says he's not entirely convinced. "Okay, well, I'm going to uh... go," you mumble, stopping short at the door with a sudden concern.

Hotch understands immediately and offers, "They're all in the briefing room--won't be out for a while."

With a relieved nod, and minimal eye contact, you dash out, hoping to reach your office unnoticed. But because the world just hated you these past days, just as you're rushing by, Morgan's hands come to your shoulders to stop you.

"Easy there, mama," he teases, a smile on his face. But as he gets a good look at your attire, his grin grows wider. "What in the world...?" he starts, laughter in his voice. He glances from you to Hotch's office door, then back again. "Hold up, hold up--you didn't... with Hotch? Are you?"

"What? No, Morgan, absolutely not! Why would you even--oh my god," you gasp, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. God, I mean, the day hasn't even started, and you needed it to end. Realizing your voice has risen in your flustered state, you quickly lower it to a harsh whisper, your eyes darting around to ensure no one overheard. "Why would you even suggest that?"

"Um, maybe because you're making a grand exit from the boss man's office in your PJs? Just a wild guess."

"No, Morgan, it's not what you think," you insist, but your attention snaps to the sound of the team's voices nearing the door. "I don't have time for this," you mutter, darting back to your office. 

In a whirlwind, you shed the pajamas, slip into your work attire, and hastily run a brush through your hair. Good enough. 

You threw yourself into work, the stack of papers becoming a welcome distraction, a rare sense of relief rather than the familiar dread. It was a considerable effort to divert your mind from the distractions--Hotch, the hit man, and Morgan's incessant teasing. Not that anyone would believe that you and Hotch were together; he was the very definition of sophisticated, handsome, and successful, and you were just, well, you.

Not that there was anything wrong with you. You liked yourself just fine; you laughed too loudly at jokes, talked to your houseplants as if they were your old friends, and you had an odd fascination with weather patterns. These things made you wholly you. You just knew you couldn't be more different from Hotch.

With a bit of luck and purposeful avoiding, your day passed smoothly, sparing you any unnecessary run-ins with Hotch. Everyone had gone home for the day which is why you stood in the break room attempting some baking recipe from Pinterest. 

The slippers on your feet padded against the carpet as you hummed around the room. With swift motions, you ushered the coffee cake batter into the oven, then turned to tackle the mess you had created on the countertops. Cleaning as you go wasn't your usual style, but office break room didn't seem like the place for your usual creative sprawl. 

Your phone had buzzed incessantly with Penelope's calls--her offers the keep you company is why you loved her, but you weren't going to subject her to that, no matter how many times she said she didn't mind.

Hotch's office was quiet, save for the soft scratching of his pen against paper as he finally closed his files. He moved into bullpen and as he passed the breakroom, the soft hum of the light and faint sound of movement drew him in. There you were, engrossed in tidying up, with your hair casually gathered above your shoulders and wearing your sweats, Hotch found him instinctively pausing to watch. 

He knew he shouldn't bother you, knew he was likely the last person you'd want to see, yet he found himself rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on you, the warmth in his chest intensifying with each fleeting second.

The moment you turned and saw a figure, a sharp gasp cut through the silence, and the icing in your grasp became a sweet projectile that flew across the room. Relief washed over you as you realized who it was.

"Jeez, Hotch, give me a heart attack why don't you," you said, half-laughing as your heart rate settled. "Especially when there's a hitman who might beat you to the punch."

Hotch parted his lips to speak, but you were quicker, a stream of thoughts tumbling out before you could stop them. "I thought everyone was gone. You weren't at your desk earlier--oh wait, you had that meeting with the DOJ, right? Did they have anything about the people who marked me?" 

In your haste, you closed the gap between you, and only then did you spot the icing on his cheek. "Oh, sorry about that, Hotch," you said with an apologetic grin, reaching out as if to wipe it away. 

As your palm made contact with his skin, a shared realization of the intimacy of the gesture washed over you. Time seemed to slow as your thumb traced a lingering path through the icing, your whisper barely audible, "There."

The word seemed to hang in the air as you froze, the proximity suddenly overwhelming, your breath caught in your throat. Hotch's backward step was almost imperceptible, but it was enough. You cleared your throat awkwardly, cheeks warming with a flush. "Um, did you need something?"

Hotch shook his head slightly, "No, just wanted to check on your before I head out."

You gave a thumbs up, mustering a smile. "Well, consider me checked."

Hotch nodded, his expression unreadable. "Goodnight," he said, to which you echoed in response as you watched him leave.

Alone now, you slumped against the counter, your hand pressed to your face. Consider me checked? God, someone needed to tape your mouth shut.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #hotch #hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #ssa hotchner #agent hotchner #cm #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #Spotify

[antiwhores]

My king ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

King!Bakugou x servant!reader

I’m on break rn but its Bakugou’s birthday so heres this for you guys. I haven’t wrote anything this long in a HOT minute. only ogs remember when I used to write more than just drabbles

Learning not to feel self conscious about every move you made around King Katsuki was like learning to walk again.

You had to be perfect, everyone had to be perfect with the King’s temper. If a plate broke, you’d be shamed and degraded until you were holding back improper tears to avoid more degration, then you’d be fired and kicked to the curb. If you messed up an order, say goodbye to the kingdom cause you’re banished. And if you even showed the slightest disrespect then plan your funeral in the next 20 seconds because you’re dead.

Atleast, that’s what everyone told you when you first started your job as King Katsuki’s personal servant.

So far, you have not been degraded to salty tears when dropping a plate. You get a simple, “Tch, stupid woman.” As you apologize profusely and bow down to the man.

You had not been banished for messing up an order. During a quiet afternoon one week, you were flustered. You had bills to pay, a close friend just died, you needed to restock grocery, and you had gotten 3 hours of sleep from all the crying over your friend. He noticed your puffy eyes and unusually sluggish frame. He spoke nothing about it. But when you gave him peach tea instead of chai he didn’t make too much of a scene. He mearly asked, rudely of course, what was wrong with you; he scoffed at your excuse.

And he definitely didn’t have you hanged when a groan threw itself out of your mouth when he bitched about you being absent yesterday. He only made you get on your knees as he grabbed your face and made you apologize and beg for forgiveness. It sounds harsh but considering his reputation, you were called extremely lucky.

The other staff said that he’d taken a liking to you. They always sent you out to take care of his needs when he was in a pissy mood cause you had a better chance at living than the average servant.

You didn’t speak much unless directly told to. Its how you were trained. He didnt talk much either but he would ask you casual questions sometimes, like you’re anything but an ant in this heirchy.

“Oi.”

You gracefully turned around to face him and bowed down. “Yes, your grace?”

He clicks his tongue at your formality. “Stop it with the your grace and shit. Are you beheld yet?”

You softly shake your head, trying not to show your surprise at the intimate question. “No, your majesty.”

You feel embarrassed telling him your status. Usually girls around here would be married at 17 but here you are still single.

He seems pleased at that, “Why?”

You shrug as if the answer is simple. “I haven’t found someone who I can holeheartedly call my beloved.”

He starts to get nicer to you after that. He makes sure you eat and orders you to tell him (in detail) about your day.

No one is allowed in the King’s room. He says if he wants to clean it, he’ll do so himself. And no one dares to step foot into his den and you are not an exception.

You are still scared when he tells you to run him a bath in his room. You had to conform with him so many times that you invoked him to snapping on you.

His room reked of him. It was intoxicating.

You forced yourself to disregard everything around you in fear that if you looked up from your shoes you wouldn’t be able to control yourself from snooping.

You allowed yourself to look up when you reached his enormous bathroom. Did one person really need a bathroom the size of your house? It wasn’t your place to say so you began to prepare a bath.

Just as you were done you went to head out only to be stopped by the King himself.

“Where ya headed?”

You almost screamed from being startled so badly.

“I’ve prepared your bath, my king. I figured I should head out now.”

You wait for his word to leave but it never comes.

“Stay.” He commands.

“But-“

“Are you arguing with me?”

You definitely were not. You just thought that he didn’t understand that you were done and he didn’t need you anymore. But as he began to strip down in your silence, you realized he understood fully.

You turned a full 180 degrees around to avoid disrespecting him. A lowly servant like you shouldn’t have the privilege of seeing a king indecent. Even if you have grown found of him, you need to respect your place.

You hear the water splash as he gets in.

“Come.”

“What?”

“Get in with me.”

“But sir-“

“Do we need to correct that attitude? Arguing with the King isn’t smart.”

He doesn’t know what he’s asking, you thought as your cheeks grew red. Your body moved on its own as you began to strip down. You couldn’t disobey the king, not that you wanted to. You’ve always had a thing for him. From his biceps to his booming personality.

You suddenly feel subconscious with his eyes on you. He licks his lips, or did he? You have to be dreaming right now.

But you’re not dreaming, his hand dragging you on top of him in the bath isn’t a dream. And its definitely not a dream when your hand try to find something to stable itself and end up on his shoulders.

“You know, I’m quite fond of you.”

He strokes up and down your sides before moving onto your arms. The waters warm but it feels like its boiling against your skin. He smells so good and he feels so… hard?

Hard, against your thigh. You blush a deep red. He looks down with you.

“Like what you see, yeah?”

Fuck, it was big. You expected him to be big, but you hadn’t comprehended how that would feel inside someone.

“Wanna sit on it?”

You didn’t even realize you were now straddling him. You didn’t know if you moved of if he had moved you. All you know is that your here now and its taking everything in you to not grind against him without permission.

Lustful eyes meet lustful eyes. He gives you silent permission with a nod of his head so you began to grind your pussy against his cock in a desperate attempt to get rid of the heat in your belly.

His head is thrown back, “Just like that…”

You grinded until you could find the angle to catch your clit against him. The water was splashing back and forth against the tub. Your pussy clenched against nothing and it drove you crazy.

Just as you were about to cum, he stilled your hips with both hands.

You whined, “My king-“

“It’s Katsuki.”

“I couldn’t possibly call the king by his first name as a commoner.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not a commoner anymore, my queen.”

Before you could even begin to comprehend what he was alluding to, he slammed his cock inside you and thrusted into you at a wild pace.

You gripped his shoulders to study yourself, the stretch being painful but quickly residing into pleasure.

“Fuck!” He hissed through his teeth. He just got in and he’s already ready to cum. You felt so good, nothing like anything he’s had before. He was ready to make you queen before hand but now he’s ready to make a heir to the throne.

Your head dove into his shoulders, it was too much and it felt too good. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten. He grabbed you by your hair and shoved you against his lips.

“Wanna cum inside, that okay?”

He was gonna do it even if you said it wasn’t so you didn’t bother responding. You were too focused on meeting his thrusts anyway.

His cock pulsed inside of you, his hands marking your back up with scratched and vice versa.

The coil inside you snapped and you came on his cock with a scream. He followed shortly after you with an uncharacteristic moan.

His ropes of cum filled you up until his body relaxed against you.

Water was everywhere, on the walls and the floor. It would take a lot to clean up but you couldn’t focus on that right now.

“Does this mean you like me?”

“I just said I was making you queen, fuckin’ dumbass.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha x reader #bakugou headcanons #katsuki x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugo x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou thirst #mha smut

[readychilledwine]

Lost Bonds pt 4

Summary - The last thing Tamlin planned to have happen was a bond snapping between him and Y/N Archeron. Now the big question becomes, is it too late to fix what has been broken?

Warnings - stereotypical happy ever after, grudges, cutting ties with family, rhysand being a decent brother in law, divorce, children, babies, pregnancy, reader's powers are yin to Nesta's yang, loosely edited (squint away any mistakes💕)

A/n - I know some people might be upset with the direction this ended in, but it felt... right? Forgive me.

✨️Tamlin Masterlist✨️

Lost Bonds: Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

The Fire in Spring *can be read as a bonus Calanmai smut scene*

Rhysand was eerily calm as Azriel approached his office with Feyre. For the first time since her arrival here, Feyre would be in a seat he typically only forced the Inner Circle to instead of at his side.

Rhys sat and waited, hands laced together as they entered. “You are probably wondering why I asked you two to come in. Sit.” He motioned to the chairs across from him, not missing the look of confusion on Feyre's face. He waited for them to settle before saying the one thing he knew would begin the fight he prepared himself for, “I sent y/n to Spring yesterday. For Calanmai.”

Azriel's hands instantly twitched, and the fight began.

Three weeks had past with you and Tamlin and Tamlin and you. They were spent deep in the throes of passion. In need and want and want and need and every lingering emotion in between.

He had worshiped you. Truly and fully. He explored every inch of skin, tasting and kissing it every time like it was his last meal, like these were his last moments and he would rather spend them nowhere else than between the thighs he had become obsessed with.

It had taken 3 weeks for the bond to cool down enough for him to attempt to go back to his duties. He still ached for you and the completion that came with being yours, and you ached as well. You were like air to each other. Something so simple, yet so vital to life.

He sighed as he entered his office and sat in front of Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel. “You selfish-”

His hand went up. “If you're going to start throwing names around, shadowsinger, I have several for you. Be silent and allow me to discuss this with your lord and lady.”

Rhys was the first to speak after the blatant dismissal. “Where is she?”

“She should be resting. She's had a long morning already. She spent the morning with other Ladies of the Court discussing the upcoming Summer celebrations. I believe she is still socializing, though. I do not keep track of her constantly. She is a grown adult.”

Feyre scoffed and Tamlin raised his brow at her before she instantly looked down. “Is she happy?”

“Happier than I've been in a long time,” you entered the room, long hair falling in waves, an apricot colored dress swaying as you did. The colors of Spring made you even more radiant, your skin glowing, eyes dancing with light that had been missing for several years. “I assume you brought papers for me.”

You moved to Tamlin, standing behind him and holding a hand out for his. Feyre was shaking, refusing to look at you. “If you sign this, if you choose to stay, I never want to see you again.” The words should have cut like a knife, but all you could do was sigh.

“Would you like me to stay in Night then?”

Azriel glared towards Tamlin. “Its where you belong. Where your husband is. Where your family is.”

“Where your mate is,” you began to trail on for him. “Where you can have your cake and eat it too. Where your family has spent the past 4 years letting you make a fool out of me. Fond memories, yes.”

“Our marriage wasn't always unhappy, y/n.”

“No. But it became unhappy the second you had an affair. Sign the papers, Azriel.”

Rhysand stayed oddly silent, as did Tamlin, the two high lords were in a silent conversation regarding the scent only they seemed to be able to detect. You were not leaving Spring, not when you, albeit unknowingly, were carrying its salvation inside of you.

Tamlin pointed to the line that would grant you your freedom. Tapping it twice in a silent message to you to sign and stay at his side as he watched Azriel. He had no doubt the male planned on grabbing you, upset that he was losing his own claim to a made sister, upset that the Cauldron had paired him with another.

Tamlin knew his look. The look of a male who wanted everything with no compromise. He remembered being there. Being that male. He knew the pain that came with it, the anger. He watched you sign, signature so flawless and soft, curling the page that gave you freedom and you stepped back. Hiding that joy that was flooding him as you did.

“I won't stop fighting for you.”

You shook your head as you laid the ring on the desk and slid it to him. “You will. You will realize this was best for both of us in time. You will find happiness, peace, and what you are looking for.”

“I won't sign.”

Rhysand pinched his nose and then picked at his jacket, a nervous habit now instead of obsession. “Azriel, sign the papers.”

��I won't-”

“You will because I have tolerated every moment of this bull shit knowing it is against every law we have honored for thousands of years.” Tamlin was oddly calm, hand still in yours. “I tolerated it for her happiness.”

“She was happy with me.”

“Until 4 years ago, yes.”

You turned to Rhysand, eyes pleading. “Please.” Her brother in law nodded, taking her side and owning his error another time.

“Sign the papers, Azriel.” Feyre and Azriel seemed to freeze. It was a set command, one the shadowsinger would not be able to push. “Sign the papers.”

“I will never forgive you for this.”

Rhys shrugged. “I'll add it to the many times I was doing what was best for everyone else but made the bad guy. Sign the papers.”

Azriel stared at Tamlin as he signed the papers before taking the ring and standing. He left without saying goodbye, without looking back at you one last time. Without even so much as a sign of the love you two once shared.

“You will never see Nyx again.” Tamlin tugged the bond, sending you his love and support regardless of what you picked but silently begging you to stay.

Your throat tightened as you looked to Feyre, “Are you truly that selfish? Without Tamlin, you would not even have Nyx. You wouldn't have a mate.” She glared at you, chin head high as you continued, “you were never met to be Tamlin's, Feyre. Imagine a world where you would have just let me go, where I came here as the person who was supposed to.” She suddenly looked away, eyes squeezing shut as she did. “If that is the road you would like us to go down, consider it done. You are no longer my sister, no longer my other half, no longer part of me. If my happiness means this little to you, then we need to part ways.”

Feyre just nodded, standing and holding her hand out to Rhysand. Your brother in law shook his head, nodding for her to go. He sunk further into the chair he was in before looking to you and Tamlin. “Congratulations,” in was sincere, soft. Rhys grabbed your hand, kissing the palm. “You will always have a home in Velaris.”

10 years later

Tamlin sighed quietly next to you, bouncing your third child and daughter, Willow, on his lap as the other two sat. Oakland, your oldest son, was reading with his back leaned against your legs. Fleur, your middle daughter, was sitting by the glittering fish pond every court was circling.

High Lord's meetings were now quarterly. A way of holding each other all in check and accountable. Each one was more of a bitchfest than productive, but it had allowed relations between several courts to improve.

This one had been called due to Helion stepping down. With Beron gone, Autumn stable, and his mate and son finally at his side, the High Lord decided there was no better way to celebrate than relinquishing his powers to Lucien and enjoying the lost time he should have had with Andromeda.

Lucien looked to Tamlin, a little lost on the question Rhysand was asking before clearing his throat to answer, “I will not be enforcing rank and class if that's what you are asking. Fae are fae. Lower or higher does not matter to me. Laws will be enforced, tax will be enforced, and opportunities will be fair.” Rhys seemed content in that answer, looking at Feyre and Nyx before nodding.

You two knew you were next and Tamlin sighed as he handed Willow to you, much to her protest. “Spring is fully rebuilt and has implemented a version of Tarquin’s laws that work best for us,” the mentioned high lord smiled and raised his bubbling wine. “Our army is young, growing, but eager.”

He looked to you, “We would appreciate the spies being removed from our court, though. We are willing to answer any questions someone may have. We feel the use of spies in unnecessary. We have opened our boarders and home to anyone."

“The mortals,” Eris began slowly. “They are?”

“Part of our court as of two months ago,” you answered for Tamlin. “We are the only court they agreed to form a pact with. Jurian and Vassa will remain ruling over them as a better connection point.”

Eris hummed. Satisfied with the answer.

“Will they be asking to travel?” Kal watched his daughter, stopping her before her snow pale hand touched the pond with a soft no. “There are concerns over them coming to Winter. They were not made for such temperatures.”

Tamlin nodded, “We had hoped to discuss that with each court one on one. They are… beautiful, curious creatures. They want to travel the courts and experience different foods and lifestyles. Provisions will need to be made for that to happen, though.”

You couldn't help but smile, hearing what you used to be called beautiful by the most stunning male you had ever seen. His hand moved to rest on your thigh, squeezing softly as the next question came.

“The growth in Spring, the herbs, the medicinal plants, the food, flowers,” Thesan took a short pause as he and his mate communicated silently. “How did that happen?”

Tamlin squeezed your thigh again. “Nesta was blessed with the powers of death. Y/n was blessed with the powers of fertility and live. Her presence alone has brought light and growth back to Spring.”

“And children,” Kal murmured. You chuckled softly. You knew your every growing family was a source if jealousy from several other High Lords and Ladies.

“Yes, and children. The increase of faelings in Spring has been our biggest blessing. We are averaging 20-25 babes a year instead of the standard 3.”

You watched Rhys smile behind his hand as Feyre still refused to look your way. “And how many more do you two plan on having?” The question came from Cassian. He had taken to his nieces and nephew like they were second nature to him. He was their favorite uncle, and Nesta was fighting Elain hard for favorite Auntie.

Tamlin looked at you. “Perhaps we will be done after this new one arrives.” You shook your head quickly, lip pouting out. “I promised her 12.” Eris and Lucien both spit out their wine. Having grown up with many siblings, the two of them both looked shocked as Helion and Lady Autumn both smiled wide. “We will decide here in a month or two.”

Your hand absentmindedly moved to your very swollen stomach. This one was a boy. You felt it in your soul, and new Tamlin was secretly excited over the idea of another beautiful son.

The meeting came to a close as soon as Summer finished their updates. Tamlin helped you stand, moving his hand to your lower back as he walked you and your three toddlers out of the room. You could feel both of their eyes on you. A lingering cold Hazel gaze, a heartbroken blue one.

He tugged the bond softly before winnowing you home and immediately taking you to bed as the children's nannies all came to collect them for nap time.

“She looked regretful,” Tamlin unlocked your dress, kissing your shoulder softly. “She will approach soon.”

“It doesn't matter if she does.” The acceptance came so easily now. “We have each other, our family. We have this,” you tugged the bond. “Nothing will come between our happy ever after.” You held your pinky to his, and he wrapped his much larger one around it. “To us and our happy ever after then.”

“To us, petal.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria

Lost Bonds Taglist:

@impossibelle @fxckmiup @applerubyy @awkardnerd @sleepylunarwolf @macimads @esposadomd @stormhearty @starcrossedsan @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thisblogisaboutabook @ohemgeewhat @mybestfriendmademe @isa1b2h3 @b0xerdancer @forever-paramore28 @circe143 @ancientbeing10 @disgruntledturtleduck @fandomarchiveilyd

#acotar #acotar x reader #tamlin x reader #tamlin x archeron!reader #tamlin x yn #tamlin x y/n #tamlin x you #tamlin acotar

[dindjarindiaries]

You reblogged that starter list and before I even saw your message, this one SCREAMED Din to me:

❛ if i could be a different person, i promise you, i would be.

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompt: "If I could be a different person, I promise you, I would be."

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

You looked up at the expanse of stars overhead and let out a soft breath. The slight sting of the night's chilled air nipped at your nose, but the way it filtered through your lungs felt relieving. This was the open air; it was much more freeing than the ship you had started to feel trapped within.

It was that ship's boarding ramp you were sitting on, and as you took a quick glance over your shoulder, you saw its owner watching you from within the cargo hold with a worried tilt to his silver helmet. Having been caught in the act, his armored chest rose and fell in a breath as he started to walk towards you. Your gaze returned to the sky above as you sensed his approach.

"I thought you were charting another course," you said as Din took his place alongside you. "We can't spend too much time here."

Din shrugged in your periphery. "An extra rotation won't hurt."

Your head snapped towards him as your lips parted in disbelief. "A rotation?"

Din's visor was stuck on the stars, but after a moment of you staring, he returned your disbelieving glance. "What?"

You chuckled and shook your head, returning your attention to the night sky. You closed your eyes as your heart began to beat more rapidly. The question you wanted to ask screamed within your mind, but it came out as a mere whisper. "Why?"

There was a pause before Din responded. "Why what?"

You reopened your eyes and kept them on the stars. Looking at Din would make you lose your resolve. "Why are you bending your rules?"

When Din remained silent for a long moment, you quickly glanced over at him. His visor was fixed on his gloved hands as he picked the orange-colored material on his fingertips. "We can afford the time, for now." When he continued, his modulated voice was even lower than before. "And you're happy here."

You furrowed your brow at him. "I'm happy regardless."

Din gave his helmet a brief tilt. "Sure. But..." he paused, as if musing upon something, "not like you are on planets like this one."

You didn't know what to say to that. The sweet inhale of the crisp air you took was enough to prove his words true. As you continued to stare somewhat dumbfounded at Din, he added more.

"You don't like being on the ship."

You instantly shook your head and willed the words to come, but they wouldn't. Your throat had closed up around your wildly beating heart as the truths you tied to each atrium and ventricle came closer and closer to freeing themselves.

Din took your silence as a much more disappointing reality. Even his modulator couldn't hide his hurt. "You don't like being with me."

"No." You couldn't have gotten the word out faster if you'd tried. "That's not true."

"It's okay. I understand." Din's arm rested upon his propped-up knee as he looked at the stars yet again. You watched his visor reflect them with fond admiration. "My lifestyle isn't meant to keep people around for long." He nodded, as if he was still convincing himself of such a truth. "I've grown used to it."

His words, a genuine and honest reflection of himself, shattered your heart enough to let the shards escape through the barrier your throat had attempted to create. Each beautiful truth began to spill out in a stained glass mosaic of the image you had crafted over the past few months. "Yet I'm still here."

That caught Din's attention. His visor found your gaze as you pieced your art together.

"I've felt trapped, yes, but not by you or your ship." You exhaled and watched your hand as you set it on the metal of the ramp beside you. It was just inches from Din's own. "It's a feeling. One that consumes me, really. And while it's centered on you, it's not because of you that I feel so trapped. That's only because I know the truth. I know your guard has to stay up."

You huffed and shook your head at yourself.

"It sounds ridiculous to say out loud, honestly, but... you deserve to know." The corners of your mouth pulled up in a sad smile. "Even if there's nothing you can do about it."

Din's visor never left you as he sat in the heavy silence that followed. Eventually, his visor lowered, his focus moving to his gloved hand as it closed the distance to your own. Only part of his hand covered yours on the boarding ramp as he spoke in the most beautifully honest tone you had ever heard from him. "If I could be a different person, I promise you, I would be."

You shook your head, your gaze also fixed on your hands as you did so. "If you were any different, you wouldn't be the person I've grown such feelings for."

You were delicate in the way you laced your fingers through his, allowing him to pull away at any point if he so wished. He made no such move, instead letting his armored chest rise and fall in a careful breath as your hands became fully entwined. After a few more quiet moments, he spoke up once again. "I can learn."

You looked back up at his visor and hoped your expression wasn't betraying your strong glimmer of hope. Din offered a determined nod.

"I will learn."

Your smile couldn't be stopped as you looked upon him much more favorably than you ever had the stars. "Yeah?"

Din nodded once more, resting your entwined hands on his armored thigh. "Yeah."

#get you a man who wants to learn how to accept love on your behalf!!!!!!! (and give it ofc) #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #prompts #dindjarindiaries

[orangelala]

𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒆𝒅

female reader x somehwhat clingy bf chris

summary: nick and matt decide to give chris a little payback using you, how will he react?

warnings: fluff, swearing, use of y/n

word count: 1.3k words (re-upload)

you and chris fell asleep watching a movie on your computer. you were sleeping peacefully until you were woken up by someone shaking you. you assumed it was chris and you rolled over to look at him to see he was still asleep. now scared to turn around you felt another shake, making you sit up instantly.

"matt? nick? what are you doing? you scared me" you say seeing the two brothers stand in front of you. "sorry" they say in sync. "what time is it?" you say rubbing your eyes. "almost seven" matt says. "don't you guys go to sleep around like three?" you say in a bit of annoyance that they woken you up.

"yes but that's not the point" matt continues. "c'mre" nick says holding out his hand to get yours. you stand up and adjust your pajama shirt, walking with nick as matt follows to the hallway.

"okay what's up, what can't you guys wait for until at least a few more hours?" you say crossing your arms. "we want to prank chris and we need your help" nick says looking at matt. "and it needs to be at seven in the mornin?" you mumble as a yawn escapes you. "yes its apart of the prank" matt says

nick and matt go on to tell you how they want to prank chris because they are tired of his little pranking spree he had started a few months ago. the idea of the prank is to pretend you left, or something happened to you to see how he would react since he insists he's not a simp.

you agreed just so that you get back to bed as you feel your eyes closing little by little, as they explained. matt told you he had already moved your car down the street to make it more believable. nick told you, you can go and hide in his closet. you make your way upstairs, stopping by the couch to grab a blanket to walk up the second set of stairs and make it to nicks room. opening the door and walking into the closet, you sit down, wrapping the blanket around you.

nick and matt on the other hand, were starting to prepare what to say to make the story more believable. nick walks into chris room loudly enough for chris to roll over and groan. "chris, chris chris!" nick says, shaking him. "mhm," chris groans. "i can't find y/n, have you seen her?" nick says shaking chris once more. "what the fuck nick" chris groans again rubbing his eyes to see what's going on. matt comes through the door quickly talking to nick.

"nick i looked all throughout the house she's not here, even her car is gone" matt says in a worry voice. "what is going on?" chris says now getting up. "did you and y/n get in a fight or something? matt says making chris stand up. "fight? what the fucking is going on, seriously? your going to wake her up" chris snaps as he grows more upset. "chris, where's y/n?" nick says holding onto chris shoulder.

"well, right here of cour-" chris trys to say as he turns around and notices his girlfriend gone. "-she was just here, maybe she went to the bathroom" chris adds on as he walks towards his bathroom and softly knocks. "baby? you in there?" he says softly, after not hearing anything for a almost a minute he knocks again opening the door. "what the fuck, where is she?" chris turns around and looks at his brothers.

"i don't know, i was sending her tiktoks and she stopped responding so i came to check to see maybe she fell asleep, she wasn't here so i looked around and woke up matt" nick says turning towards matt. "and we looked everywhere chris, she's not here. her car is even gone too" matt adds on as chris walks out of his room to look around.

"y/n?" chris says, walking up the stairs. "baby? you here" "im telling you chris, she's not here" matt says from behind. "then where did she fucking go? she doesn't just leave, we were literally sleeping" chris yells out. "hey calm down, did anything happen last night? nick says walking up to chris. "no i don't think so, it was just a normal night. she came over with dinner after work, she showered and we ate. she went upstairs to talk to you, then we decided to put on a movie, we both eventually fell asleep," chris explains as he sits down, trying to think.

"this doesn't even make any sense, she wouldn't just leave." chris mumbles to himself trying to understand. "im going to call her" he says as he quickly goes back to his room to grab his phone only to notices your phone next to his. he starts thinking the worst of something happening to you. chris grabs your phone and his and quickly runs back upstairs. "her phone is here guys, maybe- what are you guys talking about?" chris says as he watches how his brothers talk in almost a whisper form.

"nothing!" matt nervously says. "what he means it's nothing important, we were just coming up with ways on what could have possibly happened" nick says, nudging matt. "you both know something, what's going on" chris says walking ever so closely to the brothers. "what are you talking about? we know the same information as you" nick replies taking a step back. "where is my girlfriend" chris says sternly. "we don't know chris" matt replys

"where is she!?" chris says as he becomes inpatient. "she's in nicks room" matt says making chris eyes immediately go to nick. "and why the fuck is she there?" chris snaps quickly running up the stairs. "baby? hey baby you in here" he calls out but here's no response. "right guys, quit fucking with me" chris turns around to face nick and matt. "we swear, we told her to come in here, check the closet" nick says standing at his bed.

chris walks over to the closet and opens the door to see his girlfriend asleep bundled in a blanket. he bends down and let's out a sigh of relief, picking her up and placing a kiss on her forehead as he walks out with her and back to his room. "real fucking smooth" chris says annoyed, making his brothers laugh right behind them.

"oh my god we got you so good, you should've seen your face" matt says laughing as they reach chris' room. "i fucking hate you both" chris says in annoyance as he lays you down giving you a kiss on the forehead once more. "says the simp" nick says laughing. "shut the fuck up, i was more concerned than anything" chris remarks as he gets into bed. "you both can go now" chris adds putting the covers over the two of you.

matt and nick walk out of the room talking about how well they got him. you slowly start to open your eyes seeing your boyfriend's face, giving him a quick peck and telling him you love him. "please don't prank me with my brothers, i was so worried something happend to you" chris whines burying his face into your neck. "i know, im sorry but they came in and woke up me" you say running your fingers through his hair.

"gonna fucking get them back" chris mumbles. "i know baby but not right now, i want to sleep" you relpy feeling your eyes get heavy once again. "we'll get them together" you continue. "i love you beautiful" chris says as he brings you in closer than ever and falls asleep.

nick and matt open the door to see the two tangled together asleep, "and he has the audacity to say he's not a simp" nick comments, making matt burst into laughing. nick leans a bit into the doorway and takes a picture, closing the door and letting you too rest for the rest of the morning.

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

[pogueit]

C.B: 1 New Voicemail

Paring: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Summary: You decided to leave the fresh coast to pursue your art in NYC. However, you fail to mention it your best friend… Carmy Berzatto.

Warnings: some anxiety symptoms?? If there’s anything else let me know!!

WC: 2.3k

A/N: Yay!! I’m writing again!! Albeit veryyyyy slowly but I’m currently working on stuff for the other characters from The Bear and Criminal Minds!! Also, there was a semi prequel to this (its to do with Family and Friends night) but I scrapped it (not entirely) but if you guys want that let me know!!

📞☎️📞☎️📞☎️📞☎️📞☎️📞☎️📞☎️📞☎️

He couldn’t sleep. He’s finally got everything he has ever wanted and he still couldn’t sleep. His phone hums lightly against the hard wood of the night stand and his hand instinctively reaches for it. The warm tone radiating off the screen helped his eyes adjust to the sudden light almost immediately. However, it took a second for his brain to process the words on the screen.

Y/N Missed Call

1 New Voicemail

His face instantly morphs into confusion. You never left voicemails. You always just kept calling and calling until he picked up, which always drove him nuts, however, now seeing the voicemail notification on his phone only unsettles him. Carmen sat up from his supine position, carefully so as to not wake the peacefully sleeping Claire. He swings his legs off the mattress and props himself up by placing his elbows on his knees with his head hanging low, peering at the screen. He debates whether or not to listen to the recording or wait until morning, which he would admit was stupid to consider as even he knows deep down he can never stall anything involving you. His thumb was quick to click on the notification before he could consider anything else. “C-Bass!” The sheer volume of your voice made him wince and rush to turn it down. A comforting warmth spread throughout his chest hearing the stupid nickname you gave him in middle school. “I’m assuming that you’re listening to this in the morning, but with your shit sleeping habits I know you’re listening to this right now. I just wanted to say that I’m leaving for New York—“ Carmy’s relaxed body immediately became rigid and he began searching for his shoes in the dark. There’s so many things he wants to tell you and to finally get off his chest, but you continue.“Like I’m at the airport right now—“ He halts his movements “So don’t try to run over here” you let out a breathy laugh and he can feel his heart seize up at the sound that never ceases to amaze him. You’ve had that effect on him since you’ve become friends but he has become unbearably aware of it in recent days. “I, uh, just wanted to start by saying that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it’s just been so hard— and now with the restaurant it felt even worse—“ You had to take a second to breathe and regain your composure and he wanted to do nothing more than to ease you through it and calm you down. “It— I got an offer from MoMA— Well, I submitted some pieces to them and Robbie vouched for me, but I got the offer last week.” you didn’t sound as proud as you should be, but that didn’t matter. Carmy was ready to take over for you and he gladly let the emotion rattle through him. He didn’t understand much of the complexities that go into your art just like you don’t understand the complexities of the culinary world, but that never stopped him from being proud of you even if it wasn’t something monumental. No one has been as proud of you as Carmy has and he will gladly continue to hold that title. “They need me over there for the installation and other artsy fartsy things, that I won’t bore you with.” You laugh, but it wasn’t as genuine as he hoped it would be and you let out a sigh.

He’s getting antsy. Carmy couldn’t stop his left leg from subconsciously bouncing, so he opts to stand up instead. Your voice continues as he quietly makes his way to the living room and takes a seat on the couch. “I just need to get out of here, C, and this was my chance like I finally have a reason to leave— maybe semi-permanently.” All your explicit and unexplicit reasons were always good enough to Carmen and he’s surprised you even stayed here this long. There was a piece inside of him that wished you agreed to go to New York with him and maybe things would have played out differently. He feels like a righteous asshole just thinking about it with Claire sleeping soundly in the next room. You draw in another breath, clearly dwelling on certain emotions that you’re uncertain of baring to him, which pains him that you even had to think about telling him anything. “I told my ma and pa and all them about me leaving and they took it well, actually, maybe too well— This is stupid, but— I stayed for them and they just wanted me gone. Everything I did and everything I sacrificed is dust. I don’t know, man, maybe I was looking or, uh, hoping for a different reaction, I don’t know.” You let out a deep sigh and he can picture you slumped down on one of those awful O’Hare lounge chairs with your spare hand rubbing the long day away from your face. “I should’ve kept calling you so I could hear your voice. You always make everything better, Carmen. I hate that I couldn’t tell you—“ Your voice was barely above a whisper like it was meant only for yourself. Your name is heavy on his tongue and he can feel his right hand twitched slightly as if to reach out to you. As if you weren’t solely an image in his head and the closest you’ll ever be to him in months. He stands up again to pace around the living room so he could have something else to focus on. “But— I just knew that if I did I wouldn’t be at the airport right now. You make me do crazy things Berzatto…” Your voice trails off slightly at the end and he knows you’re listening to the voice that’s coming from the overhead speakers, but he swears the phone grows cold without your cheek pressed against it. “Anyways—“ You regain your composure and continue with the warmth returned to the cellular device, “Bizarre-o tangent over, the Bear is going to be great and everyone is going to love it. You have nothing to worry about and you have an amazing thing going with Claire and I just want to let you know how proud I am of you and everyone who made this crazy ass thing work! God, this is nuts but— Alright, alright, I actually have to get going or the stewards are going to have my head on a pike, see ya soon you crazy bastard”.

The line went dead and the warmth that you graciously provided was gone as the metallic cool of the robotic voice took over. He finally sits down again and lets himself become shrouded in unpleasant darkness. The whirlwind of emotions that plagued him earlier were now absent which made him feel somehow worse. Nothing to keep him company except the gloating sun, who is attempting to make its appearance just beyond the horizon. As he watches the amber light pool into the room, there is an onslaught feeling of a fifty pound weight tucked into his stomach.

Carmen feels sick.

The heaviness in abdomen is awash with acid and he feels like he is going to vomit, yet he can’t do anything but sit there with itchy hands. The bile at the base of his throat finally flips a switch in his brain. The last fibers of control dissipate as memories swiftly flood his senses. They crash and collide. Violently dissolving like sea foam on sand only for them to recede into waves and surge forward again and again. It’s a blurry mess, but his hands find it easy to call you. It’s all he needs to reach his calm. He needs it just as much as you need him. The initial ring echoes through his head and the pause lasts for an eternity. His face is running hot and he’s thinking too much. It’s something he already knows, but once he starts it’s hard for him to stop. All the different possible scenarios are playing rapidly in his brain and he can’t keep up. The phone buzzes again, still trying to connect him to you. His hand is swimming through his hair impatiently as he starts pacing the living room for the uptenth time. The phone hums steadily another time. All of his emotions are caught in his throat and his stomach is in a perpetual knot. His breathing is shallow leaving his lungs aching for more and it’s almost as if there was no more air left in the atmosphere.

Then it clicks.

“Hello, sunshine” Relief crashes over him eagerly when the sound of your voice reaches his ears. He can tell that you're smiling and he can even see it briefly when he closes his eyes. Carmy is finally able to stop pacing and takes a second to sit down on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor.

“C-bass” You elongate the notes in a singsong way to reel him in. Your voice sounds off. It was hard for him to pinpoint at first but now it was easy to hear it was the nerves eating you up. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here” he sighs, the heel of his hand rubbing his left eye, “I, uh, thought you weren’t going to pick up.” He can feel the exhaustion settling in as he slouches against a cabinet. You fight with your carry-on as you move through the quiet terminal. It’s a maze of sleeping bodies and you try your best not to wake them. Once you reach your designated gate and find a semi-secluded spot, you continue ”Sorry about that, they changed the gate and delayed the damn thing.”

”I’m glad” Carmy mumbles without a second thought as he reveles in your long distance presence. ”You’re glad I’m stuck here?” You try to act all serious but he can hear the lightness in your voice and he can’t help but crack a smile. ”No, no, it’s just— uh, I’m glad that I can hear your voice” the cadence in his words forces you to bite down on your bottom lip to stop the stupid grin from spreading. It’s the Carmy effect. Idiotic smiles are plenty when the two of you are together.

”Fuck, me too” Your voice contradicts the violent affection that rattles your insides. It’s shy, almost as if you were embarrassed to admit it. There was a beat of silence, but Carmy beat you to speaking first. ”So, uh, how long is your plane delayed?” His now steady hand ghosts over the grooves in the tile. You were still battling the nerves from earlier, but thought it was an opportune time to actually apologize to Carmy ”Only like an hour. It took me over half of that to walk to the other side of the airport— Hey, listen, I just— I wanted to tell you I’m sorry—“

”No, no, I get it. I would have done the same—“ Carmy waves you off as if you could see him. ”I still feel bad“ you groan and lean your head into your hand in an almost facepalm fashion. You hate that you feel bad but you always do and you always will. It’s unavoidable. “Don’t, I didn’t when I left” he shakes his head to get rid of the memory of that day. He was trying to hold on to this tranquility the best he could and not derail again. ”Really?” You pause for a moment before asking, “Did you miss me?” Your subconscious emotions getting the better of you. ”Fuck, yeah like a lot. I wish you didn’t ditch me.” He was sincere like always and you can feel the guilt boiling in your stomach, ”Me too”.

“I think—,” Carmy pinches the bridge of his nose in thought, “Wait, uh, I know that it would’ve been better with you there”, he sighs and lets his hand fall back into his lap. ”Fuck, Carm, I miss you so much already and I haven’t even left the city yet” you try to make yourself laugh to get away from the regret that soared through your body, but you couldn’t. “I’ll come up there as soon as I can and help you unpack—“

” And, I’ll give you an apartment tour and show you my art displayed all fancy at the museum” You were already getting giddy at the prospect of the two of you being reunited. “I would love that, actually”, Carmy smiles into the phone as he imagines taking you on a personal tour of NYC.

”Great, because you still owe me a hot dog”

“You still won’t let that go, huh?”

“It was like the most perfect hot dog and you made me drop it, asshole!”

“Sorry, sorry, okay?” he laughs along with you, “I’ll get you another one. There’s this place in Hell’s Kitchen—“

”Fuck, Carm can you give me a sec?” You hate to interrupt him especially when he was in the middle of his excited prospect, but the airport attendants were making announcements and soon enough they will be calling up groups. You struggle to hear the muffled voice over the speaker and Carmy can hear you shuffle around to get a closer listen. After a few moments, you are able to piece together that the plane is on schedule and that Group A has been called to front.

“Fuck, sorry, Carm, I gotta go”

”No, I get it. Call me when you get to your new place”

”No, yeah, I will and Carmen—“ you interrupt yourself and flounder for a second. The words are heavy on your tongue. “I love you” the words roll off your tongue differently this time. They’ve always carried a hearty weight to them, but this time it felt like a confession. It sears his soul unlike anything he has ever felt before and you pay no mind to the flames raging in your ribcage.

“I love you too” it falls from his lips automatically without hesitation. He swears that his words are tinged with something else. The edges of the words flickering for something more. It holds a familiarity but he can't quite grasp it in the moment. “Carmen, get some sleep ok?” and your line goes dead.

Fuck.

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto fanfic #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear imagine #the bear fanfiction #carmy x you #pogueit

[nanaminokanojo]

THAWING ICE QUEEN (part 110)

–one night of fooling around with the annoying campus king gojo satoru (he thinks so), turns into...well, something else more long term

CHARACTERS: gojo satoru x you | geto suguru | jjk characters

GENRE: college au | smut | smau | smau + prose | everything in between | ons | fubus to lovers | aged-up characters | idk where this is going

⚠️ TW/CW: strong/mature language | 🔞 | mentions of alcohol, smoking, etc. | this has narrations | god-awful pet names | will add more if something arises

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 110 next>>

A/N: Contains prose.

Joy. That’s what Gojo Satoru elicited in you. If there was a better word for it, a more appropriate permutation of words that described how he made you feel exactly, then it would probably be that. But that aside, your heart was filled with nothing but that very feeling even as you padded barefoot into your kitchen which was in shambles. Your mixing bowl lay in smithereens on the floor along with custard. Your stovetop would probably take ages to clean with all the splatters of cooked custard and butter. The counter was a mess with all the condiments he used, several unused utensils – just how many turners did he need? – and powdered sugar everywhere.

“Sweet cheeks!” he called out, looking up at you and stopping you from going in further, a broom on his hand. “Don’t come in here. T-there’s broken…” He looked silly with an apron on, his hair in disarray, held back by one of the fluffy headbands you usually used when you did your skincare. And weirdest of all, he was wearing one of your oversized shirts. Well, on you, that is. It looked like it was about to tear at the seams on him. You had to bite back laughter, seeing the dejected expression on his face. “What?”

You leaned against the fridge, crossing your arms, relishing in the absurdity of the situation. A person like Gojo Satoru was larger than life, meant to do great things, fly, not cook you breakfast – or attempt to – or clean your kitchen. Still, you enjoyed the scene and its domesticity, reminding you of that time in Hokkaido his mom caught the two of you playing with pancake batter. Now you doubted if he even made that, not that it mattered.

“Need help, handsome?”

He slowly shook his head, evidently sulking that you find amusement in his predicament. He wasn’t even holding the damn broom right. “No, I’ll clean up here. You stay in the living room.”

“You sure? You look like you’re in a pinch right now.”

At your taunting, he started whining, throwing the broom on the floor and walking over the mess on the floor to get to you, his lower lip jutting out even as he placed both his hands on your hips, pulling you towards him. “You’re being annoying today, baby. I’ll call one of our staff to clean up. The mess can wait.”

Standing on your toes, you wrapped your arms around him, using that as leverage as you jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist. Surprised at your sudden maneuver, he staggered backwards, supporting you on your thighs. You giggled at that, and though he said, “Extra annoying,” he still smiled giddily at you as he walked around your kitchen island. “You seem happy.”

“I am.”

Satoru sat you down on the island, the clean part anyway, and stood between your legs whilst he reached for the plate of French toasts he made, sliding it over the granite top. You looked down at it, grinning at the very nicely plated food before you, complete with sliced berries and perfectly smothered in snowy sugar.

“I can ignore the mess for the effort. Thank you.” You reached for the fork, but he stopped you, shaking his head. “No. You’re not doing anything today. My sweet cheeks will relax while I feed her, okay?”

“Can’t say I hate it.”

He took some of the toast, making sure it had all the elements in one bite as he held it before your mouth, this expectant look shining in his eyes when you finally opened up and tasted what he made. You chewed thoughtfully, nodding in approval. “Damn good French toasts, baby. A-plus.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm. More.” You opened your mouth like a child much to his delight, more than glad to oblige. All the while, you just busied yourself with playing with the ears on the headband he was wearing, fully content in the little bubble you’ve both created in that corner of the kitchen where the morning sun shone just right on him.

“I got you orange juice, too. Wait, I’ll get it –” He moved back to get to the fridge, but you hooked your leg around him, stopping his progress and drawing him closer. Without preamble, you cupped his face, pressing your lips to his, intense from the get-go as you showed in actions just what you couldn’t tell him in words. You didn’t want him anywhere he is out of your reach, holding him in place by the nape while your other hand wandered down to the hem of his – your – shirt, tugging at it.

“Someone’s enjoying her breakfast too much,” he said as he heeded your unspoken command, pulling the garment off him. You swallowed hard, eyes wild as you took in every line and sinew of his musculature. “Well, this is infinitely better than breakfast.” You smirked when you saw his cheeks turn pink when he came closer, kissing you just as fervently as you did earlier.

You pawed at the ridiculous headband he was wearing, throwing it blindly somewhere in the kitchen. He slid the plate beside you further to the side as he grabbed your thighs, lifting them higher up his waist while you used your foot to push his sweatpants down, whining in frustration against his lips when you couldn’t quite get it off.

“Easy,” he spoke softly, eyes closed as he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing steady and warm against your cheek. He made quick work of pushing his sweats down, taking his cock out, pretty as always as he gave it a few pumps. “You want this, hmm?”

“Want you, Toru,” you moaned, catching his lower lip between your teeth, spurring him on. He reached between your thighs, running his thumb over the wet patch there, rubbing your clit over the fabric. “Didn’t know you wanted to make babies for breakfast.”

“Please, baby,” you whined, “Want you.”

“Someone’s needy,” he teased, but gave you what you wanted, pushing your panties to the side. “So wet for me.” He held his dick, running its pink tip through your folds and sliding in just a bit at a time before he’s pulling back, easing in agonizingly slow that your patience was fraying. He did just that for a few more moments until he finally pushed in all the way, stealing the breath from your lungs when he repeated the action, pulling all the way to the tip before slowly going back into your heat. “Fuck, baby.”

He set a rhythm that had you seeing stars, his name falling in high-pitched whines from your mouth, lost in the undeniable pleasure of it all. At some point, he adjusted his angle, hitting you in all the right places that had acid white flashes dominating your vision, feeling like you were going to float into space if it weren’t for the bruising hold he had on your hips.

“Harder,” you managed to choke out in the midst of you pretty much losing your mind with the way he was continuously hitting your sweet spot. “D-don’t stop – ah! Fuck – more – mmhhh…”

“Y/N, baby, you feel so good – so fucking good.”

“I’m c-close…”

“I know, baby, I know.” He leaned down, gently peppering kisses on your cheeks down to your jawline and wherever else he could reach, his hips and breaths turning erratic as he thrust in shallower, faster strokes, his moans and grunts mixing with yours as he brought you to your high, long and dragged out as he found his own, following after you with a drawn out groan, your fluttering hole milking him for all he’s worth.

The kitchen was filled with ragged breaths as you both came down from whatever heaven he catapulted you both to. Soft laughter soon mingled with it as the full realization of what you did finally hit you. Satoru pushed himself up, hovering over you while he regarded you with those mischief-filled eyes.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I’m so damn in love with you, L/N Y/N. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You reached up as you pushed yourself to a sitting position, shivering slightly when he pulled out of you, your essences dripping on the tiles below you, but you couldn’t care less, kissing him stupid. “I love you, too.”

Satoru looked at you lovingly, seemingly drunk as he stood there, his forehead on yours as he cupped the side of your face. “Say you’ll stay with me for always. Say you’re not going anywhere I can’t see you.” He briefly pressed his lips onto yours. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Satoru. Yours alone.” You felt tears falling from your eyes as you pulled him closer, basking in the afterglow of your union. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A/N: Almost done. I'm having separation anxiety huhuhu

TAGS LIST: @arxliana @neeneee @charlie-xo @aelynaneedsalottathing @arizzu @cloudxp @justpuddinglol @mikkies @nyfwyeonjun @whats-humanity-lol @letthewindlead @whore-of-many-hot-men @localgaytrainwreck @pikibee @bloombb @mr-underhills-things @lysaray @chocoyanchan @poemzcheng @bookswillfindyouaway @dreamxiing @koutaroo @taelattecookie @kazuhasmaid @weebbuscuit @moonmalice @taengkatsu @reagan707 @to0ruu @shirabane @yell0wdreams @r0ckst4rjk @megtheebimbo @tmvll9 @kibananya @ti-mame @niko-ash @minzxec @sixxze

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20240423]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

#gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo fluff #gojo smau #gojo hcs #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutusu kaisen smau #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk smau #geto suguru #sukuna #social media au #smau

[cupid-styles]

WEED/INTOX CONCEPTS IM SO UP !!!!!!

soft plug!h x sunshine reader who buys from him and he has a huge crush on her but shes a little oblivious and he always tries to be extra nice to her and give her more than she paid for in hopes of her talking to him more and maybe one night she buys from him and invites him to stay and maybe smoke w her bc its raining and she feels bad she made him come all the way to her house and they smoke and he cant stop staring at her and its very fluffy and cute

i love down bad plugrry

thoughts?? :D

AWWWW that's so cute :(((( I love the thought of him being a softie!! I actually started writing a plug!y/n blurb awhile ago and I just never finished it, but it was kind of like this where she was just the soft plug instead of him BUT he was still super down bad for her </3333

I'm not sure if the completed blurb will ever see the light of day but here's a little bit of it under the cut!

CWs: weed (obviously) lol

word count: 414

Harry doesn’t actually need any weed.

However, this doesn’t stop him from texting the cute girl who sells nuggets of weed and bundles of shrooms in adorable pastel pink baggies. He met Y/N through friends a few months back — she was roommates with Lena in college and apparently had a knack for making edibles that got you to a smooth high without completely melting your brain. The second she introduced herself to him, with her bright smile and sweet voice, Harry was hooked. 

Stupidly, ridiculously hooked. 

The thing is, Harry doesn’t even like weed that much. He’ll smoke at parties every now and then, but it’s usually just one or two hits from a friend’s joint before he returns to drinking whatever tequila-based cocktail he’s palming in his hand. But she’s so sweet, and cute, and she keeps her drugs in a canvas tote bag that says “support your local public library.” How was Harry not supposed to fall for her?

And yeah, he bought some pre-rolled joints from her a week and a half ago at Mitch and Sarah’s housewarming party — his heart nearly collapsed to his stomach when he saw the adorable strawberry rolling papers she used — but he misses her. It’s dumb, considering they barely know one another, but it’s a Wednesday evening and he can’t stop thinking about the warm scent of her perfume and the pretty, flushed hue of her lips. 

So, he texts her.

Their entire text thread is filled with Harry being stupidly obvious about his feelings for her, thinly veiled by requests for deliveries and pick-ups. Tonight is no different: Hey Y/N, hope you’re having a good week :) do you think I can come pick up tonight?

She replies almost immediately as Harry drums his fingers nervously on his thigh. His stomach dips when he reads her response. Of course!!!!! :) come by whenever ur free ! 

He swallows tightly when she follows it up with another message: also im making veggie pasta if u haven’t eaten dinner yet! I made too much and it never reheats well! you’re more than welcome to it if u’d like :))))

Typically when he buys weed from her, their interactions are far too short for his liking. They engage in friendly small talk and she giggles at whatever bad jokes he makes, but they’ve never actually hung out one-on-one. The thought makes Harry prickle with nerves, but he knows he’d be foolish not to take her up on her offer.

#bestie asks #plug!y/n

[onskepa]

Stxeli: First of many

Helloooooooooooo~!! And here we have another lovely chapter to the series! Now that the main 4 had their own chapters with stxeli, I think its time to push forward a bit in the timline. So here is a chapter that will be the last before jumping into the first movie plot. So enjoy~!!

Stxeli series

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

Time goes by so fast, too fast for mo’at’s liking. It felt like just yesterday she brought stxeli into her life. And now, right in front of her eyes, stxeli was taking her first steps. Bending down, she gently coos her child. 

“Yes, that's it. You can do it ma’ite” mo’at whispers eagerly. 

Stxeli was standing, albeit a bit wobbly. Her little hands reached out as to balance herself. Slowly but steadily, the young baby makes her way towards mo’at. And with each step, it makes the mother’s heartbeat in excitement. 

“Almost there…” she whispers, trying to control her voice so as to not startle her baby. Stxeli releases a burst of nervous giggles, her eyes focused on her destination. Releasing a few noises, her chubby cheeks puffing out, stxeli makes her steps. 

Step by step. 

And with each step, mo’at’s smile grew bigger, her eyes becoming wider with anticipation.  “Yes, that's it, you can do it my love” 

Stxeli is aware how close she is to her mother, getting a bit impatient, she takes bigger and faster steps. But losing her balance, stumbling down on her bottom. Frowning and her lips trembling, stxeli was close to crying. Mo’at was quick to come to her aid, cradling her, “oh ma’ite, you are doing so well. My brave little child. You are doing so well”. Mo’at coos at her baby, stxeli rubs her face against her mother’s chest seeking the comforting warmth. 

After a few minutes Mo'at puts her down and takes a few steps back. Stxeli releases a small whine of complaint, “come on ma’ite. A few more steps, you just had it” the tsahik says. As if to understand her, stxeli stands up again. Her cute face scrunched up, taking deep breaths, stxeli begins to walk again. This time, bigger steps, as if in her logic, bigger steps means getting closer to mama. 

Her hands stretching out, eyes on her goal. This time, no stumble. From start to finish, stxeli reached her mother. “Yes! Ma’stxeli you did it!” mo’at cheers out in happiness. Spinning around in glee, stxlie squeals out excitement. And as if on cue, young neytiri and etukan enter their marui. 

“What occasion cals for such happiness mo’at?” eytukan asks, smiling at the heartwarming display. 

“Stxeli has taken her first steps!” mo’at says, unable to control her happiness. 

Neytiri dropped what she was carrying, her mouth opened, “I missed it?! Not fair! I missed her first steps!” she whines out. Crossing her arms, pouting. Mo’at chuckles, putting down stxeli, and as if to cheery her up, stxeli walks her way towards neytiri. 

“Yes, come here my sister” neytiri smiles instantly and picks up her baby sister after seeing her walk. 

Eytukan goes over to mo’at, wrapping an arm over her shoulder, “unfortunate we missed her first steps, but I know this is just a first of many things” 

And indeed, it was the first of many. 

“Sempul, here is the bark,” Neytiri says as she helps make dinner with her father. Not far was stxeli observing everything in front of her at the comfort of her comfy basket. Her eyes darted from neytiri to eytukan. Evertime Neytiri says a word, it's mostly directed to her dad, why is that? 

“Sempul, is this enough?” Neytiri asks, showing an ingredient, eytukan nods and the girl pours it on the cooking pit. They chat quietly as they cook together. Stxeli, not liking to be left out, makes small noises to catch their attention. More specifically, she wanted eytukans attention. But neytiri was the one to walk over to stxeli. “What is the matter sister?” she asks. Neytiri observes stxeli, she is not hurt, looks to be fine. 

“She might be hungry,” Eytukan says. Stxeli still not fully ready to eat hard solids, neytiri knew what to do. Grabbing one of stxeli’s favorite fruits, she starts to smash it into soft mashed fruit. Excited to feed her, neytiri grabbed the bowl with a makeshift spoon and put stxeli on her lap. “Here you go stxeli, some delicious fruit” neytiri says, bringing some fruit to stxeli’s lips. It was delicious, and got the attention. But not from the pearson she wanted. After a few bites, she pushes the fruit away making unsatisfied noises. 

“Sempul, she doesn't want to eat anymore. Stxeli only had a few bites, "Neytiri tells. Insisting on more, stxeli pushes the fruit far away and starts to squirm. Eytukan turns around and sees his youngest getting fussy. Confused and worried to what she wants, eytukan observes her but he has to take care of the food.

“Sempul, what do I do-”

“SEMPU!”

Time stopped for them. 

Did they hear that right? 

“SEMPU!!” 

Eytukan turns to see Neytiri who was just as shocked. On her lap was stxeli pouting, her face red and her little arms reaching out for him. 

“SEMPUUUUU!!” 

Stxeli was calling out for him. Stxeli spoke, her first word!! 

“SEMPU!!” 

Not keeping his little one waiting, eytukan was quick to pick her up. “You said it! You said your first word!” happiness couldn't even cover what the olo’eyktan was feeling. His sweet child spoke! And it was towards him! “Ma’stxeli you grow bigger everyday” he praises. 

Stxeli finally got her sempu’s attention, enjoying his smile, she screams in happiness. 

“Seriously?!” neytiri screeches. First her mother witnesses her baby sister’s first steps, now her father becomes stxeli first word! When will she become stxeli’s first? 

“Now ma’ite, don't be like that. Perhaps she will call you when the moment is right'' eytukan reassures. 

“Sempu! Smepu sempu!” stxeli happily chants, enjoying her new found voice and word. And each time, eytukan cant help but laugh so joyfully. A moment like this shall be embedded in his mind forever. Worth adding a bead to his songchord. 

“Your mother would be so proud of you my child”

In a lovely afternoon, neytiri happily weaves away a new mini top for stxeli. The baby in question was playing with a string and beads to keep herself entertained. Smiling wider, she admires her work in progress. “Maybe with this you can say my name! Or walk towards me! I want to be your first of something” neytiri says to stxeli as she tickles her tummy. Stxeli happily giggles, and shows neytiri her little work. Neytiri nods in approval. 

As neyitir concentrates on her things, stxeli wonders her eyes until they land on young tsu’tey. Leaving her work behind, she gets up and waddles her way towards tsu’tey. Maybe he can play a game with her? 

Tsu’tey was walking with tools and his bow in hand. It needed to be fixed and adjusted from using it so much for practice. And he knew just a good place to do so, away from the bustling noise of the village so he could concentrate. Of course he failed to notice little stxeli following close behind like a second tail. 

But it was too late. 

“Fil?” 

Just barely arriving at his little spot, tsu’tey was quick to turn around and see little stxeli standing really close to him, looking up with her wide, adorable eyes and a cute smile to go with it. Tilting his head a bit, ears pinned behind, he bends down to her level. “Stxeli? What are you doing here? And standing…?” he asks, despite knowing he won't get anything from the baby. Since when did stxeli learned to walk? And for such a long distance? 

“Fil?” stxeli asks, pointing at his bow. Quick to amusement what she wanted, Tsu'tey smiles a bit and shakes his head. “I'm sorry stxeli, but it's not a toy, it is a weapon” he explains. Looking around, perhaps stxeli escaped under the eyes of her family and followed him. He would go back to return the little baby, but he was already in his spot. 

“Hmmm…here” tsu’tey hands his songchord to stxeli. From what eytukan heard, she has a grand fascination with them. Be it her own or others, she would play with them for hours. So that should do the trick in keeping her close yet silent. 

“Fil?” stxeli says again, cooing at his songchord. 

“Yes, fil” 

5 minutes later….

“Fil?” 

“No stxeli, Im busy” 

“Fil?” 

“NO- haaaa….no, this is a bow, not a fil. It is NOT a toy, "Tsu'tey patiently explains. Little stxeli just smiles, eyes wide and ever so slightly big smile. A clear sign of not a thought crosses her little mind. Tsu’tey gave a small arrow for the baby to play. He should look for the tsahik, or the olo’eyktan but he cant wait any longer on his task at hand. 

“Fil? Fil? Fil? Fil, fil” 

Tsu’tey inwardly groans, turning around he sees stxeli smiling wide. “Are you doing this on purpose little one?” he asks, the baby’s answer? 

“Fil” 

“You want a fil? Fine! I will make you a fil if it will get you to be silent!” 

“Fil”

“I KNOW!”

“Stxeli? Stxeli!!” neytiri calls out as she spots stxeli with tsu’tey. Making her way over, she notices something in the baby’s hands. 

“Fil!” stxeli proudly shows her little archer bow to neytiri. She looks over to tsu’tey who was fixing the string of his bow. “She wouldnt leave me alone, followed me all the way over here” he explained. 

Picking her up in her arms, neytiri carefully observes the little bow, too young to practice but it still looked very well made. Which is nice of tsu’tey to do, but that just irked neytiri a bit. Tsu’tey made stxeli’s her first bow. Another of her first! 

“Why did you make her bow?” she asks, trying her best not to yell with all the inner rage in her. Tsu’tey shrugged a bit carelessly, “she kept staring at my bow, thinking it was a toy. So I made her one so she can stop bothering me”. 

“Fine, thanks either way” neytiri says as she grits her teeth. Not saying anything more she turns and takes stxeli away without saying goodbye. 

First her mother, then her father, now tsu’tey, who else will take stxeli’s first?

Apparently the village, and her parents, again. 

Stxeli’s first little “joke” by teasing mo’at with her little sneaky treat steal, or giving eytukan his first “gift” of little beads on a string. Or giving the villagers her tickles, first try of eating something different. Someone experienced something with stxeli as the first time. And still nothing with neytiri. 

The day was coming to a close, darkness took over and everyone was settling to sleep. Mo’at was cleaning a bit before sleeping as eytukan took care of his daughters. But he notices neytiri’s ongoing pout. 

“What troubles you ma’tiri?” he asks, wanting to ease whatever troubles her. 

In a sigh, neytiri tells, “I am mad sempu…” 

“Sempu!” stxeli happily repeats. 

Gently eytukan ruffles stxeli’s hair as to silence her a bit, “why are you mad my child?” he asks, encouraging neytiri to continue. Waving her arms a bit, “I am mad that my own baby sister got to experience something of her first with everyone but me! Ma’sanu get to see her first steps, tsu’tey gave stxeli her first bow, and you get to be her first word. It's not fair! I wanna be her first but everyone beat me to it!” 

Small tears threaten to fall from her bright eyes, hugging her legs as she does her best not to cry. Mo’at hears this and goes over to comfort her daughter. Mo’at pulls neytiri to her lap and gently rocks her back and forth. 

“Neytiri, we understand your anger. And while we love to see stxeli grow and see her first of many, we have no control of what she chooses. You know how she is, stxeli will do what she likes. Who are we to stop her experience? She is still learning the ways. But patience is needed, when the time comes, stxeli will choose you as her first. What may that be? Who knows, we can only wait and see what she will do next” 

mo’at ‘s words did bring some comfort, but the frustration did not go away. Not so quickly at least. 

Some bit later as they ready to sleep, neytiri readies herself for sleep in the hammock she shares with her family. Snuggling in the middle with her sister, slightly glaring at her. “When will you chose me sister…?” she asks. Stxeli not understanding just plays with one of neytiri’s braids until sleep over took them. Mo’at and eytukan following soon after, slumbering in peace. 

Well almost everyone. 

Stxeli was wide awake, but silent, looking at her sleeping big sister, moving every so slightly she moved closer. Her eyes focused on her sister's nose, she leans forward and places her first kiss on neytiri. And in her sleep, neytiri smiles at the warm sensation. 

Her first didn't stop there, as she grew there were many firsts, and this was no exception. 

“Stxeli, come, today is the first day of your training” 

Young stxeli turns to smile at her parents, “i'm coming!” she replies happily and makes her way over to begin her first day of many lessons.  

Okie, from here on forward we move to the main plot! So be prepared for that one! So until next time! See ya!

Liking the story? Put your name in the taglist for the next update!

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Fil = children's toy

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Taglist

@alastorhazbin @spookymomfriendtm @moonchildxoxx @thehoneymushroomhealer @kat-the-kit @galactict3a @my-skeleton-hats @hoodiepandaninja16 @sugurupookie @vivangothic @thepotatoislost @ceylon-morphe286 @victoria2054 @tulipatheticee @iwannabeapinkaesthetic @skittlebum @iaoisiwqk

#avatar #avatar the way of water #na'vi x reader #na'vi avatar #avatar 2 #na'vi x human #jake sully #omatikaya clan #mo'at x reader #avatar james cameron memes #jake x neytiri #neytiri te tskaha mo'at'ite #neytiri x human reader #neytiri x reader #neytiri x jake #neytiri x y/n #neytiri x you #neytiri x oc #eytukan x reader #eytukan #neteyam sully #kiri #lo'ak

[tennessoui]

18) waking up with amnesia au pretty please! I was delighted with how many of the prompts you've already done, it was a really fun bingo!

Best friends sibling = band au

knocking on the wrong door = actually name of the fic

Nanny/single parent au = Nannykin

Etc etc etc!

hello hello this was sent january 10!! hope you still want some waking up with amnesia au! this just demonstrates how long i can hold onto a prompt i have every intention of completing

(from this prompt list) (& this is the waking up with amnesia au prompt fill i did a few years ago when i first reblogged that prompt list!)

(3.5k)

(warnings: angst but not incredibly sad. more like. here there lies some future manipulation/mind fuckery because of angst established in this ficlet but not resolved in this ficlet but would be in the future)

(also warning: vader)

It is somehow both the hardest and easiest part of the day, every time. 

It is easy to let his feet turn in the direction they beg to go during all his waking seconds. It is easy to allow them to lead the way. It feels as if a great and crushing weight has been lifted from his shoulders the moment that he sees the pillars standing sentry at the entrance of the Halls of Healing. It is so easy to give into his body’s desire to allow it to find its other half.

It is almost harder to stay away, to pretend to be the respectful and poised Jedi master he masquerades as during those long moments of the day that he is not by Anakin’s side.

But what is infinitely harder than journeying there or keeping his distance is arriving. Is what waits for him within the Halls.

“How is he today?” he asks the moment he sees a healer—it does not matter which one these days. They must all know him by now, know the series of questions he demands answers to.

This time, the man he finds is healer Ramak, at least, one of the primary specialists on Anakin’s case. Rarely can Obi-Wan corner him. Ramak is incredibly busy both within the Temple and outside of it. He has numerous priorities. 

Obi-Wan really only has one priority. Often this puts them at odds. 

“Ah,” Ramak says, adjusting his robes. “Master Kenobi, hello.”

“Yes, hello,” Obi-Wan says. And then, “How is he today?” In case Ramak has missed his question.

“He is much the same, Master Kenobi,” Ramak replies. “As he was yesterday.”

Obi-Wan swallows. The words get stuck in his throat for a moment and he has to force them up past his teeth. “What does…what has he remembered?”

Healer Ramak’s face slides from reluctantly indulgent to pitying. It would grate against Obi-Wan’s rather impressive sense of pride if he did not already know exactly how pitiful he is. 

“Memories are not stored within the mind chronologically, Master Kenobi,” Ramak says carefully. Obi-Wan has heard this before. Obi-Wan could recite this speech. 

Obi-Wan listens to it silently anyway. Perhaps this time, Ramak will find the correct combination of words to explain his loss to him in terms he can understand. “Uncovering them again is not simply a matter of starting from the beginning of his life and moving forwards. We cannot simply recover and present him with all of his memories from age nine, from age thirteen, to now.”

Obi-Wan can feel a muscle tick in his jaw and he crosses his arms. Another healer crosses behind him, jostles him in their hurry to get to another patient. Differing priorities. 

But Obi-Wan only has one.

“It is like…” Ramak trails off, thinking. “Picture the rain. What do you think of?” It is much too transparent, what Obi-Wan thinks of when he thinks of the rain. He thinks of Anakin as a youngling. The ashes of Qui-Gon’s body had not fully cooled before the skies of Naboo had broken open in a torrential downpour, and the boy, padawan braid that was both his and Obi-Wan’s newly weighing on his shoulder, had escaped from the palace in Theed, ran outside with arms raised up in wonder.

“When you think of rain, you do not recall your memories chronologically,” Ramak says kindly, as if he understands where Obi-Wan’s mind has gone. “That is to say, you do not immediately think of the first time you experienced it. Our minds store memories based on their significance to us, the meanings they hold for us, which makes mind-healing to this degree incredibly difficult. Not to mention, not only was Knight Skywalker stripped of his memories, tortured, and indoctrinated, he was held for several months. Long enough for new neural pathways to form, new connotations and memories to take the place of the ones he lost.”

“Master, please,” Obi-Wan says. When he holds up his hand to forestall the other man’s words, it is shaking slightly. “Please just tell me.”

Will he recognize me? 

Will he hate me?

Will another day go by where he does not know me?

“He has a long way to go yet,” Ramak says finally, lifting his hand to stroke over his beard. “His time as Vader left scars—”

“His time captured,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “He was a hostage.” Ramak looks at him. Anakin, kidnapped by the sith, without his memories, trained to be deadly and taught to Fall, was more than a hostage. They both know that. Everyone in the galaxy knows the dangers that Darth Vader represented to the Republic.

Very few know that Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker. It had been a terrible surprise. It had been the sweetest sort of relief too, to find him at all.

“Yes,” Ramak finally allows. “His time as a hostage left innumerable scars, Obi-Wan. Even after he regains all his memories, he will have a long journey ahead of him.”

“How is he?” Obi-Wan repeats, even though it is rather rude to cut the healer off. “How is he today?”

Ramak hesitates for a moment and then another, and his Force signature tenses as if at war with itself. “He requested to see you,” he finally says. “We’re not sure that’s a good idea.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. The Jedi saved Anakin Skywalker from the Sith five weeks ago, and though Obi-Wan has spent each of those days trekking from his quarters to the Halls of Healing and back, accousting various healers and Council members alike, desperate for any information they can give him…he has not yet been able to sit beside Anakin. He has not been allowed to talk with him at all.

It is for the best. That is what he’s been told and that is what he must believe. It is for the best. Anakin does not remember him. He remembers the word master—he does not remember that he used to say the same word with respect. With affection. He does not remember Obi-Wan at all.

He remembers his master, Sidious. He remembers his master on Tatooine. He does not—Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why he cannot remember him. 

Anakin has never once asked to see him. 

“I want to see him,” Obi-Wan says immediately, turning towards the wing where they are keeping Anakin. 

“Master Kenobi, it is not a good idea,” Ramak says, but it does not matter what they think is a good idea. It is what Anakin wants and it has been so long since Obi-Wan has been something Anakin wants.

Something of what he’s feeling must flash across his face, because the healer sighs and rubs at his forehead as if he finds the whole ordeal incredibly trying. 

“I will not hurt him,” Obi-Wan says quickly, and Ramak shakes his head, dropping his arms to his sides. 

“That is not the concern, Master,” he replies, but his shoulders have slumped. His forehead is wrinkled, but his Force signature has relaxed. He has given in. Obi-Wan has won. “I—”

But Obi-Wan has won. And so he has already stepped away, intent now on seeing his padawan. He leaves the healer behind where he stands, pushing through the doors of the wing and finally—finally to Anakin’s room.

He’d been so volatile at first, when he was still Vader. The Jedi rescuing him probably felt more like being captured. Without his memories of the Order, of the Temple, of Obi-Wan, he’d Fallen so quickly as far as anyone knows. Sidious had taken him and twisted him and when he was found again, he’d fully believed in the Sith doctrine. He’d killed two Jedi before he was subdued.

So when he’d been brought into the Temple, into the Halls of Healing, they’d outfitted him with Force suppression cuffs. Given him his own room in order to protect the other patients.

Obi-Wan knows he still wears the Force bracelets and collar, but there’s knowing and then there’s seeing.

The seeing part takes his breath away. It looks so wrong, Anakin, his Anakin, wearing the cuffs and the collar. 

Anakin, his Anakin, with yellow eyes watching him intently from the moment he enters the room.

“Anakin,” he murmurs, a reflex. The sounds are punched out of him.

He is thinner. His hair is greasy. There are dark shadows under his eyes. The skin around the collar is red, rubbed raw. He looks a thousand times older. Guant and hollowed out as if the captivity and the Darkness has leached away all of his youthful energy.

“Master,” Anakin says reproachfully. And it sounds—it sounds so much like him, like Obi-Wan’s Anakin, that he has the rather ridiculous urge to cry. Master, master.

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asks, though it is a useless sort of question. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. What to do with his tongue. He suddenly cannot remember the last time he asked Anakin how he was feeling. It was never a phrase that was part of their lexicon—for so many years, they shared a training bond. Obi-Wan was able to ascertain his padawan’s emotions with a gentle Force touch across the planes of his mind. More often than not, he was telling Anakin to search his own feelings. He was not asking him to interpret them for Obi-Wan’s sake.

Now though, their bond is severed and Anakin does not recognize him as anything more than another Jedi, another man who he once called master, and Obi-Wan stands across the room from him and does not recognize him either, save for all the ways that he does.

“Surely they have been giving you updates,” Anakin murmurs. “I know you have visited every day.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says because he will not lie to Anakin. He doesn’t think he remembers how. It has been—so long. Since he has last seen him. It is all he can do to stay standing now. To keep a respectable distance between them. To not fall to his knees. To not stumble forward and take Anakin’s hand in his own.

“What have they told you?” Anakin asks, and he tilts his head slightly. His golden eyes are as disconcerting as they are beautiful. They’re his. They’re his eyes, set in his face, and Obi-Wan has missed that face for so long. For months. He’d thought he’d never see it again, and he is just now realizing that he has no defenses left against Anakin. None at all. The boy could ask him for anything and he would fight to the death to give it to him.

The Force is in flux in the air around them, bucking up, riled, in a way Obi-Wan usually interprets as danger. But the Force could be screaming a death knell and Obi-Wan, in this moment, would only be able to hear a sweet cry of wild joy.

Anakin, this is Anakin. This is his Anakin and he is here. Back—partially. Back, incompletely. But back. Obi-Wan…he’d stopped hoping he’d ever get him back.

Instead of answering his question, he presses the backs of his fingers against his mouth to try and stop their shaking. Every day he has walked here, accosted the healers, demanded to know the latest. And he has never once realized how incredibly difficult it would be to lay eyes on Anakin. How incredibly difficult it would be to maintain his composure, to hold himself in. 

Anakin’s eyes glow gold, but Obi-Wan’s eyes are that of a starving man. All he can see is honey.

“Come here, master,” Anakin says, reproachful. “Did you not miss me?”

The words move him forward where his own feet could not. “Of course I did, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers. Hoarse, too hoarse. Too trembling and old, but it has been so many months. He had thought him lost forever. Dead and gone and one with the Force, and for the first time in his life, that had given him no comfort.

Anakin holds out his mechno hand, palm up, fingers slightly crooked. He’d built them that way on purpose, Obi-Wan remembers. At fourteen, he’d broken his index and middle finger in a duel, bones shattering under the blow of another padawan’s sabor. A lucky hit, an unlucky outcome. Though they’d healed near perfect due to bacta, they’d always remained slightly bent out of place. When he lost his arm to Dooku five years later, he’d fiddled with the replacement until the mech digits tilted the same familiar direction.

Obi-Wan stares at them, caught up in the tide of the memory.

Had Vader ever looked down at his mechno hand and wondered about the imperfection? Had he thought to fix it once he had the time? Had he spared a thought for the black spots in his memory, the cavernous gaps in his past?

His fingers fall to rest against the sensors of the mech tips. They’re sensitive enough that he can see Anakin shiver at the touch. 

“Did you not miss me, master?” Anakin asks again, and his hand closes around Obi-Wan’s tightly, pulling him forward another few steps.

Obi-Wan nods, then shakes his head. Yes, he missed him. No, missing—missing is not a vast enough word. 

“You asked for me,” he hears himself say. “Do you—what do you….”

Do you remember me?

You must. You call me master. And you want me close.

But they pulled the memories of the word master from your mind days ago, and you hated me then. You did not want me near you. What has changed? What have you remembered?

“I wonder if they would treat any patient like this,” Anakin says. He uses his hold on Obi-Wan to pull him even closer, til his thighs brush the edge of the bed. “If it is the war that makes me special, if it’s my own power. Or if it’s you.”

Obi-Wan tenses. Him? He doesn’t—

“They’ve tried everything they can think of to trigger my memories of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin says. When Obi-Wan tries to move back, take a step away, find the air in the room to breathe, Anakin tightens his hold and pulls him forward until the only option is to either topple over onto his padawan’s chest or sit on the bed at his hip.

He sits.

“They debated for many days, you know,” Anakin says. His mech thumb begins to sweep over the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist. “If they should trigger the connections my mind has made to the word master. It’s a weighted word for Anakin Skywalker. Surely you know that.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan says carefully. When he tries to breathe, he can only do so shallowly as if his entire chest has shrunk to half its capacity.

“He was enslaved before he was a padawan,” Anakin explains as though Obi-Wan has not spoken at all. Maybe he hasn’t. For the past several months he has not been able to speak to Anakin aloud, could only talk with him in his mind—could never hear a reply. Perhaps he has forgotten how. “They were worried that after ten years studying under you, after two years fighting side by side with you, my strongest connotations to the word master would still be to slavery.”

Anakin ducks his head slightly, tilts it to the side to give Obi-Wan a small, private grin, as if the healers’ concerns are so unfounded that they are amusing. As if the concept that something could outweigh Obi-Wan’s importance to Anakin is so foreign and preposterous that it’s funny.

His smile knocks into Obi-Wan’s chest like a punch to the solar plexus.

“But they decided to risk it,” Anakin says. His voice is light as a feather. Airy and unconcerned. “Perhaps they should have started with smaller things. A light saber. A braid. A pear. A planet. But they wanted to re-establish my firmest conneciton to the Light as quickly as possible. And they thought that was you.”

Obi-Wan holds his breath, eyes leaping from their connected hands to the yellow of Anakin’s eyes. He has still fallen. He has not been healed. He is still—he is still—

“So they gave me back my masters,” Anakin pitches his voice low. “All of them, though I suppose I remember Sidious well enough. But they gave me back the Toydarian. And they gave me you.”

“They said you did not want to see me,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Why, Anakin, if you remember, why would you—”

“Because I hate you,” his padawan says as if it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. “Because they could give me back Master Kenobi, but wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, it was not in your title. He hated your title.”

Obi-Wan flinches back so violently that his forearm slips from Anakin’s grasp. Before he can move from the bed completely though, his padawan’s hand lashes out and curls around the fabric of his tunics. 

“No,” Obi-Wan says because he must deny this—he cannot stand to hear it and not deny it. No, Anakin—there was love there, in the way he pronounced the word master. The way he looked at Obi-Wan: admiration shining in his eyes when he was younger, cooling off over the years into acceptance and affection. They had their arguments. They had their—misunderstandings, but Anakin did not resent him for his role in his life as his old teacher. His master. “You’re wrong.”

“He hated it more than he hated his actual slave master,” Anakin murmurs. Lightly, airily. As if his words are not landing devastating blows on all of Obi-Wan’s softest spots. “Do you know why?” “I don’t believe you,” Obi-Wan whispers because he doesn’t because he can’t. Because he’d have known. Because this is Anakin, this is his Anakin, but there are still cavernous dark spots and gaps in his mind. This is not entirely his Anakin. He is still missing things. Thousands upon thousands of memories and moments and learned contexts and—

“I think you know why,” Anakin says as if he has not spoken. Funny, as Obi-Wan had thought he was screaming.

“I assure you I do not,” he snaps, spitting the words out as quickly as he can so that his voice cannot break between the syllables.

“Because Anakin Skywalker believed til the day he died that if you had not been his master, you would have allowed him to kiss you. To take you. To be taken by you. Don’t you remember, Master Kenobi?” Obi-Wan tears himself away from the bed, from the boy in it. Just a boy. Not a man. Not when he was seventeen and drunk for the first time, slinging his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and pressing his face into his chest, whining and begging and pleading—and not when he was eighteen either, bold and staring at Obi-Wan's lips, not when he was nineteen, on the verge of his Knighting ceremony and demanding to be given into.

Just a boy, just his boy. But never—never anything else. 

“Like I said,” Anakin but not Anakin murmurs. Anakin, but Vader too. “Wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, they have not yet been able to find it in my mind. I can only assume he loved you at all.”

Obi-Wan flicks his eyes over the familiar face, the beloved face. The stranger’s face. If it were anyone else sitting before him, he’d have a retort already on his tongue. He’d have raised his shields, gone on the offensive. There are few people left in the galaxy that can land a blow on him, and many have tried.

But this is not anyone. This is Anakin. This is his Anakin and this is something for which he has no defenses prepared.

“How ashamed did you make him feel for loving you, master?” Vader asks, tilting his head in cruel curiosity. “That he compressed all of it into something so small that a whole Temple of healers have been unable to find it?”

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps and this time he does not get the words off his tongue quick enough. His voice breaks in the middle of the demand, ribs cracking and parting to reveal the heart of him. “Not if—” not if you do not know what it means for him. For me. For us.

“Why not?” Vader says, and he raises his flesh hand to tuck a piece of greasy hair behind his head before allowing his fingers to fall to rest against his collarbone, ghosting against the Force suppression collar around his neck as if it’s a diamond encrusted necklace. “After all, am I not wearing your chains, master?”

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #vaderwan #so you know vader's number one priority is going to be to manipulate obi-wan into freeing him #because he can probably remember a little bit of anakin's love for obi-wan #it's not as gone as he says #but he also probably remembers the obsession with his master first #and that's tinted even darker by being a sith now #so within the next few weeks his priorities shift from torturing obi-wan for sport #to wanting him to free him so that he can kidnap him and keep him #and get away from the temple and all the memories the jedi are trying to give back to him #he doesn't want those #he wants obi-wan kenobi #hate and love and all

[sequinsmile-x]

Noble

/ˈnəʊbl/ adjective.

having or showing fine personal qualities or high moral principles.

Emily and Aaron, along with the rest of the BAU, help look for a missing little girl who has the same name as their daughter.

-x-

Hi friends,

This started as an idea I had yesterday and, as always, spiralled wildly out of control. It's less a bit less of a case fic than I initially intended, but it is angsty, full of feelings and hurt/comfort as well as a good dose of domestic Hotchniss.

I really hope you like this, and I would love to know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 5.5k (really really got away from me.)

Warnings: kidnapping, canon typical themes

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She’s woken up by tiny hands pressing into her face, familiar warm and little fingers digging into her cheeks. Emily blearily opens her eyes, struggling at first as if they’d been glued together by a lack of sleep, and she’s met with her little girl's face, her dark eyes shining in the low light of the room. 

“Alice, honey, are you okay?” she asks, reaching to the nightstand to turn on the lamp, internally winching when she sees it’s only 4 am. She rests her elbow on the mattress to get a better look at her little girl. 

The movement causes her husband's arm to slip from its place over her waist, the weight of it now resting on her hip. She can feel from his breathing against the back of her neck that the small amount of light in the room hadn’t woken Aaron up. When they first started sleeping together, in the very literal sense, they’d both been light sleepers. Both so used to being alone and facing their monsters by themselves, their demons who had faces of very real men prone to coming out of any shadow. Any sound no matter how small enough to draw them from sleep and into a reality where danger was waiting for them. 

After close to five years together, four of them married, they were both heavier sleepers now, aware of the safety they brought each other even in sleep. A kind of security their children often sought out, her and Aaron’s bed a frequent sanctuary for Jack or Alice, sometimes both, when they woke up in the middle of the night. 

She feels her heart clench at the sight of her 3-year-old daughter. Ever since she was born everyone had always told her that Alice looked exactly like her, something that only seemed to be more true as time went on. If she looked at photos of herself when she was Alice’s age they looked identical, and she often wondered if she’d once been like her little girl, full of life and wonder and joy, before she was taught she needed to be ‘better behaved’. 

Emily knows what’s happened before Alice responds, the signs of a nightmare all there. Her hair was unruly, dark curls that Emily couldn’t say where they’d come from escaping the braids Aaron had diligently done under the toddler's instructions at bedtime. She has visible tear tracks on her perfect cheeks, her eyes shining with more, and her lower lip trembling as if she was trying to stop herself from crying, as if she was trying to be brave. 

“Bad dream,” Alice replies and Emily sighs sympathetically, reaching out and tucking some of Alice’s hair behind her ear, smiling sadly when the toddler leans into the affection. 

“I’m sorry baby,” she says quietly, aware of her still-sleeping husband behind her, “Want to sleep in here with me and Daddy?” Alice nods as she rubs her eyes and Emily pulls back the covers so the little girl can climb under them. She tucks her against her chest, smiling softly as Alice curls into her, her head tucked under her chin as she snuggles in, her tiny fist clasped in Emily’s pyjama shirt.  Emily turns the lamp back off and wraps her arms around her daughter, rubbing comforting circles on her back, “Want to tell Mommy about the bad dream?” 

Alice shakes her head against her, “No,” she says, rubbing the material of Emily’s shirt between her thumb and forefinger to self-soothe, “Mama sing?” 

Emily smiles before she nods, pressing a kiss against the top of Alice’s head as she continues to rub circles on her back, easing her back asleep. It was something she’d done for Jack before Alice had been born, something she’d done on a whim one day when she was home alone with him early on in her relationship with Aaron and the little boy had a nightmare. He’d climbed into bed with her and she’d started singing, hoping it would calm him down and it had. Ever since then, he’d asked for her to sing when he was sick or sad, and she’d happily comply. It seemed natural to do the same thing for Alice, and she’d done it before she was even born. More than once Aaron had walked into a room to find her with her hands pressed into her bump, as she sang quietly. 

“Of course, sweet girl. What do you want me to sing?” 

Alice yawns, already getting heavier against Emily’s chest, her mother’s embrace her favourite safe place, “The sunshine song.” 

She rests her cheek on top of Alice’s head and starts to sing, making sure she stays as quiet as possible so she doesn’t wake up Aaron. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away.”

She feels Alice’s grip on her shirt loosen, and her breathing even out against her neck, and she blows out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to the little girl's forehead before she rests her head properly on her pillow, ready to try and find sleep again herself. Just as she closes her eyes she feels Aaron’s arm move, his hand shifting from her hip to rest over hers on Alice’s back, enveloping them both in his embrace. 

“Is she okay?” He asks sleepily, his voice thick with sleep in a way that never failed to make her stomach flip, a delicious part of him that was only for her and their children. 

“She’s okay,” she replies, turning her head to look at him, the sleepy concerned look on his face enough to make her smile. She stamps a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “She had a bad dream. Sorry we woke you.” 

He shakes his head, letting her know he doesn’t need her apology, that he’d never be mad about how much she loved their children. He kisses her lips and then her shoulder as she lays back down properly, and he hums, “There are worse ways to be woken up than to you singing our daughter to sleep.” 

___

They get woken up early the next morning by Penelope, an urgency to her voice that sends shivers down both of their spines when she says they have an amber alert in New Mexico that they’ve been asked to help with. 

Aaron calls Jess whilst Emily gets Alice and Jack ready for the day, and they exchange hurried goodbyes once Jess has arrived. Hugs with their children that feel too quick as they rush out of the door, well aware that another child’s fate rested well and truly on their shoulders. 

When they get to the jet they finally have a chance to ask for the details of the case, of the little girl who’d been snatched from outside of her home the evening before whilst her mother took in the washing. 

Emily’s breath catches in her chest when she sees the file, and Penelope hesitates before she says the name of the missing girl. It’s a momentary reaction she can’t control, something that makes the rest of the team look at her, and makes Aaron place his hand on her thigh under the table. She rests her hand over his and links their fingers together, squeezing tightly as she clears her throat. 

“Sorry,” she says, smiling tightly as she makes eye contact with JJ before she returns her attention to the laptop, “Pen, carry on.” 

Penelope hesitates for a moment before Aaron clears his throat, making it clear he doesn’t want anyone drawing any more attention to his wife’s reaction, and she nods, blowing out a slow breath before she continues. 

“Our victim's name is Alice Holmes. She was last seen…” 

The rest of the briefing fades out for Emily as she stares at the screen of her iPad, the face of a little girl who had her daughter's name staring back at her. 

___

It feels like she’s on a knife edge, every one of her nerves fried as she stares at the board with the victimology scattered across it.

This Alice looked nothing like her little girl. She was a couple of years older, the baby-fat Alice still had nowhere to be seen. She was blonde and had blue eyes, her hair almost pin straight in all the photos her parents had provided. Emily felt like it should be enough to convince herself that this was fine, that this wasn’t her daughter but someone else's and that she needed to hold herself together. 

It didn’t make it any easier anytime someone said ‘Alice’ as they were describing the kidnapping, or when they talked about the awful things she was likely enduring if she was still alive. Every time she closed her eyes her little girl’s face flashed across them and she felt like she wanted to scream.

She knew Aaron wasn’t faring any better. His shoulders tenser than normal, his fuse short as they hit a few dead ends and had to go to their hotel at the end of their first day on the case. He holds her close as they Facetime their children, some of the tension that had built throughout the day eased by the sight of Alice and Jack happy and healthy under the care of their aunt. 

Neither of them sleep well that night, waking in fits and starts. Taking it in turns to comfort the other when their subconscious taunted them in their dreams, very real things they’d both seen twisting into the situation they found themselves in. 

By the end of the second day, they worry they won’t find Alice until it’s too late, the chances of finding her alive diminishing with each passing hour. 

It’s Spencer who figures it out, his eidetic memory coming into play when he says he recognises the van for a cleaning company that had been parked outside of the Holmes’s house from the footage of the day Alice disappeared in CCTV from another, up until then, unrelated kidnapping. 

She leans in and she spots it too, the large letters on the side of the van clear even in the grainy footage. 

Ray Dawson Cleaning Services.

Penelope finds his address in record time, her relief palpable when she tells them he only lives an hour away. 

___

After the arrest is made, Dawson claims his innocence as Derek roughly takes him away, shoving him into the back of a cop car with what she knows is restraint, Aaron asks her to go into the house first. 

She understands why, knows she’s done it before, but it doesn’t help the way she feels. The way her chest feels hollowed out as they find the perfectly decorated bedroom for a little girl, something that looks like it was pulled out of a magazine, in Dawson’s basement. They have to force the door open because it is triple locked from the outside, the keys nowhere to be found and Dawson's decision to say this had nothing to do with him absolute, so she knows that Alice has to be somewhere in the room. 

The light switches on, the small windowless room floods with light, and Emily hears shuffling under the bed. She turns and nods at JJ before she tilts her head at the door, silently telling her to go tell the others they’d found her. Once she’s alone she kneels near the bed and peers under it, her breath catching in her chest at the sight of the little girl she’d only seen pictures of curled up against the wall, fear painted across her face that was far too much for a five-year-old to feel. 

“Hi Alice,” Emily says as she lays down, her body flat against the floor as she turns her head so she’s facing under the bed. Alice whimpers, holding a toy tight against her chest as she shies away, “My name’s Emily. I’m with the police.” 

“Is he coming back?” Alice asks, her voice shaking, tears spilling out onto her cheeks, and Emily wants nothing more than to pull the little girl into her arms, to hold her like she’d want someone to hold her little girl until she could get there, but she knows it has to be her choice. 

“No, honey. He’s not coming back,” she assures her, “When you’re ready, I’ll help you outside and your Mommy and Daddy are going to meet us at the hospital,” she adds, watching as Alice shrinks back into herself curling tighter against the wall at the mention of getting out from her place of safety. Emily sighs and tries to think how she could help, the sound of footsteps outside the room let her know the others were all there, waiting on her to bring the little girl out. She thinks of her daughter, and an idea starts to form in her head, “I have a little girl, she’s called Alice too.” 

Alice makes eye contact with her for the first time, furrowing her brow a little, “Really?” 

“Really,” Emily confirms, smiling as the 5-year-old relaxes a little, “She’s three so a little younger than you. My Alice…” she starts, having to clear her throat when she hears the shake in it, knowing this wasn’t the time for her emotions, how she felt about the last couple of days, “My Alice, when she’s scared or hurt she likes me to sing to her. Would you like me to sing to you?” 

Alice nods immediately, loosening her grip on her toy, “Yes please.” 

Emily smiles and puts her hand between them, still leaving space so she doesn’t get too close to Alice, but giving her the option of holding her hand if she wants to. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away.”

As she sings Alice scoots closer, at first placing her hand over Emily’s, squeezing her hand around hers before she gets even closer. By the time Emily finishes singing Alice is near enough Emily can feel her breath on her face. 

“Emily?” Alice asks, her hand tight in her shirt, wrapped around the material sticking out from the top of her bulletproof vest. 

“Yes, honey?” 

“Will you stay with me?” 

Emily nods, taking a deep breath, pushing the rising emotions back down into her stomach, feeling it turn over with them, nausea she knew would take to shift making itself known, “I’ll stay with you until we see your Mommy and Daddy, okay?” 

Alice stares at her for a moment before she nods and Emily smiles at her before she stands up, not even leaving it a second before she bends down and picks Alice up, hoisting her onto her hip. She tries to ignore the desperation in the little girl's hold on her, how tightly she clings to her neck. She carries her out of the room, cupping the back of her head as she presses her face into her neck, clearly not wanting to see the place where she’d been held or the people who had come to rescue her. It’s only when they get outside, when the fresh air hits them, that Alice looks up just as they are approaching Aaron who had been outside directing everything, his face serious as he talks to the lead detective. When he spots Emily and the little girl they’d been looking for sitting on her hip he pardons himself from the conversation and walks over. 

Alice shies away from him, wary of men after everything she’d been through, and she whimpers as Emily tries to soothe her. 

“It’s okay,” she says, “You remember I told you about my little girl?” 

She sniffs as she looks at Emily, seemingly never ending tears slipping down her cheeks, “Your Alice.” 

“Yeah,” Emily says, exchanging a look with her husband, “My Alice. This is her Daddy,” she says softly, “He’s going to take us to the hospital so you can see your Mommy and Daddy, is that okay?” 

Alice nods, her grip on Emily only loosening a little bit, “That’s okay.” 

Emily smiles and steps past Aaron to open the car door, settling into the back seat with Alice on her lap. Before she closes the door Aaron stops it, his hand on it as he looks at her, his concern clear, his stern expression fading away no one but her and the little girl they’d rescued could see her. 

“Are you okay?” 

He felt guilty for sending her in here first, for asking her to do something he knew would be difficult. It hadn’t been lost on him how hard the last couple of days had been on her, how the little girl that had been missing having the same name as their daughter had made a case that would already have been tough, even tougher. But she was the best at this, child advocacy something she was skilled in and cared deeply about, and it was no secret children largely trusted women over men - especially in a situation like this. 

As her boss, he knew that sending her in had been the right thing to do. As her husband, he wished he didn’t have to be the one to ask it of her. 

She smiles tightly at him as she holds Alice closer, grateful that the journey to the hospital was short because they didn’t have a car seat, “Later.” 

He nods, knowing it’s the best he’s going to get for now, and he reaches out and squeezes her shoulder, a silent show of the love he’d wait to give her, “Later.”

___

They head straight from the hospital to the jet where the rest of the team are waiting. 

Emily keeps her promise, she sits with Alice, the little girl all but glued to her side, until her parents arrive. Aaron stands in the corner of the room, answering the doctor’s questions as well as he could, keeping vigil over the little girl, who had the same name as his, and well as his wife, her nerves clearly close to fraying. 

It felt like a lifetime ago when he hadn’t been able to read her, when he would have thought she was unaffected by most of the things he saw. He knew her better now, and had done since before their relationship shifted from friendship into more. She was good at compartmentalising, that was true, but it was because she’d been taught since she was young that her emotions weren’t as important as what was going on around her. A side effect of the political world she’d been raised in, a past she’d never quite outrun. 

He could see it now. Could see how she ran her fingers through Alice’s hair like she was their Alice, how she clenched her jaw for a moment before she blew out a long slow breath whenever the little girl against her side asked her a question, getting herself ready to sound unaffected by what was going on around her.

It was nothing short of a privilege that he was the one those barriers would crumble around, that he was the person she trusted more than anyone else. He loved being there for her, he loved her more than he had ever loved anyone else. 

When Alice’s parents arrive, they are horrified she’d only been an hour away whilst she was missing, so close and yet so far out of reach. The little girl clambers out of Emily’s embrace and into her mother’s, her tears back with a vengeance as she sinks into her arms, her father’s arms around the both of them. Once Alice has calmed down a little, her parents hug both Emily and Aaron, their embraces a little tighter when the little girl tells them their daughter is called Alice too, a hint of innocence in her voice as the weight of her words settles over the adults in the room. 

The ride to the jet is silent. Emily stares out of the window, focusing on the town passing them by, the place she hoped to never have to visit again. 

As they board the jet she ignores how the rest of the team is looking at her, the empathy on their faces almost too much for her to bear. They had purposely left two seats for her and Aaron together, an unspoken rule that had existed since the team found out about their relationship, and she lets Aaron slip into the window seat, something he doesn’t argue with as she sits next to him, her eyes fixed on the table in front of them. 

The moment they can take their seatbelts off Emily is out of her seat, her back to the team as she steps into the kitchenette, the curtain pulled behind her so she can have a moment of privacy. She blows out a shaky breath as she places her palms on the small counter in the back, leaning some of her weight on it as she tries to catch her breath, to force everything she desperately didn’t want to feel until she was at home, until after she’d hugged her kids, back down. 

If she started crying now, she wasn’t sure she’d stop. 

She hears the swish of the curtain and familiar footsteps behind her. She doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s him. 

“Em.” 

She presses her lips together and turns to look at her husband, her arms crossed over her chest as she leans back against the counter. She clears her throat, her eyes fixed on him, how he stands in just in the entryway to the kitchenette, his shoulders tense as he doesn’t know how to approach her. She clenches her teeth and blows a breath out through them. 

“Can you make me some tea?” She asks, even though she’s closer to the hot water and the tea bags. He knows it’s an olive branch, her letting him look after her because she knows he needs to. 

“Of course,” he says, stepping closer, purposely not touching her as he pours some hot water into a paper cup and grabs a chamomile tea bag. He looks at her, his gaze fixed on her side profile as she continues to stare ahead. She’d always been beautiful to him, even when he was married to someone else, and even now, simmering in her grief and where she’d let her mind wander the last few days, she was still gorgeous. The slope of her nose, the cut of her jaw, and her long lashes that were casting shadows onto her cheek. She was beautiful, and she was all his. “This feels like a stupid question,” he starts, his focus back on stirring her tea, “But I have to ask it, how are you?” 

She scoffs, her arms tightening over her chest. She purposely keeps her voice low so it won’t be heard over the hum of the jet in the main part of the cabin, “Are you asking as my husband or as my boss?” 

He turns to look at her, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, “Does my answer change yours?” He asks curiously, and she finally looks at him, her eyebrows raised, and he knows what she hasn’t said, “Your husband.” 

She smiles sadly, her lower lip shaking in a way both of them ignore, “I had a hard day at work.” 

“Sweetheart,” he says, moving to reach out for her but stopping, not wanting to push her, to be the thing that tipped her over the edge, “I’m sorry, I-”

“No, it’s…” she chokes on a noise somewhere between a sob and laugh and she shakes her head, “It’s not your fault. It was the right call, I’ve done it before it’s just…that was hard. And I really wish it wasn’t your job to make the call, even though it was the right one.” 

He sighs, familiar guilt filling his lungs, making it momentarily hard to breathe as he looks at his wife, her jaw tight as she avoids eye contact with him, “I wish it wasn’t my job either.” 

“I know,” she nods, her smile strained as she looks at him, “And I know this wasn’t easy on you either,” she adds, “I’ll be okay, honey. I just need to get home and hug the kids,” she says, her chin trembling, “Hold them until I stop imagining them in her place,” she chuckles humourlessly and shakes her head, “But we’re still five hours from home and they’ll be in bed by the time we get back.” 

He watches as she reaches up to fiddle with the necklace he’d bought her last Christmas, two tiny disk pendants with the letters “J” and “A” stamped on them. He can’t hold himself back from touching her anymore and he places his hand on her hip, turning her to face him, a smile he hopes she finds comforting on his face. 

“I know it’s not the same. But, until we get home you could always hug me,” he says, warmth spreading in his chest when a flash of a genuine smile breaks out over her face, “If you want to.” 

She huffs out a laugh and closes the gap between them, wrapping her arms around his neck and sinking into him, something deep inside of her easing slightly when he holds her back just as fiercely, one of his hands firmly on her back whilst he uses the others to run his knuckles up and down her side. She presses her face into his neck and breathes him in, one of her hands shifting to cup the back of his head, her fingers digging into his hair. 

“I always want to hug you,” she says softly, turning her head so her cheek is resting against his shoulder. She sighs contentedly, feeling something close to relaxed for the first time in days, and she smiles when she looks at the cup of tea on the side next to them, steam rising up from it and reaching her nose, the scent of her favourite tea to drink when she was stressed hitting her. She pulls back to look at him, her smile soft as she leans in to kiss him, her lips delicate against his, “Thank you for making my tea.” 

He hears what she hasn’t said, what she won’t say until they are back at their house in the sanctuary they had built there together. No well-meaning friends just on the other side of a thin curtain desperately trying to hear them over the hum of the jet. 

Thank you for loving me.

Thank you for being here. 

Thank you for being you. 

He leans in and kisses her, his hand on her cheek as he holds her close, “Anytime, sweetheart.” 

___

When they get home, she’s up the stairs before he even closes the front door. She toes off her shoes and shrugs off her coat on her way, leaving him to pick them up so she can go and see their children. He does it gladly, not making any gentle teasing comments he usually would about cleaning up after her. 

He didn’t mind, he loved picking up the pieces of her that she’d allow to fall apart around him.

She barely says hello to Jess as they pass on the stairs, and Jess looks up the stairs at her curiously before she walks towards Aaron as the door to Jack’s room briefly opens and then closes. 

“Is she okay?” Jess asks, her brows furrowed as she hugs him. He sighs as he hugs her back and he steps away, looking for her jacket for her.

“It was a case about a missing little girl,” he says, looking upstairs as Jack’s door opens again, only to be quickly followed by Alice’s, “Emily was the one who found her. Alive thank god.” 

Jess winces sympathetically, and takes her jacket from him, “That’s rough.” 

He hums, “Even rougher when you know the little girl is called Alice.” 

She places her hand over her chest after she shrugs her jacket on, “Poor Emily,” she says, looking up the stairs before she looks back at him, “Poor you. Are you okay?” 

He sighs and scratches the back of his head as he thinks about it, “I’ll be okay once I see her. And once I stop feeling guilty about sending Emily into the room she was being kept in first.”

Jess pulls him into another hug, “She understands your job, Aaron,” she assures him, patting his back before she steps away and heads towards the door, “It’s what makes you guys work. You’ll hold this against yourself a lot longer than she will.” 

He hums and puts his hands on his hips, his eyebrow raised at her, “What made you such an expert on human behaviour?” 

She chuckles and winks at him as she opens the door, “I’ve known you most of my life, some of it was bound to stick eventually,” she says as she steps onto the porch, “Get some sleep. Hug your wife. Everything will feel better tomorrow.” 

He nods, “Thanks, Jess.” 

She smiles at him one more time, “Any time.” 

He sighs as she closes the door and he locks it behind her, double-checking the locks out of habit before he steps further into his quiet house. He puts their go-bags in the laundry room and then decides to head upstairs, desperate to see his family. He pops into Jack’s room and sees he’s fast asleep, his covers tucked up around him in a way that lets him know Emily had adjusted them when she came in to see him, the boy well known for wriggling out of them as he slept. He drops a kiss on his forehead, whispers his love against his skin, and then slips back out of the room, not wanting to wake him. 

When he walks into Alice’s room his breath catches in his chest at the sight he’s met with, his two girls fast asleep and wrapped around each other. Emily was pressed up against the wall on top of the covers having climbed in with Alice when she came in to see her, still wearing her clothes from work, curled up so she could fit in the small bed. Alice is pressed against her, her hand loosely tangled in her mother’s shirt, and Aaron can just picture her waking up just enough to realise Emily was there with her before she fell back asleep, comforted by the fact her mother was home. 

Aaron briefly considers waking Emily up, knowing that her back wouldn’t thank her for sleeping in this position in the morning, but he knows she needs this, that their daughter was the comfort she’d been seeking since they’d last seen her. She was an excellent mother, better than she ever gave herself credit for, and he never felt anything less than blessed when he thought about the fact she’d chosen him as the father to her children. 

He briefly walks out into the hallway and pulls a blanket out of the linen closet before he steps back into the bedroom. He lays the blanket over his wife, making sure to tuck it around her so she doesn’t get cold. He kisses the top of Alice’s head, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of her no tear shampoo, and he whispers against her hair. 

“Love you, Princess,” he says, kissing her head again before he turns his attention to his wife, tension in his chest easing when he sees how relaxed she is. He kisses her cheek, “Love you, sweetheart.” 

She grumbles, waking up ever so slightly, “Aaron?” 

“Go back to sleep, baby,” he says, kissing her cheek again, running his fingers through her hair to soothe her, not entirely convinced she was actually awake, her eyes still closed, “You and Alice get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.” 

She hums, tightening her hold on their daughter, and he kisses her cheek again as she mumbles just loud enough for him to hear, “Love you.” 

“Love you too, Em.” 

He sleeps fitfully in the big bed all alone, not used to all of the space to himself, for a couple of hours until she comes in, her eyes bleary with a sleeping Alice in her arms as she passes the little girl over to him so she can actually get ready for bed. She smiles gratefully at him as he settles their daughter against his chest and she leans in to kiss him, her lips pressed against his as she silently thanks him again for knowing her, for always knowing what she needed even when she didn’t. 

When she climbs into bed with him, Alice sandwiched between them, they fall asleep quickly. Safe and content in their own home with their daughter with them and their son asleep just down the hall. 

-x-

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#hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss #aaron x emily #emily prentiss fanfiction

[riseoftheangstywriter]

How do you think rise donnie would deal with his s/o starting to call him a tsundere as a term of endearment ?. (Cuz he is a tsundere).

Thank u for the ask!! Here's a little something I wrote on how I think it would play out. Hope you enjoy :))

"You know what y/n?" Leo tells you during one of your many reality tv watching sessions. "Ever since you and Donnie started dating, it's made me realize something... he's such a tsundere, don't you think?"

You turn to look at the slider, head tilting in confusion at the term. "What's a tsundere?"

Within seconds Leo's mouth has dropped considerably. "What?" He pauses the tv. "What do you mean you don't know?!"

As he shakes your shoulders, all you can do is awkwardly smile. "Am I supposed to?"

Leo shakes his head. "I really need to get you into more anime..." He sighs, pulling out his phone. "Don't worry, Leon's got it."

He shoves his phone in your face, and you read the text once your eye's adjust. "A tsundere is a character who switches from being tough and cold towards a love interest into being soft and sweet."

You look at Leo, who's wiggling his nonexistent eyebrows. "See? You can't read that and tell me that isn't describing Donnie."

"I mean, I guess you're right." You hum thoughtfully. "I've never thought about it like that."

Leo's considers your agreement a win, and he grins. "Exactly! I know these things.. it's a twin sense, you feel me?"

You nod, always finding humor in the whole "twin sense" thing when they don't even look remotely alike. They still debated about who was the "older twin" to this day. "Sure."

He nudges you. "Just means you're special, y/n."

His words make you smile. It was relieving to hear that Donnie's brothers thought you were good for him. "Heh. Thanks, Leo."

"Anytime."

After your conversation with Leo, you decide to start messing with Donnie a little bit. It starts off harmless, the first time you call him a tsundere, he reacts as expected, extremely confused (and flustered) because how the hell did you know that word?

He suspects its Leo's doing immediately, but you act clueless, skipping off like it was nothing.

Then you do it again, and again, and again. Now, tsundere has been added to the long list of nicknames you have for the soft-shell. It started off as an innocent joke, but honestly, it was very fitting. Besides, you liked the reaction Donnie had every time. You enjoyed catching him by surprise.

Like tonight, as you depart his lab to head home, you whisper into his ear as you kiss his cheek.

"Goodnight, tsundere." You smile when you hear his breath catch, satisfied with yourself as you turn away, light on your feet.

"Y/n, wait."

You look back to see where you left him, sitting in his chair but facing you.

"Yeah?"

"In the past sixty five days you've called me tsundere a total of twenty eight times."

You weren't expecting that. You cross your arms, interested to see where he was going with this. "Oh, so you've been keeping track?"

He blushes, dismissing your words. "That's not the point. The question is why? Why that word, out of all words? I know Leo taught it to you, so don't even try to deflect."

You think about how to answer, before you settle on the perfect response. You laugh to yourself, smiling.

"I mean, it makes sense right?" You approach him, noticing how he looks you up and down, swallowing. What, was Donnie actually feeling shy? "When I first met you, you were all grumpy and closed off."

You're inches away from him now, and just to show the purpose of your next sentence, you put a finger on his plastron, right over the area that covers his heart. "Who knew I would be the one to peel back those layers to reveal my sweet, lovely partner?"

You knew you had succeeded once Donnie's left a stuttering mess. You've only rendered him speechless a few times, but it never got old.

"If it really bothers you, I'll stop. Promise." You add with sincerity. You had a feeling it didn't, but just to make sure, you say it anyways.

"No." He rushes out immediately. "I-It's fine."

You smile fondly at him. "Good. Well, I should go now."

He nods, but not before he gently takes your wrist and pulls you down, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss.

For a moment he rests his forehead on yours. "I.... like the nickname. It's cute."

The two of you part, and you can't help but get in one last tease. "Guess you'll be hearing more of it then."

Donnie rolls his eyes, but his tone is dripping with affection as he turns back around in his chair. "Bye y/n."

"Bye Donnie." You're almost out the door before departing with "I love you."

You linger just long enough to hear him say "I love you too."

#I love writing fluff #hehhe #rottmnt donnie #donnie x you #rottmnt #my writings #donnie x reader #donatello hamato #rise donnie

[covesdadappreciation]

Hey hey! I loved your Prom one, and now I'm hungry for more! (Sorry not sorry =P). An idea that's been knocking around in my head is, its implied Tam-Tam gets bullied in the later Steps. SO, I would like to see MC getting into a fight after someone makes Tamarack cry, and the Qiu joins in to help because, love rival or no love rival, they ain't lettin' that shit slide.

School Fight

Tamarack x Male Reader (FTM Safe!) Author's note: I’m starting to think you really like the "jealous Qiu, and in love with Tamarack" dynamic… just a feeling. 🎀 CW: A physical fight and mentions of bullying. - I will also warn you that I may have not re-edited this. 1972 words

Ever since MC had met Tamarack, he’s doted on her. If she was a princess, he was her knight, through and through. He was at Tamarack’s defense when Oma and her argued, he was at her side when she felt isolated, he was always paying attention to her face to see if she approved or disapproved certain plans. She is his everything, and even in high school it hasn’t changed much. It certainly isn’t as obvious anymore, nor is he following her around like a lost puppy as much either. With getting older and no longer feeling out-of-place after being the new neighbor, he’s become more independent. Confident, some might say. 

MC began to climb the high school popularity ranks the older he got, along with Qiu (but Qiu wasn’t all that excited about being popular at this point). Though that never let MC feel bigger than Tamarack. Instead he always made sure to make it obvious that they were friends, that he’ll make time for her any day, that she’s just as important as any one of his friends. In a room full of people, he’ll always choose her. 

So when MC decided that he wanted to walk with Tamarack after her after school orchestra practice for the first time, he had a gut-squeezing feeling when he saw her with a small frown and tiny tears at the edges of her eyes. He quickly rushed up to her, but she squeezed her eyes when she noticed MC and smiled, the tears becoming much less notable now.

“Are you okay?” He asked, studying her face worriedly, holding himself from running his hands over the tear trails on her face. She nodded persistently, “Yeah, Orchestra was just stressful today. Rehearsal stuff, it happens.” She waved her hand dismissively. 

MC sighed understandingly, “Well if it’d help, we can go to the Diner and get milkshakes?” Tamarack perked up at the offer, and while her sadness didn’t seem to fully pass, it still made her smile.

As the week continues, MC notices that Tamarack’s been more stressed at the mention of orchestra. She’s anxious in the hallways, as if looking for someone, or trying to be aware of what people are talking about. Of course Tamarack was a little more anxious and awkward, they’re in highschool! It’s kind of a package deal. But it was way out of character for her, this was fear, and that little voice in MC’s head knew that something was wrong. All he needed to know was what the cause was. 

—

MC walked into the auditorium, sitting in the front row as he kept his eyes on Tamarack the whole time as she settled into her seat and pulled out her instrument. Though, nobody really seemed to notice him with the bright lights on them, and if they did, he wasn’t their main focus. They were working on playing music for one of the school musicals, but not even halfway into practice, MC already noticed plenty of red flags.

Two freshmen who sat behind Tammy were being dickheads. Notably one was blonde and the other was brunette. It started out small, but even then it took everything in MC to not get up and tell them to cut it out. Maybe accidentally spill some water on them. Who knows. The two boys went back and forth throughout their instrumental pauses or 10 minute breaks, throwing side-eyes at Tammy while whispering some surely cruel comments about her considering that in response to every whisper, Tamarack seemed to curl more and more into herself. 

MC had kept his eye on them, wishing that Tamarack could notice him and give him a signal on what to do. Scenarios and plans ran through his head, many of them revolving around the idea of revenge. On the other hand, he can hear his ma’s and Tamarack’s voice to calm down, to not get in trouble. The rest of the half hour passes and Tamarack makes her way over to MC, inhaling deeply before crashing her body onto him, pressing her weight against him so that he could hold her closely. 

“Tammy…?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there a reason you haven’t told me about those two dickheads?” MC crossed his arms. Of course he wasn’t angry at her, but the fact that those two had the nerve to be mean to the nicest and adorable girl in the whole world. The audacity. 

Tamarack huffs no longer leaning on him, “No! They’re just dumb, and it’s…” she falters, rolling her eyes and no longer making eye contact with MC, “It’s nothing to worry about.” MC glances around and finds the two boys headed out, but not leaving without throwing a judgemental look towards Tamarack. It only made MC’s stomach turn and twist. 

Just say the word, Tam. Put me in the ring, coach.

“If they keep this up, I swear I’ll start a fight”

“Please don’t” Tamarack laughs softly, but they both knew that MC wasn’t strictly joking. MC only makes a small unsatisfied sound, his eyes stuck and glaring at the two boys until they were out of sight. “Earth to MC?” Tamarack waves her hand in front of his face, “Are we still gonna walk to my place?”

MC sighs before taking Tamarack’s cello case, puffing his chest for a quick second before the weight shifted comfortably in his arms,

“MC, you know you don’t have to carry it for me every time-”

“You’ll have to pry this from my cold dead hands if you expect me to let you carry this yourself”

“My hero” Tamarack sighs with a smug look, readjusting MC’s hair so that his hair is back to normal before their walk. 

“My princess” MC grins back.

— 

The week had felt long, as if the school building itself was actively stopping the clock and hoping no one would question it. MC and Tamarack were walking down the halls in their transition period, arm in arm. Chatting away about their next class and hooked together to not lose each other to the crowd was always their excuse.

“Imagine if the crowds sucked her away and I’d never find her again!” MC huffed to Qiu long ago. 

So MC made it clear that he would never let that happen. Nor was he going to let the world see the dust of blush on his cheeks wherever they did cross arms.  

Unfortunately, the two boys from the orchestra had caught onto Tamarack’s presence on their walk down the halls. MC could see the cogs turning in their heads, which was surprising considering that MC thought there was nothing in there anyways. Defeating all logic regardless, there was a non-verbal plan being set in their minds, which made MC tense. 

He felt worse when he stole a quick look over at Tamarack, seeing her understandably more anxious than him, tears welling up in her eyes once more. This time she finally let them fall. 

The two boys pointed and whispered, judging something– and when MC looked at what they were pointing at, it was a part of a bit of high school embarrassment. Tamarack’s backpack was almost wide-open, not enough for everything to fall out. Of course, they were close enough so that you could hear the glimpses of terrible things they decided to say about her. About her intelligence and comments about her appearance. People are starting to look. 

“Guys, can you both just fucking rela-” MC was interrupted by the brunette who passed him, shoulder hitting shoulder, which caught MC off guard. 

Tamarack was quiet now, and a panicked and helpless look was all she could give as the brunette had gone up to her, let her walk away just a bit so that he could reach into her bag, pulling out whatever he could grab. It was her lunch bag. In a quick attempt of playing monkey in the middle, the brunette with the lunch bag tosses it over to the blonde boy, who’s conveniently closer to MC.

As the two boys laugh, the blonde holding the lunch bag makes eye contact with MC, almost as if expecting him to laugh too at this obnoxious act. 

There’s a moment where MC just nods, the situation finally clicking and snapping in his head. 

Almost as if it’s instinct, MC forces his body to slam the kid against the locker which takes everyone off guard. Those who knew MC from elementary especially. He wasn’t lost or trying to fit in anymore like he did back then. He wasn’t hiding behind Tamarack and hoping that everyone stays friends. It almost made MC seem bigger now. 

The blonde was almost too shocked by the reaction, but he recovered and decided that he’d fight back. They both shoved each other around, throwing a punch in there occasionally, the growing crowd of kids gave a lot of space. Phones were out, and people were cheering and commenting. In one moment MC was pinned and being pushed around by his clothes, in another moment MC had the blonde onto the floor, shoving him harshly back down on the ground.

Veronica had pulled Tamarack away while Qiu and Ren struggled against the mob of children to see what was happening. All they had heard was that MC was in a fight. All Qiu fully registered was a blonde boy on the ground, MC trying to pin the boy’s hands away, and a brunette boy about to enter to help his friend, most likely to make the situation worse or make this a 2v1 situation. Qiu quickly ran up to the brunette and redirected him, only shoving him back warningly. 

That’s all Qiu needed to see, and they knew that it probably had something to do with Tamarack. Who else would MC fight like this for?

“Are you gonna keep going?!” MC shouts at the boy, trying to be heard over the multiple kids shouting. The blonde boy kept up with the struggle before finally giving in and knowing that MC wasn’t going to let go of his wrists until they both stopped hurting one another. 

The blonde boy nods persistently, allowing MC to finally get off of him (not without "accidentally nudging this guy on the side a bit" with his foot) and take a couple steps back in case the boy was planning on starting another fight.

Not that there was time for it considering teachers finally reached the situation. The crowd quickly dispersed, leaving only Tamarack, Qiu, MC, and the two boys in that hall with the teachers.. 

—

Fortunately, Tamarack and Qiu didn’t get in much trouble besides whatever their parents and grandparents found to be appropriate. MC on the other hand had a 4 day suspension, and the other two boys had gotten slightly longer and worse punishments than them. MC’s mom wasn’t the happiest at the whole situation, but she also figured deep down something like this would’ve happened. Tamarack’s Opa found the whole thing a lot more amusing than Omi, of course, but they were still somewhat glad the bullying issue was done with too. 

And it wasn’t like Tamarack and MC were banned from seeing each other ever again. Tamarack and Qiu would visit MC after school to bring him homework, and study together. 

At the end of the day, no one bothered to bully or make comments about Tamarack anymore, lest they deal with MC when he comes back. At least MC promised he’d never do it again. Probably.

#our life #our life now and forever #mc #our life oc #oc #qiu lin #tamarack baumann #x male reader #male reader #ftm reader #x ftm reader #olnf

[scribblestatic]

I hope y'all had a good 4/20. Anyway, here's more Sheepzun.

---

Finding his way out of the caves was much easier than going in. The flow of qi seemed easier for him to discern, and his senses were stronger. How curious! He was sure he'd be able to sense predators much easier now.

He cloaked himself in his qi and snuck out the caves, ensuring no one was looking at or for him. This time around, it seemed he had enough qi to do so easier than before, not feeling any pull or strain on his meridians.

He was a right chuffed lad, all things considered!

Shen Yuan made his way back to Qing Jing Peak without much of an issue. Disciples didn't seem to sense his hiding. Those with stronger cultivation did seem to look around, a tad unsettled if anything, but overall, none of them saw through his illusion.

It also helped that he was a prey animal who preferred to not leave things up to risk or chance when being careful was a perfectly reasonable option.

As he travelled, he noticed that the season seemed a little different. A tad on the warmer side than he last remembered. He had entered a few days after spring began, and the flowers he remembered were supposed to bloom seemed to already be at the end of its blooming cycle...

Was it the end of spring? Goodness, time flew!!

Thankfully, not an excessive amount of time passed since, upon making his way out of the forest near the woodshed, Luo Binghe didn't look too much taller. Yes, at the very least, only a few days or weeks had passed.

Hearing Shen Yuan's purposeful rustling, Luo Binghe's slightly pointy ears almost seemed to twitch. Then, he turned around quickly, eyes wide and swiftly becoming watery with unshed tears.

"Shizun!!"

Shen Yuan huffed, amused as the boy, sticky as ever, ran up to him and immediately hugged him around the neck.

"Shizun! Shizun, you came back! Shizun!!"

'Who do you keep calling out for, ah? I'm right here,' Shen Yuan thought.

Luo Binghe went still.

"...Shizun?"

'Yes?'

The boy suddenly let go of him and leaned back, staring right into his eyes. Then, slowly, like the flowers he missed bloom at the start of spring, Luo Binghe's smile spread across his face in a vibrant flourish.

"Shizun!! Shizun, you can talk now?!"

Shen Yuan paused, blinking.

'...You can hear what this one is...saying.'

"Yes, I can! I can finally understand you, Shizun! Has my cultivation gotten better? Is... Is this because of what you taught me?"

I don't know, what the heck?! This is scary!!

So, if he was actually thinking as though he was speaking to Luo Binghe, then the boy would actually hear it? After all, he wasn't responding to his thoughts now. Was this because he taught a spirit creature's Dao to a human that he became Dr. Dolittle? That's an entire genre change!

...Whatever that was supposed to mean! Who even was Dr. Dolittle?!

'...Indeed, it seems likely. However, this one admits that this is the first time he's taught this Dao to a human,' Shen Yuan replies, his mind in utter disarray and panic. 'As much as you are a student, this ram is still learning himself.'

There's no precedent for this! I'm sorry, Binghe! This ram is only about a year old!

Luo Binghe looked as though the meaning of the Dao was explained to him in elementary terms, as though he made a huge mental breakthrough with his words alone.

"I see... Thanking Shizun for his knowledge and education all this time!"

He bowed so respectfully, Shen Yuan immediately felt like a terrible saber-toothed wolf dressed up like a newly born spirit lamb to prey on the little human's trust.

But, well, he was at least somewhat honest just now. He really was also a student in all of this.

'This ram thanks you as well. Even through our language barrier, you've been an exemplary student. Now that we can understand each other more freely, we can further improve your cultivation.'

"Yes, Shizun! I'm looking forward to it!"

Shit.

[More under the cut, this one just got kinda long]

----

Okay, so, it wasn't all that bad.

One, it really was much easier to speak with Bing-lamb, and the boy seemed to flourish further under his his verbal guidance. He didn't really have to say much, though. Whatever Luo Binghe lacked in prowess, he was steadily making up for it in motivation.

All Shen Yuan had to do was correct him a little here and there based on whatever kind of strange animal instinct he had that said,

'This stance is a little off. Keep you knees elastic. Firm, but ready.'

or

'You must connect with your surroundings and hone to your senses. Humans, as predators, rely strongly on their eyes. But you must learn to use your nose, ears, and touch as well.'

"What about taste, Shizun?"

'There are some things a mouth shouldn't touch. We can build up to that as you learn more.'

Though, perhaps he asked such questions because Shen Yuan occasionally found himself chewing on Luo Binghe's clothes. It was more affectionate grooming for the boy than anything, honestly. But he was also a prey creature rather than a human, so it could be excused as such.

Two, after Luo Binghe's lessons with the human instructors, Luo Binghe would sometimes ask him for questions and clarification as he did the pile of chores constantly assigned to him. What was with all these duties, anyway? Weren't all of the disciples supposed to do these things? They were working too hard on purpose, but why?

Anyway, despite not being a human, it turned out Shen Yuan could read quite well. He wasn't sure where he'd learned such a skill, but it was nice to see it be useful. So, because Luo Binghe's questions never got answered in class, as the boy's Shizun, he took it upon himself to do his best to help.

It meant he sometimes had to get a bit creative with how he explained things, but he was doing well enough, it seemed.

Of course, there were limits to what he could do.

As a ram, teaching the four arts was mostly out of the question. Give him some paints and he could maybe bang something out on a canvas, but he had no guarantee it would look like anything useful or recognizable. Same for a guqin or calligraphy.

Go...well, if the pieces and board were big enough, maybe. But anyway, he had his limitations. Not that Luo Binghe seemed to see any of them. With the way Shen Yuan loafed and Luo Binghe sat in front of him, his workbook open, one would think he'd hung the moon.

It was...admittedly very nice to be so appreciated.

Also, getting petted. He'd stopped for a bit after they first spoke, but Luo Binghe did it by accident again later. When Shen Yuan stayed quiet without scolding the action and slightly shifting his head closer, well, he got the picture.

And snacks. Luo Binghe didn't have access to a full kitchen for reasons he didn't understand, but Shen Yuan just knew. The day he had kitchen privileges, it was over for Qing Ding Peak. They'd become Qing Ding Restaurant or something.

Although he still had to be careful, he found he was actually starting to enjoy living the way he was now. He didn't feel the need to look over his shoulder as often, Prey and predator, bridging the gap, huh? What a lovely story.

As Luo Binghe improved, keeping his sheep shizun a secret, several more months passed. Spring turned into summer, into fall, into winter, into spring, into the touches of summer heat once more.

Over that year, Luo Binghe grew taller and broader. His shoulders were starting to fill out, his hands and feet better sized for his body. From his experience working with his shizun's hair-like wool, he learned how to take care of his own hair better, the curls becoming shinier and tamable, no longer as difficult to pull into a ponytail. He also learned all the little nooks and crannies of Qing Jing Peak after going foraging with his shizun, and the mountain climbing and hunting he'd done for himself.

He'd thought his shizun would be against him hunting the birds and other creatures on and around the peak, but though he never partook himself, he was ambivalent.

'You are human. Even sheep eat meat when necessary. For you, it's even more so. This ram shan't fault his student for doing the best for himself.'

And so, with his own hunting skills built up, despite still living and sleeping in the wood shed and lacking some of the more artistic prowess of his sect siblings, he's grown considerably in strength, speed, and build. As he sometimes heard his shizun murmur, 'Born to Bai Zhan, raised to Qing Jing, manages both.'

Meanwhile, Shizun himself...

Luo Binghe had visited Xin Ya Peak before, alongside some of his sect siblings. He'd seen what spirit sheep normally looked like--fluffy, with slightly curved horns, and a nice sheen to their wool. Not particularly tall--mostly reaching around their knees or thighs.

Shizun, however, drew much more regal of a figure. His wool was less fluffy but somehow even softer. He was taller, too, reaching up to the bottom of Luo Binghe's chest. His horns had grown out considerably, to the point they were curling outward. Unlike his farmed comrades, Shizun was exceptionally fastidious. Though, it likely helped he was not locked into a barn or kept around mud. So, he was not only impeccably clean, but he kept a long, undocked tail that swayed behind him with his steps.

He kept his wool a beautiful shade of ivory white. The only discolorations were the slightly green tones that occasionally hung onto his stomach and legs from loafing on the grasses around the bamboo forest and the ever-present blood red huadian on his forehead. Moreover, after Shizun had returned from wherever he'd gone, his eyes had changed. Irises that were once a striking brown had become a soothing blue-green color, much like the peak colors of Qing Jing.

Perhaps spirit animals needed less effort to attain godhood. Luo Binghe could believe it. After all, his shizun appeared like a god nowadays.

'Binghe' he'd hear, his soft and elegant voice calling out to him in the dewy mornings.

He would look up to see his shizun returning from some place he'd found his wild breakfast, leaving him to sleep longer because, as the ram said, he was a growing boy and needed it more.

The sun would peek out at just the right time to shine on his arrival, making him look ethereal, even if he was holding moss in his mouth.

'Have you eaten yet? If not, add this to your food today. It has absorbed quite a bit of yin qi. Considering your yang constitution, it will help promote more internal balance.'

Shizun places the stringy, thick moss in Luo Binghe's waiting hands.

'This is called Qiyan Root, despite not being a root at all. Strain and boil it twice for the best effect. You can also dry some of it for medicinal use. It should taste quite nice in an herbal tea.'

His shizun hummed in consideration as he tilted his head, long white lashes against the fur of his cheeks.

Luo Binghe couldn't help but wonder what his shizun would look like as a human. He was quite the handsome animal, much like one would compliment a horse for its strong physique and beautiful sheen. Surely he'd be a handsome human as well.

Though, wondering such a thing would have to wait. It was time for morning chores, then his lessons could begin in earnest.

It was after one such set of lessons with his other teachers, when he was chopping wood with his shizun at his side that the ram suddenly raised his head with a frown.

"Shizun?"

'...The air feels different. What do you sense?'

Having learned his cultivation mostly from a spirit animal rather than a human, Luo Binghe honed his senses and listened. Indeed, the peak seemed quiet. Too quiet, however.

"Something's not right... Shizun, I'll be back."

'Be careful, Binghe.'

The boy nodded in return before he ran off, Shen Yuan staying behind as he tried to better understand what this energy fluctuation actually was.

Eventually, curiosity and concern won out over wariness, and he concealed himself as he headed toward the rainbow bridges separating Qing Jing from the other peaks.

There, he found several demons cracking away at the bridge between Qing Jing and Qiong Ding. Several were smaller demons with tiny horns and large machetes in their spindly hands. They were accompanied by a larger, more boubous demon in a loincloth, using an axe to slice and wear away at the energies keeping the rainbow bridge connected.

A siege? But this is Cang Qiong, one of the most powerful sects! How could these demons have the gall?!

Shen Yuan wasn't aware of the politics that came with running a peak, so, of course, he was unaware of the peak lord's absence. Several lords were away--more than honestly permissible--leaving the little lamb-like disciples without their guard dogs. Though, judging from the coordinated actions of the demons, the little troupe he was looking at was the least of his worries.

Binghe!!

If he was running this way, then surely he would've encountered the demons! But he could smell no blood or anything from his student. Perhaps he already passed through before they arrived. After all, behind the troupe, he could see several groups of demons destroying the bridges and leaving the peaks isolated...

No, not all the peaks. Qiong Ding.

Something about this scenario struck him as...oddly familiar.

But he shoved that thought aside. Now wasn't the time for excessive questioning! His student was in danger!

As much as he liked to believe he prepared Luo Binghe for combat in some meaningful way, he would never overestimate his teaching abilities. He's a ram for fucks sake, how could he be much better than human teachers and their opposable thumbs?!

Not letting up his concealing qi, he began running across the bridge, heading straight for the small crowd of demons.

Though they couldn't see him, his weight and trotting seemed to alert them as they turned his way. Cruel smirks spread on the imps' faces as they raised their weapons and prepared to strike.

Deciding not to conceal himself anymore, he instead focused his qi on his attack, suddenly appearing before them. For some reason, they seemed surprised despite already preparing to attack him.

His qi-filled horns collided with one of their machetes, causing it to crack and shatter. Milliseconds later, the same cracking and shattering came from the imp's ribs.

Gritting his teeth, he flung his head to the right, throwing several of the imps off the cracking bridge. But he still had some momentum and wasn't done yet.

Facing the bulbous demon and its large axe, he charged up as much as he could, enough that his horns began to glow dimly.

The demon bellowed as it swung the axe, intending to split his skull. But Shen Yuan was faster.

Putting more force in his back legs, he jumped forward, tucking his front legs close to his body. His curved horns rammed against the demon's chest, the bones giving way under it. It let out a choke, then it spit up blood as the wind moved around them.

When the demon fell back, Shen Yuan blinked, realizing he was going butt up.

With a surprised bleat, his legs stretched out as the momentum had him flopping on his back above the demon's head. At least it was on solid ground! Dirt, even!

He wiggled, then quickly got himself up, shaking the dust off his head. Reorienting himself, he realized he was on Qiong Ding Peak. Huh... He didn't think the demon was so close to the land there, but maybe he miscalculated.

Anyway, Binghe!

Worried about his student, he quickly ran off to find where he was, concealing himself behind a cloak of qi once more.

Of course, Shen Yuan missed several things.

For one, the imps and demons had not noticed him at all. What they had noticed were several Qing Jing disciples arriving with their swords drawn.

Secondly, the machetes and axes the demons held were not supposed to crack so easily to a ram's horns. They were made with reinforced metals to be sturdy. A regular spirit sheep would've long lost its horns and skull to them.

Thirdly, the largest demon on the bridge had indeed been standing further away from Qiong Ding Peak, and Shen Yuan hadn't miscalculated. He just didn't realize that his body, weighing over 160 kg (352.7 lbs) plus the force of his qi-powered forward thrust was, even by physics standards, enough to blow a large demon backwards by several meters and shatter their collarbone on impact.

He'd turned his body into a literal battering ram.

Lastly, the Qing Jing disciples, whom the demons actually saw and prepared to fight, were able to witness the entire event, and were now staring, wide-eyed, at the large, mystical, disappearing sheep.

...But those were concerns for the future Shen Yuan.

#sheepzun au #svsss #svsss au #static drabbles #au post 4 #static writes #shen yuan does a whoops #he's got binghe on the brain he can't help it

[samdeancrimespree]

it’s time to overanalyze the impala destruction scene <3 with actual screencaps this time. my analysis of the shot will be Above the screencap. hopefully that makes sense

so sam tries once again to talk to dean about dad. dean yells at him again for suddenly wanting to do what dad would’ve wanted and sam opens up to him about feeling guilty. then sam says he’s dealing with dads death, but dean isn’t. dean doesn’t say anything, just looks at him like This.

we don’t know yet, what john said to dean before he died. but it’s hanging over dean. i think sam’s reaction to dad’s death makes dean want to keep johns words a secret even more. if he tells sam that’s what dad wanted, sam might go along with it.

every time someone brings up john, dean hears his words again, and he feels even worse. he can’t deal with dads death because that means acknowledging what he said, and it’s just too much. he already lost dad, he can’t lose sam too.

sam says “i’ll leave you alone.” and walks away. we only hear a few steps, but that might just be for clarity. who knows. or he just. took a few steps then stopped.

either way, dean turns around and calmly picks up a crowbar. he smashes the window of a random car. takes a few breaths.

as he turns around, he looks up from the ground. looks at something in front of him. it seems for a second like he’s going to stop.

then he looks down at the impala. he glances back up, just for a second. right where sam was standing before. it looks like he’s making sure sam is watching him. you want me to deal with it? fine.

“next time someone asks me if i’m okay, i’m gonna start throwing punches.”

so he goes crazy on the impala. we all know that part.

he destroys the car right after he fixes it. specifically the trunk of the car, where they keep their hunting arsenal. maybe that was just the closest part, or maybe he’s had enough of his family dying because of hunting. he didn’t want to find the demon if it meant sam would die, but now sam might die anyway. no matter what he does, the car/his family will be destroyed. he can’t fix it, and it’s futile to even try. all his work, all the time and love he put into sam might have been worthless.

when he finally stops, he looks wrecked. this is the most emotion he’s allowed himself since dad died.

this is the last shot of the episode. him staring for a good 10 seconds, still on that same eyeline. he seems like he’s looking at something.

he lets himself look sad for a second, but he doesn’t turn away like he normally would. he wants sam to see. this was all for him. it’s like… there. i’m upset. was that enough? can you stop asking now?

then his expression hardens, shutting down and covering his emotions again. it’s like he’s warning sam. dean can’t be sad, only angry. only destructive. this time, it’s the car. next time, it might be sam. the two things he’s supposed to look after, both ruined. and dad isn’t here to fix it. dean has to figure it out on his own.

it looks like he’s asking sam to just leave it alone. don’t ask me about this. i can’t talk about it. and for now, sam believes it’s just about dad dying.

and then the episode ends. i genuinely cannot tell if im supposed to think sam is there or not. but like its the same eyeline!!! and the shot is pushed in and to the right!! sam could be standing in the same spot for all we know !! also what else would he be having a silent convo with in bobby’s junkyard? the dog? his own reflection? the only thing that makes sense to me is that sam is there. that he’s doing this For sam. maybe this is something everyone noticed but me until rn but. im going insane

#im so obsessed with him #he belongs under a microscope. #also he looks so pwetty in this scene GOD #the car is Thee metaphor for their family js #also this goes with my post about dead man’s blood sorry if it doesn’t make sense #sorry just. can’t get over dean performing his emotions for sams benefit #everything he does. everything he shows or doesn’t show is for sam #and it only gets worse when john dies #there’s nothing else. no secondary loyalty #only sam #he’s crazy <333 #2.02 #everybody loves a clown #spn studies #spn #daddy’s blunt little instrument #samdean #dean #mars.txt #s2

[raeofgayshine]

I wish I could go back and tell younger me that I would in fact find that place one day full of people that I adore deeply and who I know love me in return. Who make me feel wanted and cared for and appreciated in a way I never thought would be possible. And none of it required hiding, or forcing myself to be a person I’m not. And I still have that space even though I’m aroace.

For the first time ever, I see a future where I’m not alone. And I wish I could go back and tell my younger self it would happen. It’s possible to not be constantly lonely.

#ravenpuff rambles #I’ve been lucky enough in my life to make amazing friends several times #several of whom are still in my life now #but it’s only been recently that I’ve felt like I truly found my place #I don’t know how to explain it #I guess up until now I have always gone into friendships expecting them to end and holding back just a little bit #and this is the first time I don’t feel like I have to run because I don’t feel like these people are going to leave me #maybe it’s just because one of them is also aroace and we’ve talked a lot about those similar feelings of being left behind #never had someone quite get that before #and maybe it’s just I feel more willing to open my heart #admittedly this group of ours went through some shit together and that’s how the friendships really started forming #and so maybe that helps #but it’s like #Have you ever met someone who is so much like you in so many ways that its like the joke of ‘ #‘can I copy your homework?’ ‘yeah just be sure to change it so no one knows’ #It’s a weird thing of feeling so completely and totally seen by somebody sometimes without having to say a word #anyways #I’m really happy with this little place I found and I wish I could tell younger me #and also tell xem that no it doesn’t look like a fanfic dream #no im not their person but yeah they’re kind of mine but that’s okay #its nothing and everything like I always thought of #and for the first time in my life I don’t feel a crush sense of loneliness #yes I wish I could see them in person #but I can be okay with everything I do get