#i’ve never drawn something this suggestive in my life

[fernsproutxx]

I SAW SPRINGTRAP IN A BUNNY COSTUME IN MY DASHBOARD AND I HAD TO MAKE THIS CONTRIBUTION PLEASE.

y’all i’ve had this sitting in my fnaf folder since last year when one day i simply asked “what do i draw” and i don’t remember who but someone said “monty in a bunny costume” and proceeded to sent the ref pic AND I DONT KNOW WHAT CAME OVER ME. didn’t know when to post it but i hope this starts a chain reaction fr fr 😭

[ikkyfics]

Love Bites

vampire!James Potter x human!reader

Summary: You never thought a coffin could be so comfortable, until you curled up in James Potter's arms.

Warnings: AU, Gothic romance, classic vampires (bites and blood), tones of possessiveness, suggestive scenes, mention of pleasurable pain.

Masterlist

You never thought a coffin could be so comfortable.

The velvet beneath your body was soft, an almost cruel contrast to the weight of being in such a narrow, pitch-black space. But it wasn’t the coffin that brought you comfort. It was him. James.

Curled against his body, you felt the cold of his skin and, at the same time, the feverish heat that their presence conjured together. Your breathing was ragged, still trying to recover from the kisses you had exchanged moments before, intense and desperate, as if they were the first and the last at the same time.

“Your heart,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive, so close you could almost feel it run over your skin like a shiver. “It’s so fast.”

He paused, and you knew he was listening. The sound of the beats pulsed against your own ears, but for him, for James, it was different. It was a melody, a promise of life, as sweet as it was dangerous.

“Every beat,” he continued, as if savoring the words, “is delicious. So alive. So human. And now you’re here, in my coffin, with your scent intoxicating everything around me. How do you expect me to resist?”

You felt his smile against your hair, a gesture filled with something that bordered on absolute satisfaction. It wasn’t just the fact that you were there. It was what it represented. You had chosen to be here. With him. For him.

“I’ve always been drawn to the night,” you murmured, the words sounding like a confession. “The silence, the mystery, the promise of something more… When you came, James, I knew. There was no other place for me. There couldn’t be.”

He leaned in slightly, the space between you so nonexistent that it seemed impossible for you to be separated by bodies. His fingers brushed your cheek, cool but with a touch that made your skin burn.

“You belong to the night,” he whispered, his voice deepening, almost possessive. “And now… you belong to me.”

The shiver that ran down your spine was pure delight. There was something forbidden, dark and sublime in his words. An inescapable truth that you accepted without question. The world outside the coffin seemed like a distant memory, dull and unimportant. All that mattered was here, in that cramped space, in that moment where time and morality seemed to have no meaning.

He moved closer, his lips hovering close to your neck, and you felt his cool breath against your skin. There was no fear. Only surrender. Only desire. Your fingers found his, intertwining, and you felt the firm grip that said as much as any words could.

“You’re torment,” he chuckled softly, the sound reverberating in the enclosed space. “So alive, and yet so mine. I shouldn’t… but I can’t help it.”

His lips found yours again, and the world, completely, disappeared. There was no more room for doubt. You knew that the night would always be your place. And that James would be the darkness where you would lose yourself forever.

The kiss that began as a subtle touch of lips soon became something more. The intensity between you grew like a storm about to break, and the feeling of his fingers tracing invisible lines across your skin made you burn inside. He was meticulous, as if every movement, every touch, was planned to leave you utterly vulnerable.

You noticed when he paused for a moment, just long enough to let out a sigh between his teeth, as if he was absorbing something that only he could feel.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” He asked, his voice hoarse and filled with a control that seemed about to crumble. “Every little reaction of yours… every tremor, every quickened beat of your heart. I feel it all.”

His eyes, even invisible in the darkness, burned against you like embers. It was as if he were peering directly into your soul, stripping away all your secrets, savoring your surrender with an almost cruel satisfaction.

Before you could respond, his lips met yours again, hungrier this time. And then, you felt it: the light touch of his fangs, sharp and relentless, brushing against your lower lip. It was a brief, almost tender gesture, but when the cut came, it was as deliciously painful as it was unexpected. A warm trickle of blood slid across your mouth and flowed into his, James groaned softly, a sound that was half pleasure and half despair.

He tasted the blood as if it were a rare nectar, leaving you breathless and completely at his mercy, sucking on your lip until he squeezed out the last drop of blood. The sensation was so intense, so maddening, that a shiver ran down your spine, followed by a feverish heat that seemed to consume every fiber of your being. Your heart beat in an uncontrolled rhythm, so loud that you could almost hear it echoing in the small space, and each pulse was like a melody that James seemed to absorb with cruel pleasure.

“James…” your whisper escaped, full of desperation, a plea that barely seemed yours. “Please… I need you.”

He pulled away just enough so that you could feel his smile hovering over your lips, teasing and satisfied. His cold fingers moved along the curve of your neck, slowly descending to your shoulder, tracing invisible paths on your feverish skin. The touch was icy, but it set you on fire in a way that no worldly heat could.

“Do you need me?” His voice was a whisper, but it was filled with something dark and devastating. “I can feel how much you want me, my sweet mortal. Your pain, your surrender… I can hear every delicious beat of your heart begging for me.”

His words were both poison and balm. You were dizzy, numb from his proximity, from the fangs that had touched your lip moments before and now hovered dangerously close to your neck. Your entire body was shaking, not from fear, but from an absurd urgency that seemed to tear away every shred of control you might have had.

“Please, James…” Your voice faltered, but the fingers that gripped his shoulder left no doubt about your plea. “Bite me. I need to feel you… I need to be yours.”

He chuckled softly, a deep sound that reverberated in the enclosed space, and the sound made something inside you clench painfully, as if the anticipation was too much to bear. “So impatient,” he murmured, an almost sadistic pleasure in his voice. “So delicious in your need… You’re my undoing, you know that?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were lost in the way his hands explored your body, moving down the curve of your waist, settling there as if marking that moment. Each touch was deliberate, each movement seemed charged with a power that left you on the edge of the abyss. And he knew it. He felt it.

When his fangs finally broke the skin of your neck, it was as if the whole world collapsed around you. The pain came first, sharp, cutting, but it soon gave way to an overwhelming pleasure that made you gasp, your fingers closing tighter against him. Your heart seemed to explode inside your chest, and the feeling of having James there, feeding on you, was so surreal and intimate that it made tears appear in the corners of your eyes.

He drank slowly, savoring every drop as if it were the best thing he had ever tasted, and when he finally stopped, wiping your skin so that not a single drop escaped, you were powerless, but not weak. You were completely, irrevocably alive.

“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered, a mix of devotion and cruelty on his lips, caressing your face as he watched you gasp. “Hungry for me. Lost in me. And I couldn’t want anything more.”

His eyes gleamed in the darkness, and the smile that played on his lips was both a warning and a promise. His face moved closer to yours again, close enough for the scent of blood—your blood—to rise to your nose. You felt his fingers curl around your neck, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp.

“Now, my sweet mortal, tell me again,” his lips brushed yours. “To whom do you belong?”

“To you,” you whispered, without hesitation, because you knew there was no other answer. There never had been.

And the way he looked at you after that made your heart falter one last time, before you were completely plunged into the darkness he brought.

[nanaslutt]

Hi Nana 🩷

You can skip this message if you would like, no pressure. Just wanted to tell you that you basically resurrected me. I had been struggling with depression for over 5 years and late 2024 was the peak of it. In early Sept I found your smaus absolutely by an accident and I was drawn into jujutsu kaisen thanks to you (I watched a few episodes before but never liked it for some reason)

I always try to support you because I am full of gratitude for you, you may not know it how much comfort your works give to others so I just want to let you know that somehow your blog had a major positive impact on me. The way you write jjk men that they are always so respectful of the reader and the vibe you create for the relationship between the reader x character is something I needed in my life. Thank you so much for this, you have my eternal gratitude and attention

Also, I am not posting this anonymously since I often comment under your suggestive smaus, so you know I am not a kid (I’m 22) :)

Thank you again, you may not realise the good impact you’ve done 👍🏻🩷

this is genuinely one of the sweetest messages i’ve ever received :( i am so so glad i was able to help you even a little during a time when you were struggling with your mental health. it makes me so happy to hear you’re doing better now, tysm for taking the time to send this is ml <3

people like you—even if i don’t help people to the same extent, are the reason why i love to post so much!! even just seeing people react positively to the content i release makes me so happy ^3^

[novaursa]

Web of Gold (the final choice)

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Note: This is the final part of this story. Just embrace the chaos.

Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: rook's rest

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995 @thisbiann @whiteoakoak @deemee33

The courtyard of the Red Keep was quiet, save for the distant hum of activity near the training yard. You had just finished spending time with Aegon in his chambers—an exhausting visit, but one you knew was necessary. His strength was slowly returning, but the scars of Rook’s Rest, both physical and emotional, still lingered on him like a second skin.

You’d barely stepped into the fresh air when you noticed Aemond standing near a large clearing, his tall figure silhouetted against the setting sun. And looming beside him, unmistakable in her sheer size and ancient majesty, was Vhagar.

Your heart sank.

Aemond’s stance was stiff, his single eye fixed on you with that familiar intensity. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, not as a threat, but as if he needed something to anchor himself. As you approached, the massive dragon let out a low rumble, her great, scaly head turning ever so slightly to regard you, like a cat considering whether or not to bother with a mouse.

“Aemond,” you began cautiously, “what are you doing?”

He stepped forward, his usual calm demeanor masking whatever storm was brewing inside him. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You and I. Together.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “Leaving? To where?”

“Harrenhal,” Aemond replied without missing a beat, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve taken control of the keep. It’s secure, far from the prying eyes of court. Far from… distractions.” The word hung in the air, thick with meaning. You didn’t have to guess what—or rather, who—those distractions were.

You crossed your arms, staring at him as though he’d just suggested flying to the moon. “You want me to leave Aegon and our children and just… run off with you to Harrenhal?”

Aemond’s expression hardened. “Aegon is a shadow of the man he once was,” he said coldly, though there was a flicker of something softer behind his words. “He can’t offer you anything anymore. But I can. I’ve done everything for you, Y/N—everything. We can be free of this place, free of him.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You think I can just abandon my family? Aegon might be… changed, but he’s still my husband. And our children—what of them?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, clearly frustrated that you weren’t seeing things his way. “They’ll be safe here. You and I, we belong together. You know that.”

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your temper in check. It wasn’t that Aemond’s offer wasn’t tempting on some level—there was a part of you that did feel drawn to him, that had felt the pull of something more between you. But this? This was madness.

“Aemond,” you said firmly, taking a step toward him, “I’m not leaving Aegon. And I’m certainly not leaving our children. You need to understand that.”

He frowned, his eye narrowing as he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Why? What can Aegon give you now? I’m offering you everything. We can start over, away from this cursed place. You don’t have to play the dutiful wife anymore.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to resist the urge to snap at him. “Aemond, I am Aegon’s wife. And those children you want me to leave behind? They’re mine. I’m not just going to run off into the sunset with you and pretend none of this exists.”

Aemond’s frustration was palpable now, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I’m offering you freedom. A life that isn’t weighed down by him.”

You glanced at Vhagar, who was watching the entire exchange with an almost bored expression, her massive eyes blinking slowly, as if she were above all this petty human drama. You turned back to Aemond, crossing your arms and giving him a sharp look.

“Aemond,” you said with a sigh, “I’m not getting on that dragon.”

He stared at you, incredulous. “You refuse?”

“I refuse,” you repeated firmly, your voice steady. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to—like making sure my children are taken care of.”

Aemond’s eye blazed with a mix of anger and desperation, but before he could say anything more, you turned toward Vhagar, who was still looming in the background, waiting for her rider’s command.

You waved a hand at the ancient dragon, much like one would shoo away a stray cat lounging on a cushion it had no business being on. “Shoo, Vhagar. Go on, off you go. Go take a nap or something.”

Vhagar let out a deep, rumbling huff, her massive head tilting slightly as she regarded you with something that almost resembled amusement. After a moment, the dragon shifted, her wings rustling as she slowly lumbered back a few paces, clearly in no hurry to follow your orders—but still, she moved.

Aemond stared at you, utterly speechless, as you casually waved off the largest, most powerful dragon in Westeros like it was a lazy cat that had overstayed its welcome.

“You can’t be serious,” he muttered, his voice tight with disbelief.

You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow. “Aemond, I love you, but I’m not abandoning my life. You’ll have to figure out another way to deal with your issues that doesn’t involve kidnapping me and flying off to Harrenhal.”

Aemond’s face remained unreadable for a moment, his eye searching yours for something—some sign that you might change your mind. But you didn’t budge.

Finally, he let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But this isn’t over.”

You nodded, watching as he turned back to Vhagar, who seemed almost reluctant to leave the scene of such entertainment. Aemond mounted the great dragon, his jaw tight, but there was a flicker of something resigned in his gaze as he glanced back at you one last time.

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he said quietly, before Vhagar took to the skies, her massive wings beating against the wind as she soared away from the Red Keep.

You stood there for a moment, watching him go, a mixture of relief and sadness settling over you. The temptation Aemond offered had been real, but so was your life here. You had made your choice.

With a sigh, you turned back toward the Keep, your mind already shifting to thoughts of Aegon and your children. The drama with Aemond would have to wait for another day.

The throne room of the Red Keep was a tense place, filled with an eerie quiet as the skies outside darkened. The heavy doors to the chamber had been bolted shut, as though they alone could keep the inevitable at bay. Aegon, though burned and scarred, sat upon the Iron Throne, his face pale but determined. The ordeal of simply climbing the steps to the throne had been an exhausting one, and though he was seated now, he leaned heavily against the jagged iron, every breath a visible effort.

You stood at his side, watching him with a mixture of concern and admiration. He was stubborn, that much was clear—too proud to abandon his throne even now, when defeat seemed to hang in the air like a storm waiting to break. Behind you, your children stood close, their young faces filled with confusion and fear. The Red Keep had always been a fortress, a place of safety, but now it felt like a trap.

Alicent stood just a few paces away, her face drawn tight with determination, though you could see the flicker of fear in her eyes. She hovered near Helaena, who sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap as she murmured something to herself, her eyes unfocused as they often were when things became too overwhelming.

The sound of Syrax and Caraxes had been heard earlier, their roars echoing through the city like the gods themselves had descended upon King's Landing. The sky had been filled with the telltale shadow of dragons, and now, the doors to the throne room felt more like a countdown than a barrier.

Alicent, her voice sharp and unyielding, broke the silence. “We cannot give up hope,” she insisted, though her tone wavered slightly. She looked at Aegon, then to you, as if trying to will you both to share her belief. “Aemond will return from Harrenhal. He will. We sent the raven just as the dragons were spotted on the horizon.”

You glanced at Aegon, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, there was an unspoken conversation between you—one built on shared glances over the years, one that said more than words ever could. The truth was as plain as day: Aemond was not coming in time. No raven, no dragon, no battle-hardened brother was going to sweep in and save the day.

Aegon’s lips curled slightly, his scarred face twisting into something between a grimace and a smile. He leaned toward you, his voice low. “She still believes, even now.”

You shook your head, trying to suppress the wry smile threatening to form. “Aegon,” you said quietly, “this has gone on long enough.”

Alicent’s head snapped toward you, her expression tight with disbelief. “What do you mean? This is our duty. We must hold this city. We cannot simply—”

“Alicent,” you interrupted softly but firmly, your gaze meeting hers. “It’s over. We’ve fought this fight for far too long, and look where it’s brought us.” You gestured to Aegon, sitting on the Iron Throne, barely able to keep himself upright, a shadow of the man he once was. “The children—our children—deserve better than this endless war.”

Alicent stared at you, her eyes wide with something like betrayal, but beneath that, you could see the cracks in her resolve. The truth had been gnawing at all of them, and now it was finally forcing its way to the surface.

Before she could respond, the heavy doors of the throne room creaked open. The sound echoed through the hall, sending a chill down your spine as you turned to face what was coming. The chamber seemed to hold its breath as a group of armored men entered, their steps measured and purposeful. And at the head of them, with her head held high and her eyes blazing with determination, was Rhaenyra Targaryen.

She looked every bit the queen she had always been meant to be, her black and red gown billowing behind her like the wings of a dragon. Beside her strode Daemon, his usual swagger ever-present, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Dark Sister. Behind them, their men filled the room, a silent but unmistakable display of power.

For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. The air was thick with tension, the kind that comes right before a storm breaks.

Aegon’s hand gripped the arm of the throne tightly, the sound of his breath ragged as he leaned forward slightly. “Well,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than a rasp, “here we go.”

You stood by his side, your hand resting gently on his, as you both braced for whatever came next.

The silence hung like a blade in the air as Rhaenyra’s eyes locked onto yours next. For a moment, everything seemed frozen, save for the flickering torches.

You took a deep breath, your hand slipping from Aegon’s as you stepped forward, toward Rhaenyra. Her guards bristled, their hands twitching toward their swords, but Rhaenyra held up a hand, stopping them in their tracks. Daemon, however, remained still, his sharp gaze never leaving you, though his lips curled into an amused smirk, as if the whole scene was nothing more than a game to him.

“Y/N,” Alicent’s voice rang out sharply from behind you, filled with a mixture of fear and disbelief. “What are you doing? Come back. You can’t—”

But you didn’t stop. You met Rhaenyra’s gaze head-on, your heart pounding in your chest, but your voice steady. “I’m trying to end this madness, Alicent,” you said softly, but loud enough for the room to hear. “For all of us.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicked to Alicent for a moment, then back to you, her brow arching slightly, though she didn’t move. Behind her, Daemon’s smirk grew wider, though he still didn’t relax, his hand resting lazily on the hilt of his sword as if expecting things to turn violent at any moment.

“Brave,” Daemon drawled, his voice filled with amusement. “Approaching a dragon in its den.”

You shot him a sidelong glance, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve been living with one for years now, Daemon. You’re hardly the first dragon I’ve faced.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, as if she were suppressing a smile herself, but she stayed silent, waiting to see what you would say next.

You took a deep breath and stopped a few paces from her, your voice calm but firm. “This has gone on long enough, Rhaenyra. The war, the bloodshed, the endless fighting. There’s been enough loss. I’ve come to offer you a deal.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed, though her expression remained measured. “A deal?” she asked, her voice cool but curious. “And what, exactly, are you offering?”

You straightened, feeling the weight of the room’s eyes on you—Aegon, Alicent, Helaena, Rhaenyra, and even Daemon, all waiting for your next move.

“I want to take Aegon, our children, and my family back to Casterly Rock,” you said evenly. “Let us go, and we’ll never trouble you again. Aegon will renounce his claim to the throne. We’ll stay out of the way, and you can rule in peace.”

A ripple of surprise passed through the room, though no one spoke. Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though she were weighing the offer in her mind.

“And what guarantee do I have that your husband,” she gestured toward Aegon with a slight tilt of her head, “won’t attempt some foolish rebellion once he’s licked his wounds?”

You smiled, glancing back at Aegon, who was doing his best to sit up straight, though it was clear the effort was taking its toll. “I think,” you said wryly, “that Aegon has had enough of wars for a lifetime. Isn’t that right, love?”

Aegon managed a weak, sardonic grin from the Iron Throne. “Aye,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but laced with bitter humor. “I think I’ve had my fill of conquest. The Iron Throne’s overrated anyway—too damned uncomfortable.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched again, though her gaze remained steady. Behind her, Daemon chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the exchange.

“Aegon swears,” you continued, your tone firm, “on the lives of his children, that he will never challenge you again. We’ll live quietly in the West, away from court, away from politics. Let us go, and you’ll have one less enemy to deal with.”

For a long moment, Rhaenyra said nothing. The room held its collective breath as she studied you, her eyes flicking to Aegon, then back to you. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer than before.

“You would leave the capital? Leave the realm behind?”

You nodded. “We would. For our children’s sake, if nothing else.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened, just a fraction, and for the first time since she had entered the room, you saw something almost like understanding in her eyes. She, too, was a mother. She knew the weight of protecting her children.

But before she could respond, Alicent’s voice cut through the tension once more, her tone sharp and desperate. “You can’t—we can’t give up the throne so easily! Aegon is the rightful king. You have a duty—”

You turned to Alicent, your voice firm but gentle. “Alicent, it’s over. The Iron Throne has brought nothing but pain to this family. It’s time to let go.”

Alicent looked at you, her eyes wide, her lips trembling as if she wanted to argue further, but the words wouldn’t come. She knew, deep down, that you were right. The fight was over, and all that was left was survival.

Rhaenyra shifted, her voice calm but firm. “Very well,” she said at last, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “You may leave. Take Aegon, take your children, and go to Casterly Rock. But know this—if any whisper of rebellion reaches my ears, if Aegon so much as thinks of challenging me again, I will burn Casterly Rock to the ground.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Agreed.”

Daemon, still leaning lazily against his sword, raised an eyebrow. “A generous offer, Rhaenyra,” he murmured, though there was still that unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes. “Though I wouldn’t mind a little rebellion. Keeps things interesting.”

Rhaenyra shot him a warning look, but there was a faint smile playing at her lips. “That won’t be necessary, Daemon.”

You exhaled, the weight of the moment crashing down on you as you realized that you had done it. You had secured safety for your family—for now, at least.

Rhaenyra turned toward the throne, her eyes flicking to Aegon once more, her voice quiet but resolute. “The Iron Throne is mine.”

Aegon, still slumped in the chair, managed a dry laugh. “It always was, Rhaenyra. Enjoy it. I’m off to more comfortable seats.”

With that, Rhaenyra signaled to her men, and the room began to empty, the weight of the war falling away as the path to peace finally opened.

And as you stood there, beside Aegon, with your family behind you, you couldn’t help but feel a small, bittersweet sense of relief. The fight was over. At least, for now.

Casterly Rock had never been this lively. The towering, ancient fortress perched above the waves of the Sunset Sea now echoed with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. Since your family’s relocation from King’s Landing, Aegon had been enjoying himself far more than anyone expected. It was as though the Iron Throne and its sharp, uncomfortable spikes had sucked the joy out of him, and now, finally free, he was having the time of his life.

You stood on a wide balcony overlooking the sprawling, sun-drenched landscape, watching Aegon as he lounged on a luxurious settee, a goblet of wine in hand, looking far more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. The children played nearby, their laughter filling the air. Every so often, Aegon would turn to them with a lazy grin and shout something like, “Go on, you little lions! Show them how a real dragon roars!” before collapsing into a fit of chuckles.

Aegon had taken to life at Casterly Rock like a duck to water. His once pale, sickly complexion was now kissed by the sun, and his spirits were high. He reveled in the wealth, the ease, the freedom from responsibility. As for you, the newfound peace and tranquility of Casterly Rock were a blessing—no more politics, no more war. Just wine, family, and the occasional feast that Aegon insisted on hosting for any Lannister cousins who would visit.

The only downside? Alicent.

Despite all the opulence, all the relaxation, Alicent Hightower stood by the balcony, arms crossed, her face set in a permanent frown, as though every bit of merriment was a personal affront. She had insisted on coming to Casterly Rock with you, despite your gentle suggestion that she might want to stay in King’s Landing. Since arriving, she had maintained her usual demeanor—watchful, tense, and, most of all, annoyed by the sheer joy Aegon was taking in his new life.

You couldn’t help but watch her with a mixture of amusement and concern. For days now, she had been pacing, her disapproval palpable. Finally, you could no longer resist, and with a light laugh, you approached her.

“Lady Alicent,” you began sweetly, though there was a teasing edge to your voice, “you’ve been frowning since we arrived. We’re in one of the most beautiful places in Westeros, Aegon is practically glowing with health, and yet…” You gestured to her stiff posture and furrowed brow. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Alicent turned to you, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I simply don’t see how you can all be so… carefree,” she muttered, her gaze drifting back toward Aegon, who had now joined the children in some impromptu game that involved a great deal of roaring and chasing. “The world is still full of dangers.”

You sighed, leaning against the stone balcony rail. “Alicent, we’ve left King’s Landing, we’ve left the politics behind. You can relax. You’re not responsible for every move made in the realm anymore. Why not just… go back to Oldtown? Spend time with your family there. You don’t have to stay here with us if it makes you uncomfortable.”

To your surprise, Alicent’s expression changed—not into the indignant scowl you expected, but into something far more vulnerable. Her brows knitted together, and she looked away from you, her voice quieter than you had ever heard it.

“I can’t,” she said softly.

You blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Alicent let out a breath, her hands gripping the edge of the balcony as though she needed something to hold onto. “I’ve spent my whole life in the capital. I’ve always had responsibilities—whether it was to my father, to my children, or to the realm. But now…” She hesitated, the words seeming to stick in her throat. “Now that the war is over, now that Aegon has given up the throne… I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Her admission was so unexpected that for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. Alicent Hightower, the woman who had spent her life controlling, organizing, and managing everything around her, was lost now that there was nothing left to manage. She had always been defined by her duty—first to Viserys, then to Aegon, and now… well, now, she wasn’t sure what her place was.

You softened, moving closer to her. “Alicent,” you said gently, “you don’t need to have a grand purpose anymore. You’ve done your part. You’ve raised your children, you’ve kept the realm together through chaos. You’ve earned the right to rest.”

Alicent shook her head, her lips pressing tighter together. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just… relax. I’ve never had that luxury.”

You studied her for a moment, trying to find the right words. “You’ve never had that luxury because you’ve never let yourself have it. You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders for so long, but look around.” You gestured toward Aegon, who had now flopped onto the ground, dramatically claiming defeat as your children pounced on him in victory. “He’s happy. The children are happy. The realm is moving forward without us. Maybe it’s time to let go.”

Alicent looked at you, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and uncertainty, as though the very idea of letting go was as foreign to her as flying a dragon.

“Besides,” you added with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood, “we’ve got all the wine in the world here at Casterly Rock. It’s a shame to waste it on just Aegon.”

Alicent let out a small, reluctant laugh, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I suppose there’s no harm in enjoying a little peace,” she admitted, though there was still a hint of doubt in her voice.

You smiled warmly, placing a hand on her arm. “There’s no harm at all. In fact, I think it’s exactly what you need.”

For a moment, you thought you’d gotten through to her. But then, Aegon—who had clearly been eavesdropping—shouted from the other side of the courtyard, “Yes, Mother! Embrace the wine! It’s the only thing keeping me alive!”

You shot Aegon a mock glare, but he just grinned, hoisting a goblet in the air as the children cheered beside him.

Alicent sighed, but this time there was a hint of amusement in her expression. “Perhaps I’ll take a glass,” she muttered, shaking her head as she walked toward the open courtyard, leaving you smiling in her wake.

As you watched her go, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of victory. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Casterly Rock had a way of working its charm on everyone—even the most stubborn of people.

The castle of Casterly Rock had settled into a comfortable routine. The golden sunlight streamed through the windows, and for once, all was peaceful—well, until the thunderous roar of Vhagar pierced the air, shaking the very stones of the ancient fortress.

The sound was enough to rattle even the sturdiest of Lannisters, and Sunfyre, who had been dozing lazily near the cliffs, let out a high-pitched screech that reverberated through the castle, startling everyone awake. Servants rushed to and fro, muttering curses under their breath about “all these damned dragons,” while Aegon groggily sat up from his luxurious bed, blinking in confusion.

“What in seven hells is that racket?” Aegon mumbled, rubbing his eyes, still not fully awake.

You, already half-dressed, sighed as you glanced out the window to see the unmistakable silhouette of Vhagar landing near the cliffs, her massive wings stirring up dust and sending anyone in the vicinity scrambling for cover. “Looks like your brother has come to visit,” you said dryly.

Aegon groaned, throwing himself back onto the bed. “Of course, it’s Aemond. Couldn’t send a raven like a normal person, could he? No, he has to drop in with Vhagar and scare half the bloody castle.”

Just as you were pulling on your gown, the door to your chamber flew open, revealing a very irritated Lord Jason Lannister, his usually impeccable hair disheveled, his face flushed with annoyance. “What now?” Jason snapped, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of a man who had been woken up one too many times by dragons lately. “First, Sunfyre’s been keeping half the keep awake with his screeching, and now Vhagar arrives like a bloody storm? How many dragons are you lot hiding in this castle?”

You smiled sweetly at Jason, though you couldn’t resist the urge to tease him. “Come now, Uncle. Surely you, of all people, are used to hosting royal guests.”

Jason threw his hands up in exasperation. “Not this many. And certainly not ones that come with wingspans larger than my dining hall!”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice echoed through the halls. “Where is he?”

Aemond strode into the room, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he entered, his eye cold and unreadable as always. He glanced at you briefly, his expression impassive, but there was an unmistakable heaviness in the air. You could feel his gaze linger for just a moment longer than necessary before he turned his attention to Aegon, who was still sprawled out on the bed like he’d been woken from the dead.

“Aegon,” Aemond said, his voice steady and calm. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

Aegon blinked up at him, his face scrunched in confusion. “Goodbye? What do you mean, goodbye? You’re not going anywhere.”

Aemond’s eye flickered with something—perhaps frustration, perhaps regret—but he kept his expression neutral. “I’m leaving for Pentos. It’s time.”

Aegon sat up slightly, still perplexed. “Pentos? What in the seven hells are you going to do in Pentos? And why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Aemond crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “Because it’s not your decision to make, brother. My place is elsewhere now.”

Aegon scratched his head, clearly still half-asleep and utterly confused. “Didn’t we talk about this already? Why does everyone keep leaving for Pentos? Am I missing something?”

You placed a comforting hand on Aegon’s shoulder, smiling at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry, love. You’re not missing anything important. Aemond’s just… moving on to new things.” You gave Aemond a pointed look, silently communicating that whatever unresolved issues he had could stay unresolved.

Aemond’s eye met yours, and for a brief moment, something flickered there—something ambiguous, something unspoken. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen that look, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. But now wasn’t the time for lingering glances and hidden meanings.

Aegon, oblivious as ever, looked between you and Aemond with a puzzled expression. “Moving on? To what? A vacation in Pentos?” He let out a snort of laughter. “I didn’t realize you were the relaxing type, brother.”

Aemond, unamused, simply inclined his head. “It’s not a vacation. But yes, you could say I’m… finding new opportunities.”

Aegon waved a hand lazily. “Whatever you say. Just don’t go burning any cities while you’re there.”

Aemond’s lips twitched ever so slightly, but he said nothing, instead offering a final, silent nod. His gaze lingered on you once more—just a heartbeat longer—before he turned on his heel and left the room, his boots echoing against the stone as he strode out, leaving the tension in the air behind him.

As soon as Aemond was gone, Aegon let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms above his head. “Pentos,” he muttered, shaking his head. “What is it with people and Pentos these days?”

You smiled at him, patting his cheek playfully. “Don’t worry about it, love. He’ll be fine, and so will we.”

Aegon blinked up at you, clearly still half-dazed. “But why did he look at you like that? Am I missing something?”

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, your voice dripping with affection as you reassured him. “You’re not missing anything, Aegon. You’re the most important person here. Let Aemond run off to Pentos. We have everything we need right here.” You smiled sweetly, love-bombing him with all the tenderness he adored.

Aegon beamed up at you, his confusion melting away as he basked in your affection. “You’re right,” he said, his voice warming. “We’re doing just fine, aren’t we?”

You nodded, giving him a look that was both teasing and sincere. “More than fine. We have the sun, the sea, our family, and all the wine you could ever want.”

Aegon chuckled, clearly enamored as always, and leaned back into the cushions with a contented sigh. “Gods, you really do know how to make a man feel like a king, don’t you?”

You smirked, pouring him another goblet of wine. “It’s my specialty.”

As Aegon took the goblet and smiled up at you with that adoring, slightly dazed look in his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. Whatever had happened at Rook’s Rest, whatever tension still lingered between you and Aemond—it didn’t matter now. Aegon was happy, and for the first time in a long while, life at Casterly Rock was peaceful. Well, mostly peaceful—aside from the occasional dragon roaring at dawn, of course.

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 22

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: addressing what happened, here comes the comfort, then fluff wc: 2k

Chapter Selection

Jason led me up the stairs and down a long hall to his bedroom, shutting the door behind us with a soft click. The room was clearly not used often; he was a tidy person, but this was a whole other level of tidy, and there were no personal touches around the room that immediately jumped at me as being his. He gestured to a pair of armchairs by a bookshelf, and I collapsed into one, shaking.

He scooted his chair closer to mine, sitting so our knees were almost touching. “Doll? Why are you so upset?”

“... Do you remember last night?” He nodded. “... Then why aren’t you? I broke your trust, in several ways last night. You should be furious with me…”

He held a hand out for me, and I slowly let my hand slide into place in his. “No, you didn't. You proved exactly why I trust you. And I’m not angry. … I … I knew the longer I waited to tell you, the more likely it became that something like that would happen. … I didn’t mean to let it go so long, honestly, it just … never felt like the right time. I’m so sorry you found out that way, I know that was … incredibly uncomfortable…”

“Wha- … Jason, you have nothing to apologize for; I am not entitled to this information,”

“No, you are. You have been dating me without knowing who you were dating for months. From the day we met you have been in so much more danger than you knew, and I did nothing to change that because I wanted to pretend to be normal… You said you took my choices away last night, but I’ve been taking your choices from you for eight months. At least when I put my life in your hands last night, I knew who I was trusting. You have not had that once in this relationship, and I’m so, so sorry for that…” He sighed, squeezing my hand firmly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself, I just … didn’t know how. … I didn’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose you now … I have never felt safer than when I look in your eyes, and if you can forgive me I swear I will never keep anything from you again.”

“… Me forgive you? Jason, there's nothing for me to forgive, I'm the one who should be begging your forgiveness…”

“There’s nothing for me to forgive either. When I saw you in that alley I knew everything was going to be ok, in a way I never have before. Anything that happened to me from that moment on was only going to happen after you okayed it; I knew you wouldn’t let them hurt me, and … I needed that. Because, as much as they love me, their love can be a bit … aggressive at times. They know they’re right, so they don’t care if I’m resistant. I’m just … broken, so it doesn’t matter how much I say I don’t want something, they’re certain I’ll feel better once I submit. … But you don’t do that; you care what I want, and that makes it easier to do the hard things I have no choice in. … When you came, I could just relax. I could obey you, and everything would be fine…”

“... That was the pheromones, Jay …”

“No, the pheromones made it easier to slip into that headspace, but how safe I felt was all you. If you hadn't come, they would have held me down, kicking and screaming, to get the blood sample. They’d be right - the blood sample was necessary, but I’d have nightmares about it for weeks. But you… I knew you would be gentle, and you were. I didn’t have any nightmares last night... I have never been able to relax while getting blood drawn, but I felt perfectly at ease having you do it. I know you think you were taking advantage of me being in a compromised position, but you weren’t. The pheromones were whispering to obey, but that’s all it was. A whisper, a suggestion. I chose to submit, because it was you. I … said some truly humiliating things, the pheromones definitely overrode my filter, and I’m so sorry for how uncomfortable that was, and for how grabby I was, but trusting you is a choice I would make every time, pheromones or not. You are a safe person for me, my love. I trust you, and I love you, and I am so, so grateful that you were there last night. You … you see my broken edges, and you tell me I don’t have to sand myself down to make myself into something that can be loved. You are everything to me… You asked how I could trust you after last night; but how could I not? Everyone else thinks nothing of crashing straight through my walls, and calling it love, but you cry over stepping through a door I left unlocked for you. You are so kind, and gentle, and considerate, and I am so lucky to be yours.”

He lifted my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles one by one. I blushed bright red, squirming a bit. “... you chose to obey me like that? … That wasn’t the pheromones?”

“In the alley, I was resisting them. I had a handle on myself, I knew if I just focused on my breathing I'd get back under control soon enough. And then you were there, and I was still resisting, I wanted to convince you I was ok so you’d go home where you were safe. … But I realized that if they had brought you out, that meant they intended to use you to control me. I could either continue to resist, and they’d continue to push and shove, and it would take days to feel like myself again. And what's more, I’d probably hate every minute of it. Or I could lean in to it, just trust you to take care of me. Even though you didn’t know it was me, I knew that if I trusted you I would be safe, and it would be a lot easier to come back to myself. And I was right.” He squeezed my hands, stroking my knuckles with his thumbs.

“...You begged … you said ‘no needles’ …”

“I don't trust them with needles. They’re … efficient, but not particularly gentle. ... But you aren’t them. And you didn’t do anything wrong, doll. Promise. If I wanted to resist, I would have.”

“... You were so upset when I said we had to make you better…”

“Ah … yeah, that was … weird. … I guess my mind interpreted ‘make you better' as ‘you did something wrong', so … with the pheromones telling me I had to be good, I sorta freaked out…” he blushed brightly, looking away shyly.

“... You weren't freaking out because of the needle?”

“No, the needle was fine. You really did very well, actually…”

I sniffled softly, clinging to his hands. “I just did what Tim said…”

“You made me feel safe. Tim doesn't know how to do that.” He smiled gently, squeezing my hands. “... I just wish you had been there when I woke up. I thought … I thought you were gone.”

“Huh? No! No, baby, never. I just … I knew they'd stripped you, and you don't want me to see your chest yet, so …”

He nodded. “Damian explained. If it ever happens again though, I want to wake up with you beside me, ok? No matter what.”

I nodded, kissing his knuckles. “... Ok. … What next?”

“... Well, … are you … ok?”

I sighed softly. “What do you mean?”

“... It's been eight months, and I didn't tell you, … I'm Red Hood.”

“... Yeah…”

“... Are you mad?”

I slowly looked up into his eyes, gently squeezing his hands. “No, I'm not mad at you. … I'm very afraid that you won't come home one day, but I'm not mad at you. I love you…”

“I love you too. More than anything …” he gently squeezed my hands. “So … we're ok?”

I nodded. “We're ok.”

He sighed softly, kissing my knuckles again. “You're incredible…”

“Not really…”

He chuckled, cupping my cheeks. “Yes, really.”

Lois smiled brightly, shaking my hand. “Thanks for letting Jon spend the night; I know the boys have been looking forward to it all week!”

I grinned, shaking hers as well. “Of course! Damian gave you my phone number, right?”

She nodded; “yep! And you’ve got mine. Of course, if anything goes wrong you won’t need to use it. Clark’s planning to keep an ear out, just in case.”

I chuckled a bit weakly; Damian had received permission to tell me about the Kents. The idea of taking care of Superman’s kid was freaking me out a bit, but I had promised Damian, so we were proceeding as if this was perfectly normal. Besides, if Damian needed some normal childhood experiences, it seemed reasonable to assume Jon did too.

Lois gave Jon a hug goodbye before driving away, and the three of us headed upstairs. “Alright boys, how are we feeling about homemade pizzas for dinner?”

Jon grinned, following us through the door. “You make your own pizza?”

“Sometimes, it’s fun!”

They tossed their bags in the living room and followed me into the kitchen where we set up to make our pizzas. Jason and I had prepped several dough balls so everyone could make their own. We had three types of sauce, and every cheese and topping I could think of. The boys immediately got started rolling out their dough onto pans, adding what they wanted. I preheated the oven while they worked and decided what movie they wanted to watch tonight. Once their pizzas were in the oven, I prepared two more; one for me, and one for Jason. He was coming over after an early patrol to help me keep an eye on the boys, and I wanted his dinner ready when he got in.

The boys made a pillow fort while they waited for their pizzas, and for a minute it was easy to forget they weren’t normal kids. Damian’s guards, which already tended to drop quite a bit when it was just the two of us, seemed to be all the way down; he was smiling and laughing with his friend, and everything was perfect. I brought their pizzas over, taking a seat on what was left of the couch, and we watched the movie they had picked.

When Jason finally knocked on the door, I ran over to let him in. He smiled softly, kissing my forehead, and purred; “honey, I'm home~”

I giggled softly, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “Welcome home~ any injuries to take care of?”

He shook his head. “Nope, it was a quiet patrol. Most of the action doesn't pick up until after midnight.”

I grinned, kissing his cheek. “Good~ hungry?”

“Starving~” I grinned, pulling him to the living room.

“You sit, I'll get your pizza!” He grinned, taking his seat, and I came back with his plate, and a glass. The boys had already made their way through most of a 2 liter, but we still had 2 more for the weekend. Jason pulled me in close, positioning me so my legs were over his lap, and kissed my forehead.

“Sister, Todd won't be joining us at the arcade tomorrow, will he?” Damian frowned a bit.

I chuckled softly, leaning against Jason's chest. “I don't know, he might.”

Damian frowned more. “You will not need him; we're very well behaved.”

“I’m not coming for you, demon brat. I’m coming to keep lil’ mama entertained.” Jason wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing my shoulder.

Damian frowned deeply. “... You can only come if you stop making those jokes.”

“What jokes?” Jason frowned.

“Damian has decided I’m sister, not mama.”

The boy nodded; “Mother would be furious if she heard anyone else being referred to as a maternal figure for me.”

Jason smiled a little and nodded. “Alright, alright. No more mommy jokes. …” He kissed my jaw, whispering; “but that’s not gonna stop me when we’re alone. You ok with that, mama?~”

I blushed brightly and nodded once, running my fingers through his hair. “... Eat your pizza.”

Next ->

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Taglist (open): @jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men @cottage-worm @v1ckycheesue @roastyyytoastyyy

[tsyvia48]

Author & Mensch: Reflections on the impact of @neil-gaiman on my life, in essay and doodle

As a woman of a certain age, I am a well-practiced overthinker. Nerd, geek, know-it-all, intellectual, the names have been biting or praise depending on who wielded them. They’re all true, and I embrace them. 

In the early days of adulthood, when I was a wee 20-something overthinking nerd, geek, know-it-all, intellectual (20+ years ago), I became deeply interested in image and text and text-as-image. While friends were watching and arguing over Survivor, I was obsessing over Peter Greenaway’s The Pillowbook and Prospero's Books and Neil Gaiman’s Sandman. (To this day my copies of the Sandman graphic novels and the English translation of The Pillowbook of Sei Shonagon are proudly displayed on the good bookshelves—you know, the ones I want people to peruse.)

Sandman isn't merely good storytelling and good art, it teases at some of the fundamental questions to which my religion-major heart was consistently and reliably drawn. It modeled a way of rendering the questions—and suggested answers—I would never have imagined on my own.

In those days, I created an artist's book: an altered gift edition of Hamlet. I explored Ophelia’s femininity and the inevitability of her break with her mental health, caught as she is between Hamlet and her father. I imagined her story if she’d had true agency. I investigated the way art (fan art?!) had shaped my understanding of the play and my relationship to it. I layered in my story—my resonance and dissonance with hers—and my art, along with images of famous and not-so-famous paintings of Ophelia. I proudly named Greenaway and Gaiman as influences. 

I imagined myself an artist. And, truthfully, I suppose I was one. 

I read Good Omens back then, too, delighting over the religious tropes and subversions, the humor, and the fundamental faith in humanity that shone through. 

In the two decades since then, below the din of “responsible” choices (that have mostly moved me away from imagining myself an artist) there has been a melody quietly bringing me comfort, shifting my perspective, and reminding me who I want to be. When I stop to listen for and name the music, I realize much of it generates from Neil Gaiman. 

The Graveyard Book gave me comfort and hope as a new parent. 

Ocean at the End of the Lane reminded me of the layers and the depths⏤the archetypes and metaphors⏤present in everything around me, if I am willing to seek them.

Neil’s anecdote about meeting Neil Armstrong has been a talisman against imposter syndrome. Or, more precisely, it has been a permission slip for forgiving myself when the imposter syndrome inevitably surfaces.

The episode of Dr Who he wrote (“the Doctor’s Wife”) changed the way I understand the entire Dr Who experience before and since. 

Lucifer (tv), which his work inspired, gave me joy, comfort and distraction through a tough time in my life. 

When, a few years ago, I realized he is Jewish, I had that swelling of pride and resonance that I always get when someone I admire shares that identity with me.

And now there’s the Good Omens tv series. It has opened something in me I didn’t realize was closed. Crowley and Aziraphale are helping me better understand myself, and love, and gender, and storytelling, and, believe it or not, Torah. I am writing again for the first time in ages. I'm drawing more often and with more joy than I’ve known maybe since childhood.

I’ve been getting back into my gratidoodle practice, drawing and writing what I’m grateful for. And when I decided to add Neil Gaiman’s face and some words about my appreciation for his work to my sketchbook, I realized he’s brought me full circle.

Text and image and text-as-image + Neil Gaiman + story is an old constellation for me. And once again, I find my thoughts dancing, shifting, blossoming to the quiet melody of (one of?) the greatest storyteller(s) of this generation. 

And now that I am actively engaging with other Gaiman fans, I see how responsive and kind and encouraging he is to those of us who love his work, and his name is permanently etched on my heart: a benefactor, a teacher, a role model.

How satisfying and fitting that such a powerful and resonant voice, miraculously, thankfully, beautifully, also seems to be a genuine mensch. 

B”H (thanks to God) that I am alive at the same time as such a one.

#I didn't realize I was going to write AND draw when I started this #but I felt I needed both #I wish I had a flatbed scanner #this photo doesn't do it justice #there's greater nuance in the color in person #Stories matter #Art matters #like, really matters #Neil Gaiman is a gift to this world #Good Omens #Crowley and Aziraphale #Ocean at the End of the Lane #The Graveyard Book #Neil Armstrong and imposter syndrome #The Doctor's Wife #So grateful for tumblr

[selfishdoll]

KISSIN’ SCARS FT. GETO SUGURU, GOJO SATORU, & NANAMI KENTO ୨୧ ｡ ⟡

⠀ ⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 maybe, just maybe in another life— your lovers lived another day with marks to tell the tale.

❛content warning(s)...❜ ━━ jjk spoilers(?) | slightly suggestive themes in gojo’s part. | fluff w/ hints of angst | inaccurate descriptions of scars (please excuse me i’ve never written about them before) | word vomit | lighthearted | pre-established relationship | etc.

❛author’s note..❜ ━━ i (unfortunately) got this idea from fanart & my own demented head. i wanted to write these sadder but i couldn’t bring myself to do such a thing.

GETO SUGURU.

“my love..”

“just let me.” you whispered softly to the man, hands smoothing across his shoulders to lead him back to the bed. the man would smile gently, a sigh even passing his lips as he sat back onto the bed. his eyes carefully watched you rise up on your knees, shivering the moment your lips brushed the scar running across his forehead.

his hand rose, gripping your wrist; the two of you twisting your hands to affectively link fingers. a breathy sigh escaped him as your lips lined up with the prominent mark, eyes pinched closed.

your other hand rose, moving to his hair; fingers curling at the base of his head. you melted the moment you felt suguru lean into your body, breathing in the sweet scent of his hair.

“it’s over [name].. it’s just— geto suguru now.”

you smiled at this, leading your kisses down to the space between his eyes.

“i know.”

GOJO SATORU.

you hadn’t meant to stare— really, you didn’t. but as he stepped outside of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, your eyes were instantly drawn to that scar. you breathed softly, head tilting as your nails dug into the bedsheets underneath you.

obviously satoru noticed you, blue eyes focusing on you as a smile stretched across his features. “i just took a shower..” he alluded, watching your pretty gaze flick to his face. he approached you, glancing down at your spot upon the bed. when your hands rose he expected you to do something dirty; the thought solidified the moment he saw you moving closer.

instead, your hands rested upon his hips, lips brushing the long mark just below his belly button. satoru sucked in a breath, hand falling to your face and cupping a cheek— lifting you away from his abdomen.

“[name]—“ he said gently, eyelashes fluttering the moment you leaned into his palm; where more scars were littered.

you moved forward once again, only this time satoru didn’t stop you; watching as you kissed his scar once again. your thumbs brushed his hips, caressing his vline.

a hand soon lifted from his hip, fingers coming to trace the mark. “i’m.. so happy you’re okay.” you murmured softly, lip quivering for a split moment.

you warmed the moment satoru leaned down, hand gently grabbing your chin to lift your face. his lips pressed against your nose, breathing you in.

“me too,” he spoke sweetly, leaning down to kiss your lips. “— is it inappropriate i’m a little turned on now?”

“satoru, you ruined it.”

NANAMI KENTO.

there were few times nanami allowed you to look at him for too long. he wasn’t necessarily embarrassed about the scars that littered one portion of his face but rather.. he hated you having to see them. see him in such a state. he always questioned why exactly you stayed after the events of shibuya.

you simply didn’t have an answer to that question.

you slowly blinked away sleep, the morning sky peeking between the curtains in your shared bedroom. you slowly turned to face the man whose arm was tight around your form, the sweetest smile stretching your features the moment you took him in.

even with the burn marks.. you still found nanami kento as beautiful as the first day you saw him. as the first time you kissed, and as the first time you made love.

your hand smoothed across his skin, unfazed by the rough texture situated under your palm. you leaned close, pressing a kiss to the space under his eye. the kisses continued, leading from his eye, forehead, chin, and finally his lips.

and to your surprise, the man kissed you back.

your hand faltered to his shoulder, feeling his arm tighten around your waist pulling you even closer to his warm form. the kiss was languid, sweet and ever so gentle.

soon enough the two of you pulled away, your eyes focusing on his gaze; many emotions swirling within his eye.

“good morning, kento.” you broke the silence in a soft whisper, hand rising to brush his face. his eye fluttered closed, lips curling into a smile as his hand rose to cup the back of your hand.

“good morning, [name].”

REBLOGS & COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED <3

[doitforbangchan]

It’s not fair - S.C

Masterlist

Changbin x reader (afab)

Summary: As your best friend, he can't just let you rot away... especially since he's in love with you.

This was an emergency request from my lovey Bumble Bee @ayejaii who I just adore. I hope you enjoy, my dear friend :)

Warnings: Angst, crying, hurt/comfort, fluff, kissing, suggestive, cursing, Bestfriends to lovers trope, Binnie being perfect. Not proofread

WC: 1.6k

There was a distinct melancholy in the air surrounding your apartment.  The curtains have not been drawn in days, making it seem mustier than Changbin had ever seen it. He had been calling you and texting you for days but you hadn’t answered once. Even though he had been your best friend for a few years, never once had you ignored him. He knew something must have happened and in his state of intense worry he sped to your home the second his recording session was over. Good thing he had the spare key you had given him in case of emergencies.

The first thing he did when he entered was scouring the room for you. The living room looked untouched from the last time he was here a few days ago. Right before your latest date with your dickhead fling. When he didn’t find you in the living room or kitchen he shuffled to your bedroom. 

The door was cracked open, a gap big enough for your cat to fit through. Changbin peered inside the dark room, finding a cocooned lump in the middle of your bed. Your fluffy cat was curled next to you but upon his entry into your space got up from her lying position, letting out a little ‘mew’ in greeting to her second favorite human. 

Changbin gave the cat a little scritch on the chin, before he sat on the edge of your bed. “Y/n? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You didn’t answer, he only heard a quiet sniffle come from the mass of blankets. “I’ve been worried about you, ya know. You haven’t been answering your phone. Not since you went out with Mike.” He said the man's name with a tone of disgust. Changbin had been in love with you since you first became friends all those years ago, and knew your fling didn’t deserve you. “Have you been laying here since then? It’s been 3 days.”

 At the mention of the name, you let out a sob, your body shaking as you did. “Stop, Bin.” You croaked out, voice sounding like you hadn’t spoken words in days. 

His mind immediately went to the worst, panic striking his body, ”Did.. Did he do something to  you, Y/n? Did he hurt you?” 

You peeked your face out of your cocoon just enough to meet his eyes. Your own eyes were puffy and red, as if you had been crying for hours on end. “No Changbin. He didn’t hurt me. Not physically at least.” 

“What do ya mean, sweetheart?” He was confused, he thought things were going well with the dickhead. 

“He..he broke up with me.” You sobbed, reburying your face in your covers. 

“Oh honey, come er’,” he laid on your bed with you and cradled you into him. “He was a fucking dipshit who didn’t deserve you anyway.” 

“I am so tired, Bin.” 

“What are you tired of, y/n?” He tried to keep his voice even and soothing.

“I am so tired of men treating me like trash. Like I’m some toy they can throw away when they’re done playing with me.” Your shaking got worse, hiccuping between words. “ I try so hard to be good for them, be who they want me to be, but it doesn’t matter. None of it fucking matters.”

“Don’t say that. None of it is your fault. You don’t have to change yourself for anyone, let alone some low life.” He had fury in his tone, though he was doing his best not to let it show. 

“But it is my fault!” you flung the blankets off you as you sat up. Your voice was hysterical. “He told me it was! That I- I wasn’t enough for him. That I wasn’t the kind of girl he could see himself with in the long run. Why am I so unlovable?” 

“That’s not true!” Changbin exploded. You were shocked at his outburst. “You are loveable! In fact I know someone who would kill to be with you, and treat you like you deserve!” 

“Who, Binnie? What kind of man would want to be with a mess like me?!” you cried. 

“Me, goddamnit!” Fuck, this is not how he imagined he would confess to you. It's too late now. “I am in love with you!” 

Your tears came harder, “ Don’t say things you don’t mean, Changbin. It’s not fair.” 

He cupped your cheeks, “What’s not fair, is how long I’ve spent pining after you. How long I’ve spent trying to show you how a man is supposed to treat a woman.” He was staring right into your eyes, being the most serious you had ever seen him. “It’s not fair that I have had to watch you go out with dirtbag after dirtbag, while I waited and hoped and prayed that you would finally see who was right here…me.” 

You paused, glassy eyes wide. “Why did you never say anything?” 

“What was I supposed to say? That I was in love with you while you were dating someone else? That I didn’t want you to be with anyone else? I couldn’t be selfish, not with you.” 

“Oh Binnie” You flew at him, burying your face in his muscular chest. Your fingers grasped onto his shirt, trying to bring him as close as possible. “I have seen you there. I’ve always known your worth.” 

“Don’t lie to make me feel better.” He whispered, his anguish showing in his voice. 

“I’m not lying!” you wailed, “I have been in love with you for years, since we first met at Hyunjins birthday party!” 

He remembers it so clearly, he often replays it in his mind. Being enamored with your soft smile and bright personality when Hyunjin introduced you a few years back. The pink dress you wore had hugged your figure just right, and your fluttering lashes had him in a trance. At the time, he was too chicken shit to ask you out for a real date, so instead he settled on being your friend. 

“You were always so good to me, Bin. It’s impossible not to fall for you.” You sniffled, trying to make him see. “You always treat everybody so well, I didn’t think you felt the same way about me. I didn’t want to confess and be turned down by you. I couldn’t bear to be on the receiving end of your polite grimace you always have when rejecting a girl. Or even worse, have you feel bad for me and agree to date me in some self sacrificing way, making yourself miserable.I guess that's me, unable to be selfish with you.” 

You waited with baited breath for his response. What you got instead was him wrapping his thick arms around you, and his face in your hair as he…laughed? 

“You’re telling me, I waited so long for you to see me there. For you to love me like I do you. And you’ve been over here, feeling the exact same way? For years?” His laughing mingled with his now teary cries as he took in the situation. “Maybe it’s us who’s the actual dipshits.” 

You couldn't help the watery giggles that escaped you. “ I think you’re right, Bin. We’re possibly the biggest idiots on earth.” 

You both just held each other for a while, cry-laughing together on your bed. Eventually he was the first to pull away. Changbin wiped his watery eyes as he gazed down at you. Even with a puffy tear stained face you were still the most beautiful woman in the world. 

His rough hands cupped your cheeks again, and he held your eye contact as he slowly leaned in closer. “If this isn’t what you want, I need you to stop me now,” he whispered. 

“It’s all I want, Bin. You’re all I want.”  You were the one to close the gap, your lips smashing into his with a delicate intensity. He reciprocated just as fiercely, almost as if this was a dream he would soon wake from. 

Changbin knew if you’d let him, he could swallow you whole. Make you his in every way possible. Your little whimpers that escaped you when you bit on his lip didn’t go unnoticed. But, as much as he would love to take it further, he understood it wasn’t the right time. Sex wasn’t what you needed right now. 

“Sweetheart,” he started, his words muffled when you wouldn’t let him pull away completely. you hummed, reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Baby, we can’t right now. As much as I’m dying to finally get you naked, there are more pressing matters.” he managed to gently push you off. 

“But Binniiiieeeee.” you whined with a pout. 

“I know, my love, I know” he cooed, patting your hair, before standing from your bed. “ first things first, you gotta eat something and shower.” He scooped you into his arms as you squealed a laugh. “And let’s get this place aired out, huh? It reeks of despair in here.” 

“Ugh fine” you relented, stomach growling at the promise of food. Plus if it meant you could stay in his arms longer, you would do anything he asked. “on one condition.” 

“And what’s that, sweetheart?” he asked amused when you plopped you on your bathroom counter. He then turned on the bathtub tap letting it fill up for you. 

“You have to take a bath with me.” There was a twinkling in your eye as you purred it. 

“Fuck, you can’t say things like that. It’s not fair.” He ran his hand through his hair, looking flustered. 

You pulled your shirt off, flinging it at him.

“Who ever said I was fair?” 

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

©doitforbangchan

[alphajocklover]

What an incredible store you have here! It feels so much bigger from the inside. I never would have guessed you had this much jewelry and trinkets inside! I’m surprised you don’t have some sort of extra security with this much in here, haha. I mean, I get that a 40-something engineer isn’t much of a threat, but…

Hey, why are you looking at me like that? And what do you have in your hand? It looks like… feels like… OooooOOOHHH…!

So in my recent post, the one where I updated you all on my Uncle John, I may have mentioned that I have some… friends who work for EB Jewelry and have been leaking me information. This was… definitely a mistake. A huge mistake. I was so wrapped up in everything that's been happening with my Uncle I forgot one of the basic rules of journalism: protect your sources. It was an amateur move that might have put my friend at risk, and I’ve been feeling guilty about it ever since. They said they don’t mind, but… I’m still worried for them. I even tried to convince them to leave before they get caught, but… they’re insisting on continuing. I should have expected it, since they’ve always been stubborn like that, but if anything happens to them because of me, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.

That got kind of dark, so let's get on to the good news. Instead of doing the rational thing and laying low like I suggested, my friend has actually become more reckless. I was incredibly against this, for obvious reasons, but as much as I hate to admit it, it’s actually really paid off. They’ve been diving deeper into the companies files, and have gotten me more information in the last few days than they have in the last three weeks! It’s taking a while to get through everything they sent me, but from what I’ve already seen it’s very revealing. So far one of the most interesting things they sent me was a full video of a recent transformation. Usually the transformations caused by EB Jewelry’s products are slower, but this one was… odd. It started off pretty normal, at least as normal as anything can be in the world of transformations. A forty-something engineer was drawn into one of the larger EB Jewelry locations. Larger on the inside apparently, according to the small amount of audio that was clear in the video. I guess magic is a good way to increase your square footage without having to expand to another location. Anyways, from what I can tell this guy was specifically being targeted by EB Jewelry, since they usually only change people immediately if they need them out of the way. I don’t know why a huge company like EB Jewelry would target a (now former) 40 year old engineer and father of two, but my best guess is that he saw something he shouldn’t have. Whatever the reason, they lured him into the store using the same magic they always do… and let their product do what they always do.

When I talk about EB Jewelry I talk about their fancier products, their watches and their cufflinks, but they have a much bigger variety than that. In this case, it looks like our engineer found some ear gauges. Powerful ones at that. He didn’t need to even put them in to be transformed. The second he touched them, the years faded away, his gut disappeared, and lean muscle packed itself onto his body. In seconds the overweight middle aged man was turned into a hot fuckboy stud, one with no memory of his old life and only one thing on his mind: finding someone to fuck. Don’t worry though, he’ll have a job as a model for EB Jewelry waiting for him when his latest one night stand is over. EB Jewelry isn’t (entirely) cruel though, they turned his two sons into two bros that he can hang out with!

It’s sorry to say it's probably too late for the engineer, and his former sons. EB Jewelry has powerful magic, and even if someone could turn him back, they’d probably find another way to deal with him. I just hope my friend is careful. EB Jewelry has magic and capitalism, which is a really bad combination.

**hey there! Used a pic of one of my inspirations @bgdk98 . Absolutely awesome and sexy guy. Hope you liked this story!**

[honeyhotteoks]

do you have any advice on like getting better with writing?

hey! i definitely do!! i’ve talked about this before but i have a lot of new readers, so ill start off by saying i’ve been writing for my entire life, and im 30 so thats a lot of years. if you’re a new writer, trust me i used to be there and good god if you guys could see the stuff i published in old fandoms 💀 really, really bad haha

i only say that because i by no means consider myself a great writer, there are fic writers in this space alone that i’m always so floored by and look up to…. but people have been very kind about my writing style and it’s something that took time to develop it’s not something i just “had”. outside of fic, i was a literature and creative writing major, and got very used to writing and workshopping pieces.

now! onto some actual advice —

1. read a lot and read more, but read stuff you actually like and not stuff you feel pressured to read. i love high brow litfic as much as the next pretentious english major, but i started writing a ton after reading a bunch of kindle unlimited romance because it was fun and it got me inspired

2. watch well written television for dialogue and pacing. people do not talk in proper english, they don’t say things eloquently, and there’s a lot of filler and fluff. that’s good! that’s real, so i love well written tv to show me how it’s done

3. get comfortable writing in weird ways. for years i used to sit down and be like “ah okay so chapter one” and then i was stuck, stalled out, and just felt bad about the process. when i started writing both aurora and tnt, i started in the middle. i had an image of a scene in my mind (for tnt it was actually the claim attempt) and i just wrote it out and then bounced around later

4. outlines are your friend! sometimes i’ll get a random line of dialogue in my head or an image but that doesn’t mean i’m ready to write it. i throw it in one big outline so i don’t lose it.

5. if you’re wanting to write really good smut i have two suggestions but please only do this to your personal comfort level. this is what works for me but do not make yourself uncomfortable— for good smut, i watch porn for reference and for good dirty talk, i listen to nsfw audio. i like to really write the visuals for smut and make it immersive but lol i haven’t experienced everything ive written about and logistics of the body are hard!! i usually find a video or an audio and let that help guide the imagery im writing.

6. be comfortable with the editing process. i know the temptation to post something the minute you finish it is there, but sleep on it. come back and edit it, read the dialogue out loud if you have to. i swear you’ll make the piece better just by leaving it and coming back.

7. don’t be afraid to post. most people are kind, and the worst thing that will happen is you don’t get a lot of notes. that’s okay, it’s a process.

8. research! as i’m writing anything, even a silly little oneshot, im doing research on something. i am hyper aware that im not korean and have never spoken korean or lived in korea, so for my fic i try my hardest to ground elements of that in reality. i truly cannot tell you how many hours ive spent reading like korean case law on revenge porn just for like 3 lines of dialogue. and you don’t have to go that crazy, i’m arguably too intense, but i do think some of that helps the story and the dialogue feel real.

9. describe something real- every place in my writing is based on something real. every apartment, hotel, cafe, venue, etc., they’re all either something i’ve found online or drawn from my life and use that to my advantage. i use apartment listings and save photographs, i do google map walks to see what neighborhoods look like, anything to get the feel of a place or an experience. for the christmas chapters of aurora, i watched hours of gwangju walking tour videos on youtube while i was writing just to understand how to describe their walk in the snow. it really helps me to have a visual that i can put words to.

10. find your weak points and see what other writers do differently. if you want to improve, you should find a small place to start. is it dialogue? overall plot? smut? etc. - i’ll never forget being on a creative writing retreat, and a very important writing professor said to me “everything you write is very pretty but you haven’t said anything. you have to decide to say something.” that feedback hurt, but sent me down a much better writing path when i realized where i was falling short and not challenging myself.

okay i hope some of this was helpful and if it’s a mess im sorry im on mobile. i really just love writing so deeply and will always talk about it, so i hope this was helpful 💗

[atths--twice]

This was far too good of an idea to pass up. Hope you enjoy. ❤️

Seeing Ghosts

Scully sat on the end of her bed, staring at the wall on which Mulder was on the other side of. She sighed as she shook her head, the concern she felt for him causing her heart to ache.

They had left the home of Arbutus Ray in near silence, only the sound of Harold Pillers��s soft cries filled the car. Scully had glanced repeatedly at Mulder, but he had stared resolutely out his window, not seeming to be aware of anyone around him.

They had arrived back at the hotel, Harold leaving without a word. Scully had been about to suggest some food, or maybe a coffee, when Mulder finally spoke.

“I’m tired,” he had said softly and she made to reach for him, to offer him some comfort, when he opened the door. “I think I need to sleep.”

“I could sit with you for a bit-”

“No,” he had interrupted, shaking his head, his eyes downcast. “I just…”

“What did you see out there, Mulder?” she had asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“The truth,” he had said in the same tone.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I’ve been chasing a ghost for the majority of my life. That I’ve… that she was never…” He had sighed and then drawn in a ragged breath. “I’m tired.”

He had pushed the door open and taken off his seatbelt, leaving the car before she could say another word. He had entered his hotel room before she had even gotten out and she had known he would not welcome her company.

Now she sat, wanting desperately to help him, but knowing this was a pain he must face on his own.

At least for the time being.

With a great sigh, she stood up and paced from the door to the bathroom and back again a few times before stopping and closing her eyes, exhaustion suddenly settling in.

She changed into her pajamas and used the bathroom, her thoughts still on Mulder. Turning out the light, she left the room, closing the door behind her.

When she turned off the overhead bedroom light and began to walk to the bed, she stopped with a gasp, chills covering her from head to toe.

A young woman stood in front of her, opaque and still. She stared at Scully, her head tilting slightly to one side.

“Oh,” Scully whispered. “I…” She shook her head as she took in a deep breath, her heart racing. “Samantha?”

The young woman smiled and nodded her head once.

“Your brother, he…” Scully glanced quickly to her right, wishing Mulder could materialize into the room. Looking back at Samantha, she stepped forward and then stopped.

“I’m so sorry,” Scully whispered, tears filling her eyes. “I’m sorry for the pain you suffered. I’m sorry you were taken from your family. That you…” Her tears spilled over as she drew in a breath. “Your brother loved… loves… you so much. I’m sorry you were taken from him. From knowing him. I’m so sorry for the tests and pain you went through.” She wiped her tears away almost angrily, finding them a hindrance in the moment.

Samantha stared at her, her mouth opening and then closing, before she shook her head. She looked towards Mulder’s room and then back at Scully as she placed both of her hands over her heart, the left on top of the right.

She stepped closer to Scully and Scully held her breath. Samantha reached out a hand and placed it above Scully’s heart, though she did not touch her.

But there was no need for actual contact as Scully could feel her touch without it. It was warm and comforting, something she had not been expecting or anticipating.

They stared at one another, Samantha smiling gently. She nodded, moved her hand, and then she was gone.

Scully let out the breath she had been holding, shivering at the loss of warmth, her hand covering her heart. She could feel it racing, but beyond it she felt something else. Something…

A knock sounded softly at her door and she jumped. Swallowing, her throat dry, she wiped at her tears again and walked to the door. Looking through the peephole, she saw Mulder standing there, his head down.

She quickly unlocked the door and opened it, wanting to tell him about Samantha, but then hesitating with uncertainty as to how he would take it.

“Does the offer of company still stand?” he asked, his voice raspy and eyes red rimmed when he raised his head and looked at her.

“Of course,” she said, stepping aside to let him into her room.

He walked in and she shut the door, locking it as he stopped and stood where Samantha had just been.

“I thought I wanted to be alone, but then I realized that I am. That I always will be. Everyone in my family is gone.” He shook his head and looked at her. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not,” she said, stepping close and taking his hand.

“Yeah,” he agreed, squeezing her hand and then letting it go. “But it’s different now. It feels different. There’s a finality. But also…”

“I saw her,” Scully blurted out, unable to hold the words in.

“What? Who?” he asked with a frown.

“Samantha,” she breathed, staring at him. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I saw her.”

“Where?”

“Right there.” She pointed at him. “Right where you are standing.”

“When?” he asked, looking around the room.

“Just before you knocked on the door.”

“Just…” He looked toward the room and let out a harsh breath. “I… I was debating coming over here. I… she…” He stopped and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “She wasn’t here for me. She already told me goodbye. Gave me my closure.” He opened his eyes and stared at her. “She was here for you.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know,” he said, letting out a long breath, his shoulders drooping. “What happened?”

“I came out of the bathroom and she was there. Just… right there.” She gestured to where he was standing, shaking her head.

“How did she appear?”

“Like… like…”

“Ethereal?”

“Yes,” she admitted, her hand moving to her heart. “She… she couldn’t speak to me, but she was here. She… she…” Rubbing small, slow circles above her heart, believing she could still feel the warmth there, she shook her head. “You saw her too?”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod.

“That’s what you saw in the woods,” she said and he nodded again.

“She found me. Came to me.”

“To say goodbye,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he breathed.

“To give you that peace,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes, still rubbing her chest.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he watched her fingers moving.

“She…” she whispered. “She did something to me.”

“Scully…”

“I know how it sounds. Especially from me. But… I know what I saw. What I felt.”

“What did you feel?”

“I don’t know if I can describe it,” she said, shaking her head.

“Try,” he said softly.

“She was here. I… I told her I was sorry for what happened to her. For… you and her losing each other.” He sighed and closed his eyes for a second before looking at her again. “She put her hand out, over my heart, and I…”

“What?” he asked, as he watched her fingers slowing.

“I felt… warmth. Comfort. And I… I know that it’s not possible.” She stopped rubbing her chest and held both of her hands to her heart, just as Samantha had done to herself. “I know it is, but I also know what I saw and how I felt.” He raised his eyes to hers and she sniffled, shaking her head.

“Can you still feel it?” he asked in a whisper.

“Kind of.”

“Can I… can I…?” he asked, taking a step toward her, his hand outstretched.

“Yes,” she said, also taking a step and reaching for his hand. Stepping even closer, she placed his hand over her heart and held it there, her eyes watching him. “Can you feel it?”

“I can feel your heart beating,” he said, his thumb rubbing softly.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered, and he looked at her before closing his eyes with an exhale. She closed hers too, slipping two fingers between his thumb and index finger, his thumb holding onto them.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, each of them taking deep breaths.

“Do you feel anything?” she asked and he sighed heavily.

“No. I don’t feel anything that you say you felt.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t feel it much anymore either. But I… I know it was there.”

He sighed again, releasing his hold on her hand and removing his hand from her chest as they opened their eyes.

“I’m so tired,” he said, shaking his head.

“You need to sleep,” she said softly, placing her hand on his cheek.

“Yeah,” he agreed, with an almost bitter chuckle, as he leaned into her touch. Sighing, he pulled away. “I’ll… I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You don’t…” she said. “Don’t need to leave. Stay.”

“Scully,” he said, shaking his head.

“Stay, Mulder,” she said. He stared at her, the weariness of the last few days weighing heavily upon him. He nodded once and she smiled softly, taking his hand and leading him to the bed.

He took off his shoes as she pulled back the covers, waiting for him to lie down. When he had, she covered him, brushing his hair back as he closed his eyes.

She walked to the other side of the bed and lay down beside him, adjusting the covers as she turned onto her right side and closed her eyes.

“Good night, Mulder,” she said quietly and he hummed in reply.

The bed creaked as he shifted, his arm going around her. Tears pricked her eyes as she pulled his hand closer, her lips pressing to his fingers.

“Good night, Scully,” he whispered and she nodded, squeezing his hand gently.

Within minutes, they were both asleep, wrapped in the comfort the other provided.

Neither saw Samantha return, smiling at the sight of them as she moved closer to the bed. Bending slightly, her mouth close to Muder’s ear, she closed her eyes as she spoke words that could not be heard.

Standing up, she watched and waited.

And then, he smiled in his sleep and she knew he had heard her. She nodded and slowly disappeared, knowing she could finally move on.

“Hmm,” Mulder hummed, pulling Scully closer.

He dreamed of Halloween nights spent running through the neighborhood, days at the beach digging up giant rocks and seashells, and riding bikes down steep hills.

Every moment of his dreams was shared with a dark haired little girl, her laughter dancing in the wind, as she called out to him to chase her.

[plussizefantasia]

Eat, Sleep, and Breathe

Flufftober Day 9: Love Confession

Eddie Munson x f!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

AN: At the time that I am writing this, I have reached 100 FOLLOWERS!!! I am so incredibly grateful to all of you! I think that after Flufftober is over I'll do a belated celebration for us! if you have any ideas of something you might want to do let me know. As always, if you liked the story please reblog! I'll see you all tomorrow.

divider credit @royallaesthetics

When you and Eddie became best friends he had never expected that you’d become such an ingrained part of his life. He’d never really had a best friend before, other than Gareth, and even then, their friendship was only because of DnD.

Eddie walked into the trailer he shared with his uncle after a long day of school followed by an even longer shift at the record store and saw you making dinner in his kitchen while joking around with Wayne. 

“Poor kid couldn’t even look at a banana for a month.” Wayne chuckled and your melodious laugh followed. 

“Now that you say something, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him eat a banana and I’ve known him for four years.” Eddie didn’t know if he liked the idea of the two of you ganging up on him like this. But he also couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest when he saw just how well the two most important people in his life got on.

He hadn’t said anything when he had entered the trailer but you had become so finely attuned to Eddie over the years that he didn’t need to. You always seemed to just know where he was and how he was feeling. It was almost spooky sometimes when he would get a call late at night when he couldn’t sleep because you’d felt that something was wrong and wanted to check in. 

“Hey Eds, how was work?” You didn’t even turn to look at him when you asked the question. That didn’t mean that Eddie couldn’t hear the smile in your voice or that he didn’t notice the way you stood up straighter when you turned back towards the stove.

He didn’t know what you were cooking, he usually didn’t until it was on a plate in front of him. But he trusted you with his life and you had started insisting that you cook for them given that you had seen the kind of food Eddie was capable of making.

“It was good, we got the new order in and the manager seems to have taken some of my suggestions about branching out in terms of genres in the store.”

“That’s great Hon! I’m glad he trusted you, you know what you’re talking about when it comes to good music.” You never stop focusing on what's simmering on the stove and Eddie thanks whatever higher being there is that you can’t see the deep flush covering his cheeks.

“Thanks, pretty girl,” it's a whispered appreciation that flows through the air and settles into your mind like a sweet flog. Eddie has always been flirty with you, you genuinely can’t remember the last time he called you by your actual name. It was always some sweet nickname, a compliment wrapped in endearment and tied with a bow of amusement. You had drawn the line when he had jokingly called you snookums last week. Since then pretty girl has been his go and you don’t think you’d be able to deal with it if he started calling you by your name again.

Eddie moves thoughtlessly throughout the trailer, changing out of his work clothes and into the well-loved Black Sabbath shirt you had gotten him for his birthday two years ago. He never stops listening to you and what you're doing. You’re not speaking or making any noise intentionally but your unconscious little humming is the song that calls to his soul and he looks forward to hearing it every time you come over.

Eventually, he returns to the little kitchenette that's somewhat separated from the rest of the trailer by a half-wall. Your call of “dinner’s done come and get it” spurs both himself and Wayne into movement. 

Wayne takes the packed dinner that you’ve already placed into a bag for him knowing that he was taking the evening shift that night. He says nothing but the small smile on his face and the shoulder pat he gives you is proof enough that he appreciates your thoughtfulness. Eddie does too.

Seriously he has no idea what he would do without you. Without you there to lift him when he just wants to stay down. Without you there to take care of the small things, making sure he has a pencil before he needs to take a test, or that time you pulled a brand new comb out of your bag for him in the middle of lunch because he couldn’t find his. 

Overwhelmed with the sudden feeling slushing through him and tipped over by the sugar-sweet smile you give him when you place his bowl into his hands, Eddie can’t hold back anymore. “God, I love you.”

Everything freezes. Eddie wants to crawl into a hole and berate himself for the rest of his life because of his lack of filter and your whole body just kind of stops.

Eddie doesn’t know if it’s because you're trying to figure out if this is actually one of those dreams that you have where he valiantly declares his love for you and the two of you ride off into the sunset forever happy, or if this actually just happened.

It isn’t until Eddie starts stuttering out nonsensical sounds and doing his best impression of a scratched record that you break out of your stupor.

“What did you say?” your question is soft and wondering, your eyes have almost doubled in size and Eddie really wishes that he was able to tell what was going on in your head before he responded so that he didn’t dig himself into a deeper hole.

“I said I love you.” His response is equally as quiet and if you hadn’t been waiting for those exact words you don’t think you would’ve really understood them with the way he rushed them together.

It only takes three seconds for you to move in front of Eddie, and then another two to put your lips on his. However, it takes Eddie a solid six seconds to catch up with reality and eagerly begin to respond. 

His hands land on your hips and he pulls your soft body into his. Your hand grips the back of his neck and starts to play with the small curls that are hidden behind the rest of the large mass. 

The two of you enter into something close to a dance, pulling and pushing and waiting for the other person to cue you. 

Eddie wishes more than anything that he didn’t need to breathe. That he didn't need to pull away from everything that was you just for something as ridiculous as oxygen. He would breathe you, he thinks. For the rest of his life, he would eat, sleep, and breathe you if he could.

When Eddie pulls away you’re not exactly sure what to do next. You want to kiss him again, want to go in for another taste of him but you know that eventually you’d need to talk. Eventually you; 'd need to reassure Eddie that his feelings are reciprocated. That you love him too, that you have for a very long time.

But for now, standing in his kitchen, just the two of you was enough. There would be time for talking later.

[cecilysass]

Milagro Fic Recommendations

These are good for any time of year, of course, not just February 14. But here are my favorite fics related to the season 6 episode Milagro, a long time favorite. (And @sisterspooky1013's favorite episode of all time: happy VD, girl!) I’ve been reading and sifting through these for some time, and I have tried to include some from all eras: newer AO3 fics, some written right after the ep aired, etc. But I'm sure I've missed some, so hit me with your own faves, please.

Because of Milagro's ending, this entire genre of fic tends to be heavy on the hurt/comfort and angst (which is fiiiiine by me), but that’s not all that’s here. Many of these are smutty, but not all.

Adagio - Terma99 A meditative, peaceful take on the aftermath of Milagro by a veteran author that includes both agents realizing something they had learned. Lovely.

Alma - 6hoursgirl (@sixhours) A lovely hurt/comfort Milagro piece. This one is Mulder POV, which is a little less common for post-Milagro, I think, and I like this characterization of Mulder as desperately wanting to help Scully, desperately wanting to protect her, but also a tiny bit scared of the intimacy and relationship he feels they’re on the cusp of. He’s so good-hearted and also a little dysfunctional here, and I love it.

Bated Breath - dreamingofscully (@dreamingofscully) This one has an original take on Scully's experience; it leaves Scully with clarity and new direction in her relationship with Mulder. DreamingofScully tends to write a more confident, in-charge Scully in the MSR than some do, and I appreciate it.

Beyond the Strokes of a Typewriter - storybycorey (@storybycorey) When Scully is stricken and ashamed that it’s been so long since anyone has seen her as a woman as Padgett did, Mulder is pushed to revelations. Mulder 3rd person POV. Very good smut build up. And nobody does a gorgeous feelings reveal from Mulder like storeybycorey, man.

I Believe - Diana Battis There are a lot of lovely, heartfelt hurt/comfort fics about the aftermath of Milagro (for obvious reasons), but this one is especially well done. Viewed from Scully’s third person point of view, it focuses on Mulder’s capacity for tenderness and guilt. Plus some smut.

Don’t Look Up - ArtemisX5 After Padgett's hallway revelation, Scully is horrified that she has no secrets left. But you know, Mulder is much slower on the draw than she gives him credit for. There is also such moving hurt/comfort in this.

Intimacies with Strangers -mldrgrl (@mldrgrl) This mid- and post- Milagro piece has Mulder and Scully simmering in tension and then boiling over. Their relationship is complex and painfully entangled, and I love how it plays out. There is also excellent Scully characterization. This one helps me to get more fully why she might have been drawn to Padgett initially, something I struggle with in the episode.

La Madrugada - h0ldthiscat A carefully told tale of RST that takes both characters seriously and is sincerely moving. Excellent.

Lacuna - Aloysia_Virgata (@aloysiavirgata) This is a longer work, not really a classic post ep per se. But I love this moody, angsty casefile set right after Milagro. This Scully has not come to terms with her emotions, is thoroughly freaked by how she reacted to Padgett, and hasn't even entirely worked out how she feels about Mulder. There is Scully/other here, but the ship is steering home. The end of this is so moving, but cw: dark themes in the casefile, extreme violence against children, traumatized agents.

Still Life - Seek_Its_Opposite (@seek-its-opposite) Ah, this is such a thoughtful and exquisitely written Scully character piece — and it contains some truly beautiful insights about Mulder, too. It suggests the heartbreaking idea that Mulder’s way of showing Scully respect (giving her distance) is continually hurting her. So tragic (and consistent with canon, e.g. Never Again.) One memorable line: “Every one of their fights is about how to care for one another, every last one.”

Alma Gemela - matchingfabric (@matchingfabric) After the events of Milagro, Scully (and Mulder) get accustomed to platonically sharing a bed for comfort. This is a slightly different take on post-Milagro. Exceptionally, irresistibly sweet. Oh, and smutty.

What did I miss? Tell me. And yes, I'm working on my own short Milagro fic that will be coming soon-ish.

[fateandfragments-fanfiction]

Beneath the Surface - F!Reader x Kamisato Ayato

Genshin Impact

In the bustling streets of Ritou, Reader finds herself drawn to the enigmatic Ayato, whose charm and quiet confidence mask a life more complex than it seems.

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[Name] wasn’t easily distracted. A merchant’s life demanded focus—watching for opportunities, keeping track of inventory, and staying a step ahead of competitors. But lately, her attention had been slipping, drawn to a certain pale blue-haired man who frequented the market square in Ritou. He moved with an unhurried grace, his fine but understated attire suggesting wealth without ostentation, and his gaze lingered on her booth far longer than any casual onlooker’s should.

For all his interest, he never approached directly. Always hovering on the periphery, always just out of reach. It was curious enough to stick in her mind even after the day’s work was done.

Their first conversation wasn’t in the market but near the docks, where the evening air was quieter and the world seemed to slow down. [Name] had been walking the shoreline, enjoying the lull after another bustling day, when she spotted him seated on a bench, staring out at the water.

She debated leaving him to his thoughts but found her feet carrying her forward. “You have a knack for appearing in the same places I do,” she said lightly, coming to stand a few paces away.

The man turned, his gaze steady but not unkind. “The market square, now the docks—perhaps you’re the one following me.”

[Name] crossed her arms, a teasing smile on her lips. “Unlikely. I’ve got enough to keep track of without adding mysterious strangers to the list.”

That earned her a soft chuckle. “Kamisato Ayato,” he offered after a pause, inclining his head slightly. “It seems we’ve crossed paths often enough that introductions are overdue.”

“[Full Name],” she replied. “Though I suspect you already knew that.”

Ayato’s smile deepened, though he didn’t confirm or deny it. “Perhaps.”

The conversation flowed easily, though [Name] noted how deftly Ayato steered it away from himself. He asked questions about her trade, her travels, and her impressions of Inazuma, all with an attentive interest that felt genuine. It wasn’t often that someone spoke with her as if every word mattered, and it left her both flattered and intrigued.

As they talked, [Name] found herself sharing more than she intended—a story about her father’s glass art back in Mondstadt, a humorous mishap involving a storm in Liyue, even her initial struggles adapting to Inazuma’s distinct culture and customs. Ayato listened with a steady, focused gaze, offering thoughtful comments and the occasional chuckle at her more amusing anecdotes.

“I have to admit,” [Name] said, leaning against the railing as the sun dipped below the horizon, “this place has a way of growing on you. The people, the energy—it’s different from anywhere else I’ve been. Not better or worse, just… its own thing.”

Ayato’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Inazuma has a unique charm, doesn’t it? Though I imagine the adaptation process wasn’t easy.”

“It wasn’t,” she agreed, “but I think that’s part of what made it worthwhile. Struggles have a way of making the good parts shine brighter.”

His gaze softened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his expression. “That’s a wise perspective, one that not everyone learns to appreciate.”

[Name] tilted her head, studying him. “What about you? Surely you’ve seen enough of the world to have a perspective or two of your own.”

Ayato hesitated, just for a moment, before offering a practiced smile. “I’ve traveled some, but my duties keep me close to home these days. Besides, I prefer hearing about others’ journeys—it’s a window into lives I might not otherwise understand.”

It was a clever deflection, and [Name] recognized it for what it was. Yet there was something about the way he spoke, the faint melancholy beneath his words, that stopped her from pressing further.

“You’re good at this,” she said instead, her tone light.

“At what?” he asked, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Making someone feel like they’re the only person in the room,” she replied.

Ayato chuckled, dipping his head in a gesture that could have been acknowledgment or modesty. “It’s not so much a skill as a genuine interest. Everyone has a story worth hearing, wouldn’t you agree?”

[Name] shrugged, though she couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose that’s true. Still, most people don’t bother to listen, not really. It’s… refreshing.”

“Then I’ll consider it a compliment,” Ayato said, his voice soft.

The quiet stretched between them, not uncomfortable but charged with an unspoken understanding. [Name] could feel the edges of a secret in the way Ayato carried himself—something he wasn’t saying but that lingered in the air between them. She wanted to ask, to pull at the threads and see what unraveled, but she held back.

For now, it was enough that he was here, sharing this moment with her.

-----

Over the weeks, Ayato became a familiar figure in [Name]'s routine. He lingered at the edges of her days, slipping into conversations with the same ease as he slipped through the bustling streets of Ritou. During the day, he would pass by her booth, offering the occasional observation about the market or teasing her about the competition a few stalls down. In the evenings, they sometimes found each other by the docks or along the winding streets, their conversations drifting from the trivial to the deeply personal in ways Marianna hadn’t anticipated.

Though Ayato remained guarded about his own life, [Name] found herself growing comfortable in his company. His presence felt natural, as if he had always been there, quietly fitting into the rhythm of her days.

That sense of comfort unraveled one sunny afternoon when a young woman approached her booth. [Name] noticed her before she spoke—graceful and poised, with a quiet confidence that seemed almost regal. She had the same striking blue hair as Ayato.

“Good afternoon,” the young woman said, her voice soft but commanding enough to draw [Name]'s full attention. “You’re [Full Name], aren’t you?”

[Name] blinked, her hands stilling over the ledger she’d been updating. “That’s me. And you are?”

“Kamisato Ayaka,” the woman replied, offering a polite bow. “My brother has spoken of you often.”

Her brother. The words were like a bolt of lightning, and [Name]'s mind raced as the pieces fell into place. The elegance, the subtle authority in his demeanor, the way he seemed to know so much about the inner workings of the region—Ayato wasn’t just another curious traveler or merchant. He was someone important.

[Name] fought to keep her expression neutral. “Your brother?”

“Yes,” Ayaka said, her gaze steady but kind. “Ayato. He mentioned he frequents your booth and finds your company… refreshing.”

[Name]'s pulse quickened, though she managed a casual nod. “He’s been a regular visitor, I suppose.”

Ayaka tilted her head slightly, studying [Name] as if gauging her reaction. “He values the time he spends here. It’s rare for him to have moments of respite from his responsibilities.”

“What responsibilities?” [Name] asked, trying to sound curious but not overly so.

Ayaka hesitated, as though debating how much to reveal. “Ayato is the head of the Kamisato Clan and the Yashiro Commissioner. His duties to the people of Inazuma are considerable.”

The words confirmed what [Name] had already begun to suspect, but hearing them aloud left her momentarily speechless. She managed a polite smile. “That sounds like a lot to balance.”

“It is,” Ayaka said simply. “But I think he finds solace in the simpler moments. And in the company of those who see him for who he is, rather than what he represents.”

[Name] wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but it hardly mattered—Ayaka gave a slight bow and excused herself, leaving [Name] to process the revelation alone.

That evening, [Name] sought Ayato out. She found him near the docks where they often talked, his figure silhouetted against the lantern-lit pathways. He turned at her approach, his expression softening into a smile.

“[Name],” he said, his voice warm. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“Your sister stopped by my booth,” she said, skipping any preamble.

Ayato’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he composed himself. “I see.”

“She told me who you are,” [Name] continued, crossing her arms. “Kamisato Ayato. Yashiro Commissioner. Head of the Kamisato Clan.”

He sighed, glancing away for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

“You do,” [Name] said, her voice sharper than she intended. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ayato met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “Because I didn’t want it to matter. When people know my title, it changes how they treat me. Every conversation becomes calculated, every word weighed. I didn’t want that with you.”

[Name]'s brow furrowed. “And you thought keeping me in the dark was the answer?”

“It wasn’t my intention to deceive you,” he said quietly. “I only wanted to spend time with you as Ayato—not as the Yashiro Commissioner.”

She studied him, searching for any hint of insincerity. Instead, she found the same quiet honesty that had drawn her to him in the first place.

“It’s not just your title that matters, Ayato,” she said after a pause. “It’s what you chose to do with it. You don’t get to hide behind your charm and leave the rest of it out of the equation.”

He inclined his head, his expression softening. “You’re right. And if you’re willing, I’d like to make amends by being more honest with you from now on.”

[Name] sighed, the frustration easing from her shoulders. “No more secrets?”

“No more secrets,” Ayato promised, his tone resolute.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The faint chirping of crickets and the gentle rustle of the evening breeze filled the space between them. Ayato looked at her with a steady gaze, as if trying to gauge her reaction—or perhaps prepare for what she might say next.

Finally, [Name] broke the silence, her tone lighter. “Well, I suppose this explains a few things. Like how you always seem to know what’s going on in the market before anyone else does.”

A small smile tugged at Ayato’s lips. “You make it sound as though I’ve been spying.”

“Not spying,” [Name] teased. “Strategically observing."

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and genuine. “I prefer to think of it as staying informed. A necessity in my position.”

Her smirk softened, replaced by curiosity. “So, if you’re not just a wandering gentleman of leisure, what does your life really look like? Beyond what Ayaka said, I mean.”

Ayato hesitated, his gaze shifting to the lantern-lit pathway ahead. “It’s… complicated. My role demands constant attention—balancing the needs of the Kamisato Clan, the Yashiro Commission, and Inazuma itself. There’s little room for error and even less for personal indulgences.”

[Name] tilted her head, studying him. “You make it sound like a lonely life.”

“Lonely?” Ayato echoed, as if testing the word on his tongue. “Perhaps at times. But it’s a responsibility I accepted long ago. Duty has its own rewards, even if they’re not always immediate.”

She frowned, sensing the weight behind his words. “And yet you still find time to visit the market, to walk by the docks. That doesn’t sound like a man entirely consumed by duty.”

His smile returned, faint but genuine. “Even the busiest man needs a moment to breathe, [Name]. I’ve found those moments with you.”

Her chest tightened at his words, though she masked it with a dry laugh. “Careful, Ayato. Flattery like that might make a merchant think you’re after something.”

“And if I am?” he asked, his tone gentle but disarming.

[Name] faltered, caught off guard by his directness. She met his gaze, searching for any hint of jest, but found none. The sincerity in his expression was unshakable, and it left her momentarily speechless.

“Well,” she said finally, a faint smile playing at her lips, “I suppose I’ll just have to keep an eye on you, won’t I?”

Ayato’s eyes glinted with amusement, though he didn’t press the matter further. Instead, he extended a hand toward the garden’s winding path. “Shall we walk? There’s still much of the evening left.”

[Name] hesitated before nodding, falling into step beside him. As they strolled, Ayato began to share pieces of his life—stories of his youth, moments with Ayaka, and even glimpses of the political intricacies that came with his role. It wasn’t much, but it was more than she’d expected, and each word felt like a step toward the honesty he’d promised her.

For the first time since their paths had crossed, [Name] felt as though she was seeing the man behind the mask of duty. It was a delicate process, but she was patient—and if there was one thing she’d learned in her years of trading, it was that some treasures were worth the wait.

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Hope you enjoyed!

[campgender]

i was scrolling your “life is in your home too” tag, which I love btw, and saw a post about how you learned to be a good dom from experienced expert doms by reading how they dom and some of their best scenes, do you think you could point me in the direction of some resources for me to study that too? thanks in advance, if not, thanks anyway!

(post referenced is here - link 1)

first of all tysm for this ask (+ your incredibly kind follow-up), it was a delight to receive + i’ve been wanting an excuse to talk about a lot of this for a while so i very much appreciate the interest!

as always please keep in mind that i am Just Some Fem, nothing is universal including when it comes to D/s & i can only speak to what works for me. i try to focus on starting points rather than specifics but ultimately my advice will always be limited by what i needed to hear & wasn’t told, which may not be what’s helpful for a different person. with that being said, here’s some suggestions!

i’ve posted a previous reading list (link 2) with relevant recs; particularly the practicality + sex writing sections have the kind of thing you’re looking for. specifically, The New Topping Book (2003) is a solid starting point; i definitely have my issues with it (haven’t read it recently enough to recall many specifics but i have the sense of general pervasive racism & ableism) but it did a good job at making me think & i appreciate the supportive tone they were going for

another book added to my tbr since then is Coming to Power (link 3), released by SAMOIS in 1983

other authors whose sex writing has been influential in my life: Sandra Cisneros, Natalie Diaz, Joan Nestle, Judy Grahn

the fic At The End of His Rope by Letterblade (link 4) is genuinely some of my favorite sex writing of all time & accomplishes the incredibly impressive feat of representing a broad array of dom styles & changes over time in the same piece

my “impurity culture” tag (link 5) houses the building blocks of my sexual ethic

i’ve found many of those foundations by poking around the incredible bodies of work original & archived @newsmutproject @woman-loving @gatheringbones

for me, studying sex is the same as studying poetry – reading for craft is a different process than for pleasure (not that there isn’t a great deal of pleasure to be found in such practice, especially for sadists – perhaps that’s why as a child i never resonated with Billy Collins’ “Introduction to Poetry,” like i love tying poems to chairs & beating them idk what to tell you). so, keeping in mind that these are suggestions not requirements, here’s how i read for + work on craft:

there is no such thing as too much journaling. this can take whatever form you prefer – voice memo, discord message to yourself, the noble notes app, your own personal sexy red string corkboard, a vast & stunning array of other approaches i can’t even begin to imagine. i personally have an elaborate web of spreadsheets & google docs lmao. what matters is developing a collection of ideas you want to play with + a practice of continually reflecting on past experiences.

pay attention to structure, not just content. find a scene you think is disjointed and pick at the seams, brainstorm better transitions. then find a scene that flows so smoothly it carries you with it and figure out what makes it work.

rewrite a scene you’re drawn to or affected by to suit your own preferences. i first did this when i couldn’t shake “Interlude 3” (link 6) from my head after reading The New Topping Book; you can read my variation on the theme here (link 7) if you’re interested.

write or think through a scene fantasy you have from negotiation to aftercare. obviously it’s very difficult if not impossible to fully script a scene in advance; the purpose isn’t planning something you’ll later do but rather getting used to coming up with ideas to get from one disparate moment / act to the next.

revisit a scene you’ve read, written, thought about, etc and list the physical & mental acts that are required / expected of the sub (eg, kneeling for 10 minutes; making eye contact; counting to 30, etc). then rework the scene for a sub who has the same interests & goals who cannot do 20% (or 50%, or any) of these acts.

revisit a previous scene and list the places where you think a sub might safeword & why. then rework it with the sub safewording somewhere that isn’t any of these places.

i also recommend keeping in mind that like… for me, reading about ethical sex can often be a very distressing process for the same reason that it’s liberating: because it proves that things i’ve experienced are not the way sex has to be. i’ll tell this story in its fullness one day but the first time i read S/HE by Minnie Bruce Pratt i literally had a flashback to events i’d repressed for years, it was devastating, i’m so grateful for it. hell, in the process of compiling resources for this post i cried twice editing this quote (link 8) because between reading that book the first time & now someone did “respond with scorn or ridicule” when i safeworded. so i would really encourage folks to approach this kind of work with as much grace & comfort for yourself as you can muster or borrow – if it’s really fucking hard, you’re not alone in that, & it’s okay to take your time + pace yourself + seek support.

your + others’ interest is definitely motivating me to actually write posts i’ve been tossing around for months so thank you again & feel free to keep an eye out for more shut-in sex tips in my new “tomorrow sexting will be good again” tag. would love to hear your thoughts on any of this post / these or other books / whatever really lol. wishing you all the best & i hope today is kind to you! 💓

[logansargeantsbabymom]

None Of This Is Your Fault.

Brian "Otis" Zvonecek x Fem!Firefighter!Reader

A/N: Sorry that I've been so inactive, I know this is no excuse but I school started and my job is starting to get into it's busy season and to my luck I managed to tear my meniscus and I've been in so much pain so writing has been the least of my concerns. I am getting surgery on Thursday so I will be writing more soon. For now, please enjoy my new fic.

This is a 20 chapter story and I've put 10 chapters in one fic. It's a lot but this is my apology for being inactive.

Chapter 1:

Five years. That’s how long I’ve been with Brian. It feels like a lifetime and just a blink at the same time. We met in the most unconventional of ways—running into each other during a late-night call, both of us soaked in sweat, soot smeared across our faces, the smell of smoke thick in the air. It wasn’t the most romantic setting, but maybe that’s why it worked. There was no need for pretenses between us. We were both drawn to the fire, the adrenaline, the chaotic beauty of our work. And somehow, through the chaos, I found him.

Brian “Otis” Zvonecek—my partner in every sense of the word. He’s not the guy who sweeps you off your feet with grand gestures or sweet talk. No, Brian is the guy who shows up every single day. He’s steady. Kind. Funny in the way that only he can be, with those ridiculous puns and the way his face lights up when he thinks he’s landed a good one. It’s impossible not to laugh when he’s around, and God, that’s what I love most about him—he makes everything lighter, even when the world feels heavy.

But these days, the world is feeling a little heavier than usual.

We’ve both been working nonstop—Firehouse 51 is like a second home, though lately, it feels more like a first. There’s something comforting about the firehouse, the constant hum of activity, the sound of the trucks rumbling to life, the distant chatter of my crew—no, my family. And Brian? He’s always been at the center of it all. Our relationship bloomed in this place, surrounded by the people who understand what we go through every day.

I remember the early days with him so clearly. It started as a few casual glances across the engine bay, nothing serious at first. Just an awareness of him. His laugh was what caught me. The way he threw his head back, completely unguarded, while the rest of us were tense and wired after a tough call. He had this way of letting it all roll off his back, and I admired that.

It wasn’t long before we were partnered on every shift, making excuses to grab dinner after. One night, after a particularly tough rescue, he suggested we go for wings. I was exhausted, drained, and covered in soot, but something in his voice made me agree. I needed that—something normal, something grounding. We sat in that little corner booth, devouring spicy wings, laughing about the ridiculousness of our lives. It was simple, but it was the first time I felt like I had found something real. Something worth holding onto.

That’s how we’ve always been—just us, grounded in the simplicity of being together. No grand romantic gestures, no pressure to be anything other than who we are.

And for five years, it worked. I always felt secure with Brian. Sure, we’ve had our share of arguments—what couple doesn’t?—but they were always small, petty things. We’d bicker about who forgot to fill the gas tank or who left the towels on the floor, but those disagreements never lasted long. We were always able to laugh it off, make a joke, and move forward.

Lately, though, I’ve been different. Not us—me. I feel it deep inside, like there’s something pulling me away, pulling us apart. I don’t know why, but these past few months, things that shouldn’t bother me do. Things that used to make me laugh now irritate me. And sometimes, when the irritation boils over, I lose control in a way I never have before.

Brian doesn’t say it, but I can tell he’s worried. He’s always watching me now, his brown eyes searching for some sign that I’m still the same Y/N he fell in love with. But the truth is, I don’t feel like the same person anymore, and that scares me more than I care to admit. The outbursts come out of nowhere—sudden, violent flashes of anger—and then, just as quickly, they’re gone, like they never happened. And the worst part? I can’t remember them.

It’s terrifying.

It started small. A broken plate here, a slammed door there. I chalked it up to stress. Firefighting is a tough job, and we’re no strangers to pressure. But as the weeks turned into months, the episodes became harder to ignore. They were no longer just occasional moments of frustration—they were frequent, and sometimes, I wouldn’t even realize something was wrong until I saw the look in Brian’s eyes. That look of concern, like he didn’t know how to help me, like he was afraid to say the wrong thing. I hated that look. It made me feel like I was losing him, losing us.

But I kept telling myself it was fine. I was fine. If I just pushed through, if I worked harder, the episodes would stop. I thought if I ignored it, I could outrun it.

I was wrong.

Tonight, as I lie in bed next to Brian, listening to his soft breathing, I can’t shake the feeling that something big is coming. Something we won’t be able to ignore. I stare at the ceiling, the weight of it pressing down on me, my chest tightening. The love I have for him is overwhelming, and I don’t know how to protect it anymore.

Brian stirs beside me, his arm draping across my waist as he pulls me closer in his sleep. I close my eyes, taking in the warmth of his body, the familiar scent of him. He feels like home. But the fear of losing that—of losing him—is more than I can bear.

Tomorrow is another shift. Another 48-hour stretch. I tell myself things will get better, that I just need to push through. But deep down, I know something has to give.

And I’m terrified that when it does, it’ll be too late to save what we’ve built.

Chapter 2:

The first time it happened, I barely noticed it. Looking back, that should have been my first clue. It was such a small thing—a flash of frustration that I thought was just stress from work. We were off-duty, Brian and I, sitting at the kitchen table after a long day. We’d been talking about the usual—our shifts, the next firehouse event, Cruz’s latest terrible joke. Brian had a way of making everything feel easy. Comfortable.

But that night, something was different.

I don’t even remember what set me off. One minute, we were laughing, and the next, I felt this surge of anger bubbling up inside me. It wasn’t anything Brian said or did, not really. It was more like a wave crashing over me, completely out of my control. I felt like I was drowning in it, and the next thing I knew, I was standing over the kitchen sink, my hands trembling as I stared at the shattered remains of a glass I didn’t even remember throwing.

Brian was standing a few feet away, his face pale, his eyes wide with shock.

“Y/N… what just happened?” His voice was quiet, careful.

I blinked, trying to piece together the moment, but it was like a fog had settled over my mind. “I—I don’t know.” My voice sounded distant, unfamiliar. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, stepping forward. He placed his hand gently on my arm, his touch grounding me. “It’s okay. It was just a glass.”

But it wasn’t just the glass, and we both knew it. Something had shifted inside me, something dark and uncontrollable. And the worst part was, I couldn’t explain it. I couldn’t tell Brian what was wrong because I didn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my throat tight. “I don’t know what happened.”

Brian smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s fine. We’re both tired. It was just a glass.”

I nodded, but as I swept up the broken shards, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had broken inside me, too. And it wasn’t going to be as easy to put back together.

Chapter 3:

Weeks passed, and the tension in the air between Brian and me seemed to grow with each passing day. It wasn’t just at home anymore—my outbursts were starting to creep into our shifts at the firehouse. It wasn’t anything major at first, just little moments where I’d snap at someone or lose my temper more easily than usual. Everyone chalked it up to the stress of the job, and I let them. It was easier than admitting something was wrong.

But inside, I could feel it building—this pressure, like a balloon swelling inside my chest, ready to burst. I thought I could handle it. I thought if I kept myself busy, if I focused on the work, I could push it down. But firefighting isn’t a job where you can afford to lose control.

I remember one call in particular. It was a standard house fire, nothing we hadn’t seen a thousand times before. The flames were manageable, but there was a lot of smoke. We went in as a team, each of us with a role, moving in sync like we always did. Brian was with me, like he usually was, our movements so familiar we didn’t even need to talk to communicate.

But something was off that day. The smoke felt heavier than usual, the heat more oppressive. My helmet felt like it was pressing down on my skull, making my head throb. I tried to push through it, focusing on the task at hand, but my mind was racing. Every sound—the crackle of flames, the muffled voices over the radio, even my own breathing in the mask—felt like it was closing in on me.

“Y/N, you good?” Brian’s voice crackled through my radio.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, though my vision was starting to blur at the edges. We were almost done, just a few more minutes. I could make it. I had to.

But then, out of nowhere, the frustration hit me. I don’t know why—it wasn’t a particularly stressful call—but something inside me snapped. I felt a surge of anger, irrational and uncontrollable. I swung my axe harder than I needed to, cutting through debris with more force than was necessary. I heard Brian call my name again, concern clear in his voice, but I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I was too focused on the pounding in my head, the rage bubbling just beneath the surface.

When we finally exited the building, I ripped off my helmet and tossed it to the ground, breathing heavily. My heart was racing, my hands trembling.

“What the hell, Y/N?” Brian was at my side, his voice sharp. “You could’ve hurt yourself in there.”

“I’m fine,” I snapped, my voice harsher than I intended. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” he said, his brow furrowing as he looked at me. “You’ve been off lately. This isn’t like you.”

I turned away, not wanting to hear the concern in his voice. I didn’t want to admit that he was right—that something was wrong with me. “I told you, I’m fine.”

But I wasn’t. I knew it, and Brian knew it, too.

Chapter 4:

The firehouse had always been a place of comfort for me. It was where I felt in control, where I knew I could make a difference. But lately, even that had started to feel like a burden. My outbursts were becoming more frequent, and I could see the strain it was putting on everyone—especially Brian.

At home, things were getting harder. Brian tried to be patient, but I could see the frustration in his eyes whenever I lost my temper. He’d always been the calm one, the one who could smooth things over with a joke or a smile. But even he couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine.

We had one of our worst fights a few nights after that call. I don’t even remember what started it—something small, something stupid. But it spiraled out of control so fast. One minute, we were sitting on the couch, watching a movie, and the next, I was yelling at him, accusing him of things that didn’t even make sense.

“You don’t even care about me anymore!” I shouted, the words spilling out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You’re always at work, or with Cruz, or doing anything but being here with me!”

Brian looked at me like I’d just slapped him. “Y/N, what are you talking about? I’m always with you! We work together, we live together—how much closer can we get?”

“That’s not what I mean!” I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I didn’t care. “You’re here, but you’re not really here. You don’t look at me the same way anymore. You don’t—”

“Stop,” he cut me off, his voice calm but firm. “That’s not true, and you know it. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

His words should have soothed me. They should have made me feel safe. But instead, they only made the anger flare hotter. “Then why do I feel so alone?” I whispered, my voice breaking.

Brian’s face softened, and he took a step closer, reaching for my hand. “Y/N, I’m right here. You’re not alone. But something’s going on with you, and you won’t talk to me about it.”

I yanked my hand away, refusing to meet his eyes. “I’m fine,” I muttered for what felt like the hundredth time.

But I wasn’t. I wasn’t fine, and I was pushing him away without even meaning to. I could see it in his eyes—the worry, the frustration, the helplessness. He didn’t know how to fix this, and neither did I.

That night, we went to bed without saying another word. Brian turned his back to me, and I lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of my own silence pressing down on me. I wanted to reach out to him, to tell him I was scared, that I didn’t know what was happening to me. But the words wouldn’t come.

All I could do was lie there and wonder how much longer we could keep pretending that everything was okay.

Chapter 5:

The firehouse was unusually quiet that night. It was the kind of quiet that crept into your bones, making you restless. We were on the second day of a 48-hour shift, and exhaustion hung in the air. Normally, a shift like this didn’t faze me—adrenaline and routine kept me going. But tonight, my head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. The migraine was pounding behind my eyes, a dull, throbbing pain that no amount of coffee could fix.

I rubbed my temples, trying to will the headache away. Brian had noticed it earlier in the shift and offered me some Tylenol, but I turned him down. There was something about this headache that felt different, heavier. And I was already on edge—there was no way I wanted to dull my senses while on duty.

I kept my distance from the crew tonight, choosing to sit quietly at the kitchen table, nursing my coffee and staring blankly at the TV. Normally, I’d be laughing with the rest of them, especially Brian and Cruz, who were busy trading ridiculous jokes and stories. But I couldn’t focus on any of it. The migraine had lodged itself deep in my skull, making every sound feel like nails on a chalkboard.

I was counting down the hours. Only eight more hours of this shift. And then, finally, Brian and I could go home, grab food from the new Wingstop, and just unwind. It had been a long week, and I was craving something normal, something that would remind me of the simplicity of us. I clung to the thought of getting those wings together. It was the one thing keeping me grounded, the one thing I was looking forward to after the chaos of the last two days.

As if on cue, Brian wandered over to me, his smile easy as always, though I could see the concern lingering in his eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly, sitting down across from me. “How’s your head?”

I forced a small smile, though I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. “Still there, but it’ll pass. Just need to get through these last few hours.”

“We’re almost done,” Brian said, his hand reaching out to gently brush mine. “And then it’s Wingstop time, right? I’m starving.”

I nodded, feeling a small flicker of relief. “Yeah, can’t wait. Been thinking about it all day.”

Brian paused, his brow furrowing slightly. “Actually… about that. I just grabbed Wingstop with Cruz an hour ago. Didn’t realize you’d still want it tonight. You cool with grabbing something else?”

The words barely registered at first. They came out so casually, so matter-of-fact. But as they sank in, I felt a sharp, searing heat rise in my chest. My fingers tightened around the coffee mug in my hand as the rage swelled, unbidden and uncontrollable. I blinked, my vision blurring for a moment as my heart pounded in my ears.

“Wait, what?” I could hear the edge in my voice, sharp and venomous, even as I tried to keep it together. “You just had Wingstop? You knew we were supposed to get it together after shift.”

Brian’s eyes widened, taken aback by the sudden shift in my tone. “I didn’t think it’d be a big deal. We can still get it if you want. I’ll eat it with you, no problem.”

“No,” I snapped, the word flying out before I could stop it. “I don’t want it anymore.”

Brian frowned, confusion and concern mingling on his face. “Y/N, what’s going on? It’s just food. If you want Wingstop, we’ll get Wingstop. It’s not a big deal.”

But to me, it was a big deal. It felt like everything—the headache, the exhaustion, the tension between us—was boiling over, and this one tiny thing had pushed me over the edge. I could feel it happening, the anger building into something unstoppable, and I hated it. I hated that I couldn’t control it, couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out.

“You always do this!” I shouted, my voice breaking as the room seemed to close in around me. “You say one thing and then turn around and do whatever you want! Do you even care about what I want anymore? All I wanted was this shift to end so we could finally go home and have a normal night together. But no—of course you couldn’t even wait for me to get the food we talked about!”

“Y/N,” Brian said softly, reaching out to touch my arm, “I didn’t mean—”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” I jerked away from him, my heart racing as the room fell silent. Everyone was staring now—Cruz, Mouch, Sylvie, Herrmann. Even Chief Boden, who had been standing by the door, was watching with furrowed brows.

I could feel my hands shaking, my vision blurring as tears welled up in my eyes. “All I wanted,” I choked out, my voice trembling, “was a little quality time with my boyfriend. But instead, I get stuck on this miserable shift with a migraine and a boyfriend who only cares about himself.”

The words hung in the air like poison, and as soon as they left my mouth, I felt something inside me shatter. My heart was pounding, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face. I didn’t even recognize myself in that moment. This wasn’t me.

Brian stood there, frozen, his face pale with shock and hurt. “Y/N, I…”

But before he could say anything else, it was like a switch had flipped. The anger drained out of me as quickly as it had come, leaving me feeling hollow and confused. I blinked, wiping my tear-streaked face as I straightened my posture, suddenly aware of the silence in the room.

“Why… why am I crying?” I asked, my voice soft, bewildered. I looked around at everyone’s faces—confusion, concern, shock���all eyes on me. The pressure in my head eased slightly, the migraine fading as quickly as it had come.

Without another word, I turned and walked to the bathroom, the weight of everyone’s stares pressing down on me like a heavy fog.

Chapter 6:

I spent a long time in the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face was flushed, my eyes red from crying, but it wasn’t the physical exhaustion that scared me. It was the blank space in my mind, the way the anger had flared so hot and fast, only to disappear without a trace. I didn’t remember half of what I’d said, and what I did remember felt like it had come from someone else’s mouth, not mine.

I leaned against the sink, gripping the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles turned white. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but it was getting worse. And I was terrified.

When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, I saw Brian waiting for me by the door. His face was etched with worry, but his voice was calm and steady when he spoke. “Chief wants to see us in his office.”

My stomach dropped. I nodded silently and followed him down the hall, my footsteps heavy, my heart pounding in my chest. Chief Boden rarely called anyone into his office unless it was serious. And this? This was definitely serious.

When we stepped into the office, Chief was sitting behind his desk, his expression unreadable. He gestured for us to sit, and the tension in the room was thick as we did. Brian sat next to me, close but not touching, his hands resting tensely in his lap.

“Y/N,” Chief Boden began, his deep voice gentle but firm. “Brian explained what’s been going on with you lately. I need you to listen carefully to what I’m about to say.”

I nodded, my throat tight.

“I’ve seen my share of stress in this job. I’ve seen how it can affect people—physically, mentally, emotionally. But what happened out there today wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t safe. For you or for anyone else. You’ve been one of the best firefighters on this team, but I can’t have you putting yourself or others at risk.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over me like a cold blanket.

“I’m not asking,” Chief continued, his eyes locking onto mine. “I’m ordering you to go to Chicago Med. You’re not coming back on shift until the doctors clear you.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. “Chief, I—”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” he said, his voice softening but still firm. “You need to get checked out. Something’s going on, and you can’t ignore it anymore.”

I felt Brian’s hand brush against mine, a silent show of support, but I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t face the disappointment in his eyes. All I could do was nod again, feeling a wave of helplessness crash over me.

“Take the rest of the day,” Chief said. “Go to Med. We’ll be here for whatever you need, but you’re not coming back until you get answers.”

Brian stood up, helping me to my feet as we left the office in silence. I could barely process what had just happened—how quickly everything had spiraled out of control. As we walked out of the firehouse and towards the car

Chapter 7:

The ride to Chicago Med was eerily quiet. Brian drove, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tight, his gaze focused on the road. I sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, my mind a blur of confusion, guilt, and fear. Every bump in the road sent a fresh wave of pain through my skull, but it wasn’t just the migraine anymore—it was the uncertainty gnawing at my insides. Something was wrong with me. Deep down, I knew that now. But the thought of facing it, of having a doctor tell me what was happening… I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

Brian didn’t say much during the drive, and I was grateful for that. I wasn’t sure what I would have said if he’d asked me how I was feeling. How was I supposed to explain the emptiness inside me, the way I felt like a stranger in my own body?

As we pulled into the parking lot of Chicago Med, Brian finally spoke, his voice soft but steady. “I’m coming in with you.”

I nodded, unable to find the words to argue. I didn’t want to do this alone. I didn’t want to walk into that hospital and face whatever it was that had been slowly unraveling me. And as much as I hated feeling vulnerable, I needed him with me.

The bright lights of the hospital stung my eyes as we walked through the automatic doors, the sterile smell of antiseptic hitting me like a wall. Brian led the way, his hand resting on the small of my back, guiding me through the bustling halls. We didn’t have to wait long before we were ushered into an exam room by a nurse, who took my vitals and asked the standard questions.

Then, there was more waiting.

I sat on the exam table, swinging my legs back and forth, my hands folded tightly in my lap. Brian stood next to me, close enough that our arms brushed every now and then, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His presence was enough—steady, calming, even though I knew he was as scared as I was.

After what felt like an eternity, the door swung open, and Dr. Will Halstead walked in. I knew him well—he’d treated me a few times before, and he was a friend of ours outside of work. But today, he didn’t greet me with the usual smile or lighthearted joke. His expression was serious, concerned.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, glancing between me and Brian as he took a seat on the stool across from us. “I hear you’ve been having some… unusual symptoms.”

I nodded, my throat tight. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.”

Will frowned, his brow furrowing as he flipped through my chart. “Brian filled me in on what’s been going on. The headaches, the mood swings, the memory loss… we’re going to run a few tests to get a clearer picture. I know it’s scary, but we need to figure out what’s causing all of this.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “Do you have any idea what it could be?”

Will hesitated, and that hesitation sent a chill down my spine. “There are a few possibilities,” he said carefully, “but I don’t want to jump to conclusions until we have more information. We’re going to start with a CT scan to get a look at what’s going on inside your brain.”

Inside my brain.

The words echoed in my head, sending a fresh wave of panic through me. I glanced at Brian, who was watching me closely, his expression unreadable. He reached out, taking my hand in his, and I squeezed it tightly, my pulse racing beneath my skin.

“Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Let’s do it.”

Chapter 8:

The waiting was the worst part.

After the CT scan, they sent me back to the exam room to wait while the results were processed. Every second that ticked by felt like an hour. I sat there, nervously tapping my foot on the floor, while Brian paced back and forth in front of me. His anxiety was palpable, and it mirrored the panic building in my chest. I didn’t know what was worse—the not knowing, or the fear of what we were about to find out.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Will came back into the room, holding a manila folder in his hand. His expression was serious—too serious. My stomach twisted into knots as I watched him sit down again, the air between us heavy with tension.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice low, “I’m not going to sugarcoat this. The CT scan showed something concerning.”

I felt Brian’s hand tighten around mine, his grip almost painfully strong. I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt tight, my heart pounding in my ears. “What is it?” I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Will took a deep breath, his eyes soft with sympathy. “You have a tumor in your brain. It’s located in the frontal lobe, which explains the mood swings and memory lapses you’ve been experiencing. It’s putting pressure on the surrounding areas, which is likely causing the migraines as well.”

A tumor. The word hit me like a freight train, knocking the air from my lungs. I stared at Will, uncomprehending, as if he’d just spoken a foreign language.

A tumor. In my brain.

I felt the world tilt beneath me, everything spinning out of control. My heart pounded in my chest, and I was suddenly aware of every sound, every breath, every sensation. Brian’s hand in mine, Will’s steady gaze, the sterile scent of the hospital—all of it felt too real, too overwhelming.

“I—I don’t understand,” I stammered, shaking my head. “A tumor? How…?”

Will nodded gently, leaning forward, his tone careful but honest. “It’s a lot to process, I know. But the good news is that we caught it early. It’s operable, which means we can remove it. We’re going to need to schedule surgery as soon as possible.”

Surgery. Tumor. The words swirled in my head, but none of them made sense. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was healthy. I was a firefighter—I fought through flames, saved lives. I wasn’t supposed to be the one lying in a hospital bed, waiting for a doctor to cut into my skull.

I felt my hands start to tremble, and suddenly, the weight of everything came crashing down on me. The months of mood swings, the fights with Brian, the outbursts I couldn’t control—it all made sense now. There was a tumor inside me, something foreign and dangerous, controlling me from the inside out.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my voice breaking as the tears started to fall. “Brian… I’m so sorry.”

Brian’s arms were around me in an instant, pulling me close as I sobbed into his chest. “No,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Y/N. None of this is your fault.”

“But I—” I tried to speak, but the words were lost in the sobs that shook my body. All the anger, the fear, the guilt—I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “I’ve been awful to you. I didn’t know…”

Brian held me tighter, his hand running through my hair as he pressed his cheek to the top of my head. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “None of it matters. We’re going to get through this. You’re going to be okay.”

I wanted to believe him, but all I could think about was the word that Will had said: tumor.

Chapter 9:

We left Chicago Med in a daze. The world outside felt too normal, too calm, compared to the storm raging inside me. The sky was still a brilliant blue, people walked down the street, completely oblivious to the fact that my life had just been turned upside down. Brian drove in silence, his hand resting on mine, squeezing gently every so often as if he was reminding himself I was still there. I couldn’t get the word out of my head—tumor.

It felt like some terrible nightmare, one that I hadn’t woken up from yet. Except this wasn’t a nightmare. This was real, and no amount of blinking or pinching myself would make it go away.

We pulled into the firehouse parking lot. I didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to face the crew and see their reactions when they found out. But we had to. They were my family—they deserved to know.

As soon as we stepped inside, I could feel the weight of everyone’s stares. They knew something was wrong. Cruz and Mouch were sitting on the couch, glancing at us with concern. Herrmann, sitting at the table, stood up as soon as he saw us, his brow furrowed.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice cautious.

I looked at Brian, but the words got stuck in my throat. How was I supposed to tell them? How was I supposed to explain that everything I’d been through over the past few months wasn’t just stress or exhaustion, but something far more terrifying?

Brian took a deep breath, his voice low and steady. “We went to Chicago Med. Will Halstead ran some tests on Y/N.” He paused, his grip on my hand tightening. “They found a tumor. In her brain.”

The room went silent.

It was like the air had been sucked out of the firehouse. I could see the shock ripple across their faces, the confusion, the fear. Cruz’s mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out. Boden stepped forward, his eyes filled with quiet understanding.

“A tumor?” Herrmann repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “What does that mean? Is it… is it serious?”

I took a shaky breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. “It’s operable,” I said, the words sounding distant, as if someone else were speaking them. “They’re scheduling the surgery soon. I’ll… I’ll be okay. That’s what Will said.”

But as I said it, I wasn’t sure if I believed it. The fear gnawed at my insides, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. How could I be sure everything would be okay when nothing felt okay right now?

There was a long, heavy pause before Boden spoke. “We’re going to be here for you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady and full of quiet authority. “Whatever you need—whether it’s before, during, or after the surgery—you’re not going through this alone.”

The words should have brought me comfort, but instead, they only made the knot in my chest tighten. I didn’t want to be the one who needed help. I didn’t want to be the one who was weak, who was sick. I was a firefighter. I was supposed to be strong, to take care of others. Not the other way around.

But now, everything had changed.

I couldn’t hold it back any longer. The sobs broke through, my chest heaving as I tried to breathe, to speak. “I’m sorry,” I choked out, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

Boden stepped closer, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said softly.

But I did. I was sorry for everything—for the outbursts, for the way I’d lashed out at Brian, for the times I’d scared the crew with my unpredictability. I felt like I was falling apart, unraveling at the seams, and I couldn’t stop it.

Brian pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as the tears streamed down my face. I felt everyone’s eyes on us, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t hold anything back anymore. I cried for everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the guilt.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered into Brian’s chest, my voice trembling. “I don’t know how to be this person. I don’t know how to… how to be weak.”

Brian’s voice cracked as he held me even closer. “You’re not weak,” he whispered fiercely. “You’ve never been weak, Y/N. You’re the strongest person I know. And you don’t have to go through this alone. We’re all here for you—for whatever you need.”

I shook my head, pulling back just enough to look up at him, my eyes red and swollen. “But I’ve been so awful to you. I pushed you away. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I—”

“Stop,” he cut me off, his voice thick with emotion. “None of that matters now. None of it. You were scared, and you didn’t know why. But we know now. And we’re going to fix it. Together.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted so badly to believe that everything would be okay. But the fear was still there, lurking in the background, whispering that things might never be the same again.

The crew stepped forward one by one, each offering words of support, hugs, and quiet reassurances. It was overwhelming—feeling so much love and care when all I felt inside was fear. I wanted to tell them how much it meant to me, how grateful I was, but the words got stuck in my throat.

Finally, Boden spoke again, his voice gentle but firm. “You need to rest, Y/N. Go home, get some sleep, and prepare for the surgery. We’ll be with you every step of the way.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep with everything swirling inside me. But I appreciated the sentiment. I appreciated all of them.

Brian took my hand, and we started to leave. As we walked out of the firehouse, I looked back at the crew—my family—standing there, watching us with worried eyes. They believed in me. They believed I could get through this.

I just wished I could believe it too.

Chapter 10:

The night before the surgery was the longest night of my life.

Brian and I went back to our apartment, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence between us wasn’t filled with tension or misunderstanding. It was just… heavy. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to do but wait. I could see the worry etched into Brian’s face every time I caught him glancing at me. He tried to hide it, but I knew him too well.

We made dinner, but I could barely eat. The thought of surgery, of having someone cut into my brain, was too much to bear. I pushed the food around on my plate, my stomach churning with anxiety.

Brian eventually took my hand, pulling me into the living room. We sat on the couch, and I rested my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes as he gently stroked my hair. His touch was soothing, grounding me when my mind started to spiral.

“I’m scared,” I admitted quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Brian whispered back, his voice soft and full of love. “I’m scared too. But you’re going to get through this. We’re going to get through this.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to hold onto his words like a lifeline. But the fear, the uncertainty—it was all-consuming. I couldn’t shake the thought that something could go wrong, that I might not wake up after the surgery, that everything could change in a matter of hours.

“What if…” I started, my voice trembling. “What if something happens? What if I’m not the same after?”

Brian’s hand stilled in my hair, and he pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were filled with so much love, so much emotion, that it took my breath away.

“No matter what happens,” he said softly, “I’m here. I love you, Y/N. Nothing’s going to change that.”

The tears welled up again, and I blinked them away, trying to stay strong. But Brian’s words broke something inside me, and before I knew it, I was sobbing, my whole body shaking as I clung to him.

“I don’t want to lose myself,” I cried. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Brian whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You won’t lose me. You’re not going anywhere, Y/N. You’re stronger than this. We’ll face whatever comes next together.”

I buried my face in his chest, feeling the warmth of his arms around me, and for the first time that night, I allowed myself to believe him.