#i had to scour for green fabric

[icyowl]

Hyeseong Cha - You Discover His Secret

Pairing: Hyeseong Cha (Jungle Juice) x reader

Synopsis: An accident reveals his inhumanity. 1.4k

A/N: This is for all the 5 people that read Jungle Juice on Webtoon and have tumblr and like Hyeseong Cha.

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This grump would rather face Dohwa’s wrath before willingly exposing his secret to you. He's always wearing long (and thick) pants, even in the dead of summer. He's so strict about cuddling, too, afraid of you touching him and feeling a difference even through the fabric. He has to constantly manage his speed and strength so he doesn't tip you off. He could crush you with a hug, or break the floor by running too fast, or — god forbid — activate the scythes on his legs and seriously hurt you. Every movement had to be managed, calculated, thoroughly planned. Through no fault of your own, being with you exhausted him.

His hesitance comes from a sincere place: not wanting to burden you with his colossal problems or his mutation. Hyeseong already knows his personality and brain power aren't the most desirable, and doesn't want this one, simple, teeny tiny itty bitty thing to push you over the edge. In time he does let slip that he has a 'skin condition' on his legs that he doesn't want you to see. That's all he'll give up.

All it took was one of your unannounced entrances, one collision, and one fall to unravel Hyeseong’s secret. He leaned harder against the wall when you tried to near him. Near his mutation. His voice was venom when he interrupted your advance. “You don't have to do this.”

You looked up from the revelation of his secret. “Do what?”

“Pity me.”

Your shoulders sagged. Something in your chest shrunk. “This isn't pity, Hyeseong, I want to talk about. . . this.” You waved between the two of you.

“No, you want to talk about this—” he gestured to his legs, “please don't draw this out. Just say whatever excuse you can think of and I'll leave.”

“You want to leave?”

The nighttime darkness in his room made his green eyes glow. “Don't you?”

“No. I want to make sure you're okay, I want to get you to trust me, I want to learn.” You dared not move. The man across from you was teetering on a precipice. One wrong word and he could bolt.

Hyeseong scoured the room for a decision. His parents still hardly looked at him the few times he'd returned home. The words of his classmates shouted: don't. It's not worth it. She won't understand. Forget it. Don't bother. Once you do it, you can't go back.

Hyeseong couldn’t face you while you processed his condition. 

A hard, black, smooth substance had replaced the skin of his legs. Sharp ridges protruded from the sides of his calves and thighs. Rather than seamless flesh, his legs were made of overlapping defensive plates. It explained the sweatpants, aversion to touch, lack of intimacy, sudden absences, the look in his eyes every time you asked him if he was okay.

“I hurt you.” He interrupted, staring at the blood coming from the scrapes on your arms. The spines on his legs were sharp enough to cut steel – and now your skin – with the barest of touches. You could see he was stone-tense, waiting for your decision. In that moment you didn't care about the cuts or his legs. . . his concern for you was stronger than his fear, and it told you everything.

You approached delicately. He was so distracted he didn’t seem to notice. “I'm okay.”

“No, you're not.” Hyeseong thoughtlessly reached for your wounds only to catch himself. “Sorry.”

You closed the last foot. His muscles hardened visibly – he dared not move while you were in reach of his spines. “Don’t be sorry,” you said, hands halting just before touching his face. Without words, you waited for his answer.

Hyeseong will never know what possessed him to nod, but he was glad he did. His heart seemed to burst, release some great pull of tension, when you held his jaw. Buzzing tingles erupted in his skin. He didn’t even know he’d shut his eyes until they opened moments later. You were still there, smiling just as you had the first time you’d met. He could feel his heart squeeze tight enough to cramp. His hands covered your own and laced your fingers together tightly. “You’re not grossed out?”

“Not at all,” you rushed, “I’m only sad you thought you had to keep this from me.”

He brought your foreheads together and inhaled your scent. “It’s not you. I wanted to tell you so many times, but I know its weird, not human.”

“Who told you that?” Your eyes were lazer sharp and focused. Hyeseong trepidatiously watched you look at his legs and felt the air leave his lungs all over again, but when your eyes returned to his, all he saw was gentle compassion no matter how hard he looked. “I can’t imagine how difficult this must have been for you.”

Try as he might, he couldn’t come up with a reply. His chest still felt two sizes too small. “Let’s take care of these cuts.” He said instead, carefully taking hold of your arms. Blessedly, they weren’t too deep. He could have done serious, permanent damage. You gave into his worries, yet determined to unpack his shame another time. Hyeseong was silent when he led you to the bathroom, sat you on the counter, and flicked on the light, knowing you would see his legs without the comfort of darkness. You kept your eyes on his hands while they riffled through the med kit he pulled from under the sink.

“Do they hurt?”

Eyes the color of a summer forest and just as lively flitted to yours for a moment. He swallowed. “Not anymore. My professors keep me in plenty of training.” One by one Hyeseong set out rubbing alcohol, bandages, tape, and a couple of hand towels that would probably be thrown out after this. Your heart squeezed when he stood between your legs, but when he took your hands in his, brought them up for scrutiny, it was impossible to hide the flinches every time he pulled the skin or brushed the tender wounds. Most weren’t deep, but the row of slashes – perfect matches to the thorns lining his legs – hated the touch of air or anything else. He cussed, visibly upset when he saw the extent of damage, and you startled again. Hyeseong threw a towel over your lap to catch the occasional drips of blood.

You tried to descelate. “It’s okay–”

“It’s not,” he bit back, twisting the cap off the rubbing alcohol, covering it with a towel, and tipping it. “Look what I did to you.” In one move he turned your arm over and placed the rag straight on the wounds. You choked on a yelp, free hand fisting the hem of his jacket. Hyeseong’s eyes softened when he saw your lip pulled tight between your teeth. “Sorry.”

He deftly set about cleaning the cuts. Antiseptic. Gauze. Bandage. Antiseptic. Gauze. Bandage. Fast and efficient. Too good. Added to the fitness, caution, and occasional injury he never fully explained, it began to paint a very clear and disheartening picture. Hyeseong wasn’t just doing homework and taking tests at that school. Your hand stopped his with a gentle grasp. His eyes widened a fraction as they continued to stare at the wound you now blocked from his sight. You got close enough to feel his bangs tickle your forehead. “What do they have you doing at that school?”

A muscle in his cheek tightened. “Don’t worry about it.”

It was apparent when Hyeseong wanted to drop something. He had just revealed his biggest secret to you – maybe that was enough for tonight. After a begrudging sigh, you sat back again. Time passed, punctuated by the occasional disapproving growl when blood trickled from a cut or you shied away at the dab of alcohol. You spent much of it admiring the color in his eyes and cheeks. Minutes or hours later your arms were expertly mummified in many layers of wrappings and Hyeseong was tidying up. “Can I meet your friends now?” You tactlessly blurted.

His nose pinched. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Your back lost some rigidity. It was probably for the best; what would some superhumans want with you? They probably all had cool, shiny exoskeletons and straight A’s at the special superhuman school. It was a miracle Hyeseong hung out with you – “Wait, that’s not. . . I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just – they’re kind of a lot.”

You looked from your lap. “I still want to.”

Hyeseong held you delicately in his eyes. The bandages to the little jut of your lips. A tiny smile relaxed the bulge of muscle between his brows. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

[marvelmusing]

Dine With Me

Part of the Light and Love AU

Pairing: Sun Summoner!Aleksander x Fem!The Darkling!Reader

Summary: After he has another dejecting lesson with Baghra, you invite Aleksander to join you for dinner.

Warnings: very brief mention of suggestive content

My Masterlist

“Aleksander?”

He turns his head quickly at the sound of your voice and soon he spots you stepping out of a darkened hallway towards where he’s stopped in the entrance hall of the Little Palace.

In a few strides you’re beside him, and the two of you make your way down the corridor he had been approaching.

He adjusts the fabric of his blue and gold kefta, certain that you’ll be able to see how tired he is from a mere glance.

“How was your lesson with Baghra?”

He winces at the thought of it. The corner of your mouth lifts slightly, eyes scouring over him as he says,

“I think I’m improving.”

You nod.

“Have you eaten yet this evening?”

He shakes his head.

“My lesson overran.”

“Dine with me.” As he opens his mouth to protest, you beat him to it. “I insist.”

He still considers arguing. If any of the other Grisha hear about him dining with the General it’ll only add fuel to the fire that he’s becoming the your favourite.

“I don’t want to intrude on your night,” he reasons weakly.

“You won’t, I can assure you.”

The genuine smile you give him when he nods chases away any doubt he had before.

»»---------------------►

The company is a welcome change for you as you eat your evening meal and seeing that Aleksander’s appetite has improved reassures you that he’s doing well.

He might not be overly optimistic about his summoning abilities but you can see a subtle change in him since that first day.

Now he leans back in his armchair, staring at fire as it crackles softly in the hearth and you hope he feels content. Throughout the meal you had talked about all manner of things, as you had finished a comfortable silence had settled over you both.

Aleksander continues to watch the fire, even as his eyes grow heavy. His head drops slightly, brushing against the headrest of the chair but he attempts to straighten himself.

“The walk to the dormitories is quite the trek,” you muse quietly as his eyes flutter. “Rest a little, if you would like?”

He watches intently as you gesture towards your bed.

“Are you sure?” he asks, though he’s already preparing himself to stand. You nod.

“Of course.”

With the intention of only resting a little after eating, Aleksander doesn’t remove any of his clothing or lie under the covers. He tilts his head back onto the pillow and stares up at the ceiling for a brief moment.

Then his eyes are fluttering closed and within a minute he’s asleep.

He might be used to early mornings in the First Army but as a mapmaker the current level of exercise, training, and studying likely had him feeling exhausted.

Once you’re certain he’s sleeping deeply, you untie the laces of his boots and slide them off. His kefta is a little more difficult to remove, but after a few calculated moves the garment is hanging on the door of your wardrobe.

To ensure that he sleeps comfortably, you unfasten his breeches and place them on your vanity table before tucking him under the dark covers of your bed.

Then you begin to dress for bed.

It’s much earlier than your usual bedtime, but tonight you have no desire to ignore the heaviness of your eyes and the ache at the nape of your neck. Climbing into bed beside Aleksander is the only incentive you need to get some well needed rest.

When you open a drawer to retrieve a nightdress you hesitate. You won’t lie to yourself, you have been trying to gain Aleksander’s attention.

With winter approaching a longer nightdress would be more appropriate, but sharing the bed with Aleksander would likely keep away the chill if you chose something shorter. Something like the nightdress you’re currently holding.

A soft velvet dress, dark green with black lace adorning the bodice. Perhaps this would get his attention.

Without much further thought, you remove your clothes and pull on the nightgown. The air is cold on your bare legs as you hang your black kefta beside Aleksander’s blue and gold. As much as you want to see him wear your colour, you’re waiting for the right time to ask him.

Hopefully that moment will come soon.

With this though in mind, you slip under the covers, settling onto the mattress beside him. It’s only once your head sinks into the pillow that you realise how tired you truly are. With Aleksander resting in your bed, you finally find yourself able to draw in a deep breath and relax.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall into a peaceful slumber.

»»---------------------►

A loud knock drags you from your sleep and it takes you a few seconds to gain an awareness of your surroundings.

One glance at the timepiece on your bedside cabinet reveals that you had overslept.

“Saints!” you hiss lowly. Then you call out towards the door, “Give me ten minutes, Ivan.”

At the sound of your voice, Aleksander begins to stir, blinking sleepily as you slide out of bed. A small sound catches in the back of his throat and you turn around quickly in concern.

“Is everything alright?” you ask.

His hair is ruffled from sleep and the bags under his eyes have smoothened themselves out since last night.

He nods slowly, his eyes fixed on you with a hungry glimmer than he struggles to hide and you feel warmth flush over your skin.

How long had it been since someone looked at you like that?

Stepping behind the folding screen, you pull on your trousers, select an ivory lace bra, and haphazardly throw on a white shirt.

You stand in front of the mirror at your vanity table while you button up your shirt. Not necessary, but it allows Aleksander to catch a glimpse of your lace clad chest.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the weight of his gaze as you tuck in your shirt.

As you sit down on the armchair to pull on your socks and lace up your boots, you hear the covers shifting over Aleksander’s body as he sits up.

When you move over to retrieve your kefta you notice the pretty pink flush over his cheeks and the tightness of his jaw as he keeps the bedcovers bunched over his thighs.

The effect you’ve had on him sends a thrum of desire through you, although you manage to school your expression as you turn to face him.

“I have a meeting with the king this morning,” you explain as you shrug your kefta over your shoulders. “Would you like me to ring for some breakfast before I leave?”

“No, thank you.”

You nod in acknowledgement as you adjust the collar of your kefta. There’s another knock at the door, signalling the end of your ten minutes.

He meets your gaze and you find yourself wanting to throw yourself back into bed and bury your face into the crook of his neck as he peels off your clothing.

Instead, you smile softly and give him a small bow,

“Have a lovely day, Aleksander.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny

»»---------------------►

-

[spnfic85]

Thor planning a nursery surprise

Warnings: Pregnancy mentioned, fluff, just sweet Thor tbh

Words: 338

Author’s Note: I had this spinning around my head for a while, and finally was able to edit it to something I’m not completely embarrassed by 😅 I’m debating a few different options for Thor and his Lovvie, but this was something that was set in my heart from early on. He absolutely would have dived head first into creating their cribs/cradles

Headcannon from First There Was Love... series & Masterlist ❤️

Of course the God of Fertility would want to plan his own children’s nursery. 

He would end up out in the woods finding the perfect tree to make a cradle for each. 

Only the best for tiny Thors.

He’d get so invested in it, Y/N would find him scouring YouTube and Etsy.

Sketching his grand designs. 

The nursery would ABSOLUTELY be off limits to Y/N. 

Issa surprise. 

Thor DID let Tony install tech on the door to restrict said nosy Y/N. 

There are bangs, drills, saws, curses, and a few claps of thunder. 

But when Thor finally tells Y/N it’s ready, he’s giddy with excitement. 

Thor chuckles, “Are your eyes closed?? Are you sure?” while he walks awkwardly behind Y/N holding his hands over her eyes

And then he finally lets her see...

The nursery looks like a little forest grove. 

Soft creams and pale greens adorn the walls, with magical trees growing from the corners.

Centered in the room, with gauzy white chiffon gathered around the pair, were two handmade cradles. They carried carvings, one on each to mirror each other of their grandfather’s ravens; Huginn and Muninn. Their wings arched along the head of the cradles, as if to embrace the babe that would be dreaming there. 

Hanging above the heads of each cradle were beautiful sparkling crystal likenesses of Mjolnir, miniature light catchers that when the sun hit them, made rainbows stretch across the sky blue bedding. 

Y/n smiled, running her finger over the familiar fabric as Thor’s arms wrapped around her from behind to gently hold her heavy belly as she leaned against him. 

“Your mother’s cape?” She asks with tears teasing the corners of her eyes. 

He hummed softly in response, only making her heart ache understanding he wanted his mother to be able to hold them, even if just for a while... 

Gentle kicks against Thor’s palm told him that the two souls who resided in his love were soon going to be filling these cradles, and filling both his and Y/N’s hearts. 

[sincerelyyycece]

you call it a problem; i call it a solution.

Confrontation erupts during an urgent assembly involving Sirius Black.

note: futuristic city setting (is that how you call it?), a unfamiliar creature is threatening your city, flirty sirius in the middle of a citywide emergency lol, brief mention of having a sexual relationship with sirius, some characters mentioned are either my ocs or a name i came up with last minute hehe

sincerelyyycece © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

Chaos reigns as the fabric of our world unravels, on the brink of collapse. Anxiety and fear are palpable, etched into every face I encounter. Children grapple with confusion, unable to comprehend why safety measures confine them indoors. The outside world grows increasingly perilous.

I am Y/N Y/L/N, a medical specialist affiliated with Astro Gen. My journey began upon graduating from medical school, where I distinguished myself as a top performer. Through unwavering dedication and resilience, I earned my place within this esteemed organization. Over the years, I have contributed to the development of numerous life-enhancing technologies, each one a testament to our mission to better humanity. It is this commitment that finds me at the heart of our headquarters today.

We were summoned for an urgent meeting. Upon entering the conference room, I observed a palpable sense of panic, stress, and worry among the attendees. My gaze landed on my friend, Leonetta Relleve, the CEO, who was visibly attempting to address the concerns raised. It was evident she, too, was feeling the strain. Letting out a deep sigh, I took it upon myself to address the room. By clearing my throat loudly, I quickly garnered everyone's attention.

"If I may request everyone to please compose themselves and return to their seats," I stated formally. "Rest assured, your inquiries will be addressed, but for now, let us proceed with the meeting." With that, the room settled down as individuals resumed their seats. A smile from my friend acknowledged my intervention. "Very well. As we are all aware, a video message was broadcasted citywide yesterday." Leonetta commenced her explanation as the digital screen displayed a peculiar blue-green creature with eyes as dark as voids.

Leonetta activates the video, and a chilling voice fills the room as the creature begins to speak. It accuses us of disturbing its people and taking something that rightfully belongs to them. In retaliation, it threatens to wreak havoc on our world. However, it offers a truce if we return what belongs to them. The dilemma lies in our ignorance of what exactly that item is. I've already instructed my team to conduct research and scour through files in search of clues.

"Ms. Y/L/N?" Leonetta's voice snaps me back to reality, a trance I hadn't realized I had slipped into. Sheepishly, I glance around the room, having zoned out, staring at the blank screen. "I apologize. Could you please repeat what you were saying?" With a deep breath, I refocus on the meeting. "I was asking for an update on the creature's demands." Leonetta cocks her head, and I shake mine in response.

"We're currently combing through the laboratory for any files, missions, or specimens that might be relevant to the creature's habitat, but so far, we've come up empty-handed," I explain politely. Leonetta nods in understanding. "And where is General Black?" she inquires. Almost as if summoned by Leonetta's question, General Black enters the room, slightly out of breath. "Apologies for the delay and interruption, Madam Relleve," he offers.

"Please take a seat, General." Leonetta motioned toward the chair beside her, which happened to be adjacent to mine. General Black made his way to the seat, acknowledging me with a nod and a grin. Sirius Black, our city's general, was not only one of Leonetta's closest confidantes but also a secret known only to me. In official capacities, she was referred to as General Black or General Padfoot, but in private, he prefers the name Sirius.

"I was attending to our borders," he reported to Leonetta, who responded, "Very well. Let's proceed with the meeting," prompting nods from everyone in the room.

As the meeting drew to a close, Leonetta requested that Sirius, Officer Lenaro, Lead Scientist Pendley, and myself remain. It was then that the true discussion commenced. Once the door was securely shut, Leonetta activated a button, revealing a map of our city.

"Did you really have to make such a grand entrance earlier?" I whispered to Sirius. He chuckled softly. "Thought you enjoyed a bit of drama," he retorted.

As we walked past us, Leonetta softly urged, “Could you please cease the bickering?” I acknowledged her with a nod. “As previously discussed, this situation is a high-risk emergency,” Leonetta emphasized, “where everything we've built may be at stake.”

“All personnel are currently under full lockdown,” Sirius informed us. “I've deployed all available soldiers to the borders and patrols are ongoing.”

“That's reassuring,” Leonetta remarked. Officer Lenaro raised a hand to speak, drawing our attention. “Have we devised any solutions?” he inquired. “Regrettably, no,” Leonetta sighed. “We've attempted negotiation for a peaceful resolution, but they insist on reclaiming what they believe is rightfully theirs,” Lead Scientist Pendley interjected.

“Could we consider a preemptive strike?” Lenaro proposed, causing my eyes to widen. How could he suggest such a thing when we're clearly at fault? “This might involve utilizing advanced weaponry and strategic manoeuvres,” he elaborated. Pendley and I exchanged knowing glances, both understanding the folly of such an approach. I glanced at Sirius, surprised to find him nodding in agreement.

Surely, he couldn't support such a reckless course of action. It would only lead to our downfall. “I don't believe that's wise,” Pendley interjected. All eyes turned to her, and sensing her discomfort, I stepped in to support her. “I concur,” I added, redirecting the attention to myself. “While safeguarding the city is paramount, we must also consider the potential repercussions of aggression and explore avenues for a peaceful resolution.”

Sirius cautions that adopting a 'peace and love' approach could endanger lives. I observed my brows knitting together. "It's likely to exacerbate our problems," I argued. "This isn't the right course of action," I added. Sirius, however, supports Lenaro's proposal, asserting it could resolve numerous issues. Pendley attempted to intervene, but Sirius remained resolute.

"Much is at stake here," Lenaro emphasized. I couldn't help but roll my eyes, feeling frustrated with the military duo. "Yes, a lot is at stake, but their plan is problematic," I remarked. Leonetta seemed swayed. "You call it a problem; I call it a solution," Sirius countered defiantly, earning a glare from me. Suddenly, I criticised the plan, caught up in the moment. With Sirius's pride and ego, I knew he wouldn't yield, and indeed, he matched my fervour.

Our argument escalated, with Pendley and Lenaro attempting to defuse the tension. "Both of you, enough!" Leonetta commanded, bringing our bickering to a halt as we turned our attention to her. "Your conflict isn't helping us find a solution," Leonetta remarked, her tone now gentle and diplomatic. "I suggest you both take a walk." We protested, but Leonetta's pointed gaze left us with no choice. "Separately," she clarified. I sighed and acquiesced, gathering my belongings and stepping out. Sirius followed quietly behind me.

As the door shut behind us, I caught Sirius's voice uttering, "This is your doing." I turned to him, disbelief etched on my face. "My doing?" I exclaimed incredulously. He nodded, prompting a scoff from me. "How could this possibly be my responsibility, Sirius?" His eyes widened at the use of his nickname. "Lower your voice," he cautioned. I rolled my eyes once more. "I thought you enjoyed it when I spoke up?" I countered. He chuckled, his tongue poking at the side of his cheek. "If only you had let us proceed with the plan, we wouldn't find ourselves out of the office," he lamented.

"As I've said before, no. That plan was flawed," I interjected. "Those beings serve a purpose on this planet. If we simply eradicate them, we become nothing more than a murderous species. We'll antagonize others left and right." He fell silent at my words. "Furthermore, they could offer valuable insights. Embracing their existence might lead to advancements in technology," I elaborated. He nodded slowly. "Alright," he conceded. I grinned.

"I'm going for a walk now," I declared. He gently took hold of my hand. "You'll still come to see me later?" he inquired. I smiled at him. "That depends. You've managed to piss me off," I teased. He pouted, pleading, "Please." I chuckled, lightly patting his cheek. "Of course. But first, I need to attend to some files in the lab." His face lit up. "Goodbye, General Black," I called out as I strolled away from him.

I find myself seated in my office, meticulously scanning the pages of the fourth file I've reviewed. My gaze drifts towards the growing stack of files in the corner of my desk, prompting a weary sigh. It's becoming evident that this evening will extend longer than anticipated. Regrettably, I'll need to notify Sirius of the cancellation. Stretching in my chair, I resolve to persevere. With determination, I return to the contents of the file in hand, hopeful that a solution to this tragedy will eventually reveal itself.

[winterreigned]

a kiss that leaves behind lipstick marks. from theon but he's wearing coral blue #5 (jk it's sansa's). // @prodigum

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍, envy coursing through her veins, drowning out the noise of the party. it was as if sansa had tunnel vision, blue eyes couldn't tear themselves away from the sight before them. girls were practically throwing themselves at theon, a nauseating sensation coming over her as she watches. did they always do this? it probably was, but this was the first time sansa cared enough to notice. her hands grip the red solo cup she's holding tightly, the crinkling of the plastic loud enough to interrupt margaery from her talking. it was now obvious, sansa's best friend looking between her and theon confused.

yeah, well, sansa was confused too. ever since that one night, that one drunken mistake of a night, as she tried to convince her mind to call it - she has not been able to shake theon greyjoy. she's tried, desperately so. they were absolutely nothing, yet it was everything to her. frighteningly so, sickeningly so. sansa stark was never the sort to sit idly by, though she finds herself acting bolder than she cares to when it comes to her brother's best friend. impulsively, red solo cup gets slammed to the table, sansa ignoring the beer that pours over onto her. she's far too busy now scouring through her purse, looking for... ah ──── there it is. bright red lipstick.

hastily, she applies a thick layer to lips, stalking over to theon as she does such. she pays no mind that robb lingers in proximity, tunnel vision has had her acting all sorts of irrational. hands come to clasp around his wrist, not even bothering to excuse him from the conversation with a blonde she was sure he had sights on. sansa ignores his protests, ignores his questioning. the red head finds a bathroom, and shoves them in it quickly.

 ❝ ──── you're a real sleaze bag. ❞ sansa insults, words hissed to try to hide the jealousy bubbling beneath the surface. she will act disgusted before she would ever dare admit she was green with envy. hands grab at the fabric of his shirt, shoving him back against the door they just entered. her chest rises and falls heavily, eyes not ripping away from his own.  lips, red as rubies, plant several strategic kisses.

one , on the left side of his neck. one, on the right side of his jaw. one, last one on his lips.

her last kiss is as if she's quenching her thirst after a week in the desert. it's deep, passionate - alarms are blaring in her head all the same. it is with instant regret she pulls away, though she can only allow herself this small taste. if sansa were to continue, she would never be able to stop. instead, the red head separates herself from him. blue eyes admiring the three spots where she has left her personal marks. a smirk instantly glides onto features ; MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

 ❝ no girl will want a marked man, ❞ sansa whispers, fingers coming to hover over the lipstick stain on his jawline.  ❝ i just saved a handful of girls from a night with you. consider it my civic duty. ❞ that's how she'll play it, knowing it's probably transparent as a pane of glass. still, pride will forbid her from ever admitting this was stemmed from her own jealousies.  ❝ now, if you'll excuse me, i can go back to enjoying myself. ❞ she turns to leave, heart fluttering, cheeks flushed, and inner monologue self deprecating.

[tragidean]

tomorrow is a long time [9.8k] (ao3)

Dean wakes up on arguably one of the coldest days in the year.

Not wakes up, necessarily, considering he remembers majority of the last few years and where he was yesterday, but the clarity hits him harder than the chill seeping through the study’s ajar window. Wrapping his arms tighter around his bare chest, Dean stares down at his toes, a sudden sweat beading across the back of his neck. A foot or two away, Castiel sits at his desk and fusses with a buttonhole, speaking to himself in an archaic language that sounds like jagged lines and broken glass.

When Castiel said that he needed him, Dean’s train of thought went to wildly inappropriate realms, not… this. Acting as a human dress form while Castiel curses whoever invented the motorized sewing machine in their grave.

“Stand,” Castiel says, finally, and pulls his latest project from the machine. Dean does as ordered, lowering his arms, then slipping them through the sleeves when Castiel manhandles him just where he wants. Dean turns after Castiel pulls the deep green button-down into place and watches him slip each button into its hole. It fits better than it did yesterday, when Castiel nearly scrapped the entire project before he figured out just how to make the collar sit flat.

Nimble fingers dance across the front of Dean’s shirt, smoothing it in place at the shoulders, across his pecs, down his sides. Dean flushes, heart in his throat. Castiel admires his work, checking for loose stitches and hanging threads. It’s a good shirt—beautiful, even, if Dean had to put a word to it, made of a silk and polyester blend that feels cold against his skin but apparently brings out his eyes, or so Castiel says. It matches the other three shirts Castiel has made for him already, but this one, Castiel visibly takes pride in.

How did I get here?

“You finally figure out what you’re doing?” Dean asks, staring at his cuffs.

Castiel leaves without a word. He comes back half a minute later with a set of gold cufflinks, neither of them entirely special or memorable, but in the daylight, Dean spots an engraved D etched into each. One by one, Castiel slips each into the buttonholes and fastens them, pressing the fabric until they sit flat. After that, the tension in Castiel’s face eases, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. “I like this one the best,” he admits. Just barely, a smile teases the corners of his lips. “It suits you.”

“Yeah.” Experimental, Dean rolls his shoulders and lifts his arms, testing for any tightness, looking for broken stitching. He finds nothing—just a shirt, like something he could buy off the rack of a high-end store, but better, because Castiel made it. Castiel bought the fabric and the pattern, Castiel struggled for weeks to get everything just right, all for this moment. Warmth blooms in Dean’s chest, his heart two sizes too large. “Your friends in your sewing circle teach you?”

“Them, and Google,” Castiel muses. He straightens Dean’s collar, touching his thumbs to the pointed edges. “I want you to wear it Friday.”

Right, Friday. The day Dean has dreaded for the last month. The day they invite complete strangers—and some friends—over to look at Dean’s renovation work firsthand, all to appease the head of the city council. Though, Dean suspects every single person in this town is just nosy and looking for an excuse to walk into someone’s home to nitpick. He didn't stress over paint colors and scour the state of Georgia for period-typical crown molding for Mrs. Ruth to walk in and tell him he missed a spot.

continue reading on ao3

[the-faramir]

Extinction Curse Session 2024/04/10

"We…we need a new tent," Midori, dazed, finally managed to put words together in her head. "WE NEED A NEW TENT RIGHT NOW! GO! FETCH FABRIC! FELL TREES! GO!"

As half of the circus ran out to scour the shops in town, Midori took a step and fell to her knees, shaking and shivering. All of the color had drained from her formerly red fur, leaving it as white as fresh snow in winter.

One of the clowns grabbed a blanket and wrapped it over Midori's shoulders. One of the concessions workers brought her a mug of water, which she slapped onto the ground as it was offered to her. Instead, she pulled a flask from his belt, unstoppered it, and downed the brown, bitter wormwood liquor in one long pull. He protested, "My Malört!" Midori paid him no mind.

Midori wept.

One by one, circus members returned to the circus. Some had obtained lumber and started to craft poles. Those who had been seeking fabric, however, returned empty-handed to report that the merchants in town faced a fabric shortage.

Once everyone had returned, Midori slowly stood up, head hanging and shoulders slumped forward. A silence fell on the circus grounds as she said softly, "No fabric?"

She straightened up and swept out her arms questioningly. Her voice deepened slightly. "How can a town have no fabric?"

Whisps of green energy formed and swirled around Midori. Her voice distorted unnaturally. "THE SHOW CAN'T GO ON WITHOUT A TENT!"

She floated upward, a full two feet off of the ground. "WE ARE FINISHED! THE CIRCUS IS DONE FOR!"

Midori's face stretched and distorted into a hideous, tormented grimace. Her eyes glowed with an eerie green light. "IT'S ALL OVER!! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

At the sound of Midori's frightful moan, nearly half of those nearby ran off in fear. Another quarter stayed but cowered out of fright. The rest covered their ears and looked concerned for Midori. Two exceptions were Buffy and Lysander, who stayed where they were as if nothing happened.

A member of the audience who had found the bravery to stay to help out recommended that Midori and her team visit Densirt Farm, which was about a half-hour's travel outside of town. The farmers were decent seamsters and usually kept large stocks of canvas for their side business of making tents, sails, canvases for oil paintings, backpacks, marquees, and such. He added that nobody in town had seen anyone from the farm for a week or two.

With her hope restored, Midori settled down somewhat. "Canvas? Seamsters?" She turned to the helpful man. "To the southeast, you say?" He nodded in affirmation.

Midori gestured to her team. "We go. Now!"

Galon protested, "Midori, we just fought a battle. We're all wounded!"

Lysander added, "And we'll need to replenish our spells."

Zookdar piped in, "…and sleep, and have breakfast. Y'know, maybe take a bath."

Fizzarolli said, "And it's nighttime. I sure wouldn't want to have my sleep disturbed by people pounding on my door asking me to make something for them."

Midori begrudgingly agreed to rest and leave in the morning.

The next day, on their trek to the Densirt Farm, the party spotted more of the reptilian footprints on the ground. "More dinosaurs," Zookdar lamented, "this place is lousy with them!"

Soon, the company saw the farm a short distance away. A ruined foundation and fragments of burnt wood sat where a barn clearly used to, several feet from a farmhouse. More importantly, four triceratopses with xulgath riders patrolled the farmland.

Zookdar and Lysander ran toward the patrol. Zookdar shouted a battle cry, while Lysander played his dirge of doom in an attempt to frighten the enemies. Midori scowled, drew her rapier, and strode slowly yet purposefully toward the battle.

The closest dinosaur charged at Midori, who stepped quickly to the side to dodge. She shot the rider a hateful, rage-filled glare as she sang:

🎶🎶🎶 In the heart of the night, 'neath the moon's cold gaze, You set our circus ablaze, our dreams up in haze. Xulgaths on quetzalcoatluses, your eyes filled with spite, You came to devour our joy, our light. 🎶🎶🎶

Staring pointedly at the xulgath rider, she refocused her magic. "Why, you stunk-up, half-witted, scruffy-looking herd-tender! Your people destroyed our home. How dare you get in our way of rebuilding? Your turn to burn, you son of a bitch!" The xulgath burst into flames, screaming in agony.

Fizzaroli, riding his twelve-foot-tall construct Nefarsia, and Galon joined the fray, taking out a triceratops.

The triceratops closest to Midori, carrying the burning xulgath, moved to gore her with its horns. Zookdar interdicted with his flickmace, knocking it to the ground and allowing Midori an attack of opportunity, finishing off the dinosaur. Its rider, writhing on the ground and engulfed in flames, let loose a death rattle and moved no more.

Another dinosaur thundered in with a horn attack, hurting Midori quite a bit. She jerked her head up to look at her next target and sang:

🎶🎶🎶 Oh, the flames licked the sky, and the canvas turned black, But my spirit won't break, and my courage won't crack. I'll sing through the pain, through the tears and the smoke, For my circus, my family, my dreams, I invoke. 🎶🎶🎶

Two swift strikes and two excellent hits from her rapier found their target on the triceratops' xulgath rider. "Die, you son of a bitch! Why won't you die?"

Lysander cast a soothe spell to help with Midori's wounds. Mere feet away, the party had taken down another triceratops and rider.

Midori sang once more:

🎶🎶🎶 So hear me, you xulgaths, you beasts of the night, I'll haunt your nightmares, I'll fight with all might. I'm Midori the ringmaster, heroic and true, My burned-down big top shall rise anew! 🎶🎶🎶

Then her rapier found the heart of another xulgath.

Facing down the last dinosaur and rider, Fizzarolli fiddled around with Nefarsia's mechanisms to release a megavolt blast, killing both enemies at once.

Still enraged, and without taking so much as a second to rest, Midori strode up to the farmhouse and pounded on the door.

[pico-digital-studios]

Into, Across and Beyond! Scripting: Operation Containment

After his tango with Shalian in More than One Universe, OMT!Tails was warped into a factory-life environment where Shalian and CR!Corrupt banged on glass chambers, wanting out.

OMT!Tails: Alright, you two! Calm down!

He yelped as OMT!Robotnik touched his shoulder, not at all chuffed.

OMT!Robotnik: Be careful what you wish for, Tails.

Shalian: Let me out of here!

OMT!Tails: Can you please explain to me what's going on?

OMT!Robotnik: That little device you botched where you wanted to open gateways to every known sadistic evil, well, it started pulling every sadistic evil that had conflicts to anyone related to Mobius, from EVERY universe, into this one.

OMT!Tails: From every universe? (offended) Also, how is the whole evil thing MY fault?!

Shalian: What's the idea, omelette-breath?! Where are we?!

OMT!Robotnik: I think it's better not to engage with them because frankly, the multiverse, NOT just other Mobiuses, is a concept of the world in which we know FRIGHTENINGLY little of... This shouldn't even be possible...

OMT!Tails: I thought you turned off your device before it blew up.

OMT!Robotnik: I didn't turn it off. I contained what's inside it, but apparently, a few of them squeaked through. After you left, my radar detected an otherworldly presence, so I got myself into a cave where I found (pointing to CR!Corrupt) THAT... dark hedgehog looking son of an egg...

Shalian: Device? Like, a portal-creator? What is this, a birthday party for bad guys? What is this madness?!

OMT!Robotnik: Watch this. (to Shalian) Do you know an Eggman from your universe?

Shalian: Yes.

OMT!Robotnik: Did he look like this?

Shalian: Er, no.

OMT!Robotnik: See?

Tails scratched his head, trying to figure this out.

OMT!Robotnik: Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. I don’t know how many of these… visitors we’ve got-.

OMT!Tails: I saw another one back at the bridge. He was like a... like a flying green haired man.

OMT!Robotnik: Well, he sounds jolly! Why don't we start with him? Now, I need you to capture them while I figure out how to send them back, before they destroy the fabric of the multiverse, or worse, someone else finds out...

OMT!Tails: Uhh... Doctor Robotnik?

OMT!Robotnik: What?

OMT!Tails: Me and Cream just got a second shot at getting into a science graduation, but if Bumper High School sees me fighting these... crazy monsters-!

Shalian: Hey, watch it, kiddo!

OMT!Tails: Sorry.

OMT!Robotnik: Seriously? Still thinking about the science class?

He charged up a device on his wrist.

OMT!Tails: Hey, what did you just do?

OMT!Robotnik: This!

He warped Tails into one of the chambers as a demonstration.

Shalian: How did you do that?

OMT!Robotnik: Lots of birthday parties...

He opened Tails's chamber before passing him the device.

OMT!Robotnik: One shot, send them here, move on, you’re welcome, now get to work…

OMT!Tails: Uh... sir?

OMT!Robotnik (slightly annoyed): Urgh... NOW what?

OMT!Tails: I know I have part of the responsibility in this mess, and I swear to you I'll get it fixed, but I'm gonna need a good amount of help to get it done! And not just from my friends here... you know what I mean, right?

A few minutes later, OMT!Mina and Mini Sonic came through, each wearing multidimensional watches now.

Mini Sonic: Woah! I can’t believe we’re at your Dr. Robotnik’s Gimme Shelter!

OMT!Robotnik: Me neither...

OMT!Mina: Tails! Hey!

She and Tails shared a hug.

OMT!Tails: It's so good to see you! I'm sorry for dragging you in this. You just gotta help me track down these guys...

Mini Sonic: So how did these guys you talked about get here?

OMT!Robotnik: Your little friend screwed up my device whilst trying to get himself and his sister into science class-.

OMT!Tails: No, that was afterwards. Let's just focus on the good news, okay?

OMT!Robotnik: No, let's just focus on the bad news! So far, you have detected ZERO multiversal trespassers, so... pack up your phones, scour on the internet and... Scooby-Doo this crap!

OMT!Mina: Hehe, you know, you're telling us what to do even though it was your device that got screwed up, so all of this is kinda your mess. I know a couple of magic words myself starting with the word, please~.

OMT!Robotnik: ... Please... Scooby-Doo this crap.

OMT!Tails: That's better. (Gosh, he's no fun...)

OMT!Robotnik: You can work inside my abandoned Wing Fortress.

OMT!Tails: You guys go ahead. I'll contact Knuckles and the others to get there, and I've got something else to get too.

Mini Sonic: Let’s catch some multiverse men!

Inside the fortress, the lights went on. Shalian and CR!Corrupt were also stuck there. Tails soon arrived with the others, holding something behind his back.

OMT!Tails: Guys, listen. About the whole device thing-.

OMT!Mina: No, it’s fine.

OMT!Tails: Wait, really?

OMT!Mina: Yeah, since you've gotten badly sick and other problematic stuff, you were just trying to fix things. But maybe just… run it by us next time, whenever you're gonna do something that could… break the universe, you know.

OMT!Tails: Heh, deal.

Mina noticed Tails’s position.

OMT!Mina: What’s up with your arm, Tails?

OMT!Tails: Oh, I…

He held out the bouquet he wanted to give her.

OMT!Tails: I, well... got these for you for when you happened to return.

OMT!Mina (happy): Aww, thanks! I'll gladly keep them with me! S-So, anyway, you zap them, Dr. Robotnik will send them back, and we will be having more fun together! Eating donuts, making devices... my treat!

OMT!Tails: A-Also. Y-Yeah, I developed a bit of a crush on you since we met.

Tails blushed shyly, and Mina did the same after hearing his confession.

OMT!Mina: G-Gosh, Tails… I, uh-

Mini Sonic: I said it once, I’ll say it again! Let’s catch some multiverse men!

The two captured villains were nearby.

Shalian: Hey! Who are those two with you?!

OMT!Tails: Oh, these are my other-worldly friends, Mina and Mini Sonic.

Mini Sonic: Hello.

OMT!Tails: I’m sorry, what was your name again?

Shalian: Name's Toxinfect, kid.

The three couldn't help but giggle in amusement at the name.

OMT!Tails: T-Toxiwhat?!

Mini Sonic: T-That's just d-dumb! Hahaha!

Shalian: Excuse me?

OMT!Tails: No seriously, what's your actual name?

Mini Sonic: Hey! What’s that black hedgehog-looking guy?

CR!Corrupt looked at them but didn’t respond, looking unamused. Some scenes play out with the gang getting ready to go find the rogue evils. While Tails is washing a top, he’s also on the phone with Sally at the same time.

OMT!Sally (on the other end): If the paint won’t come off, bring it to the shelter and I’ll get it out.

OMT!Tails: No, no, not yet, Sally. We’ve still gotta round up those otherworldly evils.

He lifted the shirt out, still covered in paint handprints.

OMT!Sally: Well, finish what you need to with the others and then come on by.

Mini Sonic: Guys, look!

OMT!Tails: Oh, sorry! Gotta go!

OMT!Sally: Okay! Love you, little bro! Bye!

Mina and Tails went to Mini Sonic, who had news to share.

OMT!Tails: What did you find?

Mini Sonic: The press had found reports of a few school deaths, most of which were school bullies, but a few were innocents… A survivor claims she saw a monster flying around the scene.

OMT!Tails: That's gotta be the guy I saw back at the bridge, right?

Shalian: That’s impossible.

Tails went closer to Shalian’s chamber.

OMT!Tails: You know him, don't you? On the bridge, you said his name.

Shalian: Richard Ambersilve. Brilliant young kid, well known for having the highest PHD, vengeful spirit after death. But the bullies that killed him weren't enough. He even killed innocents… even his own girlfriend. He was too hateful… blind… misguided…

OMT!Tails: What happened to him?

Shalian: I TIRE OF YOUR QUESTIONS, FOX!!

OMT!Tails: O-Okay… Alright, where do we go?

Shalian: It can't be him…

The group looked at him.

OMT!Tails: W-Why…?

Shalian: Because Richard truly died years ago. So either we saw someone else, or you're flying out into the darkness, to fight a ghost…

NEXT POST

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on Ao3

Rated M

The evil that took place inside the New National Theater on July 8, 2014, would go down as possibly the most egregious act of domestic terrorism in modern Tokyo since the subway sarin attacks of 1995, where followers of the Aum Shinrikyo movement dispersed sarin bombs into five Tokyo Metro stations, killing 13 people and injuring thousands. By contrast, the theater’s death toll would be 50 times that amount, and when the night was through, a reported 663 people would be dead, 80 missing, and more than 1,000 left severely injured. According to the Japan Meteorological Agency, the seismic activity of the devastation could be felt from Shibuya all the way to the outer east wards of Edogawa and Tokyo Bay. Nearly ⅔ of the theater would be reduced to a crumbling ash heap, including the left side of Opera City Tower, and 158 neighboring buildings would have their windows completely shattered, destroying 74 vehicles, and causing an estimated ¥83 billion worth of damage. After conducting a full investigation, the NPA (National Police Agency) would accuse the Aum Shinrikyo movement of once again being responsible for the attack, stating the doomsday cult had detonated a bomb containing up to 3,000 tons of TNT, and were now evading police. Tokyo would be placed on lockdown until the suspects were apprehended. The whole city would undergo a state of mourning. 

Except that wasn't how it happened.

This would be a lie fabricated by the Japanese government to elude the public from knowing the truth. The truth that the attack was not of human making. That despite the whole of jujutsu society gathered in attendance, and the strongest protective spells safeguarding the perimeter, a special-grade curse managed to bypass security and seal the entire theater within its Domain, thus obliterating most of the building and killing the majority of guests and staff inside, resulting in a bloodsport of devastation and carnage.

Hannah didn’t know how much time had elapsed since the ceiling caved. She thought to have heard alarm bells blaring someplace but perhaps that was more in part to the faint ringing in her ears. The acrid smell of smoke and debris still lingered, though not as strong as before. She felt no pain. Had no trouble breathing. Actually, as strange as it seemed, she felt she was lying peacefully underneath a shaded canopy. Could this be Heaven, she thought. Interesting. For having been quashed to death by a collapsed concrete ceiling, Heaven felt surprisingly more…embracing than she imagined. Smelled nice. Warm. Had a heartbeat even.

“You okay?”

Hannah slowly peeled her eyes open to find her nose buried in Satoru’s shirt. He had used his Infinity as a buffer, shielding them from the impending rubble. She looked around, trying to collect her bearings, dazed from the noise and confusion. She had taken no serious hurt. Nothing felt broken or injured, no missing limbs. All indications she was very much alive and had not gone to Heaven. Blinking rapidly, she sat up in her husband’s arms, expecting to see a war zone: burning fire, ambulance lights, search and rescue parties frantically scouring for dead bodies beneath the wreckage. Instead she saw darkness. And like an open reservoir, the immediate past came flooding back to her in disorienting waves: People are dead. She took a sharp inhale, placing a convulsive hand to her mouth.

“Oh, God,” she whispered in a shaky, distracted voice she hardly recognized as her own. “It’s my fault.”

“What?” Satoru said, looking at her like she had gone looney.

“It’s my fault.”

“What’s your fault?”

“Everything!” she shrilled, almost hysterical. “T-The green lights, the demons I didn’t know weren’t actually demons, the curse, everything. The Sight showed me everything, but I was confused, I failed to make the connection, and now all those people are…those people are…”

She covered her face in her hands. Satoru had heard her cry before - at night from the other side of her bedroom - but this was different. This was how she cried, in earnest, when she was wide awake. She barely made a sound. It was eerily quiet, a long, drawn out pause with every quivering inhale as the sobs racked her body. She had taught herself to cry this way, he thought. Silent, so no one would know. It made his own heart break, and with tenderness he didn’t know he was capable of, he pulled her close to him.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” he soothed, resting his chin on her crown. “I’ve got you. Don’t cry.”

“I should have said something,” she blubbered into his shoulder. “They’re dead because of me.”

Satoru forced her to look at him then, cupping the back of her head and tilting it upwards. Their eyes met, face to face.

“I don’t want to hear those words come out of your mouth. Do you understand? Not ever.”

“But it’s true,” she sobbed. “I could’ve prevented this. I could’ve stopped it from happening. That’s the whole reason I’m here. If I can’t predict the future, what good am I?”

“That doesn’t make you responsible for their deaths, Hannah.” Satoru was the most serious he had ever been with her. “The curse did this, not you. It’s not your fault.” He emphasized each word with a mild shake of her shoulders. “You are not to blame.”

Hannah felt her husband's embrace tighten around her, face flush against his chest so she could hear the steady rhythm of his heart, drowning out any excess noise around them. His unique scent of coffee and vetiver was comforting. And like an infant being gently rocked to sleep, she felt her pulse abade and her breathing even out almost immediately. He kept rumbling soporific words in her hair, “You’re alright. Don’t cry,” as he swayed gently back and forth. Hannah closed her eyes and said nothing. The tears stopped flowing. They remained like that for a few minutes before Satoru stopped swaying and fished out his phone. She heard him repeatedly fiddle with the screen, pressing and tapping, yet no matter how many times he pushed the power button, the device wouldn’t turn on. He eventually gave up and placed the phone back in his pocket.

“Welp, should I tell you the good news first, or the bad news?”

Hannah looked up, sniffling. “There’s good news?”

“Okay, good news it is,” he chuckled, rubbing her arms up and down. “The good news is we’re not trapped inside an actual Domain. This Expansion is incomplete.”

She blinked. “Really? How do you know?”

Satoru adjusted his hold on her. “Domain Expansion is a cursed technique. Activating it requires unprecedented amounts of cursed energy. A normal person would die from the exposure, but you’re not dead, so <em>yay</em>. No real Domain.”

“Alright,” Hannah said, biting her lip. “And the bad news?”

“The bad news is while this Domain may be incomplete, you can’t just find the nearest exit and walk out. In theory you could try using jujutsu to break through. Only problem is it wouldn’t eliminate the source and leave you vulnerable to attack. Plus, if there are any survivors down here, recklessly breaking the Domain might unintentionally kill them.”

Her stomach dropped. “So, what you’re saying is we’ll have to go out there and exorcize…the…” Hannah couldn’t bring herself to finish. She didn’t want to. Here they were, imprisoned like two flies in a bottle, and their only means of ensuring everyone made it out alive was to eradicate the curse before it eradicated them.

“Yup.” Satoru dipped his chin. “Sounds about right.”

Hannah felt her resolve collapse like the ceiling. She whimpered and began shimming away, but Satoru wouldn’t let go.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He pulled her in for another hug. “Everything is gonna be fine, Hannah. Exorcizing the curse will be a piece of cake.”

“For you, maybe,” she said. “In case it slipped your notice, I’m not a sorcerer.”

“Exactly,” Satoru quibbed. “You have the easiest part. All you have to do is sit back and enjoy the show.”

“The show?” She shot him an incredulous look. “Satoru, that thing just killed hundreds of innocent people and is now roaming around the place, looking to eat us.”

All right. She had a point.

“Fine,” he admitted. “But would you want to stay here by yourself and let me handle it on my own?” Hannah made no reply at that and pressed herself closer to him. He cradled her head and snickered. “Mmhm, thought so. Speaking of which, did you bring that knife I gave you?”

With quick, shaky hands Hannah disentangled herself from his embrace and unclasped the notch of her evening bag. She rummaged inside for a minute and took out a short handheld tantō. Irakusa was its name, or “Stinging Nettle,” due in large part to the leafy green silk wrapped around its hilt. Satoru had loaned it to her after training one morning. It was nothing special. The slender blade reached no farther than her forefinger, tip slanted like the point of a katana; a Cursed Tool; Japanese surgical steel; wicked sharp. He had told her to carry it with her in public at all times.

“Atta girl,” Satoru said, eyeing the tool. He then took her evening bag from her and hurriedly stuffed it in his pocket with his phone, glancing sparingly at the diamond cuffs on her wrist. Accessories would hinder her movement and attract unwanted attention. “Better hand me those too while you’re at it too. And the gloves.” Hannah did what she was asked, slipping off the jewelry and satin gloves for him to hoard inside his pockets, but she could keep the earrings. Fitting what he could inside, he reached forward and grabbed her ungloved hand. “Come on. Staying put won’t do us any — Wait, what are you…?”

She hadn’t surrendered the knife. Gojo could do nothing except watch her drag the small tactical blade up the side of her dress, embellishments and crystal beads haphazardly popping off as it sliced through the chiffon like an orange peel, revealing a smooth leg underneath.

“I can’t run in this,” she answered him, rotating her newly freed leg. “Now I can.”

Satoru released his breath. Seeing her turn the blade on herself had caused him to panic for a second, and he wasn’t quite sure how she knew where to cut with such limited lighting, but he had to say. The idea was pretty smart. That is, if you got over the fact she had just carved up a dress worth more than a Ferrari.

He stood guard and waited for her to complete the alterations, careful not to stare too long at her ungartered leg before taking her hand once more.

“Cool. Let’s go.”

“Hold on,” Hannah urged, pulling him back. “There’s something else I need to tell you.” She waited for Satoru to glance back over his shoulder to show he was listening. Hannah squeezed his hand. “The curse. I think it’s a finger bearer. One of Sukuna’s.”

She felt his arm tense up. “Sukuna? You sure?”

She nodded. “It looked almost identical to the one from the Louvre. Had the same markings too.”

Husband and wife stared at each other for a long, almost frightened moment. Satoru’s lips pressed together as he hummed contemplatively, mental gears turning, spinning, thinking. This was bound to complicate matters. If what Hannah said was correct, they weren’t dealing with your average, run-of-the-mill curse. They had to be careful, her more so than him.

“Keep a hold of that knife,” he said, and gave her hand a weak tug before taking the first step.

The Domain gave the impression they were traversing through the inner bowels of some giant worm cave. It was cold and damp. The walls looked wet and the ground was tumbled and dredged in connective tissue like mucosa. Their shoes made an unnatural squelching noise with each perilous step. Hannah imagined the two of them slowly being digested, wandering deeper and deeper inside the Domain, until every last cell in their bodies were reduced to thin soluble mush.

Her toes were blistering from the heels she wore. She thought of taking them off and going barefoot, but every so often they’d catch the dull shimmer of something sharp and metallic reflecting dully off the flesh covered ground like a rusted pipe or an old metal prong.

They eventually came across what looked to be, by all accounts, a colossal bone, obstructing their path like a fallen tree. There was enough space for them to climb over to the other side. Having a much taller physique, Satoru hoisted himself atop the fossilized trunk and reached down for Hannah to grab. “Up-ze-daizey,” he sang in English, pulling her up like a sack of feathers. Hannah found herself wondering more and more how he knew English slang so well and joined him atop the huge bone. He then slid off the other side, landing feet-first on the sodden ground with a loud squash and turned around, holding out his hands for her jump. He caught her by the waist as she fell.

“Watch yer step there, lil’ lady,” he twanged in an American accent as though tipping a cowboy hat. He was trying to get her to smile again like he did outside the theater, and it was somewhat working, though the feeling soon dissipated once they turned the next corner.

Hannah blanched at the sight of a wall - if one had the audacity to call it a wall - of blinking round eyeballs. Even in the dark she could make out the red veins branching inside the slimy white sclerae, pupils tracking their every movement. It was hard to guess how many there were. Fifty at least. Maybe twice that. They scuttled quietly towards them, the patter of little crab legs, silent, unspeaking, creeping ever closer. Hannah let out a tiny whimper the nearer they got and eventually Satoru, too, had had enough. He pulled Hannah behind him and glared menacingly at the queasy colony of eyeballs.

“What’re you looking at?” he sneered.

The Six Eyes stopped the tiny beasts dead in their tracks. In a mad scurrying rush, they retreated to the innermost corner of the “wall” where a long jagged hole crusted the isinglass surface like a gaping mouth, slurping them up one by one, until hundreds of hideous bloodshot eyes were staring at them inside that one hollow crack. She felt Satoru tug on her wrist. “C’mon, Hannah. They're not gonna get you.” She was glad when they moved out of their sight.

Satoru led them through intestinal tunnels that snaked and twisted. They tried using the flashlights on their phones again, but the devices were uncooperative. Hannah’s vision had adjusted better to the dark, though she couldn’t see much except her husband's gossamer white hair and the occasional flicker of his blue eyes. They hadn’t reached a dead end, or tripped over anything. There were no signs of the curse. It had her wondering.

“Um, Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you know where we’re going?”

“Where we’re going? Ha, that’s easy,” he chuckled. “I don’t.”

“No, I mean how can you see in front of you?”

“Oh.”

Hannah collided with him as he abruptly stopped and whipped around, bracing her by the arms so she wouldn’t plummet to the mushy ground.

“Oops, sorry,” he apologized.

Hannah looked at him, his frame towering more than a foot above her. “What’s wrong? Why did we stop?”

“Nothing. I’m just taking a second to answer your question is all.”

He must’ve found Hannah’s look amusing because his soft rumbling laughter echoed throughout the chilling darkness.

“Remember when I told you about my curse technique. About Infinity and the Limitless?”

“Yes, I remember,” she said. “You have the ability to repel and attract things. You showed me.”

“Right, but did I explain how the Six Eyes plays a role in that? What it is they actually do?”

She took a moment to mull it over. No, he hadn’t explained the connection. Fr. O’Malley mentioned the Six Eyes in vague terms, placing emphasis on the Limitless and the bloodshed between the Gojo and Zen’in families, but nothing more. Truthfully, Hannah had no idea what they were other than rare, beautiful colored eyes. What role did they play with the use of Infinity and the Limitless?

Satoru took both her hands and guided them upwards in the dark, gingerly prying the fingers open so they could cup his jawline. She saw him perfectly now, the lustrous pools of turquoise blue swirling down at her. The sky. She was holding the sky in her hands.

“The Six Eyes is an ocular jujutsu technique with many uses,” he began carefully. “Anyone in the Gojo family can inherit the Limitless, but it’s only those born with the Six Eyes who can harness its true power. Long story short, these eyes grant me the cognitive ability to see and process cursed energy in precise detail. I can see how it flows, differentiate between other types and use it to my advantage. That’s why I can repel and attract stuff. Because I’m able to distinguish cursed energies so precisely, it allows me to control and manipulate time and space.”

“Incredible,” Hannah said, brushing her thumbs along his cheek bones. “Your eyes can do all that?”

“Mmm, yeah, well sorta,” he said, tapping his forefingers against the sides of his noggin as he kept her hands on his face. “It’s mostly mental. My eyes work in tandem with my brain which is how I process everything; Kind of like how a super computer can sort copious amounts of data faster and more efficiently than normal computers. I can also identify things from great distances and see through solid objects.”  

“Solid objects?”

“Yup; concrete, steel, brick, you name it,” he said, candidly listing them off with ease. “Like Superman’s x-ray vision.”

A dismal laugh escaped Hannah’s lips. Leave it to Satoru to make a comic book reference. She lowered her hands from his face and began playing with his wrinkled shirt collar. The bow tie looped around his neck was gone. Her hands glided absentmindedly to a frayed thread unraveling near a button hole and twisted it around her finger. He could see through anything. Solid objects. X-ray vision. Superman…Anything… Anything. Hannah glanced down at the monstrous slit revealing her leg. The epiphany came to her like a bolt from the blue, as if everything she’d come to understand about the universe had suddenly been little more than an ill-conceived hoax and she’d been royally conned. Hannah couldn’t keep the words from spilling out, fingers relinquishing the shirt thread as though it were a live wire.

“Uh, hello? Earth to Hannah.” Satoru waved a hand in front of her pale stricken face. “You’re weirding me out, Princess — Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Can the Six Eyes see through clothing, Satoru?”

The question punctured him like a sword bayonet through the chest. Damn, this was it, he thought. This was karma; For every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction; eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth; that brutal second arrow hurling towards him at breakneck speed. A third. A fourth. Improbable to stop. All there was left to do now was accept defeat and collect his losses. Would it be right to tell her how he had memorized every mole on her skin; internally traced the ample curvature of her bosom, the tantalizing dip between her thighs he so badly wanted to explore with his steepled fingers? He had to swallow it down.

“Maybe.”

She pressed further.

“How often is ‘maybe?’”

Shit. Lie, Satoru. Tell her it was an accident. Tell her it happened once and you’ll never do it again. Go on, say it. Tell her.

“A couple times,” he confessed, feeling a dampness underneath his shirt. “When you’re alone.” Shut up, Satoru. Shut up. “In the bath.”

There was an awkward pause. Hannah looked down at her shoes with a vacant, inscrutable expression that terrified him for reasons he didn’t want to combat.

“In the bath,” she said. “I see.”

His chest panged with guilty remorse. Dammit, why did he have to open his big fat fucking mouth? He had planned on telling her, explain that nudity wasn’t anything to be self-conscious about, but now that plan had gone to shit. This was the worst possible moment to be having this discussion. He had to think of something, fast.

“Hannah,” he started, gingerly grabbing her by the shoulders. “Believe me, I wanted to tell you sooner, but —“

“You’ve seen me naked, Satoru.”  Her voice dropped a notch. “Without my knowing.”

“I know, I know, and I’m — ”

“There’s a certain word for that.”

“I know, yes, you’re right,” he continued. “You’re totally right, and I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. Most times the act is involuntary.”

Her eyes seemed to shift. A rare sort of fury he hadn’t seen her wear before, like he was confronted with a whole other person and not the sweet, patient Hannah he’d come to know and admire.

“Oh, so it’s involuntary to look at someone when they’re bathing? Men have no control over their actions? Is that what you're saying?”

“What!? No, of course not. I  — ”

“Your eyes have a mind of their own then?!”

“Hannah, that’s not — ”

“You don’t have the right, Satoru.” He could register the notes of betrayal and repressed anguish vying for supremacy in her voice. Her lip trembled, the strained, painful look of someone on the verge of crying again. “None of you have the...”

Fresh tears began cascading down her cheeks and Satoru felt like an important piece of him had crawled into a ditch and died. He had hurt her. She was crying because of something he did, on top of the fact they were tracking a curse that could attack at any moment, but Satoru knew she wasn’t crying because of him being a peeping Tom, no, it was so much more than that.

We’re kindred spirits, you and I.

All his life Satoru was forced to grapple with the unfair reality that he wasn't like normal kids. He could remember himself at five, accompanying Makoto (then his nanny) on the train ride home from preschool. He had to stay behind afterwards for sending a kid to the nurse’s office with a bloody nose - that’s what happened to dweebs who picked on him and called him names - and as last minute passengers were boarding the train, a hulking boulder of a man plodded his way up the boarding ramp and seated himself inside the jam packed coach. The baggy clothes hid the extent of his maladies, but Satoru saw every one.

The dude had a big ole wart sprouting between the sill of his nose. He stank of cheap liquor and urine, was at least a hundred pounds overweight, and his lungs were tarred black from years of heavy chain smoking. But the more pressing issue was the yellow, foamy puss festering out the tip of his limp phallus, indicating he had contracted some sort of STI. That was Satoru’s first real encounter with involuntary nudity. It came without warning. One second he was an innocent, happy-go-lucky kid with perfectly normal vision on his way home from school, and then suddenly, bam, everybody was huddled around him on the train, butt-naked and oblivious. He could see into their bodies: heart defibrillators, bone implants, tampons. That metaphor public speakers use whenever they get nervous, the one where they’re told to imagine the audience sitting in their underwear? Yeah, the Six Eyes took that analogy to new soaring heights, except nudity wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. No, not by a long shot.

For two years after that day, Satoru struggled with life debilitating headaches. His senses were off the charts. He could perceive infrared radiation and ultraviolet light, the full color spectrum thought only visible to arachnids and reptiles. He saw various cursed energies; blobs of red, pinks, and purples splattered every which way, the rarest being a black flash that glowed whenever someone executed the perfect punch, and as he previously mentioned, he could see through solid objects and zoom things in and out of focus: a stag beetle lumbering up the side of a oak tree from three kilometers above, or the microscopic chloroplasts stuffed inside a mulberry leaf like tiny green caviar. However, Satoru did try extra hard not to see through people’s clothing, mostly because it was weird and not always sexy (especially when it was someone he knew), although the structure of fabric was “permeable” in relation to steel and concrete. He often used the analogy of a soap bubble. Trying not to peek through fabric was like trying not to pop a soap bubble. Any loss of focus or slip of concentration, and the bubble would burst. Pop. Bye, bye, clothing.

He gained better control of it as time went on, learning to alternate the varying eyesights like you would a phoropter at a vision exam: infrared, ultraviolet, zoom in, zoom out. Can you see better through lense 1, Mr. Gojo? How bout 2? With added practice the switching became effortless, like breathing oxygen or memorizing the shortcuts on a calculator. It was more tolerable at night, which was why he stupidly left his glasses folded on his dresser, thinking he wouldn’t need them. Idiot. He could already feel the headache clambering up the base of his skull like a brain-sucking leech, and on top of that, he left the Bufferin tablets in the lining pocket of his tails, draped seamlessly along the folded theater seat. Due to his insanely high metabolism, he usually needed twice the recommended dose, but there was a time when no amount of ibuprofen was enough to kill the migraines, and he was taken out of school because of it.

His home education was relatively undemanding, if you set aside the hand lashings he so generously received for having recited the Classic of Filial Piety incorrectly (albeit, on purpose), but by and large he was given the best tutors, trainers, and physicians money could buy, yet for all the privilege and wealth, his spoiled upbringing was a painfully isolated one with almost no freedom. He tended to be rough with the visiting children and prone to bouts of anger, blindly punching his frustrations out on anyone who made fun of his hair, or called him a “freak.” And his family seldom helped in that department, touting him around like an expensive artifact, making it difficult for five year old Satoru to interpret whether he was genuinely loved, or propped up as some kind of rare collectors item; a bargaining chip used to tilt the power dynamic in the Gojo family’s favor after a stagnant 400 years. It was always “Six Eyes that” and “Six Eyes this” and “Here, sweetie, have another cookie.”

Satoru had been told all his life he was special, that the blood of Sugawara no Michizane flowed through his veins and he was destined for greatness. But all it did was make him resentful of the way it had taken over his life. Deep down he wanted people to stop treating him like a hamster on an exercise wheel, and more like a human being. Ask him how he felt for a change. Tell him he was doing a good fucking job and that the higher-ups could go hang themselves cause if he wasn’t the Six Eyes wielder then who was he really?

Hannah knew. Heck, she was one of the few people willing to try. Enough to where he could drop the cocky, jokester routine and be himself. Just him. Just Satoru. He couldn’t necessarily do the same with Shoko, or even his devoted housekeeper who he viewed more as a mother than his actual mother. He was a serious person in Hannah’s eyes, and he felt inclined to believe their friendship wasn’t based solely on the condition they were married. She didn’t treat him like a weapon or an incarnated deity, because she knew. She knew what it was like to have your life dictated by forces beyond your control, and better still, she hadn’t shown signs of being afraid of him since their handshake in the Starbucks. Things had been going so well.

Until the very moment he opened his big fucking mouth.

Nice going, Satoru. Let’s see you try and talk your way out of this one.

He rubbed his face with his hands, like he was washing without water, and blew a vexing sigh. “Look, you can yell at me all you want once we’re back home, but for now we need to stay…Hannah?”

Satoru looked to his side.

Hannah was nowhere to be found.

Chapter Contents

[the-travelling-witch]

It's been too long since I bugged you Abt your boy. If you could dress inui,,,,what style would you dress him in most or are you like, down with the whole mechanic coveralls 🤭

vi why do you always have to ask the hard questions? do i have to scour the internet again just to not find the outfit i’m envisioning in my mind? ㅠㅠ

fine… i’ll do it just for you

for the record, sei does look good even in those overalls and with an oil stain here or there but he also looks good in anything, so it’s not really fair in the first place

that’s why i’m saying it doesn’t matter what i’d dress him in, he’s gorgeous either way, i’ll just throw some things i found in here anyway (and yes i was right, didn’t really find what i was looking for :/)

(i wanted to find sth like the pattern on the shoes on the right as an outfit but was very disappointed)

idk i think he rocks both the comfy, oversized, casual style but also the fancy, highly accessorised one it’s canon; he probably owns quite a few statement pieces too

colour wise, i think it’s very muted with lots of black and white shades; as accent colours maybe green, red or blue?

if i had more space for pics i probably would’ve thrown in some academia or some lacey fabrics but alas,, only 10 pics for us

are you happy now, you menace? /j ♡

[lunarflicker]

Despite the fact she'd been the one to pose the request, Lana's eyes flit up to watch Dom oblige in shock, a toddler's first time witnessing snowflakes. It wasn't that he hadn't hugged her, before; she couldn't tally it if she tried, the amount of times, probably larger than her sum of atoms, if she'd ever bothered understanding anything about science; it was that it was an unconditional now as it ever had been, after everything. Love was never transactional, with Dom. He never made her feel like she had to scramble under couch cushions to sweeten the deal with extra change. Whenever she came to him, even with her hands empty, he only knew how to fill them. Lana propped her cheek, subtly submerged her nose, shut her eyes and breathed him in. Fresh linens and shiny apples, the green kind that were never made poisonous in fairy tales. She might've felt a little like Hannibal Lecter, inhaling him like that, maybe even made a joke as such, if it weren't so comforting; didn't want to burst their bubble just yet, slap a joke over a hole in the dam like she always did. "I missed you," she echoed, quiet, ribs constricting, unable to help but sigh at how easy it was to slip back into; this, him; until it was just the soft scratches of his thumb going back and forth, the faint flick of a switch upstairs, a dog's bark from down the street, not enough noise to drown out the obvious, niggling thought: not for you. This boy is not for you. "Sorry," she breathed out a laugh, pulling away, chin still low as her fingers played retreat; they settled at his elbows, subconsciously pondered how thick the fabric was beneath them, if those crevices of his skin were as soft as they always had been, emanating a warmth so pure that the first time she'd prodded her fingers, she'd been reminded of the malleability of a newborn baby's head. "You have, um--," a sniff, then a smile to quickly deflect, take the heat off the glimmer in her eyes as they scoured the feet between them, "really orangutan-like arms, like, really just... they look like good huggers, I think. I forgot what..." it felt like. Just hugging. No strings. How badly that then made her want there to be strings, want to tie them up in so many that it formed an impenetrably knotted cocoon. "It's been a long time, or whatever, so." She managed to chance a look at him, then, just for a split second; it was easy to forget how doing so, meeting his gaze, was jimmying up a window in her brain of locked doors, offering him a leg up to get inside. Dom had an impossible way of finding light even in a row of closed shutters. Always seemed to know where she did her hiding. Her hands slipped fully, brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. "Do you, um..." trailed off, desperate for a distraction. "Do you have anything to, like, eat? My um -- my chest's doing that, like, burny thing, like it's gonna explode and turn a whole village in Pompeii to ash, and, um, nobody wants that, 'cause, like, think of all the casualties. Heartburn, or whatever. Totally catastrophic. Lives at stake."

His noes come tumbling out over her sorry, not meaning to talk over, stopping himself as soon as he does it, but Dominic would hate it if Lana felt like she couldn’t come to him whenever, for whatever. No reason needed to be given. An unspoken promise, although he’s sure he’s said it to her before — that he’s available for her, always. He waits, knowing that with some patience, they could figure out this pause together. Lana’s face is hidden from him, but his gaze stays unmoving from the top of her head, taking in the red that he’s missed so much and could never find elsewhere. Her voice carries him back from the ash. “That’s okay. Of course, that’s okay,” he reassures, already half-way leaned over prior to her request. Like magnets, almost. Dominic slots the fingers of one hand under her chair to angle it close, wood humming against linoleum, until its edge hits his own chair’s and her left knee is placed between his two. Close enough now, Dominic wraps his arms around her and pulls her in, against his chest. “It’s not weird,” he speaks, softly, against her hair. “You know, it’s just me — Dom. It’s just me.” He’s rubbing circles onto her back. A part of him wants to say that he’s needed this as well, maybe even more than her. He's not sure what he means by that, though. Or if he does, it's something better left unsaid. “I’ve missed you.” 

[maskdemasques]

good morning kinnies i have been sketching my embroidery pattern for four hours and i keep getting it WRONG

[kingkatsuki]

Spectrophilia | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬.

Here it is! The first day of Kinktober. This fic was originally drafted to be non-con, but it ended up so frigging soft. I hope you enjoy it.

Kinktober masterlist.

Summary: You’ve been struggling since your husband passed away unexpectedly, trying to hold on to the hope that he isn’t really gone. Deciding one night to try and connect with him beyond the grave, but finding more than you expected.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader, mentioned Midoriya Izuku x f!Reader.

Warnings: 18+, ouija boards, spectrophilia (sex with ghosts), soft sex.

Word Count: 4.2k.

You were certain there was no feeling worse than loneliness, a particular solitude you hadn’t felt for the longest time. The day your husband fell in battle was the day your life changed forever, having to get used to doing things alone again. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d felt truly alone, your husband a radiating light on the world that made everyone feel special. Even before you’d started dating it was difficult to ever feel truly alone when in his presence.

Your house is a shell since your husband lost his life, empty and lifeless as you laid out two coffee mugs at breakfast time out of pure habit. You could’ve sworn you heard him stomping around upstairs, readying himself for his day while you were in the kitchen. Pouring the warm mixture into both before you remembered, that same sick realisation constantly dawning on you and haunting your thoughts. His belongings are still in place throughout your home as constant reminders of him, no matter how many times Mina and Momo had tried to get you to get rid of them or even just move them into storage you couldn’t.

Because removing those pieces of him would be like accepting he was gone. And wasn’t gone, he couldn’t be. He was the number one Pro-Hero.

He was your hero.

Wishing you could still feel his presence, your hands gripping the kitchen counter as you recalled the sensation of his arms around you as he’d lay his chin on your shoulder at breakfast. Swaying you from side to side as though the silence was music, a distinct melody reserved just for you. The silence that surrounded you with your husband was bliss, but now it felt deafening. A desolate white noise filling every corner of the same four walls as you tried to move on.

Easier said than done.

The more your friends came round to check on you, to fill the silence, you found yourself resenting them even more. The bustling noise was almost a facade to try and act like things were back to normal, like everything was fine. But it wasn’t fine, it would never be fine again.

You didn’t want to do it, you didn’t want to have to move on. Why should you?

“I’ll love you forever and a day.”

His words still rang in your ears, he’d promised you.

Forever and a day.

Your friends wouldn’t understand, so eager and prepared to move on. Already acting like everything was back to normal and that you were the one that needed to carry on too. The way they looked at you wasn’t the same as before, it was pity.

Stepping out of the shower as you towel yourself dry, tugging on one of your husband's oversized forest green shirts. His scent still lingering on the fabric as you pressed your nose against it, trying to imagine he was still here with you. Pushing back the tears that threatened to fall from your misty eyes, fresh memories drifting back to you once more.

Climbing into your bed that felt even bigger now that you were alone, opening your laptop as you began to type in ways to cope with loss, scouring the internet for anything that could help distract you from the loneliness that you felt. Skipping through article after article about ways to move on, but you didn’t want to move on. Page after page with bereavement counselling and support groups to help you live with your loss and learn to cope. You couldn’t— eventually stumbling across shrines that fans had made online for your fallen husband. Photographs of him in his hero outfit, sharing stories of the lives he saved protecting people, how much they missed him. They didn’t want to forget him like your friends, they shared their stories about how he would’ve risked his life to save them, and he did.

Tears now tumbling down your cheeks as you began to type in the search bar ‘bringing someone back from death’ most websites giving you disappointment as it showed more stereotypical ways to move on. Until you stumbled across a website that seemed different.

‘Connecting with loved ones in the afterlife.’

Quickly clicking on the link as your hazy eyes scanned the page, reading through the article frantically as you took it in.

‘Losing a loved one is never easy, it can be a heavy weight we’re left to bare and many may not understand what we’re truly going through. The loss of life doesn’t have to mean the loss of connection, our loved ones may feel the same in death. There is always the chance that they cannot move on without us too, that they are wanting to make a connection. There are ways to contact them even in death.

If you’re interested in finding out more click here.’

You’d felt something that you hadn’t felt in a long time reading those words, you felt hope.

A few days had passed since you’d contacted the website, ordering all the pieces that you needed in order to make a connection with your husband. Something that you would never have considered doing before this happened, setting the board down on your dining room table as you prepared to try and make a connection. A reinvigorated optimism inside you at the thought that you may finally be able to fix the empty hole inside you, or at the very least find closure. You hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to him, there was no chance to say what you wanted to say before he was gone forever. The website had told you there was no guarantee that your husband would be waiting for you, that he would even respond. But you knew him better than anyone, you knew he would be waiting for you. Any warnings they’d given to be careful about this sacred act were long ignored in favour of the smallest possibility to speak to your husband again.

You took a deep breath as you settled in your chair, reading the prayer that you’d been given along with the board before reaching out to press your fingers against the planchette. The gentle light of candles filling the room as you took a deep breath and waited, digits trembling against the wood as you waited for something to happen.

“Is there anyone here with me tonight?” You mumbled, your heart pounding against your rib cage as you expected a response. The planchette remained in place as you tried again, “Is there anyone here?”

Feeling any hope you had for this working slowly dissolving as you prepared to pack the board away, reaching to grab its box as the slightest shuffle of the planchette against the wood caught your attention. The movement catching you off guard as you watched the navigator wobble against the wood, your fingers trembling as it slowly began to ease its way along the board. The circle in the centre slowly resting on a word…

Yes.

“I-Izuku?” You trembled, feeling tears begin to cling to your lashes as you tried to stifle back sobs, your fingers aching from their position on the wood as you tried to stay calm, your heart speeding up as you could’ve sworn you could feel him.

“W-what’s your name?” You trembled as the board began to guide your fingers again, your eyes watching as it slowly began to spell out a name.

I - Z - U - K - U.

A gasp left your throat as the tears in your eyes began to spill down your cheeks, doing your best to stay calm in your chair as you leaned forward. Taking deep breaths as you tried to calm your racing heart, your bottom lip trembling as you kept your fingers on the board.

“I missed you,” it wasn’t a question, more of a statement. You hadn’t expected an answer but it was like you could feel him now? The same feeling you had when he was still around, he was still here with you. He hadn’t left. The website had told you to be careful, not to expect that your husband would be waiting for you, that there were other forces that could be contacted from beyond the grave. And yet here he was.

“Do you miss me?”

You sobbed as he moved directly towards the ‘yes’, leaving the planchette over it.

Shrugging your shoulder to try and wipe your cheeks against his shirt you were wearing, not wanting to break the connection so soon.

“I miss you too, baby. So much.” You mumbled, sniffling as you tried to calm yourself down, “I’ve been so lonely without you.”

I - M - H - E - R - E

“Don’t leave me again, please.” You wished you could see him, the selfishness inside you seeping out as it still didn’t feel like it was enough. You wanted more, “Can you stay?”

The planchette circled the ‘yes’ again, as you blinked back fresh tears, he’d found you again even in death.

“Can you show me you’re here?” The board didn’t budge, your fingers pushing at the planchette slightly to try and assist its movements but nothing came, “Baby?”

The room felt deadly silent as the candles continued to flicker in the background, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks as you seemingly lost the connection.

“Izuku, are you still here?” You repeated, “Tell me that you’re here, please— please stay with me.”

Your sorrow got the better of you as you moved your fingers from the planchette, moving to wipe the tears from your eyes as sobs continued you wrack through you, forgetting to close the board by saying goodbye as this new hope brewed inside you. It didn’t matter that he’d stopped talking to you, it was real. The connection was real, a reinvigorated happiness welled inside you for the first time in weeks as you no longer felt alone.

Your husband was here with you.

Standing from the table as you leaned forward to extinguish the candles, pouting your lips to blow at the wicks but they extinguished before you had a chance. Your eyes widening as the flames disappeared without you even blowing against them, blaming it on the air conditioning inside your house as you stood from the table. Slowly making your way upstairs as you stepped into your en-suite bathroom, standing in front of the sink as you glanced at your reflection in the mirror.

Your gaunt expression staring back at you as dark bags circled your reddened eyes, the skin swollen from crying so much over the last few days. You were a shell of your former self, but you felt happy. Your lips curling into the slightest smile as you recalled the Ouija board spelling out his name.

It was your husband, he was here.

Turning the faucet on as you moved to splash cool water against your face to try and quell the ache against your skin.

Gasping in surprise as you felt something stroke your back, the touch so faint you weren’t sure whether it was a trick of the mind. Your body tensing as your hands gripped the edges of the porcelain sink. Lifting your eyes to see if there was someone behind you in your reflection but there was nothing.

The touch slowly began to skim your sides as you felt your heartbeat increase, goosebumps prickling your skin as you stayed deftly still. It wasn’t a trick of the mind, you could feel it, there was someone there.

“Izuku?” You murmured, standing straight as you arched your back into the touch. It felt cool against your skin as you felt it slip beneath the oversized shirt you were wearing, his shirt. Trying to lean into him but there was nothing there, instead feeling a coolness against your neck as you began to feel pecks placed against your skin like gentle kisses as you let out a soft whine, “You’re home.”

His hands began to trail higher as he thumbed the underside of your breasts, watching your reflection as your shirt was lifted seemingly without anyone there to touch it. Gentle hands cupping your soft mounds as you felt his lips latch onto your neck, gasping as you felt teeth latch down against the skin. Seeing an indent of your flesh in the reflection as though someone was really there touching you. This had to be real, it wasn’t another trick of your mind, a clear dark bruise left against the apex of your neck as he began to languidly salve his tongue against the wound.

“‘Zuku—“ You sighed, feeling your cunt throb beneath the thin pair of panties you wore as you tried to grind yourself back against him, a gasp leaving your lips as you felt something prodding your back. A different stature than you remembered your husband being, taller in fact.

“I’m not Izuku.” A voice rasped as you felt your blood run cold, your eyes snapping open as you glanced at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes widening to be met with a pair of eyes staring back at you.

Red.

You went to scream, the noise spilling out of your lungs as a hand clamped onto your mouth, muffling your cries as you writhed against the spirit. This had to be a terrible dream, there was no way this was happening to you, it wasn’t real.

“You’re the one that invited me here, Princess.” The voice spoke as you were still struggling against his grip, his reflection gone as you pushed your hands against the counter to try and prize him off of you, “If you struggle you’ll only make it worse.”

You felt the slightest cool breeze fan against your cheek as he whispered in your ear, holding you tight against his muscular frame as he waited patiently for you to stop thrashing against him.

“Do you know how dangerous it is not to say ‘goodbye’?” Your eyes widened as you immediately realised that you forgot the most important rule, to always close the link.

“You’re real quiet now, huh?” The spirit spoke, his voice low and gravely as you tried to calm yourself down. There was absolutely no way you could overpower a demonic spirit. Trying to allow your body to go slack as he finally removed his palm from your mouth, those same red eyes appearing in the reflection as they stared straight at you, “You were so desperate for me before—”

“You were the one speaking to me all this time.” You trembled, knuckles lightening as you clung to the sink, “A demon—“

“It’s nice you think that highly of me, Princess.” He smiled, his teeth curving down almost like fangs. Hands moving back to roam your body, this time you could see the faintest translucent lines as he began to brush against your curves, trying to calm your shaking body, “’m not a demon.”

“But then how did you know my husband's name?” You sobbed, a pit forming in your stomach when you realised it wasn’t your husband, the fantasy broken.

“You told me everything I needed ta’ know.” He shrugged, cool fingertips tweaking your nipples. Pulling a light gasp from your lips as he began to tease the hardened peaks, vermilion eyes focused on your reaction.

“Why me?” Tears blurred your vision, your body betraying you as you leaned into his touch.

“You sounded like you wanted me,” The spirit spoke, “You asked me to stay. Sounded real desperate—”

Gasping as he slowly revealed more of himself, his frame towering over you as he revealed bulging muscles. Almost double the size of your husband as his large palms completely dwarfed your breasts.

“I thought you were my husband.” You trembled.

“Aww, everyone’s always looking for Deku,” He cooed down at you in a patronising tone, the sound of your husbands hero name catching you off guard, how did he know?

“Looks like your husband isn’t here anymore, Sweetheart. He’s already passed over.”

“But he promised he’d stay. He said forever-“ His words affecting you more than you’d like to admit. You didn’t want to imagine Midoriya had left you, he promised you he’d stay with you forever.

“Humans are selfish fuckin’ creatures, hah.” The spirit spoke, a bitter tone to his voice as a large hand moved up to cup your neck. Pressed his cheek against yours. Staring at you directly in the mirror, “I can promise you forever.”

“He wouldn’t leave me, he wouldn’t—” You continued, a cough catching in your throat as your eyes burned with tears.

“Izuku,” The spirit mocked, “Izuku didn’t care about you, that’s why he left you here alone. He didn’t care about anyone but himself-”

“B-Bakugou?” Your voice trembled as you tried to focus on the reflection in front of you. You knew those eyes, but it couldn’t be—

“Heh, you figured it out.” His grip against you softened at the sound of his name leaving your lips, “Hey, Princess.”

You looked at his reflection in shock, how was Bakugou Katsuki here but your husband wasn’t? He’d died the same day as Midoriya, they’d both died together— so if he was here why wasn’t Izuku?

“Where is he?” Your heart ached as your voice croaked.

Bakugou glanced away from your eyes before answering, unable to hold your gaze as he spoke to you, “He passed on—“

“He what? But he wouldn’t— he wouldn’t leave me here-"

“I’m sorry,” Bakugou spoke solemnly.

“But then why are you still here? How could he pass on but you didn’t?”

“I dunno, unfinished business or some shit?” Bakugou rasped.

“Unfinished business like what? What the fuck is keeping you in this stupid fucking place.” You couldn’t mask the hurt you felt that your husband had left you, after all those words and promises. Realisation dawning on you that every word meant nothing to him.

“You.” He replied simply.

“What?” Your eyes flashed back to his reflection, your heart pounding against your rib cage.

“I couldn’t leave you.” He paused before continuing, his voice cracking, “I love you.”

Bakugou loved you? Was that why he began to pull away from you during his time as a sidekick? All the times you expected to see him at social gatherings but he never showed up, Kirishima giving various excuses about work and how dedicated he was to becoming number one. You’d never even batted an eyelid, never even thought that there could be something else to it. But now here he was in death waiting for you, staying for you. When your husband was no longer here—

“It’s you, it’s always been you.”

The emotions were too much at once as you felt your chest heaving, heavy breaths leaving your lips as you clung to the sink. Bakugou’s hand rubbing cool, soothing circles against your back as he hushed you. Trying to turn to face him but you were met with nothing, the room completely empty until you faced the mirror. The glass acting as a portal for the vessel of his soul.

“I thought you were a demon.” You sniffed.

“Maybe I am.” He spoke, “I don’t even know what I am anymore. I just knew I couldn’t leave. Not without you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I love you.” He replied simply, “Always have.”

You reached your hands behind your head, feeling them hit a cold wall as you pressed your palms against the back of his head. Feeling his nose nuzzle your skin as he gently ruts his hips against you, hands moving back to stroking along your sides as you swayed together. Much like you used to do with Midoriya when he was with you, but this somehow felt different. You no longer felt alone, for the first time in a long time you felt loved.

“Why didn’t he wait for me?” You trembled, wondering why Bakugou was here when you’d expected it to be your husband who was stuck in purgatory waiting for you.

“I don’t know,” Bakugou replied simply, his hands skimming your sides.

“What do I call you?” You whimpered through tears, feeling deft fingers slipping beneath the hem of your panties to tug them down your thighs, letting them rest around your knees as he pressed a hand to your spine. Leaning you forward so your forearms lay against the counter, still able to see everything in your reflection.

“Katsuki, call me Katsuki.” He spoke simply, feeling a heavy weight pressing between the curve of your ass, rutting his hips against the meat of it as you felt your body pushed forward.

“Katsuki.” You repeated, causing a groan to leave the spirit's mouth as he began to stroke the thick head of his cock between your sloppy folds.

A whine leaving your lips when you felt it nudge your clit, the cool chill unlike anything you’d felt with Midoriya. His actions were always warm and comforting, this felt different, foreign. Gasping as you felt his tip slowly pressing against your tight entrance, unable to remember the last time you’d been intimate with anyone.

“Fuck,” He snarled, taking his eyes off the reflection to look down between your bodies. Watching the way his cock began to bully its way inside your tight cunt. A groan leaving your lips at the ache of the stretch, he was far bigger than Midoriya and you were completely unprepared. Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you felt Bakugou begin to roll his hips to slowly ease himself inside you, “You feel better than I imagined, so tight—“

You felt the wind knocked out of you as he snapped his hips forward, burying his fat cock inside your velvety walls with one thrust. An ache forming in your core at the stretch as your nails skimmed the ceramic counter. Mouth parted in a silent moan as Bakugou began a selfish pace. Hungrily using you for his own pleasure as he ruts himself in and out of your depths, grunting and snarling at the way you clamped down around him. His actions raw and primal as blunt nails caught against your hips, leaving angry darkened lines in their wake as he made his way back towards your bouncing breasts. Using them for leverage as he changed the angle of his thrusts, each time he slid forward he brushed against the spongy spot inside you. The thick veins forking along his length dragging against your inner walls perfectly and adding to the tightness in your abdomen. Bringing you closer and closer to your release.

“You’ve no idea how many times I’ve fucked my fist to the thought of this.” He murmured, stroking his palms along your body. His words causing your cunt to clench around him, making you feel desired, wanted, loved.

“I never thought I’d be able to have you—“

Your senses heightened as you swore you could smell the faint scent of burning, a subtle sweetness in the air that made you feel safe as you completely surrounded yourself with Bakugou. Clinging to any comfort you could get from him at this moment, it truly had been too long since you felt like this.

“Katsuki,” You moaned, feeling his fingers digging into the plush or your breasts as he held you tight, the room eerily silent apart from his grunts. No rhythmic tones of skin slapping against skin like you were used to with your husband, it felt almost eternal. Unable to hear the motions but you could feel everything.

“You feel so good,” He rasped, lips grazing against your cheek as he sought his own release, “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this.”

Pushing your ass back against him as you tried to match his thrusts, every single inch of your inner walls completely full at the sensation of him.

“Katsuki,” You whined, your eyes rolling, “I’m going to cum.”

“Cum for me, Princess.” You gasped at the sensation of his cool fingers against your clit, making your inner walls clench around him as you felt the coil inside you snap. Your orgasm rippled through you in waves as you came around his cock.

The sensation ripping a snarl from him as he felt you clenching around him, hungrily searching for his own end as he gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. Rutting himself into you from behind as he cherished the sensation of you squeezing him.

“Fuck,” He grunted, giving a final harsh thrust as he came with a grunt. An indescribable warmth in your core as you felt him twitching against your pulsing walls. Your chest heaving as you tried to regain your breath, feeling Bakugou’s hands continuing to stroke against your soft skin.

“I was so fuckin’ lucky you opened the portal,” He murmured behind you, trailing his fingers along your spine. Shutting your eyes to try and focus on his touch as you committed it to memory, “I thought you’d never realise I was here.”

“How long have you been here?” You gasped.

“Since I died,” He murmured huskily, “Nowhere else I wanted to be.”

You felt the coolness of his touch slowly beginning to dissipate as you opened your tired eyes, watching as his apparition in the mirror slowly began to disappear. Your eyes widening as you tried to cling to him, but it was futile. Shouting out his name as you began to tremble alone again, leaving you standing by yourself in your bathroom.

Now trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t just a trick of the mind, that being alone for so long hadn’t turned you completely crazy. Blinking to clear the crystal tears from your vision as you tried to look for him in the reflection. Instead met with nothing.

Midoriya’s death had taken a toll on you, it was true. Your dreams becoming more lucid the longer you spent without him, trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t real, that he wasn’t really gone.

But it had felt so real—

Running down the stairs as you made your way back to your dining room, the Ouija board still laid out on the table where you’d left it but the single white wax candle that you were certain you extinguished sat at the top of the board with the wick lit. Emitting the deepest red and orange flame.

[catschimericalcreations]

@1988-fiend oh my gosh, same! I don't think I've been that heartsick over an animated character since watching the shoe die in Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I scoured my local charity shops for rhino plushies in the weeks after I first saw Lost Ollie; that scene legit haunted me

But, to set your mind at ease, I'll tell you what happened to the rhino, as it was told to me:

When the cloudburst started and the mid-afternoon sky abruptly darkened, the people working in the thrift store hurried to bring the items displayed outside safely under cover.

That included the box that the rhino had been in; unfortunately he'd been so enthusiastic gesturing to Zozo that he'd ended up in a precarious position and in all the rush and hurry, he tumbled out, unnoticed, and was accidentally left outside.

This is how Zozo was able to catch him alone in order to attack him.

However, while the store's human employees might not have noted the rhino's absence, his thrift store pals soon realized that he hadn't come inside with the rest of his box brothers. After closing, a couple of the Barbies slipped out to go look for him.

You can perhaps imagine their horror at the scene that greeted them in that damp alley.

But, toys in search of their second life know a little bit about hope, and so, despite his grievous injuries, the rhino's donation bin sisters gathered him up and bore him gently back inside.

Having only rounded plush paws or moulded plastic hands, and no access to a sewing kit, the repair job carried out by the rest of the thrift store toys was rudimentary at best. Rosie herself might have flinched to see what was left of the rhino that night.

Still, he was warm and dry and among those who cared, and there are toys who have recovered from worse with less.

And so, the next day found the rhino back in the sale box, and back on the sidewalk when the store reopened that morning, though his spirit was much diminished and in his heart of hearts he despaired of finding his second life.

And at first, as the rhino bade goodbye to first one and then another of his bargain-bin brethren, it seemed that he was never to be gathered to his new home. The bright blue price sticker affixed to his fur grew faded and grubby, and the figure written there was crossed out and replaced by a succession of smaller and smaller numbers.

Soon enough, the sale box was empty except for the rhino, and the thrift store employees had another batch of aging plush due for reduction and display. Threadbare teddies and rag dolls with sun-faded hair of wool were stickered and arranged just so, and when the box was once again placed outside, the rhino lay crumpled on the countertop, forgotten once again.

Which was when a young family, arms full with back-to-school clothing in almost-right colours and nearly-there sizes, came up to the till. Tangled in the over-long sleeves of a pea-green raincoat (ages 10-12, and bought to be grown into), the rhino was scooped into an overstuffed plastic bag and shoved into the back of an aging people carrier.

Later, on a scarred kitchen table amidst piles of aging fabric sorted by colour and care label, the rhino lies exposed beneath the harsh glare of buzzing fluorescents. A mother tuts at the leaky stuffing, limbs held on by dangling thread and rifts sealed shut by price stickers donated from other thrift store toys. An older sibling threads a wide-eyed needle while a younger one picks through a rag-bag for scraps to replace the parts that can't be salvaged, or where too much has been lost.

The rhino's second repair job is messy, inexpert, and colourful. The children use embroidery thread and pieces of flannel shirts washed to softness, and their mother goes over the stitches with more concern for sturdiness than aesthetics. When it's done she scrubs the rhino with a rough-edged sponge dipped in a detergent that smells like lavender.

He's set out to dry on a small white desk decorated with pink trim. There are other toys here, well-loved and worn with play. In the day, the sun streams in through the low, wide windows and his stitches thrum with a deep, healing ache. At night, his new brothers and sisters whisper to him, songs of safety and of home.

In time there come tea parties and grand adventures, sleepovers and swashbuckling and midnight feasts. A dozen patchwork repairs, a hundred stories, a thousand thousand cuddles. A family. A home.

Lost Ollie on Netflix

No that rhino plush is fine actually, he survived and was adopted by a nice family who patched him up and now he lives a nice life with lots of cuddles and many stuffed animal brothers and sisters

[crowfootwrites]

Los Guardianes | Part VII [Nestor Oceteva x Fem!Reader]

Ok, finally, some long-awaited answers! And we move towards some romantic content (thanks to my sappy sucker of a heart)!

Warnings: nudity; language; discussions of crimes being committed; mentions of domestic violence, sexual assault, guns, and murder | Words: 2,300+

Taglist: @chibsytelford @megapeacelovemusic-blog @broiderie @est1887 @mveggieburger @redpoodlern @queenbeered @mrsstevenbuchananstark @mijop @frattsparty @littlekittymeow @bellisperennis0 @beardsanddetectives @soltaasbruxas *IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST LET ME KNOW!*

Part VI of Los Guardianes

Nestor led you down the hall, back towards the staircase. He flipped a switch on the wall as he opened the door to reveal a spacious guest room. You sighed in relief at the sight of a bed, barely registering the lush linens. Your limbs weighed you down, crying out for rest. As you slipped your sandals off and approached the bed, you ran a hand over the pale green duvet and grimaced at the sight of your dirty nails and hands against the expensive bedding.

You started just slightly as Nestor rested a hand on your shoulder.

“Do you want to shower?” he asked. You nodded, and he guided you towards a door on the other side of the bed, exposing a bathroom decorated in pristine white tiles. He produced a fluffy towel from a cabinet beneath the sink and handed it to you. He reached quickly into the shower and turned the water on, waiting for it to warm before facing you again.

“Are you ok in here by yourself?”

You bit your lip in uncertainty. You were practically asleep on your feet and a warm shower certainly wouldn’t help.

As though reading your mind, Nestor suggested gently that he get in with you. You nodded, anything to expedite the final destination of bed. It crossed your mind, fleetingly, that this wasn’t exactly how you imagined Nestor seeing you naked for the first time would go. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to care much as you dragged your arms over your head, waiting for Nestor to help you. He chuckled quietly at the expectation.

Foregoing the hoodie’s zipper, he slipped his hands, warm and tender against your skin, beneath the hem of your shirt and pulled both up over your head at the same time. His palms grazed your shoulders as he brought them back down and you sighed at the comforting touch. He reached around you to unclasp your bra and you let it fall forward, exhaustion overwhelming any sense of insecurity as you stood in his embrace. Your fingers struggled dumbly with the button on your jeans before Nestor’s hands gently guided yours away and did it for you. He pushed the fabric down over your hips, tugging your panties down with them. Your gaze followed his as he worked methodically, his expression giving nothing away. You leaned against him as you stepped out of the pants pooled around your ankles.

He quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt and let it fall to the floor, tugging his black undershirt over his head. Your mind reeled at the sight of him, your fingers itching to touch him, and you wished your mind wasn’t so foggy. You admired the tattoos adorning his arms and torso as he shed his pants and boxer briefs.

You registered woe amidst the fatigue. “I wish I had the energy to fuck,” you managed feebly.

Nestor snorted and shook his head, biting back a grin. “Later,” he chided.

“Promise?”

“Trust me, I promise,” he assured you, grabbing your hand and helping you into the shower. The spray of hot water over your head had your eyelids drooping almost immediately. Nestor seemed to notice as he got in behind you, pulling you closer to him, his chest firm against your back. He grabbed the soap and made a lather between his palms before handing the bar to you. With nimble fingers, he massaged the suds into your shoulders and neck before gliding his hands over your arms and hips. You scoured the dried blood off your chest and stomach, watching the dirty, soapy water cascade down your thighs, taking note of the bruises blooming on your knees.

You couldn’t imagine the level of self-control Nestor was exerting as he stood pressed behind you. He began working shampoo into your hair and a whine slipped between your lips, overwhelmed by how nice it felt. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“Alright?” he asked.

You nodded, finally stepping forward into the stream, letting the water rinse you clean.

Nestor helped you out of the shower and wrapped you in a large fluffy towel, scrubbing you dry, peppering your face with kisses as he finished, drawing a smile from you. He produced a soft gray bathrobe from a cabinet beside the shower and helped you shrug into it.

He stepped back, studying his handiwork, then returned to press a firm kiss to your forehead, his steady hand cradling the back of your head. The gesture was so comfortable that, for a moment, you thought you might fall asleep just like that. But he moved to pull out a t-shirt and a pair of boxers for himself and threw them on.

Nestor guided you gently by the shoulders towards the bed and helped you in. He climbed in behind you and pulled you against him, and you wanted nothing more than to sleep in the comforting circle of his arms.

In all your years, sleep had never been elusive to you. Despite the things you had seen, the things that had happened to you at the hands of others, the ugly visions that sometimes played out behind your eyelids had never hindered the soothing pull of sleep. So long as you were safe and sound, the moment your head hit the pillow, your mind began to draw the blinds and lock up for the night.

Nestor was no stranger to exhaustion. He had slept like the dead often enough in his life. But he was still taken aback by how easily you slept beside him in the dark room, knowing at least some of what you had just been through. Sleep did elude him, and so he watched the lines etched on your face change as the night passed, his mind busy with unanswered questions and more than a little amazement.

You woke to the sensation of the mattress shifting beside you. Your heart rate spiked briefly, your sleep-clouded mind still caught up in the intense whirl of the last few days. After a moment, you remembered where you were, opening your eyes just in time to see Nestor rolling onto his side next to you. Dark circles sat below his eyes and his braids looked a little disheveled; he didn’t look as though he had slept much.

“Morning,” you sighed. Your body cried out for more sleep, but the sunlight filtering into the room was a reminder that the world kept spinning, and you had things to do. The gnawing bite of hunger forced you to keep your eyes open.

Nestor was quiet, still studying you intently. Finally, he asked, “How did you sleep?”

You managed a shrug. “I can tell I need more, but I’m up now.”

He nodded absentmindedly. “Are you hungry?” he asked. He motioned towards the nightstand on your side of the bed and you turned to see a plate of fruit and yogurt and a bagel laid out alongside a cup of still-hot coffee. You rested your palm against his cheek, your thumb brushing over the tired bags under his eyes as you nodded.

You sat up slowly with a groan, your joints aching. You picked up the bagel and picked at it, popping small pieces into your mouth to quell the pain in your gut. Nestor sat up beside you, crossing his legs, his knees touching yours.

“We’re going to retaliate,” he said firmly, his dark eyes searching yours intently. His lips parted hesitantly before he spoke again. “I want to know everything that happened before I decide how I’m going to handle it. I want… I want to know if they hurt you.”

His hand rose from the covers to cup your cheek, his warm palm comforting and familiar. Although things with Nestor were still relatively new, you already felt as though you could trust him with your life. And considering his career path, wouldn’t you have to, sooner or later?

You exhaled slowly, preparing yourself for the questions you knew would come.

“They didn’t hurt me, Nes... I don’t really think they were interested in me at all. Just Cristóbal.”

“Is there anything you might have left out last night? Anything you didn’t want to say in front of Miguel?” he murmured.

You frowned, glancing away from Nestor’s gaze as you recalled the worst moments of your captivity. His fingers guided your face back to his gently, his thumb pressed softly against your chin.

“You don’t have to hide from me, (Y/N). There is nothing you can say that will shake me.”

“I… I killed a man, Nes. And I lied to a cop,” you uttered with a shaky breath, before rambling onward, trying to get it all out before you could change your mind. “And I know, logically, that I just did what I had to do to survive, to keep me and Cristóbal alive, but now that I’m back in the real world, with real rules, where things are going to go back to normal, I don’t really know how to reconcile those things, you know? I don’t want to have to do this again and– ”

“Wait, again? What do you mean?” Nestor interjected, and you could see the number of questions piling up behind his eyes.

You pinched your eyes shut, not brave enough now, in your vulnerability, to see the look in his eyes when you said the words.

“This… isn’t the first time I’ve killed someone. And it’s certainly not the first time I’ve lied to a cop,” you whispered.

“Mi amor,” Nestor murmurs, stroking your cheek with his thumb, his tone encouraging. “It’s ok. Please tell me.”

You opened your eyes to gaze, unfocused, at the threads of Nestor’s shirt. “I was married… back in LA. My ex-husband, he was a police officer. He, um – he wasn’t a nice guy. I mean, I guess he was in the beginning, I married him. And I learned a lot from him while we were together. He taught me how to shoot. I even had a carry permit. I learned how to think on my feet, how to respond quickly, all kinds of self-defense techniques. I learned it all either from him, or because of him. But that wasn’t always a positive thing. Some of the things I learned, how to hide, how to be sneaky, how to lie – I learned those things after he wasn’t so nice anymore. He used to… hit me,” your voice caught in your throat, and Nestor immediately placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

You cleared your throat before continuing. “He would force himself on me. Tell me I was worthless. And I stayed, because I believed him. Sometimes the neighbors would call the cops because they could hear me crying and begging,” you trailed to a whisper, a tear rolling down your cheek to stain the pillow. You tried to always wear your strength like a mantle, and it took a toll on you. Over the past few days, you had certainly shown just how tough you could be, but a sense of vulnerability always sprang from discussing your past, recalling with aching clarity just how scared and lonely that younger self had been. But, you told yourself, if anyone deserved to hear this story from you, it was Nestor. So you sniffed and cleared your throat and continued on.

“The cops would show up, but somehow, nothing ever came of it. And in the beginning, I even felt like I had to cover for him when they showed up, so I lied and said nothing was happening.”

“A co-worker eventually figured out what was going on, and the guidance counselor at the school I was working at approached me to talk. Over time, she helped me build my sense of self-worth back up, and she connected me with resources. But while I was in the process of figuring out what to do, there was this one night where he came home just… totally fucked up. And when he started hitting me, it felt… I don’t know, different than the other times. And I knew. I knew he was going to kill me. And for once, I didn’t want to die.”

You stared at a point on the wall beyond Nestor’s shoulder, lost in the memory, blind to the way his jaw clenched in anger.

“So I shot him,” you explained simply. “He turned his back for just a second and I grabbed my gun and shot him.” That part you had lots of practice saying out loud. “His entire department had his back, and there was no paper trail to establish a pattern of abuse, so I got arrested. I worked with some domestic violence groups, who helped me pay for an attorney. I went to trial, and ultimately, I… I guess the jury was sympathetic. So I was acquitted. But it was… It was a lot. It took me a long time to get myself back together. Moving to Santo Padre was a big part of that.”

You took a deep breath and peered at Nestor again. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about this earlier. I was… afraid. That it would change the way you see me. I know it’s a lot to put on someone.”

Silence reigned in the vast guest room as you shredded your bagel nervously between your fingers, waiting with bated breath for his response.

He blinked slowly, unmoved. “There is ugliness in all our stories, querida. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you nodded at him, hoping he meant it.

You sniffed, trying to gather yourself. “So what happens now?”

His jaw clenched again, and there was a hint of maliciousness in the smirk that followed, as if he enjoyed the thought.

“Now we fuck some shit up.”

Part VIII of Los Guardianes

[adrian-the-lonely-writer]

Transitions

A fluffy 'Dean WinchesterXTrans!Male' Reader one-shot where you had come out to Dean, and Dean decided he's going to do everything he can to support you.

“So,” Dean began. His heart was pounding. He rather be facing any number of ghosts and ghouls to avoid fucking this part up. Hell, he’d even take a few demons over this. Anything over these tense emotional moments. Still, he was glued to the bed, hand holding yours. He loved you. He wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of helping you.

“Y-yeah?” You stumbled over your words. You had no idea how your boyfriend was going to handle the news. Tears were threatening to fall over your cheeks as you kept your eyes glued to the floor.

Dean swallowed. Dammit, his brother mentioned something like this in the past. Why couldn’t he remember now? “Well in that case, I suppose we better get you some comfier clothes. C’mon.” He stood up, offering his hand to you. Looking up, you saw that same smile dance across his lips, the same smile you fell in love with. “Wouldn’t want my boyfriend to be uncomfortable.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you jumped into his arms, relief and love washing over you. Dean just chuckled, quietly as he shifted to wrap his arms around you, squeezing you against him. “Thanks Dean…Thank you so much.”

“Of course. You have a different name you like to be called now?”

“Y/N now- I uh, kinda picked it out when I realized I just-”

“Y/N is perfect babe.” His lips left a light little peck at your nose. “C’mon. Sammy’s with Bobby looking for another job, let’s take the day to get you feeling as good as possible, hm? I just had that great poker payout-”

“I thought that was for silver bullets-”

“Pshh. I can win another game or too.” Dean went to smile, but it quickly drooped into a frown. “Your clothes...do they make you feel-” He tried to find the right word.

“Dysphoric? Well I mean a bit. I didn’t exactly have time to choose great clothes when I ran off with you Dean.” Before you could even finish your sentence, Dean was digging through his duffle.

“I was going to drop them off somewhere, they feel a little small.” Dean grinned, poking his head back up. In his hands were an AC/DC shirt and an old pair of jeans. He even pulled out his spare hunting boots. “Might not be the most practical all the time, but we’ll get you some stuff today.”

You tried not to cry once again.

Few minutes later, you found yourself wrapped up in your boyfriend's clothes, in the passenger seat of the car. AC/DC rang out through the speakers. You couldn’t help but smile.

“You...really don’t mind Dean?”

“Mind? Why the hell would I mind?”

“Well you were into me as a-”

“I am into you, period.” Dean smiled a little. “Masculine, feminine, It makes no difference to me. You are still you. So, clothes we’re doing. Not half assed Walmart clothes either, we’re gonna get you some good hunting gear.” You couldn’t help but chuckle a little at that. “Masculine fake IDs from now on, easy enough. Anything else you need?”

“At the moment, I’m not sure...I kinda like what Sam does with his hair so I don’t think I’ll cut it off yet. It isn’t as long as his at the moment anyway.” You giggled at the scrunch in Dean’s nose at the mention of his brother.

“Cute guy with a ponytail never hurts either. Ah. Here’s the shop.”

“Dean this is a mall-”

“Yeah, sporting goods, including guns, bullets, as well as various clothing stores to get you what you need. Plus crowds to blend into. Malls are great Y/N.” He turned into the parking lot, picking a spot somewhere in the middle. “Plus, the impala doesn’t stick out too much here.”

Dean slipped out of his side, opening the door for you before you were even unbuckled. His calloused hand still felt tender as it grasped yours tightly, pulling you towards the store.

Your boyfriend was right after all. The crowds were seamless and the selection would be much greater.

“I’m thinking, we hit the sporting goods store, get some food and supplies. Take our time with it. Then just meet up with Sam and Bobby for the job, sound good Y/N?”

“Sounds perfect Dean.” Your smile was glued to your face as you leaned against his arm walking into the shop Dean had picked. “Is this where you got all your flannels and things?”

“Most of em, yeah. Why? You like that one?” He winked as he saw your cheeks turn a little pink. Sure, you loved the flannel. It made you feel more you, it also smelled like the man you loved more than anything.

“Well it’s nice and warm and-” You tripped over your words again. “Just really nice hunting clothes ya know? Like durable enough you have some protection, it’s also warm enough for nights but I can always open it ya know.”

“Great. So a couple flannels. Some jeans that won’t trip you up. Shirts.” Dean guided you to the clothing area of the store, whipping out his cellphone.

“Dean? Something the matter?” He doesn’t often look at his screen with that much concentration.

“Nope. I was just looking at a size chart.” He matched his screen to a couple of the tags. “These your colors?” He held out some forest green flannel and a black shirt.

“To start with, yeah! Although lighter colors are still nice. I don’t want anything thinking I’m your little brother if I match your style.”

“My style is functional and timeless. Plus, if I had a nickel for everyone who thought Sam and I should-” He scowled as you laughed. You couldn’t help but pick up those books when you saw them. Plus, as prank wars broke out it definitely gave you an upper hand.

“Alright, I concede your style is wonderful Dean.”

“Damn right it is.” He smiled a little. “But I get it, c’mon. Let’s walk around and see what catches your eye.”

The two of you scoured the store from top to bottom. Dean’s arms quickly became laden with fabric as you both approached the fitting rooms.

“Find everything you need sir, and-?” The guy in charge of the rooms spoke.

“Sir.” You introjected. Your heart rate spiked a little. Dean’s hand rested on your shoulder as he nodded to the cashier, as if confirming what you said.

“Of course, right this way. Here is your room, sir.” Without batting an eye the cashier escorted you back to try on your new wardrobe.

“Give 'em hell babe!” Dean called after you, taking his seat. He fiddled with his phone. Sam had finally convinced him to upgrade, and this one had a camera on it.

Quickly, pulse racing, you put on the first outfit of clothes, and slipped outside to model for Dean. Your nerves subsided when met with that goofy grin of his, and you couldn’t help but match it.

“You look amazing.”

“I feel amazing.”

“Wanna try more?” Dean snapped a photo. “That’s gonna be my new cell wallpaper.” You stuck your tongue out to him, a look he cheekily returned.

You went through this a few more times. Different mixed and matched outfits and hunting gear. Dean flirting with you every time you slipped into his sight. Soon you had a week's worth of clothes, with some extras to wear during a wash. Eventually you made it towards the food court, carrying the bags. You both went immediately to the burger stand and sat down.

“Fucck~” Dean’s eyes were closed in bliss. “I forgot how amazing these burgers were.”

“God we ate at gas stations so much I had forgotten food could be juicy.” You were devouring your burger as ravenous as Dean was. Oblivious to the look he was giving you.

Dean just smiled, chewing as he looked at you. It had only been a few months since you were traveling with him. Demon blooded kid like Sammy, you wanted to be able to help. Truthfully you were thankful they accepted.

Dean sometimes kicks himself at night for almost saying no. He had fallen for you, hard, the first time you rode in the back of the car. The way your eyes lit up as his own music started to play. The way you got along with Sam. He had fallen hard. You were perfect in his eyes now as you were then.

“Dean?...” Your voice was quiet, head against the window. After eating Dean had loaded you and your new things into the impala before starting to make your guy’s way to Bobby's place.

The excitement of the day had driven your eyelids to a close by this point. The soft rumblings of the engine were lulling you to sleep. Dean’s hand found yours once more, with a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah babe?”

“I love you Dean…”

“I love you too Y/N.” His words were the last things you heard before finally succumbing to sleep.

Dean drove on, hand never leaving yours. He had found the best boyfriend in the world, and he intended to keep things that way.