#it feels so long ago now though and i feel so detached

[narxcisse]

★ — Taste

Pairing: JayVik x GN!Reader

CW: explicit, i wrote this while i was drunk listening to Taste in loop so It probably has spelling mistakes or idk dude, MDNI

English isn't my native language

Viktor's room smelled of oil and steel, a signature aroma of his restless tinkering. Yet tonight, there was something else-something softer, almost floral. The faintest reminder of you. Jayce noticed it the moment he stepped inside, his brow furrowing, a pang of familiarity stirring deep within him.

"You changed your scent," Jayce said, an almost playful edge to his voice, though the weight of the memory dulled it.

Viktor didn't look up from his desk, the ever-present glimmer of his cane leaning against it. "I didn't," he replied simply, his tone even, almost detached.

Jayce's lips quirked into a knowing smile. "It's them, isn't it?"

That made Viktor pause, his fingers halting their meticulous work on a piece of hextech.

His amber eyes flicked to Jayce briefly before returning to the device. "You shouldn't assume such things."

Jayce stepped closer, boots clicking against the floor, the air between them heavy with unspoken truths. "I don't have to assume," he murmured, lowering his voice as if the room itself might overhear.

The ghost of your touch lingered on them both.

Weeks ago, your body had fit perfectly between theirs, tangled in a bed of limbs, whispers, and fleeting moments that felt like eternity. You had been the bridge between their differences, the storm that ignited their otherwise controlled flames.

Jayce had been rougher, his hands desperate, like he feared you'd slip through his fingers if he didn't hold tight enough. Viktor had been the opposite, calculated and intentional, savoring every shiver he could pull from you. They were opposites, and yet you had brought them together-briefly, beautifully, and entirely on your terms.

When you left, you didn't just leave their bed. You left your mark.

"Jayce," Viktor said softly, pulling the man from his thoughts. He was standing now, his limp noticeable as he stepped toward the taller man. "Why did you come here tonight?"

Jayce swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the way Viktor moved, deliberate and unhurried.

"To talk."

"About them."

"About us," Jayce corrected, though the truth was murkier than he'd admit.

Viktor's lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"They're still here, you know," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. He stepped closer, close enough that Jayce could smell that faint floral note again, stronger this time. "In every breath, in every touch."

Jayce's breath hitched, his hand twitching at his side. It had been weeks since you left, yet here he was, standing inches from Viktor, feeling you between them like a phantom.

"Do you miss them?" Viktor asked, his gaze piercing, unflinching.

Jayce didn't hesitate. "Every damn day."

A charged silence hung between them before Viktor closed the gap, his fingers brushing Jayce's arm. "Then let them stay," he whispered, a challenge and a plea.

When Viktor kissed him, it wasn't just Viktor. It was you-the taste of your lips, the memory of your laughter, the way you had pressed kisses to Viktor's neck and whispered secrets into Jayce's ear. Jayce groaned against Viktor's mouth, his hands gripping the smaller man's hips, pulling him closer as if that might somehow bring you back.

And in a way, it did.

Every touch, every kiss, every moan-they were all laced with the echoes of you, binding them together in a web of shared longing. Neither of them could forget, and neither of them wanted to.

Because some things linger. Some things stay.

And you-oh, you were unforgettable.

[pathologicalreid]

a long way to go | s.r.

in which your family breaks no contact and Spencer reminds you that you're doing the right thing

margovember

kindergarten teacher!reader masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: flangst? (hurt/comfort) content warning: nondescript childhood trauma, kindergarten teacher!reader word count: 1.4k a/n: okay so the request was for angst and it is but the comfort gives fluff. at this point my genres are arbitrary. huge shout out to anyone else who isn't going home for thanksgiving for one reason or another.

Frowning at the email on your computer, you shifted your weight on your rotating chair and leaned your head back into the chair cover that Garcia had crocheted for you.

We’d love for you to join us.

It felt as though someone had tossed a bucket of ice water over your head, years and years of blocking emails and leaving your phone number unlisted had culminated in this moment. It shouldn’t surprise you; you worked at a public school and your email was listed in the faculty directory, but the sight of your father’s name left a sour taste in your mouth.

You were alone in your classroom, the fluorescent lights were turned off, leaving you in the gentle illumination of the string lights that you kept threaded along the walls. Contract hours were over, but you still had papers that needed to be completed. Opening your email after the final bell had thrown a wrench in your plans.

A knock on your door pulled you out of your haze, you looked up to see Spencer standing in the doorway. You checked the time in the corner of your monitor to find that it was nearly six, well into the evening, and you hadn’t even noticed. “Did we have plans?” You asked, alarm rising in your tone, you looked down at your day planner and didn’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t miss something.

“No,” Spencer said immediately, wanting to quell any of your anxieties before they had the chance to develop. “I hadn’t heard from you today, so I might’ve asked Garcia if she had your location on your phone and found that you were at work much later than usual,” he told you, setting his messenger bag on one of your student’s desks before leaning against yours.

You leaned over your desk, setting your chin in your hands and sighing. “You found me,” you mumbled unenthusiastically, eyeing your monitor again.

He’d cut his hair again, in a moment of frustration he’d started snipping, but he ended up calling you for help. It no longer feathered the tops of his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” Spencer asked, tilting his head to the side and tapping the bobblehead you kept on your desk.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your head, “Nothing, I just have a lot of work to do.” You were designing a holiday coloring page, making the outlines yourself because you didn’t like any of the ones you found on the internet.

“Okay,” Spencer responded, extending his vowels. “Now you’re lying to me,” he said. It wasn’t an accusation; he was merely stating the truth.

It bothered you that he was right, and it bothered you that you lied to him. You shouldn’t feel the need to lie to him because, really, if anyone was going to understand how you felt about the email, it was Spencer. You wedged your hands beneath your thighs, keeping yourself from digging your nails into your palms, “My father sent me an email.”

Dad felt too casual, and his first name felt too detached. He was just your father, someone who had been chosen time and time again over you, and whom you hadn’t spoken to in nearly six years. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Five years ago,” you answered distantly, remembering how he’d had the nerve to show up at your college graduation even though the rest of your family knew you weren’t in contact with him. Wetting your lips, you looked back at the email on your screen, “He wants me to spend Thanksgiving with him and his family.” People that you shared no connection to—blood or otherwise—and made up the family that had taken your place in his life.

Spencer straightened up a stack of papers on your desk, the shuffling sound so familiar that it put you at ease, “What do you want to do?”

You pinched your eyebrows together, not used to someone asking for your wants, “I want to reply to him, but I know that engaging with him would be equivalent to opening the floodgates.” Releasing a dam of trauma that wasn’t suited for your kindergarten classroom, “I can’t reply to this email.”

Nodding softly, Spencer studied your eyes with a pained look in his eyes, “I know, honey.”

Taking the computer mouse in your trembling hand, you scrolled over the email and blocked the sender before deleting the email and deleting it from the trash for good measure. Hot tears welled in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around yourself, “I hate him.”

You despised him. A man who you shared blood with just so happened to be someone you hated with bone in your body. Bones he had contributed to that you wished you could pull from your body and replace with an untainted set. What was worse was that he had the ability to influence your emotions like this, he could make you angry with nothing more than digital mail.

Anger felt so useless, it was something he used as armor, and you feared that by being angry, you were becoming like him. You were so horrified by the mere idea of your own anger that it made you cry, and you were terrified of your life becoming one big circle.

They say if you grow up with an angry man in your house, then there will always be an angry man in your house. All you needed was to believe in Spencer’s ability to be gentle, but nothing Spencer did would change the fact that you cried as soon as you were pricked with rage.

Spencer crouched in front of you, taking both of your hands in his larger ones and keeping them warm for you. “You don’t owe them anything,” he told you, watching you carefully with his big brown eyes, “It hurts. I know it hurts right now, but you know that you just did the right thing. I’ll remind you of it for as long as it takes for you to believe it.”

The dam broke then, tears fall from your chin to your lap as Spencer gathered you in his arms to the best of his ability, you tried not to flinch away from his embrace. You reminded yourself that he wasn’t there to hurt you, he was there to help you. He ran his palm flat along your spine as you gave in, burying your face in the crook of his neck and basking in the darkness of your own sorrow.

“You did the right thing,” he muttered softly, pulling away and using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away your tears. “You don’t need to apologize to anyone about it,” he said preemptively, knowing you were about to apologize to him for your show of emotion.

You nodded dazedly, leaning your cheek into his palm as he cupped your face with his hands, “I don’t know what I do now.”

Spencer smiled gently at you, “We’re gonna keep moving forward. Are you hungry? Do you want to get dinner?”

Sighing, you shrugged despondently, looking back at your now blank monitor, “I should get some stuff done.” You wiggled the mouse and typed in your password, you stared blankly at your unfinished coloring page, any and all motivation to finish the drawing had vacated as soon as your father made contact.

“What if,” Spencer started, “You come home with me tonight, and tomorrow I’ll come in with you? You can finish up your work and I’ll get to spend some time with you.” Spencer Reid might just be the only person willing to accompany you to work on a Saturday just because you’re having a hard time.

You bowed your head, “You don’t have to do this, Spence.”

He hummed in response, “I want to, and besides���we have plans to make.”

You frowned, your head lifting so you could look him in the face and inquire for more details, “Plans for what?”

“Thanksgiving,” he responded as if it should’ve been obvious, “You’ll get to join BAUsgiving this year, it’s one of Garcia’s favorite holidays.”

Faltering, your eyes widened at his insistence, and you took a deep breath, “I’m not… I don’t want to intrude on your family time.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows incredulously, “Honey, you’re part of that family now. Besides, sometimes I think the team likes you more than me.”

[cabinetofquriosities]

A F***ing Trial

Agatha x Rio x Reader

Warnings: sex pollen-like story and SO. MUCH. SMUT.

Reblog this if you like it 🖤

Agatha and Rio were already awake once you rose from your exhausted slumber.

After barely surviving the last trial that cut your group down to three, you had conked out by the fire. Your entire body was sore and your emotions in a frenzy. The night’s sleep helped your body and mind. You were still sad about your other coven members, but you also didn’t know them before meeting them three days prior.

Agatha, though. You had met her years ago in Westfield. She finally snapped out of the Scarlet Witch’s spell and found you. She had a list provided by another member of the new coven and your name was on it.

You had no clue you had any magic at all until Agatha tested you. Granted, throwing a chair at someone wasn’t the safest way of testing them, but it worked in your case. You flinched and the chair burst into flames, falling to ash as it hit you. You were a fire witch. A protector.

However, you were a fire witch who could only use your powers that one time. After that, it was as if you had a block. Agatha had thrown other things at you as her way of “helping”, though you wondered if she just wanted an excuse for a bit of violence. Nothing. Books and a wooden spoon bounced off of your head.

“Well, we’re just going to have to see what unlocks you,” she said.

The road was brutal and unforgiving, killing one witch per trial. It scared you to know that the next three could do the same to the remaining witches, yourself included.

Rio seemed strangely unaffected by the death surrounding them. Agatha did as well, but seemed a bit more sensitive to it than her ex. You had been a crying mess after the first loss. Now you were just afraid.

You had grown attached to the two other witches. Agatha was captivating. She was intensely ambitious to the point of selfishness, but also contained multitudes. You could see the layers of her emotions peeking through every now and then. She was larger than life and spellbinding. Rio, meanwhile, had more teeth. She was aggressive and passionate. While she seemed detached at times, she had this insatiable desire to live life to the fullest. It was as if she were new to it. Little did you know, she was out of practice when it came to feeling genuine attachment to people and being among the living.

You could tell straight away that the two had a long history. The tension was thick, hanging heavily in the air. The rest of your now deceased coven could feel it too.

When you woke up alone, the two surviving coven members were nowhere to be found. You walked out a bit into the woods, looking for them. You stopped short at the sight of Rio being pinned against a tree by Agatha.

Rio was smirking at the other woman as if to challenge her. Agatha leaned in, biting at Rio’s lips. Her thigh was pressed against her core, grinding against her leather pants. Rio smiled as she craned her head back against the trunk of the tree. Agatha’s hand let her wrist go and slid down her front, dipping beneath her waistband. Rio let out a gasp, earning a smug smile and arched brow from Agatha.

You tried to sneak away, but accidentally stepped on a twig, the snap alerting the couple to your presence. They both looked at you, making the blood in your body rise to your cheeks.

Your fingertips suddenly sparked, the magic you were previously unable to access now activating with arousal. You had always repressed your desires in the past, having been raised in a strict religious family. You had been intimidate with a partner in the past, but it was all very vanilla.

Agatha noticed your hands burning with fire, her mind working to decipher what that could mean about your power.

“I… uh, sorry,” you said, quickly retreating back to the fire, jumping when the flame surged on the burnt out logs.

You could hear Rio laughing mockingly in the distance.

A few minutes later, the pair found you. Rio sat next to you with that same smirk from before while Agatha barely even looked at you. Her eyes fell on the newly lit fire.

“Interesting,” she said, her face illuminated by the glow.

“I’ll say,” Rio said, her hand resting on your knee.

The moment Rio touched you, the fire grew in intensity. Agatha’s eyes widened, looking both alarmed and excited about what this meant.

“I guess we finally found your spark,” Agatha said, giving you a sly smile.

Two small flames jumped out of the fire, catching on the dirt in a way that wasn’t physically possible. A trail ignited, two lines of fire forming and spreading out. Agatha’s fascination turned to worry.

“Alright… enough spark, let’s pull it back…” she said nervously.

“I’m not doing anything!” you said, your heart racing.

The fire formed a path, the flames staying in two controlled lines that led them to a tower in the distance. Rio tilted her head, toying with a flower she bloomed from her hand.

“Well, I guess we know whose trial this is,” she said.

Your heart was in your throat. Your power was still so unpredictable. You had used it once in self defense on a chair and once just moments ago. You watched as the two other women led the way. Agatha turned around, regarding you before speaking.

“You can do this. The road wouldn’t be calling you if you couldn’t. Let’s go.”

She spun back around, dramatically flipping her coat with no regard for the flames. You took a moment to steel yourself before following them.

The path led to a tower made of ice. The walls reflected the moonlight, giving it a glow against the backdrop of the sky. The door had a stained glass portrait of the full moon with fire surrounding it.

You pushed the door open and stepped through, expecting the usual costume change. You looked at Agatha and Rio to see that they were naked. Agatha looked nonplussed while Rio had a wolfish smile. Looking down, you were mortified to see your own naked body with one addition.

“Well, I didn’t know you were packing more than magical heat…” Agatha purred, looking down at the sizable dick that had been bestowed upon you.

“No, I… I don’t have… the road did it!” you said, shocked at your new anatomy.

“Well, the road has wonderful taste,” she replied as you tried covering it with your hands.

“Enough admiring, we should find the challenge,” Rio said, looking you up and down once more before searching your surroundings.

The ceiling was out of your sight, positioned at the very top of the massive tower. There were portraits lining the circular frozen walls. They were lined up like film, carvings of stone with bodies in different positions. The floor was cushioned and covered in silk sheets and decadent pillows.

You walked along the wall, finally distracted enough to examine the room. You touched a wall and felt the cold against your fingertips. You stepped back to the center with Agatha and Rio. Once you were all in the middle of the room, an ice hourglass began to slowly fill with water, the cube on top melting as time passed. A shelf emerged with four icicles attached. A circle of low burning fire surrounded the coven as the timer began.

Something resembling snow fell from the ceiling, breaking into a fog the three of you breathed in. Your heart began to race and you felt a flush burning your cheeks. There was an iron frame that appeared over one of the portraits. It was a carving of two people entangled in the missionary position.

You noticed the other two women struggling to keep their focus. Their pupils dilated and focused on you. You looked down and saw where all of your blood had rushed to.

Agatha looked up at the carving.

“I think we know what your trial is,” Agatha said, her voice a bit raspy, “Little miss purity has to discover a few things.”

You would have been resistant if you had been with anyone else, but the two other women had been present in your dreams since the beginning of the road.

“Wait, what?”

“You heard her, firestarter,” Rio said, stalking up to you.

A thin sheen of sweat covered her body, causing a layer of goosebumps to break out. She looked like she was about to consume you.

“I know you feel it too. That need rushing through you?” she said, leaning in to whisper into your ear.

“The air of arousal,” Agatha said, her body nearly shivering with desire, “That’s what we breathed in. If we don’t satiate it, it can kill you. Are you okay with this?”

Agatha actually seemed to care about how you felt about this, despite the irresistible lust taking her over.

“Yes,” you said eagerly before you could stop yourself, “I wanted it before.”

You turned to Rio, who was standing an inch from you, her hands running along your arms. You pulled her into a kiss, the heat within you passing the point of no return. Rio fell back, pulling you with her. You landed over her, catching yourself with your hands. Seeing her beneath you like this was more intense than you could imagine.

Rio reached between you, her hand wrapping around your cock. Her touch sent a shock through you, the flames of the circle rising a bit. You lowered your hips down as she guided you into her. You both gasped at the sensation. Your eyes squeezed shut at the overwhelming feeling.

“Move,” Rio ordered.

You opened your eyes and locked onto hers. You slowly moved your hips, getting used to the motion. You let out a whine as you began to speed up. Rio rolled her hips with yours, bucking and grinding against you. You didn’t know what else to do but thrust. She reached down again and began playing with her own clit. Her cunt squeezed around you as her mouth fell open into a moan. The flames grew another foot. An icicle fell from the shelf, crashing against the floor. There were three left.

You could hear a cranking sound as the portraits spun around the room, the frame now over a carving of a woman riding a man. Rio sat up, about to top you when Agatha interrupted.

“You already got one,” Agatha said to Rio.

She nearly tackled you to the floor, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. She straddled you, grinding herself along the side of your cock. You squirmed, your breath shaking at the feeling of her wet lips massaging you. She reached down and positioned you before sinking down onto you. She threw her head back, her long hair falling down her back. Her chest was shamelessly pushed out as she moved. Her hips rocked and circled, leaving you without a thought in your mind. You bucked up, drawing a gasp from her. She took you by the wrists and guided them over her breasts. You held onto her as you fucked her, your back arching off of the cushioned floor. You sat up, kissing and sucking at her neck. Her arms encircled you, her hand tangled in your hair as she held you to her throat. You moaned against her skin as she rode you.

“Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck��” Agatha whispered as she moved faster.

Suddenly, she tensed up, her body freezing her into a vision of pleasure. Her mouth hung open, her eyes squeezing shut. Her slick walls pulsed around you, making you shudder with your own orgasm. Another icicle fell as the fire grew again. You were still terribly hard in a way that was painful.

The whirring of the portraits snapped you from your haze. The one that was picked made your pulse quicken. You could see it had the same effect on your coven members. Rio smiled and Agatha looked you up and down.

Something inside of you took hold. You grabbed Agatha by the waist, flipping her onto her hands and knees. You looked at Rio, saying, “Move.”

Rio didn’t have to be told twice. She sat and opened her legs in front of Agatha. You checked the time, the hourglass half full. Sweat trickled down your face, the magic nearly driving you insane.

You moved to your knees behind Agatha, reaching down and grabbing her by the hair. She let out a shocked moan as you pulled her tresses before slamming into her. You shoved her head down into Rio’s pussy.

Her mouth immediately went to work, drawing hitches and sighs from Rio. You grabbed her by the hip with your free hand and pulled her into each thrust. The sound of moans, the wet sounds of Agatha’s mouth exploring Rio, and your thighs slapping against Agatha’s ass filled the tower. You felt a feral need to make her cum. Your hand went from her hair to her back. You dug your nails in and scratched down over its arch. You could feel the way Agatha reacted to it, knowing then that Agatha had a submissive side.

“Slap her,” Rio growled, “She loves it.”

You reared back, your hand coming down against her ass with a force. Agatha let out a wild cry against Rio’s warmth. She then went back to sucking on Rio’s clit, earning higher and higher moans. You knew she was close and also knew how to help Agatha to catch her up. You reached your arm around her and played with the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Ah! Fuck, yes!” she cried out, pressing her cheek to Rio’s inner thigh before returning to her.

The two women’s moans rose in pitch until all three of you broke. You fell forward, catching yourself on your hands before crushing Agatha. You could hear the shattering of another icicle as it fell. One left. The flames were several feet high and licking at the walls.

The carvings spun one last time. This one was more confusing than the others. Two women, lying one on top of the other facing the sky. The man was inside of one while the other held her.

“Ah, I see,” Rio said.

She guided Agatha as she laid down. Rio lay under her, her front pressing against her back. They were stacked on one another, waiting for you. You looked at the hourglass and saw how close you were to the end of your time.

You were on your knees when you held Agatha’s hips and thrusted into her. Her head fell back against Rio’s shoulder. You took no time for foreplay. You fucked her with abandon before pulling out of her, earning a violent glare.

You then slid into Rio, fucking her with the same force. She kissed and marked Agatha, her neck one big bruise. Your hands covered her breasts, pinching and tugging at them. She leaned down and kissed Agatha, pouring all of the hidden desire you had been harboring for her into it. You pulled out of Rio and sank back into Agatha, a whimper escaping her lips driving you absolutely insane.

She screamed as her cunt strangled you, her body spasming with her climax. You looked at her wild hair and her blissed out face. You wanted to remember this forever.

You then sank into Rio, pulling an animalistic growl from her that slightly scared you. Your thighs ached as you sped your thrusts, angling to find the part of Rio that made her scream. She shook and shrieked as she came with you following soon after, the pleasure blinding you for a moment.

The fire shot up, reaching the top of the tower as the final icicle fell. The walls melted down, water falling and rolling down to the ground. The carvings fell from the melted walls into the dirt. The hourglass filled and broke before disintegrating into a puddle. The fire that had been emanating from your magic returned to your hands. You looked down and your clothes were back and your member was gone.

“Well,” Agatha said, standing on wobbly legs before dusting herself off, “Good job, team.”

Rio snorted with a laugh, getting up and offering you a hand. You took it and walked with them, now knowing the trip down the road would be much more fun.

Thank you for reading! Reblog this if you liked it 🖤

[br0kenangel]

Baby Targaryens as adults headcanon: how would they fall for you? How they are in a relationship in general?

characters: Jaehaerys, Maelor, Aegon III, Viserys II.

Jaehaerys doesn’t fall in love gracefully. No, he sees you once, maybe catching you out of the corner of his eye while he’s busy rolling them at Aegon or suffering through some royal function he doesn’t want to be at. His first thought? “Great. Another distraction.”

But something about you makes him pause, something makes him stare a little longer. And before he even understands it himself, the moment he lays eyes on you, in that deadpan, signature cold style of his, he mutters under his breath, “beautiful.”

Jaehaerys is different from other men in court. He doesn’t care to charm you, impress you, or, gods forbid, flirt with you. No, that’s Mealor’s job, with his smiles and "how are you this fine evening, my lady?" Jaehaerys? He just glares at you across the room, assessing. He doesn’t need to court you. You’re already his—he decided that five minutes ago. Now he’s just waiting for you to realize it.

If he ever does try to flirt, it's the most awkward, detached, disastrous thing you’ve ever witnessed. He’ll stare at you for a bit too long and say something like, “Your hair... it’s fine, I suppose.” Or worse, “You don’t annoy me as much as everyone else.”

It’s so unintentionally rude that you almost laugh—but he’s dead serious, just standing there, completely oblivious to how bad he is at this.

It doesn’t help that Jaehaerys is unreasonably attractive. He’s taller than his father, with that same Targaryen beauty, but he’s always looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. People fall all over themselves around him, but he just rolls his eyes. When you don’t, he’s intrigued. It’s almost like a challenge to him. Why aren’t you impressed? he wonders, eyebrows raised. You’re not supposed to be immune to him.

Aegon, his one and only friend (though Jaehaerys would never admit it), notices Jaehaerys watching you with a bit more interest than usual and teases him endlessly. Jaehaerys, tired of the teasing, the world, and quite frankly, of you for making him feel something, just glares and says, “Shut up, Aegon.”

Aegon keeps poking him, though. “You like her, don’t you?” And Jaehaerys’s face twists in annoyance before he just groans, “Gods, Aegon, leave me alone. I just want to sleep.” Which, funnily enough, is his attitude about everything. He’d much rather be napping than dealing with feelings.

Most lords would play the long game, trying to win your favor, doing all the polite things. Jaehaerys? Nah. He doesn’t care. He sees you, he wants you, and that’s it. End of story. He walks up to you one day, fully expecting the conversation to end in you being his.

His approach? Straightforward and blunt: “We’re going to wed. That’s not a question.”

You’re stunned. “Excuse me?”

“I'm in love with you,” he says flatly, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, “So you’re mine now.”

There’s no pleading, no coy smile. He’s already made the decision for both of you.

He’s deeply annoyed by the fact that he even has feelings for you. He’ll be sitting in his chambers, brooding, trying to read, but all he can think about is you. He scowls, tossing the book aside. “Why?” he mumbles to himself, irritated. “Why do I even care?”

He’s annoyed that you’ve distracted him, that you’ve taken up residence in his mind, and yet, he’ll spend hours watching you from afar. He won’t admit it, but you’re the only thing that makes him not hate everything for a little while.

The moment you show interest in someone else? Forget it. Jaehaerys is right there, appearing out of nowhere like some shadowy ghost. He’ll stand between you and anyone who dares approach, giving them a cold, dismissive look. And he’ll say, in that cutting, dry voice of his, “She’s not interested.” He doesn’t even ask how you feel—he’s already made the decision for you.

People often comment on how lucky you are to have caught Jaehaerys’s eye, because—let’s face it—he’s gorgeous. But the moment he opens his mouth? Everything gets awkward. He’s either blunt, rude in the most polite way, or just plain dismissive. You’ll walk into a room, and someone will say, “You look beautiful today.”

Jaehaerys, overhearing, just rolls his eyes and mutters, “She looks beautiful every day. Obviously.” Then adds under his breath, “Can we leave now?”

The thing with Jaehaerys is, once he decides he wants you, there’s no escape. Not in a creepy way, but in a he-will-not-leave-you-alone way. He’ll suddenly be everywhere—at your side, giving you that I’m-annoyed-but-interested look. And when you try to argue, he just cuts you off with, “Don’t bother. I’ve already decided. You’re mine.”

You realize, in a strange, funny way, that it’s almost comforting—knowing that once Jaehaerys chooses something (or someone), he’s completely devoted. Even if he’s the most sarcastic, emotionally unavailable person on the planet, he’s yours.

Maelor has an unmatched talent for getting into trouble, but the way he struts into it is almost impressive. He’ll walk into a room, compliment someone on their ridiculously oversized hat, steal the silverware off the table, and wink at you on the way out like it was all part of some grand performance. When you ask him why he does these things, he just shrugs and says, “It’s called living, love. Try it sometime.”

Flirting is basically Maelor’s second language. He’ll start with something overly dramatic, like, “You, my dear, are the moon to my drunken stumbles,” and before you can even roll your eyes, he’s convinced the entire room that you’re madly in love with him. Even if you’re not. Especially if you’re not. When you point this out, he grins and says, “Can you blame them? Look at me.” (He’s very humble.)

Maelor does not believe in subtlety when it comes to his wardrobe. He’ll walk into a council meeting wearing a deep purple silk tunic, velvet cape, and, of course, his beloved golden earring. He’ll probably have a feathered hat, too, just because he can. When you tell him he’s dressed like he’s going to a festival and not, you know, preparing for day, he’ll just smirk and say, “I know, I’m practically a walking work of art.”

You’d think Maelor’s silver tongue would be infallible when it comes to flirting. But when he really likes someone, the smooth talk disappears. He’ll go from “You’re the most stunning creature in Westeros,” to “You…uh…have very…nice shoes? I guess.” The more he likes you, the worse it gets. You’re watching a man who can talk his way out of a dragon’s mouth completely lose it because he can’t think of a single charming thing to say.

Maelor has a special talent for vanishing from the scene of his crimes just in time, leaving you in awe of his ability to slip away right when things go south. Whether it’s after “borrowing” a lord’s prized horse or sweet-talking his way into a highborn feast, he’s gone with a blink and a laugh. He’ll reappear later with a cup of wine and a grin, saying, “Hello darling.” (He never learns his lesson because somehow, he never gets caught.)

Maelor loves wine. And not just a casual love—he’s borderline obsessed with it (worse than his father). At every meal, he’s got a goblet in hand, and he’s always trying to top yours up like you’re both on some extended holiday. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had this vintage,” he’ll say, pouring you a cup while simultaneously swiping an entire bottle for later. If you ask him why he always has to drink, he’ll flash a charming grin and say, “Life’s too short to be sober.”

Maelor flirts with everyone—it’s just who he is. But with you? There’s a sincerity behind his teasing that isn’t there with anyone else. When he calls you “gorgeous” or “darling,” it’s not just part of his game—it’s real. And when he flirts with others in your presence, it’s to get a rise out of you, just to see that flash of jealousy in your eyes. “What’s wrong? You know you’re my favorite.”

That golden earring he’s so proud of? He thinks it’s the height of fashion. He’ll casually flip his hair just so it catches the light, and if you compliment him on it (even sarcastically), he’ll give you a knowing look like you’ve just confirmed his suspicions of being the most fashionable man alive. He’ll say, “Ah, you’ve noticed. I knew you had taste.” You can’t even tell if he’s joking or not.

Maelor loves pulling pranks and stealing random things, but he’s the worst at being subtle about it. He’ll swipe a coin purse or a golden goblet, only for you to see it sticking out of his coat five minutes later. When you point it out, he’ll just laugh and say, “Oops. Must have slipped in there.” He’s too charming to be mad at, and he knows it.

When Maelor really likes you, he becomes an absolute disaster. His usual suave lines turn into awkward stumbles. “You…uh, look nice. I mean, not that you didn’t look nice before, but like…yeah.” You watch him go from the most confident man in the room to someone who can’t even make eye contact. It’s adorable, really, watching him struggle to be smooth when he’s head over heels.

One moment, Maelor is all smiles and teasing, and the next, he’s quiet, watching you with a calculating gaze. It’s like he’s always thinking three steps ahead, figuring out how to get you closer to him without you even realizing it. When he’s like this, he’ll casually brush a hand against yours, lean in just a little too close, and murmur something so soft it’s almost dangerous: “You know you’re the only one who can keep up with me, right?”

Maelor’s idea of a “cunning plan” usually involves a lot of improvisation and almost no foresight. He’ll convince you to help him steal something valuable or sneak into a lord’s private party, assuring you he has it all figured out. Spoiler: he does not have it all figured out. But somehow, through sheer luck and charm, it always works out. “See? Told you I had a plan,” he’ll say with a grin, as if you both weren’t two seconds away from disaster.

Maelor doesn’t get jealous in the traditional sense, but he’s definitely possessive in his own subtle way. If someone else is flirting with you, he’ll step in with that dazzling smile and start charming them instead, all while keeping you close. “You’re coming with me, love,” he’ll say smoothly, completely unbothered by the competition. And when he steals you away, he’ll shoot you a knowing grin, as if to say, “You’re mine, and we both know it.”

If there’s one thing Maelor loves, it’s teasing you. He’ll steal something of yours, just to watch you get flustered trying to get it back. “Looking for this?” He’ll dangle it in front of you with that mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. But as soon as he sees you getting genuinely upset, he’ll soften, handing it back with a playful wink. “Alright, alright, here you go. I’m only teasing, darling.”

Maelor steals more than just gold—he steals hearts, too. You didn’t mean to fall for him, but it’s hard not to when he’s always pulling you into wild adventures and making you laugh. You’ll be fuming because he just got you both chased out of a tavern, but then he’ll look at you with those pretty eyes and that teasing smile, and suddenly you’re not so mad anymore. He knows it, too. “I’m irresistible, admit it,” he’ll say with a wink.

Maelor can flirt, trick, and outsmart most people, but when it comes to saying goodbye? He’s the worst. He’ll tell you he’s leaving for a trip, only to sneak back into your chambers hours later with a bottle of wine and say, “Miss me yet?” It’s impossible to get rid of him, and honestly, you’re not even sure you want to anymore.

Aegon is the definition of effortlessly charming, with that roguish smile and easy-going nature. He’s the type to charm everyone at court without even trying, and half the time, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. So when he falls for you, it’s not because he’s trying to win you over—he’s just being his usual, flirtatious self, flashing you that cheeky grin and thinking, “Well, why wouldn't you fall for me?”

Aegon doesn’t flirt. He exists and somehow, people think he’s flirting. He could be talking about the weather, and it would still sound like the most seductive thing you’ve ever heard. When he meets you, it’s no different. “You look lovely today,” he says casually, while inside, he’s mentally patting himself on the back for keeping it smooth. But he’s secretly freaking out because, for once, he actually wants to impress someone.

Aegon is normally laid-back, but with you, it’s different. He catches himself staring at you all the time, whether you’re in the middle of a conversation or just passing by. He’ll be sitting in court, pretending to pay attention, but all his focus is on you. And when you catch him staring, he’ll just wink and give you a little smirk, like it was totally on purpose.

Aegon is a very physical person, and once he decides he’s into you, that’s it. He’s always finding ways to touch you, whether it’s a hand on your back, a playful nudge, or just casually throwing an arm around your shoulders. It’s his way of saying, “Hey, I’m into you,” without actually saying it. And if anyone else tries to get too close? Aegon’s immediately at your side, leaning in close and making sure everyone knows who you belong to.

Aegon is a sweet-talker through and through. He’s always showering you with compliments, and the thing is, they sound genuine. You’ll be sitting there, minding your own business, and he’ll just pop up with, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, you know that?” And you know he’s probably said it to a dozen people before, but somehow, with you, it feels different—like he actually means it.

Subtlety is not Aegon’s strong suit. If you’re trying to play it cool or make him work for it, forget it. He’ll take your coy responses as a challenge, and instead of backing off, he’ll just double down on the charm. “Playing hard to get, huh? I love that.” He thinks it’s all part of the game, and he’s having a great time, completely oblivious to how flustered he’s making you.

Aegon has big golden retriever energy. He’s the type who gets excited about everything, especially you. If you say something even remotely interesting, his face lights up, and he’s instantly hooked. “Wait, say that again? That’s amazing!” He’s like a puppy, hanging on your every word, and it’s almost impossible to stay mad at him because his enthusiasm is so infectious.

Aegon’s usually the easy-going type, but if someone else shows interest in you? Oh, he’s stepping in real quick. He’s not possessive in a creepy way, but he’s definitely the kind of guy to slide in next to you with a bright grin, casually draping an arm over your shoulder and making very clear that you’re his. “Hey, love, everything alright here?” He says it with a smile, but his eyes are daring the other person to try something.

Aegon is rarely serious, always cracking jokes and making light of situations. But when he’s with you, sometimes the jokes stop, and he’ll get this intense look in his eyes. He’ll brush a strand of hair behind your ear and say something like, “You know you mean the world to me, right?” And it’s so sincere and unexpected that it catches you off guard. Just when you think he’s nothing but playful charm, he hits you with a moment of real vulnerability.

Underneath all the flirting and jokes, Aegon is deeply loyal. Once he’s decided that he’s yours (and you’re his), he’s all in. He might be playful with others, but with you, it’s different. He’s always there when you need him, ready to drop everything for you. And despite how easy-going he seems, he’s serious about his feelings for you. You’ll never have to wonder where you stand with him, because he’s always making it abundantly clear how much you mean to him.

Aegon loves grand gestures. He’s the type to show up at your window in the middle of the night with flowers, or whisk you away for a spontaneous trip, just because. He’ll leave little notes for you, filled with sweet, silly messages like, “I’m thinking about you. Don’t miss me too much.” He may act like a carefree person, but when it comes to you, he’s an absolute romantic at heart.

Aegon’s favorite thing in the world? Making you smile. He’ll go out of his way to do it, whether it’s through jokes, playful teasing, or simply being his charming self. He’s the kind of guy who, if he sees you upset, will drop everything to make you laugh. And once he’s got that smile out of you? Mission accomplished. You’re his world, and he’ll do anything to keep that smile on your face.

Viserys is the grounding force in Maelor’s whirlwind of trouble and adventure. While Maelor is off flirting, tricking, and scheming, Viserys is the calm, steady one, always there to clean up the mess. He watches from the sidelines with a soft, knowing smile, ready to step in when things go too far. Maelor often drags you into his escapades, but it’s Viserys who quietly ensures you’re safe. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you both survive Maelor’s next ‘great idea.’”

Viserys is the type to care deeply but silently. He’s not the type to loudly declare his feelings, but his actions speak volumes. He’ll subtly make sure you’re taken care of, always offering help without you having to ask. Whether it’s making sure you’re comfortable during a long journey or pulling you out of one of Maelor’s risky games, Viserys is always there, quietly protecting you. He’ll brush it off with a modest smile, saying, “It’s nothing,” but you know better.

When Viserys falls in love, he falls hard. He doesn’t do things halfway—once he’s set his heart on you, that’s it. You’ll notice how his attention lingers on you more than anyone else, how he’s always looking out for your needs before his own. He’ll give you his full attention, listen to everything you say, and remember the smallest details about you. It’s not dramatic or flashy, but it’s deep and unwavering. “You matter more to me than you realize.”

Viserys and Maelor are a duo that’s practically inseparable. While Maelor is the mischievous troublemaker, Viserys is the one who always steps in to help him out of sticky situations. Maelor gets himself into ridiculous trouble all the time, but Viserys is the one who makes sure things don’t go completely off the rails. “Honestly, Maelor. What did you do this time?” He’ll say it with a sigh, but there’s affection in his eyes as he helps his best friend out yet again. It’s a relationship built on deep trust, and you’re often caught in the middle of their dynamic.

Viserys’s love is soft and gentle. He’s not the type to overwhelm you with grand gestures, but he’ll show his love in small, meaningful ways. He’ll remember the way you take your tea, ensure your favorite book is waiting for you after a long day, and offer a reassuring smile when you need it most. His presence is soothing, like a steady flame that never burns too bright but never wavers either. “I’m here for you, always.”

Viserys is smart—incredibly so. He’s the one who sees ten steps ahead, the strategist who quietly observes and plans, ensuring that no one can outwit him. When Maelor’s wild schemes start spiraling out of control, Viserys is already two steps ahead, subtly pulling strings to fix everything. With you, he’s just as attentive, always knowing what you need even before you realize it. “You’re more predictable than you think, but I like that about you.” He’ll say with a teasing smile, his eyes warm with affection.

There’s something about Viserys that’s endlessly comforting. He’s the rock in a storm, the one who remains calm no matter how chaotic things get. When Maelor’s antics get overwhelming or life becomes too much, Viserys is there, offering quiet support. He doesn’t need to say much to make you feel at ease—just being near him is enough. His hand on yours, the way he softly says your name—it’s like everything is okay again.

Viserys is an excellent listener. He’ll sit with you for hours, listening to everything you have to say with genuine interest, no matter how trivial it might seem. He makes you feel heard, like every word you say matters to him. He doesn’t interrupt or offer advice unless you ask—he’s just there, present and engaged. “I’m always here to listen, you know that.”

Viserys’s loyalty is absolute. Once he’s decided he cares for you, there’s no changing his mind. He’s fiercely protective of the people he loves, though he does it in a quiet, understated way. If anyone tries to harm you or Maelor, Viserys won’t hesitate to step in, but he’ll do it with such calm precision that no one will see it coming. He’s the kind of person who would go to great lengths to protect you, without ever needing to brag about it. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll always take care of you.”

Viserys may not be as overtly flirty as Maelor, but he has his own way of showing affection. He’ll give you knowing looks from across the room, say something that seems innocent but has a deeper meaning, and brush his hand against yours just enough to send a shiver down your spine. It’s all so subtle that you might not even realize he’s flirting until you catch the way he smiles when you blush. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Once Viserys falls in love, everything he does starts to revolve around you. He’ll prioritize your needs over his own, making sure you’re comfortable, happy, and safe. He might not be as vocal about his feelings as some, but the way he makes you his priority in every situation speaks volumes. “Your happiness matters to me more than you know.”

Viserys rarely gets rattled. While Maelor might be loud, dramatic, and prone to theatrics, Viserys remains calm and collected in nearly every situation. It takes a lot to get under his skin, and he’s always the one diffusing tense moments with a soft word or a calm demeanor. Even when Maelor gets himself into the wildest situations, Viserys never loses his cool. “I expected this from you.” He’ll say with a sigh, shaking his head fondly.

When Viserys finally admits his feelings, it’s like a dam breaking. All of the quiet affection he’s been holding back comes flooding out in soft, earnest confessions. “I didn’t want to say anything because I wasn’t sure… but I can’t keep this to myself anymore. I love you. Deeply.” His love is steady, unwavering, and all-consuming in the best way possible. Once he’s yours, he’s yours completely, and there’s no turning back.

Maelor and Viserys are best friends through thick and thin. Maelor might be the more adventurous one, but Viserys is always there to support him. He doesn’t get involved in Maelor’s schemes for the thrill—he does it because he cares. And even when Maelor gets them into trouble, Viserys never holds it against him. It’s the same with you—once Viserys cares about someone, his loyalty is unshakable.

Viserys’s romantic gestures are thoughtful and subtle. He doesn’t go for grand displays of affection but instead does things that show how much he knows and cares for you. He’ll leave your favorite flower on your pillow, write you a heartfelt letter when he’s away, or make sure you’re always warm on a cold night. It’s not about impressing you—it’s about making sure you feel loved every day. “I don’t need to shout it from the rooftops. You should know by now how much you mean to me.”

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[shomixremix]

HERDING THE CATTLE ♥︎

i saw something about this prompt on here like two years ago and it's been stuck in my head ever since ♡︎

tags: Arataki Itto, afab! reader, cow hybrid! reader, smut, fluff, marking, mating, rough sex, petnames, cowgirl, breeding, creampie

-> you are a small cow hybrid auctioned off to a slaughterhouse since you couldn't produce enough milk and were never calm. the arataki gang saved you, and your new master - the one and oni Arataki Itto - knows just how to keep you in check.

reqs open ♡︎ | minors DNI

"Ahh!! Itto! Itto-ooh! Mh! I-Itto!"

You whined as the Oni bounced you on his cock like you were weightless, watching in amusement as you cried in overstimulation. What was this, your ninth, tenth time cumming? You lost count. Itto never let you rest, not even for a second, bouncing you on his lap through every orgasm.

"Aww, you'r' so cute, love bug... Such a cute little cow, ain't ya'? Don't cry now, sweets, this is what ya' wanted, yeah? Only way I can tire you out, baby~"

Your master cooed, teasing you about being so restless. Oh, how you wished you could take everything back! No, you weren't bursting with energy like you said earlier, no, you couldn't go on forever - your legs were practically jelly at this point, your limp body completely at mercy to Itto.

He used you like a cocksleeve, dragged on his dick whenever he wanted and for however long he wanted - and you loved it. Life was good in the Arataki gang: you always had food, a place to sleep and protection provided to you, at all times. You also had a very tall, very strong and very handsome demon filling you up and breeding you almost daily, making sure your cushy womb was never empty.

The space where you connected was a mess. A glorious mess of both your and his juices seeping out of your hole, being fucked back in each time Itto would trust back. Just as every other day, your gummy walls pulsed around his length, making him shoot yet another load inside you.

"Fuck, baby... Makin' me lose my mind and shit..... So good.... Give me a little taste of that milk, will ya'?"

His large palms left your hips, greedily grabbing at the fat flesh of your boobs. As soon as he squeezed down just a tiny bit, a small stream of milk burst out, hitting Itto in the face. You were instantly mortified. Itto was your master, he saved you from certain death, and now you embarass him like this-

"I'm s-sorry Itto-! So sorry! Didn't mean to, I r-really didn't mean to!"

Instead of scolding you like you were sure any other owner would, the Oni burst out laughing. His laugh was like a roar, shaking his entire body - and with him, you as well.

"Hah, those jerks at the farm jus' didn't know how to milk ya', sweets, 'cause you look full of milk to me!"

It was true - even though you were sold to a slaughterhouse for failing to produce milk, you started leaking like crazy the moment Itto took you as his. That vet back at the farm you grow up on always said that you'd start producing milk if they paired you with a bull, and what better bull than a large, demon one?

Their loss, anyway. Now, all your milk belonged to Itto and his warm mouth, and not to some sketchy farmers who were only interested in selling it.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of his sharp fangs on your nips, greedily sucking at the flesh and gulping down the sweet drink. His dick twitched inside you as he continued feasting, your own arms tightening around his head to pull him closer.

The second he detached himself from your chest he thrust out harshly, in the process accidentally completely pushing you from his lap. Even though Itto was mighty and strong, he wasn't exactly the sharpest. There was a slight possibility that he was so occupied with whatever he was doing that he forgot you were on him.

You watched as he stood up, leaving you sitting on your knees on the ground. The Oni spit a bit of your milk on his palm, then using that same hand to roughly jerk his cock. It was more than obvious that milk was one of his kinks.

Oh, but why would he jerk off with milk as lube when you were right there...? On your knees, right next to him, ready and waiting and... Oh, Archons, were you not enough for him anymore..?

When Itto first saved you, the deal was that you'd stay in the Arataki gang until they found you a new home. However, Itto insisted they keep you, even proclaimed you as his own "pretty girl that no one can touch!" He kept you all to himself, fell asleep with you in his arms at night, brought you any awesome flowers he found, even took you on good, honest dates when he'd get a little Mora! He even acted on his demon urges and sunk his fangs into your neck, mating you!

But what if he didn't want to spend the rest of his life with a little, useless cow? What if that wasn't even enough for his sexual urges any more..?

"I-Itto..." You cry, big tears pooling up in the corners of even bigger eyes, threatening to spill at any moment.

At the mention of his name the Oni turns to you, shocked to see you crying.

"Hey, hey, hey! Baby, what's wrong?!"

"Need you.... P-please..."

Not another word needed to be said. Itto immediately reacted, grabbing your soft, much smaller body and seating it once again on his lap, entering you in one swift trust until his tip was snuggly kissing your cervix.

"Shhh, sweets... Let your Oni take care of ya', hm? No need to cry! I thought you couldn't go on, love bug, that's why I stopped! But you really are a restless one, huh, calfie?"

You smiled warmely at the nickname as your head went fuzzy. You laid your pretty head on Arataki's chest - like always - and let him have complete control of how he fucks you.

Each one of his thrust was faster and more brutal than the last. Your pussy was already crying out, threatening to cum just from the first few thrusts. Itto noticed, pinching your puffy clit between his claws and rolling it around.

"OH, ITTO!" You scream in ecstasy, riding your high.

Your master wasn't going to be able to last much longer. With you bouncing on his cock the way you were and how your sweet little cunt was so tight that it was milking him dry, Itto lasted only a couple more thrusts.

"Hah... Haaah... Fuck, love bug... Really wanna milk me too, don't ya'? Ahh... Mmm.. Gonna breed you.. Hah... Gonna breed ya' so good, sweets.. You'll be all nice and full, and you'll get pregnant with my calfs, yeah? Put all that milk to good use, hm? Yeah, yeah!"

He started cumming as well, shooting rope after rope after rope of his sweet release inside you. You were filled to the rim, juices leaking out of your satisfied hole. Arataki didn't let any of it go to waste, his fingertips catching whatever's left and pushing it in.

As soon as you were filled, your hands reached for him, seeking comfort in his warm arms. Itto obliged instantly, carrying you like you were weightless, to the nearby camp they set up. Your master entered his tent, the biggest of the bunch, wrapping your body in a soft blanket and once again settling you in his arms.

"There ya' go, love bug. Comfy?" You nodded, which made Itto break out in a toothy grin. "Well, of course it is! The great numero uno Itto is at your service, baby, of course everything is awesome!"

You chuckled at the way he tooted his own horn, kissing his cheek and hiding your face in his large neck and shoulder.

"G'night, Itto.. Thank you..."

The Oni found your actions adorable, cooing at you: "Awww, sweets, no need to thank me! You know I always gocha. Thank you for being so good f' me, yeah? You're such a good, pretty little cow... I don't know how I got so lucky!"

He pressed a loving kiss on your forehead, caressing your legs with his large palm.

"G'night, baby.."

[bhaalble]

I like that Last Unicorn quote as much as the next guy but I do always wind up feeling a little detached from analysis that paints Astarion's disapproval as purely envy. Partly because. No one's doing this for Lae'zel for instance even though she has similar disapproval and similar trauma (all she can remember is a hostile physically and emotionally exploitative environment which expected perfect strength and obedience from her or else she would be punished or killed). But also partly because it feels pretty detached from everything he actually has to say about it.

The thing about Astarion is he loathes weakness. He loathes sentiment and he loathes dependence. You can see this when he actually opens his mouth up about the people he disapproves of saving, but also incredibly loudly when he talks about the other companions, as well as his fellow spawn. If Lae'zel submits to Vlaakith he talks scornfully about how some people just come to love their chains. He's confused and put off if Wyll submits to Mizora to save his father. In every conversation with his fellow spawn (at least when hes not actively manipulating them) he's dismissive and harsh, and clearly he's perfectly willing to sacrifice them for the sake of himself.

There's an obvious origin point of those feelings, of course. Cazador's abuse is designed to actively kill off empathy in his spawn, both towards each other and towards victims. The last time Astarion prioritized someone over his own skin he got locked in a tomb for a year. We can see glimpses of it with the other spawn too, how his siblings are (apparently uncompelled at first) willing to drag Astarion back to their master for their freedom, how Petras' first dream of freedom is getting to drain another person dry. Astarion certainly doesn't seem to feel any real sense of solidarity with them, likely because Cazador understands that them building a community is a threat to his authority the way it was to his own master.

I'd also argue its Astarion projecting his own self-loathing outwards. So much of his quest is about his desperate attempt to escape from who he was. He's been given a chance to slip free of the limitations of being a spawn. He clings to that because of course he would. He also instinctively begins to run over everything in his path, because if there's anything he has learned over the past 200 years its that good things can always be taken away unless you make sure to remove any and all possible threats to that scrap of well-being. He's disdainful of people in need of help because they represent who he fears to go back to being! He calls his siblings "poor fools" while refusing to confront the fact that had it not been for the tadpole he would be in exactly their position, forced to cling to the hope that Cazador is telling the truth for once because escape isn't an option either way. He becomes irritated when Tav slows down to help the unfortunate because they represent roadblocks on his own path to safety.

There's an idea in mental health stolen from airplane safety: that you shouldn't help anyone else until your own mask is secure. What they don't tell you, speaking from personal experience at least, is that PTSD, especially for long term trauma, has a way of making you feel like your own mask will never be secure. And while that's scary, and it sucks, and there should be the utmost patience for it: no one is going to realize that mask is secure for you. Eventually you are going to have to accept the fact that you are breathing just fine. Eventually you are also going to have to accept that people asking something of you isn't them endangering you, even if it can sometimes (often) feel like it. It doesn't make you obligated to help them. But it does mean you have to stop reacting to them like a threat, because not 5 minutes ago that was you.

I think the idea that he's only mad because he's jealous is a gratifying fantasy. He didnt feel safe before, but now through your PC and the power of love he'll feel warm and cozy enough to forgive you for not being there to begin with. But I also think Astarion cannot live in a reality where he's never pushed back on. His instinctive self-protective movements are a coping mechanism, yes, but coping mechanisms developed under survival conditions can also be a way of keeping you frozen in your trauma. Outside of the environment they were necessary for, they can even hinder you from growing in the ways you need to grow to move past what happened to you. Sometimes, you need to stop a baby tiefling from getting crazy murdered by a snake because it turns out. That can happen to anybody not just people who are weak and stupid and deserve to die anyways not like me I'm normal-

[zablife]

hello, i have a request for benny where he introduces his girl to the vandals for the first time.

one of them is already a good friend of her, but he didn’t know the person she was seeing was benny (and maybe benny gets a bit possessive)

Ty for the request, lovely! It's my first for The Bikeriders so I couldn't wait to dive in. I used your idea plus the GIF above as inspo to create drama, plus a little heat with our fave man. I hope you enjoy it and let me know your thoughts!

Rumors

18+ MDNI

Warnings: language, possessiveness, semi public sex

A/N: If you haven't seen the film, it might help to know: 1-Johnny doesn't like to share Benny and 2-Cal's first language is French.

"Heard a little somethin' about your girl you might want to know," Johnny rasped, allowing his words to dissipate into the air on a lungful of smoke.

Benny signaled his interest by leaning forward slightly in his chair, brow furrowed as he thought of anything about you that would warrant a private conversation with the leader of the Vandals. All he could think of at that moment was how eager he'd been to show you off to the guys, an obvious note of pride swelling in his chest each time he uttered your name.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he finally asked, "Yeah, what's that?" Though he had tried to hide his concern behind a facade of cool detachment, the slight twitch of his hand when he raised his cigarette to his lips gave him away.

If it had been a game of poker, Johnny could have recognized the bluff from a mile away. He bit back a sly grin, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he chose his next words for maximum damage.

"Let's just say she ain't no stranger here," he hinted, eyeing Benny carefully to gauge the effect it had on the impulsive young man. Watching Benny's fists clench at his sides, he swiftly added, "Especially not to Cal."

As if on cue, Benny's blue eyes flashed with an ominous darkness. "What are you talkin' about?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

Hissing in Benny's ear like a venomous serpent, Johnny advised, "Don't let her make a fool out of ya. That's all I'm sayin."

Benny's shoulders began to stiffen tightly beneath his leather jacket and Johnny clapped him on the back before abandoning him to his rapidly spiraling jealousy.

You could practically feel the floor shake with the stomp of his boots before you heard the low rumble of his voice calling your name. The tenderness he'd affected an hour ago was gone, replaced by a gruffness which commanded you, "C'mon, baby."

You stared at him wild eyed, wondering what had gotten into him. "N-now? We just got here," you stuttered.

He nodded, taking you firmly by the hand and you decided not argue while his rings pressed into your flesh.

As his friends hooted and whistled, you exited the bar out into the warm summer night. The relative quiet of the street amplified Benny's voice as he asked, "When were you gonna tell me?"

Stumbling off the front step together, he brought you face to face with him, sapphire eyes gleaming with fire. However, you immediately sensed a note of hurt in his accusation.

"Tell you what?" you begged, still uncertain what had him so worked up.

"About you and Cal," he prodded, watching a flash of recognition pass over your face in damning confirmation.

"Don't try to deny it," he warned, dropping your arm to pace the darkened alley beside the bar. Running his hands through his hair in distress, he'd clearly begun thinking the worst when you remained silent.

You struggled to recall who else knew about your acquaintance with Cal, then suddenly you understood, a long sigh pushing from your lungs as you recalled what Kathy had told you about Johnny's dislike of girlfriends hanging around. He said nagging wives took the guys away from the club when the crack ups and late nights began to threaten their relationships. You closed your eyes and shook your head, realizing he’d probably been the one to upset Benny.

"Say somethin'...please," Benny begged, waiting for you to open your eyes to him.

You twisted your fingers in front of you as you finally confessed, "Yeah, I know Cal." Watching Benny hang his head at your admission, you clarified, "Well...I knew the scrawny kid who took English lessons with me a few years ago. I barely recognize him now with that wild hair and that earring." You huffed out a quiet laugh at the thought of it, stopping Benny's nervous movements as he listened to the angelic sound.

He splayed a palm against the cool brick, glancing over his shoulder at you hopefully.

You nodded at him confirming,"That's all it ever was, baby." His chest heaved a sigh of relief as you came to stand at his side. Ducking under his strong arm, you ran a hand down the side of his scruffy cheek and brought his gaze back to you. "I'm yours, Benny. Nobody else's, you understand?"

A low growl rumbled from his lips as he pressed you against the wall, lips seeking yours for the physical reassurance he so badly needed.

His mouth moved against yours insistently, desperate for more and your hands flew to his hair, tugging in wanton desire. As your breasts pushed against his chest, he couldn't help deepening the kiss with a swipe of his tongue and before either of you could contain it, passion overtook you.

Benny turned you to face the wall and raised your skirt over your ass, tugging your underwear aside eager to claim you. Your breath hitched as you heard the jingle of his belt and you quickly braced yourself against the wall for what was to come. Without a care for who might disturb you, he took you right there, hips pistoning into you with reckless abandon.

"Tell me one more time, sweetheart," he urged breathlessly, sucking a dark bruise into your neck that would become irrefutable proof.

"I'm-I'm yours...I belong...belong to you, Ben--," you panted through little shocks of pleasure, unable to continue as you came hard around him.

"S right," he agreed, biting down on your shoulder to stifle his own groans of pleasure. Giving into your vice like grip, he tumbled over the edge with you, heartbeat hammering against your back in exhaustion.

You reached for him in the darkness, clutching the back of his head to keep him close. He stayed inside you for a long, tender moment afterward, placing scattered kisses behind your ear. You might have stayed that way longer if not for your ticklishness and exposed location. So with a hiss, he begrudgingly withdrew from you and gently lowered your skirt.

In the afterglow, Benny smiled at you with a cockeyed grin, tucking himself inside his jeans. The dewy flush of your cheeks making his heart skip a beat, he leaned in for one last kiss as you heard the door to the bar open and release the sounds of boisterous laughter.

Several bikers emerged, Johnny leading the way to the row of choppers parked at the curb. As he strutted toward his bike, a haphazard glance was thrown your way before doing a double take.

You weren't sure if you should scream at him or thank him for the rumor he'd attempted to spread about you and Cal, seeing how it had actually brought you closer to Benny.

When your boyfriend wrapped an arm around your waist, placing a kiss to the top of your head, you decided it wasn't worth arguing about. With a smirk and a little wave, you forced Johnny to acknowledge you, making it clear you weren't leaving Benny's side anytime soon.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

sirius black x girlfriend!reader who doesn't give up on him even when he gives up on himself

You had always heard stories about Sirius Black—the heartthrob, the prankster, the arrogant Gryffindor with a wild charm that girls swooned over and boys admired. But that wasn't the Sirius you had come to know. No, the real Sirius was so much more than the façade he wore like armor. He was fragile in ways people couldn't see. He apologized when he dropped a plate, even though you never cared. He flinched when someone raised their voice, his dark eyes clouding with memories he never spoke about.

The nightmares… oh, those were the worst. You'd wake to find him trembling, his breaths uneven, soaked in cold sweat as he mumbled Regulus’s name—his brother who haunted him even in his dreams. You’d hold him through it, tracing circles on his back, murmuring soft reassurances until he fell back asleep. But you knew deep down, the nightmares never truly ended.

Sirius was envious, too, though he'd never admit it out loud. You could see it in the way he looked at James, his best friend who had the perfect life. A loving girlfriend, doting parents who would never lay a hand on him, a family that cherished him for exactly who he was. It was the kind of life Sirius had been denied, and every time James flashed that easy smile, Sirius would clench his jaw, just for a second. You could see the flicker of jealousy cross his face, and it broke your heart.

Tonight was one of those nights. He had barely spoken to you all day, his walls higher than usual, and now he was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the floor. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch toward him, enveloping him in a darkness you desperately wanted to pull him out of.

You cautiously sat beside him, the air between you thick with tension. "Sirius?" you asked softly, not sure how to approach the storm brewing inside him.

He didn’t look at you, didn’t even acknowledge you were there. His fingers were digging into his palms, white-knuckled, as if he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

"Sirius, please talk to me."

“I can never do anything right, can I?” he muttered, his voice low, almost detached.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes finally met yours, and the pain there was so raw it made your chest tighten. “Everything I touch, I ruin. My family, Regulus, even you… you’re better off without me.”

“That’s not true—”

“It is true!” His voice cracked, frustration leaking into every syllable. He shot up from the couch, pacing the room like a caged animal. “James has everything! He’s got the perfect bloody life, and I can’t even keep my own brother from hating me!”

You stood, stepping toward him, but he recoiled, his expression a twisted mix of anger and hurt.

“I’m a mess, love. I don’t deserve you. You should be with someone who doesn’t—” he gestured wildly to himself, “—come with all this baggage. Someone who doesn’t drag you into their nightmares.”

Your heart ached seeing him like this, so vulnerable, yet trying so hard to push you away. "I won't ever give up on you, I promise."

He scoffed bitterly, running a hand through his tangled hair. "That's funny, cause I gave up on myself a long time ago."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, refusing to let the tears blur your vision. “Well, I haven’t. And I’m not going to. So, stop trying to push me away.”

He let out a hollow laugh, his back turned to you. “I’m just tired… I’m tired of pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not. I’m tired of being this broken thing you feel like you have to fix.”

“I don’t think you’re broken.”

He turned to face you, disbelief written all over his face. “How can you even say that? Look at me! My own parents hated me, they—” His voice wavered, and for the briefest moment, you saw the scared boy beneath the bravado. “They hit me because I wasn’t enough. And maybe they were right. Maybe I’m just… a disappointment.”

You stepped forward, your hands trembling as you reached for him. "If you're letting this hurt you, you're just making them win. Don't give them that power, Sirius. You're better than that."

He shook his head, tears brimming in his stormy gray eyes. "I can’t help it. Every time I think I’m over it, it all comes rushing back. And I—" His voice cracked, and he looked away, ashamed. "I don't want to drag you down with me."

"You’re not dragging me down," you whispered, your hand gently cupping his cheek, forcing him to look at you. "You’re hurting, and that’s okay. I’m here for you, Sirius, always. But you have to let me in."

His breath hitched as he leaned into your touch, his defenses crumbling piece by piece. "I don’t know how," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

You pulled him into your arms, holding him tightly as if you could physically keep the pieces of him from shattering. "I won’t ever let you go," you murmured into his hair. "You don’t have to be perfect, Sirius. You’re enough, just as you are."

For the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself cry. His body shook against yours, all the weight he had been carrying finally too heavy to bear alone. You held him through it, not saying a word, just letting him fall apart in your arms because you knew he needed this. He needed to know that no matter how broken he felt, you would never leave.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to start healing the wounds that had been carved into his heart for so long.

[keen-li]

Take it, i know you can

Mdni

Just something simple for you :)

Sorry for any typos.

I'm still practicing how to write smut

....

"Jungkook" you call out his name with all the strength you can, your hands clawing at his back but he takes it as encouragement.

You had past your highs just some seconds ago and you thought he'd detach from you as usual. But you claw into his skin until he bleeds as you feel him still pull in and out of you.

"Jung-"

"It's not over" he says demandly/pleadingly as his stokes intensified.

You wonder how the fuck he's still hard.

His grip on your thighs,to keep them up,tightens as the other tightens around the cloth of the pillow you're lying on.

You watch his face scrunch up in concentration as he repeats.

"It's not over" his husky voice repeats more to himself and for you to understand. His long hair falls over his face as he stares at where you connect.

You definitely feel the effect of his strokes. You arch your back and your neck into the pillow, the pleasure and pain of being overestimulated taking over.

He lifts your leg over his shoulder, still passionately stroking into you.

You can feel your moans start to build up, your gasps making jungkook even harder.

He takes his time with his strokes which makes the feeling even more intense.

"Jungkook" you gasp out for him, it feels good but you don't know if you can take it.

"I can't..."

He doesn't want to hear that, you spent the whole week teasing him about how he couldn't fuck you through your overestimulation and even if he could you would be able to handle it.

And now you're here telling him you can't.

Mrs all talk no action.

He chuckles.

"Oh, come on I know you can" he smirks.

His now dark presence hovers over you. You feel some form of warmth when he cups your cheek with his hand and forces you to look at him.

"Take it. I know you can" stroke "take it just for me baby"

He has his eyes on how your body moves, the way you arch your back and try to run from him.

You have no control over your body and so your movements are controlled by the pleasure and pain. And they fight to choose to stay close to jungkook or to move away.

"Come here, where do you think you're going huh?"

He pulls you back when you get a little to far, and without warning he flips you onto your stomach so that you can just lay there. His figure is still above you and lifts your hips lightly to meet him again.

You gasp at feeling him again.

"Just lay there" he bends down to whisper by your ear and kiss your naked shoulder and the sensation sends you into a frenzy.

"You don't have to do anything" he speaks softly.

"I'll do everything, you just have to take it" you can hear the smirk in his voice.

He places kisses on your neck and shoulder as he fucks you just so you can remember he still loves you.

You gasp for your life as you soon feel that familiar feeling return.

Jungkook feels you flutter around him and he swears he can die right here, right in your raging cunt.

"Ju-ugh" you whine as you feel the room spinning.

"I've got you baby, I've got you" he says as he feels himself come down as well.

He lays on you, making sure not to crush you as you both catch your breaths.

"I love you so much baby" he says into your ear.

You smile and reach your hand out to stroke his cheek his hair.

"Aw, I love you too"

You feel the hold he has on you tighten, trying to comfort you, though he seems like he needs the comforting.

"No like I seriously love you so much"

....

A/N: cheers to long night of jungkook holding you and kissing you and trying to show you how much he loves.🥂

Well, I'm sorry for this post, it's my hormones😩😔

[fuckyeahisawthat]

“I don’t think that is what God wants. And I don’t think you want it either.”

This line of Aziraphale’s in the Job minisode keeps sticking out to me. Because this is the heart of the problem, right? This is how Aziraphale can see Crowley so completely and also not at all.

Because yes they suck at open communication and yes it’s because they had to hide their relationship for thousands of years and have so so so much trauma and fear to work through. But ALSO they actually do have a profound difference in how they see the world that keeps coming between them, and it’s not just theoretical but deeply personal to both of them.

Because Aziraphale still wants to believe that God is good. He can’t let go of that because his whole identity is wrapped up in being an angel of the Lord, and if God’s not good then what has he been doing for his entire existence?

And so when bad things are happening he falls back on This cannot be what God wants. The whole of season one, he refuses to believe that God could really want the world to end—even though we now know he knew this was a possibility before the world even started. He keeps going up the chain of command, trying to find someone to intervene. “That’s why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty and then the Almighty will fix it.” As if God doesn’t have all the information or hasn’t been paying attention.

And really, the events of season one reinforce this worldview for him. Because if the Archangel Fucking Gabriel isn’t sure what God wants, then maybe God did want them to stop Armageddon. Maybe it was Aziraphale and Crowley who were doing God’s work after all.

He’s gotten as far as realizing that Heaven’s orders are not the same thing as God’s will, but he still hasn’t detached the concepts of Good and Right from God in his worldview.

Crowley is a good person who does the right thing so he must still be an angel deep down. “I know the angel you were.” The only way Aziraphale can conceptualize Crowley saving Job’s children is, “Come on, you’re a little bit on our [God’s] side.” So Crowley’s fall was a mistake; Crowley belongs in Heaven, where he was so happy before the Fall. Why wouldn’t he want to be an angel again? And yeah maybe Heaven sucks now but God is still good, so there’s hope that the system can be reformed with a change of leadership, and Heaven can be made to actually do good, the way God always intended.

But that’s not how Crowley sees the world at all. He is operating with an entirely different understanding of reality. Because he figured out a long time ago (at least by the time of the Job job, but probably long before that) that you can’t base your sense of morality on what you think God wants. Not just because you don’t know for sure, but because sometimes God’s plans are fucking awful. God in Good Omens is not kind to Her creations. She doesn’t tolerate questions or doubts or disobedience. She’s capricious, turning on the creatures She made and killing a bunch of them when She’s in a bad mood. She punishes indiscriminately and disproportionately. She wagers human lives like gambling chips. The kids were supposed to be dead no matter who won the bet.

I think it’s interesting that Crowley is the one who introduces the idea in season one of “What if the Almighty planned it like this all along? From the very beginning.” That’s probably a comforting thought to Aziraphale, soothing his anxieties about going against Heaven right when he is feeling acute distress at the idea of no longer having a side. (And, in that particular moment, no longer even having a bookshop.)

But it’s not a comforting thought to Crowley. Have you seen what happens when God has a plan for you? It fucking sucks. Woe betide you if you’re the Barbie God decides to play with today. (At bare minimum, you’re coming back with some burn marks and a weird haircut.)

I’ve brought up the line “There are no right people. There’s just God, moving in mysterious ways and not talking to any of us” before, and I tend to focus on the “there are no right people” part. But also, there’s just God.

Aziraphale tends to draw a distinction between God’s will and Heaven’s orders when it suits him, and collapse that distinction when it doesn’t. Crowley almost never differentiates between God and Heaven. There’s just God, and She’s not going to explain why this is happening or listen to pleas for mercy (although Crowley still tries). You can’t trust Heaven or Hell, and you can’t count on God to show up and make everything all right. Sometimes God is in fact the reason that things are not all right. You’re on your own.

(And. Look. Crowley is right on this one. There are certainly aspects of their relationship where they’re both equally responsible for things being a shitshow, but the text is pretty unambiguous about Crowley, a demon, having the most accurate read on the nature of God in the world of Good Omens out of any of the metaphysical characters.)

Crowley rebuilt his entire sense of self, alone, after the Fall. He created himself anew and developed his own moral compass and sense of identity independent of both Heaven and Hell. “The angel you knew is not me.” When Crowley does the right thing, that’s not his angel-ness shining through; that’s just Crowley.

And from a like, trauma recovery point of view, it’s actually very healthy for him to have the realization that sometimes God’s just kind of a dick. He didn’t do anything to deserve getting kicked out of Heaven. None of them did. Just God messing them about because She didn’t like being questioned, or She wanted to see what would happen, or She needed two sides for Reasons and didn’t much care who was on one or the other, or She’s playing some fucked up little game for Her own amusement. (And if there was some Great Plan that required Crowley to fall…well, that is also fucked up. Because it doesn’t matter if there was a reason. It still hurt.)

And while Crowley in general is extremely patient with Aziraphale and his slow, halting journey away from Heaven…it’s gotta sting, every time Aziraphale doesn’t want to believe that God could be cruel, when Crowley is standing right fucking there. It’s gotta hurt when Aziraphale refuses to see something that Crowley knows to be true through his own lived experience. Because it should be enough. What happened to him should be enough to make someone who loves him walk away from Heaven and never look back. And it isn’t.

But of course Crowley is one hundred percent not going to talk about this, if he is even fully self-aware about having these thoughts, because it’s far too painful and vulnerable. (He talks to plants, goats, God, and no one in a bar at the end of the world, but never to Aziraphale.) And so he says “Tell me you said no” and “I think I understand a lot better than you do” because he can’t say Choose me. Just this once, choose me and he can’t say Believe me.

And Aziraphale is not going to think about all this and work it out for himself, because he has a massive lump of denial centered around exactly this thing, that sometimes God hurts people who didn’t do anything to deserve it. I’m sure he’s thought about the Fall in abstract terms, enough to be afraid of it, but not in terms of this is a thing that happened to a person I love. And he has certainly not allowed himself to draw any conclusions about the nature of God from it, because that is far too scary a prospect.

And so they’re stuck. Until they can figure out how to remove this massive landmine from the center of their relationship, they are going to keep having the same fight over and over again, and they’re going to keep hurting each other without fully understanding why.

[sixosix]

HE BUILT A FIRE JUST TO KEEP ME WARM | LYNEY

notes wc 2.5k, a LOT of talking. but i hope you can enjoy:)) because im so nervous to post this

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

“So that’s your decision. Alright.”

…That’s it?

The confusion on your face must have shown. Arlecchino casts a glance and smiles in her own way, only a ghost of it.

The ease of her answer feels like walls cracking, chipping slowly one by one, then collapsing altogether. It’s such a surreal, nearly maddening feeling. The glaring reminder that it has always been your choice dawns on you. So that’s it.

“I don’t want to chain you to the throne.” How embarrassing it is to realize that you were the one chaining yourself in, locking it in place, and suffering from the weight of it this entire time.

‘Father’ accepts it; it’s about time you did, too.

“Alright,” you echo numbly, lagging from disbelief.

As it turns out, the teacup in Rosalie’s hands had been the poison ‘Father’ was offering. She wanted to show Rosalie what it looked like, but Rosalie’s answer was pretty clear when she flung it away the moment you entered the room.

‘Father’ offers the cup meant for you, and you inspect it nervously. The glass feels fragile and smooth to the touch. The fate of your future, your memories, the people you’ve met that have led you all the way here, your entire being—

All in one cup.

You already gave your answer. It took a good minute, but still, it was the quickest choice you’ve made yet. The ‘tea’ seemed tempting for a split second: an easy way out, a free restart button. You know better now, though. Arlecchino’s showing you mercy, and Rosalie’s giving you a choice.

You look up at Arlecchino, uncertainty in your nerves. “But I can’t go back here?”

Arlecchino tilts her head. “You mean to return here as a child of the House?” She chuckles shortly. “Of course not.”

Oh. Ah, well. That is to be expected.

“Why would you be? You’re not an orphan anymore, are you not?” Arlecchino’s gaze swings pointedly at Rosalie’s direction, who is talking animatedly to Freminet. Freminet blushes as Rosalie coos and frets over him like she does to you.

You find yourself smiling fondly, then promptly realize that this is what Arlecchino means. You have a new home now, with Rosalie.

“So I guess this is really my goodbye to the House?” you mutter, feeling limp suddenly.

Arlecchino gently places her clawed hand on your head. You stiffen for a tense moment but eventually relax into it, realizing that this could be the last time she would even see you as her child, even when you weren’t a long time ago.

“It’s been your goodbye when you left,” she reminds you coolly.

Your shoulders slump in defeat.

“But I’m sure the children still see you as family, and you would be our most important guest of all,” Arlecchino says, looking ahead. “Don’t underestimate their love for you, even if you’ve already forgotten them.”

“I don’t think I could ever forget my first home even if I tried,” you laugh, a little bittersweet thing.

“Then still feel welcomed here, on behalf of their feelings.”

Her voice isn’t gentle, nor does she assume to be part of the House that would want you back—she still wears that cold detachment in her words, but you know her. You know this is the closest she can give you. You want to hug her, pull her in, and bury your face in like a child, but again, you know her. Arlecchino doesn’t like things like that—so you’ll settle for sniffling and pretending like you aren’t crying.

“Thank you for everything, ‘Father’,” you whisper, voice quivering.

She doesn’t say anything in return, but her gaze is more open. It’s enough of an answer for you.

“Come,” Arlecchino calls out, her voice ringing clearly and making everyone halt to listen. “Let us meet up with Tartaglia; it’s about time he arrived.”

The warmth of her hand slips off as she walks out. You would’ve chased after it, but Rosalie comes dashing over and squishing your cheeks until your lips are puckered. Freminet spares you a secretive smile before he runs after Arlecchino and your vision is swallowed by Rosalie’s worried face.

“Ma chérie,” she coos. “You’re really sure about your decision? I promise I won’t get mad if you stay with Miss Arlecchino!”

“Maman, you’re my home now,” you say. “I’m already grateful that you still choose to keep me. I know it’ll be difficult to adjust—”

“Nonsense.” Rosalie releases your cheek, only to pinch one gently. Her face is stern, daring you to finish. “I’ve raised you as my own long enough; what’s years more? But this time, you share with me, okay? Whatever danger lies ahead of you, I want to be a part of.”

The waterworks continue. “O-Okay.”

You’re positively drained, tired, and fatigued when the long hand strikes 10 in the evening. You yawn, then lay flat on the grass, the blades of green tickling, but that’s the least of your worries. Paimon flutters around unsurely before eventually settling on Aether’s side. Aether smiles stiffly, all tense and awkward, as he pats your arm in comfort but doesn’t even touch you.

You eye his gloved hand. “Do you think I’m going to bite you or something?”

“I— I don’t know!” Aether says, sounding genuinely distressed.

“I already apologized.”

Aether grimaces. “That’s the thing. I don’t feel like I deserve it. If anything, I should be begging for forgiveness for even blackmailing you.”

You shrug. “You can’t blackmail me anymore. Maman already knows.”

“Still…”

“Aether,” you give him a helpless smile that has him blinking dumbly in awe. “I’m the one who gained everything here. I couldn’t even give you anything even when I was supposed to help you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Aether murmurs in embarrassment. “You led me to The Knave. We have a meeting tomorrow about my sister—fingers crossed she knows something.”

“I hope the best for you,” you say lightheartedly.

Aether smiles weakly, a little unsettled by this sudden act of kindness. “So what’s your plan from now on?”

“In the eyes of the public, The Knave transferred me out of her care and assigned me to Master Childe. In reality, I don’t have to leave anything behind by staying with the Fatui. Master Childe will be training me personally, and I can be of aid to the House whenever they need it—I just wouldn’t be one of the orphans anymore.”

Aether hums thoughtfully. “So you’re going to leave Fontaine?”

“Only for a bit. I’m taking maman with me, but I would still get homesick, so I’d convince Master Childe to drop by now and then.”

Aether laughs softly. “I guess we’ll be seeing each other occasionally.”

You stare at him momentarily, wondering what would’ve happened to you if you never met him. “If anything, I should thank you, Aether. Your friendship with Master Childe made me an easy ally for him. I don’t know where I would’ve gone if it weren’t for him volunteering.”

Aether waves dismissively. “It’s nothing. I’m sure Childe’s excited to spar with you. I really did nothing.”

You hug him.

Aether is frozen for about two minutes before Paimon nudges him, and he reboots back into life by throwing his arms around you and squeezing you into a hug. It holds the same warmth as Arlecchino’s sweet gesture, so you stay like that for a little while. You gesture for Paimon to join in, and she beams and envelops your heads with her tiny arms.

At least until Aether drops his arms and suddenly looks anxious. “Okay, we should stop before Lyney hears about this again.”

Your heart jumps out of your throat at the mention of that name.

Right… You need to talk to him next.

Aether seems to know what’s going on in your head and grins. “Good luck.”

It’s the next day. You haven’t heard of Lyney nor Lynette since Rosalie’s kidnapping, and you realize belatedly that they’re giving you space. Or perhaps just straight-up avoiding you. You don’t know which is easier.

With the help of Aether, you stand face to face with the house they moved into once they were adults. It’s small and blended in with all the rest, but the cat blinking up at you slowly in a hat was surely a rarity.

“Hello, kitty,” you say.

The cat responds with a slow, measured blink.

It’s the cat from the party Lyney invited you, but that has led to a series of unfortunate, humiliating events that you’d rather forget, so to you, the cat has done nothing.

“May I come in?” you ask politely as if expecting a proper, eloquent response.

The cat meows and then starts scratching on their door. The worn marks on the bottom of the door imply that this isn't the cat's first time either. One, two, three— Then you’re faced with Lynette, who has that expression on her face that seems to say she had been expecting you, but you were a little late.

“Y/N,” she says as the cat saunters inside.

“Hey, Lynette,” you say, playing with your fingers. “Sorry about… lashing out yesterday.”

Lynette tilts her head. “I was never upset about that. I was simply worried about you—you’re family to me, too.”

Your chest aches. “Lynette…”

She steps aside, gesturing vaguely. “Come inside. Lyney is probably fixing himself up in his room; we’ll give him three minutes.”

“He has a show?”

“No. He’s meeting you,” Lynette says, then doesn’t clarify. She walks in calm strides toward the kitchen. “Want some tea?”

“Um, yes, please.”

Their home looks well-worn in a loved way, with trinkets sprinkled everywhere. There are different models of Lyney’s hats displayed on a shelf, which you find endearing. You ask Lynette about the cat, which she tells you goes by the name Rosseland, an assistant to their shows and their beloved pet, and the cause for the mountain of hats in their home.

It’s a little terrifying how easily she indulges you in conversation, just as with Arlecchino. She resembles ‘Father’ in that way. You feel like you aren’t deserving of their mercy. Lynette should be angry at you; you hurt them by being selfish. Instead, Lynette pours you tea and smiles.

“You seem uneasy,” Lynette observes, sipping.

“Well, I think you know the reason why.”

Lynette shakes her head. “There’s no reason to be. If you think I forgave easily, Lyney has forgiven you long ago.”

“That’s awful.”

Lynette smiles. “I think it’s special. We’re twins, Lyney and I, but I think if I were in his body for even a day, I wouldn’t be able to recreate what you two have. He treasures you deeply, more than you know.”

Speechless, your mouth hangs open. “That’s…”

A door bursts open, and a disheveled Lyney emerges, looking around in confusion until his gaze finally settles on you. He breathes out. You straighten up under the full intensity of his undivided attention, just like it had always been.

“Seven minutes,” Lynette says impatiently.

Lyney flushes, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

Lynette sighs, then turns to you. “Go on. Go to him.”

What! Why do you have to be the one to move? You want to voice your complaints, but Lyney is already moving aside to give you space through his doorway.

You cast a fearful look at Lynette, but she avoids your gaze as if expecting it. Betrayed, you shuffle through the living room and brush past Lyney, into his room. It’s messier than the rest of their house, with makeup, clothes, and props. But you find it endearing—it’s Lyney’s room and reflects him.

“Sorry,” Lyney says. Before you could interrupt, he clarifies: “I couldn’t clean this all up properly before you came over.”

But you had time to fix yourself up? You want to ask in amusement, but you settle for shaking your head instead. You’ve visited to apologize, not bully him more.

“I’m sorry, too,” you say. “For the way I treated you yesterday—no, the entire time we were together, I mean.”

Lynney coughs, turning redder. “I know you are. And you know that I forgive you.”

Just like Lynette had said. “You shouldn’t.”

“It’s my feelings, you know.”

At the mention of feelings, you suddenly recall a few words he said in the heat of the moment and suddenly find yourself flustered, squirming on the bed. As if hearing what you’re thinking, Lyney flinches and stumbles back, his face layers and layers of red.

“I still mean it, though,” Lyney stammers out.

“Mean what?”

“My… confession,” he trails off lamely, blushing like a maiden.

You blink in surprise. “I thought you were just saying that to make me stay?”

At the moment in the flower shop, you had a feeling you knew what he was going to say as if you were reading it from a book, and the sequence would go as follows: Your heart was not the first for Lyney to steal. But there was Rosalie, there was ‘Father’, there was the throne, and believing that Lyney was just using whatever he could to get what he wanted again seemed better.

“What?” Lyney’s face falls, horrified. “No, no, of course not! You asked me why I would go to… lengths for you, and I answered honestly.”

“Oh.”

Lyney frowns. “Y/N, I knew I couldn’t make you stay, but I still wanted to say it.”

You find yourself struggling to keep contact with his eyes all of a sudden. “So you meant it? You actually really like me?”

“Yes,” Lyney says, so painfully sure of himself that your face bursts into flames.

You can’t handle the sight of his eagerness laid bare just for you—vulnerable, open, and unapologetically honest. 

“I’m not easy to love, you know.”

“A little bit late for the warning.” Lyney smiles sadly. “I love you anyway.”

“Even when I’m like this?”

Lyney tilts his head. “This is just one of the many reasons I’m helplessly devoted to you. There’s really no use in trying to push me away, you know. We’ll find each other again eventually— Are you crying?”

Lyney stutters and frets over you like Rosalie does when you’ve iced yourself to her plants. It’s a little funny, so you give him a pathetic, wet laugh.

“W-Was it something I said? Was it too soon? I’m sorry. Pretend you didn’t hear anything. Fuck, I’m so bad at this.” Lyney groans, burying his face in his hands and continuing his self-criticism.

“Shut up for a bit, Lyney.”

He shuts up right away.

You draw closer to him, wiping your tears away. His breathing halts and his eyes have been swallowed up, pupils dilated. You pause until you can feel his breath on your face, looking up at him for permission. Lyney nods but seems confused, so you just show him.

‘Father’, Aether, and Rosalie have their own kind of warmth, but kissing Lyney is entirely different. It feels as if he’s burning you from within, from your cheeks down to your toes, in a pleasant shiver.

notes last chapter next:( I AM KIND OF SAD ACTUALLY

taglist moved to comments because Tumblris strange

[jinhyun]

just saw your post about the drabbles and if you could please write "you know what we are. you just want to hear me say it." with hyunjin i would love you forever (i would even if you didn't write it tho). thank you <3

- 💗

"What are we?"

"You know what we are" you smiled, looking up at him for a moment before your face was buried on his chest again. "You just want to hear me say it".

"Well, yes" Hyunjin pouted, tightening his hold around your waist as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "Haven't heard you say it to your family all day".

You chuckled, but ultimately said nothing. Instead, you just took a deep breath and let yourself relax under the warmth of your boyfriend's touch.

It still felt surreal to call him that. Boyfriend.

Your boyfriend.

Having been friends most of your life, to the point that your family considered him to be another member of it and his family considered you a part of theirs, it surely felt like you were dreaming to get to call him that now, instead of just your best friend.

Then again, your family had been there when you first caught feelings for each other — catching on in the switch from platonic love to romantic feelings even before you did.

They had been there when the two of you finally realised your own feelings and started to faintly act on them.

They were there that night when you came back home squealing, after you went on a date neither of you dared to call as such and he softly kissed you by your doorstep.

They had been there through it all, and therefore, the term 'boyfriend' had become the rule to them when it came to what Hyunjin was to you.

No matter how many times you called them out on it, no matter how many times they almost slipped up in the presence of Hyunjin himself, and no matter how many times you told them you were still just friends, to them, Hwang Hyunjin was your boyfriend.

So, although you had only made it official a day ago, it hadn’t really crossed your mind to introduce him as such when your parents invited him over for lunch that Sunday, like it was usual by now.

"Are you telling them we're a couple now?" He mumbled.

This time, you couldn't help but giggle. "They've been referring to you as my boyfriend for like a month now".

Hyunjin smiled, having to bite his lip not to let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. "It's official now, though. So, you know… maybe…"

"You want to be introduced to them as my boyfriend?" You asked genuinely.

Pulling away from his chest just enough to look up at him once more, you were met with his excited eyes before he nodded.

He had been your best friend for years now, and he wanted everyone to acknowledge the fact that he wasn't just that anymore.

He wanted to take pride in being called your boyfriend now, especially in front of your family.

Smiling over how cute he was, you leaned up to press your mouth on his — feeling him smile against your lips before he cupped your face and his thumbs traced the corners of your mouth.

Your lips only detached when you heard an obnoxious cough by the door, being met with your sister's inability to hide her very obvious smirk.

"Mum says to go outside with the rest of us" she quickly let you know before her eyes fixed on Hyunjin. "And our dad wants your help with the barbecue".

Hyunjin nodded, placing his hands on your wrists to undo your hold on him. "Yeah, of cou—"

"Just let me hug my boyfriend for a little longer" you pouted, paying no mind to his previous attempt of walking away to go help your dad, as you rested your cheek on his chest and your arms tightened around his body.

Your heart melted over the way Hyunjin's heartbeat sped up at the sound of your words, feeling it pound heavily against the side of your face; and a small giggle escaped your mouth when one second later you felt his arms wrap around your waist and his lips press a kiss to the crown of your head.

On the other hand, your sister rolled her eyes in disgust.

"Hurry up or I'm telling them you guys are taking too long because you're making out" she threatened as she turned around to walk away. "Not like they'd really care, but…"

Watching her disappear from your view, your eyes locked with Hyunjin's again. He looked just as amused as you were.

"She didn't even bat an eye" you confirmed your prediction.

"And apparently your parents wouldn't mind us making out in here?" He laughed incredulously.

"I told you it'd be no news to them".

Shaking his head in amusement as a soft chuckle escaped his lips, he leaned down to lock them with yours in a tender kiss. "It's okay".

Maybe having your family take him for your boyfriend already was just as good as you introducing him as such to them, if not better.

In the end, what mattered was that they knew you were together and that he wasn't just your best friend anymore, right?

He didn't need you to tell them what you were at all.

"Still want me to call you my boyfriend in front of my parents?" You mumbled against his mouth.

He snorted, pressing his lips to yours once more. "Absolutely".

[inmyheaddd]

beneath the same stars - averyjameson

summary: avery’s mind is flooded with doubts about the hawthorne house, and thoughts that she hasn’t told anyone. somehow, she finds herself confiding in jameson hawthorne. a/n: aww baby averyjameson :( this takes place before they are officially together / between tig/thl (jameson is sooo down bad omg) wc: 1.8k

the rooftop wasn’t her favorite spot, but it was his, and tonight, avery didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. 

after avery had climbed up very cautiously, she noticed jameson sitting dangerously close to the edge, sitting with his legs dangling off, without a care in the world. 

the wind rippled through his half-buttoned white shirt, and he turned around right as avery neared, sending her one of those grins that made her brain feel light, and kept his eyes on her right until she sat next to him.

she forced herself to ignore it, “you could’ve told me you were coming up here,” she said, settling down a few feet away— close, but not too close. and much further away from the edge.

he analyzed the way she looked from where she sat, before looking back at the sky infront of him. “figured you’d find me anyway.”

jameson reached over to the other side of him, then held out a recently opened bar of dark chocolate to avery. 

she stared at the chocolate for a second before taking it. 

“i hate that you’re actually right sometimes.” she didn’t eat the chocolate right away, and just stared at the floor. 

jameson looked intrigued. “careful, mystery girl, that almost sounded like a compliment.” he grinned, but his tone was softer than usual. he could sense something was up with avery. 

he gave her a long look, then eyed the distance between them, asking a silent question. 

avery gave a slight nod, and jameson moved to sit beside her. shoulders nearly touching, so close jameson could practically hear her mind whirring. 

they sat like that for a while, the silence stretching but not breaking. avery could hear the soft rustle of the wind through the trees, and the sound of cars far away. 

it made her think of how different this was to her life just a few months ago. nearly nothing was the same.

“sometimes,” she said suddenly, trailing off with her voice barely audible. “sometimes i think about leaving,” she exhaled a deep breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

jameson turned his head slightly, but not all the way. “leaving hawthorne house?”

“yeah.” she picked at the wrapper of the chocolate, tearing it into smaller and smaller and smaller pieces. “the house. the money. all of it.”

“would you, though?” his tone was careful, which is a word that was almost never used to describe anything about jameson. but with her, he was careful. 

avery shrugged. “i don’t know. i mean, it’s too late, right? there’s people who want the worst for me. without oren and everything, i’d be in danger.” she looked at her lap, mumbling quietly and trying to sound detached. 

she couldn’t tear the small pieces of wrapper any more, so fiddled with her fingers instead. 

“isn’t that crazy?” she chuckled as she set her hands down back in her lap, but it sounded hollow. “people i don’t even know, people who know nothing about me, who want to harm me. or— or people that know too much about me, or people that knew your grandfather, or—“  she cut her nervous rambling off with a sigh, tucking her hair behind her ears.

she couldn’t believe what her life was now. this was the first time she was really confiding to anyone other than libby or max about these thoughts she’s been having, about the huge what ifs. 

jameson observed her quietly. he wanted to reach out, but he didn’t know if it was alright to do that yet. 

for some reason that avery couldn’t quite pinpoint, she felt like she could actually talk to him.  “i just— sometimes i wonder if i should’ve left sooner. or just never have come. then i wouldn’t have to deal with all of this.” 

she crossed her arms over her chest as the wind got stronger, and pulled her shirts sleeves over her hands. “it just kind of feels like i don’t belong here, no matter what i do.”

jameson was oddly silent for a moment, and slowly tore his gaze away from avery and back to the sky that was beginning to set. 

avery quickly began to worry— did she over-share? she definitely overshared, she didn’t even know jameson all that well. why was he so silent? why on earth did she—

“you’re wrong about that,” jameson finally said.

avery’s thoughts were put to a halt. “about what?”

“saying you don’t belong.” he answered, “you belong more than any of us, look at you, heiress. you’re incredibly intelligent in all aspects. in your first few days, you solved the keys faster than anyone else. the house could do with a few more complicated geniuses. ” he sent her a small grin, “maybe you belong more than you’d like to admit. 

avery shook her head and looked away, the wind whipping through her hair. “i don’t know, jameson. sure, i solved them faster, but that doesn’t mean anything, not really.” she said, “and i’m not complicated.”

jameson raised a brow.

she narrowed her eyes, “what’s that supposed to mean?

“whatever you want it to mean, heiress.” he said through a chuckle. “i’m just saying, i didn’t call you mystery girl for no reason.”

“you barely even call me that anymore.” avery said before she could even think.

jameson grinned, “why, you miss it?”

“absolutely not.” avery shook heir head, fighting a small smile. jameson didn’t say anything else as he watched her. he could sense there was something else waiting to be asked.

avery’s smile faded, and she pressed her lips together as she formulated her words. “jameson?”

“yes, heiress?”

“you always seem so sure of yourself. don’t you ever think you’re doing the wrong thing— like, making the wrong choices?”

a smile finally reappeared on jamesons face, and avery realized that she had missed seeing it. the thing is though, the smile wasn’t like his usual one, it was almost like one of those bitter ones. 

his head was tilted up with his adam’s apple on full view, “all the damn time,” he said, a slight shake of his head as he looked up at the sky. 

avery got the feeling that there was a lot more to jameson hawthorne than what she had thought originally. “and, what do you do about it?” she stayed looking at him, even when he wasn’t looking at her. 

he chuckled lowly, gaze still up at the sky.“nothing.” 

that answer didn’t surprise avery in the slightest. she hummed, “nothing at all?” 

“nothing at all, heiress.”

“nothing at all,” she nodded as she repeated quietly, as if she was tasting the words on her lips. 

he nudged her shoulder gently, that one cheshire grin finally back on his face. “you got it.” 

avery’s face broke into a small smile despite herself, and jamesons grin only widened. 

“why do you come up here so much?”

“you have a lot of questions today.”

she looked back at her lap, “sorry, i didn’t mean to—“

“don’t apologize,” he cut in. “i’d answer anything you ask.” he sent her one of those joking grins, but it didn’t feel like a joke. “to answer your question, mystery girl, its because i can see everything from up here.” 

that’s all he said, but there was more to it. he would come here to think— he always had since he was a kid. jameson was told he wasn’t as creative as his brothers, wasn’t as determined, wasn’t as talented. 

he would literally come up here to see the bigger picture— look for more possibilities, more answers, and then he could maybe find who he really was.

avery looked ahead at the landscape infront of her, her fingers playing with the torn chocolate wrapper. she hadn’t even taken a single bite.

“sometimes,” jameson continued softly, breaking the quiet, “i think this is the only place that makes sense.”

she turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “a rooftop?”

“not just any rooftop, heiress,” he said, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “this one. and as a bonus, thisview.” he tilted his head toward her, his meaning unmistakable.

her heart stuttered, and she hated how he always managed to do that. “you’re so strange,” she muttered, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her with a smile.

he shrugged, “i try.” he said as he leant back on his hands behind him. 

avery let the silence stretch, also leaning back slightly to take in the view. 

the sky was bruised with shades of deep blue and purple now, stars faintly visible against the last streaks of orange. 

she felt the weight of jameson’s presence beside her, solid and steady, even as her thoughts spun.

but then movement caught her eye. down below, the gravel driveway lit up with headlights as a sleek black car rolled to a stop.

her chest tightened when she saw who stepped out. oren, his stance sharp and alert as always. then alisa, perfectly composed, her phone already in her hand. and finally—grayson.

he adjusted his jacket as he stepped out, his expression unreadable, the way it always was. 

he said something to alisa that avery couldn’t hear, and she watched as they moved toward the house together.

she didn’t know why, but the sight made her stomach twist. she hoped jameson didn’t see the way her shoulders tensed. 

“looks like the cavalry’s back,” jameson said casually, his voice pulling her back to the present. 

he’d noticed them too, of course.

avery and jameson shared a look. yes, he sounded casual, and he did try to put on an expression of nonchalance, but avery saw through it.

just like how he saw through her constant attempts of looking unfazed. 

avery looked away, then exhaled. “i should probably go.”

jameson didn’t move. he stayed sitting, leaning back on his hands, his gaze flicking from the driveway to her. “are you in trouble, heiress?”

“i never even know when i am,” she said, smiling already. “that shared look on alisa and oren’s is never a good sign, though.” she said as she looked down at him.

“are my reckless antics rubbing off on you?” he narrowed his eyes jokingly, tilting his head. 

“no. in your dreams.” she let out a chuckle, and jameson loved the sound. when she spoke again, her voice was quiter. 

she tried to make it sound like a joke though. “i just can’t seem to make the right choices recently. i’m always doing the wrong thing.” she admitted, “i mean, according to alisa.” 

he gave her a slight shake of his head, “it’s impossible to fully get it right with alisa. don’t lose your mind over it.” he told her, “nobody would know what to do if they were in your situation, and i highly doubt anybody could possibly handle this as well as you.” 

“i… .” she trailed off, unsure on how to respond, “yeah, alisa can be hard to please, i guess. ”  

she chose not to comment on anything else. she tried to keep her expression blank, like his words didn’t make her heart accelerate 10x faster.

jameson could tell she still wouldn’t believe the words he had said, how she was handling things, but he didn’t press the matter any longer.

“goodnight, then, heiress.” jameson gave her that lazy half-grin of his.

she hesitated for half a second, then she said “night, jameson.” 

then she turned and climbed back down the way she’d come.

when she was gone, jameson shifted to sit where she’d been, still close to the edge but not quite at it. the bar of dark chocolate lay on the ground forgotten, and he stared out at the horizon, now dotted with stars.

the rooftop felt bigger without her, quieter in a way he didn’t really like. but jameson stayed there, legs dangling over the edge, like he always did. 

jameson stared out into the sky and wondered— when had avery become not just part of the view; but part of the reason he kept looking?

tag list: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable

@anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07

 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear 

@clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams 

@hermesenthusiast @elysianwayy77 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @apollosmusee @hijabi-desi-bookworm

@danni-1-graysons-version

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Everbody Loves a Clown | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Word Count: 5956

Warnings: Canon violence, canon gore, coping with parental death, clowns lol

A/N: Special treat since the first episode was kinda short! Happy reading, everyone!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

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The only light in the middle of the clearing in the woods came from John’s wrapped, burning body. You stood wordlessly between Dean and Sam, watching as the pyre burned to ash. Dean stared silently while his brother fought tears.

It felt so odd to have spent so much time looking for John— a man you'd only met in passing during a hunt a little over a year ago— to now be standing in front of his burning corpse. It almost felt anticlimactic if you detached emotion completely from your situation.

On the very real and guttural side of things, though, you knew that having spent so little time with John after looking for him for almost a year was going to take a horrible toll on his boys, especially your Dean.

Sam spoke for the first time in hours. “Before he.. before... did he say anything to you? About anything?”

Dean refused to look at you or his brother, but said, “No. Nothing.”

An obvious lie.

***

Over a week after John’s funeral, you were watching Dean work on his car at Bobby’s. Bobby had been nice enough to let the three of you stay with him while Dean got the Impala back in working order.

Selfishly, every time you looked at Dean, you wanted to come right out with your feelings. Although, he was grieving, and you did not want to take advantage of his vulnerability. You wouldn't want your relationship to be born out of such a terrible tragedy.

However, you would continue to be there for him however he needed, even if that meant sitting next to him in the hot sun silently for hours and handing him a wrench every once in a while. You knew better than to ask if he was okay. You’d lost your father, too and knew he wouldn’t be okay for quite some time.

At first, he’d barely tolerated you sitting next to him. He fought you on everything you tried to do for him, but you got him to shut up after a few days. You knew he knew what you were playing at, and you could tell he appreciated it nonetheless.

Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as well-fortified against his emotions. You could hear him crying in the next room almost nightly, and it broke your heart. But you would rather Sam cry than build himself up against negative feelings the way his brother did. He was more into the touchy-feely-hug-it-out therapy style, and you were more than happy to give that to him. These boys needed you to be strong for them, and you would happily do so for as long as they needed. 

“How's the car coming along?” Sam asked, approaching you and Dean, who was under his car. You sat next to where his boots stuck out with a tool box in your lap.

“Slow,” Dean responded.

“Yeah? Need any help?”

“What, you under a hood? I'll pass.”

“Need anything else, then?”

Dean rolled himself out from under the car and stood up above you. You looked between Dean’s face, set in hard lines, and his brother’s puppy-dog stare. “Stop it, Sam.”

“Stop what?” the younger brother asked innocently.

“Stop asking if I need anything, stop asking if I'm okay. I'm okay. Really. I promise,” Dean scoffed.

“Alright, Dean, it's just—” Sam took a deep breath. “We've been at Bobby's for over a week now, and you haven't brought up Dad once.”

“You know what? You're right. Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug, and maybe even slow dance.” You knew the bite in Dean’s voice was all a mask.

“Don't patronize me, Dean,” Sam returned. “Dad is dead. The Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this, and you're acting like nothing happened.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say something, all right? Hell, say anything! Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long buried underneath this damn car.”

“Sam, let it go—” you tried, but Dean continued to talk over you.

“Revenge, huh?” Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Sounds good. You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But you know, if we do finally find it— oh. No, wait, like you said. The Colt's gone. But I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? So you know the only thing I can do? Is I can work on the car.” He got back down under it.  

“Well, we've got something, alright?” Sam crouched down next to you and handed you a cell phone. “It’s what I came out here to tell you. This is one of dad's old phones. Took me a while, but I cracked his voicemail code. Listen to this.”

Dean pushed himself out from under the car again and sat up next to you as you played the voicemail. “John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn, you know I can help you. Call me.”

“That message is four months old,” Sam explained.

“Dad saved that chick's message for four months?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam nodded.

“Who’s Ellen?” you asked. “Any mention of her in your dad’s journal?”

“No. But I ran a trace on her phone number, and I got an address.”

***

You and the boys ended up taking one of Bobby’s beat-up minivans to the Roadhouse Saloon; the address Ellen’s voicemail led to. 

“This is humiliating. I feel like a fuckin’ soccer mom!” Dean groaned as he parked the car.

“It’s the only one Bobby had running, dude,” you reminded him. You followed the boys into the purposefully dilapidated-looking building.  

“Hello? Anybody here?” Dean asked loudly. No response ever came. All you could hear was a fly buzzing and a light popping. You caught sight of a man passed out on the pool table facing away from you. 

“Hey, buddy?” Sam said. He turned back to you and Dean. “I'm guessing that isn't Ellen.” He headed into a back room to look around. You walked a little ahead of Dean, only turning around when you heard him say. “Oh god, please let that be a rifle.”

You whipped out your gun and turned to see a pretty petite blonde holding a cocked rifle to Dean’s back. “No, I'm just real happy to see you. Don't move.”

“Hey!” you said. She looked to you, but didn’t move her gun from Dean’s back. “You shoot him, and you’re dead,” you told her.

“Well, he moves, and he’s dead,” she replied.

“Ladies, Ladies, please,” Dean smirked. “You know, you should know something, miss. When you put a rifle on someone, you don't want to put it right against their back. Because it makes it real easy to do…” He turned around fluidly and grabbed the rifle. “That.”

The blonde punched him square in the nose and took back the rifle. You cocked your pistol, catching her attention. 

“Sam! A little help, please!” Dean said. 

“Sorry, Dean, I can't right now. I'm a... little tied up.” Sam walked out with his hands on his head and a shotgun pointed at the back of him. An older woman walked out holding it. “Sam? Dean? Winchester?” she said.

“Yeah…?” Dean said.

“Son of a bitch,” the woman muttered.

The blonde spoke up next. “Mom, you know these guys?”

“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester's boys,” she answered, lowering the gun and laughing. “Hey, I'm Ellen. This is my daughter Jo.”

Jo lowered her rifle as well. “Hey,” she smiled.

“Oh, we’re just supposed to be cool now?” you remarked, still pointing your gun at the blonde.

“(Y/N), cool it,” Dean warned. You did as told and slowly lowered your gun, still stand-offish. 

“You're not gonna hit me again, are you?” Dean asked Jo. 

Ellen handed him a small towel filled with ice. 

“Thanks. You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?” he asked as he took it from her.

“Well, the demon, of course,” she stated as if it was obvious. “I heard he was closing in on it.”

“What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?” Dean snarked. “I mean, who- who are you? How do you know about all this?”

The brunette scoffed. “Hey, I just run a saloon. But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once.”

“Oh yeah? How come he never mentioned you before?”

She looked down and softened her voice. “You'd have to ask him that.”

“So why exactly do we need your help?” Dean questioned.

Now you wanted Dean to cool it. “Relax, man,” you warned.

“Hey, don't do me any favors. Look, if you don't want my help, fine. Don't let the door smack your ass on the way out. But John wouldn't have sent you if—” Ellen stopped suddenly. “He didn't send you.” She looked frantically between Dean and Sam. “He's all right, isn't he?”

Dean refused to look at her, but Sam answered instead. “No. No, he isn't. It was the demon, we think. It, um, it just got him before he got it, I guess.”

Ellen looked sad. “I’m so sorry.”

“It's okay. We're all right,” Dean replied.

“Really? I know how close you and your dad were.”

“Really, lady, I'm fine,” he growled.

“Dean, relax,” you urged him quietly.

Sam continued the conversation with Ellen. “So look, if you can help, we could use all the help we can get.”

“Well, we can't. But Ash will,” she smirked.

“Who's Ash?” you asked.

“Ash!” she called.

You turned to the man on the pool table as he jerked up and flailed up. “What? It closin' time?”

Sam snorted. “That’s Ash?”

Jo hummed. “Mm-hmm. He's a genius.”

You looked at her, skeptical. 

“Sit, please,” Ellen said, and she and her daughter moved around the bar opposite you while you slapped a folder down in front of Ash. He sat across the bar from you.

“You've gotta be kidding me, this guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie,” Dean remarked.

Ash grinned drunkenly. “I like you.”

“Thanks,” the older brother smiled, seeming slightly confused by the drunk.

“Just give him a chance,” Jo urged.

You opened the folder and pushed it toward Ash. “That’s about a year’s worth of John’s work. See if you can make heads or tails of it.”

Ash shook his head as he looked through the papers. “Come on. This crap ain't real. There ain't nobody can track a demon like this.”

“Our dad could,” said Sam.

“There are non-parametrics, statistical overviews, prospects and correlations, I mean, damn!” Ash’s cadence made you giggle. “They're signs. Omens. Uh, if you can track 'em, you can track this demon. You know, like crop failures, electrical storms— You ever been struck by lightning? It ain't fun.”

“Can you track it or not?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, with this, I think so. But it's gonna take time, uh, give me—” he thought for a moment— “fifty-one hours.” He got up to leave, but Dean stopped him. 

“I, uh, I dig the haircut.”

He waved his hair around dramatically. “All business up front, party in the back.”

Jo walked around Dean, flirting a little. You could’ve killed her. 

He offered Jo a polite smile, but you apparently were not doing a good job of hiding your jealousy.

“Easy, tiger,” Dean chuckled, shooting you a smirk. 

You could practically feel Jo checking Dean out. 

“She’s looking at you like a hunk of meat,” you replied, talking through your teeth. 

“What, you mean, like you do?” he replied, smirking.

“I do not!” You paused at his deadpan look. “I mean, sometimes, maybe, quite possibly, but not right now.”

He nodded. “And you know, I, uh, I appreciate that.”

“Do you really? Sounded like you had a gun to your head when you said that,” you giggled.

He looked back at you sincerely. “You know I do.”

"I do just have... one question, though," you said, unable to stop the words coming out of your mouth due to the sudden, subtle flirting coming from Dean.

He nodded for you to continue.

"I'm assuming you pieced together what I was gonna tell you back at the hospital," you trailed off.

Dean nodded again, the ends of his lips tugging upward.

"You're not... freaked out?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "Opposite of freaked out."

You could feel your cheeks heating, and you looked down at the bar in front of you. Dean's chuckle was music to your ears despite the way it spurred on your embarrassment.

Then, Sam approached you and Dean. “A few murders, not far from here, that Ellen caught wind of. Looks to me like there might be a hunt.”

“Yeah. So?” Dean asked.

“So, I told her we'd check it out.”

***

Dean continued to grumble about the “stupid minivan” the whole way to your next hunt. Sam did research as you scribbled in your journal. Helping the boys was a task you wouldn't give up for anything, but it was beginning to bring up some negative emotions and memories for you. Journaling was helping to calm the storm inside you.

“You've gotta be kidding me. A killer clown?” Dean scoffed.

“Yeah. He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces, actually,” Sam responded.

“And this family was at some carnival that night?”

“Right, right. The, uh, Cooper Carnivals.”

“So, how do we know it’s not some psycho in a clown suit?” you piped up.

“Well, the cops have no viable leads, and all the employees were tearing down shop. Alibis all around. Plus this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course,” Sam explained.

“Well, I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?” Dean mocked.

“Oh, give me a break,” the brunet muttered.

You smiled but refused to make fun of him, because “everyone is afraid of something.” 

“You’re scared of clowns?” you asked.

“Yeah, he still busts out crying whenever he sees Ronald McDonald on the television,” Dean told you.

“Well, at least I'm not afraid of flying,” Sam deadpanned.

“Planes crash!”

“And apparently clowns kill!”

"Boys—!"

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean mumbled. “So these types of murders, they ever happen before?”

“Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus, same M.O. It happened three times, three different locales,” the younger Winchester explained.

“It’s weird, though, spirits are usually bound to specific locales, y’know,” you said. “So how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?”

“Cursed object, maybe,” Dean suggested. “Spirit attaches itself to something and the, uh, carnival carries it around with them.”

“Great. Paranormal scavenger hunt.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Well, blame Sam. It was his idea. By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job.” Dean threw a look to his brother.

“So?”

“It's just… not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt.”

You eyed Sam strangely, too.

The younger Winchester softened. “I don't know, I just think, this job, it's what Dad would have wanted us to do.”

“What Dad would have wanted?” Dean turned his face to Sam.

“Yeah. So?” Sam challenged.

“Nothin'.”

***

You and the boys decided to join the carnival after the second family had been murdered to get a closer look at the happenings during the carnival. “Friends close, freak-shows closer,” Dean had said.

When you entered yet another tent in search of the show’s organizer. You found a man throwing knives at a target; all landing near but not quite on the bulls-eye. 

“Excuse me, we're looking for a Mr. Cooper; have you seen him around?” the older brother asked.

The man turned around and pulled off his sunglasses. “What is that, some kind of joke?” 

“Oh. God, I'm— I'm sorry,” Dean said.

“You think I wouldn't give my teeth to see Mr. Cooper? Or a sunset, or anything at all?”

Dean whispered to you, “Wanna give me a little help here?”

You shook your head. “Not really.”

“Hey man, is there a problem?” a voice interrogated from behind you. You turned to see a very short man in a red cape.

“Yeah, this guy hates blind people,” the knife-thrower said.

“No, I don't, I—” Dean’s gorgeous smile was doing nothing to help him in this situation.

“Hey, buddy, what's your problem?” the short man scowled.

“Nothing, it's just a little misunderstanding.”

“Little?! You son of a bitch!” The man went to charge Dean.

“No, no, no, no! I'm just— could somebody tell me where Mr. Cooper is?”

You and Sam snickered.

“Please?” you asked. 

The short man looked up at you, and his gaze softened. “Sure, sweetheart, follow me.”

“Thanks,” you smiled, looking back at the boys. 

Dean’s jaw was clenched for a reason you weren’t quite sure of. When you asked, he said, “Just don’t like anybody else callin’ you that.”

You smiled lopsidedly. He could be really sweet when he wanted to be.

Mr. Cooper met you at the door of his office and invited you in. “You three picked a hell of a time to join up. Take a seat.”

You looked at the available seating options, and Dean motioned for you to take the normal of the two chairs. You obliged, and Dean stood behind you, forcing Sam to sit in the obnoxious pink chair with a giant clown face on it. He sat on the chair hesitantly and refused to relax into it. 

“We've got all kinds of local trouble,” Mr. Cooper continued.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first. So, you three ever worked the circuit before?”

“Yes, sir, last year through Texas and Arkansas,” Sam responded.

“Doing what? Ride jockeys? Butcher? ANS men?” 

“Yeah, it's, uh, little bit of everything, I guess.”

Mr. Cooper eyed your group strangely. “You three have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?”

“Nope,” Dean grinned. “But we really need the work. Oh, and uh, Sam here's got a thing for the bearded lady.”

“You see that picture? That's my daddy.” The showrunner pointed to a black and white picture on the wall of a man in a fedora in front of a ferris wheel.

“You guys could be twins,” you pointed out. 

Mr. Cooper smiled thoughtfully. “He was in the business. Ran a freakshow. Till they outlawed them, most places. Apparently displaying the deformed isn't dignified. So most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That's progress, I guess. You see, this place, it's a refuge for outcasts. Always has been. For folks that don't fit in nowhere else.

"But you three? You should go to school. Find a couple of girls. Marry this one, maybe.” The man gestured to you. “Have two point five kids. Live regular.”

Dean went to say something, but Sam leaned forward, his eyes serious. “Sir? We don't want to go to school. And we don't want regular. We want this.”

You turned to him skeptically, as did Dean. 

Mr. Cooper told the three of you to return in a few hours for training, which you were a little surprised by the suddenness of. 

“I guess they really are desperate,” you said as the three of you left the carnival holding your uniforms to go change into. 

“Were you serious?” Dean asked his brother.

“What?” Sam furrowed his brows at him.

“That whole, uh, I-don't-want-to-go-back-to-school thing. Were you just saying that to Cooper or were you, you know, saying it?” Dean pressed further at his younger brother’s hesitance. “Sam?” 

“I don't know,” he replied.

“You don't know? I thought that once the demon was dead, and the fat lady sings ,that you were gonna take off, head back to Wussy State,” Dean deadpanned.

“I'm having second thoughts,” was all the younger brother answered with.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think. Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job.”

Dean stopped Sam. “Since when do you give a damn what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam.”

“Since he died, okay? Do you have a problem with that?”

Dean’s voice hardened but remained sarcastic. “Naw, I don't have a problem at all.”

***

Later that day, you returned with the boys wearing a bright red “Cooper Carnival” jacket to begin your “janitorial job.” You were waiting for Sam or Dean to call you to tell you when to meet up with them for further investigation.

Before you had gotten a call from either, you noticed a little girl tugging on her mother’s jacket. “Mommy, look at the clown!” She pointed at something off in the distance. 

You followed her line of sight only to see nothing.

“What clown?” the mother asked. “Come on, sweetie, come on.”

You called Sam immediately. “Hey, dude. I got something.”

***

The three of you then chose to stake out the family’s home that evening. Dean had just relayed to you how the blind man overheard him calling Sam about the case and had to tell him you three were writing a book about the supernatural.

“Dean, I cannot believe you told Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown,” Sam snorted.

“I told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown. I never said it was real,” Dean argued. He pulled a gun and cocked it. You jumped over the seat and shoved his arm down. “What are you, nuts? You’re gonna get us busted.”

“Oh, and get this,” Dean continued. “I mentioned the Bunker Brother's Circus in '81 and their, uh, evil clown apocalypse? Guess what.”

“What?” you and Sam asked.

“Before Mr. Cooper owned Cooper Carnival, he worked for Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager.”

“So you think whatever the spirit's attached to, Cooper just brought it with him?” Sam questioned.

“Something like that.” The older brother shook his head and sighed. “I can't believe we keep talking about clowns.”

***

You and the Winchesters had been stalking these poor people’s home for hours now. Well, you and Sam had, at least. Dean, on the other hand, was dozing in the front seat. You shook him awake when you saw a phantom clown appear at the front door.

“Dee, look,” you said. 

He hummed and sat up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He turned and looked at you when he saw the girl leading the clown inside. 

You jumped out of the car and went through the back entrance of the house. You hid around a corner down the hallway from where the little girl and the clown were.

“Wanna see Mommy and Daddy? They're upstairs,” you heard the girl say. At that moment, Sam leapt out and grabbed the young girl who screamed.

Simultaneously, you shot at the clown while Dean cocked his shotgun again. “Sam, watch out!” he yelled. 

The clown leapt out the window, turning invisible as it shattered the glass of the front door.

The parents ran downstairs and began shouting at you and the brothers. You and the brothers dropped the girl and sprinted away, hearing the girl whine, “ Mommy, Daddy, they shot my clown!” as you headed out.

***

A while later, you and the brothers pulled off the side of the road and ditched the crappy van Dean had been driving you around in. You pulled the license plate off the back of the van and stuffed it in your duffel bag.

“You really think they saw our plates?” Sam asked you.

“I’m not taking any chances,” you said.

“I hate this fuckin’ thing anyway,” Dean grumbled. He began to lead you and his brother off the side of the road. “Well, one thing's for sure.”

“What?” you asked.

“We're not dealing with a spirit. I mean, that rock salt hit something solid,” Dean responded.

“Yeah, a person? Or maybe a creature that can make itself invisible?” Sam suggested.

“I don’t know, man, I’ve never heard of a creature like that. And it’s definitely not a person. I have no idea what the hell it could be,” you huffed.

“Did it say anything in Dad's journal?” Dean asked.

Sam cleared his throat and said, “Nope,” pulling out his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” you asked him.

“Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash'll know something. Hey, you think, uh, you think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?” Sam smirked.

“No way,” snorted Dean.

“Then why didn't he tell us about her?” retorted Sam.

“I don't know, maybe they had some sort of falling out,” the older brother shrugged.

“Yeah. You ever notice Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?”

You chuckled, but Dean simply nodded and looked at the floor. 

Sam lowered his phone. “Well, don't get all maudlin on me, man.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean this ‘strong silent’ thing of yours, it's crap,” Sam answered.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, god.”

“I'm over it. This isn't just anyone we're talking about, this is Dad. I know how you felt about the man.”

Dean started walking a little faster. “You know what, back off, alright? Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to.”

Sam caught up with his brother easily. “No, no, no, that's not what this is about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with this. But you have to deal with it, man. Listen, I'm your brother, all right? I just want to make sure you're okay.”

“Dude, I'm okay. I'm okay, okay? I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me!” the older Winchester said gruffly.

“What are you talking about?” Sam questioned.

“I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late.”

“Why are you saying this to me?”

“Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I'm dealing with Dad's death! Are you?”

You looked between the boys and knew Dean was handing Sam a load of bullshit. However, you decided to stow that conversation until you could get him in private.

Sam swallowed harshly, looking upset. “I'm going to call Ellen.” Sam walked a little ahead of you and Dean on the phone.

While Sam spoke to Ellen, you walked beside Dean wordlessly.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to act like I’m a bomb about to go off,” Dean said.

You looked up at him. “I’m not. I just thought you’d appreciate a little silence instead of me asking you to ‘share and care,’ as you put it.”

He nodded. “Thanks.” He intertwined his fingers with yours, allowing you to support him in that simple way. He rubbed his thumb over yours and continued to walk next to you. 

When Sam got off the phone, he turned back to you and his brother. “Wha—” He looked down at yours and Dean’s entwined hands and shook his head. “Nevermind. Rakshasa.”

“What's that?” Dean asked.

“Ellen's best guess. It's a race of ancient Hindu creatures. They appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited,” Sam explained.

“So they dress up like clowns, and the children invite 'em in. Why don't they just munch on the kids?”

“No idea. Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?”

“Well, that’s grotesque,” you noted.

“What else'd you find out?” Dean questioned.

“Well, apparently, Rakshasas live in squalor. They sleep on a bed of dead insects.” The younger brother grimaced.

“Nice,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah, and they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years. Slow metabolism, I guess.”

“Well, that makes sense. I mean, the Carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in '81—”

Sam cut his brother off. “Right. Probably more before that.”

“Who do we know that worked both shows?” You raised a brow.

“Cooper?” Sam replied.

“Yup.” You thought for a moment. “That picture of his father looked just like him. Maybe it was him.”

“Well, who knows how old he is?” Sam added.

“Ellen say how to kill him?” Dean asked.

“Legend goes, a dagger made of pure brass,” the brunet explained.

“I think I know where to get one of those.”

“Whoa, whoa,” you said. “Before we go stabbing Cooper, I wanna make damn sure it’s him.”

“Oh, you're such a stickler for details, sweetheart,” the older Winchester teased you. “Alright, I'll round up the blade, you two go check if Cooper's got bed bugs.”

***

You and Sam followed instructions and went to Mr. Cooper’s trailer. Dean had left the two of you to go find the blind man. Inside the trailer, you didn’t find any bugs he was nesting on. Just a plain, old twin mattress. 

“What the hell are you doing in here?” a voice called from behind you.

You wheeled around to see Mr. Cooper. “Oh, hi! Just the guy I wanted to—”

“Save it,” Mr. Cooper told you. “Get the hell out of here. Oh, and uh, you’re fired.”

You nodded. “I figured.”

You and Sam dashed out of Mr. Cooper’s trailer and over to where Dean had told you he’d be. When you arrived at the blind man’s tent, Dean stumbled out of the door.

“Holy shit, hey,” you said after he’d scared you.

“Hey.”

“So, Cooper thinks we’re Peeping Toms, but it's not him,” Sam explained.

“Yeah, so I gathered. It's the blind guy. He's here somewhere.”

“Well, did you get the—”

“The brass blades? No. No, it's just been one of those days,” Dean sarcastically replied. 

“I got an idea. Come on,” Sam said. You and Dean followed him to the funhouse. As you began to go through, the door slammed behind you between you and the brothers.

“Great!” you groaned. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled, banging on the door. 

“(Y/N)! (Y/N/N), find the maze, okay?” Sam called to you.

“Okay!” you called back. You somehow stumbled your way through the maze and found the brothers. “Oh, thank god,” you sighed.

Sam broke a pipe off the organ a bit ahead of you. 

“Where is it?” you asked.

“I don't know, I mean, shouldn't we see its clothes walking around?” Dean answered. A knife flew right past your head, clipping your ear. “Fuck!”

“(Y/N)!” Sam called. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know, Sam, the thing’s invisible!” You jumped up, reached above your head, and grabbed a lever. When you pulled it down, steam poured out of the vent. 

“Sam, behind you! Behind you!” you heard Dean say. You began to run in the direction of Dean’s voice through the steam. When you arrived at him, there was a bloodied lump of clothes on the ground with a pipe sticking out from its chest. You turned to Dean who was pinned to the wall by two knives on his arm and helped him free himself.

“You okay?” he asked you. 

You nodded as you pulled the last knife out of his jacket.

“I hate funhouses,” he grumbled.

***

You sat next to Dean at Ellen’s bar, and she laid a few beers in front of you. “You kids did a hell of a job.” Ellen nodded at the brothers. “Your dad 'd be proud.”

Sam half-smiled. “Thanks.” He got up to walk over to Ash, and Jo took his place.

“So,” she cleared her throat.

‘Damn, this girl is bold,’ you thought.

“So,” you said.

She ignored you and focused on Dean. “Am I gonna see you again?”

Dean turned to her, surprised. “Do you want to?”

“I wouldn't hate it.”

You rolled your eyes and got up from your chair, heading over to Sam and Ash. You could feel Dean’s eyes on you as you walked away. You knew you had no reason to treat Jo poorly; she was just a young girl with a crush. She had no idea that you and Dean were at all involved. You truly didn’t even know if you and Dean were legitimately involved to begin with.

You noted Ash’s bizarre-looking laptop with exposed wiring and his stack of papers. “Whatcha got there, Pinky?”

He snorted at you. “I’d say I’m a little more Brain than anything, but where ya been? Been waitin’ for ya.”

“What, Ellen didn’t tell you about the clowns?” you asked.

“Clowns? What the fuck—”

You snickered as Dean walked up behind you. “You got something for us, Ash?”

“You find the demon?” Sam questioned.

Ash shook his head. “It's nowhere around. At least, nowhere I can find. But if this fugly bastard raises his head, I'll know. I mean, I'm on it like Divine on dog dookie.”

You laughed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world, my rig'll go off. Like a fire alarm.”

Dean reached for his laptop. “Do you mind…?”

Ash gave him a look, and Dean pulled his hand back from the keyboard. 

You smirked a little at the sight. “Ash, where did you learn to do all this?”

“M.I.T. Before I got bounced for... fighting.”

“No way!” you exclaimed.

He smirked at you and took a sip of his beer. 

“Okay. Give us a call as soon as you know something?” Dean said, suggesting to you and Sam it was time to go.

“Si, si, compadre.” Ash took the beer Dean had placed down and chugged the rest of it. 

You followed the brothers to the door. Ellen stopped you before you could leave. “Hey, listen— if you kids need a place to stay I've got a couple beds out back.”

“Thanks, but no. There's something I gotta finish,” Dean said.

***

“So, you get Jo’s number?” you asked back at Bobby’s junkyard. You sat cross-legged on the hood of one of the cars next to the Impala Dean was working on drinking a beer.

“What?” he asked incredulously. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, she obviously likes you. Kid was shamelessly flirting with you, so I just assumed—”

“No, (Y/N).” He put down the wrench he was holding. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, okay, I just thought—”

He walked over to you and stood between your knees. He ran his hands up and down your thighs. “I’m telling you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Dean, stop it. You don’t have to come over here and flirt with me just ‘cause I got jealous” you said. 

“I’m not,” he assured you. “Look, we haven’t had a chance to talk about everything—”

“And I don’t need us to. I know you need time after your dad—”

“Would you let me finish?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you muttered. 

“But I have no interest in Jo. She’s layin’ it on a little too thick for my taste,” he smirked.

"I don't know, Dean, your bar hookups always lay it on pretty thick," you reminded him.

"Yeah, guess you're right. But she's not you. So I'm not interested."

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go get some more beer. You want one?”

He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

You headed back inside and passed Sam on the way. You found Bobby inside and began to update him on the situation with the brothers.

“I don’t know, Bobby, neither of them are doing well,” you said. “But it’s Dean I’m the most worried about.”

“Why’s that?” the older man asked.

“He’s just… bottling it up. He wouldn’t even let me sit next to him while he worked on his car for the first week we were here. He’s worrying me.”

“Sounds like Dean,” Bobby nodded. “But I think if anybody can get ‘im to open up, it’s gonna be you.”

You eyed him strangely. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s just… different with you. I think he puts up a bit of a front with Sam. But never with you.”

You nodded. “I’ll keep trying.” You grabbed two beers and again passed Sam as he came back into the house with tears in his eyes. As you approached Dean’s car, you heard slamming metal on metal and Dean grunting. You quickened your step to get to him, holding a beer in each hand. When you arrived, you saw him hitting the Impala’s trunk with a crowbar over and over again.

“Dean, what the f—”

He looked up at you and fought back tears. You put the beers on the car behind you and slowly approached him. You opened your arms to him and wrapped them around his torso, and he finally responded by burying his face in your hair. You could feel him still trying to stifle his tears, but it was clear he was unsuccessful. You let him hug you for as long as he needed to.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[aflairforthedramattic]

xanny - matt sturniolo

summary: matt has anxiety and tries to cope with it.

pairings: none

warnings: mental health, substance use(xanax), slight depictions of addiction, first ever fanfiction, idk i think that covers it

what is it about them? i must be missing something.

they just keep doing nothing. too intoxicated to be scared.

matt has been struggling with anxiety for as long as he can remember. the overwhelming feelings and anxious thoughts never-ending. he’s tried just about everything he could to ease it, from meditating to seeing a therapist. nothing worked.

better off without them. they’re nothing but unstable.

matt was offered a solution to his struggles a couple of months ago. it was at a party he and his brothers were invited to. matt had simply stated to a group of people who he barely even knew that he had pretty bad anxiety, and the next thing he knew, a person from said group offered him a xanny, insisting that it’d make him feel better. matt doesn’t know what possessed him that night, but he accepted the small little pill and took it. his brain was quiet the rest of that night.

i don’t need a xanny to feel better.

ever since that party, matt had continued to take this mind-numbing drug. he was aware of how addicting it was, but it was the only thing that worked and shut off his brain. it felt nice. until it didn’t anymore.

matt felt numb all the time now, like an empty shell living on autopilot. the days blurred with each other as more time went. matt felt so disconnected, so detached from reality, and he hated it. he knows what he must do to stop feeling this way, but doesn’t know if he dares to go back—contemplating whether or not he wants to feel nothing or feel too much.

don’t give me a xanny now or ever.

he’d rather feel too much. and so he did. though hard, matt didn’t rely on the mind-numbing crutch of xanax for three months now. he felt better, happier. though his anxiety was still very much present, he was glad in his decision to feel than not at all.

matt is a person who has always felt deeply, and now he was alive in a way he had almost forgotten was possible.

what is it about them? i must be missing something.

a/n: omg my first ever fanfiction wtf. not really happy with the ending and how abrupt it is but oh well. tried my best to depict how xanax makes you feel but i based it on my own personal experience with having taken it only a couple of times. (don’t do drugs) i might write a part 2 that goes more in depth but idk maybe not. i can’t wait to write more and next one will be an x reader don’t worry.

[shanastoryteller]

happy pride!! dealer’s choice <3

Steve is going to die again just a few short years after waking up in this new world and his death is going to be significantly less glorious the second time around.

“You don’t think he’s going to come,” Duke Rhodes says, tied up next to him and in even worse shape than he is. An unfortunate side effect of not being a sorcerer’s experiment and being nearly a decade older than him, he assumes.

“You do?” he asks, too exhausted to filter himself like he tries to do around him.

Rhodes raises an eyebrow. “I think his champion and his general are tempting enough bait, yes. Listening to their demands and showing up alone is also the most foolish choice he could possibly make, so I’m confident the king won’t be able to help himself.”

Those words would be treason from anyone else, but Rhodes has long been King Anthony’s personal confidant, and the one managing this war for the king from the beginning. Steve supposes that grants the man a certain level of leeway.

Steve is, now and always, exactly what he was enchanted to be. The King’s Champion. From the moment he woke up in a land at once so familiar and so different from his own, he renewed the vow he took seventy years ago. To serve his king and uphold the dignity of the realm so long as a Stark sat on the throne.

King Howard, however, had been an easier man to serve. He’d at least taken the time to meet with Steve, for one, had taken an active interest in the war he fought rather than delegating it and holing himself up in his castle. He’d been cold, and detached in many way from the realities of the war he’d started, but he was a king, and his attention, however brief, had always rallied the troops in a way that Steve admired.

King Anthony at least delegates well, he’ll give the man that. Rhodes does not come from noble blood, something they share, but by the time Steve woke up here it was long past something others were willing to hold against Rhodes. His title of Duke had been a gift from the king. His title of General had been one he earned.

“Steve?” Rhodes frowns, eyeing him like he’s looking for injuries that he hasn’t noticed.

Perhaps Steve is more injured than he thinks, because he doesn’t have the good sense to stop himself from saying, “He did not come for his alchemist.”

He tenses, but Rhodes just sighs, shifting in his bonds as if trying to find a more comfortable position even though if that existed, they would have found it by now. “You hold a grudge for something that happened not only before your time, but for something that Edward does not.”

“Edward is too forgiving,” he says stiffly and doesn’t say the same of Rhodes even though he thinks it often.

He sees the warmth and tenderness and affection between Rhodes and Edward clearly and it galls him that Rhodes has so easily forgiven his king leaving the man Rhodes loves to die. Edward is often trying to coax Steve and Rhodes into a more affectionate relationship, but it’s a hurdle Steve can’t quite overcome.

When he’d first awoken there had been nothing but mourning and determination and another war and then there was Edward. Infuriating and funny and warm and completely irreverent, the only person who seemed to treat him as more than cursed and made his terrible circumstances feel like home. Alchemist, armorer, blacksmith – he seemed to do everything and anything required by the crown and with a speed and skill that left Steve breathless. Rhodes may be directing and managing the war but without Edward’s tinctures and potions and weapons and armor, the war would have been lost long ago.

And when he’d been kidnapped and held for ransom, their enemy demanding the king’s presence to free him, the king had stayed safe in his castle.

Steve understood it logically. He’d had no queen or heir at the time and was the last legitimate Stark. Even if he’d been the type of king who cared about his people, he could not risk himself for a subject, no matter how valuable, no matter how much that subject sacrificed or gave or how valuable he was.

But that was just as true for him and Rhodes as it was for Edward and the king had left Edward to be tortured. They had tried to force him to make weapons, to betray his king, and Edward had refused. Steve saw some of the marks of that torture even now, years later, and he could not bring himself to love a king who did not care for that devotion, who hid away in his castle and let better men fight for his kingdom.

He was not required to love his king, only obey and serve him, and that Steve had always done.

He’d earned his title too. Both under King Howard and King Anthony. Being the King’s Champion did not mean being his friend. Not that was something he could claim to be, when he’d never even met the man.

“The Iron Mage saved him and the Iron Mage serves the king,” Rhodes points out, as if Steve doesn’t know that. “Isn’t that enough?”

The Iron Mage is his battle brother and his friend and yet another pillar keeping the kingdom steady while King Anthony can’t seem to be bothered. He holds the light of a star in the center of his chest and uses magic like a blunt weapon, the elements of the star sliding over his body, shifting and changing metals as he brutalizes the battlefield. Those that had captured Edward had found their base reduced to rubble and the Iron Mage appeared wielding a power that not even Sorcerer Strange could explain.

They said he was Goddess blessed, sent from the heavens as a shooting star to aid the king in his war, to ensure victory for the Starks who ruled by divine right of the Goddess Herself. Steve wasn’t sure of all that. The Iron Mage seemed man enough, for all he was constantly covered in his strange shifting, shimmering metal. His voice came out raspy and too low, as if he was in pain, and Steve often wondered if holding the core of a star was worth the consequences, but he was the last one to ask questions like that, considering what he’d allowed Sorcerer Erskine to do to him. The Iron Mage’s humor was wry and ever present despite that, and Steve often thought that he and Edward would get along, if the Iron Mage could ever be coaxed into spending time off the battlefield with the man he saved all those years ago.

But he couldn’t quite lay that victory at King Anthony’s feet. If anything, it seemed like the Iron Mage had used saving Edward as a way to secure his place at the king’s side, rather than that he’d been sent by the king in the first place. No one had heard of such a mage before that, after all.

“Perhaps the Iron Mage will come for us,” he says instead of answering. It’s possible. But the Iron Mage is supposed to be on the other end of the battlefield by now and by the time he hears of his and Rhodes’s capture, it may be too late.

Rhodes shakes his head. “You need to have a little more faith in your king.”

“Why should I?” he snaps, knowing starting an argument when they’re literally tied together is a dumb decision, but like most of his dumb decisions, he can’t help himself. “When King Howard dragged us to war, he at least let us see his face, he made an effort. I hardly expect a king to take to the battlefield, but King Anthony stays in his castle, with his drink and his women if the rumors are to be believed. Queen Virginia has introduced herself to the soldiers several times but the king has not. What sort of man is he to ask faith from me?”

“Well, I said faith, not trust,” Rhodes says tiredly. “Tony didn’t start this war and he’s doing his best to end it.” It’s rare that Rhodes will slip into the familiar name for the king, but it startles Steve every time, the reminder of just how close the general and the king are, and how little that closeness had mattered when Edward was captured. “Although I’ll grant you that you’re right about one thing.”

Steve is exhausted suddenly, in a way that has little to do with his lack of sleep or his injuries, but he’s too grateful for Rhodes keeping his temper while he can’t to ignore him now. “What’s that?”

“Tony is nothing like his father.”