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zhongrin · 2 years

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hold you close to my heart

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, childe, xiao, al haitham, thoma, scaramouche

◇ tags ◇ modern!au, gn!reader, fluff, headcanon format

◇ a/n ◇ zhongli is ngl acting like an asian mom in this and i am not sorry. i need him in my life bc i hate fishbone (the number of times i've had a fishbone stuck in my throat- you don't want to know. let's just say pressing down my gag reflex is one of my talents now) and peeling shrimps.

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

tries to be as quiet as possible as he shuffles around the house while you’re asleep.

peels fruits for you.

will care for your hair for you (brushes / applies oil / braids)

debones any sort of meat-with-bone/shell dishes, including fishes and crustaceans for you (this might be the ultimate expression of zhongli’s love considering how much he hates the smell of seafood).

will not hesitate to spoonfeed you when your hands are occupied or if you’re forgetting to eat.

“zhongli do you know where did i put my shawl-” “second drawer, right side.” “and my dragon-printed socks-” “-is in the sock box on the third drawer, you probably missed it.”

will threaten people who wronged you with a sandal in his hands “i will have order!”

headpat machine - you want headpats? you’re getting headpats. you don’t want headpats? you’re getting a kiss on top of your head…… and a headpat <3

will fall into the habit of carrying tissues and hair ties and the everyday essential items which you often use.

slips his credit card into your wallet before you go out.

keeps your fridge stocked with groceries and pantry full of your favorite snacks (either by doing the shopping himself or getting them delivered to your doorstep when he can’t be around)

lets you pet the dogs you encounter on your walks first. also alerts you when there’s a cute dog in sight.

owns a special phone with the best camera in the market, just for the sake of taking your selfies.

headpat machine 2.0 - you don't want headpats? too bad you’re getting one! you want headpats? beg for it first, darling <3

buys you matching accessories. wears them everywhere and every time he’s out.

always walks on the side closer to the road. also holds your hand when crossing the street (and pretends he 'forgot' to release it afterward)

always lingers around you in social settings. not just because of his social anxiety, but also just in case you need something, he wants to be there to help.

lets you pat his head (and enjoys it immensely), but will murder-glare any other person who tries to do so (read: venti, heizou).

is only able to fall asleep in either of these conditions: 1) he is completely alone, or 2) he’s not alone but you’re with him.

piles up pillows and blankets and plushies on your (or his) bed as a silent invitation to cuddle. you tease him by saying “are you inviting me to your nest, little bird?” and he blushes every single time. it’s very adorable. please give this boy his cuddles.

corrects the typos in your papers for you. crosschecks your citations and adds comments detailing how you should add or remove certain things. he accepts payments in kisses. or super spicy curry. he’s not picky, really.

will dust your bookshelves for you (is it because he loves you or because he loves books? ….. don’t ask).

will wordlessly lift you up to cross a big puddle on the road. you only get to be bridal-carried if you're lucky. otherwise, you're getting the sack of potatoes' treatment because he's a bastard.

tells you that you have x minutes left to do certain tasks. yes, he has your schedules memorized. yes, he will flick your forehead if you keep whining and procrastinating.

will gently pull your head to settle on his shoulder when you fall asleep on the bus.

“did you cut your hair? it’s five centimeters shorter.” “you trimmed your eyebrows?” “your lips look pale today. have you eaten lunch?”

cooks and cleans for you. his payment? your awed smile. if you tip him with kisses he’ll be over the moon.

sends you daily cute animal videos. mostly dogs. or cats. or him being silly with his adorable doggie taroumaru.

will mess up on purpose just to make you laugh on your bad days.

buys everything in twos because he always, always wants to share it with you.

squishes his cheek onto yours and nuzzles you to show affection. you think you see dog ears and dog tails whenever he does this, but it's just a trick of the light... right??

refrains from drinking at parties just so that when you do, he can take care of you properly and get you back home safely.

denies your kisses in public but pulls you for a kiss every five minutes behind closed doors.

links his pinky with you when walking together (but on his bad days, he would really appreciate it when you link your arms with him).

looks so scandalized when you flinch from his touch - because somehow he’s a superconductor and most of the time you feel zapped just from touching him. just tough it out and hug him if you don’t want to deal with sulky!mouchie.

will not hesitate to try and claw people’s eyes out when they made you upset.

fills up your water bottle for you.

uses the same laundry detergent / perfume as yours. claims that he does it so you “won’t complain about how your clothes smell weird” when you stay over. he just wants his clothes to smell more like you so he can pretend you’re hugging him when he misses you.

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hwallazia · 1 month

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SNEAKY – 최종호

synopsis . in which jongho naively melts under your slim fingers, already accepting with pleasure that you’d satisfy him so early in the morning. but you had other plans.

pairing . choi jongho & fem! reader

genre . suggestive (not explicit smut), slice of life, established relationship, non idol!au (ceo! jongho & office worker! reader)

taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle @vampzity @iykyunho @yyaurii | apply to join my taglist ♡

word count . 0,6k

DISCLAIMER! teasing (fem to masc), a very cute & nervous jjong, suggestive language, pet names, (sweetheart), jongho being the sweetest gentleman with yn <3

NIC’S NOTES this thought hit me about two days ago and i couldn’t help but write it with jongho. it just fits him sooo well (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)♡

Jongho’s hands were busy rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, looking for his personal handheld frother, the one he’d always use to mix his coffee & milk. Hands crashing against multiple cooking utensils; the disgraceful sound of metal colliding hurting any human ear. A frown formed in his eyebrows since he had to go to work, and he was running late. But he wouldn’t leave without inserting even the smallest grain of caffeine into his organism. His leg bounced in anxiety as he gave the Rolex resting on his left wrist a glance while his right hand still fumbled with the utensils.

“Where is it?” He mumbled under his breath, a tired sigh leaving his lips. Impatience was already fogging his eyes, but it flew away when he felt your pair of hands sneaking through his waist before you pressed your body against his strong back, chin resting on his wide shoulder. He glanced down and met your manicured nails, an instant grin decorating his lips. “Sneaky one. Weren’t you supposed to go to the office?”

You smiled. “Yeah, but…” You massaged his sides, palms rubbing against his black suit pleasingly. “I want to do something else before I go.”

Your fingers slipped through the minimal holes his shirt inevitably showed as your other hand continued its way down south. Jongho felt his breath hitching in his throat, the effect your teasing touches were having over him were no joke. He tried to stop you, but the sensation was too satisfying to resist. The heat rising through his skin became overwhelming, making his once-flawless tie feel almost suffocating.

His words stumbled over each other like a domino. “Y-Y/N, sweetheart.”

And still, your phalanges were dangerously getting close to his crotch, your left hand enveloped his fine waist safely as your right softly stroked his covered hip, unintentional shivers giving him away. Saying that his heartbeat was hammering against his ribcage and almost reaching Heaven’s gates was an understatement.

But your hand crept into his right pocket, pulling his wallet out in less than two seconds and immediately drawing back. Jongho’s breath got caught in his throat, astonished eyes locking onto the fingers that had just been absurdly close to his bulge, now deftly flipping through his credit and debit cards.

“I saw a really cute skirt that you’d love on me.” You commented with a fake naive facade, giggling at the amusing, strong blush that struck your boyfriend’s apple-like cheeks. You approached his flabbergasted self and pressed a kiss to his soft, pink lips before running off to continue preparing for work, wallet still in hand. Your cute giggles reverberated throughout the walls.

Now Jongho had to start his day dealing with an awkward, growing erection using his own methods.

And without a coffee drop. Because his frother was still missing.

| masterlist

#© hwallazia #ateez #ateez suggestive #choi jongho #jongho #jongho scenarios #choi jongho scenarios #jongho imagine #jongho fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic

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i-cant-sing · 1 year

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Just thinking about domestic vibes for different fandoms/AUs. So, let's begin with Todoroki Clan:

I'm thinking about yandere parents Enji and Rei, and their teen reader (who they definitely kidnapped as a baby). It's summer break, which means Rei won't have the urge to burn down your school so that you stay at home. No, now she has you all to herself! And despite Rei being Suffocating and smothering, reader does love her mom. Rei is just so soft and kind and sweet, it doesn't sit right with reader to break her heart by saying "no, mom. I just wanna be alone than watch you cook." At least Rei let's you be her little helper, taste the frosting for her, will you?

And summer also means that Rei gets to take you for shopping without you bringing up excuses like "sorry mom, I can't go. I need to study for a test." Now she gets to drag you along to as many shops as she wants, you can literally beg her to stop because you're tired but she'll just give you some homemade onigiris and off you go and change into the clothes she chose for you. Luckily for you, there aren't many luxury shops near you, and they take a lot of time to make Rei's custom orders because your mom never buys off the rack. (Yes girl, you dressed in Chanel and Louis Vuitton because daddy Enji's credit cards buy everything)

Summer vacations means time off from school to reward yourself for all of your hardwork. That's why Rei is making you take daily afternoon naps with her. And you can't say no, mostly because Rei has been mixing melatonin in your food so you tire out easy.

Enji won't lie, but he definitely enjoys your time off from school as well. He gets to see you more often, especially after exam season is over. He gets to take you out on a lot of daddy-daughter dates, which you absolutely enjoy because you get to eat a lot of food without your mom reminding you that she can make so-and-so dish at home and better than Michelin starred chef.

But now that you have holidays, instead of Enji just going around the world on missions and bringing you souvenirs, you now get to go with him and Rei to anywhere you want! Rei is happy because she gets to dress you up in more clothes and do your hair and APPLY SUNSCREEN ON YOU (DO NOT TAKE THIS AWAY FROM HER). Loads and loads of pictures are taken and memories are made, and it's good that Enji's there to hold Rei back from doing normal teenager stuff that she deemed "too dangerous" for you.

Also, Enji and Rei feeding reader together, no matter how old you are. Rei makes the food and serves it to you, Enji keeps on picking out all the good stuff from his plate (sausages, sashimi, eggs, etc) and using his chopsticks to feed it to you🥺🥺🥺

Or or when Rei is doing your hair and you're doing dad Enji's hair, maybe you're just applying a hair mask and massaging it in because Enji works so hard for all of you🥺🥺 of course, he returns the favour by painting your nails (he has gotten better over the years with practice, but it's still funny to see how small the nail polish brush looks in his gigantic hands.

Also thinking about Dad Enji and reader waking up early to make breakfast in bed for Rei for mothers day and Enji's soul leaving his body when a little bit of oil splatters on your hand. And no matter how much you convince hum that you're fine, Enji thinks you're not and now he has you sitting in the corner far away from the stove while he finishes off cooking. And when you two go and surprise Rei, she is so touched and is almost moved to tears until her eyes land on the smallest splatter on your hand (its a surprise she was even able to see it) and now you're wrestled into bed next to her as she ices your hand while scolding Enji for risking your life because "You're the adult Enji. You should know better!" And poor dad Enji is just nodding along🥺🥺🥺🥺

#yandere bnha #bnha headcanons #yandere mha #bnha imagines #yandere endeavor #yandere rei todoroki #yandere rei #yandere enji todoroki #yandere enji

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piratefalls · 8 months

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hi, yes, i'm still very behind on reading, but in my defense i picked up an actual book and did read that, so.

anyway, here's some fic.

masterlist.

(Secret) Santa Baby by indomitablelove

"When it comes to Secret Santa, Alex really does have a reputation to uphold. Everybody wants Alex to get them. Nobody actually wants to get Alex, which is why he usually ends up with novelty socks or a political biography, but he doesn’t care. Ultimately, everybody wants Alex to get their name. And right now, Alex is seconds away from finding out who his new mark is. The person that he’s going to spend the next few weeks learning inside and out to ensure that he gets them the perfect gift." --- Alex gets his work nemesis, Henry, in the office Secret Santa and realises that he doesn't know nearly as much about him as he thought...

Creative Differences by @sparklepocalypse

Zahra tilts her head at him, a contemplative expression on her face. “How attached are you to the notion of being a solo artist?” (AU; Alex is a failed solo musician and Henry's band needs a lead singer.)

just a figure of speech by congee4lunch

“Like I said: Alphas really don’t know how to fuck.” “And like I said,” Alex sets down his mug and steps closer to Henry. “I can fuck and I know how to fuck you so well, you’ll see stars, baby.” henry, an omega, hasn’t had good sex in a long time. as his alpha roommate and friend, alex can help with that. in a totally platonic bro way, of course.

Oxford Days by @myheartalivewrites

"Alex’s new roommate is kind of a slut. No. Strike that. Not kind of. Definitely. Definitely a slut." -- An ode to slutty Henry.

we play all day (and spread holiday cheer) by headabovethewater

Nora guffaws. “You fucked Santa’s Elf?!” “I mean,” Alex pauses and shrugs, “not with the costume on, obviously.” “I can’t fucking believe you,” Nora exclaims, her hands cupping her own face in disbelief. She looks over Alex’s shoulder and cocks an eyebrow, before she lowers her hands and her tone, and asks, “Since when do you have a thing for blondes?”

miles to go, but we're almost home by anincompletelist

Texas is a bit of a last minute decision. As in, at the actual last minute, Henry had begged them at the station for whatever ticket they had left to get out of the city, shoved his credit card at them expeditiously, and promptly boarded the vessel just as the doors slid closed behind him. Turns out it’s the best decision he’s ever made.

If at first you don't succeed by clottedcreamfudge

"Probably straight," Alex says, holding his hand out to Henry, "but you're extremely hot, so like - well done." "Well done?" Henry asks incredulously, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile as he takes Alex's hand in a firm handshake. "Well done on... being extremely hot?" "Hey, man," Alex says easily, taking his hand away after the briefest of shakes. "Take it or leave it." "In that case, I shall update my profile," Henry says as he gets to his feet. "Unsuccessful date with a heterosexual man who, nonetheless, had to admit I was 'extremely hot'."

his soft touch by viciouslyqueer

Alex comes homes and Henry immediately knows something is wrong.

Nocturnal Guilt by somuchworse

Henry hums, and Alex feels the vibration of it more than actually hearing the delicate sound. “What did you do, love?” “I stole Liam’s medication,” he grumbles. The room is still for a moment. “Tonight?” Henry asks, voice sliding into a slightly higher pitch, a memorable indication of his most genuine confusion. Alex groans. Talking is hard. “No,” he says, when Henry applies a little more pressure on the back of his head, like it’s a reward. “When we were kids. I stole a few so I could work on school shit, and he had a total meltdown when a few were missing, and I didn’t even tell him. I’m literally the fucking worst.”

Bukkake Breaky Heart by @kiwiana-writes

Six men surround Alex in a semicircle: blindfolded, tested, NDA’ed to within an inch of their lives even without any idea of who is in the room with them. Alex has a fantasy. Henry makes it happen.

Going Once, Going Twice by allmylovesatonce

“I was supposed to go to this Christmas fundraiser for the NYU symphony,” she explains, “but there’s this event at work that as an intern I really can’t miss.” “What’s the favour?” June grimaces. “I need you to go to the symphony fundraiser for me.” Alex stills. There’s one reason June would be going to something for the symphony. Henry fucking Fox. He’s going to hope that her favour doesn’t involve him, but Alex figures he can’t really be that lucky. -------- Alex wins a date with Henry, but in order to even slightly enjoy it, he'll have to get over his hatred for him.

it's all me (just don't go) by weather_stained

Alex has been trying all summer to manage his grueling internship and other commitments without impacting his relationship with Henry. When he misses a date night, he worries it could be the last straw.

if evil, why so cute? by everwitch

Alex’s cat hates Alex, but loves Henry, the Bookstagram influencer who’s on vacation in Alex’s quiet seaside town. And while Alex is pretty salty about his grumpy cat’s inexplicable affection for a complete stranger, he must admit he can see the appeal; Henry is fucking gorgeous. It’s why Alex follows him on Instagram in the first place. It's just, Alex had never thought he’d be officially introduced to Henry by his own goddamn cat. Or: Henry takes a two-week vacation to a seaside cabin with the intent to read a lot of books. Instead, he has a lot of sex.

Jumped the Gun by lovelythething

"Well,” Henry says, measuring his voice carefully, “there’s a first time for everything.” Alex, in reply, screams into a pillow.

secret moments in a crowded room by HypnosTherapy

Henry smiles, something settling in his expression when he sees Alex. “Hello, darling-” “I felt up your employee,” Alex says, the words rushing out of his mouth. Henry blinks. “I thought Angus was you, and I grabbed him by the hips, and it was weird as shit, I’m sorry.” Henry has the nerve to smirk, rolling his eyes. “He really is an excellent double,” he says, reaching out to pat Alex consolingly on the shoulder. __ After getting a concerned call from the man's PPO, Henry makes an effort to ensure his body double Angus is getting properly socialized. Alex is hesitant to spend time with the Henry-shaped clone, but he quickly finds himself getting charmed by the man. Angus gracefully slides from strange phenomenon to friend. And then something more.

it's you (it's always been you) by coffeecatsme

“You mean to tell me you named your vibrator after another man because you thought the pun would be funny?” Alex names his vibrator after Han Solo and Henry gets jealous.

come pick me up by smc_27

‘I’m here for you’ He can tell that the person will receive that as a text message as well as in the app, which is a relief because sometimes people like, order rides then absolutely pay no fucking attention to the app. It’s really annoying to have to wait forever for folks. ’Thank you. I’m going through a difficult time currently, so this means a lot.’ Alex stares at the message he received, frowning, and then another comes through. ‘Apologies. I’ve lost all my contacts. Who is this?’ Oh, Christ. This is going to be awkward as fuck. ’This is your Uber driver. I’m outside.’ OR, Alex is an Uber driver. Henry needs a ride the airport.

titles are the worst, we refuse by athousandrooms, clottedcreamfudge, everwitch, indomitablelove, railmedaddy

The paparazzi, a friend, their classmates, a true enemy. Alex is no stranger to telling people to fuck off, it’s a daily occurrence; but when it’s Henry who does it? Alex couldn’t be prouder. — 5 times Alex tells someone to fuck off and one time Henry does.

Gym Buddies by cmere

"I'm Henry," the guy offers. Alex pushes up one rep, then another. The blood is rushing to his face as he powers through more, and seems to be rushing elsewhere as well, because there's undeniable arousal pooling in his groin from the exertion. He struggles slightly for a moment, then, and instead of taking over like Alex expects, his new best friend Henry starts—talking. "That's good, so good. Perfect, can you give me another?" Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sweat pours down Alex's forehead as he pushes the bar back up off his chest. "Beautiful, just beautiful. So good for me. There you are, love." Henry helps Alex settle the bar back on the rack, and Alex exhales in a rush, his heart thudding almost painfully against his chest. Fuck. PUMP Gym is notorious for gay guys cruising, and Alex wants to hook up.

To Show Our Love by bleedingballroomfloor

With Henry and Alex in the midst of moving into their new home together, Henry reflects on Valentine's Day and what the holiday meant to him growing up closeted in the palace, and more so, the new meaning that Alex brings to it.

Cosmos in His Palms by AnchoredArchangel

“I’ve been thinking,” Henry says quietly, “almost constantly, about your list.” Alex blinks because, well, his list hasn’t had this kind of traction in years. The Google trend must be spiking off the charts. Henry bites at his own lower lip, turning the blush pink a tortured white, admits, “About the things you want to do-” Oh. That list. Or: Alex discovers that talking to Henry is just as nice as having sex with him, or at least, pretty close. A perfectly timed revelation when he finds himself in desperate need of a heart-to-heart.

Fox. Henry Fox. by Pondermoniums

Alex had seen the guy around campus, sure. He was hard to miss, but Alex never said out loud why. For everyone else, being the son of the famous James Bond actor made him a celebrity enough. But for Alex, Henry Fox just…stood out.

wanting by rizcriz

It slammed into him with the force of a semi truck out of the blue on a random Tuesday in July. the AC was out; they were sprawled out in the living room in nothing but their boxers, complaining about the heat and threatening to off their landlord in a million different ways. Alex was on the floor, Henry was on the couch, one leg draped over the back, his arms thrown up over his head. Henry had said something; something absurd and hilarious and Alex can’t for the life of him remember what it was, because all he remembers is lifting his head off the floor, and catching sight of that shining head of golden hair caught in a sunbeam and thinking— And thinking. God, I love him.

you all over me by stutteringpeach

When Henry organises an evening of group sex, he never expects to meet a gorgeous man he wants to marry and have children with. Or, a meet-cute at a sex club.

tripped and fell into this bed by @priincebutt

“What, hate sex with my ex who chose his duty to his country over me? I’m not interested.” “Are you sure about that?” Henry’s voice is curious, genuine and raw, because he can hear the hesitation behind Alex’s words, the way his sentence structure is crumbling with wanting to say yes. It hasn’t been long enough for Alex to be moved on, and Henry doesn’t know if he wants Alex back, or if he just wants to have some really fucking good sex, which he’s not had since the last time he’d been with Alex. It had been a bold move, but he doesn’t regret it. And he internally cheers when Alex lets out another dramatic sigh. “Fine. Where are you staying and when should I meet you?” Or, Henry broke up with Alex when he stormed the castle, then booty calls him months later at Paris Fashion Week.

if you want me to tag you in future lists for whatever reason, just let me know, and i'll see you next week!

@starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels

#rwrb rec list #rwrb #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfiction #firstprince #firstprince fanfic #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor

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bakawitch · 4 months

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Okay, so, announcement time!

I am looking for more OCs to add to Miraculous Mortality because 1, I am running out of characters to assign parasites, and 2, this is already a pretty self-indulgent OC stuffed crossover-esc au and I feel like a few extra OCs wouldn't matter all that much at this point XD

So! If you have an OC you're interested in seeing in Miraculous Mortality, feel free to submit them!

Here are the kwamis up for grabs and a few guidelines to follow if you decide to submit an OC:

Hare of Speculation

she/her

Claimed

Kwami: Forss

Tool: playing cards

Theming: Casino

Power: Flutter Bet - The power to make deals and bets and reward the winner and punish the loser. The bets can be one-sided as long as they don't apply to others. If a bet is made between more than one consenting people, the winner will be rewarded by a prize of their choice within reason, and the loser will face a penalty chosen by the winner. The prize and the punishment are usually short-term, but if the user channels a significant amount of energy into one, it can be long term or even permanent.

Moodboard used:

Snake of Liquidation

Claimed

Kwami: Laata

she/them

Tool: gel gun

Theming: Desserts

Power: Jelly Shot - The power to generate a jelly like substance with healing properties. The jelly is safe to consume and is very elastic. It's also strong enough to hold multiple people up, depending on the surface shot out. The activation of the power is not necessary for small shots.

Moodboard used:

Mouse of Exhilaration

Claimed

Kwami: Scurra

they/them

Tool: hat

Theming: Circus

Power: Hijinks - The power to apply cartoon physics to the world. The user's body innately follows cartoon logic, and they are capable of summoning a tool from their hat depending on their preference that's able to apply cartoon physics to other people and their immediate surroundings.

Moodboard used:

Platypus of Isolation

Claimed

Kwami: Excuub

he/him

Tool: eku (wooden paddle)

Theming: Prison

Power: Oubliette - The power to trap objects and individuals in chained energy cells. The cells are inescapable, and only the user can destroy them. The user has the ability to completely control the cells.

Moodboard used:

Lice of Contagion

Claimed

Kwami: Vennen

he/it

Tool: rope dart

Theming: Computer Virus

Power: Mar - The power to infect organisms with a small parasite that lets the user see and hear from the contaminated individuals' eyes and ears. The user can activate this by piercing a target with the rope dart.

Moodboard used:

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

So! If you are interested in an OC of yours being included with one of these parasites, please send me a quick bio of them! It could be just a random character you made up on the spot or a special little blorbo you wrote novels about. Obviously, credit will be given to those who don't submit anonymously. Heads up that it's first come, first served, so I'll assign kwamis to the first submissions/asks. I'll keep updating the master post here about what kwamis are still available. (Look for TBS)

What to include:

Name:

Age:

Chosen Kwami:

Hero Name:

Bio: (could be anything from nationality to likes and dislikes or tragic backstories)

Physical description and/or reference: (you could use picrew for this! Could be hero/villain form too)

You could also include whatever existing materials there are of them so I can portray them more accurately!

No familial relations to canon characters.

Also. PLEASE PLEASE let me know if you want me to give your oc immunity, because if you do, I will make sure that no serious permanent harm comes to them and that they will be alive by the end of the story. Miraculous Mortality might get a little dark, and I do not want to put someone's oc through things that make them uncomfortable!

Amd with all that out of the way, I eagerly await submissions! If non-anon askers want, I'm also open to consulting about oc and parasite claims through private messages :)

#miraculous mortality #miraculous ladybug #mlb #mortality miracle box #miraculous kwamis #original kwamis #kwami oc #mlb oc #mlb ocs #others ocs #ocs #oc #baka arts #doodlings

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tozettastone · 8 months

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Number 5 with Genjutsu Master/Her Beautiful Hair please !

For #5: "College AU in which exactly none of the characters are undergraduate students at this college. Character A and Character B are coming up with a list of ways that they could fund their research that isn't the competitive grants process. They've settled on organised crime. "

---

She drummed her fingernails on the bench as the cute barista made her coffee.

She didn't have a name, but today the body she'd borrowed was called Chikako. She was a uniformed young lady with subtle makeup and a girlish pout. She was a civilian—a meter reader employed by a utility company by day, and a student by night—and about twenty years younger than the nameless ninja currently borrowing her form.

The real Chikako was across the other side of the city right now, occupied by her actual day job. The one getting her coffee just needed to borrow her student ID and face for a bit. And her credit card, obviously, as it was right there in her wallet next to her ID.

The coffee wasn't great, but she'd anticipated that and gotten three pumps of artificially flavoured syrup in it, which, combined with the milk, disguised a multitude of sins. Today Chikako was not here to stalk anyone or steal anything (although she'd probably steal something anyway. She was only human, after all!) but, rather embarrassingly, to sit in on a seminar introducing researchers to the whole system of competitive grants by which public research lived and died.

Chikako was pretty familiar with the actual research process. Sure, she'd never attended a university or even a regular school herself, but she'd been introduced to field research by way of the gruelling discipline of the shinobi intel machine. She'd been spying on people for fun and profit since she could walk. Her biggest hurdles hadn't been the field work, but rather the experimental design and treatment of her data.

What she really wanted to find out today was if it would be better to apply to one of these big old universities and do her field research through them. There were advantages, she knew: you never had to break into a print shop and create copies of your own publications, and you got invited to conferences rather than having to steal someone's identity and crash, and you got to actually present your own research to other people and talk about it! All of this was very exciting to her.

There were also downsides: people knew who you were, you had to talk to them all the time using the same face and anyone who got mad at you usually knew exactly where to find you. Less exciting. But potentially still workable... especially since there was no reason to expect she would enroll under her own identity.

She slipped soundlessly into the lecture hall. It seated a hundred but it was sparsely populated by ragged looking people, mostly in their mid to late twenties, each more sartorially challenged than the last. As Chikako, she felt she stood out almost uncomfortably simply for being unwrinkled, colour coordinated and awake. She sat down in one of the faded chairs and did not swing the battered wooden slab that was meant to serve as a desk out over her lap. Instead she clutched her sickly sweet coffee and waited for the professor to show up and let them know all about the exciting world of applying for a competitive grant.

This was really what would decide her, she figured. If it was easy money that could support her in fieldwork, she'd swap careers in an instant.

Chikako was well adjusted to the lifestyle, but being a missing-nin was hard, dangerous work. It meant never having a proper home base to stay at, taking dangerous jobs that paid worse than they did at a traditional ninja village, and just... living very precariously. She lived both worse and better than most: she ghosted into accommodation without anyone the wiser, lifted her petty cash from oblivious civilians, and when she did do real shinobi work, her skillset meant she was often doing glorified PI work, enabling blackmail, rooting out embezzling and preparing evidence for the scandals and divorces of the rich and famous.

But she also had to take time out from her research any time she wanted to make any honest money. And that had led her to thinking: didn't people get paid for research? Like, legitimately? And how did they do that?

So now she was here, listening to the ancient and hunched professor wearily explain that a competitive grant application was essentially an instrument of intellectual torture. He was currently halfway through detailing that, for example, you would need to know which conferences you needed to present at and what the travel costs would be three years in advance to prepare your budget for assessment, and then if you were one of the 18% of successful applicants, you would probably be given four fifths of the money you actually needed.

"...after a while you will learn how to tailor your application so your project can be effectively cut down without losing significant value. You can't inflate your costs though, because they won't approve it if you do that."

Someone raised a hand.

"Ah... you," the professor pointed one aged, shaking hand. "Yes."

"What if you, um, like, learn something new? And your project doesn't go how you expect? And the costs... well, you know, change?"

"Heh," said the old professor. "Heh heh heh. The grants committee is not set up to accommodate that. Any costs that exceed—"

"Sorry, forgive my interruption, sir, but the grants committee isn't set up go accommodate research leading to new information?"

"That's correct," he said serenely. "Any costs that exceed your predictions need to come out of central university funds. You will need to explain your needs to your departmental representative." He looked around at their faces. Chikako's was sceptical but she was hardly alone in that. "You get the knack for it eventually," he assured them.

Hmm. You know, she was nearly fifty, and had gotten the knack for many things in her time. But she didn't feel that getting the knack for this was going to be the solution to her problem.

She finished her coffee and draped a secondary genjutsu over herself so nobody would notice her getting up to leave. There was no point being rude to the poor old professor, after all.

Chikako's money was burning a hole in her pocket, so she strolled around the campus, inspecting this and that. It was almost like a little town all on its own, really. The students who could afford university had plenty of family money, even if it seemed like their careers paid shit all more generally, so there were stores and stalls and amenities aplenty, including what seemed to be several charitable organisations recruiting volunteers on campus.

She ghosted through it all, finding little of value to her personally, and fetched up at the library instead. There, she maxed out Chikako's library account by borrowing twelve books to read instead, all with titles like "Shinobi, Crime and the Black Economy," or "Labelling Perspective: The Meaning of 'Missing' Nin."

Once she was off campus, she let her illusions fall in an alley between two residential houses, turning from the twenty-something, dark eyed, dark haired, fresh-faced willowy little Chikako back into her actual, real, flesh and blood self: a flawlessly made up woman who might have been any age between thirty and forty five, with a missing-nin's forehead protector and a wild tumble of red curls.

She pulled the forehead protector off and shoved it in her pocket before she handed Chikako's "lost" wallet in at the nearest police station.

"It was just outside the university campus," she reported, leaning on the bench in the station. "I have no idea how long it's been there."

"Okay, thanks for your report, Miss... We'll make sure she gets it back."

"I'm so glad," she said earnestly. "I know I'd feel just awful if I lost my wallet."

"Well, you did the right thing. Have a good day, Miss."

That was her. Doer of right things. Always.

It was the off season for tourists, so after check-in hours had passed, she simply wandered through a luxury hotel and selected one of the unused honeymoon suites to break into. The bed was huge, with a feather-soft mattress and a multitude of pillows, but enormous bath was the real prize for her.

Fancy hotels like this had all sorts of sample products, and she did love bubbles. Naked and unselfconscious, she peered at herself in the mirror for a while, inspecting her face. It was a lovely face, framed perfectly by her pretty crimson curls. A little angular and aggressive for the tastes of the day, with her high cheekbones and sharp jaw. But beautiful, which was the important thing. If she had nothing else—and she usually had nothing else—she still had her looks.

As the bubble bath filled up, the mirror fogged over, until her face was an indistinct blur with a smear of hard candy red where her mouth was. She turned away from her reflection and slipped into the bath with a full body shiver at the water's blissful heat.

She had her pile of books to read, but with a deep sigh, she supposed it would be best to start thinking about how she was going to fund her next research project instead.

Not by way of the competitive grants process, obviously.

Credit card fraud was a short term solution, useful for buying little treats or paying for a night in the odd hotel when one really wanted room service; it wasn't a lifestyle. Hard currency—cash—was probably the optimal way to go. It was tricky to trace, accepted everywhere and couldn't be tied to anyone's identity if it was wisely spent.

She sighed deeply and dunked her head under the water. Tomorrow she'd just have to quietly rob a bank on her way out of town.

#naruto oc: red #ask #meatiermeatball #my fic

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thomas-life · 1 year

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I wrote and @drksanctuary drew the chapter image for my Fluffy Coffee Shop AU Oneshot. its just short and cute. i hope you enjoy!

A Nicobaster Coffee Shop AU with notes of ReyRae.

Hazel opens up a coffee shop and Nico is helping her out by working at it while she is still hiring staff. He meets the local union rep Alabaster Torrington...

Hidden Gem Cafe

“Well don’t you look chipper.”

Nico huffs and glares in the direction of one Rachel Elizabeth Dare. She looks entirely too well put together with her red curls in a pony tail and black apron around her waist. The coffee shop door clinks closed behind him and he locks it. They don’t open for another 30 minutes.

“Some of us,” Nico replies, “aren’t born to be Baristas.”

Rachel snorts at his attempt at insulting her. “You’re just grumpy because you’re used to waking up at noon, and we both know it.” She pats his shoulder sympathetically as he passes. “You really will do anything for your sisters.”

Nico grunts. The clock on the break room wall reads 4:30 a.m.

Who in their right mind would ever willingly be up this early in the morning for coffee? He emerges with his apron tied around his hips and eyeliner applied in hopes that the bags under his eyes don’t show too starkly. Rachel is preparing the drip coffee canisters and Nico starts on the pastry display case. He’s a little surprised that Hazel hasn’t show up, but according to his text string she had barely managed to get to bed around 2 am, anxious as she was for the Hidden Gem Café’s Grand Opening.

Nico opens the doors right on time, Rachel humming behind the counter. He can’t help but yawn. “Why are you like this.” He deadpans. He has no energy in his entire body and she laughs at him.

“The trick,” she side whispers like it’s some big secret, “ –is that I never went to sleep in the first place!” She sing songs the rest, and Nico can’t help but realize…Rachel is delusional.

He groans and makes a cup of coffee with creamer and four sugars. He might as well take advantage, and coffee really is mostly a way he uses to get sugar into his system. He takes a large swig as the door chimes and Hazel’s first ever customer enters.

The man that enters is tall and looks a little frantic. Nico tries to smile but it doesn’t come naturally, so he settles on a bemused expression as the man approaches the counter, his dress shoes clicking along the vinyl flooring. “Hey,” Nico wonders if that was too casual of a greeting but proceeds, as it’s too early to be self-conscious. “What can I get you?” The man’s squinting at the menu on the wall behind the counter, freckles scrunching on his nose; He seems almost startled to be addressed at all.

“Oh- ah,” He clears his throat looking vaguely apologetic and he ruffles his light brown hair. “Do you sell large travel containers of coffee?”

Nico nods, “We’re not busy, so we can make you one, but it will take some time. It’s $30 plus tax.”

The man brightens, “Perfect. I’ll also get a small coffee and…” he looks at the pastry display case, “One of those lemon poppy seed muffins.” A smile flashes across his face and Nico can’t help but think the man is handsome.

“You got it.” Nico winks at him, and blames it on how sleep deprived he is; he can feel the sugar and caffeine starting to work through his blood stream, “Name for the order?”

“Alabaster.”

Alabaster sounds a little strained…Maybe I shouldn’t have winked at him. Nico thinks as he writes the name on a small cup. He looks up to see Alabaster blushing and holding his hand against the bottom half of his face. Or maybe I should do it again… Nico reconsiders, his mood sufficiently boosted. He fills the small cup himself since Rachel is working on the traveler and grabs the muffin as Alabaster inserts his credit card to pay. He looks at the other pastries in the case and grabs a cookie.

He hands both over to Alabaster. “Here’s something sweet... For being our first customer at our Grand Opening.”

Alabaster flushes again and takes them. “Thank you. I do appreciate you accommodating me.”

“Anytime.” Nico responds; This time the smile comes easily. “Enjoy your coffee. You’re traveler will be ready in a couple minutes.”

Alabaster nods and settles down at a table, taking his traveler when it’s finished, waving at Nico as he leaves.

Nico hopes he comes again.

-------

“You’re telling me you fell in love at first sight with a barista, and now you go two cities over every Monday morning just to see him?” Reyna sounds incredulous and when she says it like that, Alabaster can’t help but agree. It does sound ridiculous.

“-And the Coffee!” he rushes to justify. “Not just the Barista, Reyna. The coffee too. There’s a reason it’s called Hidden Gem- And it wasn’t at first sight!” he defends himself.

Reyna scoffs at him as they get out of the car. It’s a rare Friday off and he had insisted they come to this location for coffee. Reyna won’t deny she’s intrigued, and she’s not actually all that bothered. It’s not every day she gets to tease Alabaster C. Torrington about having a crush.

It didn't hurt that and he’d brought her some of their coffee a couple weeks ago. It really was much better than any of the popular chains they had around the office. She can’t help but tease a little more. “So when are you going to actually ask him on a date?”

Alabaster looks at her, a scandalized expression on his face. “Ask him out? While he’s at work??” His tone drips with derision, “ oh yes, that what everyone wants. For some random customer to ask them out on a date while their just working their shift.”

Reyna laughs and elbows him. “I thought you said he was flirting with you .”

Alabaster puffs out one cheek, “I believe I said I wasn’t sure if he was flirting with me. And I don’t want to be a creep. Or make him feel uncomfortable. Or ruin everything. What if I can never come back to his place because I fucked it all up?! That would be the absolute worst…” He looks regretful, “I’d have to go back to regular coffee and we both know that would be awful. I’m too pampered now.”

Reyna opens the door to Hidden Gem Café. The place is nice; plenty of space seating with personal touches that make the space welcoming and homey. There’s a mural on the wall next to the seating area she can’t help but admire. It really would be a terrible loss if Alabaster could never come here again.

A man’s voice greets them as they approach the counter, and Reyna can see why Alabaster, their number one union organizer, who has nerves of steel when negotiating with greedy executives, has been acting like a teenager: Dark hair and eyes, muscled forearms, eyeliner and earrings…just Alabaster’s type. He keeps glancing at her with a subtly perturbed expression, and it takes her a moment to realize- she smirks. That is crestfallen expression someone that thinks we are dating.

She nudges Alabaster, hoping he will take her hint, but he’s too engrossed in chatting with Nico to notice to subtle signs of distress. She’s almost worried Nico will get the wrong idea.

Nico gestures to her, looking at Alabaster with intensity. “Is she you’re girlfriend?”

Alabaster almost chokes on his own saliva as he’s in such a rush to say ‘No’. “Absolutely. Not.” Alabaster confirms.

Reyna likes straightforward people, and she likes Nico even more for his blunt attitude. That will save them a lot of drama down the road. “We’re just friends.” She seconds, “And besides, you’re co-worker is more my type anyway.” She smiles winningly at the red-head behind the counter who grins back at her and gestures to Nico and Alabaster with a shrug that communicated “what can you do?”

Reyna moves to the side, waiting at the pickup counter for their coffee order. Rachel approaches with two drinks and hands them to her. “Were you serious about me being your type?” she asks, looking honestly curious, “-because I’m available.”

Alabaster chuckles nervously as Reyna walks away and looks back at Nico who appears relieved. He hopes he isn’t reading too much into that. “Honestly. She’s just a good friend.”

Nico nods, and rings up their order, debating if he should ask… more. It’s been a while since they first met, and Nico always gets butterflies on the days when Alabaster comes in. “You know,” he starts, and decides to barrel on with it, “I get off shift today in an hour … are you free after that? I know a good Italian place that serves a really good lunch menu.” He hears Alabaster audibly take a breath. “Yes!” Alabaster’s voice can be heard very clearly over the background noise of people and music. “ah- I mean. Yes.” He returns to a normal volume, “I would love…that.” He can’t stop grinning from ear to ear. “I would really really like that.”

The End

@them-awesome-rarepairs

#nicobaster #shadowmagic #reyrae #reyna/rachel #nico di angelo #alabaster torrington #alabaster c torrington #coffee shop au #pjo fanfiction #my writing #pjo rare pair week 2023 #pjo rarepair week 2023 #fluff

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aayushpareek69 · 9 months

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danketsuround · 8 months

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sunday six!

early again (late for me, but). i wrote this on tumblr while waiting for a package that hasn't arrived yet. tagging uhhh @four-white-trees @c-cw-f-saeko @overdevelopedglasses @fire-tempers-steel @passthroughtime and uh i forgot who else is participating in this

sawa and mitsuru one shot below. not an au, they're just in high school. i was complaining earlier today about how they didn't get to interact at all (like, not even in a flashback???) so like whatever i wrote my own thing. be the change you want to see in the world. kthnxbye

Past a road on a steel bridge, among little fossils in a river, there was a mound of green grass, and two bikes laying diagonally atop each other. Mitsuru laid there in the sun, craning his neck upwards to look at their chains, tangled like legs under a blanket. He sighed and let his head drop against the ground. It made a sound much heavier than him.

"Mind your head," pretty Sawa seemed to scold him, as if he were some infant with a soft spot in his skull. She had the nerve to speak to him so dearly, even as he twisted the grass between his fingers in anxious sorrow.

"It didn't hurt," he said, not bothering to look up again.

Her little patent leather shoes hit rocks. She had been balancing on a log near the river. He heard the gravel under her feet, then the grass, and then the sun disappeared.

"You have a grass stain on your shirt."

A halo of light hit her backside. Had he prayed more, he thought, maybe the angel would say something useful, or kind.

"That's okay," he replied shyly. She was tall; tall enough to call the sun again when she sat beside him.

They had biked from the train station—as most high schoolers did—recklessly, without their helmets. Sawa lived three doors down and across from him, in a smaller, gated house, with a nice windowsill tomato garden and an old dog with a hoarse bark. Despite this, they never saw each other. Better yet, Mitsuru never saw her. He kept his head down and looked at his feet like his shoes were in danger of catching on fire at any moment. He was quick-footed, too, despite his chronic tardiness—or, perhaps, because of it. Sawa held onto his arm in the sardine-packed commute of the sweaty summer afternoon rush. She didn't let go when the doors opened, or when they squeezed out of the car, or when they took the escalator down; and she didn't say a word to him at all until Mitsuru found he had locked his bike next to hers, and suddenly it seemed his feet were safe of any interesting fires. She wanted to tutor him.

"No thanks," he told her, then frowned when tall and pretty Sawa made an angry wrinkled face like she was going to chew him.

In the long hour they walked their bikes together, he discovered her face was stuck like that, always, even when she smiled. He thought, that's probably why no one messed with her, and why she won the student council election by a landslide. It was the first day of the second semester and they came to the knoll, together.

"Are you eighteen already?" Sawa asked him out of air, watching the sun lower behind the old bridge.

Mitsuru shook his head into the dirt.

"Are you?"

"I turned eighteen over the summer."

"Happy birthday."

"Thanks."

Then it was quiet again when Mitsuru started thinking about sitting at the dinner table with a grass stain on his shirt, and his mother with her eyes on some stack of papers he couldn't read.

"I'm still a kid compared to you."

"I guess."

"You can vote, and take out a loan, and apply for a credit card, and stuff."

"I can't drink yet."

For some reason, she defended herself.

"But you're closer," he argued anyways. "And you're taller than me."

She laughed. "Age doesn't have much to do with that."

He looked at her and, for some reason, he grew excited.

"Do you think I'll grow ten centimeters by winter?"

"No," she said, which sounded cruel coming from her chewy face. "Or, I guess you'll have to wait and see."

"Yeah, I'll wait," he said sadly. "I'll wait."

She loosened her clip and pulled her fingers through the bend in her hair. Being a girl seemed really hard, but, like most things, Sawa did it effortlessly. He hadn't noted much about her, but he knew she played the cello, and that she played it beautifully. She could have played a stand-out instrument—the violin like Mamiya, or the flute, like himself, which stood-out in terrible, shrill ways—but she played the low, humming background of an instrument and she played it better than anyone else. Her kindness was the same, her voice played a pitying, slow tune.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

He imagined she asked because she, a grown up, already knew.

"A nurse."

"A nurse!"

Admittedly, her shock stung a little.

"That's just the first thing that came to mind. I want to work in a hospital, like my mom."

Sawa tucked her legs in. "Is she worried about exams?"

He wrinkled his face taking another blow, then shook his head in an uncaring way.

"No, she doesn't worry about me," he said. "She thinks I can do anything."

"You can do anything."

Mitsuru shrugged. "I don't know."

"You can play the flute pretty well."

"I don't know."

"And you can swim pretty well, too."

"I don't know. I hate swimming."

She leaned forward. "Do you like being a nurse? Don't say you don't know."

His answer was silence instead.

"What do you want to be?"

She held her breath. Her face was red and puffy and she laughed when she couldn't hold it any longer. On her back, next to Mitsuru, she said, "I don't know."

Mitsuru scrambled to his feet while Sawa held her stomach, spitting and laughing and hitting the ground with her legs.

"Well!" He said stridently. "Then! Then, then! Why'd you make me pick!"

When she finally calmed down, she said, "I want to know more about you, Kusumoto."

That was a damn good answer—better than one he could ever give. The sun had mostly set, leaving gradients of pink and yellow, which settled starkly under the coming twilight. He stuck out his hand for her to take it; his actions were bold but he was red in the face, redder than Sawa's spitting laughter.

"I want to go home now," he said. "And do my laundry."

"Okay." She took his hand but pulled herself up by her legs. They untangled their bikes and she motioned putting on an invisible helmet, then she led the way because her house was a block further than his.

On their bikes, Mitsuru yelled, "Maybe you should be a teacher."

"Maybe," she yelled back.

"I'd like to see that." He was smiling but she couldn't see. "Sawa-sensei."

#sunday six #judgement #rgg

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trektraveler · 2 years

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Practically Magic Chapter Seven: The Stars That Guide You

Summary: Growing up in the same tiny mountain town, Y/N Owens and Dean Winchester despised each other. The only thing they ever agreed on was their need to escape. Life took them in opposite directions and neither of them ever looked back. So, when their paths cross over a series of gruesome murders in their hometown it was no surprise that old friction heated up again.

Dean never dreamed he’d be teaming up with a psychic, the FBI frowned on that sort of thing, but he was desperate. When that psychic turned out to be Y/N Owens, Dean knew two things for sure. One, Y/N was the real deal and two, he was in real trouble.

Pairing: Agent!Dean x Psychic!Reader, Dean x Reader, AU Dean x You Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Bobby Singer

Warnings: Slow Burn, Serial Killer Elements, Witches, Haters to Lovers, Claustrophobic Elements, Murder Scenes

Author’s Notes: This is an AU taking elements from the film Practical Magic and applying them to a fictional world where Dean Winchester is an FBI Agent. You will find parallels from that movie here, some quotes and other elements that capture the essence of the world of the Owens Witches. Hopefully! Additional Author’s Notes: This is a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Chapter Six: The Stars That Guide You Word Count: 4614

“I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for.” – Sally Owens

April 19, 2008

Vivienne Owens was a straightforward woman. Tall and slim with an ageless face, she never lacked for companionship. A good laugh and a strong embrace were really all she sought when life got lonely. Never did she seek love. That kind of nonsense could ruin a witch! Especially if that witch was an Owens. She had no desire to spend her life mourning the loss of yet another victim of the family curse. Besides, her life wasn’t lacking in the love. She had you.

Funny, kind, and smart as a whip, you were the apple of your Gran’s eye. After the heartbreaking death of your mother, Viv found herself thrust into the role of guardian. Never would have guessed that out of that heartbreak would come such a gift! Raising you gave her a purpose she hadn’t expected. Life’s blessings were often found in unexpected places.

She was eternally grateful for the friendship you forged with Sam Winchester. That boy had a heart of gold and manners to match. For all the times she worried about the cruelty you might encounter out in the world, she never worried when you were with Sam. Unfailingly loyal and true. Exactly the sort of man Viv hoped would catch your eye when the time came. Alas, it wasn’t meant. She’d consulted every card and crystal on the matter, and they all had the same answer, not the one.

When the doorbell sounded, Viv answered it without hesitation. The gentleman caller waiting on the porch had her narrowing her eyes.

“Well, well. The bad penny.”

“Ms. Owens.” Dean replied with respect in his voice and his posture, hoping the Owens matriarch would give him a pass. For once.

“You’re supremely over-dressed to drive a pair of teenagers to the school dance. Or are you chaperoning?”

To his credit, he stood a bit taller, pride refusing to let him shrink away. “I’m Y/N’s date.”

Viv never liked Dean. A pretty faced bad boy who had neither the ambition nor the work ethic to be a decent match for any woman of quality. Certainly not for her cherished granddaughter.

She took a step towards him, steel in her dark eyes, “Not a chance.”

“Gran, stop teasing. We’re going to be late.”

There are events in life, specific moments that shift the world. Forever changing it and leaving us, the poor players struggling to right ourselves in the wake. By rights, one should be able to see something that epic a mile off. Maybe that was by design. How many of us would stay in the path of chaos when the outcome is so uncertain?

For better or worse, Dean was rooted to the floor as he watched you descend the staircase. If Sammy were there, he would have rattled off some random fact about the symbolic meaning of a staircase. A journey or a passageway uniting two states of being. But Dean didn’t need it spelled out for him, it was plain as day. You’d raced up those stairs a thousand times as a girl, but tonight a young woman came back.

“Uh… Sammy’s sick,” Dean blurted out, surprised that he was able to form a sentence.

“Yeah, he just called, poor guy.” You smiled, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. Visible for the first time without braces, “You look really nice.”

Dean tried to blink himself out of his stupor. He’d watched you grow up, but this was seeing you. Really seeing you for the first time. Your dress was purple, of course it was. Strapless and fitted to the waist where it flared out into a proper princess gown with layers of tulle. There were thousands of tiny crystals sewn into the design that sparkled when you moved.

You had curves. Real curves. Your bust… wow. When did that happen?? Your normally mousy brown hair was a shade darker and pinned back with a silver comb so that it fell prettily over your shoulder. Your eyes looked darker too, lined and luminous. They held expectation, reminding him to speak.

“You’re beautiful.”

You could count on one hand the number of times Dean had spoken without a trace of sarcasm or swagger. This wasn’t the way he spoke to Lisa Braeden or any of the other girls that came around. There was no smirk. No flirt. No charming line. The sincerity in his voice was mirrored in the green eyes that held yours.

“Y/N.”

The way he said your name made butterflies stir in your stomach! No boy had ever said your name like that before, like a prayer and a promise mixed together. Like you were special and meant to be treated that way.

Confidence bloomed. You tilted your head with a teasing grin and spun in a circle, “Do you like my princess dress?”

“Oh, I’m a fan,” Dean chuckled, his cheeks turning pink in the process.

You picked up the skirt and revealed a pair of transparent heels that sparkled like they’d been dipped in fairy dust. “Look,” you laughed. “Cinderella!”

“Alright, you two, picture time.”

You pulled on a pair of long, white opera gloves and Dean tied the corsage of wisteria and starflowers to your wrist. The sight of big, tough Dean Winchester tying a delicate bow made your heart melt. You did your best to be grown up about it and straightened his bowtie in exchange.

Viv posed you by the ornately carved banister at the base of the stairs. Dean stood behind you, his arm wrapped naturally around your waist, and you glanced up at him with a smile. The camera was a family heirloom, several generations old. If the light was right, the lens would reveal the subject’s aura. She didn’t even have to adjust the focus, the haze around the pair was glowing bright pink, edging into crimson. Viv silently cursed.

When love is true, there is a rosy hue.

“Come on, Princess. I got your carriage waiting,” Dean said, holding the door for you.

Gran dropped a kiss to your forehead, “Have fun, darling girl.”

“Love you, Gran,” you smiled back as you fastened the wrap around your shoulders.

Vivienne’s fondness cooled as she regarded the eldest Winchester. The fates may have deemed you a perfect match, but she sure as hell didn’t have to like it.

“I’ll have her home by midnight, Viv… ah, Ms. Owens.”

“Treat her like a princess and we won’t have an issue, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean shook the hand the woman held out to him and tried to shrug off the ill-ease that came with it. He knew Viv didn’t hold him in high esteem, but this was the first time he felt a true, underlying threat. He didn’t want to fixate on what his fate would be if he failed to deliver you at the appointed hour.

“It’s a promise.”

If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then your prom must have been held at the ninth gate.

You never meant for things to go so badly; your motives were entirely pure! Wear the dress, play the part, and behave yourself. A task so simple anyone could do it. Anyone except you, apparently.

You wrung your gloved hands together in your lap as the Impala squealed out of the high school parking lot. Too nervous to steal a glance at Dean, you turned your attention to the houses and street signs whizzing by. He wasn’t saying anything, and you could hardly blame him. In under twenty minutes you managed to turn a normal, if bland, school dance into utter chaos! So much for a night of playing princess.

When the silence in the car finally became more than you could take, you spoke. “Do you think everyone noticed?”

“Which part? When the strobe lights exploded or when that statue of Charlie Baker came to life and ordered a whiskey?”

“We shouldn’t have a statue of him in the first place, he murdered dozens of Ute Indians.”

“Yeah, well tonight he was aiming for the principal.” Dean gave a thoughtful pause, “Is that girl’s hair going to grow back?”

You groaned and let your head fall back against the seat, “Ugh! Gran’s gonna have my ass. I’m supposed to be working on control. I’ll be lucky if they don’t hang me in the town square!”

“Nah, it’s not that bad. Most people won’t even believe it, they’ll probably blame it on a prank gone wrong or bad beer.”

The car went quiet again as you ran through dozens of ways you could explain this to your grandmother. None of them good. Maybe you should go back and try a memory spell? You were still inexperienced with casting and something of this size was not for a novice. Given your track record, there was a good chance it would backfire. As if things could get any worse…

Then you heard Dean snicker.

Looking over, you saw his shoulders start to shake. An ill-concealed grin took over his face, although he clearly tried to fight it.

“Dean! It’s not funny!”

He laughed then, loudly. Cracking up so bad he had to wipe a tear from his eye. “Did you see the look on Mrs. Walcott’s face then Charlie called her a Painted Lady and asked how much?”

You shook your head and pressed your lips together, trying to keep a straight face. It didn’t work. Dean had the best laugh and when he really got going it was contagious.

“A dollar for the night, two if the lights stay on,” you chuckled, repeating Charlie’s offer.

“Holy hell, Y/N… best prom ever!”

It was early yet, so rather than take you home to face a lecture, Dean headed in the opposite direction. Ten miles outside of town and up the side of the mountain, he pulled off to a lookout point. Not well used, the gravel road was overgrown with weeds just starting to green for the spring. He parked Baby facing the valley below. The worn, flannel blanket in the trunk still spread perfectly over the hood for the two of you to lay on.

No stars shone through the overcast sky, making the lights of Silverton especially bright.

Dean pulled a flask from his inside coat pocket and offered it to you, “Sorry your prom blew up.”

You took a sip, surprising him by not choking on the warm whiskey. “It’s not a total loss,” you replied, handing it back to him. “The company’s still top notch.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve missed you.”

You still couldn’t believe that he was here, let alone your date! You hadn’t seen much of Dean after he graduated. He bounced around taking a few trade courses and working in garages off and on. He didn’t seem to have much of a direction except to get out of Silverton. You suspected that the only thing keeping him around at all was Sam.

After what happened with Bobby, Dean closed himself off to you. There were no more Saturday afternoons spent tuning up the Impala. No more hot cocoa after class or karaoke on country drives. You missed his friendship and his company, but fear and pride kept you from seeking him out.

Still, he was here now, and you took it as a good sign.

“I missed you too.”

Sudden shyness had you looking away and changing the subject. “Sam said that you were working in Denver.”

“Ah yeah, for a while, you know.” Dean took another swallow of whiskey and looked out to the city lights, “It’s a little big for a kid from the sticks. I spent most of my time in Greeley.”

An image popped into your mind of blowing blonde hair and sad eyes. “Greeley. That’s where your mom was from.”

A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips, “Your hocus pocus is getting better, Pip.”

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“Nah, don’t be. It’s no secret.”

“So, you have family there? Mary’s family?”

“Sure do!” he barked out a laugh, “A whole clan of Campbells. Aunts and uncles, cousins. Both grandparents. They, ah… they have this big ol’ ranch up there. It’s really beautiful.”

“They must have been happy to see you, it’s been a long time.”

“I didn’t tell them who I was. Made up a story about passing through looking for work. Helped them get one of their tractors up and running again, but I moved on after a couple of days.”

You found his hand in the dark and laced your fingers through his. He squeezed back, latching onto it like a lifeline.

“They didn’t recognize me. Dad always said I looked like her, but they didn’t even look at me twice. I told ‘em my name was John Bonham! That should have at least raised an eyebrow.”

“What did Sam say about it?”

Dean sat up, his knees pulled up so he could rest his elbows on them, “He doesn’t know I went.”

The rejection and grief seeped out of the old wound in his heart. The pain so acute that you felt it as your own. You knew what it was to lose a mother, but you were never alone with it. You had Gran. Dean bore his burden on his own. By necessity and by choice.

“Tell him. He’s your brother, he wouldn’t want you to go through this alone.”

“Sweetheart, that’s exactly the point. Sammy’s always saying we’ve got family out there, always wanting to know more about them. Well, now I know about ‘em.”

“You went to Greeley for Sam.”

“I wasn’t gonna let him get hurt.” Dean hopped down from Baby’s hood and kicked a few stones from his path,

“My mom loved this spot. She used to drive us up here all the time, even before Sammy was born. This was where she told me I was going to be a big brother! Hell, she even told me before she told Dad. Taking care of that kid is my job, the only one I ever gave a damn about. The only one I was ever any good at.”

You got down from the car and pulled Dean into a tight hug. Your fingers curled around the nape of his neck as he buried his face in your shoulder. You stayed like that for a long time, absorbing the hurt along with the dampness of old tears.

“You’re doing a good job, Dean,” you whispered into his ear. “She’s very proud of you.”

He crushed you to him and closed his eyes until he could breathe again. After a time, the heavy cloud of grief lifted, and he felt better than he had in a long time. When he released you, he found calm and kindness in your gaze instead of judgement. You were far too young to have eyes so wise.

He shifted gears, deliberately trading melancholy for frivolity. He reached into the Impala through the driver’s side window. “You know Y/N, I’m not doing a very good job of keeping my word to your Gran.”

Your head tilted, not entirely sure what he was up to. “What do you mean?”

“I promised her to treat you like a princess.” His voice was muffled as the radio came to life. The first chords of Dylan’s Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door floated out into the night.

Your eyes grew wide as he held out a hand to you with a dashing smile, “Every princess deserves a dance.”

“Oh! No, Dean. I don’t know.”

“Why not? This is a great song!”

“Well, ah… I just never,” you cleared your throat and whispered, “I don’t know how to dance.”

He paused for a moment. He saw the uncertainty in your gaze, and he banished it with a wink, “Just follow my lead, Sweetheart. I’ll teach you all you need to know.”

Before you could protest, he grabbed your hand tugged you out into the clearing. He quickly spun you in a dizzying circle, making you crash into him with a laugh. One of your hands was guided to his shoulder and he told you to hang on tight. You only stepped on his toes a couple of times before you found the rhythm.

“Look at that,” he beamed down at you, “You’re a natural.”

Warmth spread through you like sunlight as you settled into the dance. You focused on new and fascinating sensations, like the feeling of his hand on your waist. The subtle scent of his cologne. The smoothness of his clean-shaven cheek as it brushed against yours. The way your hands fit, like they were meant to go together.

“Y/N?”

His voice was rough, but softened when he said your name.

“Hmm?”

“Does it always feel like that?”

You didn’t dare look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Magic,” he said at last. “Back at the school, there was this zap.”

Your grip on his shoulder tightened. “You felt that?”

A laugh bubbled up from his throat as he swayed you back and forth, “Hell yeah, I did! It was like a lightning strike! Is it always like that when you twitch your nose?”

Your mind raced, there was no way he should have felt that! No mortal would have, not even someone close to you. Only a witch born to the craft would be able to detect an energy fluctuation like that. And even so, it would have been minimal.

“No, not always. It depends on what I’m feeling.”

“So, back there you were… pissed?”

“Yes. Anger carries heat, makes it snap and sizzle,” you carefully explained. “Magic always comes from within. From your heart. Emotions give it fuel.”

“Can you do it again?” His green eyes curious, “Another spell, a different one.”

When you didn’t answer right away, he thought he’d offended you. But you didn’t push him away. Another song came on the radio, and you pulled him in close. He wasn’t lying earlier; you were incredibly light on your feet. This time you led, spinning him around in pleasant circles to the music. The full skirt of your dress swishing around your feet.

Your lips barely brushed his ear as your whispered, “The star that guides you shines brightest in the dark.”

He didn’t know what the words meant, but goosebumps broke out as soon as you said them. Similar to what he felt back at the prom, but not as sharp. This was warm and seductive, like a good bourbon. Honeyed gold. Rays of the sun that filtered through the Aspens in autumn. Completely relaxed and a bit tipsy. It felt good, and so did he.

The light broke him out of his magic haze. And it took him a minute to realize that it was coming from you. You were glowing.

Actually glowing.

It started with your dress. The tiny sequins shimmered, then got brighter. Twinkling stars against the violet fabric like the night sky. Delicate threads of iridescent silver light wove through your hair and swirled over your skin. The light gathered and grew bright between your joined hands. Not even your satin gloves could keep the heat from radiating at the connection.

When you raised your dark eyes to meet Dean’s, everything stopped. Even the music stopped. He was aware of nothing except you. The way you looked at him, like he hung the moon in the sky. The shape of your lips as you said his name. It was plain as day and he’d been a fool not to see it.

You raised your hand and with a flick of your wrist, the clouds whisked away. Millions of stars danced in the sky and a comet blazed a path over the mountains in the distance. The moon came out and shone down silver beams so bright that you and Dean could see each other clearly. There was no hiding in the shadows. No dancing around the half-whispered rumors that plagued your family.

Dean’s wide eyes scanned the sky in wonder before landing on you. You held your breath, the confidence that flooded you a moment ago ebbed away. This was you naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. Rule one, never reveal your magic! Witches were burned for that sort of thing.

He gently brushed his knuckles over your cheek, proving to himself that you were real. “How? How did I not see?”

“I don’t normally perform spells in public.”

His other hand came to rest on your waist, certain that if he didn’t keep contact you would disappear like a dream. “I don’t mean the magic, I mean you. You grew up, Y/N.”

You bit your lip, “So did you.”

“You did a better job of it, Sweetheart.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you replied, running your hands over the lapels of his suit. “You look pretty grown up to me.”

Eyes closed and lips met. Cautious and curious at first, then warm and open. As natural and essential as breathing. Moving in tandem and growing in intensity. It was impossible to tell who initiated it, but it didn’t matter. It was the sweet connection of souls that inspired playwrights and poets.

Dean wasn’t a believer in fate, but he couldn’t deny the feeling of rightness. Every step he’d taken, even when he walked away from you, was leading him here. He knew it, all the way down to his bones. He wasn’t always sure what he wanted his life to look like or what he wanted to do with it. But now he knew one thing for certain, he wanted it to include you.

You blinked up at him with a dazed expression as he gently pulled away. He tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear with a soft chuckle, “Everything okay?”

Ever so delicately, you brought your fingers up to trace the shape of his face. The ridge of his brow, the angle of his cheekbone. No one had ever touched him with such softness or reverence. Your touch ghosted over his lips, and you smiled.

“Everything’s perfect.”

Dean walked you to your door just as the clock struck twelve. He kissed your hand, certain that anything more than that would lead to the backseat of the Impala, and you deserved better than that. He wanted better than that, for both of you.

“Thanks for tonight, I had a really good time.”

“Me too. Sleep well, Princess.”

You shyly ducked your head before closing the door behind you with a quiet click.

He was halfway down the sidewalk, congratulating himself on his restraint when the door opened. He turned just in time to see a cloud of purple sparkles barreling towards him. He caught you with a happy grunt as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him with enough enthusiasm to take his breath away. Electricity zinged over his skin and made his heart jump.

Your grin was triumphant, and you gave his lips one last peck, “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight… Y/N.”

You spun away laughing, and skipped back to the house, “Let’s get coffee tomorrow!”

“Okay,” Dean said, as much to himself as to you. The door closed again and this time the lock latched. Viv’s tall shadow passed by the window, evidently you were in for the night whether you wanted to be or not.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and whistled to himself as he walked back to the Impala. Tonight turned out to be the best rollercoaster ride of his life, and he never wanted to get off.

As his hand reached the garden gate, a low growl sounded from the darkness. He stopped dead in his tracks as a massive black dog came out of the shadows. It stood between him and the car. Its eyes glowed an eerie red and the hackles on it’s back made the long fur stand up in warning. The night air, light with new love turned stale and sulfuric. Even the silver moonlight shifted to sallow green.

Dean slowly moved his hands to his jacket, searching for a pocketknife or his keys. Anything to use as a weapon. Coming up empty, he knew speed was his only hope. The evil thing threw its head back in a terrifying howl and Dean ran! Back up the flagstone path to the house, but he only got a few feet before he was tackled to the ground. Sharp teeth gleamed and gnashed as he struggled with the monster. It was impossibly strong and smelled like death and decay.

It went for his throat and Dean was just able to deflect its attack. It missed his jugular but clamped down on his forearm. Blood poured, skin and muscle shredded away from the bone and Dean screamed. Another soul lost to the beast.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

“Dean! Get up, damn it!”

Dean bolted upright in his bed. Soaked in sweat and sticking to the sheets, he frantically looked around the room for the wolf. Met with only frilly fabrics and case files, he rubbed a hand over his thudding heart.

“Come on, you jerk!” Bam. Bam. Bam. “Open up!”

Oblivious to the fact that he was in his boxers, Dean stumbled to the door and slid the dainty gold chain off the lock.

“What?!”

Sam rolled his eyes and shoved past his brother, “What the hell took you so long? Were you sneaking a chick out the bathroom window?”

Dean stepped out on to the tiny porch, his eyes squinting in the sun as he scanned the street. His Baby was still parked right where he left her, along with a few other cars. A woman jogged by pushing a stroller, white puffs of air rose as she exhaled. A typical, crisp morning in Silverton.

“Dean, you alright?” Sam asked from the doorway.

“Did you see a dog a few minutes ago?”

“What?”

“A big, black dog. Maybe a wolf?”

“A wolf?’ Sam’s brow furrowed, “No. What’s going on?”

“I must be losing my damn mind,” Dean muttered, going to the kitchenette and pouring himself a cup of day-old coffee. “What are you doing here, Sammy?”

“I’ve been calling you all morning, when you didn’t call back, I figured you forgot to charge your cell or something.” Sam’s clear gaze faltered, “There’s been another murder. Called it in an hour ago.”

“Damn it.” Dean grabbed his discarded suit and headed for the bathroom. “Give me a minute, I’m right behind you.”

He splashed cold water over his face, not bothering with a shave. The vivid dream turned nightmare was still fresh in his mind. But he couldn’t focus on any of that now. He had a killer to catch, God willing this latest strike would yield more clues than the others did.

Dean’s reflection stared back as he jammed the toothbrush into his mouth. He looked like hell. Weeks of late nights and early mornings left dark circles under his eyes and carved lines in his forehead. His hair was shaggy and the stubble on his chin was turning the corner from scruff to beard. He was starting to look just like his dad!

As he rinsed the brush, he noticed something on his arm. Two crescent shaped marks raised and red on the skin of his forearm. Tender to the touch. The size and shape of a dog bite.

A Hellhound, you’d said. A death omen.

Dean scooped up your Black Obsidian from the counter and fastened the silver chain around his neck before he buttoned up his shirt. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but if nightmares could become reality, then he’d need all the help he could get.

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