#Replaced Miracle au

[laynore-x]

--"Replaced Miracle AU"--🐆✨🕯️

An Encanto au where Antonio is now the protagonist without a gift, Mirabel is the outcast who left casita at the age of 15, and after Alma's death, Pepa was the new matriarch, but things didn't go well after that.

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways. 

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it. 

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him. 

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige. 

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter. 

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds. 

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—” 

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.” 

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year. 

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen. 

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia. 

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt. 

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds. 

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds. 

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds. 

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through? 

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills. 

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.” 

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[cupcakeslushie]

First || Prev || …

Here’s the next part of the Kendratello AU! I knew it was going to be very dialogue heavy, so I figured writing it out would be fast, but I’m so ready to be done with it that I’ve not really beta read it. So I apologize for any errors. But enjoy!

Splinter loves his sons, but these last few days have been eating away at his already shriveled and fraying nerves. Watching his children ambling around their home, for months, each in varying states of anxiety, fear, and distress, hasn’t been easy on his old heart.

They’ve been through so much, experienced more hardships than Splinter has ever wanted for them. But the latest crucible tearing his family apart was caused, not by some ancient demon, or world-ending threat—but a fiendishly smart, young woman.

One who’d kidnapped his son and replaced him with a stranger that Splinter hardly recognized.

The bitter tale is too familiar for the old movie star to painlessly swallow. It seems fate played such cruel tricks sometimes. Always seeming to strike harsher the second go around. With outcomes even more brutal and painful. His son was stolen by a hateful, sadistic woman, and kept locked away, until she was satisfied with the new toy that emerged from the shadows.

So it stands to reason how…relieved Splinter had been that one, early morning. When his three sons had pulled Purple into his bedroom, piling into his bed, nothing but wide eyes and panicked shouting; one over the other. Looking back now, he can recognize how short-sighted his quick relief had been. But in the moment, as a father, Splinter had only seen this new, strange development as a blessing.

Donatello might have been confused, and irritated with his brother’s manhandling, but Splinter could clearly see more life in those eyes than he’d witnessed in months. Splinter had shushed the rest, and spoken to Purple directly, finally getting a better grasp on what his sons were shouting about.

Amnesia.

So, of course, relief. Because how could forgetting all those horrible, tortuous weeks in that woman’s grasp, possibly be a bad thing? By some miracle, Splinter’s boy had been returned to him. Nowhere near that frail ghost of Donatello, which Splinter would sometimes find curled up on the floor of his own lab, screaming Kendra’s name and sobbing to be returned to her care.

He had been spared all of that, like it never happened. Their family had been handed a gift, and Splinter truthfully wasn't interested in the whys of it all…

Until Michelangelo chose to contact Draxum, and words like “brain damage” and “tumor” were thrown into the mix.

An entire day of testing yielded…varying results. They were able to rule out the scariest of options. No dark shadows were seen in the X-rays of his son’s beautifully brilliant brain, and no concerning squiggles were pointed out by the Hidden City doctors who studied the fast moving waves appearing on the EEG. It was all a bunch of nonsense to Splinter, but Donatello nodded like he agreed, when he was handed the papers over to inspect himself.

Everything was normal, physically.

That left the most difficult part of the day. Getting his son to speak to a psychiatrist—seriously, and without snarking back at every possible question he would eventually be asked.

Draxum had thankfully picked a good one. Briefing her beforehand on…everything. She seemed prepared for Purple’s special brand of cynicism. The sheep yokai was apparently at the top of her field.

A tentative diagnosis of “dissociative amnesia” had been given, along with a small number of pamphlets and printouts. The doctor had informed Splinter that certain treatments might improve Donatello’s situation, but no cure had been discovered for something like this.

They would just have to take things one day at a time. And they’d been doing so well. Almost like everything was back to normal.

Splinter had become very good at ignoring that pending feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He smiled at his sons every day onward, like nothing was wrong. And all of them, in return, began falling back into a more comfortable ease around each other. The stress had just been starting to loosen in Red’s shoulders and jaw. Orange was giving real, honest smiles again. And Blue was no longer a shadow around corners, hiding from Purple like a bomb he was scared to set off.

But the other shoe that had been the root of Splinter’s dread, finally dropped, and the rug was pulled from under their feet once more, violently, with no warning.

Even after they’d managed to calm Donatello down. There was no negotiating the terms of his reality, and he was stubbornly convinced that the world around him was fabricated. Without caring about the consequences, he refused to be civil towards any of them, treating them all like jesters in a play, where no one had the script.

The family’s usual process for dealing with Purple’s anger–letting him cool off alone in his lab until he collected his thoughts–was unfeasible this time around.

Splinter didn’t think he could ever forget the image of his son, turning the knife he held in his hands inwards, and threatening to end his own life.

No; leaving him alone was not an option.

Which led back to Splinter’s previously mentioned frayed nerves.

Four days into this new, stressful change, and his genius son was still managing to find creative ways to sneak past their watchful eyes. Six attempts, in total. Each time, caught with seconds to spare, and just as traumatic for everyone involved.

Raphael and Michelangelo at the moment, were going through their home, removing every sharp implement they could find. Anything that could possibly be used to “put an end to the loop” that Donatello was convinced he was stuck in.

While the two performed their important task, Blue and Splinter had the harder of the two jobs; watching Purple.

Splinter was currently sitting comfortably in his chair, but it was far from his usual level of relaxation. Despite plenty of bean bags to occupy, the twins were locked in a shoving match. For some reason, they were fighting over the single, smallest one they must’ve owned.

“If you don’t get out of my personal space, I swear to Oppenheimer you will regret it, Leonardo!”

“And I swear to Ryan Renolds, that I’ll shred all of your softest hoodies if you kick me in the nuts one more time!”

“That Barbenheimer joke doesn’t even make sense, you idiot, that was Ryan Gosling!”

“Who mentioned Barbie? I’m talking about Deadpool and Wolverine!”

“What does that movie have to do with anything?!”

“Fuck dude, what did I just say about nut shots!”

“Then get out of my kicking radius, and your non-existent nuts will be safe!”

“BOYS!”

Both his sons quickly pause their arguing, giving their father their undivided attention.

“Leonardo, go help your brothers.” Splinter demands. “I will watch Purple. He has not had a moment of free time from any of you in days, and it is clearly wearing on all of us.” Blue gives his father one of his patented unimpressed stare downs.

“No offense, Pops, but how is you watching him, any different than me?”

“Because I will sit in my chair, and Purple will scroll on his phone, and there will be quiet.” Splinter can’t stand the bickering any longer. He knows both his sons will benefit from this time apart. It’s just convincing Blue of that.

Donatello’s gaze is boring holes into the back of Leonardo’s head while his second oldest son matches Splinter’s scrutiny. The rat can see the need for some fresh air battling against Blue’s desire to stay close. But Leonardo is his sharpest son, and even he can admit that his constant presence has become too grating for his brother.

“You need to watch him like a hawk, Dad,” Leo glares at his twin out of the corner of his gaze, “sometimes you can get a little…distracted.”

The new projector, playing Splinter’s same old programs, flashes against the curtain hung on the wall. The volume is set to low, but Blue still looks pointedly between his father and the screen. Splinter doesn’t blame him for his concern, so he tries to put all the gravity he can into his tone, enough that when he does promise to stay vigilant, it seems to convince Blue to place his trust in him.

Purple stays quiet through the exchange, only breathing a sigh of relief once his brother is long past the threshold of the den. He looks ready to lean back into his hard won pillows, but Splinter realizes that Blue had something of a point. Donatello is positioned quite far from him, and he’s suddenly nervous about catching something in time.

“Purple, how about you come sit with me.” Splinter suggests it kindly but firmly, and with a smile– so his son can’t refuse. He pats the bit of cushion next to his legs, “I will honor my promise to leave you alone, but I would be much more relaxed if you were within my reach.”

His boy merely blinks at him, blank faced, and staring at the very spot that Splinter has just created for him.

It isn’t as though his recliner is small, even if Splinter himself is. Donatello had custom made it for him, after one too many complaints about his old brown one hurting his back. It practically swallows Splinter, but remains just stiff enough to provide plenty of support for his lower back. He could even lay sideways and still have some space to stretch.

Splinter recalls very clear memories of all his sons fighting for a spot by his side when they were younger. But it has been some time since those days…perhaps Donatello thinks he’s far too old for such a thing as sitting by his aging father. Yoshi remembers himself at eighteen, and shudders. He’s forever thankful that no matter how lacking his parenting skills might have been, that his boys are kinder to him than he ever was to his Jiji.

Donatello pulls at some invisible thread of his black leggings. Since this new alteration of his memories, Purple has taken to wearing more layers. It’s nearing fall, but not nearly cold enough for the large sweatshirt, black leggings AND socks that his son is currently donning.

Splinter just barely hears Purple murmur a jumbled, “Huh?”

Splinter catches some sort of emotion actively being suppressed behind the bewildered shock at his offer, but it’s hard to tell what it is. Over the years Splinter is ashamed to say, he has grown very bad at reading his own children. Especially Purple, who, if he was being honest, has always been very hard to decipher.

Splinter starts to think the offer will be rejected, when Purple finally climbs to his feet and ambles slowly over. The unknown emotion skittering at the edge of Donatello’s expression morphs into something closer to suspicion. This one easy to identify, especially when it practically drips from his next words.

“Trying to endear yourself to me won’t sway me into falling for your tricks.”

The barb is said just as unkindly as everything else Purple has thrown at his family these last few days. Splinter lets it slide off him like water. He knows his son would (probably) never speak to him like that if he wasn’t stuck in such a painfully clear mode of survival and uncertainty.

“Yes, yes.” He says, untroubled. “Come sit and I can finally lean my chair back.”

Donatello watches him the entire time as he cautiously settles into his spot. He yelps when Splinter grabs his ankles and pulls his son’s long (thin, still much too thin) legs across his lap. For an instant, Splinter freezes, growing worried he’s overstepped. The act had been done without a thought. It’s the way Purple has always liked to sit, finding it more comfortable than any other way. Donatello preferred to keep his distance. A deviation from his siblings, for sure.

Michelangelo would press as close as possible, two sides smushed together like a hug, only without the constricting limbs (though, if Orange were ever to fall asleep in Splinter’s chair, those too would eventually find their way to catching him in their hold).

Leonardo preferred to sit on the arm of his chair, never staying still for long enough to find a comfortable position. But when he slumbered, after a long night of binge watching Novela’s with Splinter–he would curl up, head in his father’s lap, limbs held tight to his body. Like he was afraid even that was asking for too much.

Raphael, his poor, eldest son, hadn’t sat with him in so long. Splinter could still remember a little turtle tot in red, climbing up and splaying out onto his lap when he needed a good cry–or just a moment of peace from his much too loud siblings. Sadly, it wasn’t long before his Red was too big, and his father too small to provide such a refuge. The last time Raphael needed consoling; after the Krang, Splinter had been forced to climb up onto his own son’s knees in order to reach and wipe away his tears.

In the few rare instances of Purple seeking out physical touch, this was all he would allow. Legs stretched over his father’s lap, but his upper body was always off limits. Pulled just far enough away from the threat of any sort of long term contact.

Splinter used to wonder if Purple was scared to ask for anything more, like Leonardo, or if he thought depriving himself of a comforting hug would make him seem stronger, like Raphael, or even the rare times when Michelangelo wished to appear more mature and refused to be comforted. Eventually, Splinter caught on to the truth. His son was asking for comfort, in his own unique way. He was content with the minimal amount of closeness, as long as he felt like he was able to dictate the terms.

But one thing Purple would always allow his father to do, was loop his fingers around his ankles. Trusting the grip would hold his legs in place and keep him stable. He once said the pressure was small enough that it wasn’t overwhelming, but strong enough that it could ground him when everything became too much.

Even now, the act of reaching out to pull his son’s long legs up had been so instinctive. When Splinter looks over and sees the uncertainty still on Purple’s face, he knows he’s pushed too far too quickly.

It’s a risky move, but he’s already pushed, and it’s something that never fails, not once since he’s discovered it.

Purple has always been the most ticklish of all his brothers. Another thing that never really helped his sensory issues. But Splinter long ago discovered that there was a particular spot, which could always earn him a giggle and a brighter smile.

Splinter grips the meat of Donatello’s right knee and jiggles it back and forth. The silly action seems to do the trick and knocks something loose in his son’s overwrought head. His gamble pays off spectacularly, and Splinter is overjoyed to see a small smile erase most of the uncertainty clouding Donatello’s face. It isn’t a full peal of laughter, but the wariness makes way for something softer, and the huff of air from his nose is just as rewarding as a full body laugh.

His boy rests his shoulder and head onto the cushioned back of the chair and Splinter presses the button that will lift up the leg rest, and recline them both into a more restful position.

After a few moments of quiet, Donatello slowly pulls his phone from the pocket of his hoodie. Even without looking directly at him, Splinter can feel his son watching and waiting for the reprimand he thinks will come. Instead, Splinter raises the volume of his show just loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to completely shatter their peace. He wants to make Purple feel more at ease; like he’s not being constantly surveilled–not providing more overstimulation.

They sit like that for some time. Splinter rubs a thumb back and forth across the meatier part of Donatello's calves. He’s learned that repetitive touch is the best kind of grounding technique for Purple. The patterned motion always worked to calm his nerves.

Even still, after only so long Splinter catches Purple lowering his phone.

He keeps his own gaze forward, locked on his commercials. Splinter can see, without looking, that his son is studying him, trying to take apart something in his mind that he doesn’t understand. Splinter allows him all the time he needs to gather his thoughts.

Finally Purple speaks, “Dad…?” It’s so quiet, if Splinter hadn't been waiting for it, he might’ve missed it.

He pauses the repetitive kneading for just a moment, squeezing his hold, and humming in order to prompt his son to continue his thought.

“Can I tell you something?” The inquiry is whispered to him so delicately. It takes everything in him to keep his face open and soft and his movements steady. It’s clear that Donatello is trying his best to remain aloof, but his gaze is locked on his hands that are settled in his lap, the fingers of one pulling on the digits from his other.

At some point he must’ve put his phone completely away. Splinter feels the pressure of having Donatello's complete focus aimed at him.

The tugging intensifies. Splinter wonders if he should reach out, but he’s not sure how well that would be received. It doesn’t look painful just yet.

“I don't know what Kendra is accomplishing by showing me this.” Donatello growls, suddenly digging his palms into his eyes like he can still feel the weight of the screen blocking his vision. “Trying to make me happy, only to rip it all away from me? Or attempting to make me feel, even more like a useless burden than I was?”

It’s the first crack in his armor that Purple has shown in days. A clear sign that he was not as unaffected by Kendra’s lies as he’d been trying to project. Donatello sighs, but as it dies out Splinter thinks it sounds closer to a sob.

“You can’t tell the others…” Donatello looks at him with wet, desperate eyes, and it’s unclear if his son still doubts who he’s speaking to, but Splinter works to ease his fears all the same.

“I swear, whatever you tell me will remain between us, alone.”

Donatello nods faintly, eyes trailing downwards once more. Splinter may have had trouble before, but now the many emotions jumping across his son’s face—fear, shame, frustration, all are easy to catch.

With a shaking breath he whispers his secret. “I lied.” He’s crying now, real tears that he doesn’t even bother to wipe away. The pulling at his skin grows more violent, and Splinter finally interferes to carefully pry Donatello’s hands apart before damage is done. In place he cradles his son’s hands like delicate porcelain and runs a thumb over Donatello’s palm.

“I told everyone that I could tell. That I wasn’t being fooled, but that’s not exactly true. The last few loops have…it’s been getting harder, and harder to remember things— how they really happened. Too much is…plausible.”

Splinter keeps silent. This confession has clearly been weighing on Donatello. He deserves to get it all out, and hopefully feel lighter for it. Even if Purple suspects the family, something is letting Donatello open up enough for him to share his fears.

“There was one loop…Mikey broke…he broke the remote…When I said I didn’t have time to fix it. He threw the pieces at my head. He would never do that, though…right?”

“No, of course not,” Splinter answers immediately, quick to banish the doubt from his son’s mind. Donatello only blinks at him, like his thoughts are moving too slow, and cannot comprehend such a simple, stark contradiction to what he experienced.

“It felt so real…it all feels so real. But…I could feel how one of the sharp, broken corners had cut through my mask and how the wet fabric stuck to my skin with blood.”

Donatello raises a hand and touches the spot where the phantom wound must’ve sat. The pain now gone, but the memory of it haunts his eyes and rattles the tremors building in his hands.

“I thought…I thought I was handling this—maybe not well…But I’d hoped I would be strong enough to last until you all came for me…And now Raph is saying it’s already over.”

It’s a simplified form of the truth which they had tried to get Purple to believe, but even that much clearly doesn’t sit well with him. “If it is over, why does my body feel like one massive bruise? How did you all find me? How long did I last? Was I in there long enough to…?”

He’s clearly scared to ask Splinter any more questions, so he trails off, curling in on himself and pulling his hands up to his chest, pressing there, as if checking to make sure he feels something still beating.

Splinter decides he’s waited long enough and slowly pulls Donatello out of his hunched ball and guides his head to his own chest, making sure his ear is aligned against his own pulsing heartbeat.

Donatello resists slightly at first, but the moment he’s close enough to catch the sound, his breath catches and he glues himself to the spot.

“I don’t want to be there anymore,” Purple murmurs. It sounds like sleep is catching up with his son, the exhaustion pulling him down and slurring his words.

Splinter cups the back of Donatello’s head and carefully tug his fur lined blanket down from where it’s been sitting on the back of his chair. The blanket slots over the both of them and Donatello curls even closer to his father, tucking himself into his warmth.

“Go to sleep, when you wake up, you will be right here.” He’s sure to say it softly but with as much reassurance as possible, and Donatello seems too tired at this point to hold onto his doubts.

“Okay…,” Donatello mutters. Then, practically hanging on to the waking world for one final query hesitantly asks, “…Dad?…Do you love me?”

Splinter doesn’t even think. “Of course, my son.”

Donatello’s breathing finally evens out, and Splinter feels a few tears finally escape.

He’s not sure what next steps they should take, or what kind of state his son will be in when he wakes, but Splinter can only hope this is progress. He prays it won’t be undone…but regardless, Donatello is home. Any steps back or forward will be taken together, and that is the most important part.

[sillysiluriforme]

On the la terreur AU might I ask what's the situation regarding Multimouse, scarabella and Ladybug since it seems Mari is posing as both supers? Why Is she doing so and how? What does everyone else think on LB giving her miraculous to Scarabella? Thank you and sorry if this was too long or already answered! I'm just curious :)

Hi ! Since the hawkmoth situation is a little more serious than in the show ladybug’s miracle cure ability becomes absolutely mandatory. Marinette, being a major preper, anticipated that she might need a ladybug replacement one day. Who would it be ? Alya of course.

In short ladybug is training scarabella to take her place if something were to happen to her ! She starts out accompanying her as multimouse under the guise of also being trained by ladybug.

It works well for a time even if Marinette has some complicated feelings on the matter.

The rest of the team respect ladybug’s decision but they all have pretty high standards for scarabella. Except chat noir, who is a bitch. The entire time.

He’s not a big fan of the idea that his partner might get replaced. Or that he might get replaced !

[nemisuki]

Trick or Treat

Third Year AU | Halloween was known to be a free pass to dress up in costumes and live out your candy fantasies. But since when was the spooky factor replaced with romance? A girl interested in the notorious blonde is determined to beat the clock before they all go their separate ways at graduation. Maybe matching costumes will do the trick��. or will that earn you a treat?

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, first kiss, confession scene, werewolf bakugo for the simps, kirishima best wingman, 3k word count

When they first entered UA as freshman, it wasn’t often they spoke despite always being in close proximity to one another. She was from another world then him. Soft spoken and friendly. It was only expected of her to avoid the angry blonde and his wrath. 

It stayed that way until they entered their second year at UA. Everyone was affected by the war both physically and mentally. But the most noticeable change in character was Bakugo.

He was already making progress before the incident but this pushed him further. He wasn’t that same hot head from the first day of school. Bakugo matured in a way that made herself want to know him all over again. 

To be frank she was a little scared of him at first. But seeing him interact with his classmates made her realize he’s more than just your hot headed guy. 

So in an attempt to build a friendship with him, she started speaking to him during class (with the help of Kirishima of course). Hoping to catch a glimpse of what he’s really like. Throughout the school year different opinions circulated around him, causing her curiosity to increase with every rumor.

She doesn't remember a time when the two had a one on one conversation with each other. Honestly she doesn't even think he knows her name. Which isn't so shocking, given that Bakugo calls everyone by random nicknames. She tends to blend into the background a lot, it's in her nature. 

But today she is feeling a bit bold. 

With that in mind she manages to gain the courage to ask Kirishima for help to which he happily agrees. If she were to approach him by herself, she would definitely freeze up. Good thing Kiri somehow managed to befriend their grumpy classmate. By some miracle. 

“Hey Bakubro! You know that Y/N plays that game too?!” the red haired says with a toothy grin. Attempting to push her to initiate some conversation with the blonde. 

Quite literally.

He physically nudges her in front of Bakugos desk. 

Gee real smooth Kiri. 

She stumbles a bit but thankfully catches her balance as soon as her eyes meet Bakugos. A wave of shyness comes over her whole body as he stares her down for a moment. It was a moment of awkward silence until he broke it first. 

“Hah? You play pvp games?” Bakugo huffs out while furrowing his eyebrows in her direction. Seemingly to not quite believe Kirishima's statement. 

“U-Uh yes! I do!” she manages to squeak out but that's all she can say due to her nerves. 

With a keen eye Kirishima senses her nervousness and decides to come to the rescue, “Hey Y/N! You should play with us when we get back to the dorms. What do you say?”

Kirishima you saint! 

“Ah sure! But is that okay with you guys?” she says hesitantly while glancing at Bakugo for any sign of disapproval at the suggestion. 

The blonde catches her stare almost immediately, causing her to avert her gaze just as quick. He ponders for a moment but then sighs. Speaking in a grumble as he looks to the side “tch it doesn't matter to me.” 

“Alright then!” Kirishima says cheerfully while giving a thumbs up to Y/N to which she gives a thankful smile back. 

Spending time with Bakugo was definitely not listed on her bingo card months ago, yet here she is. A year soon has gone by and they’ve gone from mere classmates to friends. Well… at least Y/N hopes Bakugo sees her as so. It's still difficult for her to understand what he's thinking. Has she truly earned his trust yet? 

It started off with admiration. 

She doesn’t know when it happened. When her heart started racing whenever he spoke a single word to her. When she felt her eyes constantly drift to him unknowingly during class. When her fingers subconsciously itched to touch his own. 

The way he vigorously trained to improve on whatever he was doing was captivating. His will of never giving up inspired her. She thought that he was amazing. And soon… even she believed he could be number one hero in the near future. 

This feeling only grew into a small crush when she started realizing how much he’s changed in a mere few months. More patient and understanding. Though he may act distant, he was an active listener to whoever was speaking. It was cute. 

Of course his personality growth wasn't the only thing worth mentioning. He grew taller and put on more muscle in all the right areas. It was especially noticeable whenever he wore those tank tops around the dorm, she couldn't stop herself from staring. Bakugo was beautifully sculpted in every way. He was stunning to look at. 

As time passed she came to the realization that now is the best time if anything. In a few months they’ll graduate and be off working in agencies as hero trainees. They'll no longer be able to talk everyday like now. 

She didn't want to let this relationship fade back to nothing. To mere strangers again. 

So she decided that today she'll confess to him. 

Class 3A will be hosting a party tonight in celebration of Halloween. A gathering with all the third year classes given that it’s their last few months here at UA. They’re running on limited time now.

Y/N spends the majority of her time trying to look her best before it's time to head down to the common area. Given that it’s a Halloween party, she’ll be dressing up. But not just any costume. 

Thanks to Kirishima (her savior) she already knows what Bakugo will show up as. To no surprise he was completely against the idea of dressing up. But Kiri took it upon himself to buy the blonde a costume without Bakugos knowledge. 

A werewolf costume.

She doesn't know how exactly Kirishima will convince Bakugo to wear it but she’ll just have to trust him. Y/N took it upon herself to match his future look. I mean she didn't have anything else in mind anyways. Or maybe.. just maybe… this will send some sort of sign to Bakugo. 

Once she gets all dolled up, putting on extra perfume for good luck, she takes a deep breath and walks out of her room. Her hands slightly shake with nerves as she descends down the stairs to the common room where everyone is. 

Halloween decor scatters all over the place in spooky banners and themed snacks. Students in different costumes dance with one another as they sing along to the music. Everything seems so lively and Y/N smiles thanking everyone who passes by and gives her compliments on her werewolf attire. 

Her eyes look all over the dance floor as she walks towards the beverage table to pour herself some fruit punch. No sign of him. Is he not going to show after all? 

Many ideas swirl around her head causing Y/N to get lost in thought. So much so that when another hand touches her own, her heart nearly stops at the sudden warm sensation.

“That’s not juice. Don't drink that” he mumbles as he lifts his hand from hers to grab an empty red cup for himself. Her head snaps up to look at him, only to see Bakugo already looking at her with those piercing red eyes. A neutral expression on his face, not breaking eye contact whatsoever.

Suddenly every plan she could think of, went out the window. Like his eyes pulled her into a trance. He's wearing the werewolf costume after all. A navy green jacket, a red collar with a chain leash and wolf ears…. plus a tail?! 

Yeah she's definitely gonna thank and ask Kirishima about this later.

He looks good. 

Really good.

“Woah! You two are matching! How funny!” the red head says as he suddenly appears beside them.

Ah, speaking of him.

Her cheeks heat up at Kirishima's comment and obvious sarcastic tone. She tries to act oblivious in hopes Bakugo won't catch on “oh i guess we do.”

Slowly she attempts to peek at Bakugos face for some sort of reaction. But to her disappointment, he’s simply filling up his cup with soda. Not paying either of them any mind. 

Though she notices his pink tinted ears… hm? 

Kirishima interrupts her thoughts as he suddenly latches onto Bakugo, “C'mon you two lets get out there and dance!” 

“Hmph as if!” the blonde barks back as he tries shoving Kirishima off him.

This was gonna be a long night. 

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ  ⎯⎯ ✦

Hours pass by and no luck. There was so much dancing and activities going on that Y/N had no time to talk with Bakugo at all. Either she was being pulled away by her classmates or he was. 

All of a sudden while on the dance floor, she spots him walking upstairs alone. Huh? Was he leaving already? 

Quickly, she excuses herself and rushes to follow him. Her legs swiftly move up the steps as she attempts to reach him. Assuming he went back to his room, she makes it to his floor and looks down the hallway. Spotting the blonde as he unlocks the door and starts walking inside.

“Bakugo!” 

She sees the way he pauses and looks in her direction. Now feeling embarrassed, she slows down to not look like she ran after him. But before she can say anything else, he beats her to it. 

“Don't even think about convincing me to go back. It's time for bed and I’m exhausted” he says, narrowing his eyes slightly. 

“No that's not why I….” she squeezes her hands behind her back and looks to the side to avoid eye contact, “I just have something to tell you.”

The sound of fumbling footsteps and talking was heard down the hall. Probably some drunk students trying to find the bathroom. Her head turned in that direction as she heard slurred words and sloppy sentences from someone. 

“hey werewolf girl c'mere for a sec-” 

She was about to respond until she felt a hand on her waist and it takes all her willpower to not melt right then and there. The grip was tighter then it should be but not painful. 

“Tell me inside, too many drunk idiots around” he grumbles under his breath as he pulls her inside his room with ease. His hand was so warm that she would've believed that it left a mark, it was likely due to his quirk. 

“O-Oh okay…” she says as he locks the door behind her then unfortunately lets go of her waist. 

Oh my god. She's in his room. No one in the class has ever been in his room before. No one even knows what it looks like! 

And she's the first..

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

She sees him staring down at her and quickly her eyes shut. His brows furrowed in confusion, “what the hell are you doing?” 

“Huh? Oh well… I just closed my eyes since I assumed you didn't want anyone seeing your room so-”

“You can look.”

“...sorry?”

“I said you can look. It's fine you dummy.” 

Hesitantly she opens her eyes again, blinking twice to adjust to the new surroundings. The light wasn't on but the curtains were open, letting moonlight fill the room. 

It was exactly like how she imagined. The room was incredibly clean and organized, but with hints of personality regarding the rare all might collectables scattered around and band posters on the wall. 

“Your room is really nice Bakugo” she says as he opens the balcony door and beckons her to follow with a wave of his hand. Simply grunting in acknowledgment to her words. She walks with him outside, while attempting to cool her nerves on the way.

The two of them lean against the balcony railing in silence as they stare at the starry night sky above. Alright it's now or never…

“Um Bakugo about earlier. I just wanted to say that..” she takes a deep breath and looks at him. Her face feels like it's on fire. His eyes stare back down at her and he tilts his head slightly to the side, giving her a surprisingly calm expression.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“I-I really like-” 

In an instant his hand gently covers her mouth, stopping her from continuing. Her eyes widened at his action but also at his face. His cheeks are tinted in pink and his brows are now furrowed in thought. Those red eyes look in every direction as he attempts to regain his senses. Then fall back on her face after a short moment.

“You idiot. You were gonna confess right now, seriously?” he huffs out with what looks to be a shy yet serious expression. 

Wait. What? 

Almost like he could read your mind, he rolls his eyes and continues looking at you. 

“I knew you liked me since last year stupid” he says, almost having the urge to smirk at the look of embarrassment and disbelief on your face, “and no shitty hair didn't tell me. You guys are such horrible liars it made me wanna end it all.” 

Agh how embarrassing!? Though she shouldn't be shocked given his perceptiveness. His hand that was covering her mouth fell down, allowing her to speak. 

“But then… why didn't you say anything this whole time?!” she says in complete disbelief. 

“I… didn't know how to feel about you or whatever” he mumbles now going back to his rare soft voice. 

“But now I do,” he says while stepping closer to her. His body is such in close proximity she is sure that he can hear her heartbeat if he just paid attention.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Was waiting for your confession. Didn't expect it today though but when I saw you copied my costume… that shocked me I admit” he says as he leans his head down. His hand reached out to touch her collar around her neck. Fumbling with the material. 

His eyes bore into hers as his lips barely curl up into the faintest smug grin, “A bit possessive aren't we? I didn’t think you'd be like that.”

Her whole body feels as if it's on fire. She never really thought about it like that. All she wanted to do was match with him…. right? 

Now that she thinks about it, maybe unknowingly she was being a bit possessive. Trying to drive away his fangirls that he's gained these past years. Her heart thumps wildly at the realization. 

“Though I don't mind. After all, I don't share either” he states with no shame as his hand goes from touching her collar to sliding up her neck to cradle her cheek. 

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“You mean….” her breath wavers at the implication of his words. 

He hums and nods at her unspoken question, “I was getting a bit impatient here ya know? Was gonna talk to you in a week or so if you haven't confessed today. Tch damn nerd making me wait.”

“Gonna kiss you now. Ready?” he says casually, already leaning in zoning onto her plush lips. A look of desire seen in his red orbs, almost hypnotic. 

“H-huh?!” she says quickly already on the verge of fainting from the sudden statement. 

“What? You dont wanna?” he immediately pauses looking into her eyes for a response or signs of disgust. 

“That's not it! I want to! But it's… my first” she says quickly leaning her cheek into his palm to hide her nervousness. She doesn't want to mess this up. 

“It's my first too. I'll be gentle I promise” he whispers back to her with care.

That comment suddenly made her feel all giddy. Being each other's first kiss. She knows Bakugo, he wouldn't break his promises so carelessly. She trusts him. So she nods for him to continue.

“Use your words Y/N” he says as his finger traces circles on her cheek. In a somewhat teasing yet genuine tone. 

  ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“I want you to kiss me Bakugo-”

“Katsuki. We're dating now. Got that? It's Katsuki to you” he says, correcting her immediately as if he's been waiting for this forever. Like he imagined this scene many times in his head. 

“Please kiss me Katsuki” she whispers to him as she sees him lean closer. A pleading look on her face. 

His hands gently hold her by the waist, pulling her to him to close the distance. 

“About damn time” he says as her eyes quickly close with anticipation. She could have sworn she heard a chuckle right after she did. 

It didn't take much longer for him to close his eyes. 

He tilts his head as his lips press onto hers. It was gentle as if he was scared he could break her given his strength. A warm sensation passes through them both, as they savor this moment under the stars.

It was only for a few seconds but when they broke apart, it felt as if neither of them were breathing at that moment. 

Despite his confident words and attitude, she notices how red the tips of his ears are. A warm smile appears on her face and she keeps quiet about that discovery. He may act all cocky yet he's secretly a softie. 

He shines a small smile back at her and it feels as if she's been kissed all over again. His smile is breathtaking. And she's so happy to have seen it. 

“You look… beautiful when you smile” she manages to say in a softer tone just for him. Only for him. 

She doesn't miss the way he tenses and how he averts his eyes. Looking just about everywhere else but her. He still isn't used to receiving such compliments yet it seems. But that's okay. She thinks it's adorable. 

“So do you…” Bakugo says in the gentleness tone he can muster. But honestly it's not much of a challenge given how dazed he is at the moment.

Agh damn it. Her confidence suddenly goes away at his rare tender demeanor.  

Both of them don't dare to look at one another. Not wanting the other to see just how effective words can be. Guess you both settled for a treat tonight. And the rest of your lives. 

Happy Halloween Indeed.

[starmapz]

shame on me || chapter one || vessel

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. will have a happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later. wc || 6.2k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || next chapter

The sobs wracking your body were a small window into the pain you felt as the sounds of the sterile room began to fade, replaced by ringing in your ears. The warmth leaving your father’s body as you sobbed over his hospital bed, begging him to cling to life although your pleas were met with silence.

Doctors and nurses began to trickle out of the room, leaving you the space to mourn. A curtain was pulled around the small hospital bed, separating you from the young boy sitting alongside his mother in the bed behind you. You could only hope the dread you felt in that moment as your father’s presence faded, to be replaced only by memories, wasn’t a feeling the young boy would experience at such a young age.

“I miss you, dad.”

The silence following your weak and broken words was louder somehow than the commotion of trying to keep him with you only a few minutes ago. A silence that weighed you down and threatened to drown you with every waking moment.

“I’d give anything to have you back,” you whisper through broken weeps.

Leaning over the bed, you were oblivious to the sudden commotion restarting in the room outside the curtain. The deafening ringing in your ears, the tears blinding you, your world crumbling around you, it was all too much and you almost didn’t notice when your father’s finger twitched beneath you. Blinking away your tears, you slowly sit up, shaking hands staring at his fingers, which grew warmer. Your eyes trail slowly towards the monitor hooked up to your father as it beeps and all you can do is stare in disbelief. How could it even be possible what you were witnessing? He remained still, but warmth flooded his body.

As hope floods your grief-filled body, you become suddenly aware of the noise around you, the nurses and doctors flooding the room behind you in an effort to save the boy’s mother behind you, but she was gone already, as quickly as your father had returned.

Your emotions felt like a physical weight dragging you down as you dared to poke your head through the curtain that cordoned your father off. As the commotion died down around the family behind you, it picked up again where your father was now that his monitor had restarted.

Puzzled, you found yourself unable to do anything but stare at the poor young boy, clinging to his mother and weeping helplessly. What left you puzzled was the strange residue that lingered both in the air and around the woman’s body. It was indescribable, like some sort of smoke, yet it clung to her like a net.

That is cursed energy.

Startled, you flung yourself around to face- no one? Nurses worked tirelessly around your father as they tested and monitored his status, but none of them seemed to be paying you any mind.

I apologize, I did not intend to scare you, the voice, one of a calm and gentle demeanor, spoke one more. Your eyes scanned the room again, but you couldn’t identify the source no matter how hard you tried. You weren’t even certain where the voice had come from.

Holding your head in confusion as it began to pound in pain, you stumbled back to the chair beside your dad’s bedside, groaning as it felt someone was pulling your consciousness from your own body. Opening your eyes in an effort to make a desperate plea for help to one of the nurses, your vision blurred, a white light blinding you before you could so much as think, and you found yourself whisked away from the waking world.

You stood now on a massive wooden ship, creaking wood beneath your feet. Sat atop the bridge of the ship was a large serpent-like dragon with ethereal white scale, silver hair and long, slender horns. Its appearance was almost angelic, with the way its scales shimmered in the dim lighting of the cave that surrounded you. The ship swayed slightly as the creature’s tail twitched, pulling along with it a ghostly humanoid figure that fell back outside the boat. You found your eyes trailing to the edge of the ship, met with a river of apparitions, all human in appearance though they lacked distinctive features. A lowly hum reverberated through the cave from the river as they lapped against the side of the ship as though they were waves, causing a gentle rocking motion of the ship.

Stumbling backwards, your breathing quickens as you attempt to take in the sight. A dream, for sure. It had to be.

“Y/N,” the creature’s voice echoes through the cave, glowing red eyes ripping away the veil of what you had once thought of as an angelic creature.

Your words fail to reach your lips and all you can do is gasp as the creature slinks forward, moving as though the ship is a part of it.

“I do apologize for startling you,” the creature’s voice is gentle, a stark contrast to the red eyes that bore into you, leaving you paralyzed in fear as the gentle breaths of the creature waft over you.

“What are you?” You whisper in disbelief, your eyes flickering between its massive glowing eyes.

It doesn’t move as it responds very simply. “I am a curse,” your furrowed brow tells it to continue in its explanation. “I am a being caused by the negative energy of humans. Very few people know of the existence of us.”

“I don’t understand,” you shake your head, shuffling back to try to put any amount of distance between yourself and the monster.

The serpent straightens its long neck, towering over you menacingly, though it seemed to hold no malice towards you. “It would appear I have laid dormant within you for a few years,” it seems to say more to itself than to you. “When your mother passed during your birth, she requested I look after you.”

“My mother… cursed me?” You ask in disbelief, wide-eyed. Surely this was all just some sort of weird dream after the day you had had.

“I would like to think she didn’t,” to your surprise the creature seems to rumble as though it’s laughing, although it comes out more as a guttural noise, nearly a growl. “You were meant to die in childbirth. She asked me, as her companion for many years, to save you, at the cost of her life. It took a great deal of energy to transfer myself and it would appear I have laid dormant since then.”

Trying to take in all the information, you blink, slowly nodding. “So this isn’t some sort of sick dream, huh?” The dragon doesn’t answer. It knows you’re smart enough to answer your own question. After a short silence, it speaks once again, returning to its place on the bridge as it does so.

“Whether you intended to do so or not, you utilized my powers today.”

You examined the creature’s expression from where you sat below it, its majesty towering tall over you. Did it have the power to bring people back as it had done for you so long ago? Did you somehow call on it to save your dad? Your jaw slacks as a realization hits you and you barely manage to choke out the question that makes your stomach churn.

“That kid’s mother-?” Your voice betrays you, breaking before you can finish your sentence.

“Yes.” The creature doesn’t miss a beat as it responds, its voice unwavering.

A lump forms in your throat as your body begins to feel weak. Not only was this real, but you were now responsible for the death of a little boy’s mother. A weak whimper escapes through your lips as you feel your elbows weaken and you collapse to the floor of the ship. Your skin paling as your breaths grow ragged, you grip at your chest, clawing desperately in search of air, but nothing comes to you.

“I recognize I cannot offer much comfort, but you should not blame yourself for this.”

You can’t do anything but stare at the monster before you, tears trailing down your face as your shaking body betrays the panic coursing through you.

“What the fuck are you?” Your words are a desperate plea, a question you can only hope the dragon understands.

“I am death,” the dragon’s head lowers to meet your gaze with its own. “And you are my vessel.”

– 10 years later –

“Shoot,” you mutter to yourself, scratching at the back of your neck. You were nearly finished with the flower arch that had been ordered by your latest client for their wedding, but you were missing the twine necessary to complete the order. The arch was meant to be picked up tomorrow with the wedding coming up on the weekend, leaving you no other choice than to make your way into town.

Pushing yourself up from the ground, you dust your flower dress off, grab your bag and sunglasses, and make your way out the door in the direction of the outskirts of Tokyo. A walk couldn’t hurt anyway, it had been a bit since you had been in town. Your little cottage was located on the outskirts of Tokyo, hidden away in the trees with only your father knowing where it was located.

It was a lonely life, but it was safer. Safer, away from anyone you could hurt.

Is that a veil?

Your steps falter as you pause upon hearing Miriko’s voice, your eyes scanning the line of trees until you see the veil in question.

You grimace, debating whether it’s worth it to make your way to Tokyo later, but figure you can slip by unnoticed if you simply mask Miriko’s cursed energy, shutting her out. To anyone capable of seeing cursed energy, you knew your energy stood out, Miriko had told you that you were strong, stronger than most with her at your side. In addition to that, you had been shocked to find your eyes had become a dull crimson, replacing the color your eyes had been when you had grown up, but it was easy enough to hide behind the pink-tinted sunglasses you wore everywhere.

Pushing along the path, you shut Miriko out completely, masking your cursed energy. Continuing along the gravel and dirt path, you find yourself kicking at a pebble along the path, your eyes flickering up to the pile of rubble that stood where your neighbor’s house had once been, the veil now dispelled. You didn’t know your neighbors well, but still a pang of sadness pulled at your chest. They had been kind.

To your surprise as you stared at the pile of rubble, a pair of kids no older than sixteen were making their way out of the rubble towards you and the limousine car parked on the other side of the gravel road. They were loudly bickering over something to do with a curse, hopping over the rubble of the house. A girl holding a long weapon with deep green hair pauses as she hops down from a piece of splintered wood.

“Y’alright?” She frowns, grabbing your attention, as well as that of the blonde-haired boy beside her.

“Yeah, um,” you hum thoughtfully, a shiver running down your spine as you suddenly feel like you’re being watched. “The couple that lives here, are they alright?”

The girl nods slowly. “There was only one person here. Our friend took ‘em to the hospital.”

“Right, um, thank you!” You say in an effort to slip away unnoticed as the growing unease within you begins to itch uncomfortably within you. Turning to leave, you lock eyes suddenly with a white-haired man leaning against the limo behind you that you hadn’t noticed before. He’s smirking, but you’re unable to read his expression otherwise, his eyes covered by a black blindfold. You feel relief wash over you as you realize he can’t see you or more specifically your eyes as you were certain you would have accidentally locked eyes with him through the edge of your glasses. Your shoulders relax as you begin to make your way again to Tokyo.

“Why don’t we give you a ride?” His voice sounds behind you and you turn back to him, shooting you a smile he can’t see.

“That’s kind, but I’m good. Thank you,” you tell him, bowing your head and turning back towards the city, picking up the pace as your unease began to return, despite the offer sounding kind. Except-

You let out a sharp gasp as you turn around and are met with the sight of the tall man facing you, mere inches in front of you. Your heart falters and you jump back, blinking in disbelief at him. Could he see you after all?

“I insist.” His voice held a much darker and firmer tone despite his smirk.

“I’d rather not get into a car with a man I don’t know,” you stand your ground despite the voice within you begging you to get out of there.

“I’d get in the car if I were you,” his voice is lower yet as he crosses his arms over his broad chest, his muscles pulling the fabric of his black jacket taught. His smile doesn’t waver as he silently awaits your response. You straighten, about to stand your ground but before you have the chance to argue with him, he brings a hand up to pull one side of his blindfold down. His eyes are a brilliant and bright blue. They’re so bright, you almost wonder if they’re glowing, a horrible jolt of fear running straight up your spine, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

Even with your cursed energy blocked, you recognized immediately that his eyes were like yours. He could see after all. He had seen your crimson eyes. Your lips pressed into a thin line, you slowly nod and let him corral you into the back of the limousine. Closing the door behind you, you watched from within the car as the white-haired man spoke to the two boys with a beaming grin.

“Ijichi, the school please,” he calls as he hops into the car, pressing a button on the console that separates the seats you both sat in, facing one another, from the seats the two boys and the driver were in.

“So,” he begins, leaning back with arms crossed behind his head in a deceptively relaxed manner. “A curse-user with no cursed energy? Seems a bit unheard of, no?” The playful lilt to his tone was unnerving and grated. Your jaw clenches and your eyes scan your surroundings as you debate whether it’s worth it to simply throw yourself out of the moving vehicle.

Staying silent, you steel yourself as you meet his gaze, although you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew very well that he could see you now.

“More the silent type, hmm?” He hums playfully, leaning forward until his face is barely a foot from you. Your breath hitches in your throat at his close proximity to you and he smirks as your control wavers, your cursed energy slipping through the cracks. “That’s what I thought,” he chuckles lowly, leaning back again. You swallow hard at the menacing cadence his voice held despite his simple smirk.

Get out of here.

You grimace at Miriko’s words, your eyes scanning your surroundings once more. The stranger chuckles as he watches you scan your surroundings. Your anxiety rises as your cover cracks, your cursed energy growing more and more apparent. As your composure cracks, the white-haired man across from you pulls his blindfold down to lay around his neck. You swallow hard as your gaze locks on to his.

He is the user of the six eyes technique. A member of the Gojo clan. You’re in danger.

Her words in your mind did you no favors as you take a breath to steady yourself and keep your composure. Regardless of how strong your cursed energy was, your abilities came at a great cost and you couldn’t afford to get into a fight with someone that even Miriko considered a danger.

“Listen Gojo-”

“So you do know who I am?” He interrupts with a smirk, his blue eyes shining as though he’s proud to know that you know him, despite the fact that in truth you were lying. You nod slowly before he continues, leaning forward. His electrifying blue eyes are close enough to you that you can feel his breath warm on your cheeks. “In that case, let’s do this the easy way.”

Your eyes follow his actions as he lifts a hand, his fingers pulling your sunglasses down off the bridge of your nose. You stand your ground, your jaw clenching visibly. Gojo’s fingers brush your temple as he pulls your glasses away, moving them to hang off the collar of his black jacket in one swift movement.

“So let’s go over this, huh?” He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “A low cursed energy output, and yet you’ve got red eyes that you’re hiding. Now what kind of technique could you possibly have?” His blue eyes narrow, his smirk widening. “But that’s not the case at all, is it?” His voice is dangerously low, coming out as a near-purr. He didn’t seem angry, but rather curious. He was teasing you, playing with his food.

You stay silent, not daring to answer. Let him play with his food, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of the anxiety bubbling in your stomach, nor lashing out at him and giving in to his questions.

“So,” he leans forward with a grin. Your brow twitches at the close proximity as you feel his minty breath on your face, earning a satisfied hum between his words. “Care to tell me ‘bout yourself?”

Do not speak.

You had no plans to admit anything to him, your eyes flickering down to your glasses hanging off his collar, wishing he hadn’t taken them from you. Though they were fairly translucent, they had felt like a line of defense against his questioning that you now lacked.

Gojo’s eyes narrow when you don’t answer, clearly not satisfied that you weren’t cooperating with him. “Let’s look at your options, shall we?” His hand rises close to your face and your eyes flicker towards the digit he has raised. “One, you tell me everything. Two, I drag every last detail out of you. Or three,” he pauses, his smirk disappearing. “I kill you under the guise of an uncooperative curse-user.”

Your mouth opens to try to defend yourself, but your words die in your throat. You swallow the lump that formed in your throat, trying desperately to think of some sort of secret fourth option. When nothing comes to mind and you remain silent, Gojo sighs and leans back with a groan.

“You curse users are never any fun,” he grumbles. To your surprise, he seems oddly bored. Was this all a game to him? Something he couldn’t lose? You grit your teeth, jaw clenching in response to his childish reaction. Who the hell did he think he was?

If he tries to fight, I’ll take over. Do not let him scare you. The Gojo clan has a good reputation, he shouldn’t be unreasonable.

Miriko’s words in your head were the closest thing you had to hope as you watched Gojo lock eyes with the driver. It wasn’t long before the car pulled over and you both stood on the side of a road in the outer edge of Tokyo, the side opposite of where your cabin resided.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” The eerie grin spread across his face. “Or did you want to do this the hard way?”

You take a step back from him. “I’m not here to fight you.” You’re thankful you’re able to keep your voice steady as you speak, but you aren’t sure how long your resilience will last.

“If that’s the case, then let’s start with names. Mine’s Gojo Satoru, but you knew that already,” his sly tone doesn’t do much to ease the tension in that air that could be cut with a knife.

“I’m y/n,” you introduce yourself uncertainly, eyeing the way he holds himself with a sort of nonchalant confidence. “And I’d like my sunglasses back,” you tell him, but he clicks his tongue at your words.

“These?” He asks, unhooking them from his collar to hold them an inch in the air above his hand. Your gaze narrows at the display.

He has the Limitless technique.

The what? You dare to ask Miriko, as though you knew anything about cursed techniques.

It doesn’t matter. Regardless, we won’t be able to do anything to him even if we were to fight. He is our natural counter.

Your eyes had drifted off to the side as you listened to Miriko, returning to face Gojo as you examined the way he curiously eyed you.

“Spacing out at a time like this?” He cocks his head to the side, his frustrating smirk not leaving his lips. “Unless you were talking to someone?” His voice is an octave deeper, a knowing look in his glowing blue eyes.

Your resolve didn’t waver and for that you were grateful. “Talking to who?” You countered, pushing down the growing feeling of anxiety.

“If you don't care to tell me, I’m sure the curse you were talking to will.”

You don’t make a move, standing stiff as a board. Surely he wouldn’t attack you, would he?

You regret blinking, as only a moment later he’s no longer in front of you. Miriko’s instincts kick in, turning and holding your arms up to block the fist full of cursed energy meant to hit you. Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight of your eyes, glowing a deep and eerie red, your hair now silver as your forearms are strengthened with cursed energy nearly as immense as his own. His punch still hits you hard enough to send you flying back into a tree, fracturing wood puncturing your back as you collide with the trunk.

“So she was talking to someone,” he laughs, clearly amused. From where you watched from within your own body, you could only scoff, Miriko’s words of the Gojo family being reasonable enough to make you roll your eyes. “So if she’s a vessel, who does that make you?”

Miriko pushes herself to her feet, rolling her shoulders as she effortlessly heals your wounds. “Who I am will mean nothing to you,” she calmly explains, red eyes burning into Gojo’s. He raises an eyebrow in response. “However I will give you the answers you seek if you cut a deal with me.”

“A deal? You talkin’ a vow or a handshake, Curse?”

“A deal, as you humans do. I do not wish to enter any kind of binding vow with the likes of you, Six Eyes.”

“Ouch, is that all I am to you?” He feigns hurt at the name Miriko had given him, but she doesn’t react. He sighs, clearly no longer amused with the situation. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

“You will leave us alone. You will not speak of us. You will not mention our existence, and I will give you five minutes of our time.”

Gojo crosses his arms, smirking slyly. “That’s it? What kind of curse wants to be left alone?”

Miriko is unphased by his question, standing her ground. “A curse that has been around for far too long.”

If you weren’t paying attention, you may not have noticed the way his smile falters for a split second, doubt flashing in his eyes, but it’s gone before you can think too hard about it.

“Deal,” he agrees, taking a step forward and outstretching his hand. Miriko takes his hand, shaking it. She glances momentarily down at his hand, his Limitless ability off. For a split second, she thinks about using her technique, but the trouble it would cause you both dissuades her. Regardless, it was an awfully reckless move for a sorcerer as strong as his presence alone felt to Miriko. She couldn’t help but wonder what his reasoning behind it was.

“Ask your questions, Six Eyes.”

“What’s your name?” He leans back against a nearby tree, putting a foot up against the tree’s trunk.

“Miriko,” she responds, giving him no more than exactly what he was asking.

“Miriko, nice to meet ya,” his grin returns. “What’s your technique?”

“Death,” she responds, her lips pressed into a thin line. Gojo’s brow twitches as if in disbelief and he straightens himself.

“Awfully strong technique, no?” He questions, his eyes now narrowed and his stupid grin wiped from his lips. It was a somewhat welcome sight over the frustratingly cocky smirk he so loved to display.

“Perhaps,” Miriko agrees. “No more than yours, Six Eyes.”

“Right,” he hums, narrowed eyes observing your features, however Miriko’s expression is unchanging. “Why have I never heard of a curse with your technique?”

“You have,” Miriko says confidently, observing the way a muscle in Gojo’s jaw works and eventually clenches. “Your kind know me by a different name.”

“Care to enlighten me?” He rebuttals quickly, blue eyes boring into your features as he searches for the answer. Miriko’s short and concise responses weren’t everything he had hoped for when he had agreed to her deal, but he had chosen to make a deal with the devil and would live with the consequences.

Miriko took a moment to consider her answer, the wind blowing through your now-silver locks as she eyed the sorcerer in front of her. “Your kind know me as the Grim Reaper.”

“Ha?” Gojo huffs questioningly, grinning at the response. “And here I thought that was just a story.”

“All stories come from somewhere originally, Six Eyes.” A silence falls between the sorcerer and the curse, sizing one another up through the tension that thickened the air between them, but Miriko had no intention of fighting a sorcerer capable of using the Limitless technique. She knew her limits, and she knew you were no fighter regardless. “Your five minutes are up,” she informs him, the glow of your eyes fading as your hair returned to its usual hue.

Gojo’s brow twitched at the sight of your return but as promised, he let out a deep sigh and pulled out his phone to call a cab for you.

–

Drops of water cascaded over the leaves of the plants you so carefully nurtured for your wedding flower business, each one thriving in the environment you had crafted on the outer edges of Tokyo.

The sense of relaxation and ease that the action of watering your plants brought was one that had become very welcome after the encounter you’d had with Gojo Satoru eight months ago. That encounter had changed much of the way you lived. You had moved to a more remote location, a property with a larger yard, a tall fence, and a big and well-trained dog.

Taro, your Rottweiler, you had trained with the express purpose of warning you about Gojo. You had left your sunglasses mostly untouched after the day of the encounter until you’d had the chance to train your new dog to search for him.

Aside from being a great guard dog, you were thankful for his company as well. You didn’t often visit your father due to the danger of your curse, and while Miriko was generally agreeable, you didn’t make a habit of trying to make friends out of fear. Maybe it was cowardly, but you knew Miriko preferred such a life.

Taro didn’t bark. He was a very quiet dog, so when he did begin barking, you knew exactly why. As if on queue, Miriko spoke in your mind to warn you of a cursed energy user nearby. Your gaze followed Taro to the front gate, where you didn’t yet see any figures. He wouldn’t dare after your encounter all those months ago, would he?

Telling Taro to sit, he did so as you opened the gate though his growls never ceased. The sight before you was one to behold. The white-haired sorcerer’s bloodied figure carried the corpse of a face all-too familiar to you, though a face you hadn’t heard tales of for a long time. Long, raven hued hair cascaded from the figure’s head, draping past Gojo’s arms. Blue eyes bored into yours, sending a chill down your spine at the eerie expression he displayed.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone,” your voice was small, but you were grateful you remained firm in your words.

Gojo’s mouth opens, but the words seem to die in his throat. The man you were staring at was not the same man you had met eight months ago and even if for only a split second, you feel a pang of sympathy. Taro’s growls and the growing feeling of anger from Miriko within you swayed your feelings back to one of resentment as he fails to respond.

Before prodding him again, your eyes flicker down to the man in his arms. Quietly observing the figure of none other Geto Suguru, whom you knew to be responsible for more than one incident, including one in Shibuya only a couple of nights ago, hung limp in his arms. His head was split open in such a manner that caused a shiver to crawl up your spine.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, hostility dripping from your voice like water slipping off a flower’s leaves. Gojo’s face is hidden by his hair as he stares down at the man in his arms, his expression hidden.

“I wouldn’t be here if I had anywhere else I could go,” his voice is strangely hoarse, giving you pause as your knuckles turn white as your grip on the gate increases. In another moment of weakness, your pang of sympathy returns, the strange vulnerability he showed tugging at your heartstrings, but Miriko dissuades the thought quickly.

Do not humor him, he holds a very dangerous curse-user. Do not trust him.

Miriko’s reminder causes your eyes to flicker back down to Geto Suguru and your brow furrows. “Get off my property,” you hiss, steeling yourself finally as the reality of the situation sinks in.

“I know we made an agreement, but-” his voice falters as he searches for words. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you go to close the gate but his foot kicks out in time to keep it open. “Wait, please,” he begs, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he was left with no other option but to physically beg something of you. To think this man had played with you like a toy and now he was here asking something of you, it made you as sick as he looked and likely also felt.

Pushing harder against his foot, your eyes locked with one another and you pause. The usual look of mischief and amusement was gone from his eyes, replaced with a very genuine vulnerability, mixed with anger, and even desperation. With a sigh, you finally opened your gate to him.

You could feel displeasure spreading through your body, clearly Miriko’s own emotion being mixed in with yours, and Taro continued growling in small fits. You had trained him to do so, you couldn’t blame him really.

“Are you able to reverse your cursed technique?” Gojo asks, his lips downturned into a frown as he stood uncomfortably within your garden.

“No,” you lie, taking one look at the man in his arms and resolving to being unwilling to do what he was asking.

His blue eyes narrow for a moment, examining yours, before he sighs. “Right,” he hums, swallowing heavily. “But you’re-” he pauses, “Miriko’s the Grim Reaper right, can you at least let him rest?”

Blinking in disbelief, you let out a bitter laugh. “Peace? Gojo he-” you shake your head, “he killed thousands of people.” Your jaw hangs open in disbelief at the request.

“He didn’t-” Gojo stammers over his words as he watches your eyes widen in confusion. “It wasn’t-” he sighs finally, his head hanging. “I know.”

Again you find yourself with your brow knit tightly together as you eye Gojo cautiously. If you agreed, you would be left extremely vulnerable. Very rarely did Miriko enact on her role as a reaper anymore, there were so many curses these days that her mercy was rarely required, but the one moment where you had used her ability to lead a soul to the afterlife, it had left you in an extremely vulnerable state.

Was Gojo someone you could trust with such a thing? Surely not, and yet… Your mind flashed back to when Miriko had noticed he had shaken your hand with no barrier between you. Was that some sort of act of goodwill to ensure he’d have an opportunity like this now? Was he using you? You had no way to be sure.

The only reassurance you had was the genuine look of vulnerability that shone in his azure eyes.

“Is that something you can do?” You sigh, staring off to the side as you wait for Miriko to respond. Holding out your palm, you stare at the mouth full of pointed teeth that appears.

“Yes,” she responds eloquently, though her tone is less than amicable. She knew you had asked aloud to force her into a corner to agree, as she otherwise would have declined.

“Please,” Gojo’s voice is serious and small, uncharacteristically so.

You allow Gojo to set Geto Suguru, who you can only imagine was at one time a friend, on the ground before him as you kneel down opposite Gojo. You shoot him a cautionary glance before setting your hand on Geto’s robed chest.

Gritting your teeth, you shut your eyes as a familiar pain surges through your mind. Being dragged into Miriko’s domain within you held a familiar sight. The dragon’s scales shone in the dimly lit cave as the familiar lapping of souls against the wooden ship broke the silence of the air. Red eyes shone in acknowledgement of your arrival, before turning to face your visitor.

To your surprise, the soul of Geto Suguru didn’t look as you had expected. He looked younger, his hair up in a bun with only a couple of stray strands of hair falling down over his calm features. He had a much thinner build than Gojo, and tired eyes. He looked… kind. Uneasily, you shared a glance with him. He didn’t seem confused, and he was unable to speak in such a state, but still he shot you a smile.

All you could do was blink and watch as Miriko’s tail ushered him towards her, the ship lurching forward. You managed to catch your balance before you could fall over from the sudden movement, only able to watch as the ship approached a light from a hole in the usually dimly lit cave. Quietly standing at the rear of the boat, you observed as Miriko ushered his spirit towards the light as the ship lurched to a halt. The light from above shone for a moment, forcing you to shut your eyes. Blinking them open once again, you were able to see little more than the familiar shape of a ghostly spirit, not the one you had seen before. It was the residuals of Geto Suguru, which collapsed into the river beneath you.

Bright red eyes shone as the serpent turned to face you once again. Locking eyes with her was something you didn’t often do, however her calming and familiar presence wasn’t unwelcome. Despite her title of a curse, you had never considered her as such. Life was lonely, perhaps, but her company made it bearable.

Her silver mane sways at the hint of a breeze as her long muzzle towers over you for a moment. She takes pause before her breath cascades over your figure and you’re blinking as you take in the sun filtering through the leaves.

Removing your hand from Geto Suguru’s body, you lean back and blink to try to reorient yourself within your surroundings. Finally beginning to come to, your gaze rests on Gojo before you, staring at you intently. His blue eyes are filled with questions that you have no intention of responding to.

“It’s done,” you tell him, pushing yourself to your feet as you brush your knees and dress off.

Gojo took a moment to stare at Geto’s remains. You could see from the sadness in his eyes that he had a connection to the man, but you didn’t intend on questioning him and extending this encounter with the Limitless user any longer than you needed to.

The research you had put time into after your initial encounter with the sorcerer had told you all that you needed to know about him. That he was the strongest. The last thing you needed was him showing up at your door any more than he already had.

Slowly, Gojo picks up the body once more and makes his way to your gate.

“No coming back,” you tell him, your voice firm although you had some amount of sympathy for him after the vulnerability he had shown you.

He turns back to you for only a moment, his blue eyes searching yours from over his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“Goodbye, Gojo Satoru.”

series masterlist || main masterlist || next chapter

a/n || hello!! this is the first time i've ever posted a fic despite writing dozens of them. i've actually got the first several chapters written but need to do some heavy editing but at the very least you can expect the early chapters relatively quickly. i hope you like it and appreciate any support ♡ also i feel it's worth mentioning because i think it's very funny - i began writing this fic before i read the manga so the fact that reader is similar to another particular character is a complete coincidence lmao. not really sure how that happened but it is a fun little fact.

[zumek0]

draft 05; fushiguro, m.

↪︎ angst but very mild?, comfort, college/university au, no curses au, reader is very stressed.

↝ summary: megumi comforts you after you break down due to academic stress.

There’s a feeling of pressure on your chest, and a growing pit of despair in your stomach. You fucked up. Big time. Your teacher had given you a topic to make a presentation about a month ago and yet here you were, a week before your due date, not even having a clue of what the hell the topic was. As you stare into the google calendar tab open in your laptop you realize that not only were you supposed to present the topic in a week, but also turn in two different group assignments and an individual one. On the same day.

Almost mechanically you pick up your phone and open the messenger app. 

Megumi’s always been more of a night owl. His body is used to staying awake until sunlight threatens to spill over the horizon. He knows it’s not healthy but even if he tries to sleep at a normal, decent hour his mind remains restless. So he does what he’s able to: assignments, projects, pre-reading for lectures, reading books he enjoys or has been wanting to read, listen to music, make playlists with songs that fit the vibe of a very specific picture of you he has in his gallery, watch a movie, etc. 

It’s 11:56 p.m. when his phone starts vibrating over and over again. He can’t help the feeling of irritation that bubbles up inside him, thinking that Yuuji or Nobara are spamming the group chat with TikTok slideshows of “ask your friends which ‘blank’ are you!”. Although the feeling is immediately replaced with worry and slight curiosity when he sees it’s you who has been spamming him for three minutes straight.

His eyebrows furrow when he notices you’re texting with correct spelling, no emojis, no jokes in the middle of the conversation and capitalizing the first letter of every text. He reads over the messages you’ve sent so far to grasp an understanding of the situation. When he gets to the bottom of the chat, he gets up and grabs his shoes and keys while still paying attention to the still incoming messages you’re sending him.

You’re startled when you hear a soft knock at your door, stilling your fingers from expertly moving across the keyboard on your phone. Your eyes remain on the door while you wait for the sound to repeat itself, just in case you misheard or imagined it. Your phone vibrates softly on your hands, displaying a text from Megumi: “open the door”. You get up and do as he ordered. 

Once he’s inside your small campus room, he speaks. “Okay, now tell me everything slowly.” You do.

“… oh, did I also mention that I have two midterms that same week? And that quiz that we were supposed to present last week but the teacher changed last minute.” You can feel the headache creeping up your spine. You bring your hands to your head and rub your temples.

“And I know what you’re gonna say: ‘complaining about it isn’t gonna help you at all’” you make your voice sound deeper and more monotone to make it sound like his, “It’s just- It’s really frustrating. I don’t know why I can’t seem to just sit down and do things, like you do!”. 

He doesn’t say anything and you’re thankful for that. “It’s like—I know I have stuff to do, and I know it’s very important that I do it right. But I just can’t seem to ever find the motivation to do it. And then I’m left in spots like this one where I’m gonna have to pull a miracle out of my ass to actually turn in everything I have to turn in this week.” He listens to your rant patiently. Even rubbing your thigh when he notices your eyes crystallizing and tears starting to well up in the corners of your eyes.

After sitting in silence for what feels like hours, he finally speaks. “Do you want reassurance or a solution?” “Both. More reassurance though.” You both move to make yourselves more comfortable. 

He’s sitting down in the floor with his back against the side of your mattress. One of his legs is bent and the other is stretched. Your head is now resting on his outstretched thigh. His long fingers find themselves running through your hair, an action that you commonly direct towards him whenever he finds himself unable to fall asleep while sleeping over in your room.

“I think you’re gonna make it out of this.” His voice Is soft, but assertive. “And yes, you have some awful time-management skills that we need to work on,” a snort leaves your nose “However last time you were able to give that other presentation while only having studied two days prior. If you try hard enough, everything will be okay. We’ll be okay. I’m gonna help you.”

You’re pretty sure the tears are running down your face at this point. You sniff tour nose. “Thank you.” Megumi leans down and gives your forehead a kiss. “But now, we need to get some rest. We both have early clases tomorrow. Well, today, technically.”

You get up from your position and make it to your bed. He’s hugging you while your head is on top of his chest. From this position you’re able to hear his heartbeat slowly lulling you to sleep.

can you tell i’m proyecting with this one? i literally wrote it at midnight. stress is eating me alive, so please excuse me if this seems like a self insert. i know people who are currently dealing with a lot in uni, so i hope this can help you if you’re going through the same.

—han

[tojisun]

I’m in such a soap mood rn and that hockey!soap ask just near ruined meeeee!! What if he is dating a more alternative girl and he goes out of his way to find his tooth on the ice, making sure his team know that it’s not weird and he is not being over dramatic cuz its actually a very big deal. The next time his team sees her is at their engagement party and when they ask to see the ring she shows off a real pretty gold band with a pointy tooth replacing a stone.

this is so fucking peak im shaking like an old dog

part of this rambling teehee; f!reader // sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au mlist)

“wan’ ma’ fuh-kuh’ tooh’,” johnny grumbles, throbbing mouth muffled by the towel he’s using to stop the bleeding, before turning to kyle who blinks at him.

the game hasn’t resumed yet which is honestly a drag at this point, johnny thinks, because there’s only nine seconds left and sure miracles can happen within that time—some teams seem to have abundance of those—but does johnny even care anymore? no.

he’s angry and tired and in pain, and all they gave him was a white ass face towel and pinched smiles, before handing his team a four-minute penalty too. what the hell?

he would’ve complained if it wasn’t for the burning feeling in his face, thrumming from the base of his jaw to the tender press inside his cheek where the tooth was ripped out of his gums. he’s glad he was able to throw a punch in retaliation, that and the fundamental silver lining—

his loose tooth is out there.

johnny needs it.

“you… want your tooth?” kyle asks, looking at him like he’s the oddest creature in the rink. “why—”

the face-off begins, kyle and johnny turn, watching the puck fall, lumbers smacking against each other in the final grapple and skates slashing the ice, taking speed and taking force only—

the horn blows, marking the end of the game.

“fuh’ yeah!” johnny screams, banging on the glass protector, before he curls in the open arms of his teammates, laughing, bloodied gum forgotten.

they’re kicked out of the penalty box, finally—“it’s been twenty seconds, ‘tavish.”—and johnny gargles something unintelligible to price who skated towards them for a celebratory hug because there’s something johnny needs and he needs it now before the ice girls come in to swipe the rink.

he whirls past teammates trying to pull him in, waving his glove in lieu of a response because he can’t dignify them a proper one, not with the way his eyes are trained on the ice like this is his first time skating again, hesitant and eyes all-seeing.

he skates at the scene of tragedy, nose scrunching at the faint blood but otherwise empty patch of ice. god. where the hell did that go?

johnny almost gives up, almost decides to just knock out another tooth, probably the molar this time, when his eyes finally snag something that looks like it doesn’t belong on the ice. it’s tucked there in the corner of the rink, unassuming and still pink with blood.

“oh, y’r tooth,” simon grunts beside him.

“ye’,” is what johnny manages. “‘m taki’ it home.”

“…sure, whatever,” his friend says like he hasn’t done anything weirder. remember montreal 2019? yeah.

johnny skates towards the little thing, plucking it off the ice and holding it tight within his palm. he turns, blinking in surprise at seeing both kyle and john there beside simon now. the other guys are still parading, celebrating their victory with the audience, so johnny doesn’t know why his closest circle are here.

“what.”

“y’know you don’t need that for the implant, right?” john asks slowly like johnny’s some spooked thing.

“uh-huh,” is all johnny says, not understanding what price is insinuating now that the adrenaline’s wearing off, and the sharp stinging pain in his gums thrums harder from within. “leh’ go. wan’ medi-hin.”

kyle huffs, shaking his head fondly, before leading the pack out of the ice after a last lap for the audience. johnny keeps up with them, bright in his own happiness, pain be damned, because their fans deserve to see the fruits of their unwavering support.

besides, he knows someone’s out there, cheering for him louder than anyone else is.

.

“ah, there it is!” johnny cheers as he rummages through his locker, grinning when he meets the curious eyes of his teammates to show off his prized possession.

“your tooth?” enzo asks, face scrunched in his slight disgust. “don’t you wanna, you know, chuck it out?”

kyle murmurs something to reyes, something distinctly like, “just leave him be, mate,” but johnny bulldozes through, excited, and replies, “hmm? nae. i’m givin’ it to my girl.”

johnny doesn’t even notice the sudden silence in the room until the awkward petering laughter of gus.

“he smashed his head harder than we thought, no? probably needs more than a dentist.”

johnny rolls his eyes with a huff and flips him off, but he stops when he noticed the genuine concern in kyle’s face, the poor lad looking at him like he truly believes gus’ words and that he’s a second away from dialling for the standby medical team for johnny.

“what,” he bites out, shoulders hunching because why are they looking at him like that?

“it’s your loose tooth, johnny,” kyle answers, bug-eyed like there’s something obvious that johnny isn’t getting.

“i know.” it’s johnny’s turn to be confused. “‘s why i’m giving it to ‘er.”

“oh for fuck’s sakes— johnny, fill us in: why are you giving your girl your tooth?” price finally pipes in, looking more tired than he was on ice.

oh! johnny thought, his mind finally catching up to the situation. he breaks out into a smile, giddiness going rampant in his chest again, his stomach swooping at the thought of it—

“i’m proposin’ to her.”

a beat.

“that answers fuck all!”

he doesn’t even know who screamed that anymore, jumping in his own surprise at their explosive reaction, before yelping when a leg pad—probably price’s—was flung over his way with sharp accuracy.

“riley!”

.

you and johnny invited the boys and their plus-ones to celebrate the engagement, keeping most of it as private as one could after johnny posted a picture of you crying in his account, with the caption, “she said yes!”

(“couldn’t you have posted that selfie of us with the ring instead, baby?”

“shit, m’bad, bon. s’just that ye were too cute cryin’, almost had me panicking when you wouldn’t stop heaving.”

“…right. okay. can i post a different picture then?”

“of course, bonnie.”)

(yourname

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jmactavish.91 your fool

yourname my fool 🩷)

the party was vibrant, formalities thrown away at the promise that not a single photo would be posted without anyone’s permission. any news sites were explicitly banned, guests screened because you and johnny had wanted to, at least, keep one celebration for the engagement closed off to the world.

you’re chatting with simon’s girlfriend, who is so shy and sweet, bug-eyed because she said she’s only ever seen you from her phone when she watches your games, when johnny returns with his mates and instantly slots himself beside you.

simon nods at you in greeting, while john and kyle repeat their congratulations, beaming at your quiet chuckles while johnny preens at them, so boyishly charming and endearing.

you can’t help but brush a kiss on his jaw, faint as to not transfer your gloss to his skin. johnny tips his head down and looks at you like you’ve hung the moon for him.

“since y’r engaged, i just gotta say,” kyle begins after sipping from his flute. “did you know ol’ johnny wanted to propose to you with the tooth he lost last season?”

johnny snorts and you two share a fond look, even as you quirk your brows up because you are so sure he told them, at least.

“lord,” john whispers, catching on.

“oh,” kyle adds, humour leaving his face, and is replaced with incredulity. you would have giggled if it weren’t for the fact his eyes are now trained on your hand as if to gauge how it looks.

simon grunts before you can show it off to them, and when you all turn to him, he just shrugs, avoidant, until his partner pokes his side with a confused tilt of her brows.

“i mean,” he begins, almost petulantly. “it’s johnny.”

he sniffs like that explains anything, and, given than you’re the person marrying johnny, it really does. you can’t help the giggles now, and you turn, smothering them on johnny’s shoulder who is busy cussing out his friend in murmurs.

“may i?” john asks, apparently tired of dancing around the topic.

“or course!” you reply, smiling, and put your arm out to show to them the pretty ring that your boy has given you with a warm promise of an eternity shared with him. if you’ll let him.

(there were so many more you wanted to tell johnny, so many more you wanted him to hear, but they all fell short. they all felt incomplete. but right there, in that moment, you knew what it was that you had to say. what it was that would let this bring his promise to life.

“yes,” you gasped out, choking on your own tears. “a hundred times yes, johnny!”

you two were trembling as he slid the ring on your finger, hearts throbbing with all the love reserved for each other.)

they crowd around your arm, leaning, their eyes bulging at seeing johnny’s tooth nestled there, in between the gold and the little diamonds surrounding it, and—

“i saw that fall off his mouth, oh my god.”

you laugh at kyle’s words, your heart so full and so fond because everything is just so beautiful.

johnny nuzzles his nose on your cheek, ignoring his lads in favour of kissing you.

[starlostastronaut]

SUNSETS AND BUCKET LISTS

han jisung × reader - fluff, childhood friends to lovers, college au - 1.8k

summary - spending your last day with your best friend before school should be sad, but this time it took an unexpected turn

cw - use of yn?

links - masterlist

so! i'm almost late but, still made it in time. i guess you could call this ji's bday fic (tho there will be more sunshine twins content coming soon), but most importantly, happy birthday katsy!! ( @catiuskaa ) this one is for you <3333

and shout out to my mars who saved me several times writing this. not proofread and idk what is that ending, but i hope you like it! <3

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Jisung whispered into your ear, his hot breath spilling over your skin, making you shiver and instantly startling you awake. Or mostly awake. Still half asleep, your brain only registered that someone is in very close proximity to you and we do not like that, before your hand tightened on your plushie and you whacked Jisung in the face.

“Ow, what’s that for?” he whined, dramatically holding his palm to the right side of his face. His mischievous grin was replaced by a scowl and he looked at you like you just stole his dog, not simply hit him with a stuffed cat. With your consciousness finally catching up to speed, you realized that it was not an alien coming to abduct you, but it was Han Jisung, your best friend since you were three years old. And he carried the title proudly, always mentioning your sixteen years long friendship to anyone who (did not) care.

“Sorry, Ji, oh my god!” You swiftly rose up on the bed, it was a miracle your head didn't collide with Jisung's as well. “I thought you were, I don't know, a pervert or something.”

“YN,” Jisung sighed. “It's literally just us two and our parents. There's a security system in the house. How would a pervert even get in?”

He was right. Growing up in the same town, just three houses away, your families have known each other very well. It was a tradition that started when you and Jisung were old enough to travel and actually understand a vacation. Your families always rented out the same beach house to spend the last two weeks of summer holiday together.

By now, you knew the place front to back, being able to move around while blinded and you would be just fine. So Jisung was right, but you couldn’t possibly let him have the win so easily.

“I don't know,” you shrugged. “They always find a way?” Jisung gave you an unimpressed look. “Okay, okay. But it's still your fault. You shouldn't have woken me up like a creep.”

“Blah, blah, blah.” Jisung rolled his eyes and grabbed your hands, quite literally dragging out of bed and out of the warm comfort of the covers. You hissed and a shiver ran over your skin as your, due to the summer heat barely clothed, body made contact with the cold floor. “Come on, get up, we have so much stuff to do!”

Jisung let go of your hands, bouncing around happily. You shook your head, amazed at the amount of energy he had so early in the morning. Had he eaten just sugar for breakfast?

You slowly stood up, rummaging through the closet for some clothes. “Turn around at least, perv,” you laughed, smacking him over his chest with a shirt. Jisung laughed, but left the room, giving you privacy to change. Not wanting to keep him waiting, you put on the first shorts and shirt you found. It's not like you were going to meet many people so who cares, right? On your way out you grabbed a hoodie too. The summer was in fact nearing its end and the mornings were often chilly. And knowing Jisung, you will have breakfast outside.

As per your prediction, the small outside table was full of food, with Jisung impatiently waiting for you, bouncing his leg and playing with a fork.

After a quick breakfast, Jisung shared his plan for the day. You listen in disbelief, wondering how he wanted to fit all of that into one day. Despite your doubts, you were going to do everything for it to happen though.

This was your last day together. In pursuit of your respective dreams, you and Jisung not only attended different universities, but in different cities too and the distance made it even harder. In order to visit each other, you would have to spend several hours traveling, and that was a luxury you couldn’t afford. You tried, but then a test came up, or a friend's birthday party or Jisung was sick… After three months you gave up trying, resigning to seeing your best friend on Christmas and summer only.

It was hard enough to leave him last year, but you called each other a lot. In the beginning that was. Once you got your bearings and university properly started, you were often so exhausted you fell asleep on the video call. Or didn't call at all, because Jisung forgot to charge his phone in the whirlwind of classes and deadlines.

You never knew it was possible to miss someone so much. Being without Jisung felt like someone was slowly tearing off your limbs. And when you saw him at Christmas, it felt like the puzzle finally found its missing piece. A week later, in your dorm room with friends and soju, some revelations were had, but by the time summer came around, your mind was in a completely different place.

And this time, knowing what kind of year you were up against, letting go of Jisung for another several months suddenly felt impossible. Knowing this shared vacation was coming, both you and Jisung made a list of activities to do and places nearby to visit. But with how excited you both were, you put off checking boxes in favour of lazing around, watching anime, going to the pool and talking for hours.

So there you were, left with a list impossible to complete by the end of today. Yet nothing would deter you from trying.

“I think I'm actually gonna die.” You fell onto your towel, lying motionlessly on the beach. Not even having enough energy to watch the sunset, which you would have taken countless pics of any other day.

By some miracle, you managed to complete Jisung's entire checklist for the day, which left you completely exhausted. You were seriously thinking of asking Jisung to carry you back, because unlike you, he seemed as if powered by the air he breathed - he hadn't run out of energy the whole day.

“Noo, you can't die yet. We still have to check off the paddleboard at the sea,” Jisung said. And there it was, he actually brought the paddleboard down to the beach. You saw it lying next to your things when you sat back up.

“Ji, seriously?” you laughed. “You can't swim? And it's dark.” The idea seemed a little funny and a whole lot crazy. It was one thing to be at the pool, where there was a bottom and a limited amount of water. To go to the wild, open sea, in the dark, and tired after the whole day? k

“Actually… I can. Kinda. Lix taught me,” Jisung admitted. You knew who he was talking about, Jisung wouldn't shut up about his roommate and new best friend Felix, he actually mentioned him in about every conversation he could. It was kind of cute actually. You were worried Jisung would struggle, being an introvert with social anxiety, but Felix waltzed into his life and saved him for you.

“Okay…” Felix teaching him solved one problem at least. But you still didn't feel like it was a good idea. “Ji, do we have to? What if something happens? We're tired, we're alone here…”

Jisung’s shoulders slumped. “Right, yeah you're right. I just had this plan and I wanted to… nevermind.”

That wasn't fair. Now you felt bad. God, why was Jisung so cute? “Maybe we could… I don't know. Put it just by the shore and sit on it?” you suggested, wanting to make Jisung happy. You would do anything to make him happy, even go out on the sea when you thought about it.

Alone together on the beach, the sun setting over the water, the atmosphere was romantic. And thought your brain, because all your feelings that you pushed aside to focus on quality time with Jisung, now came rushing back all at once.

Jisung's face lit up. “Yeah, we can do that. I guess it counts as completing.” You helped Jisung push the paddleboard just behind the first waves, sitting on it with your feet in the water, still in the safe distance to the shore.

You looked over the horizon, the sun reflecting on the water begging to be photographed. “Selca?” you asked. Jisung nodded and leaned closer, posing for the low quality picture. With barely any natural light left, the photo was bound to be blurry and dark, but you always liked that kind of aesthetic anyway.

Feeling daring in the moment, you pressed your lips to Jisung's cheek. Barely, just a few seconds, but enough to capture on your phone.

“YN…” Jisung whispered. If it wasn't so dark, you would see the pink dusting his face.

“Sorry, I just… I just had to,” you said. What did you have to lose anyway? You were leaving tomorrow morning and wouldn't see Jisung for another few months. “I had to know what it feels like,” you whispered.

Jisung lowered his gaze, choosing to look at the waves rather than looking at you. Somehow, the silence was scarier than a rejection of your implied confession.

“Say something Ji, please,” you begged, not knowing how to bear the crushing weight of the silence anymore. You feared what message it carried.

“You crossed the last box for me.”

Before you could ask what it meant, Jisung took out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to you. His checklist of activities for the vacation. When you unfolded the small ball of paper, your eyes skimmed over the completed activities, all the way to the last one.

Kiss YN in some super romantic moment.

“I planned to tell you,” Jisung spoke up. “How I feel. I guess you beat me to it.” He lifted his head to look at you. “I did understand it correctly, right? It wasn't a platonic friend kiss, because Felix sometimes gives me those and if it was then forget everything I said because-”

You surged forward, interrupting his rambling with your lips on his. It was a wonder you didn't fall off the paddleboard, with how much force was used. You felt him freeze and smile, as he slowly kissed you back, overcoming the initial shock and surprise.

And you kissed, until there was no sun in the sky and your parents had to go look at why you took so long. That night, you laid in Jisung's bed, making promises and wishes for the upcoming year, already making plans, determined to not give up this time.

Somehow, coming back to campus and the insanity your university could be sometimes, wasn't as hard as it was last year. This time around, you had something new to look forward to in the darkest moments of endless texts and assignments. You had a boyfriend and a promise to keep. No giving up this time. And you both dutifuly kept it.

Jisungie <3

still alive after that test?

YN <3

barely

i'm dead inside and lonely

my roommate's out this weekend on a family thing

leaving me all alone in this dorm

Jisungie <3

good thing i have no classes this friday

see you then ynnie <3

taglist: @stayconnecteed @hanjsquokka @starseungs @starlostseungmin @ivaneedssleep @143horny-core @lakoya @rylea08 @caitlyn98s @oddracha @sweetbokji @feybin @qwonyoung23 @jiaaabbahng @hope69world @palindrome969 @alicedawitchbish @hyunjinshairband7 @nattisbored @ermahgerd-larry-and-ziam @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @kirakombat @kmgfeels @freyjhasdesiredreality @dazzlingjade @boldy-49 @naarmzz @rei-reia @cookiesandcreammy @urfavblondy @chlodavids @armystay89 @btskzfav @vegetablesarefuntables @tearzzuu @ch4nn13luv @kisses-too-the-moon @mellhwang @lolareadsimagines @missmajdastark @drewsandsebastianswife @mitchii @chillichillicrabcrab23 @laniminchanlix @dearly-somber @greyyeti @linosazuna @na-tas-post

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© starlostastronaut 2024 | do not repost/translate my work without permission

[akiranzee]

milf reader smooching all over enmu/douma's face to cover their face in lipstick. thats it, thats the request XDDDD

💋 • ° ` — \\ “I’LL KISS YOU MWA!”

╰┈➤ PAIRINGS: enmu, douma x milf!y/n (separated) ╰┈➤ SUMMARY: a pretty lipstick should be kissed. ╰┈➤ WORD COUNT: 0.3k+ ╰┈➤ CONTAINS: kissing, modern au, & douma and enmu is 22, while reader is 40. ╰┈➤ A/N: i’m not a fan of enmu so he might be ooc..??

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------------Complete!------------

★ • ° ` — ENMU || 魘夢:

upon walking down the streets of red light district, you stumbled upon a small shop, that had sets of... well, explicit stuffs, and... a lipstick that stood out.

you remember your dear sadistic boyfriend that requested you to wear a red, very dark red lipstick like blood, also for a change and replacement of your light pink ones.

and so, you entered the shop and bought it, with the cost of ¥1,776.43, surprisingly expensive, yet you still bought it for the sake of your dear boyfriend.

~~~~~

“please! just kiss me with this! cover me up with this beautiful red~!” enmu practically begs enthusiastically, as he puts the lipstick on your lips, which by the way — just messily smudges on every edge on your lips, his tracing skills so sloppy.

then, just like that of a dog, he waits patiently as you slowly, teasingly, pucker your lips towards his face, kissing both his cheeks first, then the nose, next the forehead, three times, and lastly, the lips trailing down to the chin.

god, you both look soo messy right now.

★ • ° ` — DOUMA || ドゥーマ:

“waaahh y/n!!” suddenly, the door of your home bursts open, revealing a whining douma, who basically leaps into your arm the moment he sees you around the kitchen.

“akaza-kun and muzan-sama bullied me again!!” douma fake cries into your chest, exaggeratedly, as you simply laughed him off, wondering how you fell for this whiny man again.

“hmm? why so?” you tried to humor him, asking the obvious — of course, he was annoying them.

“mm.. comfort me dear, i’m soo sad right now..~” douma whined once again, pressing his head deeper into your chest.

you chuckled, and slowly lifted his head from between your breasts, and kissed both his eyes, next his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and lastly, his lips, your marks of love all over his face.

suddenly then, for whatever miracle there was, his mood lightened up, as if the ‘bullying’ never happened.

“aww this is why i love you soo much!!” then, it was his turn to smother you with his own, lipstick-less kisses.

───────────── ☆ ─────────────

© akiranzee || do not steal, plagiarize, or repost my works without my permission.

[auspicioustidings]

Firewatch

Summary: You are unconscious on the floor of the fire watch tower while the fire fighters decide what exactly to do with you. (Also this is a series, links are in my pinned posts to the other parts :) )

Work Count: 1.3k

CWs: It's a little (a lot) kidnap-ey

Firewatch - Firefighter AU

"Wit if we didnae dae that though?"

Price looked at the unconscious body on the floor. Soap had carried you all the way up without a word, all of them ignoring that the Scottish man had just abducted you. Scratched and bruised but miraculously not one burn on you despite the blaze that had just destroyed your little cottage and tried to tear through the forest after. 

It was a small miracle that the weather had turned, the downpour helping them to stop the flames from spreading further into the forest, their forest. His team of firefighters lived and worked here, their cabin a short hike away from the Firewatch tower. They all had their own reasons for living off grid, choosing this life. They had each other, but he couldn't deny that there had been something pleasant about watching you move into the crumbling cottage just on the edge of the forest.

You had done most of the renovation work yourself, they knew that because it had become a hobby to watch you from the tower. If it bordered on obsession sometimes, well he let that slide, had said nothing when from the tower he had watched Simon go into your cottage (didn't even have to break in, you didn't lock it, drove them wild when they realised). Neither Mactavish nor Garrick had asked where the blanket had come from when Simon returned with it that night. They already knew. He remembered it smelled of bergamot in the beginning. 

"You're suggesting we let the authorities pronounce her dead?" Price asked, although if he was being honest it barely sounded like a question, more like a statement.

"She should be dead doing the bloody electrical work herself. We supposed to just leave her to her own devices? She needs looking after."

Simon did believe that it wouldn't be a bad thing to keep you. They could look after you, give you a good life here. You'd already been testing his self-control and he knew it wasn't just him. He may have been the only one to have entered your cottage, although it should be noted that despite the raging temptation to touch you he had only taken the blanket from your sleeping body, replacing it with a thicker one. But he was not the only one who had been desperately trying to look after you despite your seeming insistence to be as reckless as possible. 

Gaz had taken a sledgehammer to the rickety ladder you were using while you were out, making sure it wasn't usable anymore so nobody had to watch you fall to your damn death. Price had to hold the man back when you had bought a new one. Safer than what you had been using, but wouldn't it be better to let them take that risk? Wouldn't it be nice to sit back and relax while Gaz patched up the roof for you?

Johnny had been near feral when you had taken to strolling through the forest, coming to within a metre of one of their traps. He had barked down the radio to the cabin in a panic from his spot on the watch tower and it had taken hours of Simon sitting with him on watch to calm him down. Johnny went out that night and picked up every trap they had laid, refusing to let anyone put anymore out until he had marked a walking trail for you to follow and then watched for weeks to be certain you had picked up on it and wouldn't stray. 

"He's not wrong. What happens when that git who delivers her mail decides he wants to cosy up? Look at her, she's practically begging to get taken advantage of. It's not safe out there for her" Gaz added. He never would have considered kidnapping you as such, but it made perfect sense to him that they don't tell the authorities that they had rescued you from the fire. This wasn't kidnapping, more divine intervention. 

They all did look at you then, unconscious on the floor in your paint splattered dungarees, breathing easily in and out. You had been choking from the smoke when Simon had hauled you over his shoulder and gotten you outside, Gaz getting an oxygen mask on you while Johnny and Price tried to contain the fire. The way you had looked up at Simon when you realised you were alive, that he had saved you. God you had been so beautiful to him, some mixture of adoration and confusion in your eyes, a hint of fear from him being in full gear and face mask.

He gently cradled your head when you tried to look over at what Gaz was doing, not letting you see him prepare the sedative. You didn't even notice the sting of the needle, probably in shock. Gaz told himself that it was so you could rest, so they didn't need to worry about you going into a panic. Of course it wasn't nefarious to sedate you, how could it be when you looked so peaceful as you slept? If he had done something wrong Simon would have stopped him, Johnny wouldn't have scooped you up and carried you all the way home, Price wouldn't have your cat rubbing against his legs after having carried the little thing here so you wouldn't worry about her when you woke up.

Price sighed, leaning down to give the cat a few scratches behind the ear. They would need to get some things from town to make you comfortable, but for the moment you'd have to stay in the tower away from prying eyes. The sheriff would be paying their cabin a visit to go over the incident report. They'd need to figure out some of the details, mess with the timelines a little to make it feasible that the fire would have left nothing behind of you.  It shouldn't be too difficult, the community trusted them and you were an outsider who had breezed into town one day. Nobody would be demanding DNA testing to confirm.

"If we are doing this, we are going to do it proper. I hear any complaints from her and you can't justify that whatever she's mad about wasn't for her own good then I put you on 24 hour fire watch for a fortnight, understood?"

They all nodded, Johnny and Gaz not able to keep from grinning. The former was bouncing on his heels, excited out of his mind that they were keeping you. Price sighed again when he looked to Simon for some sort of support and the man just laughed.

"Kyle stay with her. Make sure she stays put when she wakes up, keep her happy. Lie when you have to keep her calm. You two are with me, we need to get back home and talk to the sheriff when she comes calling."

"Whit?! How's that fair? Let me stay instead!"

"Kyle is staying because he won't bloody pounce on her the minute she's awake."

Johnny had bitched about it the whole way back to the cabin, talking to the cat in his arms when Simon and Price stopped paying him any mind. They'd need to justify why they would be buying cat supplies and the sheriff was nothing if not appreciative of them when they explained they had found the poor thing out in the trees and would adopt it now that it's owner was gone.

It all went more smoothly than they could have dared dream. The real difficulty was dealing with Johnny's endless complaining when they returned to the watch tower to find that the expectation of Gaz not pouncing on you the moment you were awake had been an unrealistic one.

[laynore-x]

--"Replaced Miracle AU"--⛈️🌈🌹

Despite the drama of years ago, Isabela and Dolores are very close.

Isa is still hesitant to talk about Mirabel for objecting at her wedding with Mariano since it was Alma's wish, but deep down she is very grateful that she did (Isabela was the favorite granddaughter for possessing a powerful gift; while no matter how hard Dolores tried to look perfect or meet her standards, it was never enough for her grandmother).

After some events, Mariano and Dolores got to know each other better, and they fell in love.

(full image below if you'd like to see)

[amethystarachnid]

Hey! I'd like to make a request for your Marvel Multiverse: Royal AU with tony stark x fem!reader

Anything with a very happy married couple, reader telling him that they are expecting their first child and tony being the best husband (and dad), I need some fluff and I appreciate your writing

THE CROWN'S HEART

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance and fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: you and Tony are king and queen, your life is full of duties but also full of love, love that doubles once you discover that you're with child.

ᯓ★ TW(s): pregnancy and childbirth

ᯓ★ AU:Royal but not modern royal

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The grand halls of the palace gleam under the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Tall windows allow beams of light to filter through, illuminating the royal tapestries and gold-gilded furniture. The air is calm, peaceful—just like your heart. You walk through the corridors, your hand grazing the stone walls as you make your way to the council chamber. There’s a nervous excitement bubbling inside you, but the smile on your face is soft and serene.

This moment—this secret you’ve carried with you all morning—it feels like a miracle. You can hardly contain it anymore. It’s time to tell him.

As you approach the grand wooden doors, two guards step aside, bowing deeply. You nod at them graciously before entering the chamber. The room is lined with advisors, but all eyes are on the man at the head of the table. King Anthony Stark, your husband, is leaning back in his chair, dressed in his royal tunic, the crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders. His crown rests on his dark hair, slightly tilted, and he flashes one of his signature grins as he listens to a noble’s report on trade routes. But as soon as he sees you enter, his entire demeanor softens.

“My queen,” Tony says, standing up. His tone, though formal for the sake of the council, holds an unmistakable warmth that only you are privileged to receive. His brown eyes sparkle, and you can’t help but feel your heart flutter.

“Your Majesty,” you greet, smiling as you approach him. The formalities between you are but a veil, hiding the deep affection that has only grown stronger with each passing year. You and Tony have ruled the kingdom side by side, an inseparable pair, beloved by your people. You’ve always been each other's greatest strength, and now, your bond is about to grow even more profound.

You give the council a quick glance, knowing that what you are about to say is for Tony's ears only. “Might I have a moment with the king?”

The advisors exchange looks, then rise, bowing before excusing themselves. Tony watches them file out, and once the door closes behind the last of them, his playful smirk returns. He steps closer, taking your hand in his. "To what do I owe the pleasure, my queen? Sneaking away from your duties just to see me? I thought I was the one who couldn't keep away."

You chuckle softly, feeling his thumb gently caress your knuckles. “There is something I must tell you,” you begin, suddenly realizing how emotional the words make you feel. But Tony senses the shift in your tone before you can say more. His smile falters, replaced by concern, and he brings his other hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice low, tender. “Are you alright?”

You nod, the smile returning to your lips. “I am more than alright, Tony. In fact, I’m… happier than I ever thought possible.”

His brow furrows slightly, but there’s a hopeful light in his eyes. “Y/N, you’re killing me with suspense. What is it?”

You take a deep breath, your heart swelling with the joy of what you’re about to share. “I’m with child, Tony. We’re going to have a baby.”

For a moment, it seems as though the entire world stills. Tony blinks, his eyes widening as he processes your words. His hands, still holding yours, tighten ever so slightly as if he’s afraid to let go. “Y-You’re…” He trails off, his voice a whisper.

You nod, your eyes shining. “Yes, my love. We’re going to be parents.”

A beat passes, and then—suddenly, a wide, joyous grin breaks across Tony’s face. He lets out a breathless laugh, his hand immediately dropping to your waist as he pulls you into a tight embrace. “A baby? We’re having a baby?” he repeats, his voice incredulous, filled with awe and wonder.

You laugh, your arms wrapping around his neck. “Yes, Tony. We’re going to have a child. An heir to the throne.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his face alight with a joy you’ve never seen before. “You… you’ve just made me the happiest man in the world.” His voice is thick with emotion, and for a moment, you think you see tears in his eyes, though he quickly blinks them away. “Our child… I—” He lets out a soft laugh again, shaking his head as though he can’t believe it. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper, your heart full. “And this child will be so loved, so cherished. By both of us.”

Tony kisses you then, his lips capturing yours in a way that feels like both a promise and a celebration. When he pulls away, his hands rest on your waist, his eyes scanning your face as if committing every part of you to memory in this perfect moment. “I’m going to be a father,” he says again, more to himself this time, a mixture of wonder and pride in his voice.

“And you’ll be the best father,” you say softly, running your fingers through his hair.

Tony lets out a deep breath, then presses his forehead to yours. “Our kingdom… our family. Everything I’ve ever wanted is right here with you. We’re going to raise the future of this kingdom together.”

You nod, your heart swelling with emotion. Together, you’ve built a kingdom that thrives under your love and leadership, and now, you’ll build a family. The future feels brighter than ever.

Outside, in the courtyard below, the sound of life continues—knights training, children playing, merchants trading. But in this moment, in this room, it’s just the two of you, holding the promise of a future filled with love, laughter, and the tiny life growing inside you.

Days pass, and the secret between you and Tony feels like a precious gem that only the two of you are allowed to admire. Every glance, every brush of his hand when no one is looking, holds a deeper meaning now. In private, Tony can barely contain his excitement. He dotes on you constantly—making sure you’re resting, eating well, even having the kitchen prepare your favorite dishes with special care. His teasing remarks have softened into something gentler, more intimate. And every night, when the palace quiets down and it’s just the two of you, his hands drift to your belly as though already protecting what lies within.

But in public, you both maintain the dignified roles of king and queen. Tony is ever the charismatic leader—confident, sharp, and beloved by the people. You, regal and poised, stand beside him, both of you perfectly composed. Yet, there’s a shared secret in every look exchanged, every whispered word when no one is listening.

Finally, the day arrives when the news can no longer be kept hidden. Tony has insisted on a grand announcement, one that will not only share the joy but allow the entire kingdom to celebrate the future of their monarchy. It is to be a day of feasting, music, and revelry, and preparations have been underway since sunrise.

Now, standing in the royal balcony that overlooks the central square, you feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you—not with anxiety, but with awe. You glance at Tony beside you, his hand resting subtly on the small of your back, hidden by his cloak. He is every bit the king today—his crown shining brightly in the midday sun, his posture commanding respect, and yet, beneath it all, you can see the excited flicker in his eyes.

“Are you ready, my queen?” he murmurs softly, his lips barely moving as he leans in, just close enough for only you to hear.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “With you by my side, always.”

His smile turns a bit warmer, and though it’s a public moment, he gently squeezes your waist in silent affection. Then, Tony steps forward, raising his hand to signal for silence among the crowd below. The bustling marketplace, already filled with anticipation, stills as the people of your kingdom turn their eyes to their rulers.

Tony’s voice rings out clearly, commanding attention but also filled with warmth. “People of Starkhaven,” he begins, his voice carrying across the square, “Today is a day unlike any other. You have honored us with your loyalty and your trust, and in return, we have worked tirelessly to build a kingdom that thrives—a kingdom of peace, strength, and unity.”

There’s a cheer from the crowd, a roar of approval and pride. You can see the faces of your people below, filled with adoration. They love Tony. They love you. The sense of responsibility that comes with that love is overwhelming, but in this moment, it’s not just a burden—it’s a bond, a connection between ruler and subject.

Tony waits for the noise to settle before continuing, his hand returning to your back as if to steady you. “And today,” he says, his voice softer now, more intimate, “we share with you a personal joy. A joy that belongs to both your queen and myself, but also to each and every one of you.”

You take a deep breath, your heart racing as the words you’ve held inside for so long are about to be released into the world. Tony turns to you, his eyes shining with pride and love, silently inviting you to speak.

You step forward slightly, your voice steady despite the emotion rising in your chest. “The kingdom you have helped us build, the peace we all cherish… it will continue long after we are gone. For we are blessed to announce that we are expecting our first child.”

There is a moment of silence as the words sink in, and then, as if the entire kingdom has taken a collective breath, the square erupts in cheers. The sound is deafening but joyous, and you can see the people below clapping, shouting, hugging one another. It’s as if your news has given them a reason to celebrate not just your future, but their own.

Tony steps closer to you, his arm now fully around your waist, his thumb brushing against your side in a rare display of public affection. His grin is wide, genuine, and as he looks out over the cheering crowd, he raises his hand once more. “Let the kingdom rejoice!” he declares, his voice booming with pride. “For today, we celebrate not just our future heir but the strength and unity of our people. Let there be a feast in every home, music in every street, and joy in every heart!”

The crowd roars in approval, and already, musicians begin to play in the square below. Market stalls burst into activity, their owners calling out to sell food and drink for the festivities that will last long into the night. From your vantage point, you can see the entire kingdom come alive, as though the news of your child has brought with it a wave of hope and happiness.

Tony turns to you, his hand cupping your cheek briefly before he remembers the eyes on both of you. He leans in and whispers against your ear, his voice filled with nothing but adoration. “Look at them, Y/N. You’ve given them a reason to hope. You’ve given me everything I could ever dream of.”

You smile, feeling the emotion welling up again. “It’s not just me, Tony. We’ve done this together.”

His eyes are soft as they meet yours, and for a moment, it feels like the world has faded away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, shared moment. “Together,” he repeats, his voice thick with emotion. “Always.”

As the music swells and the people of Starkhaven celebrate below, you stand beside Tony, your king, your love. And in this moment, surrounded by the joy of your kingdom, you know without a doubt that your reign will be one of peace, prosperity, and love—not just for your people, but for the family you are about to begin.

The soft light of the late afternoon filters through the curtains of your private chambers, casting a warm glow over the room. It’s a quiet moment, the kind you’ve come to treasure now more than ever. The palace may be grand, bustling with life and duty, but here, in the sanctuary of your shared space with Tony, it feels as though the rest of the world has faded away.

You sit by the window, hand resting on the growing swell of your belly, your back cushioned by soft pillows that Tony insisted be brought in for your comfort. Your gown, loose and flowing, rests easily over your now-round belly, and you can feel the faint fluttering of movement inside, a reminder that life is growing within you.

You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in the peaceful silence, when you hear the soft creak of the door. You don’t need to open your eyes to know it’s him. Tony’s presence fills the room even before he speaks.

“Caught you daydreaming again,” his voice is playful, though softer than usual, as though he’s afraid to break the stillness of the moment.

You smile without turning. “I was just thinking… about how much has changed in the last few months.”

Tony walks toward you, his boots barely making a sound on the thick rug. When he reaches your side, he doesn’t sit immediately. Instead, he kneels in front of you, his hands finding your knees, his touch gentle. “All good changes, I hope,” he teases, though the affection in his voice is undeniable.

“All good,” you assure him, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair, an intimate gesture that speaks of the trust and love between you.

Tony’s eyes, warm and dark, drift to your belly, and as he does every time he sees you now, his hands move to rest on the curve of your stomach. His touch is reverent, as though the life growing within you is something sacred. “I still can’t believe it sometimes,” he murmurs, his thumb lightly brushing over the fabric of your gown. “That our child is in there.”

You chuckle softly, watching him as he gazes at your belly with a mixture of awe and tenderness. “I think I believe it a little more each day,” you say, shifting slightly. “Our child is starting to make their presence known more and more.”

Tony looks up at you, his eyes bright with excitement. “Still kicking?” he asks, his tone light but hopeful.

You nod. “Yes, every now and then. Sometimes at night when you’re already asleep.”

Tony’s brow furrows in mock dismay. “They’re already plotting to keep me out of the loop, huh?” He leans forward, pressing his ear gently to your belly. “Hey, little one,” he says in a low, affectionate tone. “Your father’s right here. Anytime you want to give me a sign, I’m all ears.”

You smile down at him, your heart swelling with affection. He’s always been playful, always had that sharp wit and charm that you adore, but there’s something different about him now. Something softer, more vulnerable. It’s as if the realization that he’s about to become a father has unlocked a new side of him, one that dotes on you constantly, one that speaks to your growing belly like the child can already hear and understand every word.

“I think they already know they have you wrapped around their little finger,” you tease, brushing a lock of dark hair from Tony’s forehead.

He grins, sitting back on his heels but keeping one hand on your belly. “They definitely do. Just like you do.” There’s no teasing in his voice now, only a quiet, sincere love that makes your heart ache in the best way.

Tony stands, gently pulling you up with him, guiding you to the plush couch where you both often spend your evenings. He sits first, then tugs you down beside him, arranging pillows so you can lean back comfortably. His arm immediately finds its place around you, pulling you close as your head rests on his shoulder.

He’s careful with you, always mindful of your growing belly, never letting you lift a finger more than necessary. At first, you tried to insist you were perfectly capable of doing things yourself, but Tony wouldn’t hear it. “You’re carrying our future,” he’d said one night with a smirk. “You get to relax. I’ll handle everything else.”

Now, you’ve grown used to his doting, even finding it endearing. The way he watches over you, the way he insists on fetching things for you or helping you sit down—it’s all part of his way of showing love, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Do you ever wonder what they’ll be like?” you ask softly, your hand resting over Tony’s where it rests on your belly. “Our child.”

“All the time,” Tony replies, his voice low, thoughtful. “I wonder if they’ll have your kindness, your strength. Or maybe they’ll be a stubborn little thing like their father.” He chuckles, but there’s a fondness in his tone that makes your heart swell.

You turn your head slightly to look up at him. “I hope they get your sense of humor. This kingdom could use a little more laughter.”

Tony grins. “Oh, they’ll definitely get that. Can’t be a Stark without a sharp wit.”

You laugh softly, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, his hand still gently caressing your belly. There’s a peace between you now, a contentment that feels like it could stretch on forever. You don’t need grand gestures or declarations in these moments—it’s the simple intimacy that means the most.

“I wonder if they’ll look like you,” you muse quietly, your fingers tracing lazy circles over Tony’s hand. “Dark hair, sharp eyes. They’ll be beautiful.”

Tony’s eyes soften, and he presses a kiss to your temple. “If they look anything like you, they’ll be perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “But no matter what, they’ll have us. And we’ll love them more than anything.”

You close your eyes, leaning further into him, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing beneath you. “They’re going to be so lucky,” you whisper. “To have you as a father.”

Tony lets out a soft laugh, but there’s a vulnerable edge to it. “I don’t know about that,” he says quietly, his fingers stilling on your belly for a moment. “But I do know that I’m going to do everything I can to be the best father I can be. For them. And for you.”

You tilt your head up, your eyes meeting his. “You already are, Tony.”

His gaze holds yours for a long moment before he leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. When he pulls away, his hand slips beneath your gown to rest directly on your belly, skin to skin. The gesture feels intimate, grounding, as though he’s trying to connect with both you and the child within you all at once.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your skin gently. “But for now… I’ll just keep talking to them. Let them know how much we love them already.”

You smile, resting your hand over his. “They know, Tony. They know.”

And in the quiet warmth of your chambers, with Tony’s arm wrapped protectively around you and the soft fluttering of life growing inside you, you feel that your future is brighter than you ever could have imagined.

The air in the royal chambers is thick with anticipation. Candles flicker in the dim light of the early morning, casting long shadows on the stone walls. Outside, the palace is quiet, but inside, there’s an electric charge in the air—an expectant hum that courses through every servant, every healer, and certainly through you. The time has come.

You grip the edge of the bed, breathing deeply, as a fresh wave of pain washes over you. Tony is right by your side, his hand clasping yours, his face a mixture of concern and awe. He’s been here with you for hours now, refusing to leave your side even when the royal healers suggested he might be better off waiting in the antechamber. But Tony wouldn’t hear of it. “She’s my queen,” he’d said, his voice firm, eyes unwavering. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he hasn’t.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles now, his grip warm and strong, grounding you through the pain. “You’re doing amazing,” he murmurs, leaning close, his forehead brushing against yours. His voice is gentle, but there’s an edge of tension in it, like he’s holding his breath. “Just a little longer, my love. Just a little longer.”

You nod, though your breath comes in quick, shallow bursts as another contraction takes hold. You’ve never felt anything quite like this—the intensity, the overwhelming ache—and yet, you feel Tony’s unwavering presence beside you, his love wrapping around you like a protective shield.

Time seems to stretch and warp, each moment bleeding into the next until finally, with a final push and a cry that feels like it comes from the very depths of your soul, it’s over.

And then—a sound. The tiny, piercing wail of a newborn fills the air.

The room seems to still, and for a moment, everything else falls away. All you can focus on is that sound—the first cry of your child, the life that you and Tony have created together.

The healer, her face flushed but smiling, wraps the newborn in soft linens and steps forward, offering the child to you. “Your Majesty,” she says, her voice soft with reverence. “It’s a girl.”

A girl.

You blink, the words sinking in slowly, and then—there she is. A tiny, perfect bundle, her face scrunched up, her fists waving in the air as if already determined to make her presence known in the world. You feel an overwhelming surge of emotion, a love so fierce it takes your breath away.

You look at Tony, whose eyes are wide, glistening with unshed tears as he gazes down at your daughter. “A girl,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he’s afraid to break the fragile magic of the moment.

The healer gently places the baby in your arms, and as soon as you feel the weight of her against your chest, something inside you shifts. This is your daughter. Your child. The heir to the throne.

Tony leans in, his arm wrapping around you as he gazes down at the tiny girl in your arms. His fingers brush over her cheek, so delicate, so impossibly small. “She’s perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re perfect.”

You laugh softly, though it’s mixed with tears. “We did it, Tony,” you whisper, unable to take your eyes off your daughter. “She’s here.”

He kisses the side of your head, his lips lingering against your hair. “You did it,” he corrects gently, his voice filled with awe. “You brought her into this world, and I… I’m just… I can’t believe it.” His hand rests on her tiny head, cradling her with the same tenderness he always shows you.

“She’s the first girl,” you murmur after a moment, the realization settling in. “In all of Starkhaven’s history… no woman has ever inherited the throne.” The weight of it—the sheer magnitude of what this means for your daughter, for the kingdom—hits you. A girl. The firstborn. The future queen.

Tony, however, doesn’t seem concerned with politics right now. His eyes are locked on your daughter, a soft, almost boyish grin spreading across his face. “Well,” he says, his tone light, “then it’s about time a woman ruled, don’t you think?”

You look up at him, surprised by how easily he says it, how little it seems to matter to him that this breaks centuries of tradition. But that’s Tony. When it comes to you, to your family, he’s never been one to follow the rules. His love for you, for your daughter, eclipses everything else. Politics, history—they’re just details. Right now, all that matters is that you’re here, safe, with your child.

“She’s going to be a force to be reckoned with,” he says, his voice soft but full of pride. “Just like her mother.”

You smile, your heart swelling as you look down at your baby girl. Her tiny fingers curl around yours, and you feel that connection—the bond between mother and child that is stronger than anything you’ve ever known. “She’ll have your strength too,” you whisper. “Your heart. And we’ll raise her together. She’ll be loved, so deeply.”

Tony nods, his hand still resting on her head, his thumb brushing over her soft skin. “We’ll raise her to be kind and wise. She’ll be a queen, but more than that, she’ll be everything this kingdom needs.”

You glance at him, seeing the love and pride etched into every line of his face. “But we need to give her a name,” you say softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Our daughter deserves the perfect name.”

Tony leans back slightly, his eyes narrowing in playful thought. “Hmm, I was thinking something strong. Something royal, like…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Antonia.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Tony, no.”

He grins. “What? It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Queen Antonia Stark. I think she’d appreciate being named after her incredibly charming father.”

“I think not,” you tease, though the warmth in your voice makes it clear you’re in no hurry to rush this moment. “We need something unique. Something that will honor the future she’ll shape.”

You both fall silent, thinking. The room is still, save for the soft sound of your daughter’s breathing. And then, an idea comes to you. “What about Lyanna?” you suggest quietly. “After my grandmother. She was a woman of strength and wisdom, much like I hope our daughter will be.”

Tony’s eyes light up, and he nods slowly, as if tasting the name on his tongue. “Lyanna,” he repeats, his voice soft. “It’s beautiful. Just like her.”

You smile, feeling the weight of the name settle over your daughter, a name that carries history but also hope for the future. “Lyanna Stark,” you whisper. “Our daughter. Our future queen.”

Tony presses another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if sealing the moment in time. “She’s going to change everything,” he murmurs. “And we’ll be right there with her, every step of the way.”

You nod, your heart full as you gaze down at your newborn daughter, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. She is everything you never knew you needed. And in this moment, surrounded by love, you know that whatever challenges the future holds, you will face them together. The three of you—Tony, you, and your daughter—are a family. A new legacy begins with her.

And Starkhaven will never be the same again.

The day has finally come.

The throne room is alive with anticipation, a hum of excitement running through the gathered nobles, advisors, and esteemed citizens who have been invited to witness the long-awaited announcement. It’s been months since the birth of your daughter, Princess Lyanna, but for her safety, she has remained mostly hidden from the public eye, known only to a few close confidants.

Today, that changes. Today, the kingdom will meet their future queen.

You stand beside Tony at the grand entrance to the room, dressed in your royal finery. He wears his crown and the deep crimson and gold of Starkhaven, his posture straight and confident, but there’s a warmth in his eyes as he gazes at you and the tiny figure you hold in your arms. Lyanna, swaddled in silk embroidered with the royal crest, her dark hair already showing beneath her cap, is the picture of serenity, her little body tucked safely against you.

Tony leans in slightly, his hand resting at the small of your back, his voice low and affectionate. “Are you ready for this, my queen?”

You smile, glancing up at him. “I’ve been ready for months, but it’s our little one who’s the star today.”

He grins, his eyes flicking to your daughter with a mixture of pride and amusement. “She’s going to steal the hearts of the entire kingdom, you know. Just like her mother did.”

The herald steps forward to announce the arrival of the royal family, his voice booming through the hall. “Presenting Their Majesties, King Anthony and Queen Y/N of Starkhaven, and their firstborn child, the heir to the throne…”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence that seems to stretch forever.

“… Princess Lyanna Stark.”

The room erupts into a murmur of disbelief. Whispers ripple through the crowd, shock and confusion passing through the assembled faces. It’s no secret that Starkhaven has never had a queen inherit the throne. For generations, the kingdom has always been ruled by men, and the people had likely expected the king and queen’s firstborn to follow that tradition.

You take a deep breath, stepping forward with Tony at your side, Lyanna held securely in your arms. As you move to the dais, you feel the weight of centuries of tradition pressing against you, but it doesn’t crush you. Not when you know that this moment will change everything—for you, for Tony, and for your daughter.

When you reach the top, you turn to face the crowd. Tony is the first to speak.

“My people,” he begins, his voice clear and strong, echoing through the hall. “Today, we stand at the crossroads of history. You have served this kingdom with loyalty and devotion, and in return, it has been our greatest honor to serve as your king and queen.”

He pauses, glancing at you with a warm, reassuring smile before continuing. “Today, we introduce to you the heir to the throne of Starkhaven. Our daughter, Princess Lyanna.”

Another wave of murmurs sweeps through the crowd, but this time there’s something else beneath the initial shock—curiosity, intrigue, and slowly, acceptance.

Tony holds up a hand, and the room quiets once more. “For centuries, our kingdom has been ruled by kings, but that does not mean that only a son is fit to wear the crown. We are entering a new age, an age where strength and wisdom are not confined by tradition, but by the heart. And I tell you this with all the conviction of a king and a father—there is no one more suited to lead Starkhaven into the future than my daughter, your future queen.”

He looks to you, and you step forward, gently pulling back the silken cloth to reveal Lyanna’s face to the gathered crowd. Her eyes are closed, her tiny fist resting against her cheek, completely unaware of the history being made around her.

There’s a collective intake of breath, and then—slowly, as if in a ripple—applause begins. First hesitant, but then growing stronger, until the room is filled with the sound of hands clapping, feet stamping, and voices raised in approval. You see the surprise in the faces of some of the older nobles, but you also catch the bright, inspired gazes of the younger women in the room. They look at Lyanna with wide, hopeful eyes, as though seeing their own futures reflected in her.

Tony beams beside you, the pride unmistakable in his expression, and you can’t help but smile, your heart swelling with love for him and for the little girl cradled in your arms.

Then, a voice from the crowd rings out, clear and full of emotion. “Long live Princess Lyanna! Long live the future queen!”

The chant is picked up by others, and soon the entire hall is resounding with the cry: “Long live Princess Lyanna!”

It is a moment of pure triumph, a declaration that the kingdom is ready to embrace change, ready to follow a queen. You can see it in the faces of the women present, how the news of a female heir brings a light to their eyes that wasn’t there before. They whisper to one another, standing a little straighter, with a sense of pride and possibility.

You meet Tony’s gaze, and the warmth there is overwhelming. He leans in close, his voice barely above a whisper as he says, “I told you she’d change everything.”

You laugh softly, your heart full. “She’s barely a few months old, and already she’s a legend.”

Tony smiles, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous charm. “Of course she is. She’s a Stark.”

As the crowd continues to chant Lyanna’s name, the applause growing louder, the music begins to swell, signaling the start of a grand feast in her honor. The kingdom has embraced her, your daughter, their future queen. And though the road ahead may be filled with challenges, you know in this moment that Lyanna’s reign will be one of strength, unity, and hope.

You and Tony step down from the dais, moving through the crowd, accepting their well-wishes and smiles as they bow in respect. Lyanna stirs in your arms, her tiny eyes blinking open for the first time since the announcement. She gazes up at you with wide, curious eyes, and a soft smile spreads across your lips as you whisper, “Look, little one. Your kingdom awaits.”

It’s a quiet afternoon in the royal gardens, the air warm and filled with the scent of blooming flowers. Sunlight streams through the treetops, casting a soft, golden glow over the garden. You sit on a cushioned bench, one hand resting on the gentle curve of your belly, watching with a smile as Tony chases Lyanna through the grass.

Lyanna, now a bright and spirited toddler, squeals with laughter as her father chases her, his steps deliberately exaggerated and clumsy as he pretends to struggle to catch her. She’s dressed in a light gown, though her little crown keeps slipping as she runs, her curls bouncing with each step. Her laughter echoes through the garden, infectious and pure, and you feel your heart swell watching them together.

“Careful, Princess,” Tony calls, his voice filled with playful warmth. He’s down on one knee now, arms spread wide, beckoning her to run into his grasp. “Come here, or I’ll have to send the knights to capture you!”

Lyanna giggles, spinning in a tight circle before darting toward him. She’s full of energy and confidence, even at this age, already carrying herself with a natural grace that leaves no doubt she’ll make a fine queen one day. But right now, she’s only a little girl, wrapped up in the joy of playing with her father.

When she finally reaches Tony, he scoops her up, lifting her high above his head and spinning her around. She shrieks in delight, clutching onto his shoulders as he holds her tight. He pulls her close, dropping a gentle kiss on her forehead before lowering her back to the ground.

“Did you catch the princess?” you ask, your voice light with amusement as Tony guides her back toward you.

“I did,” he says, setting her down beside you with a flourish. “But I think she let herself get caught.” He winks at you, a playful glint in his eye, then turns back to Lyanna. “Isn’t that right, little one?”

Lyanna grins, clutching onto his hand and leaning against your knee as she gazes up at you. Her eyes—so much like Tony’s—are bright with joy, and she reaches a tiny hand out to rest it gently on your belly.

“Baby,” she says softly, her voice full of wonder. She’s been enchanted by the idea of a sibling ever since you and Tony shared the news, though you know she doesn’t fully understand it yet. But she pats your belly with a look of pride, like she’s already the protective big sister.

“Yes, love,” you say, covering her hand with yours. “There’s a baby in there. Your little brother or sister.” You glance up at Tony, and the two of you share a smile, a silent exchange of love and joy.

Tony kneels beside Lyanna, his arm slipping around her shoulders as he gazes at you, his eyes soft. “Do you think they’ll be as mischievous as this one?” he teases, pulling Lyanna in for a quick hug.

“Oh, I have no doubt,” you reply, chuckling. “With you as their father, I expect nothing less.”

Tony laughs, feigning a look of shock. “Me? Mischievous? You wound me, my queen.”

You smile, reaching out to brush a hand along his cheek. “But you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His eyes soften, and he takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your palm. “No,” he says quietly, “I wouldn’t. These are the days I cherish most. Watching her grow, knowing our family is growing…” His gaze shifts to Lyanna, who’s now plucking at some flowers at your feet, utterly oblivious to the depth of her father’s love.

He watches her for a long moment, a look of pride and wonder on his face. He’s smitten with her, just as much as the rest of the kingdom. She’s the beloved princess, already adored by the people and known throughout Starkhaven for her kindness and spirited nature. You know it won’t be long before they start whispering about the future queen she’ll become, but for now, she’s just Lyanna—your daughter, his little girl.

As the sun dips lower in the sky, Tony pulls Lyanna into his lap, and she curls up against his chest, her little fingers toying with the chain around his neck. He looks over at you, his free hand resting on your growing belly, his gaze filled with a love that seems almost too vast for words.

“She’s our legacy,” he says softly, his voice a gentle rumble as he holds Lyanna close. “And so is the one on the way.” He looks at you, his eyes shining. “But you—you’re the heart of it all, my queen. You’re the one who makes this kingdom feel like home.”

Your heart warms, and you lean over, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “And you’re the one who keeps us all laughing,” you murmur, your voice filled with affection. “The one who makes it all feel safe.”

The three of you sit there in the fading light, a peaceful, perfect little family. Lyanna drifts off in Tony’s arms, her tiny hand clutching his tunic, her face nestled against his shoulder. He cradles her with infinite tenderness, his fingers tracing patterns along her back as he watches her sleep.

In this moment, with the sun setting and the future bright before you, you know that whatever may come, your family is the legacy that will endure. Starkhaven will be safe, guided by the love, strength, and laughter that have already shaped its future.

And with Tony by your side, your daughter in your arms, and another on the way, you feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

I love love royal AUs, especially the ones set in historical royalties like this one, idk why, it feels so magical I guess. If you liked the story don't forget to like, reblog and drop a follow if you want to learn more! <3

[licnheartedd]

where the lost things go

jegulus microfic | 462 words | parenting au

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“Piglet?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Eeyore?”

“It has to be Tigger, James.”

Harry has been wailing in Regulus' arms for about an hour now—almost the exact length of time since he dropped his most beloved teddy. James and Regulus had looked everywhere for it, turning every inch of their house inside out, and had come up empty. It’s as if Harry’s Tigger had never existed in the first place.

“They don’t have Tigger, baby,” James says through the phone, barely audible over Harry’s cries. Regulus does his best to calm the baby down, but all of his efforts have proven futile. “I could try another store?”

“No, it’s—just come home, Jamie. We’ll figure something else out.” Exhausted, Regulus hangs up the call and turns his attention back to their son. He hates seeing Harry like this, red-faced and teary-eyed, not knowing how to fix it. He wouldn’t trade this life for the world, but it would be lovely if there was some kind of instruction manual.

Nothing he has tried so far has worked. Harry has no interest in eating or taking a nap or playing with another toy. He barely seems to react to Regulus’ voice. At this point, it feels like a miracle that Regulus hasn’t started crying along with him.

He has one idea left in his desperate attempt to soothe Harry. Settled on the couch with Harry curled against his chest, Regulus begins to sing. It is the same soft lullaby his brother sang to comfort him when they were kids, though Regulus would argue that Sirius is not known for having a particularly calming voice.

It takes him until halfway through the song’s second verse before Harry finally calms down. There are no more wails echoing off the walls, just the faint melody of the lullaby falling from Regulus’ lips. By the time the song ends, Harry’s eyes have fallen shut, and his cries have been replaced with soft snores.

“You’re a miracle worker,” James’ whispered voice muses from the doorway. Regulus turns his attention from their sleeping son to find his husband leaning against the door frame, Harry’s Tigger held tight in his hand.

“You found it?” Regulus asks, careful not to raise his voice any louder than absolutely necessary.

James chuckles, stepping farther into the living room to sit down next to Regulus. “It was at the front door, inside one of your welly boots.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was so drained, Regulus would have to bite back a laugh. Instead, he drops his head onto James’ shoulder with an amused huff, and takes Tigger from his hands to lay it on top of the sleeping baby. “Next time, you can stay home while he screams. I think I’ve earned a day off.”

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This Side Stars AU BTW. If by some miracle this is spoilers—whoops!

Ngl, part of me really wants to see Reformed!Twilight just—go off on Celestia.

Because think about it from Twilight's POV: her whole life she's strived to be the best magic pony ever and for years she's been Princess Celestia's only pupil. Now Celestia's just—tossed her aside in favor of this random Unicorn. All because Twilight *checks notes* is antisocial. (According to her bio so was Minuette, which makes this even worse)

Gee Celestia, I can't imagine why your student who's under a truckload of pressure and (presumably) raising a baby dragon on top of that pressure would be antisocial. Can't imagine why.

Yes most of this is Twilight projecting her own issues, but you can't tell me there were no signs that Twilight felt replaced before looking into the Crystal Mirror. Signs that Celestia ignored, intentionally or not, and because she ignored those signs Twilight snapped and fell to the dark side.

I think part of Twilight's redemption arc would be her realizing she's been blaming the wrong pony. None of this is really Minuette’s doing, she was just in the wrong place at the right time. Twilight would learn to forgive Minuette and of course Minuette forgives her too.

But there's one more elephant in the room: Celestia. Celestia was the one who took an interest in Minuette in the first place. Celestia was the one who pushed her "faithful student" aside.

I just want Twilight to rant to Celestia for ignoring that Twilight felt abandoned by her, because in a way Twilight was abandoned by her.

It shouldn’t have mattered that Minuette was the Element of Magic, she and Twilight were Celestia’s students. Celestia should have been splitting her time between them equally instead of clearly favoring Minuette. Even an “I appreciate you for your efforts Twilight, even if you aren’t the Element of Magic” surely would have helped.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

I do love TED talks! Feel free to leave ‘em! All of ya! This is really a good read and I won’t say too much in response because we’d be here all day.

You have a good head on your shoulders!

I will say in defense of Celestia that my interpretation of her is always someone who has the best intentions. If she knew Twilight felt pushed aside she would have made the effort to make sure she felt appreciated. And I think Celestia thinks that she’s been with Twilight for a long time so making it fair IS cultivating a relationship with Minuette because she does know Minuette but only as a student from the school so now she’s making up for lost time. But yeah, that doesn’t take away from her doing it wrong in some big ways that are furthering the resentment that Twilight feels for Minuette.

[c0smiclatt3]

GEPARD LANDAU: Devotion. - part 1.

"you kept me like a secret but i kept you like an oath."

(a royal au!) after your uncle's betrayal and assassination, your father takes his place as king, thrusting you in the public eye as the crown princess. as you leave your days of dreaming behind you, you zero in on your duty: to earn your citizens' trust, to restore your family's tarnished reputation, to elevate your kingdom to the place where it once was through a political marriage. but as the days loom nearer, your bodyguard is torn between his duty to your kingdom and duty to your happiness as he realizes - this isn't what you really want.

☾₊ ⊹ TAGS: royal!au, fem reader, bodyguard gepard, friends to lovers, unwanted arranged marriage trope, 16+

Adoringly, the maids used to tell you that when you were born, the first thing the midwife exclaimed was that you had the biggest, prettiest eyes she ever did see.

You were born into wonderful fortune, living a life comfortable and free as the daughter of a duke and duchess, your father next in line to the throne. Your immediate family was not the main royal branch, - it was your uncle who was the king - leaving your side of the family much more freedom to enjoy their wealth.

As a young girl you spent your childhood alongside your brothers, all much older than you, gazing in awe as they prepared to be soldiers, generals, inventors. Your early days were spent waddling around the estate, your fat, clumsy toddler feet pattering on the marble as you toddled excitedly upon hearing the governess' heels clicking their way to the library, promising to behave so you could listen to some wonderful tale of a land far away.

As you grew older you accompanied them on their trips outside, relishing in the hustle and bustle of the seaports as you watched the merchants bark their offers for their fresh catches of the day, the unfamiliar smells of spices, the heavy, dusty crates filled with treasures from abroad.

You learned just as quickly as your brothers: growing into a quick-witted, sharp-minded, intelligent, and ambitious young lady. Once upon a time you aspired to be a governess, to perhaps open a school, to travel the kingdom to impart this knowledge on other bright-eyed young pupils, and spend the rest of your waking hours devouring knowledge in books. The maids doted on you. The butlers adored you.

But your uncle died in the last war leaving your father to suddenly fill the throne in his wake. With the sudden shift in power, your life was thrown into disarray - and as was the kingdom. Yes, your uncle had died, but what died with him was the reputation of your family dynasty as well: at the crux of the last war, your uncle abandoned the battlefield, perishing following a uprising by his outraged infantry, leaving your family walking a delicate tightrope between exile or revolution.

With your father's inexperience as a leader and your immediate family's life up to this point relatively out of the spotlight, it would take a miracle for the citizens to trust their new king and his family, especially as the kingdom was reeling from a humiliating loss at great political and economic cost -

A miracle like a young princess, wedding a well-off prince with just the right connections, just the right charm, with just the right love story to boot. And there was nothing the public loved better than a love story.

So while your brothers were off sailing across the seas, travelling to lands far and wide to really experience the world for all it had to offer, to see with their eyes what they had only learned through pages, were permitted to be brave, to be curious, to be daring... You were left to the balls to smile pleasantly and bat your eyelashes at the flattery of your long line of suitors. Your hopes and dreams of education were dashed and replaced by an education more befitting of a bride-to-be: housekeeping, sewing and embroidery, music and arts, and just enough maths to be able to maintain finances and go shopping. These were all things you enjoyed and excelled in, most certainly. But what your heart yearned for most of all was to crack open the spine of an encyclopedia and bury yourself in it: to get lost in an adventure somewhere halfway across the world, to decipher every formula that went into keeping a ship afloat, to walk through the woods and identify every track left behind by every passing animal.

Few things brought you solace in those lonely days that followed your father's coronation, for now you were the crown princess.

Except for him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He arrived with a firm knock on your door. Two knocks. Precisely timed. Kneeling on the floor of your new room, head in your hands, you lift your head, a stray lock of hair stuck to your tear-streaked face. You rub your cheeks, only adding to your red flush more so than hiding anything. "Yes?"

The first thing Gepard saw when he pushed the door open were your eyes - glistening with tears and the twinkle of a fresh-faced young girl. This was the first time he's seen a young princess in the palace. Your uncle had no daughters.

Your father stood behind him, his hand on his shoulder. "Gepard Landau," he says, "Captain of the Royal Guard."

The boy stood at perfect attention in his suit of armour, adorned with the family crest. His helmet tucked under his arm, his sandy blonde hair is freshly ruffled, cheeks dusted pink from the heat of his helmet, blue eyes gleaming like a sharpened sword.

"I thought the captain was dead," you mumble to yourself. From reading the papers you knew the previous captain, a stern and ruthless man, had by some tragedy perished on the battlefield of the last war. Oh, yes, you suddenly recall that he had died as his commander abandoned him, as the king, your uncle, abandoned him-

Gepard speaks.

"He is." If he felt bitter his voice betrayed no emotion. Landau. Landau. You realize too late that you made your comment too soon.

"I... I'm sorry."

He only shakes his head. Was he always this stiff? "I've been preparing to take this position my whole life. It's an honour if anything."

His face was unburdened by the lines of age, still just as fresh-faced as you were, the remnants of boyish features fading to young manhood, just as you began to bloom into your womanhood. He must be a formidable young man to take up a position this important, and to be trusted so faithfully by the royal guard at his young age. He couldn't have been a day older than you.

"... I see."

Your father interjects the suddenly tense air. "He is to be your bodyguard from now on. It's palace rules to ensure that you never leave his sight from the moment you step into your bedroom to the moment you rise for breakfast."

You dreaded this. And your father knew and would be lying if he said it didn't hurt a piece of him to have to confine his little explorer of a daughter to the cushy life of a princess. But he had to set an example now. And you understood that too.

You swallowed, hard, before you nodded, and rose from where you knelt as you watched a small crowd of guards stand by the doorway. You had read enough royal history books to know what came next. Gepard approaches you.

He had known all his life that to be sworn in as a personal protector of a royal family member was a momentous occasion. To hold the life of a kingdom's future in your hands. It was one of the highest honours, to be trusted with a responsibility like this, and one he never imagined taking up this early, not expecting his father to leave him so soon. In some ways he knew he was just a boy, sixteen and growing into his body, but in each footstep he took he stepped into becoming a man.

A young boy grown up too soon. A young girl grown up too soon.

He walked towards you.

The weight of the guards and your father behind him bore down on his back. They were here as witnesses. In any other scenario this would be a ceremony done before the kingdom, a pledge made publicly to declare his allegiance to the royal family, leave no shred of doubt in the kingdom's mind that he was bound to his duty. But with how hasty the shift in power was, there was no time for a grand ceremony.

And yet still, when he looked at you, watching him as you stood in the centre of your room, the curtains of your bedroom fluttered in the summer breeze in a way grander than any royal cape or train of any dress. The cicadas chirping outside, the gardens in full bloom below, and you, standing there, hair fluttering loosely around your face, he knew - this was a princess.

"Forgive me," Gepard says, voice soft enough that only you two could hear, "I know this is a bit unorthodox, but the urgency of this transition leaves no time for formalities."

He descends to one knee, his eyes bright as they looked up at you. From this distance you can see just how bright they seem to twinkle, peering through loose locks of blonde like fresh-cut gemstones. A richer blue than the royal blue of his uniform. Sapphire. He clears his throat.

"I, Gepard Landau," each word is spoken with purpose, reverberating with centuries of history, speaking as one with all his predecessors before him. "Hereby swear my devotion to you." He offers his palm to you, which you take in yours, what you knew was a symbolic gesture of a blood pact. His grip is firm, and yet in it you feel a hint of a tremble. "I bind myself to you in body and in spirit. Your pain is my pain, and I will protect your life as if it were my own. So long as you reside under this royal roof, I give to you my life in whole." He meets your eyes for the final words of the oath. "I offer in life my body, in death, my soul."

You bow your head in accordance with tradition. You know the words by heart, and yet speaking them out loud feels unfamiliar, different somehow, looking at this boy on his knees before you.

"Captain Gepard Landau," you speak. You wonder if he can feel your pulse in your wrist, "I entrust myself to you."

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☾₊ ⊹ AN: this was going to be one long long long fic but then i a. didn't even know if there would be enough demand for me to warrant spending all this time on this fic LOL b. was not about to sit down and write like 10k words in one sitting i am not that insane. so if you liked this please please let me know by liking + sharing + commenting so i know that here are still geppie fans out there ;w;w;w;