#Resistance Cell AU

[infrequentartfromnickie]

How did Duke get de aged? Great question.

Past posts: (1) (2) (3) (4)

@seannasideblog you asked to be tagged, so....tag!

[estellardreams]

Sonic AU idea brewing...

Everyone is already miserable help-

[sugojosgf]

FACIN' TIME AGAIN !

﹒ shoko , fem!toji mention , fem!geto mention , fem!sukuna mention﹕☆ ﹟ fem · prns ㅤ࣭ ㅤׂ : ᯓ cw : prisoner!au , fem!jjk , fīngering , dub con , manipulative behaviour , somṉophilia , cūnnilingūs , murder mention ! ﹐

🍨 series : part 1 , part 2 , part 3 , more parts to be added .

shoko wants to be the first one to taste you. she scares you a little, but she also makes you cum so hard you see stars !

you open your eyes and it's dark. you can feel cement walls closing in, body hurting against the textured walls. there's a distinct lack of air, and you struggle to breathe. the scent of copper and bleach invades your senses. your heart beats so much faster and your mouth runs dry. there's an incessant throbbing in your head, almost making you feel a vein pop. you begin to choke, trying your best to cover your offending mouth with your hands. 

there’s a blinding light and all you see is white. despite your best efforts to speak, your tongue feels tied. you look down and see your blood covered hands. confused, you look up. you see yourself. someone stands behind you. once you blink away the blurriness from your eyes, you see the form clearly. ‘fushiguro’ you remember her saying. she grins at you, extending an arm forward to touch you.

“fuck!” you throw yourself awake. your heart pounds so fast, you can feel it in your throat. you are sweating profusely and tears dont stop running down your cheeks. you cover your mouth and try to regulate your breathing. you slowly get down your bunk and head over to the built-in basin to brush your teeth and splash some water on your face. 

“nightmare?” 

you jump instinctively, almost hitting your head. you see shoko on the bed, casually draping herself across the mattress. she doesn’t look like she has slept the entire night, dark circles decorating her undereyes. 

you nod in response, a grim smile painted on your face. “do you know what time it is, shoko ?” 

“i'd say around 4am.” she replies focused on her nails. “you didn’t sleep ?” you ask, worried for someone you met a measly few hours ago. 

“haven’t really in a very long time. that’s apparent, is it not ?” she points at the darkening eyebags. your mouth forms a little ‘o’ and the room becomes awkward. 

she smiles at your docility. she pats to the space near her. you walk slowly and sit down, a little anxious. 

“shoko, if you don’t mind me asking—” “what exactly did i do ? you are too curious for your own good.” she giggles. “if you want to know so bad, i want something in return.”

“in return ? i dont have anything…” you think, lips pursed together in confusion.

shoko gets on her knees and crowds you against the metal barriers of the bed. her slender hand cups your face, while she lets her other hand travel down your body. you begin to resist her, but she holds you in place. 

“if you don’t want this, alright. i won’t touch you.” she whispers in your ear and loosens the hold she has on you. she retreats back to her former position except this time she lays on her crossed arms behind her head. 

you swallow the lump in your throat. you look at her eyes widened, and heart beating even faster. her eyes don’t leave your trembling form. 

“but here’s the thing, when we leave this cell in a few hours, they will come for you. hah, i know fushiguro is thinking about you under her, right this fucking second.”

her words should terrify you and make you want to piss your pants but some sick perversion settles in your mind and heat pools in your stomach. 

“you seem mhm- sorry baby but you are a virgin, arent you ? god, they will eat you up like a fucking delicacy. if geto got her hands on you, you are done for, sweets.” she says faux sympathy dripping down her lips. 

“do you want to lose your first time in the canteen as everyone watches ? i don’t think so. you would want it to be gentle right ?” 

you let her describe the ways in which the inmates would take you. ‘vulnerable little thing’ she calls you, ‘easy to break’ with a motion of a twig snapping with her hands. 

“sh-shoko stop, i get it.” you mumble. 

“i dont think you do, baby, i just want you to go out knowing at least a little bit about what will happen to you.” she sighs, concern dancing in her eyes.

“...fine.” is all you say as you crawl to her and place the softest kiss on her chapped licks. her hand immediately grabs your hip to ground you. she holds as she returns the kiss.

her lips move softly against yours. your eyes are still open as you watch her kiss you wide eyed and unsure. your lashes flutter when she kneads your flesh making you gasp, allowing her to slip her tongue in your awaiting mouth. you are completely new to this feeling but you let her lead. her tongue dances a sinful number against your own. she stops to suck on your tongue, wet noises and squelching echoing through the cell. 

she tastes like cigarettes and something you can’t quite place, something very earthy. “that feel good ?” she asks, biting your lips. she doesnt wait for an answer as she begins to kiss the smooth skin that is left untouched on your neck. she can still smell the faint hints of your expensive perfume. 

she slips her thighs between yours. you let out a soft gasp as you feel her slot herself against you. her fingers undo the white buttons on your jumpsuit just so she can reach your hardening nipples. she uses her finger to circle your areola before pressing a sharp pinch to the flushed buds. you cry out, eyes fresh with tears from pleasure and pain. you feel her biting your skin before she noses at your very pulse point. she licks and blows on it, cooling your skin with her sticky spit. 

she pulls the both of you up, making you sit on her lap, your legs wrapped around her waist. her face now breathes in the scent of your tits, soft skin prickled with gooseflesh. she leaves you sticky and wet, not an inch of skin left uncovered. 

“fuck—” she whines as she tastes you. youve never felt anything like this before. you unconsciously grind yourself against her, crying for more.

“patience, pretty—,” she dips her hand down your underwear.  “i’ll make you cum alright, dont hurt your pretty head.”

"shoko, feels too good—” you pant out, bringing your lips to hers, licking and suckling. she can’t help but smile at how far your mind’s gone. your eyes are glassy and too far gone, the need to just orgasm rewriting your very code of conduct. 

she groans into your shoulder when her fingers dip into your wet heat. you are so wet, your very essence dripping down her fingers. she lets her fingers explore your cunt, while her thumb plays with your pretty clit.

her other hand covers your mouth as your moaning begins to grow louder. she knew she would have to share you in the near future but at least in the bubble of your first time, she wanted to gatekeep your sultry sounds.

“you like this dont you ?” she smirks into your skin, “of course you do, and that’s okay baby, i'll make you feel so good.” she lifts you to kneel on the bed, positioning her clothed cunt against your knee while she plays with your pretty pussy.

the noises begin to get obscenely loud but you can’t help but moan like you are in heat. you’ve never felt sensations like this before. all those nights you spent on your soft bed, trying to finger yourself didn’t feel half as good as you felt right now.

lost in pleasure, your body nearly vibrates. shoko groans whenever your knee pushes against her, bringing her closer to the edge every second.

her fingers curl into that deep spongy spot that you were never able to reach yourself and that action is enough to send your eyes rolling back. “shoooooo—,” you moan colourfully into her ears, “shokoooo-ooo, im so close, i can’ feel it.”

she shushes you, making out with you once again till you begin to drip drool down the sides of your mouth. “let go baby, im here.” she whispers into your ear. 

it doesnt take long for you to be pushed beyond. you cum around her fingers, your slick walls tightening against them. your body feels boneless and you are ready to drift off to sleep. shoko shakes as she reaches her orgasm too, shuddering against your body. it doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep in her arms.

you come to your senses after a while, sound sleep restoring your energy. you feel cold though, exposed almost. you feel the softest of licks right on your clit and you immediately open your eyes.

“shoko ?” you call out to the woman in front of you. she’s too busy eating you out, lips sloshing making a symphony against the wet noises of your cunt.

“hm baby?” you whimper as she sucks on your clit, unable to voice your protests. she lets you grind against her face, painting her in a clear slick of your juices. it doesn’t take you long to orgasm this time, considering shoko had you under her tongue for a good while. 

you cry out, whining as she makes out with your cunt as you cum hard. you push her head away from the overstimulation as she cleans you up with her tongue. “enough—mhmm,” you stutter, “im s-sensitive—ah!” shoko gives you one last kiss on the hood of your clit and gets up. 

you watch her with blurry eyes as she brings a washcloth to clean you up, cold against your marked skin. you moan a noise of appreciation as she finishes her aftercare. she helps you into your jumpsuit before she holds you close in bed. 

“...i guess i can answer you now.” 

you turn to look at her. your eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. 

“what exactly did i do to get in here ?” a flicker of recognition sets in your eyes and you nod, awaiting her answer.

“i was working in the emergency room, and they rushed in with this bastard. he deserved to die. he really did. ‘medical malpractice’ my ass. i killed him, baby. watched him choke on his own spit as the drug did its job.” 

you watch her lips move in horror. you had slept with a murderer. you had let someone who took away the life of someone else crawl into the deepest parts of your existence and mark their arrival on its walls.

you could feel your body shake.

“wh-why did you kill him ?” you ask, chewing on your bitten lips courtesy of the woman right next to you.

“—i dont want to tell. story for another day.” she builds a barricade between the two of you. a strong invisible wall stands rooted and you know it will take you time to break it down. you decide not to push her even further, worried what she might do if you offended her. 

“you are scared, i can feel it.” she looks, a far-off look present in her hazel eyes. she looks almost a little hurt but before you can pin-point that emotion, her face breaks into a smile.

“the thing that has me confused though, is why you are in here.” she tucks a lock of hair behind your ear before she kisses you softly. she senses your confusion. 

“this prison in particular, is for high-risk inmates so who did you piss off in your hearing to land yourself in the same facility as sukuna ?"

tags : @shuuji71 @3zae-zae3 @l0v3m3-p13as3 @parisboo @byerno6

@mimimimilalalalalasstuff @missakward123 @tomiokasecretlover @maskedpacific @diorz

@herefor-tojis-tits @platinumtt @e-dollly @r3komuse

[zepskies]

The Old-Fashioned Way

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You and Dean are having trouble trying to start a family. What happens when you turn to a spell for a possible solution? [Soulmate AU]

AN: Happy Valentine's Day! ❣️ Welcome back to the Never Say Goodbye-verse, my first ever Soulmate AU! Feels appropriate to celebrate today with some soulmates lol.

Honestly, I have really missed these two. I can’t believe it’s almost been a year since I wrote this series! And I’ve been wanting to find a way to come back to it, so when I recently got this request, I couldn't resist:

The reader finds out she is pregnant and Dean’s reaction.

But of course, I couldn’t make it that simple… This story takes place five years after the Bonus Tracks (3-part sequel).

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship (marriage). Soulmates, angst, issues in pregnancy, hurt/comfort, fluff, implied smut.

❤️ Series Masterlist

Today marked five years that Dean had been an officer of the Sioux Falls Police Department.

After twenty-eight odd years of committing felonies of varying degrees…mostly for the greater good, he still found it strange sometimes.

He’d been partnered with his father-in-law, Jack, and by now, Dean had finally lost his sense of “imposter syndrome.”

Jody bought him a pie to commemorate the occasion, and while a little embarrassed, he wasn’t mad about it. The precinct employees now shared the dessert on paper plates from their respective desks and cubicles.

Dean sat in the bullpen with Jack (who was on a call), Jody, and even Jessie Deluca, the boy he’d once arrested for stealing candy and groceries from a gas station.

Well, Jessie wasn’t such a kid anymore. He was now their 18-year-old intern.

“How’s the boysenberry?” Jody asked Dean. Her lips curved upward when he turned to her with a crumb-covered smile. 

“Real good,” he said.

She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I can’t with this. Come ‘ere.”

She grabbed a napkin and leaned over to wipe at his mouth the way a mother would her errant child. Dean just rolled his eyes.

“Really?” he snipped.

“You look like my five-year-old son after a round of SpaghettiOs,” she said.

“Makes you wonder how his wife deals with him,” Jessie muttered under his breath while he entered expense reports into his computer. Never mind that he had a purple berry stain around the corner of his mouth.

Dean shot him a wry look, along with his crumpled napkin.

“I don’t wanna hear that from a punk like you,” he teased. “You haven’t had a girlfriend since…what, junior prom?”

Jessie fended off the stained napkin with a grimace. But he also smarted at the dig. His arms crossed defensively as he leaned back in his chair.

“As a matter a fact, I’ve got a date on Friday,” he sniffed. “And no, I’m not telling you her name.”

Dean and Jody shared an amused look.

“Aww, look at him, pretending he’s got a date,” Dean said. He fought a deeper grin when Jessie threw the disgusting napkin back at him.

“Fine! Her name’s Annie. You happy now?” Jessie said.

Dean shared another look with Jody.

“Aww, he’s actually got a date,” said Dean. He smirked at the kid next. “Lemme know if you need to borrow some cologne. Chicks dig that.”

“Ugh,” Jessie groaned. He leaned his elbows on his desk and pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes. He knew he’d be catching flack on this for the rest of the week.

Dean chuckled, but before he had a chance to tease their intern some more, his cell phone rang. It was you, and he felt his good mood continue as he answered.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey, how’s the day going?” you asked.

“Good,” he replied. “We’re on lunch break. Jody got me a pie for my five-year mark at the PD.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet…literally. She knows you too well,” you laughed.

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she really does.”

“Tell her and everyone else I said hi.”

“Will do,” he said with a smile. “You just callin’ to check up on me?”

“Well, that, and…when are you getting home tonight?” you asked. The smooth, leading note of your voice had Dean’s lips curving into a smirk.

“Ah, well…” He pushed away from his desk and stepped away from the bullpen for a little privacy in the hall. “That depends. What’s going on?”

“Let’s just say…I have an idea,” you replied. It had Dean’s brows raising. You’d been having a lot of ideas for the past year, and he’d been more than ready and willing for most of them.

“Oh, yeah?” he intoned. While he leaned against the wall in the main hallway of the precinct, his arm crossed under his elbow as he continued holding the phone to his ear. “What’d you have in mind?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” you said.

It only took his brain about a moment and a half to compute.

“All right. In that case, I’ll try to be home promptly at six, barring there’s no shootouts at the 7-Eleven,” he quipped.

“Ugh, please, don’t even joke about that,” you said, your tone sobering.

Dean realized, without even having to read his soulmate’s thoughts, that you were reminded of the last time an explosive incident happened at the local gas station, just two weeks before their wedding day. He dimmed as well. 

“Yeah, ‘m sorry,” he said, swiping a hand over his mouth. “Uh…okay. I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.”

“Okay, be careful,” you said. You always said it—in the morning, whenever he left for work, whenever you two managed to talk during the day. It was routine, but it also wasn’t. 

And you still wished him a good rest of his day before you hung up. Dean pocketed his phone and returned to the bullpen, where Jody was putting away the rest of the pie. He eyed her just to know exactly where she was setting it down in the kitchen, for future reference.

Jessie peered up from his computer and asked if that was you on the phone.

“Yeah, she says hi,” Dean replied.

Jessie smirked. “‘Course she does. I’m her favorite.”

Dean shot him a look, knowing the kid liked you probably even more than he liked Dean. You’d become like a big sister to Jessie…but it didn’t stop Dean from occasionally being annoyed. 

“Shut up and eat your pie.”

Dean arrived that night, more or less on time, to find that you’d cooked up a feast. It was laid out across the dining table: steak, scalloped potatoes, carrots and broccoli, and even freshly baked cornbread with butter. 

“Is it my birthday again?” he asked, despite it already being February. 

He ventured into the kitchen where you were getting two bottles of beer. You looked up at him with a smile when he came over and held you from behind. You enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against your back, while his hands found your hips.

“I cook all the time, Dean,” you pointed out. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head in greeting.

“Hmm. Yeah, but now my spidey senses are tingling,” he said.

You set down the beer before turning in his embrace and twining your arms around his neck. Already he could feel your anticipation through the soul bond, but that was all you were letting him sense. You were keeping your walls up a bit, to stop him from hearing your thoughts. In this case, it felt like a tease.

You tilted your head, a smile playing across your lips. “Oh, yeah?”

Dean smirked down at you. “Oh, yeah.”

You laughed and let him greet you properly with a kiss. You returned it, affectionately caressing his cheek, but you stopped him before he could start pressing you harder into the counter. You held up a placating hand against his chest.

“Wait, wait, the food’s gonna get cold,” you said. And all too quickly, you’d extricated yourself from his arms and went to finish placing the silverware on the table. Dean begrudgingly followed suit by helping you with the glasses and plates.

Dinner was delicious. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a steak that good; you two had been scrounging and saving to get out of this apartment and buy a house, along with other things you and Dean had been planning for your future.

By the time the leftovers were put away and the dishes were put in the dishwasher, he started to sense that you were ready to come around with the real reason you’d called him at work today, let alone made such a nice and expensive meal. You went over to where he stood at the kitchen sink and rubbed his arm.

“Hey,” you greeted.

Dean tried to stifle his knowing smile. “Yeah?”

But when he looked over at you, he realized you seemed nervous, not flirtatious. You were serious, and now, he was concerned.

“What?” he asked.

You sighed, hesitating for a moment. Then you went over to a nearby drawer and got some rubber gloves you always kept at work and at home—the kind doctors wore.

You went for your large work bag that normally stored your laptop and files, and instead, you pulled out an old book. Dean’s brows raised of their own accord, considering the last time you accidentally trifled with a book like that.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, with some trepidation. You laid the book out on the kitchen counter.

“It’s a journal of some kind, written in Latin, dating back from the late 1500s. Can you believe that?” Your head raised from where you were examining the cover and spine, but Dean was incredulous.

“What’re you doing with that?” he asked. Your lips pursed, and he felt a tendril of your guilt.

Most likely, you’d taken it from the museum where you worked without permission. You were in charge of the growing library of ancient texts that were stored there, and most of them were too old and valuable for exhibition, even behind glass. He doubted you were even allowed to open this book, let alone “borrow” it from the museum.

You sighed and held up a placating hand. “Okay, Dean, just hear me out.”

You opened the book to a page you’d placed a strip of paper in for bookmarking purposes. You pointed at a page filled with scrawled words that Dean didn’t really understand. Sam was always better at reading Latin.

“That is a fertility spell,” you said.

The weight of that fell between you for a moment, rendering Dean speechless. It took a few seconds for his brain to register what you were saying, followed quickly by a sad, contemplative frown as he stared back at you. You were serious about this, even hopeful. 

“Sweetheart, we don’t need that,” he said, shaking his head. Your expression firmed, though it became touched with melancholy.

“It’s been a year, Dean,” you said. “We’ve been trying for a year, and I’m still not pregnant.”

He blew out a breath. “The doctor said—”

“We’ve done everything the doctor said,” you snapped. “Fertility treatments are either going to take too long or are too expensive, and they still carry risks.”

“And this isn’t a risk?” Dean shot back, gesturing at the book. “You don’t know if this will work, or what the hell it’ll really do to you.”

Your brows furrowed, but you didn’t back down. You held your hands to your hips.

“Uncle Bobby said it’s legit,” you said. Dean blinked in surprise. He shifted back on his heels and crossed his arms.

“You ran this by Bobby before me?” he said. You could feel the small lance of his upset, as well as see it across his face.

You bit the inside of your lip. “I just wanted to make sure!”

Dean took in a deep breath. He mentally counted to five.

“What exactly did he say?” he asked.

You paused at that. “…Well, he said it was a real spell.”

His brows rose. “And?”

“And…that magic is unpredictable and we should talk about it first. But that’s why we’re talking now!” you reasoned. 

Your husband’s gaze lifted heavenward as he threw up his hands in aggravation.

“Dean—” you tried, but it didn’t stop him from snatching up the book. Despite your protests, he took it with him into the master bedroom you shared and shoved the book into his nightstand. You had followed him this far, but you stopped short when he turned around to face you.

“I will check this out,” he said, and his tone boded no argument. “But for the record, I’m against this. Magic is unpredictable at best, and not for nothing, it always comes at a price. I’ll be damned if you’re gonna pay it again.”

You paused. Hearing the vehemence in his tone, feeling the force of emotion behind his words, and your own circling memories of being possessed by a magic-wielding goddess…it had you nodding in agreement, even as tears welled up in your eyes.

Dean faltered a little inside. Always the damn tears. He gathered you into his arms and held you close in comfort. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“We’ll figure this out. I promise,” he said.

You tried to believe him.

Late that night, however, you couldn’t help yourself.

Once you were sure Dean was asleep beside you, hearing his deep, even breaths, you made your move. Dressed in just an old college shirt and some pajama shorts, you slid out of bed and tiptoed over to his nightstand to get the book.

You took it into the kitchen and started assembling the ingredients Bobby had reluctantly helped you translate. (He didn’t know that you had taken a couple of items from his house for the spell.) 

You prepared them in a bowl. The resulting liquid looked brown and disgusting. You mixed it around, grimacing at the smell, and carefully poured it into a glass. The last thing the spell required was a few drops of your blood, and then you were supposed to drink it. 

God, this is terrible, you thought. Part of you couldn’t believe you were going through with this, but…you grabbed a kitchen knife in order to make a shallow cut on your palm. 

The steel was poised against your hand. You took a fortifying breath, but before you could cut into your skin, Dean grabbed your wrist with a strong grip, startling a gasp out of you.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he said, or more like shouted. He was irate, his voice bounding off the walls of the apartment.

You knew he had every right to be, and you didn’t have a good answer for him. Shock had stifled you into silence.

Dean let go of you and took the glass next. He peered in disgust at the concoction inside, but he quickly dumped it into the sink and ignored your protests. He threatened to burn the damn book next.

“Dean, stop! Please,” you said tearfully as you stilled his hands on the book. “If there’s some kind of price to the spell, I’ll pay it!”

“What’re you talking about! Are you crazy?” he asked, through furrowed brows. You squeezed his hands.

“Believe me, I love what we have. I love our life, my job, all of it,” you said. “But I want a family, and I want it with you.”

Dean started to soften at that, when you met his eyes. You paused, taking in a shaky breath.

“It should be simple, but it’s not," you said. "I just can’t understand why it’s so impossible. Why…why there’s something wrong with me.”

Dean’s anger broke down, bit by bit the more you spoke. He let go of the book and reached for you. He held you against his chest, rubbing your back as you quietly wept. You tried to stifle it, but that just made your body tremble even more. He did his best to steady you, rocking you back and forth. His eyes closed for a moment.

You both knew that the expensive fertility doctor hadn’t found anything wrong with either of you, even after a month of testing.

“In certain cases, it just takes longer for some couples,” she’d said. But clearly, you had just been blaming yourself. Dean couldn’t abide that.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said firmly. “Believe me, I want that too. But I also want to make sure you’re safe.”

Emotion clogged in his throat when he thought about what might’ve happened if he hadn’t stopped you. And in turn, you sobered even more when you managed to pick up on his thoughts.

“If something would’ve happened, and I was too late to stop it,” he said, clearing his throat. “…I just can’t, okay?”

After a moment, you nodded. You allowed yourself to rest against his chest and try to calm the racing of your heart. All the while, you tried your best not to resent him for stopping you.

The next day was a Saturday. You slept in because your body needed it, after the stress of last night. When you woke up, Dean wasn’t beside you. His keys and the Impala were gone, but he’d left you a text: he’d gone to your uncle Bobby’s place. 

And you saw that he’d taken the book as well. Predictable. 

You felt bad for how you tried to go behind your husband’s back, but if you were honest with yourself, you were still upset at him for stopping you, even if you understood why he did it. 

You sat on the edge of your bed. Not for the first time since you and Dean were separated by miles of roads and his family’s mission to find the thing that killed his mother, you found yourself praying. 

Please, God…or if there’s even anyone up there…please help me.

For a while, there was silence in the room. 

But even if your eyes were open, you wouldn’t have seen the being that was standing in front of you. He stared down at you with a tilted head, finding himself a bit too curious. Hesitantly, he reached his hand out and touched your forehead. 

You didn’t completely register the feeling that washed over you. It was like the tingling of a breeze across your skin. You took it for a chill in the room as you shivered a little. Then you opened your eyes, and resigned yourself to starting your day. 

Castiel left the room with but a thought and a flutter of wings. 

He knew he was only supposed to observe Michael’s vessel, not his soulmate. And yet, with one touch, he had sensed the rare genetic defect your doctor had missed.

Your mother had unknowingly suffered the condition as well. Your father never told you this, but she’d nearly lost you in the early stages of her pregnancy. It had been a miracle that you were born at all. 

Castiel fixed the problem. 

He knew what Uriel, or even Naomi would say. Perhaps they didn’t need to know, in this case. They were both far too busy for worldly trifles. Even so, Castiel knew he wasn’t authorized to heal you.

Still, it felt…right. And so, he did it. 

It confused him.

…Maybe it isn’t something to be closely examined, he thought.

With that agreement within himself, he resolved to leave that decision behind him, and continue watching from afar. Those were his orders, after all.

Visiting Bobby Singer wasn’t as productive as Dean wanted it to be. The men had been arguing in Bobby’s living room for close to an hour.

Dean was upset with him for translating that goddamn spell for you, but the old man didn’t have a good answer. They both knew you were like a daughter to him.

“She came in hot, all damn stubborn and sass up to here,” Bobby said, holding a hand up to his forehead. “But you try sayin’ no when the waterworks starts.”

…Dean could concede that, but he rubbed his face in frustration. 

“What do I do here, Bobby?” he asked, holding up the spell book in question. Apparently, it was more like a journal; it was rumored to have belonged to a sixteenth-century witch named Rowena. “I don’t trust this thing. Deep in my gut, I know it.”

Bobby considered him for a moment. In fact, he gave Dean a long-suffering look that made him really see Bobby’s age. 

“Then trust your gut, son,” was all he said. 

Dean returned home with a peace offering: some apple crumble pie. You were lying on the sofa watching mindless TV, still in your pajamas. Your mental walls were down, so Dean could both see and feel how miserable you were. 

He took out the pie from the small bag of groceries he carried and held it up so you could see.

“I come bearing sugar,” he said. He also set down a bottle of wine on the dining table. You were focused on the pie, however.

“Who’s that for, me or you?” you dryly remarked. 

“I got ice cream too,” he said, shaking the grocery bag. 

You smiled a little, but he could feel through the bond that you were still sour at him. He sighed and went over to you. He set down the bribery on the coffee table and settled a hand on your pajama-clad thigh. 

“Sweetheart, I am sorry.” 

Sighing, you turned off the TV and sat up against the other end of the couch. You eyed him with a frown.

“You’re not sorry about chucking the spell,” you accused. Or for stealing the book you’d eventually have to bring back to work, lest your boss notice something amiss in the inventory.

“No, I’m not,” said Dean. “It was dangerous. I felt it. And that gut feeling? That’s what’s saved me more times than I can damn count.” 

You were still upset, you couldn’t deny…but you understood his point. When he beckoned you over, you were more willing to go to him. After you scooted closer, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Look, I’ll go to whatever doctors you want, try whatever treatments, however long it takes,” he said.

You sighed, but you eventually agreed with a teary nod. “Okay. Thank you.”

Even with that, Dean wasn’t convinced that he was getting through to you. He was picking up on a thread of hopelessness that you were trying to hide.

He’d just have to change that.

“But…” He earned your attention by squeezing your side. His lips formed a grin. “I still think we can do this the old-fashioned way.”

He slowly rubbed a hand up and down your back. With the other hand, he reached for your face, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. You smiled slightly at his teasing. Part of you wanted to heed the suggestion in his eyes, and the familiar warmth and promise in his touch. The other, more vulnerable part of you hesitated.

When you caught sight of something over his shoulder, you had to smile a little more.

“I see you got a bottle of Merlot,” you said. A notable upgrade from beer. You couldn’t remember the last time Dean had willingly bought some “bougie-ass” wine.

“A little pie, a little booze…” you noted.

Dean grinned. “I’m thinking we have a not-so-quiet night in.”

Your brows rose, and you hummed in surprise. “Is my husband trying to butter me up?”

“Nah,” he said, tilting your face back up to his. “Your husband’s trying to seduce you.”  

You giggled at that…at first. But it seemed he was serious.

You accepted his passionate kiss. Closing your eyes, you reached blindly for his shirt and held on while his lips moved ardently against yours. Through the bond, you felt his desire like it was your own.

In the five years you’d been married, and the years you were together even before, there were often moments where it was impossible to discern what was him and what was you. 

The beautiful thing about it was, that part didn’t matter too much. Especially not when you and Dean became a tangle of limbs, lips, and tongue on the couch. He ridded you of your threadbare pajamas, and you helped him halfway out of his shirt and jeans before he yanked the rest of it off himself.

And all while he drew lusty moans and sighs and pleasure from your body in the comfort of your living room, the ice cream slowly melted in its container on the coffee table—completely forgotten, along with the pie.

That night, you lied awake in his arms for a while. Round one on the couch had migrated to rounds two and three in the bedroom, and you were almost too exhausted to sleep. 

It had been months since you and Dean had sex without thinking of calendars and timing, optimal positions and ovulation.

This felt right, you thought, as you stroked his arm that was wrapped around your waist. Even though your skin was sticking to his under the sheets and your frizzy hair was probably tickling his neck, he didn’t seem to mind.

Dean? you tried through the bond, seeing if he was awake. He felt like he was still in-between wakefulness and sleep. At your prodding though, he slipped back into the former. 

“Hmm?” he replied. You let out a sigh in the dark. 

“I’m sorry I kind of tried to take matters into my own hands, with the spell.”

He hmphed in response. “Kinda?”

Your lips twitched upwards. 

“This is a ‘together’ thing,” you said. “I made it all about me.”

Dean shook his head at that. He responded through the bond. No, you didn’t.

I did, you insisted. You were right to stop me. I didn’t care about the consequences…but that’s not fair to you. To either of us.

He took that in with a deep sigh of his own.

“It’s okay. We want the same thing,” he said. “And we’ll get there, baby. Don’t you worry.”

“What makes you so sure?” you asked.

“…I don’t know. I just am.”

You closed your eyes, and once again, you tried to believe him. You let his heartbeat and the sound of his steady breathing lull you to sleep. 

Nine weeks later…

You were alone in the bathroom at seven in the morning. After almost a month late on your period, you were also staring at two positive lines on your last pregnancy test. 

Ho…ly…shit.

Dean was already at work. This wasn’t something you wanted to tell him over the phone, however. 

How the hell am I supposed to keep this from him all day? you thought.

But then again, maybe this was a good thing. You had time to make sure.

So you called out of work for a personal day, and you immediately called your doctor on your way out to the closest pharmacy. You were going to need a few more tests. 

When Dean eventually got home that evening, there were two pizzas waiting for him. The smell was already making his mouth water. He peeked under the hood of each box and rubbed his hands together. 

“Ooh, awesome.” Pepperoni, sausage, and double cheese. His favorite.

You appeared then from the kitchen with a strange smile on your face. 

“Hey!” you chirped, but you seemed a bit distracted as you pulled out a sheet pan of cookies from the oven. You nearly dropped them when the corner of the pan banged against the oven. 

Something was off with you. Dean knew it intuitively. He went over and tried to steady you with a hand on the small of your back. He could see that you were frazzled, but he realized, with a frown, that you had your walls up again. He couldn’t pick up on what you were thinking.

“You okay?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“Uh…well, something,” you nodded and wiped your hands after you peeled the oven mitts off. “And I need to tell you about it before I bake everything in the house, including the expired bran muffins.”

Dean was growing more concerned by the moment. He knew for a fact he’d hidden that bran muffin mix deep in the pantry, so you wouldn’t force him to eat a “healthy dessert.”

“Okay, what?” he asked.

You paused, steeling yourself with a breath.

You then took his hand and led him to the bedroom, into the adjoining bathroom. Across the entire counter were no less than seven pregnancy tests. 

All positive.

Dean’s breath caught in his lungs. Slowly he turned back to you with his widened eyes.

“Surprise?” you smiled, a little nervously. 

Dean grasped the counter and had to sit down hard on the closed toilet seat. 

“Yeah, I did that too,” you said. You couldn’t help but giggle as you caressed his face. He grabbed your hip, both to bring you closer and for added stability. You two had been trying to make this happen for over a year, but the gravity of this being real was finally hitting him. 

He stared up at your face with a growing smile. “This is happening.” 

You nodded, smiling through your burgeoning tears. 

“Yeah. It is,” you replied. “Dean, you’re gonna be a dad.”

That realization had him nodding, swallowing hard and blinking past a sting in his eyes. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you in between his knees. You threaded your fingers through his hair, and his head came to rest against your stomach. He pressed a kiss there, over your shirt. 

After a moment to gather himself, he rocked back onto his feet. Then he enveloped you in a secure and warm embrace. He kissed the side of your head, and you felt his smile there.

“We did it, baby,” he said.  

“And that was the easy part,” you quipped, making him laugh. Yet the holy shit of it all hit him in a new wave—one you felt through the bond. You had to take a deep breath to steady yourself as well.

“Oh my God, this is happening,” he repeated.

You uttered a tearful laugh. “Uh, yeah, Dean.”

He was still smiling, but it started to dim a little. 

“We’re ready, right?” he asked.

You chuckled, wiping at your eyes. “We better be.”

Dean nodded and pulled back enough to see your face. You met his gaze. Maybe you’d just had more time than him to process it all, but you finally felt a sense of peace.

“Together, right?” he said.

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Together.”

Dean let out a deep breath. “Shit, I gotta tell Sam.”

Your smile brightened and you squeezed his arms.

“Let’s call him!" you said. "Hopefully Eileen’s there too.”

The two had moved in together a couple of years ago, after Eileen officially retired from hunting. But she often had long shifts at her job, just like Sam did at the law firm he started working for after he graduated from law school, near the top of his class.  

While you and Dean went into the bedroom to call Sam together, an angel watched from a distance, unseen by human eyes.

He found himself smiling.

AN: Ahh I'm soft. 🥰 I hope you all enjoy this as much as I had fun diving back into Never Say Goodbye.

And I won't say that I'll never come back to it in the future...for obvious reasons. 😉

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Series + Dean Tag List (Part 1):

I did my best to get everyone who was tagged in the original run of the series first, then my normal Dean tag list.

@curlycarley @chubby-teddybear @jamerlynn @iprobablyshipit91 @globetrotter28 @deamus-liv @deans-spinster-witch @my-proof-is-you @vera0124 @deans-baby-momma @lacilou @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @spnexploration @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @imagineteller1

@icequeen1371 @tiredqueen73 @bitchwitch1981 @abbigaleelizabeth @ohgodthebogisback @where-the-river-bends @loveprof6 @shadowcrowsworld @thespnlover @this-is-me19 @stevenknightmarc @leigh70 @syrma-sensei @brain-has-left

@hobby27 @ashbatz @saranghaey @jori21 @lillyrob @adoringanakin @agirlwithdemonblood @mimaria420 @nephil-with-a-gun @writethrough @iamsapphine @definitelymentallyderanged @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer

[daydreams-after-dark]

After Dark Master List

all stories are nsfw / 18+

↠Full Fics ↞

Ot8 free use jail cell (incomplete) inspired by the police station skz code.

"What's Your Fanfic Fantasy" (Complete)

Pairing: fem reader + Chan + Jisung // This is an AU story about Chan bringing your fantasies to life... but what happens when boyfriends Chan and Han fall in love with you?

↠Han Jisung↞

Sub police officer Han x con artist fem reader

Hannie wants to play with your ass but you’ve never done this before.

Back in Ten: soft dom CEO Jisung wants you to wear a strap and fuck his ass, after an important function.

Jisung Kinks // after dark hard thoughts

If Han was as small as a barbie doll

fem!Hannie freaky roller skater girl and fem!hannie double pen at a party

Drabble: Can I watch you, Sungie?: posted on my main blog. You come home from work early to find Jisung on your bed fucking himself with a dildo.

↠Bangchan↞

Masterlist Scientist Chan (Chris) x science!subject reader - feat. other members along the way.

↠Minho↞

Male escort Lino x fem birthday girl reader.

Stop Lift Button your work colleague Minho has moved into your apartment. What happens when he jumps in the lift with you.

Star Student Part 1: Pairing: professor/teacher Minho x adult female reader. You put on a show for your hot Professor while he’s trying to teach a class. (This is an adult classroom situation.) (5 min approx read)

Star Student Part 2: Pairing: professor/teacher Minho x adult female reader. Professor Minho makes you stay after class to fix the problem you caused.

Show Mommy: Lee Know dressed as Aunt Lina was doing things to you as you watched him on set. But what happens when you are invited to an after party and accidentally end up in Lee Know's room, and he's still in costume?

Billionaire Lee Minho and his Little Plaything You're at billionaire Lee Minho's extravagant party at some fancy historical manor, where unbeknownst to you he want to make you his "Plaything". Before you know what's happening you find yourself in a room with Minho, Changbin and Hyunjin. Minho has plans for you but he doesn't know you can play games too. Pairing: Lee Know x fem reader, Changbin x fem reader, Hyunjin x fem reader. Word count: 8k approx

Submission: Lee Minho x fem reader. You're billionaire Lee Minho's "plaything", but tonight the tables have turned and he let's you dom him. Approx word count: 3.4k

Ask: Minho face f^cks male!reader 🫠 this was so fun to write 🥵

↠Minsung / Minsung x reader↞

Minsung Saves the Day Minsung x fem reader (5 minute read) You've just been fingered to the brink of orgasm by Chan and Hyunjin in the back of a car, whilst Minho and Seungmin sit up front. Now you've arrived at the club and there's only one thing on your mind.

Behind the Curtain: mean!Han x bratty!reader + helpful!Minho. You tease your boyfriend Han before a show and he's not happy. So he punishes you, leaves you in a needy mess, and sends Minho to look for you. What happens when Minho can't resist your needs?

Kidnapper Clowns: clown!jisung x fem reader + Minho (5 minute read). dark smut // reader is "kidnapped" and tied up in the basement of two men in clown masks. Everything is planned/consensual.

Pretty Little Kitties: Jisung x reader x Minho. Jisung buys you and him matching kitten ears and tails. Minho joins in.

The window across the street: Han x fem aunty Lina x fem reader.

Private Show v.1 minsung x fem!reader | version.1 - you're a dancer at an exclusive establishment where you perform for kpop idols in masks. Minho and Jisung are after a specific kind of private show from you.

Private Show v.2 similar to v.1 but Minho and Jisung are in masks and reader doesn’t know it’s them (or does she?). This version plays out differently to v.1 and is super unhinged.

Minho edges Han

bratty fem!reader, Minsung must punish you

↠3Racha↞

We’ll make it fit: 3Racha Chan x Changbin x reader w/han for 2secs. They want to use her like their little toy. Dp.

3 racha c^m dump: Han asks you to meet him in the corridor at the bar. Bartender Chan and Security Guard Changbin join in.

3racha free use hard thoughts 1/♾️

3racha free use hard thoughts 2/♾️

3racha free use hard thoughts 3/♾️

↠Other Members / Mixed pairings↞

Werewolf chan turns inside you

Massage Therapist Changbin

Good cop Han / Bad cop Minho

Dom Seungmin and Jeongin x fem reader

Who in skz likes anal? ask

Taken: Drabble - Ot8 x gn reader. You’re snatched after work by 8 sexy men and taken to an abandoned warehouse… exactly what you’d paid for.

Middle-aged neighbour Chan and his friends x fem!reader

Skz reaction to you wearing a butt plug

All Stops to Cumville Station ot8, but featuring Minho, Seungmin and Chan

If skz worked at an adult shop what would each member recommend?

Let Daddy Take Care of it chan x hyunjin x fem reader (5 min read) Fem!reader is horny on the way to the club. Chan and Hyunjin help her out with their fingers in the backseat of the car.

After Hours: Felix; personal assistant | You; Corporate Boss. You're a corporate boss, he is your personal assistant. You're his boss by day, but after hours his soft dom side gets you weak.

Sweet Sweet Punishment: Bratty Han convinces you to let him go down on you without permission from Chan and Lino. They punish you both in front of everyone when they get home. features ot8.

Little Deaths (posted on my main blog) ot8 x reader. You’re stranded at a mansion where 8 horny ghosts must pleasure you.

Fuckbois Jilix: thoughts on how they pick you up and take you home.

Fuckbois Jilix version 2

Concept: Freeze: gangster boss fem reader x Chan x Hyunjin

Male reader x Han x Jeongin: you’re the meat in this delicious sandwich / dom top Han, Jeongin bottoms for the first time.

Thing dom chan likes to do to you (posted on my main blog)

Who in skz will share you (ask)

↠Fem!skz Universe↞

↪ Enter here

[miguelhugger2099]

The Best Thing

Summary: Miguel O'Hara, star Quarter back of the Nueva York Spiders, lives lavishly with all he could want. What he didn't want is a little girl popping up at his doorstep claiming to be his daughter. The Game Plan AU. <<Prev Next>> Football Player!Miguel x Ballet Teacher!Reader, Gabriella is Miguel's daughter, No warnings Art: rusticfurnace on twt and ethiobirds on tumblr!

Miguel sits in front of Gabriella, leaning on his knees with his elbows. Gabriella stares back at him with wide eyes. She tries to give him a weak smile but it drops when Miguel takes a deep sigh, his leg shaking. Then in a hysterical chuckle, he shakes his head. “No, no. No!” Miguel’s gaze hardened at the little girl. “Tempest and I never had a kid.” His jaw clenches. Gabriella stands up and walks over to him, her hand rummaging through the big pink tote bag at her side. She pulls out a white envelope. “She wrote you a note.” She says plainly before walking past him to take a better look around his penthouse. Miguel snatches the envelope with a dry chuckle and tears it open without a care. “A note,” He chuckles again. His deep maroon eyes read the printed letters, his ex-wife's signature at the bottom. “Miggy, I know this is a surprise but Gabriella is your daughter. I need you to watch her for a month as it’s an emergency. I’ll explain when I get back….Tempest.” Miguel reads aloud, his tone softening and he sighs at the end.

Gabriella stares at all the pictures of Miguel plastered over the shelves and walls. She tries copying some expressions, frowning in some and pouting in others. Her attention is snatched back to Miguel when he calls out to her. He waves the envelope in the air. “You expect me to believe Tempest wrote this? That this automatically makes you my kid? Anyone could’ve written this!”

Gabreilla sighs again, reaching into her tote bag. “Here’s my birth certificate.” She hands him a sealed yellow packet and walks away again. “And your name is on it.” Miguel can only chuckle again. “My name? On your–there’s no way.” He slips the paper out of the packet and sees the fine print. For a moment, he prays Gabriella is dyslexic and confused his name with someone else. Gabriella Monroe. Father: Miguel O’Hara His leg shakes anxiously as he takes his cell phone and calls up his most trusted confidant. “Get here. Now.”

– A woman with bobbed brown hair and thick pink sunglasses bursts through his doors. Her white heels clack on the tile floor as he keeps one hand in her fluffy white trench coat and the other holding her phone. Her unamused eyes meet Miguel’s panicked ones as soon as she steps inside. Miguel gulps. “Fix this, Lyla.” He steps away to show Gabriella sitting at his kitchen island, delicately brushing her doll's hair. Lyla gasps and nearly drops her phone, covering her mouth in shock which prompts Gabriella to jump as well. Lyla drags Miguel to the side, her manicured nails digging into his bicep. “It would’ve been nice to know this early on.” She hisses as low as possible so the child in the room doesn’t hear. “I didn’t know!” Miguel hisses back and Lyla resists the urge to roll her eyes. “You didn’t know you had an ex-wife?”

Miguel waves his hand, dismissing her sarcasm. “It was a long time ago–we were young and stupid. We thought we were in love but it-it didn’t last for a year! And we never had a baby.” He emphasizes the last part of his sentence, brows furrowing and voice oozing with conviction. Lyla smiles tightly, not believing him for a moment. With Miguel’s rep, she’s more surprised there haven't been more baby scares. “Okay, Migs.” She chuckles, taking a deep breath, her hands clasping together. “Is there just any possibility–even the tiniest ones– where she could be yours?” She asks. She sees Miguel about to answer. “Really think about it.” Miguel looks up, digging through his brain in a panic. “I-I don’t know! We went through the papers, the divorce was final. She-she came by to pick up some of her things at my place and she-we-we…” Miguel falters, brows relaxing as the memories rush back. His eyes widen slightly–her lips, her voice, the anger and frustration and love that needed to be released for one last time. Miguel chuckles and pats his stomach, looking towards Gabriella and pointing at her. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.” He walks over to the fridge but Lylas accusing tone stops him from opening it. “I’m sorry, when did that ‘she-we-we’ happen?” She follows behind him and watches as Miguel bonks his head on the fridge door before grunting and facing Lyla again. “Like nine or ten years ago.” He whispers. Lyla turns to Gabriella with a smile. “How old are you, sweetheart?” Gabreilla perks up. “Nine.” Both Lyla and Miguel deflate. “Congrats, Migs.” Lyla says monotonically.

“Oh, God–” Miguel groans and rubs his face with frustration as he walks away to pace in the living room. Meanwhile, Lyla tries some damage control. She approaches Gabriella on the other side of the island, leaning her elbows on the marble counter and placing her chin in between her laced fingers. “Hi, sweetpea, let’s talk. So, the letter says your mom isn’t coming back for a month. Did she just decide to leave you here?” She asks, her smile tight. “She’s helping the starving kids–” Gabriella starts but Lyla cuts her off. “I’m not trying to hear that.” She says flatly. “Did she just decide to leave you here?” “I begged her.” Gabriella swings her feet as she sits in the high chair. “I said ‘Well, why don’t I stay with my father?’ and she said ‘Well, baby, he doesn’t know about you ye–” Lyla interrupts her with a groan, her hands waving in the air with a hint of annoyance. “I get it, I get it, whatever. Then who else can you stay with?” She sighs. Miguel claps his hands from the living room, approaching the two with a smug laugh. “I got it! Haha, Tempest has her mom..uh..Keke…Alicia…” Miguel lists off names, trying to remember the name of his ex-mother-in-law. “Amelia!”

Gabriella inches an eyebrow up, a shadow of annoyance. “Cecelia.” She corrects. “Cecelia!” Miguel laughs, shaking little Gabriella’s shoulder. “Same thing.” He mutters under his breath with a smile. “What about her?” Gabriella looks down, her fingers nervously wringing together. “She’s, um…she’s dead.” Lyla scoffs, resting her hands on her hips and stretching her lower back. “That’s convenient.” Both Miguel and Gabriella look up towards her, silently judging. Lyla pouts, flicking her bangs away from her face. “What?” She whines before staring back at Gabriella. “Does your mom have a phone? Email?” Gabriella shakes her head. “They don’t have internet there.” Lyla pokes her cheek with her tongue and crosses her arms. “How did you get here again?” “We flew to Nueva York here together and then she put me in a cab.” Gabriella recites her story for the billionth time. “And the cab just somehow dropped you off at some man’s house?” “Not some man! My father!” The little girl insists. Lyla points at her as if catching her in a lie. “So you say!” Gabriella frowns, her bushy eyebrows furrowing and her nose scrunching up. “Want a paternity test?” Miguel chimes in, oblivious. “That’s a great idea! Let’s do that.” Lyla meets Miguel’s eyes in a panic, shaking her head. She tilts her head to talk a little away from Gabriella. “As long as they don’t have needles, I’m–heh–I’m not good with those.”

Lyla grabs his arm again, dragging him close as she whispers to him. “Not in the middle of negotiating with our Patrick’s Burgers deal. If you take the test there’s a high chance it’ll get out to the press and the public will hate you for ditching your kid–if it turns out to be true–and all of our money will go down the drain.” Lyla sighs, bringing her hands up to rub her temples. “Lyla. Lyla-” Miguel turns to take Gabriella’s seat, spinning her to face Lyla and they both look at the incredibly stressed woman. “We don’t even look alike.” Miguel smiles his pearly whites, Gabriella looking at him for a glance before looking at Lyla again. She matches Miguel’s smile lines, the plump lips, and shiny gleam in her big brown eyes–a missing tooth in her grin. “Oh no,” Lyla draws out with sarcasm. “Not at all.”

The world still spins, with Miguel having practice to go to until it was so rudely interrupted by a 4 foot girl. He walks out of his apartment building, the doorman that had called Miguel about Gabriella in the first place standing outside. Miguel huffs in annoyance, his daughter behind him and now in his care. “Thanks for the heads up, Larry.” Larry barks a laugh, whistling for the other doorman to bring in Miguel’s car. “Told ya she was cute.” He cackles. Miguel’s car pulls up, the driver door being lifted up and Miguel gets in. He opens the passenger door for Gabriella, tsking. He ushers her to hurry inside. “C’mon, let's go.” He snaps. Gabriella looks inside the car and shakes her head. “No backseat.” “So what?” His face contorts, irritated. “If we get in an accident, the airbag will hurt me.” She clings to her tote bag strap tightly to her chest. Miguel bangs his head back. “I don’t have time for this, please.” Still, Gabriella crosses her arms, stubborn and planting her feet in the ground. Miguel settles for putting his football helmet on top of her head and it flops forward, covering her eyes. On the way to practice, Miguel is asked questions by Gabriella. “I’ve got four weeks to make up for eight years, mkay?” She pulls out a binder from her tote bag, flipping open the book to a page of messy handwritten questions. “It’s simple: I ask, you answer.” She lifts the helmet on her head up so she can see what she’s writing.

“So for example, if you asked me my favorite thing to do, I’d answer with ballet. Now, what’s yours?” “Football.” He grunts, honking his horn and shouting at the traffic while she writes in her binder. “And if you could only save one thing in a fire, what would it be?” “My Heisman.” Before Gabriella could write it down, Miguel interrupts her. “No, no, no, wait.” He lifts a finger and smiles. “My limited edition Miguel O’Hara Spider Sneakers.” Gabriella rolls her eyes. For the remainder of the ride, Gabriella continues to ask questions and they feel endless. Miguel gets tired of it, telling her no more but she insists. “Just one more question.” She perks up, shuffling in her seat and lifting the helmet up slightly to look up at him. “What’s the best thing that ever happened to you?” Miguel sighs, kissing his teeth and can’t shake off the feeling he’s had for a hot minute. “Hey, I got a question for you. Why didn’t your mom just bring you here herself?” Gabriella’s smile drops and she looks down in her lap. Her eyes cast towards her tote bag and she smiles again. Her hand digs inside and she pulls out a tupperware box of cookies and presents it to him. “Want a cookie?” She squeaks. Miguel tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “No, I don’t want a cookie and stop avoiding the question.” “But you said you were hungry.” She frowns and lifts the box higher after popping the top open. “And I made them special for you.” “Ugh, fine, fine. Gimme that..” Miguel shoves his hand to grab a cookie, taking a giant bite out of it. “Your mom.” He reminds her, mouth full of cookie. “I told you it was last minute..” She fiddles with a crumb.

“I just can’t believe Tempest would do something like that. Letting her daughter just appear all alone–it doesn’t sound like her.” He mutters out loud to himself. He coughs after taking another bite of Gabriella’s cookie, scratching his tongue with teeth. Does it feel a little swollen? Still, he speaks his mind. “I know what happened.” Gabriella winces, peeking meekly through the front guard of the helmet. “You do?” Miguel coughs. “She screwed up her hair again, didn’t she? Hiding away in embarrassment?” “No.” She grimaces. “All that bleach and dye finally destroyed her curls, didn’t it?” Miguel checks his mouth, feeling strange but he still ends up finishing his cookie. By the time Miguel changed into his uniform, his mouth had gotten worse, his tongue swollen and giving him a lisp. They both enter the field house, Miguel’s tongue still bothering him while Gabriella walks behind him, her head swiveling around to soak in the place. Miguel annoyingly looks behind him, to see her lingering behind. “Let’s go!” He slurs and her little legs hurry to stand beside him. “What do you think, you can just roam around safely or something? Stay close, little lady.” He speaks, his lisp becoming more apparent.

“Are you okay?” Gabriella frowns, tilting her head. “Do I sound okay?” Miguel snaps, bending down to her height. “What’d you put in those cookies?” He jabs a finger to her tiny bag. “Milk, flour, eggs and cinnamon-” “Cinnamon?! Cinna–I’m allergic to cinnamon!” He hisses through his lisp. Gabriella’s face falls, genuine remorse crossing her face but Miguel is too peeved to notice or even care. “Oh, I’m sorry…” “Oh, ‘I’m sorry’? All you gotta say is ‘I’m sorry’? I sound like this and you’re ‘sorry’?” He stands up straighter, glaring down at her and shaking his head before walking away. Gabriella watches his back as he walks away. “I’m allergic to nuts!” She calls out, hoping that information would help him feel better–or at least be a little useful. It seems to fall flat.

Taglist: <3: @maiyart @aphinthestars @byjessicalotufo @mochi73 @peachey-pie @beezusvreeland @scorpihoooe @having-a-time @slut4oscarissac23 @iamperson12280 @planetxella @fandomtrash5092 @miguelsfavwife @juneonhoth

[scary-grace]

WIP GAME: The Shigaraki x reader phone sex AU

@sophsiaaa requested more info about the phone sex AU, and it’s pretty straightforward. in short, the reader works as a dispatcher at a high-end end escort service, answering questions, doing admin, and keeping phone sex clients occupied while waiting for an operator to open up. On one particular night, she finds herself on the phone with a client who’s a different kind of weird than usual:

You’re in the middle of familiarizing yourself with all the parts of the cell when your headset starts beeping — and when you check your screen, you see that every single operator is busy. Again.

You get paid a flat hourly rate, but you really should negotiate that up for nights you spend keeping clients occupied while they wait. You answer the phone and run through your spiel — your operator’s not ready yet, but I’m here, and I’m super psyched to talk to a weirdo just like you — and wait for the inevitable question about what you’re wearing. You wait. And wait. And keep waiting, so long that you start to wonder if the call’s dropped when you weren’t looking. That, or the client got so wound up hearing a woman’s voice on the phone that they had a heart attack and died. You try again. “Hello?”

The call’s still live. You hear your voice echo on the other end of the call, and when you listen closer, you can hear someone breathing. Breathing sort of heavily. Great. “You know I get paid whether you talk or not, right?”

Oops. You shouldn’t have said that. Your boss will be pissed, and if whoever this is pays up, does it really matter if he says anything? Maybe he just wants to breathe heavily into the phone until time’s up. You’d like to think you can sit quietly while some guy does — something to the sound of you breathing on your end of the line, but it turns out that’s beyond your power to cope with. “Um, do you want to know what I’m wearing?”

“What?”

“Clients usually ask that,” you say, trying to cover your shock. This client sounds young. Shiroiwa’s price point is so high that next to none of the clients are younger than forty, but this guy sounds like he’s barely out of high school. You should know — you’re barely out of high school yourself. “They want to know what I’m wearing so they can — um, imagine a little better.”

Silence. The breathing sounds a little less heavy and a little more hyperventilating, and you resist the urge to bang your head on the table with an effort. Why do you always get stuck with the weird ones? “So, like I said, I’m not actually the person you’re supposed to talk to. I’m just here to keep you company until your partner’s ready for you. We don’t have to talk at all.”

You’re rapidly coming to the conclusion that not talking is the best outcome for this situation. You and the client can pretend each other isn’t there until you can transfer him to somebody else, somebody who’s good with the weird ones or the shy ones. Kayoko, maybe. She’s great at bringing clients out of their shells. The fact that she and you and anybody else who listens in wishes they’d never come out of their shells in the first place doesn’t really matter.

“What are you, then?” The raspy voice is in your ear again. “If you’re not who I’m supposed to talk to.”

“I’m admin. Kind of a secretary.” You kick yourself instantly for the choice of words. “Not the sexy kind of secretary. Just — I’m the one who routes the phone calls. And the messages from our chat service. Unless it’s busy.”

“It’s busy?”

“Saturday night? It’s really busy,” you say. He sounds disappointed. “Is there somebody you were hoping to talk to specifically? I can let you know how long a wait there will be.”

“I don’t care who I talk to,” the client says. You hear that from new clients a lot, before they pick a favorite operator. All the regulars have a favorite. “This was stupid.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you say hastily. Your boss will kill you if you lose a client. Even a weird client. “Tell me what you want to talk about. That way I can pick the right partner to send you to.”

“I don’t know,” the client says. You glance at the info Mizuho sent and get a shock — the client’s nineteen, same as you. “It’s — fuck. It’s my birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” you say on autopilot, which is apparently the wrong thing to do. You can practically feel the client’s embarrassment oozing through the phone, and you spin off into a sales pitch that sounds terrible even to you. “Well, you’ve called the right service. I know a ton of our companions who can make your day really special.”

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

Forever in the Dark

Part 1

Summary: Five years after the establishment of the Galactic Empire, Darth Vader follows a lead to Naboo, where he is forced to confront his past and is unexpectedly reunited with the one person who still has power over his heart.

WC: 1.5 K.

A/N: This is an unburnt Vader/Anakin AU.

Part 2 Fictober Challenge

It had been five years since Order 66 was executed, changing the fate of the galaxy forever. Anakin, now hidden behind the mask of Darth Vader, had spent those years trying to forget you- trying to forget what he had done to you on Mustafar. He had pushed the memories deep into the farthest reaches of his mind, locking them away where they couldn’t touch him. But the pain? The pain, he kept close. He clung to it, allowed it to fester. It was the only part of you he let himself feel, a constant ache he willingly accepted as punishment for what he’d done. Losing you had been the final push that drove him fully to the Dark Side. Even as he buried your memory, the torment of living without you lingered, feeding the darkness within him.

Rumors had begun to surface of a civilian aiding and sheltering the remaining Jedi and Resistance fighters. Whoever this person was, they held knowledge from the days of the Republic- secrets only a few could know. The more Vader heard of this mysterious figure, the more something felt amiss- something familiar.

“Lord Vader?” A Stormtrooper stepped cautiously into the dimly lit room where Vader was meditating.

“You’d better have a good reason for interrupting me. Speak” he ordered, his tone firm and ice-cold.

“We intercepted a message from a rebel cell, my Lord. It reveals the location of the person we’ve been searching for.”

“And where are they now?” Vader’s impatience flared as the trooper’s hesitant delivery grated on him.

“Naboo, my Lord.”

The name struck him like a blow to the chest. Naboo. Your home. The place where your love had blossomed in secret, the place he once dreamed of retiring with you. He grew more suspicious of this mysterious person, and deep down, he hoped that somehow you were still alive. That despite the impossibility, you’d survived and were the person they hunted.

“Prepare my ship. We leave at once.” his voice was sharp, tolerating no delay.

As the ship sped toward Naboo, unrest clouded Vader’s mind. He stood rigid, trying to find calm, but the uncertainty of what awaited him on the planet gnawed at him. It stirred a restless anxiety he hadn’t felt in years- one that made the part of him that was still Anakin begin to stir.

“How long until we arrive?” his impatience cracked through the air.

“Not long, my Lord. We should arrive within the hour” a trooper responded.

Once they arrived, Vader ordered the ship to land in an undetected area. 

Naboo’s familiar air wrapped around him like an old wound. Every step he took reminded him of you, stirring memories he had hoped would stay buried forever. Anger flickered deep within him- anger at himself, at the situation, and at the emotions bubbling back to the surface, emotions he had tried so hard to suppress.

“Wait here” he barked.

“But, Lord Vader, we don’t know what-”

“You dare question me?” his voice snapped, cold as a blade.

“No, my Lord. Forgive me” The trooper backed away quickly.

When he finally arrived at the coordinations they had intercepted, he found a small, cozy cabin overlooking the lake he once loved so much. He wanted to turn back, to return to the ship. He wished he could just destroy this place, obliterate the memories that came rushing back. But if there was even a chance that you were inside, a chance to see you again, he couldn’t walk away.

His mind raced, and his heart pounded uncharacteristically fast in his chest. He felt terrified. For the first time in years, he was feeling emotions other than anger and pain. The possibility of seeing you again, of facing whatever was inside that cabin, overwhelmed him.

This was it. This was the moment he would either be disappointed or relieved- the moment that could free him from the torment, that could ease his pain. The thought that you could still be alive, after all this time, consumed him.

His hands trembled as he reached for his helmet, removing it carefully- something he hadn’t done outside his private chambers since becoming Darth Vader. He inhaled deeply before opening the door to the cabin. 

He hadn’t been this nervous since the time he confessed his love to you. Stepping inside quietly, his mind spun again, consumed by negative thoughts. What if you hate him? What if you can’t forgive him? And worst of all, what if you fear him? The questions made him angrier. No, he couldn’t let himself be overtaken by these thoughts- not now, not when he’s so close to seeing you again.

Finally, there you were, your back to him, clearly unaware of his presence.

“Y/n?” the name left his lips in a soft, broken whisper- so uncharacteristic of the Dark Lord he’d become.

You knew that voice, but it couldn’t be. The man you had loved died five years ago. You turned around to see the source of the voice, and there he stood. Dressed in all black, his eyes so full of pain, his face so tired, yet unmistakably Anakin. Your Anakin.

Vader’s breath hitched as he saw your face. You were older now, but still every bit as beautiful as he remembered. He stood frozen, his chest tightening as he took you in, every detail, every memory flooding back.

You stared at him, disbelief and shock clear in your eyes. Could this really be him? After all these years? A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, but all you managed to say was “Ani?”

He flinched slightly at the sound of his old name. No one called him that anymore- no one who lived. ‘Ani’, only you called him that and hearing it from your lips again…it was like a punch to the gut. He could feel the walls around his heart cracking.

You stepped closer, scanning him as your eyes filled with tears. Unsure if this was real, you whispered  “Is it really you?” 

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. This wasn’t how he imagined your reunion. He thought you’d be angry- furious at him for what he had done, for killing- almost killing you, for everything he’d done in the last five years. Instead, he was met with disbelief and relief.

He finally found his voice, his words barely above s whisper “Yes. It’s me.”

“Wh- how?” confusion was written across your face. Obi-Wan had told you he was dead- that Darth Vader had killed him.

He sighed slightly, the weight of everything he’d done pressing down on him. He wasn’t sure how much you still remembered, but from the look in your eyes, you had no memory of that terrible day on Mustafar, no memory of what had caused you to go there “It’s…a long story” he said, his voice tired and weary.

When you made sure this was real- that he was real, standing in front of you, you rushed forward and threw your arms around him, your body colliding with his in a desperate embrace. 

He stiffened, taken aback by the sudden affection and contact. But as it hit him, he slowly returned the embrace, his arms tightening around you, pulling you  closer against his chest. It heaved as he closed his eyes, burying his face in your neck, breathing in the scent of you. He had missed you so much. His heart ached as he held you in his arms. It had been too damn long. He never thought he’d see you again, let alone hold you. It all felt so real, so tangible.

“I’ve missed you” you whispered, your voice cracking as you pulled back slightly to look at him. Your hands came up to touch his face, gently examining him. “Is this real or have I finally lost my mind?”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, savoring the warmth of your fingers against his skin. 

He reached up and gently placed his hands over yours “It’s real” he whispered, his lips curving into a sad, wistful smile.

You searched his eyes, hoping for answers “Wh- what happened?” you asked softly, a tear slipping down your cheek.

His expression immediately became guarded as soon as you hit him with that question. He didn’t want to think about what had happened, about what he had become, and didn’t want to lie to you. He swallowed hard before exhaling a long  breath. “It’s…complicated” he said, avoiding your gaze as he turned his head slightly.

You could feel that something was bothering him “What’s wrong?” you asked softly, guiding his face back toward you, locking eyes with him.He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. What’s wrong? He didn’t know where to begin. Lightly, he wrapped his hands around your wrists and pulled them down from his face. Struggling to find the words, to explain to you, he finally said “Everything. Everything went wrong…”

Tags: @mother-dragon-and-her-hatchlings @dcrthbaeder

[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so it features mentions of killing/ injury/ general violence. Soulmate! AU, Enemies to Lovers

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 2,543

A/N: Part of the Good For Your Soul Series. I had such a burst of energy last night and today I'm worried I'm starting to get sick which made getting this finished a bit of a struggle. Hopefully you all still like how this is going

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four (here) | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine(coming soon)

——————

Your mind was a mess and you had expected to find no rest at all but the second you’d sank into the mattress and head hit the pillow you were instantly asleep, your body unable to resist the luxury and comfort that had enveloped you. Yes you were a prisoner here in every sense of the word without it being spoken but in a bed like this, things could be worse and you knew that. If anything you had accepted the prospect of some dark, dingy cell barely big enough for you to fit in and a few thin, dirty pieces of fabric for a sorry excuse of a bed and blanket. This enormous living quarters had not been expected and even as you slowly woke from the deepest and best sleep of your life it still took you a few moments to adjust to the sight of it all and remind yourself that you hadn’t been dreaming. 

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes you let out a sigh, contemplating just staying in bed. You knew Doflamingo had said you could go and do as you pleased but did you really want to? You knew Doflamingo was a pirate, up to unknown evil of a wide range of criminality. Could you really witness it without being able to stop it? You were brought out of your thoughts when a knock sounded at your door. Slowly you looked over, expecting it to open but there was only tense silence. Whoever it was they were waiting for you to answer. “Come in.”

Timidly the door opened and a young maid entered. She was nervous, keeping her head down and hands clasped in front of her. Lowly she bowed to you and even when she rose, she kept her gaze away from your face. Not because of an order, it just seemed she was genuinely intimidated. Worried. “Sorry for disturbing your rest. Would you care for breakfast here or will you be joining the family this morning?”

You pulled a face at the prospect of dining with Doflamingo and his ‘family’ which you assumed meant the higher ranked members of his crew. Absently you recalled the woman Violet who revealed the truth of your and Doflamingo’s situation but honestly you hadn’t really paid much attention to anyone else that had been in the drawing room. The only others  you had a strange recollection about were the two figures that had been at the warehouse along with Doflamingo but it was too dark and you were in too much pain to really get a proper look at them before you’d fallen unconscious. Quickly you snapped yourself out of your thoughts and offered the maid an apologetic look. “Sorry. No I won’t be joining them.” You told her. 

It made you uncomfortable when she bowed again but she was gone from the room before you could tell her to stop that. You doubted she would listen anyway, if she didn’t act as she normally did she could be punished by someone. You didn’t put it passed any of the pirates in the building to lash out at the staff over the smallest of reasons. With a heavy sigh you dragged yourself out of the bed and made your way to the small table by one of the tall windows and settled down into the chair. Finally you allowed yourself to pull back the curtain and take in the view outside, breath catching at the expansive beauty of the city and spanning island beyond it. Dressrosa was indeed a stunning place, from up here in the Palace you couldn’t see much activity from the city but just like the upkeep of the castle you now found yourself in, it seemed orderly and clean. You couldn’t hear any violence or seen signs of unrest of some countries you’d seen over the years. It made your stomach twist to feel a sense of peace and calm. Could the people truly be happy with a pirate ruling over them? You supposed if the people knew it was a Warlord, protected and feared then there would never be a risk of an outside attack. You just wondered what it was Doflamingo demanded of the people to keep them safe from him and those in his command.

At the sound of the door opening you glanced in the reflection of the window to see the servant return, pushing a small trolley inside. Following behind was Doflamingo. Eyes narrowing you turned your head to scowl at him. You’d thought your decision to eat in your room also meant you wouldn’t have to see him either until you wanted to. Realistically you should have known better. Of course he’d appear when he wished and of course he’d choose first thing to start your day off on a sour note. Coldly you followed his movements as he tugged out the chair opposite you and relaxed into it, making a note to let your Marine file fall onto the polished table surface. Your eyebrows rose minutely. You weren’t surprised to see it, more that Doflamingo seemed to want you to know he had it. You offered a polite smile to the servant as she shakily offered you your cup of tea. 

“So how did my dear soulmate sleep?” Doflamingo chuckled when your smile dropped and you turned a glare his way. His laughter continued when you grabbed the morning paper from the trolley and opened it with a snap, refusing to even entertain the notion of small talk with him. With a flick of his finger, your file opened and he reclined in his seat, one arm lazily hanging over the back of seat while he sipped at his coffee. “Well you look refreshed, still you’d look better if you didn’t have those drab clothes you still have on.”

“Fashion advice from you? That’s rich.” you muttered under your breath. It was more to yourself and a reflex but the smug chuckle made you roll your eyes. In the odd sense of wins and loses you had with this man, it was a point to Doflamingo. “Your doctor informed me that my Marine uniform was destroyed after they tended to my injuries and this is what I was given when I woke up.”

“Well what are you waiting for?” You frowned at Doflamingo’s words and used your finger to lower one corner of the newspaper to see the servant bow lower than she had with just you and flee the room.

“What was that about?”

“They’re getting you new clothes. Obviously.” You opened your mouth to argue then rolled your eyes, knowing it was pointless. You couldn’t live in one outfit for your time here and you had no money to buy new clothes yourself. Sitting back in your seat, you lifted the paper again to continue reading. News of the warehouse explosion was there, tucked into the corner of a page and summarised in a small handful of paragraphs. Loss of life of Marines and some pirates had been revealed but no names. Slowly you turned the page. You stilled when Doflamingo spoke up.“Your file is interesting…” 

“You must be reading someone else’s.” You noted dryly, remaining casual. “Nothing spectacular in those pages.”

“And that’s exactly how you planned it to be.” You could hear the grin in Doflamingo’s voice. Yet again you lowered the paper to stare at him. You offered no verbal response to his accusation but your expression was trained into one of patient, confusion; waiting for him to elaborate in his theory. “No one rises in the ranks as smoothly and fast as your timeline just to taper off in the middle like this and remain there. Very sneaky, lying to your superiors. Did it annoy you to serve someone who by all rights should have been your subordinate?”

“Only in the cases were they were incompetent but I knew that would be a possibility. As long as the missions were successful I didn’t care.”

“Yet they took the glory. Must have stung.”

“If my vanity needed fed for something as trivial as glory or praise I would have continued to rise the ranks in the Marines, or become a pirate.” You explained with a smirk, seeing his momentarily glower at you. “Any other questions?”

———

“The weapons and ammunition are being unloaded at the docks and all the materials were delivered to Punk Hazard without issue, Doffy.” You heard a new voice coming from one of the rooms up ahead. After you’d showered and changed into one of the many outfits brought to your your on Doflamingo’s order you'd decided to explore more of the castle. If not to have something to do but to also get a better lay of the land. You stepped closer, making no effort to silence your steps. As Doflamingo had said, you weren’t deemed a threat to anything he was doing and the mention of Punk Hazard had caught your attention. You stepped up to the doorway and leant against the doorframe, eyeing the two men standing in front of Doflamingo. 

Doflamingo grinned at your appearance, finding your choice in clothing so much more flattering to your figure instead of your ugly Marine uniform or the rags you’d been wearing that morning. Diamante and Señor Pink had promptly shut their mouths when you arrived. They had been brought up to speed about who you were and why you were still alive. You looked at the two innocently even giving them a taunting little wave. Diamante glanced at Doflamingo questioning silently if he should continue even with the interruption. When his young master nodded, he spoke. “The latest batch of SAD is at the factory now to continue production smoothly.”

You pushed away from the doorframe as they continued talking and ventured further into the room, making note of the large bookcases lining the wall and all of them filled with old and expensive texts in a whole range of subjects. Finally your eyes roamed appreciatively over the stocked drinks cabinet and you pulled open the door to lift out one of the bottles of whiskey. You moved out of the way when one of the glasses flew out from the shelf and you followed its movement until it landed in Doflamingo’s waiting hand. His free hand gestured silently for you to bring the bottle over. Humming to yourself you poured plentiful glass of your own and walked over to Doflamingo’s desk. 

Your lips twitched in amusement to see Doflamingo still lazily hold his glass, waiting for you to pour the drink for him. You sipped your own drink, relishing the taste that only got better when you set the bottle down beside his arm. He could pour it himself, you weren’t his servant. As you glanced at a map set to the side of the desk you heard Diamante’s annoyance drip through his words. “The sooner you work out a way to undo this the sooner you can repay them for their disrespect towards you Doffy.”

“Such a fragile pride your Doffy has if not pouring a drink for him is too much to handle.” You noted sarcastically, pulling the map fully out from underneath the sheets of paper holding it down.“But I hope he finds a way to fix it soon too. Maybe your crazed scientist will work a way.”

“Who says there's a crazed scientist?” Doflamingo asked, grinning as he poured himself a drink for himself. He watched as you looked up from studying the map that had caught your attention to throw him an incredulous look. 

“A guy like you definitely has a mad scientist employed somewhere.” You smirked, looking back to the map. “If you didn’t I think I’d actually respect you less if that were even possible.”

“Doffy you don't need to let them speak to you this way.” Diamante insisted, looking to his leader. He’d literally burned a town to the ground for Doflamingo because he tripped on the street in his youth. He’d killed countless people for looking at the Warlord in a way he wasn't satisfied with. To witness you be so blatantly contemptuous without punishment felt so wrong to him. “I won’t kill them but please let me teach them to hold their tongue.”

“No one harms them, Diamante.” Doflamingo stated firmly and it was enough for Diamante to shut his mouth and nod. “No-one is taking the privilege from me. No matter how much goading they do, don’t hurt them. Make sure everyone knows. You two can go now.”

“Spoilsport.” You grumbled watching the men leave without protest. Here you thought you’d be able to get to the inner circle to be killed but Doflamingo seemed to know your game already. Clicking your tongue in annoyance you swirled your drink before a thought came to you. “What about poison?”

“What about it?”

“If I poured poison into a bottle and you served it between two glasses and we both drank, who would die?” You asked curiously, trying to wrap your head around the logistics of this whole soulmate nonsense. “If we both had a hand in it would we both be spared or both killed?” 

Doflamingo stared at you with a broadening smile, deep laughter building in his chest. He’d really underestimated your mind it seemed. So far you’d seemed so calm and collected, accepting your place here until he found a way to kill you. Apart from the disrespect you threw his way and constant defiance to recognise his authority and superiority, he’d yet to see you snap. To see you break in true anger, fear, or sadness was something he wanted to witness and at this point he didn’t care which of the emotions it was. 

“Sadly I think it would cancel out. I had a similar thought and poisoned your tea this morning and you didn’t react even though the maid poured it.” He explained and as disappointed as he felt that it didn’t work, seeing your own grumpy disappointment shape your face brought him some enjoyment. As he took another slow sip of his drink he spotted how your attention was taken once again by the map in your hand. “What’s got you so invested in that island?”

“I was stationed there for a couple months on a mission at the beginning of the year.” You explained with a shrug setting it aside. Even thinking about your missions felt like a different life. It hurt to know you’d never be a Marine again and help people. “You eyeing it up for an expansion of your mighty empire?”

“Not exactly.” He chuckled. There wasn’t anything you could say or do to stop him or his work so he could say what he liked. “I’m supplying weapons and foot soldiers to a local pirate group for them to take over. In return I get a profit of their enterprise and a share of the island’s natural resources.” At his explanation Doflamingo watched you process his words as you continued to drink, he noted something indecipherable briefly flicker in your eyes but beyond that you kept perfect control of your expression. Now he was even more determined to see what made you tick.

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[dark-frosted-heart]

Immoral Interrogation - Roger Barel

This is part 1 of 2 of the prison guard AU story set.

NSFW, Minors DNI

cw: non-con, guard x prisoner dynamic

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this.

Roger: So you're the stubborn prisoner that won't fess up?

The person who appeared from the other side of the cell looked me up and down, then smirked.

Roger: The name's Roger Barel. I'll be the prison guard taking over your interrogation.

Kate: Roger Barel...

(The guard that can get anyone to confess?!)

I had heard his name plenty of times since the day I got here.

Even prisoners who had committed the worst crimes couldn't last 2 days with him.

(I'm scared, but...I definitely can't say anything...)

A hand reached through the bars and took a hold of my chin—

Roger: Nice to meet ya.

Kate: Huh!

He turned around and sat on a chair in front of the cell.

Roger: Kate, female. No major criminal record to date. You were just a normal, upstanding citizen, and then you got caught stealing. However, some things don't add up with you, so I don't think you did anything wrong.

He then took out something wrapped up—

Roger: I'll make you talk.

With a smirk, he undid the wrapping and bit into the hamburger.

Kate: Huh?

I was taken aback by him biting into his food down before he held it out toward me—

Roger: Want some?

Kate: Um...

Roger: You can have some if you be a good girl and talk. Who're you "covering up for"?

(This person...!)

Kate: I'm not talking.

Roger: Then I'll just finish this.

And thus began the dynamic between Roger the guard and me.

He'd come in and either drink alcohol in front of me, or eat some delicious food, but I resisted each time.

This went on for a week—

Roger: You're really a stubborn one.

Kate: ...I'll never talk.

Roger: While I don't mind a strong-willed woman, I got a job to do. Guess I'll need to switch things up.

Kate: Eh?

I was startled by him suddenly entering the cell and tried to back up against the wall.

However, he grabbed the chains to my handcuffs and pulled them up over my head.

Kate: What are you!

A large hand raised up my clothes before it traveled between my legs.

Fingers played with the sensitive bundle of nerves through my underwear, making me writhe in pleasure as they stroked back and forth.

Kate: Please stop!

My underwear grew wetter from my slick—

Roger: Told you I was gonna change things up.

The glint in his eyes from behind those glasses sent chills throughout my body

Roger: I've interrogated countless prisoners and have got them all to talk.

He pushed my underwear to the side, rubbing me directly.

Kate: Mnn...

I bit my lip to hold back the moans that desperately wanted to escape.

Roger: I'm not one to do unpleasant things to innocent ladies.

And then I felt a thick finger entered me—

Kate: Wait—

As he pumped his finger in and out, lewd, wet sounds resounded in the room.

Kate: Nghaaah....

Roger: Unfortunately, we're outta time.

His finger didn't stop and my mind was going blank from the pleasure—

Kate: Huh...?

—However, before I reached my peak, his finger slipped out.

But my body hadn't comprehended the fact when—

Kate: Nghaah

A moan slipped out as he thrusted his finger in again. Just as I was about to come—

Kate: Why...

—He pulled his finger out again with a wicked smile.

Roger: Not gonna let you come 'til you confess.

Kate: Eh...

Roger: Don't worry, it's not gonna kill you. You're just gonna feel a little funny.

--

(How many times has it been...?)

The waves of pleasure that came and went, but never completely satisfied me left my head empty and body aching.

Kate: Haaaa, mnnnn

Roger: A~ah, you're a mess. It feels so good, but you can't even move your hips to make yourself come, can you?

His fingers rubbed against a pleasurable spot, but pulled away the moment he noticed I was about to come.

Kate: Why...I don't want to do this anymore.

Just as I was about to collapse, a large, warm body held me up.

Despite the way he tortured me, I was relieved to feel his arm's tight hold around my waist.

Roger: —Hey, who exactly are you "covering up" for? Spit it out.

After being thoroughly toyed with, along with him stroking my back, I was finally at my limit.

Kate: The truth is...

I told him about how I ended up here.

There was a boy who had failed to steal something by the orders of the local crime syndicate, and after learning that his whole family would get killed if he got caught, I used myself as a decoy to buy time for him to leave the city.

He patted my head after I tearfully told him the truth.

Roger: Geez, you're too soft.

Kate: ...I'm sorry for keeping quiet for so long. But please let that kid go.

He held me tight.

Roger: It's alright now. Leave everything to me.

For some reason his fingers headed toward the area between my legs.

Kate: Huh?

Roger: A reward for confessing.

Kate: I'm good...Mnnn!

I gripped onto his shirt to endure it, but it was all over for me when he whispered into my ear.

Roger: Come, Kate.

Kate: —Aaahhhhh!

My mind went blank as a wave of pleasure coursed through me.

Unable to stand it any longer, my body suddenly went slack.

The words I heard through my last moments of consciousness were very reassuring.

Roger: ...I'm definitely gonna help you out. You and anyone else you're covering up for.

[daisynik7]

This is for your y2k!

“Photograph” by Ed Sheeran for Toji Fushiguro - angst

We keep this love in a photograph, we made these memories for ourselves.

Read Part Two - Make You Feel My Love

Pairing: Toji x f!reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

cw: implied family abuse, angst, some fluff, modern day-au, no curses au, a kiss, time skip

Summary: Toji Zenin is scary; he’s the most intimidating boy in your class. When you’re paired with him for a group project, you’re nervous that he’s as bad as he seems. However, you learn that behind that hard exterior is a person yearning just to be normal. 

Author’s Note: The first story for the y2k karaoke party! Inspired by “Photograph” by Ed Sheeran. Thank you @gojoshooter for submitting this song/request! I hope you like this one! Divider created by @/cafekitsune.

You meet Toji in high school, when you’re paired up randomly for a project during your last semester of senior year. He’s a transfer student, having just joined a month ago, introducing himself briefly with a scowl on his face, uninterested in anything. Aside from his obvious stature, the evident scar running across his mouth stands out. Most of your peers avoid him, intimidated by his overwhelming presence. He’s bigger than everyone else, both in height and muscle; he looks like someone you don’t want to mess with. Even teachers do their best to evade him, leaving him to his own devices in the back corner of the classroom. At least he isn’t disruptive; most of the time, he keeps to himself. 

Of course, in a school as small as yours, gossip spreads like wildfire. They say he comes from a prominent family, the “Zenin’s”. You’ve never heard of them; apparently, they are notoriously elitist and filthy rich. So, it surprises you that a son of the Zenin clan would attend a public school like yours rather than a private institution. Maybe he’s different. 

Everyone dreads group projects, let alone randomly assigned group projects. Everyone is on pins and needles, waiting to hear who their partner is. When your name follows his, your heart sinks into your belly. Sighs of relief wash over the rest of your classmates, thankful that they aren’t you. Taking a deep breath, you get up from your seat, slowly walking towards him. When you’re by his desk, he doesn’t look up. You clear your throat to say, “Hello. I guess we’re partners for this project.”

He scoffs, twirling a pen between his fingers, brows furrowed, irritated already. “Great,” he mutters, sarcastically. 

Okay, maybe he’s not different.

~~~

Your teacher calls this project “A Week in the Life”. Basically, you’re tasked to capture your partner’s daily routines throughout the week in the form of photographs. Each student is given a disposable camera, loaded and ready to use. Once developed, you’re supposed to put them together into a collage, decorating it however you desire. A short essay is also required, describing what you will learn about the other person after spending this time with them. You have an entire month to complete everything. Weekdays are repetitive, considering most of the day you’re in school; it’s the afternoons, nights, and weekends that set each person apart from the other.  

“I’m not inviting you into my house,” Toji says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“But that’s part of the project. I’m supposed to see what you do on a daily basis.” You resist the urge to sound equally as annoyed, not wanting to start off on the wrong foot.

He glares at you, hunched over his desk. “I avoid going home as much as possible. That’s what I usually do.”

You swallow hard, unsure how to respond. Eventually, you murmur, “Well then, you can do me first. We’ll just figure yours out later.”

He shrugs, unenthused. “Whatever.”

You pull your phone out of your pocket, sliding it towards him. “Let’s exchange numbers so we can coordinate our schedules. We can start next week.” He doesn’t argue, pushing his cell to you to do the same. 

As planned, the following Monday, Toji begins taking random photos of you during the school day. It starts off in class when he captures you working at your desk. Other students are doing the same, so it isn’t as awkward as you expect it to be. Still, it feels odd being watched by Toji through the lens of the camera.

At lunchtime, he sits with you and your friends in the cafeteria, his big body smushed next to yours as you munch on your meal. You notice that he hasn’t brought anything to eat except for a protein bar and sports drink. Not thinking anything of it, you split your egg salad sandwich into two triangles, handing him one. He glances at it, then at you, confused. “What?”

“Eat it.”

He makes a face, taking it reluctantly, having the audacity to sniff it before taking a bite. When he doesn’t say anything, expression relaxing, you smile to yourself, satisfied. It’s gone two bites later, and from your peripheral, you see him lick the excess off his thumb. Mouth still full, he mumbles a brisk, “Thanks,” snapping his drink open to take a swig. 

After school, you attend a book club meeting that’s hosted every Monday by your friend. Toji snaps a photo of you and your group posing with your book for this month. Before you leave for dinner, a few of the girls whisper to you about how hot he is, how lucky you are to be paired up with such a hunk. How scary he comes off with his scowls and glares. They’re so loud, you’re certain he can hear, but he doesn’t mention anything about it. That is, until you’re alone with him, walking home together. 

“So, do you think I’m scary?” He has his hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground where he walks besides you. 

The question catches you off guard. “Huh?”

“Do you think I’m scary?” he repeats, looking at you now, smirking. 

You grin. “Maybe a little bit at first. Not so much anymore.”

“What changed?”

“I saw you inhale that sandwich. The tough guy act disappeared in that moment.”

“Hey, that thing was tiny. I could have swallowed it in one bite,” he chuckles, kicking a pebble on the ground. “And I’m not putting on a tough guy act. This is just who I am.”

You giggle softly, smiling at him. “Well, I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, Zenin.”

“Toji. Call me Toji.” 

~~~

Dinner with your parents goes by smoothly. You’ve prepared them for this special visitor, urging them to be on their best behavior and not judge a book by his cover. Naturally, your mother is startled when his big frame enters through the doorway, but when he bows to her, introducing himself respectfully, she eases up. After a quick tour of your house, Toji snaps shots of you helping your parents in the kitchen. With the whole spread laid out on the table, he takes another photo before you all gather around to eat. 

Much like earlier in the day, Toji scarfs his meal, mumbling out compliments to the chef. Your parents are thrilled, dropping more servings onto his plate, watching with pride as their cooking is devoured. You can’t help wanting to capture this memory, so you retrieve your own disposable camera from your backpack, taking his picture. He doesn’t seem to mind. 

The two of you eat ice cream sandwiches in your backyard while your parents wash the dishes. The sun is setting, beautiful golden streaks shining from the horizon. Your classmate takes a candid of you sitting on the patio chair, staring at the last moments of daylight. “Do your parents cook like that every day?” he asks, finishing off the last of his dessert.

“Nah, they just wanted to impress you.”

“Well, I am thoroughly impressed. That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

After just one day with him, you feel comfortable enough to ask, hoping that it isn’t crossing the line. “Do you dislike eating at home?”

He doesn’t respond right away, thinking of his answer carefully. “Yeah, I do.”

“Why?”

He smirks, running his thumb along the scar on his lips. “Dinners at my house don’t always end in dessert, if you know what I mean.” 

Your jaw drops, unable to contain your reaction. “You’re saying…”

He leans back into his seat. “Yup. Got a knife thrown at me.”

“What?!” 

Laughing, he nods. “After that, I didn’t like having dinners there.”

You’re tempted to ask for the whole story, but you know it’s pushing it. Instead, you offer, “Well, you’re always welcome here.”

It’s a simple comment. To you, it’s nothing. Maybe it’s because you’re used to offering kindness to others; it’s what you were raised to do. It’s what the people around you do. It’s common. Second-nature, really. 

But as Toji stares at you, wearing an expression you’ve never seen before, one of genuine gratefulness, you realize that to him, it’s not nothing. It’s special. 

Throughout the remainder of the week, Toji spends practically his whole day with you, morning, noon, and night. During this time, you learn that his family is wealthy, though he chose to attend this school on his own will, just to spite them. He considers himself an outcast, the black sheep of the Zenin clan, so much so that he even refuses to associate himself with the family name. And while he’s sure he’s better off away from the snooty rich kids of the school he would have attended, his intimidating appearance and less-than-friendly attitude has made him an outcast amongst your peers. You feel guilty being part of the problem, judging him before getting to know him. He’s actually easy to talk to. It helps that he’s an open book about his personal life. 

Saturday, you plan to go to the aquarium with your family, inviting him to tag along for the project (and for fun). Toji is at your doorstep right on time, dressed in a tight black tee shirt and grey sweatpants, accentuating his chiseled figure. There’s no denying it; he’s very attractive. You’d be lying to yourself if you said it hasn’t crossed your mind. But Toji doesn’t need people to be attracted to him; he needs a friend. And that’s what you’ll be to him. 

It’s a fun day, observing all the fish and aquatic creatures swimming in their tanks. He takes pictures whenever it’s appropriate, covering the flash with his finger as to not disturb any of the animals inside. You eat lunch together in the cafeteria, Toji offering to pay for it as thanks for all the kindness he was shown this week. Near closing time, you take one last stroll through the jellyfish section, marveling at the wonderfully bizarre invertebrates floating in the water. 

“I’ve never been to an aquarium before,” he admits, quietly admiring them beside you. His eyes twinkle with the glow of the iridescent jellyfish swimming in front of him.  

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

You nudge him playfully. “So, what do you think?”

He smiles, rubbing the spot on his arm that you touched. “Better than I expected.”

~~~

The following week is his turn. The closest you get to his mansion of a home is on the outside, not even through the gates. 

“This is for your own good,” he warns, throwing a twig aggressively between the spaces of the iron bars. 

You snap a quick photo with your disposable, not questioning it. When you’re finished, he smirks. “So, ready for some real fun?”

Toji spends his days after school at various locations. Basically everywhere except his own home. The public library, the gym, arcades, shopping malls, cafés, you name it. He’ll eat dinner at whatever restaurant his stomach fancies at the moment: Ramen, Takoyaki, steak, even instant ramen, depending on his mood. And while his life seems fun from the outside, like a kid in a candy store, it’s lonely. Except for when he’s with you.

Saturday is different from the other days. On the weekends, he goes to the beach, bag packed with his favorite books and snacks, ready to relax on the sand with the waves crashing against the shore. He sets up a large umbrella to cover both of you as you settle into the big blanket laid flat. He passes you one of his books, a volume of his favorite manga. The two of you read in a comfortable silence, sharing a bag of chips, fingers brushing against each other’s whenever you reach at the same time. 

Out of the blue, he comments, “This is nice. It’s normal.”

Laughing, you reply, “What do you mean?”

He sets his book down, looking at you. “Nothing about my family is normal. It’s just nice to feel like a human instead of a failure.”

Your eyes widen, uncertain how to respond. Before you can say anything, he murmurs, “Sorry. I didn’t meant to kill the mood.”

You close the manga, smiling gently at him. “Don’t be. I can’t imagine what it’s like. My life is very normal.”

“That’s what I like about you, though.”

Heat rushes into your cheeks at his statement, and maybe it’s your imagination, but you see him blush. You’ve taken enough pictures to complete your project, but there’s still a bit of film left. “Let’s take a picture together,” you suggest, holding the camera in your hand, trying to lighten the mood.

“Seriously? Why?”

“To celebrate being normal, even if it just for a day.”

He grins, scooting closer to you. “Okay.”

You lean against him, both of you smiling, capturing the moment with the click of your finger. 

~~~

Toji doesn’t stop eating lunch with you. Even with your photos at the lab, being developed, he remains by your side, eating the extra sandwich you always pack for him now. Occasionally, he’ll stop by for dinner, always welcomed by your parents. On the other days, you accompany him to whatever restaurant he’s craving. 

When the photos are complete, you pick them up together, not wanting to share them yet, hoping to be surprised on the day they’re displayed in the classroom. At home, you compile the pictures into a stylish collage, decorating the borders with fun stickers, smiling as you gaze at each photo of him. One at the arcade, holding a toy guy in his hands with the high score flashing in the background. Another at the gym, where’s he’s kicking a punching bag, making it look far too easy. Finally, there’s the last photo you took at the beach, the two of you posing for the camera. It’s a cute picture, one that shows two people who live very different lives happily enjoying their time together. You tape it right in the middle. 

When everyone’s posters are hung around the classroom, many people flock to Toji’s, desperate for a glimpse in his mysterious life. Many gawk at the mansion behind the gates, unaware of the dark secrets it holds. The girls ogle the gym picture, while the boys admire it, asking for workout tips. Toji looks pleased with how his collage turns out, especially intrigued by the photo in the center. “You included the one of us, huh?” 

“It’s too cute, isn’t it? I had to include it.”

He smiles at you. “I totally agree.”

He walks you home that afternoon, a usual part of his routine now. Curious, you ask, “So, what did you write about me for your essay?”

“I wrote about how nerdy you are, going to class and willingly going to clubs after school. For fun,” he emphasizes, rolling his eyes, teasing you.

You poke his arm playfully. “And…?”

“I said that you and your family are really nice. And that your parents should be chefs,” he adds, grinning.

You laugh, hooking your arm around his. “That’s more like it.” 

Before you know it, you’re at one of the parks he frequents, sitting side-by-side at his favorite bench. “What did you say? About me?” he asks, staring at his hands in his lap. 

Without thinking, you rest your head on his shoulder. “That you’re not actually scary. You’re just you. And who you are is pretty great. Really great, actually.” 

There’s a pause while he processes what you said. Afraid that it’s too far, you attempt to back away from him, but he catches you first, pulling you in for a kiss. It’s hesitant, like he’s unsure if this is okay. And when you place your hand on his chest, feeling his quickening heartbeat race against your fingertips, the kiss deepens, his lips parting open to slide his tongue inside your mouth. Before it gets any further, he pulls off quickly. Electricity hangs in the air, buzzing on your lips, tingling on every inch of your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, throat heavy. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just thought – ”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have,” he spits out, jaw clenched, avoiding your gaze. It’s a harsh voice you haven’t heard the entire time since the start of your friendship.

“But I thought you liked – ” 

“You’re wrong. I don’t. I – ,” he swallows, struggling to get the words out. “And I never will.” He stands up, turning his back towards you, leaving you alone with tears streaming down your face, embarrassed, confused, and heartbroken. 

It’s the last time you’ll see of him. He doesn’t come back to class after that incident. Rumor has it that he came in early the next morning to gather all his belongings, which wasn’t much to begin with. There’s more gossip about it, of course, ridiculous chatter. Eventually, they fade, and his name is no longer uttered by anyone, including you. Months pass, and gradually, new memories overtake the old ones. Life goes on without him. You don’t notice the center photo of your collage is gone until you collect it at the end of the schoolyear. 

He’ll never tell you that it’s for your own good. That turning his back on you is the best option to keep you safe. No matter how much he opens up to you, his reality is much worse than you can ever know. Hurting you is his way of protecting you. Because loving you is too dangerous, especially for someone like him.  

~~~

Ten years later, you’re an elementary school teacher in your hometown. You planted yourself right where your roots grew. There is nothing but grand memories in this place you’re lucky to call your home. The only exception is the abandoned plot of land where the Zenin mansion was demolished a few years ago without any explanation. You preserve its memory in the form of a tattered photograph, forgotten somewhere in your closet.

Today, there’s a new student transferring into your kindergarten class; an adorable little boy with jet black hair and long eyelashes named Megumi. He reminds you of someone from your past, someone you kept buried in the back of your mind a while ago, for your own sanity.

Little do you know that on the other side of the door, Toji Fushiguro leans against the wall, listening carefully to your familiar voice introducing yourself to his son. He smiles to himself, the month you shared together all those years ago fondly replaying in fast forward in his mind. He’s no longer a Zenin, unleashed from the cruelty of his ancestry, liberated from the life he was cursed with from birth. Free to love who he wants without fearing that their life is in danger by the hands of his wretched family. 

He sticks his hands in his pocket, fingers brushing along the corners of the withered photo of the two of you smiling at the beach. With a deep breath, he grips the handle of the door, finally ready to face you at long last.

[huramuna]

even in undeath - chapter 1.

lich king aemond x reader a 'world of warcraft' AU. prev | next

The Lich King is the master and lord of the Scourge. Consisting of thousands of walking corpses, disembodied spirits, beasts of the north, and damned mortal men, the Scourge is a terrifying and insidious enemy.

word count: 2.3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, DUBCON, smut, heavy heavy angst, graphic depictions of violence, allusions to cannibalism, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, suicidal thoughts and ideation, mutilation of corpses, obsessive aemond, dark aemond, a happy ending is not in our future. PLEASE MIND THE TAGS! This story will be pretty dark.

story playlist

It was dark and cold. There was a faint dripping of water somewhere off to the side, but you couldn’t quite see where. The echoes of whimpers ricocheted off of the craggy walls, stinging your eardrums. 

This was the descent into madness, wasn’t it?

You weren’t sure how long you’d been chained up for— how long had it been since your village burned to the ground? Since you watched the ghouls rip apart the cow farmer from down the road. Since you watched hellhounds crunching on little Mary Jay’s bones. Since you had watched your mother and stepfather plead and beg for their lives, for forgiveness, for mercy, for absolution of their supposed sins before the death knight’s sword lopped their heads off. 

How long has it been? 

Shifting slightly, the chain tied to your throat clinked against the wall. There was no light, no passage of time to be had in the dank, pitch black cave they stowed you and a few select others in. You only had on a ragged potato sack as a dress, the sensation of dirt and grime caked on your hair and under your nails making you feel less than human. 

But— you were still human. For now. The Scourge had ravaged the Eastern Kingdoms without mercy, swiping through the North and South like a fast traveling plague, curdling and damning everything it touched. Hordes of undead zombies, ghouls and hellhounds were the first to raze the cities, driving out the people like mice from the walls. Then the banshees came, along with the necromancers to raise the dead, adding them to a forever amounting army.

Not even Quel’thalas had been able to resist it, an ancient elven city hewn in magic.

What chance did you have? 

More than most, evidently. Your mind wrought itself over and over as to why— why were you alive? Why were you still human and not merely a risen thrall? 

The clinking of armor scared you as it ascended the hallway. You pressed close to the wall and closed your eyes. 

Please don’t stop here, please don’t stop here. 

Clink, clink, clink… closer… closer… 

Then it passed, descending further away. You let out a breath, your blood still pumping in your ears. 

Clink, clink, clink. They were coming back. Clink… silence. You felt bile rise in your throat as you shook, the chains rattling noisily. You knew they were standing there, you knew they were here for you. 

A harsh tug upon your chain, your head hitting the floor— some words were mumbled, the voice sounding far away and broken. Your eardrums rang with the ferocity of your fall, drowning out any semblance of what your jailer was saying to you. Then, you were tugged upward, the cool metal of the collar biting into your skin as you were dragged like a petulant child away from your cell… 

You didn’t want to open your eyes. You couldn’t face the horror you knew was around you— corpses, living ones and dead, the clatter of bones, the heavy breathing of gargantuan abominations, bodies and faces of countless people stitched together into a new body, hewn with thread and necrotic magic until it gave way to something else entirely. Something unnatural, something made of nightmares. The dermis of those who were used to make the monsters would still twitch, reach out on its own, and if it had a mouth, it would be twisted into a scream. You swore that you heard them whispering as you were dragged by. 

The monstrosities were one of many abhorrent creatures at the Scourge’s disposal. Hellhounds, ghouls, gargoyles, wraiths, crypt lords, geists, banshees, and other things of horrific nature were only some of the power wielded by the Scourge. It felt like it was all pulled out of a child’s fairytale, changed and twisted and defiled into what it was now. 

It all felt like a very bad dream. 

Your eyes opened on their own and you took in the image of death knights, former paladins who served a higher power, the Light— now are nothing but undead heretics, glowing eyes and gaunt stares that bored through you. 

Some of the monsters chittered as you were dragged past them, leering and looking hungry. 

‘Scrawny that one. Perhaps she will suffice for hellhounds to pick their teeth.’

‘Speak for yourself, her skin will do beautifully on a new abomination.’ 

‘She won’t be knighted. Merely a maid’s bastard, I’ve heard.’

You forced your eyes to close once more, the sudden light stinging them. You forced yourself into another time, a better memory than what you were experiencing. 

They were right, you were a maid’s bastard. Your mother had served in the royal keep for years, with you under her feet. You didn’t know who your true father was, nor did you care.

You became attached to the second son of the King— Aemond Targaryen. He was a sprightly boy with near white hair and luminous violet eyes. The two of you were attached at the hip. 

Childhood friendship blossomed into more as you grew into teenagers and young adults— you shared your first kiss together, you held hands and shared sweet nothings. As he trained by day to become a paladin of the Light, he held you close by night, vowing to never let you go. You were both terribly in love and so terribly, terribly naive. He was your first in everything– your first friend, your first kiss, your first lover. You promised yourself that he would stay your first and only.

‘You can never marry a maid’s bastard, Aemond! You’re a prince of the realm-‘

‘I don’t care! I want her, father. I’ve always wanted her!’

Your mother quit her job at the castle— moreso, threatened into quitting by some of the King’s advisors. She was given a considerable amount of coin and told to take you far, far away and to not contact the prince again. 

Heartbroken, you left him your sapphire ring, the only thing of value you ever had, which had been passed down through your mother’s family for generations. 

It was left on his desk with a note of few words but much feeling. 

‘I love you. I’m sorry.’ 

That was over ten years ago. You hadn’t seen him since, but you missed him horribly. Especially now. You wondered if he was still alive, fighting against the Scourge like his knightly vows dictated. 

Maybe he was married and moved across the sea to Kalimdor where it was safer. 

Or maybe he was dead. Dead like almost everyone else you knew. 

You heard a rumor, fleeting and without much more information, that his father had died– no, that his father had been murdered. The fall of the king, Viserys, is what started the Scourge war. Did Aemond know, wherever he was? 

You imagined him holding his arms around you, kissing your neck and fanning his breath over your skin. He liked to encompass you completely with his body when you laid together— you never could emulate the feeling with heavy blankets and pillows, as much as you tried. Putting yourself back into that memory, you wrapped your arms around yourself, willing warmth into your body. 

But you didn’t feel any warmth. All you felt was cold, cold down to your bones. They felt brittle, like ice, splintering into shards as you were thrown on the floor again in a different room. Pain bloomed in your arm as it cracked at an awkward angle. Broken. 

Your ears rang again as your mouth opened into a scream, tears of pure anguish squeezing from your eyes. But you didn’t hear a thing besides the rush of blood dampening your senses— and the sickening crunch of your broken bones. 

‘What have you done to it, Lady Deathwhisper? It looks broken.’ 

‘It’s human bones are so brittle, it was merely a slip of the hand. I cannot help that their living constitution is so weak.’ 

‘His grace will not be pleased if it is broken beyond repair.’ 

‘Worry not, Lady Alys. Most things can be mended— and if not, it can always be raised.’ 

‘Physical defects aren’t the only issue. What of its mind?’

You feel an acute sensation over your skull, reaching into the depths of your cranium. Its cold, but not stinging— like a soft caress upon your brain as your mind is rifled through like a tome. You can feel your memories being perused, all of the most intimate moments of your life flashing in your head like playwright’s prose. The physicality of your mind being invaded wasn’t painful, but the act of your memories being ripped from you was damning. Tears fell down your face on their own, your mouth opened into a silent scream.

‘She is the one— I saw it. You are lucky that you did not break her mind completely, Lady Deathwhisper.’ 

‘As are you. You do not have a deft hand when it comes to memory perusal, Lady Alys. I am surprised that it still has a brain in its skull.’ 

‘Shut up and bring her to him. He will be pleased she is still alive. Barely.’ 

You felt yourself being moved again, still reeling from the invasion of your mind. You tried to put yourself back into the safe haven of memories, but they were… locked. Locked behind an iron door with no keyhole. They were lost to you. 

What were you trying to remember? 

Flashes of white hair and violet eyes flitted behind your eyelids, soft caresses and kisses, heavy breathing and love filled promises, the sensation of skin to skin… 

Your eyes opened, vision bleary. A helmed woman followed behind you, wings outstretched. You could see the glint of green eyes under her helm. Val’kyr. The woman behind you was a Val’kyr, a spirit guide who defected to the side of the Scourge. They could move between the realm of living and dead as simply as taking a breath. 

“The little human is awake,” she mused. “Your mind isn’t broken after all? I do see a glint of intelligence behind those eyes. Keep them on me, you shan’t wish to look upon Lady Deathwhisper.” 

You didn’t want to speak, words caught in your throat like food stuck in your craw. A val’kyr was basically an angel of death and talking to one must mean you are dead. 

You wish you were. 

The chains scraped against the floor, which was no longer stone like before, but rather, hardened ice. You were ascending upward, it seemed. The architecture of the building was nothing like you’d ever seen— dark metal was plated upon the walls, inscribed with glowing runes. The runes looked… familiar to you, somehow. But the memory that contained them was locked away, or mayhaps stolen by the Val’kyr, Alys. 

The temperature was cold, you were being lofted upon ice, of course, but you didn’t wholly feel it. You were partially numb, heat radiating from your broken arm. You knew you should be feeling pain— but you were just… numb. 

Your escorts stopped in front of two large doors, inscribed with the same glowing runes. Against Alys’ advice, you glanced at ‘Lady Deathwhisper’. She was skeletal, floating upon the ground with no legs to speak of. Her robes were purple fabric, molded around an incorporeal body. She spoke in a language you didn’t understand, the scratchy voice of hers coming out of a bone skull, but the mouth wasn’t moving, maw open as the words came out. 

You should have listened to Alys. 

The door opened with a rumble, opened by ancient magic, likely imbued by the runes, as they flickered and flitted above your head as it opened. The room beyond was open and bereft of almost anything, except for a throne. A throne forged of ice and swords. 

Someone was sitting upon it in a lazed position, one plated gloved finger tapping on the arm of the throne.

“We’ve brought her, your grace,” Lady Deathwhisper growled, shoving you forward. You skidded across the floor, which felt slick like grazing atop an ice-capped lake. “Alys confirmed it is her.”

The clinking of armor caught your attention, the sound of metal grazing against ice. It was irritating and made you grind your teeth. As whoever was on the throne got closer, the force was oppressive. Whimpers and tiny cries were ripped from you as they walked towards you, the aura exuding from them causing you to fall flat to the ground, feeling as if someone was sitting atop of your chest and not letting up.

The steel plated boot was in front of you now and your hair was grabbed rather harshly, pulling you up. 

Don’t look, don’t look. You cannot look.

“Look. At. Me.” the voice growled. It was quiet but commanding at the same time, rattling in your bones and making a home amongst the marrow. It felt familiar… so… 

You lifted your bloodshot eyes, not out of your own volition, but from the authority of the voice.

“Hello, little dove.” he mused.

It was him. It was… it… Aemond. You knew him so well, even with ten years gone. His chiseled jawline and chin and the dimple of the tip of his nose… 

But his eye was missing, a jagged scar bisecting it. In its place was a sapphire. The sapphire from your ring, grown into something to make home in the socket.

You felt everything and nothing all at once, your stomach flipped and flopped like a fish hoisted from the sea, sputtering for air. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t–

Your best friend, your lover, the one you vowed to never forget, to never forsake.

Aemond Targaryen. 

Aemond Targaryen was the Lich King. A defiler, a mass murderer, an unholy being in his own right.

“Now you won’t be able to leave again, will you?” Aemond murmured, his violet eye roving you. It was glowing slightly– his skin was a pale gray pallor, cheeks sunken slightly. He was undead.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, vision going black.

[elsweetheart]

okay, so. the jail au.

everybody knows that i’m a good girl, officer!

of course, me and @seattlesellie were rambling abt this for like an hour straight and i just had to share some of the little thoughts we came up with because it makes my brain go brrrr ok !!

going back to my roots with girly fem reader !! reader is a lil strap tease, ellie is a loser, and abby is big and scary 🎀

♡ so you find yourself in jail. the reason behind your imprisonment is up to u ok idk !!!

♡ ellie being the corrupt officer who sneaks you in contraband bc poor girly you can’t seem to last without your ‘stupid MAC lipliner’ or rose quartz or whatever it is you have ellie sneaking in.

♡ meeting her in the storage closet for your usual rendezvous, giggling and tugging at her uniform as she swats your hands away, huffing.

♡ “seriously? do you know how hard it is to sneak this shit in? you better hide that good, ‘cus if you get caught m’not saving your ass from Abby.”

♡ abby, of course is the no nonsense prison warden.

♡ the thing about ellie, is she hardly lays down the law. she’s a fucking loser, infact the only reason she lets you get away with so much and got herself caught up in this whole contraband situation is because she quite literally couldn’t resist a pretty girl batting her lashes up at her and caved. it’s pathetic really, but you think she looks super cute under the dim lights of the storage closet, hoping the lack of lighting is enough to hide the blush across her freckled cheeks (it’s not.)

♡ with ellie being a loser, comes ellie being a perv. “gonna have to hide that real good, okay? can’t get caught.” she’s muttering, stuffing the things you’d requested from her down your bra, really getting in there to make sure it’s hidden, of course.

♡ meanwhile, you can’t seem to keep your hands off her — absolutely adoring the thrill of your dirty little secret, feeling special knowing she doesn’t do this for anyone else. she clears her throat when you kiss her on the cheek and grab at her handcuffs. “ooh, can you use these on me?” you flutter making her tsk, flustered and shooing you away despite the burning in her cunt. “those—those are for making arrests okay, shit— y’so handsy.”

♡ maybe if she’s feeling brave enough one day she’ll put you on your knees as payback and hurriedly use your face to get off. maybe. she daydreams about that a lot.

♡ anyway, she’s forever complaining about your ridiculous requests for her to sneak in— and then fulfilling your request within the next few days.

♡ “ellie, i need buttons.” she sighs. “why.” “i’m making a plushie.” the next day she has buttons in her hand.

♡ again, she’d hate for you to get caught — so she’s stuffing the plastic bag of buttons down your prison pants into your underwear before retying the string on your pants and patting over your pussy where she stuffed the bag. “keep that safe. got it? ‘told you, you don’t wanna be on the other end of abby.”

♡ but oh, you did.

♡ how you adored seeing how far you could push it with the big blonde buff prison warden. it started off as you relentlessly asking her dumb flirty questions until she was grabbing you by the cheeks, towering over you and telling you to “get back to your cell.”

♡ but you were unstoppable, always making sure to give her a show in the shower room when she’d be in there on her watch shift. you were starting to think she was trading shifts just to be in there when you were. she’d always stand by the sinks with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed, walkie-talkie on her hip only accenting her toned body. you’d be across from her, shower cubicle door open, hands sliding up and down your body — seeing how long she’d let you slide your hand between your legs and rub your clit until she’d tell you to “cut it out, you’re wasting hot water.” though, you could see the way she shifted her thighs, and her cheeks would go the cutest shade of dusty pink.

♡ abby doing your cell checks was always scary, always just narrowly missing your hiding spots where you’d shove all the things ellie brought you. “you hiding anything in here ma’am?” she’d eye you as you shake your head innocently, watching her pull your blankets up and shake them. “why do i not believe you? little minx like you, always up to something.”

♡ you nearly let a smirk slip, nearly — but instead widen your eyes until they were doe like, looking up at her as she closes in on you, trying to figure you out. “me? no, i’m a good girl. i’d never do that, abby.”

♡ you’d continue to stare up at her as she takes a long look, raking her eyes down your body before back up to your gaze. “thats officer anderson to you.” before departing, never quite giving you what you want.

♡ until, she keeps catching you with officer williams. and it makes her jealous. because obviously, you’re her little prison slut. only hers.

♡ you stand by ellie in the cafeteria for a little too long, talking to eachother under your breath and sparing side glances. abby watches, before deciding to make an example out of you and grabbing you by the scruff of the neck and dragging you back to your cell where you’re out of everyone’s vision, growling something about “stop fraternising with the officers.”

♡ she nudges you back into your cell and is in disbelief at you holding back a mischievous smile when you turn around to face her where she stands in the doorway. “you’re an officer…?” you challenge, batting your lashes. she eyes you hungrily, breathing heavily for a moment before lowly muttering an “other officers.” leaving you with a victorious smile when she storms off.

♡ and then one day she catches you, really catches you. you’re waiting for ellie in the storage closet for an exchange of goods, and when the door opens and closes, you turn around with a smile — only to come face to face with abby. poor ellie was off on prison bus duty, assigned conveniently by none other than officer anderson.

♡ “what’s going on in here, hm? what have you been up to?” her finger stroking the walkie talkie on her leg. your smile fades, caught and your brows furrow — blinking up at her waiting for some kind of punishment. “a little birdie told me you had a thing for officers sneaking in things they shouldn’t, that true?” she knocks your chin up when you look down, attempting to evade her dark gaze.

♡ “i don’t know what you’re—” “you know, everyone breaks the rules sometimes. even a warden like me.” she steps closer, backing you against the wall making you gasp lightly as something light falls off the shelf behind you. she grabs your wrist, bringing your fingers to her crotch, a hard plastic cock bulged beneath her pants. you whimper, because it feels huge. “yeah, see. i can be sneaky too. maybe you can continue keeping that slutty mouth closed, and i’ll keep my mouth shut about your little meet ups with officer williams. we got a deal?” she pushes into you more, a shelf digging into your back and covered cock pushing up against your crotch making you let out a shaky breath.

♡ “i can — i can keep a secret.” “yeah? huh. maybe i misjudged you. maybe you are a good girl.”

♡ and when you show up all weak legged, bruised and hot faced to meet with ellie the next day for your rescheduled pick up — she has a million questions, brows frowning in not so subtle jealousy and pouting.

♡ “so what, i bring you your shit for months and you just let the first warden who comes in here fuck? that shit is so unfair.” she complains, barely trying to shrug you off when you run your hands up her toned arms and rest them on her shoulders.

♡ “lemme make it up to you, show you how grateful i am, els.” she let’s you kiss her for a minute, melting a little at the way you suck on her bottom lip before pulling away and fixing her uniform after your grabby hands had skewed it. “just— take your shit and get lost. i’ll see you in the cafeteria.”

♡ but she can’t stay mad at your cute little face. especially when you’re sooo sweet to her, and let her take her anger out on you in the next closet meet up with her fingers.

[imtrashraccoon]

If it's ok can you do a don't imagine with Dr Baggs from the megalosomnia au :3

Oh. Why yes, I would love to write for our favourite doctor! :3

Don't imagine falling, whether by accident or not, into the Underground. How you're badly injured from the fall and are soon captured. How you don't know what's going on but are helpless to resist.

Don't imagine drifting in and out of consciousness for several days, although you aren't sure how much time really passed. How you remember seeing glimpses of a white lab coat, the strong scent of disinfectant, and the sound of distant machines. How afraid you are when you finally do wake up in a strange room that's reminiscent of a cell.

Don't imagine how your heart skips a beat when you hear footsteps approaching and the door opens. How you're more than a little terrified when you see the skeleton in a lab coat that would make any mad scientist jealous. How he raises a bonebrow but gives you a moment to calm down before approaching you.

Don't imagine how he introduces himself and how personable he comes across. How he explains in plain terms the extent of your injuries and that you're now trapped in the Underground with his people. How he's quick to reassure you that you're recovering nicely and that he'll do his best to make sure you make a full recovery.

Don't imagine how you decide to be brave and trust him. How he seems to be telling the truth and you can't exactly leave anyways. How you soon start to notice that something is...off. How tight-lipped Dr. Baggs is about the lab and much of the Underground. How you can hear strange noises from outside your room and how he ignores you whenever you ask about them.

Don't imagine insisting that he tell you the truth about what's going on. How you all but break down and express that you just want to go home. How you're confused and constantly anxious no matter his efforts to make you as comfortable as possible.

Don't imagine the pained look he gives you. How he seems conflicted at first. How he agrees with you that this isn't right and apologizes for not being forthright. How you're surprised that he's not putting up a fight about this.

Don't imagine how he hesitates for a moment before smiling at you. How he moves closer and places a hand on your shoulder. How you open your mouth to ask what he's doing but never get that far. How his magenta eyelight suddenly expands into a swirling vortex. How you feel an unsettling calmness blanket your mind.

Don't imagine how he gently pulls you into a hug. How his voice seems to echo in your head as he reassures you that everything will be alright. Definitely don't imagine him stroking your shoulders absentmindedly. How he promises that he's got everything under control. How you feel like you shouldn't believe him but can't remember why. How you soon give in to him and the blissful ignorance that he offers. How you barely spare a thought as to why you were afraid in the first place.

First, Previous, & Next Request

[izvmimi]

cw: gods au. fem!reader and izuku are both gods. violence and torture alluded to but not extensively described. angst.

War does not exist in the heavenly realm; at least it hasn’t existed for the last few thousands of years. 

Your father, God of Heaven, God of All Things, really, will credit himself for the relative peace and harmony the celestial realm enjoys, but you know that this is a stasis that is enforced with a heavy hand. The immortals that live in this sprawling kingdom know what lines not to cross, what ties to hold dear, as no one wants to undergo the same destruction as befell the universe as they know it again. 

You were too young to remember the bulk of the tragedy and what gods and goddesses were killed, only to become part of cosmic dust, and your father avoids all serious mentions of the matter, your mother reigning silently by his side. You are the only one of your father’s many children that is born of a true goddess as well, and for this reason, you have special privilege, and it is your only resort at this very point in time.

Your forever beating heart pounds as you glide your way through the skies, passing through the thick dense storm clouds that surround the portion of your realm that holds prisoners, and as you pass through the light of the sun barely reaches the ground. Storm winds and lightning crash at the heavenly soil incessantly, rain, then hail, then more thunder and lightning, to remind you that this land is intentionally barren and inhospitable. It matters little to you because the man you call home exists in this practically abandoned fortress, and you must see him. 

The guards are surprised to see you, but are not bold enough to alert your father that you are here. This isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.

You hate them.  You hate every single one of them, and you wish you had been granted just a fraction of your father’s power to harm every one of them that touched a hair on your love’s head, but there’s nothing you can do, so you move forward without so much of a word of acknowledgment and they part quickly, standing aside to let you through, knowing that as much as you trample upon the rules of your land, your heavenly father dotes on you regardless. They would much rather not be on the receiving end of his anger, lest they end up in the prison they guard themselves.

You march, head held up high, to the very last cell, in the back of the castle. There is a barrier that surrounds it with magic thick and potent enough to fry a limb to bits and turn it to dust, with a tiny break in the gold veneer to place a plate of food or a cup of water. It’s frigid, even for your body that is meant to be resistant to low and high temperatures, and it’s even darker than the rest of the castle and even the outside perimeter, but despite it all, you can still make out the soft features of your lover’s face.

He’s battered and bruised, wounds in different orientations than you last saw them. A right eye barely opens, but he recognizes you as soon as you come and kneel just millimeters away from the barrier, using the last of his strength to raise his head up high, the last of his ability to give you a warm, comforting smile.

“You came again.”

He can’t ask you to stop coming anymore so he’s decided to indulge himself into appreciating your visits. Any time he’s asked you to leave you’ve wept more, so now he smiles to limit your tears, to hopefully help assuage the pain in your chest.

“Izuku…” you whisper. Your hand wants to reach out to him, but you know, having once tried, losing the tip of an index finger in the process and having to wait weeks for it to regenerate, making sure your father could not see that you were harmed. 

Tears well up in your eyes again, endlessly, as you watch him, poring over every inch of his battered body. He’s sitting in a heap, no longer dressed in brilliant robes like gods should always be, only covered in torn rags, aimed to cover his unmentionables and nothing else. For decency, the guards would tell you, but there is nothing decent about reducing a god to a prisoner, beating him repeatedly for months, then years, in preparation for his ultimate punishment - stripping of his immortality. In that way, he’d live out a meager human life, hoping for luck to be on his side for less than a hundred years, and suffering the toils of hunger, weakness, fragility, fear, fatigue and heartache.

The god of compassion with no compassion left for him. 

“How I wish you would stop weeping for me,” he says, but his voice is still light despite the gravity of their content. He inches closer despite the weariness in his bones and the clang of the unnecessarily cruel golden chain on his neck sickens your stomach. Nothing is broken, for now, but his exhaustion is more than physical. Mentally tired despite his refusal to stop smiling, he makes his way close enough that his nose nearly grazes the barrier that could kill you both. You want to comfort him, to push away dirty, matted verdant curls from his forehead, and wipe dust and grime off of his beautiful face and kiss his swollen lips, but just like every other night for the past three years, you hold in your desire and pull back instead.

Hidden in a pocket within your gown is a satchel. You pour powder into a small patch of fabric, and before he can stop you, as he always does, pull out an enchanted knife, one that can actually cut through your skin, made of the same substance that stabs into his side repeatedly when he is being tortured, and slice right at the back of your forearm. Blood, silvery and thick, drips into the powder, as well as a couple loose tears running from your cheeks and you mix with your finger into a paste. He watches you as you inhale and exhale, then push it into the small hole meant for feeding, towards him. 

You don’t tell him it’s for his wounds, but he knows. After all, his virtue is compassion but your blessing is life.

“Don’t injure yourself for me,” he insists.

You shake your head.

“I want you out of here,” you croak out. He sighs.

“I’ve sinned against heaven,” he reminds you for more than the hundredth time. If he could, he’d reach out and take your damp cheek in the curve of his palm. His eyes remain soft, the light in the green ever present despite the incessant torture.

“You did what you were born to do. Be compassionate.”

He lets air blow from his nose in an exhale and smiles. His legs cross and he holds his head a little higher, attempting to be strong for you, despite the fact that every part of his body aches.

“I interfered in another god’s sacrifice.”

Your father’s sacrifice. Not only is this an affront that is the most severe of your lands, he managed to upset the highest being of the realm.

“He’s wrong,” you insist. Izuku doesn’t say that he knows, he doesn’t have the same safety you enjoy. There’s another conversation you’ve had before that comes to your mind, the one from the very first time you stormed into this prison, demanding he explain himself, angry at the victim.

“Why did you do it? Why couldn’t you let it go this time? How many times do you-”

He interrupts your hysteria, voice cool and even. 

“They prayed to me.”

You’re caught off guard, but the steadiness in his eyes make it clear that there’s no reasoning with him, the same way there’s no recourse.

“But what about me?”

You watch him swallow thickly, and he speaks assuredly, but this time his voice cracks, and you can feel the same twang in both of your chests.

“I know you understand me, my love.”

His execution is coming up soon, and you’ve been dreading this moment. You don’t know how to help him escape losing his immortality, but with your begging and pleading, his soul will not be destroyed. Perhaps as a human, you could find a way to live with him again, you could love him.

But he won’t remember these eons you’ve spent together. Will he still love you, head turned up to the sky, or will he pray to you for intercession like a regular mortal, not knowing that he knows you like the back of his own hand?

He asks you how your day was instead, to distract you, and while nothing you’ve done is worth hearing, he still insists you speak and forget that he’s spent every last hour in suffering, his only reprieve this moment with you. 

You rush through this conversation - answered prayers, begged your father on his behalf, looked for loopholes in the celestial tomes, nothing. You don’t ask him how he spent his day, and he doesn’t tell you, because it will only make you angrier. 

He asks you not to come witness his death.

He asks you not to come anymore at all.

“Izuku, I need to know the moment you leave this realm. To follow you.”

This is the part of this conversation that always manages to make him angry.

“You’re wasting your time,” he argues.

“Time is meaningless to us, and you know it.”

You hate that he sounds like the humans he wants so desperately to save. To this, his brow furrows, and you remember that time will soon mean something. He’ll be born to some mortal, he’ll grow, he’ll age, he’ll die, and you will not change.

“It will soon matter to me,” he says, finally. The tears well up again, and you bite your lip. Anger bubbles inside you yet again, just as fiery hot as it has every single day since he was sentenced.

You want to storm out, despite knowing you’ll be right back here tomorrow.

You rise to your feet.

“Why?” you ask again. “Why?”

Izuku looks up at you.

“She asked me for help.”

“Millions of people ask you for help every day. Why her? Why when you were warned so many times not to interfere in the Gods’ plans for humanity?” you ask, bitterly. “You could have ignored it, just this once.”

Izuku pauses for a moment, looking at the cold ground before him before deciding on whether or not. Your lip wobbles and your hands clench, and your eyes practically glow with unbridled emotion.

Finally he decides to speak.

“She cried out for mercy, and she looked just like you.”

[stormsthatrage]

Prisoner AU snippet:

Kisuke sinks into the shadows of the corner of Yoruichi’s office, crossing his legs and tilting his head up to stare at the bare wood of the ceiling.

It just doesn’t make sense.

Forget the how — he’s still stumped on the why. For what possible reason could the Ryoka have killed Lieutenant Aizen?

It’s incredibly clear that the Ryoka isn’t playing a long game. No, if anything, the Ryoka was planning on the game having ended far before now. Kisuke sincerely doubts he even meant to be alive this long.

Kisuke closes his eyes, imagines the moment he first saw the Ryoka. It’s an easy scene to call up. Something about it has Kisuke on edge, and not for the obvious reasons. Ever since it happened, he’s found himself going over it again and again, his brain unable to let it go. Something about that moment felt so wrong — still feels so wrong — and he can’t pinpoint why.

The Ryoka had been kneeling next to Aizen’s corpse, arms drenched in blood from the elbow down. The shorter blade of his zanpakuto (and wasn’t that interesting — a dual wielder) had been shoved under Aizen’s chin, up into his brain. The larger sword was on the ground, gore covering its edge. The body had been covered in gashes; before going for the head, the Ryoka had, in no discernible order, stabbed the lieutenant in the lungs, cut his torso open from high between his ribs down to his gut, slit open his femoral artery, severed his spine, and ripped his heart out of his chest — thoughtfully placing the displaced organ next to the corpse’s left ear.

Kisuke, the first one to track down the missing lieutenant, had still gotten there well after the blood had cooled.

The Ryoka, knees in the bloody mud — (and how long, Kisuke wonders, had he been there?) — had turned his head towards Kisuke. “I’m pretty sure he’s actually dead, this time,” he said, conversationally, as if commenting on the flavor of a good tea.

Kisuke had drawn his blade, then. The Ryoka, strangely enough, made no move to retrieve his own. Instead, he had just sat there, staring at Kisuke.

And then his gaze had drifted downward, towards Benihime’s bared edge, and it seemed for all the worlds that in that moment the Ryoka lost every bit of energy that makes a person a person.

Before Kisuke’s eyes, the Ryoka slumped, and his gaze went vacant. Like he had been a marionette, and all of a sudden his strings were cut.

Kisuke had waited for backup before approaching the Ryoka, although even then, he had doubted there would be a struggle.

He had been right. The Ryoka had let them take his zanpakuto from him, let them put him in chains, and had let them lock him in one of the onmitsukido cells. There had been no resistance.

Since then, the Ryoka hasn’t tried to escape, let alone attempted to kill anyone else. He barely moves. Nothing seems to bring life to him. Even if Kisuke were allowed to use physical methods to extract information, he doubts the Ryoka would fight back.

Killing Aizen was the end goal, that much is obvious. But why?

For a brief time, Kisuke had entertained the thought that maybe the Ryoka had been meant as a distraction. But for what? He had quickly discarded the idea. Any heist would have been easier than sneaking into the Seireitei without notice and murdering a Shinigami Lieutenant. And if a second, higher-ranking assassination had been the goal, it would have been best done before killing Aizen; predictably, people were now uneasy, and guard rotations had increased dramatically.

Kisuke uncrosses his legs, stretching out one in front of him. “So why did you do it, then,” he murmurs.

Revenge against the Court Guard? No, he would have tried to kill more than just Aizen had that been the case. With his power and ability to go unnoticed, he probably would have succeeded, too.

Revenge against Aizen? An absurd thought, one certainly not worth wasting his time on.

Kisuke drums his fingers against his knee, trying to think. Why? Why would someone murder Lieutenant Aizen so viciously? What could possibly be —

He freezes.

“Kisuke?” Yoruichi says, catching the flare of alarm in his spiritual signature.

He ignores her, desperate not to let the thought fade.

Vicious.

Vicious.

A vicious murder.

The way the Ryoka had done it had been so vicious, hatred obvious in every wound inflicted. And the Ryoka, he had had no interest in continuing his warpath, after. He had given up, as soon as it was done. It was revenge. Of course it was revenge. All the signs are there, why had he not thought of that before. Why did he —

But he had, hadn’t he? Just a few seconds ago, he had —

He had dismissed it, but he doesn’t do that, he’s trained, he knows better than to discard a theory based on personal assumptions —

Why did he have that personal assumption?

Because it was Lieutenant Aizen. He would never have done something —

But —

Captain Hirako. Didn’t Captain Hirako chose Aizen as a lieutenant because —

And then. And then that time someone broke into his lab, and he —

He can’t remember.

He can’t remember.

“Oh, fuck,” Kisuke breathes.

There are gaps in his memory, and now that he’s focusing on it, he can feel where a foreign power, a… a zanpakuto’s power, fading, now — he can notice it because it’s fading, it’s power is lessened — is trying to affect his thought patterns.

Trying to keep him from thinking about how… about how dangerous Aizen was. Trying to keep him from remembering when… when…

Aizen had broken into his lab. Stolen research on… no, theories, it was theories about the —

The —

Hogyoku.

“Oh, Soul King,” Kisuke breathes, horror washing through him, ice-cold.

He has the worst feeling that the Ryoka, sitting in an underground cell several floors below Kisuke’s feet, may have just saved them all.