#little wriggle cameo

[lumiambrose]

✰ masked intentions

kinktober 24 - day twentynine

featuring: tabito karasu x f!reader

summary: it's the party of the year, and you’re on a mission to get laid. seems like the ghostface you ran into wants to endulge your fantasies.

tags: smut, mask kink, slight predator/prey, petnames (darling, pretty), reader is wearing lingere, big dick karasu, paise, possessive karasu, tiny bit of angry fucking, teeny tiny bit of degrading, oral (m!receiving), @/strawchocoberry cameo <3

wc: 2.6k

it’s the night of halloween. children are trick or treating, couples are binge-watching scary movies under blankets together, and you’re getting ready for the biggest party of the year. you’re slipping on the wings of your angel costume (which is really just a flimsy piece of white lingerie) as you get ready with your friends. all of you doing your best to make an impression. i mean, you’ve heard that stars from across the world will be there. you for sure won’t miss the opportunity to mingle with a-listers.

you arrive at the function, and it’s not long until your friend group has split up. while some are trying their luck at one of the many games of chance, others are buying over-the-top colourful drinks. you though, find yourself on the dancefloor with your friend, candy. swaying your hips as you dance on one another. you all had a few drinks before arriving to the party, which are now starting to take effect as your vision gets dizzy and your body feels lighter. although you're snapped out of your trance by the strong smell of cologne filling your senses. it takes you a moment to process the unfamiliar smell, although before you can turn around, you feel two large palms on you, swaying your hips for you.

candy lets out a short giggle before disappearing amongst the sea of people, leaving you alone with the stranger behind you. he finally spins you around, keeping his hands firm on you as you get your first glance at him. he’s tall, muscular too. although quite underdressed. donned in a black shirt and pants, but what really catches your attention is the scream mask covering his face.

the music pounds in sync with your heartbeat, your pulse quickening as his hands move you. he’s firm, but not too rough, guiding your movements like it’s second nature. he looks down at you, tilting the mask slightly, and you can almost feel his gaze burning through the fabric. he’s close, way too close for a stranger, but you find the tension quite enjoyable.

you smirk, still dancing in his grasp, but now you glide your hands up his chest, giving you the chance to feel him up. to no surprise, you feel his hard abs beneath the shirt, tracing them with your finger. "you always dance with strangers like this?" you tease, voice low and playful, barely audible over the pounding bass.

he doesn’t answer you verbally. instead, the grip he has on your hips tightens just a little, pulling you closer so that your body is pressed up against his. you catch your breath, feeling goosebumps trail up your skin. you wonder if he’s enjoying this as much as you.

"not much of a talker, huh?" you challenge, grinning up at him. his silence is intoxicating, like a dare you can’t help but take. you slip out of his grasp, taking a step back, watching as his head tilts ever so slightly, almost like he’s intrigued—confused. your heart races, the alcohol left in your system giving you enough courage to pull through with your silly stunt.

"it’s a pity, ghostface. you can’t just stare at me the whole night and expect me to fold.” you whisper, barely above a breath. “catch me if you can." with that, you take off into the crowd.

you sneak and wriggle your way through the sea of costumes, your pulse pounding in your ears. you glance back once, twice—he’s following. even while you’re running away, you can feel his presence, his height towering over everyone else as he keeps up without even breaking a sweat. the thrill of him chasing you sends a rush of adrenaline through you.

you turn a corner, slipping into a darker part of the casino where the lights are dimmer, more ambient. you try to blend in, but before you can catch your breath, you feel it again—those hands.

he’s fast.

he hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you back into his body as though he’s done this a hundred times before. he spins you around, backing you up against the wall, and you let out a breathless laugh, unable to stop the grin from spreading across your lips.

"gotcha," he murmurs, finally speaking. the first thing you notice is his accent and low voice, sending a shiver down your spine.

you look up at him, trying to keep your cool despite being out of breath and shaky. his mask is close, his body pressing into yours, making your skin burn. "that was quick," you tease, catching your breath.

"you didn’t run fast enough," he replies, his voice carrying a teasing edge now, one that mirrors your own.

something in his words makes your stomach flip. he leans in closer, giving you no space to move, gaining your undivided attention. even if you do want to look away, you know you can’t. you’re too enamoured by your mystery man to do so.

before you could ruin the mood, his voice interrupts you. “seeing as i caught ya, it’s only fair i receive a reward, no?” instead of giving you time to reply, he scoops you into his arms, leading you away from the casino. frankly, you should be scared shitless by now, but your gut is telling you that you’ll regret it if you chicken out tonight.

he ends up carrying you to a hotel room, presumably his, and on the way there you can’t stop thinking about his voice. you know you’ve heard it before; it’s so familiar, but you can’t quite put your finger on from where.

although, as you finally enter the hotel room, your brain clicks. you’re greeted by a lavish suite with a king-sized bed and a view to die for. although what really catches your eye is the pair of cleats and pxg uniform.

you connect the dots. you’re in karasu tabitos hotel room.

“karasu?” you don’t even think as you murmur his name, still trying to process the situation at hand.

he pauses. you’re still in his arms, but not for much longer. “oh? so you do know who i am,” he mutters, sounding almost disappointed in you. “were ya feignin’ innocence the entire night, huh? ya want me that badly?” he throws you onto the bed before leaning in, towering over your frame. even without seeing his face, he looks frighteningly hot. you can even see a trace of his abs beneath his shirt.

“that doesn’t matter, does it? yer still gonna give me my reward. ain’t that right, darlin’?” his right hand moves to your face, holding you firm, forcing you to lock eyes with him. even underneath the mask, you can feel his eyes burning into yours. you muster out a quiet “mhm”, but he won’t take that as an answer.

“c’mon pretty. can’t quite hear ya. ya gonna let me use ya?” he’s much closer this time and it’s intoxicating. your instincts are telling you to undress him then and there, but you’re too scared to make your move yet. instead, you play along with his little game.

“of course. use me all you want, mister ghostface.” a smirk plays on your lips, doing your best to hide the excitement coursing through you. although, he doesn’t seem all too pleased with your answer.

“ghostface? though ya knew my name,” he tuts, feigning sadness in his words. “what a dumb bitch. guess i’ll have to fuck it into yer head tonight.”

he rips your outfit. not even giving you time to breath as he removes the cheap fabric, tossing any stray pieces to the side as he basks in the sight of your bare body.

“what a naughty angel i’ve caught,” he’s moving you to the side of the bed, helping you off. “ya gonna repent for yer sins? on yer knees, darlin’.”

you obey eagerly. i mean, who in your situation wouldn’t? you’re naked, in your celebrity crush’s hotel room, who's asking you to suck him off. only a fool would give up a situation like yours. following his orders, you sink to your knees, occupying the space between his legs. you take matters into your own hands as they sneak their way to his crotch, feeling up the area in front of you, earning a light groan before you tug at the hem of his clothes and rid them.

you could already tell he’s big, but now? you’re almost taken aback. can all that even fit in your mouth? you trace the vein along the lower side of his length, earning another low noise from him. growing impatient, he grabs a fistful of your hair, guiding you closer to his cock.

you hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight before you. ironically, it’s quite familiar. you've fantasised about moments like this countless times, and now that it's actually happening, it feels almost surreal. you close the remaining distance, your tongue darting out to lick his angry tip, tasting the salty pre-cum that has gathered there. he shudders at the contact, his grip on your hair tightening as he pushes you further onto his shaft.

you finally take him into your mouth, inch by inch. it's a struggle to fit him in, but you carry on nonetheless, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth as you push him deeper. you start to bob your head up and down, your lips sealed tightly around him as you work your way along his length. sucking on the muscle whilst teasing his tip with your tongue when you have the chance. he’s quite expressive, to your surprise, not trying to cover his noises at all, letting you hear the way you make him feel.

“shit—darlin’, just like that,” he mutters out in between moans. “yer gonna take every fuckin’ inch i give ya, understood?” his hand sneaks around you, grabbing a fistfull of your hair and letting him guide you up and down on his length. every lick, slurp, and bob of your head only pushing him further. you try your best to keep up with his movements, but it only feels like he’s getting bigger by the second. drool pooling at the corners of your mouth as you hollow out your cheeks, trying not to choke on the length fucking your throat.

of course, karasu notices your struggle. he finds it quite amusing, seeing such a pretty thing gag on his dick, trying so hard to impress him. he partially wishes you could see the expression under the ghost mask, but alas, he won’t ruin the immersion just yet. instead, he opts to see just how far you’re willing to take things with him. “look at ya. ya havin’ fun takin’ my cock, pretty?” he teases from above. despite not being able to see the expression playing on his face, you can tell he’s mocking you. although, instead of giving you the chance to whimper around him, he abruptly pulls you away. you let out a gasp, finally able to breathe as you stare up at him with confused eyes.

“what’s wrong, darlin’? ya want my cock in yer mouth that badly?” he pulls you up from off the ground and pushes you onto the bed. “too damn bad. need that slutty cunt suckin’ me dry.” your bare back makes contact with the luxurious bed, enjoying the brief moment of relaxation before the masked man climbs on top of you, making you sink deeper into the mattress. he latches onto you in an instant, hands roaming your body, every touch electric against your skin. he quickly positions himself between your legs, his leaking member pressing against your wet entrance. you can feel the heat radiating from his body, and it's driving you wild.

“ya gonna be mine tonight? gonna make ya mine, pretty,” he growls into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. although, despite his claims, he still teases the area around your hole, prodding his tip against you and collecting the leaking slick. it’s making you desperate, desperate for any touch, any friction, any pleasure. you grind yourself against him, taking anything he’ll give you with a whiny plea, “yes—please karasu, wanna be yours.”

frankly, he’s not too sure why you specifically are driving him wild. after all, you’re just another fangirl, one that coincidentally caught his attention. but the way those words left your mouth, the way you begged him, something inside of him snapped. without giving you time to adjust, he enters you, setting a brutal pace.

“good fuckin’ girl, gonna be my perfect lil’ cumslut,” he’s breathing hard against your neck, even with the mask, you can still feel his hot breath on you. it’s overwhelming—his size, the pain, the pleasure—it’s all driving you insane. the burn from stretching you out still lingering as he picks up the pace, filling you up as much as possible.

he pulls away from your neck to get a good look at you through the mask. you can’t see his eyes, but you can tell his gaze is intense, taking in your every curve. “look at ya, takin’ me so well,” he coos while one of his hands finds their home on your breasts, groping the soft flesh and playing with your hardened peaks. “she’s suckin’ me in so well. ya like being used by me, hm?” any form of coherent response is beyond reason; even thinking straight is a challenge while he’s fucking you dumb on his cock.

his brutal assault continues, and you both eventually reach your orgasm, crashing over you like never before while he pulls out to make a mess all over your stomach. if you weren’t sure before, now you’re certain that he’s the best you’ll ever have. he’s made his space next to you as the two of you lie down and catch your breath together, and you almost don’t want to give him up. unconsciously, you move closer to him, wrapping your arms around his chest. honestly, you expect him to shrug you off, telling you to clean up and go home, but to your surprise, he embraces your touch and even reciprocates it with his own.

the two of you stay like that for quite a while. sweaty, naked and recovering from the intense session. the only thing left to bother you is the mask. considering the situation you’re in is already surreal enough, it won’t hurt to push your luck, right? you lean closer to him, tugging on the fabric part of his mask. “the mask, take it off,” you whisper. you wonder if you’re even audible.

he hears you, shifting his weight to face you. “take it off? not too sure, pretty. if i take it off, yer gonna be stuck with me.” his own hand is now toying with the fabric of the scream mask. “ya want that, darlin’?”

instead of answering him verbally, you let your actions speak louder. reaching over him to take off his mask, regarding it to the floor of his suite. you’re completely taken aback by the view in front of you. he’s panting, his hair is down and all messy, and he might even be blushing. but in your eyes, he looks fucking divine. frankly, you could take him then and there again and he seems to pick up on that, pulling you on top of him and claiming your mouth for the first time tonight. the way he kisses you is heavenly, like you're the only woman on this planet.

“gonna have to go back on my words, darlin’. looks like yer mine forever now.”

taglist: @ryescapades @143-ilyuu @maruflix @pixelcafe-network, @o-sachi

©lumis kinktober 24' ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

[hyunnielix]

read your mind. | h.h

Series Masterlist

'Decompressing, tryna ease the tension. But you got me stressing'

— hyunjin x (f) reader

— word count: 1.6k

— genre: non-idol au, artist!hyunjin, second chance romance (I know who would've thought. eventual smut (not in this chapter sorry).

— warning's: bestie!felix (and minho), jisung mention/cameo, angst! fluff. Felix being a cutie pie as usual. Baking! sort of...

→ playlist on spotify

The walk to the baking class was brisk. You pulled your coat tight against the cool air and approached the storefront with its polished gold-lettered sign reading 'Tiff's Bakery Masterclass'.

You paused, your lips quirking into a faint smirk at the name. It was a little pretentious, wasn’t it? The building itself felt charming enough, with its warm brick façade and a row of flower boxes spilling violets and rose blossoms over the ledge. A chalkboard easel sat by the door boasting, "Perfect Your Pastry Skills Today!" in a looping cursive font, complete with a few flourishes you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at. You could only hope Felix understood exactly what he’d gotten you both into.

You pressed your palms against the opaque glass door, pushing it open. A soft chime rung out as the smell of warm sugar and cinnamon wafted through the establishment. The interior felt cozy but modern, with rows of gleaming countertops and shiny stainless steel appliances reflecting the glow of vintage-style bulbs hanging from the ceiling. For all its pretension, the room was inviting—enough to almost make you forget how silly you felt walking into a class with total strangers.

Felix's aura radiated like sunshine through stormy clouds, his energy demanded attention with golden hair and freckles dusted like sprinkles on a cupcake. His deep laugh echoed through the room and you tilted your head. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, unbidden and slow. You were supposed to be annoyed with him damn it! Yet every time you saw him you melted, like seeing a kitten playing with yarn for the first time. Too damn adorable.

You approached his table. He sat next to another boy, one with brown Boba eyes and shortish onyx hair. Your eyes travelled to the boy's tank top, drawn to the tattoo peaking out which read— 'blessed'.

"Y/N, you made it on time!" Felix wriggled in his chair, blonde hair slightly tousled and dressed in a white apron. He embodied the confidence of someone who’d done this before.

"Lix," you sighed, shaking your head as you pulled out one of the tall stools. The scrape of its metal legs echoed in the tiled room. "I thought this was a beginners’ class."

He grinned, the kind that tugged at the corner of his lips and added a spark to his pretty eyes. "It is!"

The door opened, the chime reverberating once more as it revealed a tall figure. She entered the room with flour-dusted hands and a smile which softened the stern lines of her face. Her voice carried over the hum of excited chatter, authoritative yet calm. "Welcome everyone, to the beginners masterclass. Contradictory, I know," She began and picked up a wooden spatula that sat on the desk before her. "Familiarise yourselves with your stations. Everything you'll need is here." She pointed toward the tools.

You took a moment to glaze your eyes over the bench before you. A gleaming metal mixing bowl sat beside a whisk. While an array of sharp knives glinted under the kitchen lights, rolling pins positioned beside folded aprons.

“Ingredients are premeasured and labeled to avoid confusion,” she added, nodding toward the small, clear containers of sugar, flour, and butter at each station. Her eyes scanned the room, pausing to offer a reassuring smile to a student gripping their whisk like a lifeline. “Don’t be afraid to make mistakes!” she proclaimed, “Baking is equal parts strategy and art, today, you’re all artists.”

Your lips twitched into a bitter smile. Artists. Sure, let’s call them that.

"Today we will be making an assortment of puff pastries."

You hated baking. The delicate techniques required a patience you didn’t possess, and your heavy-handed attempts only made things worse. The instructors hands moved with a precision one could only acquire through relentless practice, slicing the butter into thin sheets and layering them over the dough. You leaned closer, brows furrowed and attempted to mimic the fluid motion, your fingers awkwardly pressing the butter too deep into the dough.

The instructor began to move around the room. You felt the looming presence over your shoulder and sighed.

"Gentle precision," The instructor corrected, and guided your hand.

The scent of flour and yeast mingled in the air while rolling pins clattered against the metal tables. The dough stretched, folded and thinned. You abandoned using your hands and reached for the rolling pin, hoping your determination could make up for your lack of finesse.

The instructor’s words rang hollow in your ears as you tried, and failed, to fold the dough without tearing it. Every mistake seemed magnified under the scrutinizing gleam of the overhead lights. It wasn’t just the technique—it was the vulnerability of it, the need to be careful, precise and tender. You didn’t know how to be gentle anymore.

"Oh for fuck's sake," You muttered under your breath as the dough resisted the smooth glide of your pin. The quip earnt a soft chuckle from the instructor and she moved on around the room toward other students.

You sat up, taking in the other students and how they worked with varying degrees of success, their voices mixed together, airing questions and nervous laughter. One, which included Felix.

Your mouth fell open at the sight of his dough. The sheen of butter glistened on the surface, whispering a promise of a golden flaky crust.

Felix halted his motions, setting his rolling pin on the bench. "You seem a little spaced out. You okay?" He tilted his head ever so slightly.

You sighed and slouched, staring mindlessly at the dough. "Would you believe it if I told you I just bumped into Hyunjin at my favourite coffee spot?"

Felix's eyes widened and his lips parted, caught somewhere between disbelief and alarm. “He’s back?” he breathed, his voice low but taut.

"Yeah." You poked your finger in the dough and cringed at the consistency. No way you were saving that...

"For how long?"

"I didn’t ask. I wasn’t really thinking." You reached for your rolling pin, letting it twirl absently between your fingers, the rhythm grounding you.

"Are you alright?" he pressed gently, his voice steady but laced with worry.

"I—I’m not sure," you admitted, the words tumbling out like they’d been waiting at the edge of your tongue.

"I just hope Minho doesn't get any ideas."

The offhand comment made you pause, a flicker of confusion flashing across your face as your brows knitted together. Minho. Your roommate.

“What do you mean by that?” you asked, your voice cautious, leaning into the kind of question which already carried an answer you might regret hearing.

Felix shifted, his lips twitching with hesitation before he let out a soft, dry laugh. “He literally threw a plate at Hyunjin's head.”

Your stomach dropped, envisioning the scenario. "He did what?"

"I forgot I wasn't supposed to tell you that." Realisation washed over Felix's features.

"When did that happen?"

"Before he left. A few years back."

"He told you two before he told me didn't he? I remember that."

The memory of that night hit you with a wave of heaviness. You had returned to the apartment, the door clicking shut behind you, but the reality inside felt more chilling than the cold air. Minho broke the news, his voice low, but the words still sharp, cutting through you. The silence that followed was suffocating, each second stretching out, thick with the weight of unspoken grief. Then, Minho had pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up as if he could protect you from the world and all its terrors.

"Yeah, Minho made me promise not to tell you how he lost his shit over it," Felix whispered. He shook his head, as if the memory still surprised him.

"He doesn't need to protect me. I can handle Hwang Hyunjin."

"I know you can. I just think Minho doesn't want you to do it alone. Y'know?"

You pursed your lips and the sentiment made your chest ache. How blessed you were to know these boys.

The boy from earlier leaned over Felix's shoulder, his arm casually draping across it as he grinned wide, his expression full of mischief. "I can't help but overhearing, this Hwang guy seems like an asshole."

Your brow rose and Felix shrugged.

"Jisung." He reached out his hand. "You'll be coming to more classes right? you two seem cool."

Felix gazed at you with wide, pleading eyes, his lashes fluttering. He tilted his head just enough to make his expression unbearably cute.

You let out a resigned sigh. "I'll think about it."

"That's not a no! it's not a no!" Felix celebrated, his hands raised in triumph before turning to Jisung. Without missing a beat, they both exchanged a quick, energetic dap, the sound of their hands slapping together echoing in the air. The camaraderie between them both made the atmosphere feel lighter and you couldn't help but grin.

A vibration in your pocket drew your attention. You pulled the phone out, trying not to dust it with flour remnants.

Hyune: Le Lux Charm, booked for seven thirty tomorrow night? :)

Y/N: You're lucky my schedule is free.

Hyune: I'll see you there.

You expelled a breath you didn't realise you were holding, placing the phone face down on the messy bench. "I'm catching up with him tomorrow night apparently."

Felix leant forward and reached for your dough covered hands. "If you need anyone to save you. Me and Minho will be there."

Jisung piped up. "Me too. for y'know emotional support." He gestured to his head with his pointer finger then winked at you.

"I just met you."

"And? who could resist this cute face!" Jisung slapped a hand on his chest with a dramatic flourish.

Felix's giggle sounded and you couldn't help but follow in tow at the absurdity of it all. Maybe the baking classes weren't a bad idea after all.

[toomuchracket]

family dinner (sweetheart!george x reader fluff)

part of promptober75 2024!! a cute little fic set just after you and george have reunited, with cameos from everyone's favourite flatmates. enjoy <3

“more wine?”

“please,” you smile at your friend - as politely as you can through a mouthful of bread, that is - as she tops up your glass. “this chicken is really nice, by the way. the whole evening is, actually - thanks for letting me intrude on it, guys.”

matty scoffs. “you're not intruding, mate. we missed you! why wouldn't we wanna spend time with you? right, darlin?”

he nudges his girlfriend, who nods enthusiastically. “of course. i’m so glad you agreed to eat with us tonight,” she nudges matty in return, grinning, and you watch, also grinning, as he kisses her nose. “i've missed flatmate friday dinners. they're so special to me.”

“i did quite like when it was just the two of us, though,” matty caresses her face; a beat later, he sits bolt upright and looks at you, panic-stricken, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the familiarity of the expression. “i didn't mean it like that, by the way, i just meant that-”

“you liked pretending that you were having date night before you were actually together?” you nod sympathetically as matty goes scarlet. “oh, you've not changed a bit, matty, you lovelorn little sap.”

he hides his face in his hands, voice muffled. “shut up.”

“no, keep going,” his girlfriend laughs, wrapping her arms around him and pressing a kiss to his head. “i like hearing about how much you fancied me before you finally cracked and admitted it. after, y'know, seven fucking years, baby.”

“oh, babe, it was serious,” you dramatically take a sip of your wine, gazing off into the distance as you recount one of your many memories of matty being hopelessly in love with her, while the boy in question groans. “the time he broke into george's at half six in the morning and quite literally wriggled between us in bed so he could analyse the ten-minute phone call you'd had the night before is a personal favourite of mine.”

your friend throws her head back, cackling, while matty sits up just to scowl at you. “i didn't break in - i used the spare key.”

his girlfriend snorts. “but you did wriggle between them? in bed?”

“well, yeah.”

“cockblocked us and all,” you pipe up.

“you were literally fully clothed and dead asleep. both of you.”

“george was fully clothed?” your friend's brow furrows. “was he ill?”

“dunno. i didn't talk to him, really, in that instance,” matty nods at you. “she was the only one who knew everything about how i felt. even when she moved away.”

“really?”

you nod. “really. so, y'know, getting to see the two of you together like this… it's really special,” you take another drink of wine, sighing contentedly. “i love love.”

matty laughs, reaching across to squeeze your hand. “how's your love life going, by the way? any developments to share?”

you sigh, taking a long drink of wine as you ponder your response; you could be honest, and say really bloody good. george and i are back together. but no - better to discuss that with him first. “it's… promising, i think. that guy i've been seeing, well, he and i are exclusive, now.”

“oh, amazing!” your friend claps excitedly. “i want to meet him. oh!” her face lights up, and it becomes glaringly obvious both why matty fell in love with her and just how much you missed her when you were away. “he should come to friday dinner next week. or the week after. just so he can meet us properly, you know?”

matty laughs. “alright, emily gilmore.”

“fuck off, matthew,” she rolls her eyes while you and matty giggle, smiling at you once the glee subsides. “seriously, though, you should bring him. we don't bite.”

her boyfriend raises a brow. “the marks on my collarbone would like a word.”

“matthew, for fuck's sake,” she shakes her head, as you do your best not to spit out your wine laughing. “sorry, babe. promise i'll have him housebroken soon, and you can invite your man over.”

“oh, he won't mind,” because he's known matty longer than either of us have. “i'll text him now and ask, yeah?”

“please do.”

you nod, sliding your phone out of your pocket and tapping onto your text thread with george. you've been formally invited for dinner at the flat next friday btw. well, the mysterious person i've just gone exclusive with has lol

he replies almost instantly, cry-laughing emojis preceding have i to dress up?

you: suit. tie is optional xxx

george: oh you'd love that wouldn't you, i remember you after prom 😈

fr tho have i to dress up

you: nah

you DO have to be on time tho. 6pm on the dot

george: sweet

can i stay over lol

you: if you're good x

george: what you talking about i'm always good for you

but yeah i'll be there

phone me later?

you: defo. ly <3

george: ly2 <3

you giggle as you lay your phone down; matty notices, and smirks. “good news?”

“he'll be here at 6 next week,” you can't help smiling when they cheer, but you shush them so you can keep talking. “and you both better be nice to him. like, normal-nice.”

your friend nods. “of course.”

“s'not you i'm worried about, babe,” you turn to her boyfriend, looking him dead in the eye. “please, matty, don't be fucking weird next week. i don't wanna fuck this up,” you catch yourself before again slips out. “i really like this one.”

“all the more reason to ask him what his intentions are with you, then,” matty shrugs - his face softens when he sees your fraught expression, and he reaches across to hold your hand again. “i am joking, by the way, darling. i'll be nice. you know i just want you to be happy, yeah? we both do.”

“yeah, i know,” you squeeze his hand. “i hope next week goes well.”

“it will. here, let me get you more wine.”

the rest of the meal passes without further mention of next week, save your friend asking what sort of food your new partner likes. given that she and matty are too busy gazing lovingly at each other to think logically, neither of them seem to realise you're rhyming off george's favourites and least favourites in your reply, which is common knowledge to everyone who's ever spent five minutes trying to decide on a takeaway to order from with him; in fact, you think you've managed to completely dispel any connections between the upcoming dinner and george at all, until you're settled in your room an hour and a half later and your tv watching is interrupted by a knock at the door.

at your word, your friend inches round the doorframe, ring binder in hand. “hey. d'you have a minute?”

“course,” you mute the tv, pulling yourself out of your blanket tangle. “what's up?”

she sighs, waving the folder. “work stuff. how good's your latin?”

“shite. you used to help me, remember?”

“fuck, you're right,” she laughs, dragging her free hand down her face. “work's melting my head, honestly.”

you pat the space on the bed beside you. “can take your mind off of it by watching this with me, if you like.”

she steps further into the room, brow furrowing. “what even are you… oh my god,” the folder thwacks against the mattress, forgotten as she clambers onto the bed beside you and sighs at the screen; the déja vu of the moment is so strong you have to blink a few times to remember what year you're actually in. “i haven't watched the o.c. in so long.”

“really? you were obsessed.”

“shut up, you were worse than i was,” she lightly smacks you on the shoulder, then rests her head on it. you don't have to look at her to know that she's smiling when she next speaks. “reckon we used to drive the boys mental with this, you know.”

“we did. george actually banned me from saying the words ‘seth cohen’ at one point.”

“fuck off,” she giggles, the sound fading into a hum. “i think matty preferred him in gilmore girls, to be honest.”

you roll your eyes. “of course he fucking did. being in a band and making a girlfriend out of a friend because of it? that was, like, his biggest dream,” your voice softens, and you nudge her. “he's loved you a really fucking long time, you know.”

“yeah. me too, you know, with him.”

the confirmation makes your heart glow - still, you can't resist poking fun. “and yet you told me fuck all.”

“i was worried you'd tell george! and he'd tell matty! and… well, we might've ended up like this a lot sooner, actually,” she huffs out a laugh, while you giggle at the way her defensiveness faded to acceptance in the span of about a second. suddenly, though, she turns to look at you properly, face serious. “speaking of him, by the way - does he actually know you're seeing someone?”

you chew the inside of your cheek as you deliberate on the best answer, teeth finding the scar tissue left over from the wire of the braces you had at thirteen as they've always done since then; the irony of returning to an imprint from your teenage years in this moment isn't lost on you. with as casual a shrug as you can muster, you reply. “i've brought it up to him.”

“how'd he take it?”

this one is easier to answer. “well, you know george, he keeps things close to his chest. but,” you shuffle position slightly, a means of distracting your friend from the grin you know you're doing a dreadful job of biting back. “he seemed happy. for me, you know,” you tag that on as an afterthought. and, because you can't resist - “he told me he's seeing someone, too, actually. early days, i think.”

“oh,” she's taken aback, it’s clear, but she recovers quickly and gives you a small smile. “well, that's good.”

you raise a brow. you know her better than this. “but…”

she sighs. “but… alright, just hear me out, yeah? promise?”

“promise.”

“good,” she exhales, playing with her necklace the way she's always done when she's nervous. “you know i love you, and i am so glad you're back - we all are, we missed you so much - and i'm also really glad you're happy, and that you're seeing someone. it's just that, well,” she grimaces. “i'm worried about george.”

oh, bless her. “you are?”

“yeah. just, y'know, what with you back and dating and,” she cuts herself off, shaking her head. “you weren't the only friend i lost after you moved away, babe. not being with you… it fucked george up, really fucked him up. and of course i know it must've done the same to you, but…” she smiles sadly. “i didn't have to see that with you, but i did with him, and i truly, truly can't go through it again. basically,” she takes your hands in hers. “i want you to see this guy, and have fun, but to keep george in mind, yeah?”

a genuine smile finds its way onto your face. “i will, babe.”

“good. thank you,” her relief is palpable, even stronger in the way she squeezes your hand. “and i really am excited for next week, you know, dinner.”

“yeah, it'll be good.”

you're mentally repeating that to yourself with somewhat less optimism when friday night actually rolls around, though. matty's been on a mission to take the piss out of you the whole day, accompanying his frequent mentions of the dinner with a shit-eating grin and bursting into dramatic renditions of love is in the air at regular intervals, despite both you and his girlfriend yelling at him to “shut the fuck up, matthew”, and you're forced to retreat into your room just to escape him. of course, that means you're extra pernickety about your hair and outfit and makeup to the point of overdoing it, and it gets to a point where you have to sit on your hands until they go numb to stop yourself applying any more mascara.

at quarter to six, and after several texts from george telling you he's on his way and responding to your selfies with “beautiful”, you take a deep breath and shuffle out of your room towards the kitchen and your friends. matty smiles at you as you enter, which elicits a suspicious glare from you and a laugh from your friend. “relax, he's done taking the piss out of you,” she slides a glass of wine to you; you take a long, eager drink. “or at least he is if he actually wants to have sex any time in the next three weeks.”

matty rolls his eyes. “still think you're bluffing, baby, there's no way you can go without me that long.”

you grimace, and she smiles coolly at her boyfriend. “wanna risk it and find out?”

his cheeks go scarlet, voice going small. “no.”

“s'what i thought,” she ruffles his hair, turning to you and beaming. “you look hot, babe. really hot.”

“oh, thanks,” you tug awkwardly at the hem of your dress. “i hope he likes it.”

matty smiles, genuinely. “he will, darling.”

you smile, just as your phone buzzes - looking down, you see it's george, with an i'm outside. and really fucking nervous lol. buzz me up pls. “well, we're about to find out.”

“he's here?” matty bolts out of the room without waiting for a reply, and you hear the quick ring of the external door and the click-buzz of him responding. his girlfriend sighs, holding her arm out to you; wordlessly, you loop yours through it, and the two of you follow matty to the front door, a strange cocktail of excitement and apprehension mixing itself in the pit of your stomach.

and then the door goes. and then matty opens it. and then you see george, standing as bashfully as his height allows, and all the fear in your body dissipates completely.

you stay silent, biting back a grin. your friend sucks in an almost-inaudible shocked gasp, arm tensing in your own. matty's the one to greet his best friend, bewilderment tinting his otherwise cheerful voice. “oh, hi g. what are you doing here? just round to hang out?”

george grins. “sort of. i got a text last week inviting me over,” he nods at you. “it was 6 you said to be here for, yeah, angel?”

“on the dot. perfect timing, babe,” you wander down the hall towards him, tugging your seemingly-frozen-in-shock friend past her equally-shocked boyfriend, leaning up to kiss your own boyfriend's cheek. “bit disappointed you didn't wear a suit like i suggested, though. but you still look fit.”

“and you look beautiful,” he kisses your head, before turning to your friends with a smirk. “you guys look a bit weird, though. you alright?”

the two of them stare blankly at your smirking faces, matty's jaw dropping more and more as realisation presumably sinks in; it's his other half who speaks first, though, dropping your arm so she can slowly point between you and george. “this… is this… real?”

“you mean is george the person you're meeting as my date tonight? the person i just went exclusive with?” you smile so widely your cheeks ache, snuggling into him and practically fizzing with glee when his arm wraps around your waist. “who the fuck else would it be, really?”

a beat passes, then all hell breaks loose - matty actually bursts into tears, and his girlfriend slaps you on the arm. “you! you dickhead!”

“ow!” you rub your stinging arm. “what the fuck was that for?”

“for not fucking telling me!” she hits you again, softer this time, before tugging you and george into a hug, soundtracked by matty sniffling in the corner. “you fucking idiots. i love you,” she releases you both, tears filling her own eyes, and then pulls you into another hug, just the two of you. “m'sorry for hitting you, babe.”

“and for being a hypocrite?”

she laughs, watery. “that too,” keeping an arm around you, she wraps the other around her boyfriend. “why the tears, my darling?”

he sniffles, wiping his tears and looking between you and george; a weak gesture follows, as if emotion has completely overwhelmed him. “just… they're back.”

“and so are your nightmares?” george quips, resting his head atop yours.

matty shakes his head frantically, tears threatening to flood over his lashes again. “no, george, of course not. s'just,” he sniffles again, reaching for george's shoulder so the four of you are in a strange sort-of huddle. it's not unpleasant, though, far from it. “we all wanted this for ages, you know? the two of us together, the two of you together… and now it's real. and i'm just so happy.”

he collapses into sobs again, falling forward dramatically; given the geography of the huddle, it's up to you to catch him, so you hug him gently and pat him on the back. “you really are a sap, matty,” you huff out a laugh, half-formed because of the lump in your throat. “but we love you for it. and you're right, y'know - we really have all wanted this for a while,” you let go of your friend, steadying him before turning and wrapping your arms around george. “i love you. i'm so glad you agreed to come over.”

“you know i'd do anything for you,” he presses his lips to yours, and you melt; you're vaguely aware of your friends cheering in the background, but aside from that everything is just george, george, george. “i love you,” he pulls back. “and i love you two as well. slightly less than i do her, but…”

matty scoffs. “traitor. but whatever,” he sighs, face lifting into a smile as he turns towards the kitchen. “follow me, lovebirds. we've got some catching up to do.”

you wince. “please don't call it that.”

“what? why?”

“because that's what george and i have been calling our hookup sessions since i got back, that's why.”

your boyfriend and friend both giggle, while matty turns to look at you in affront. “wait a fucking minute. every time you went out and said you were catching up with people, you were just going to shag him?”

george smirks. “too fucking right she was.”

“christ alive,” matty shakes his head. “there had better be none of that tonight, you hear me? i'm not wearing earplugs to bed just to avoid listening to you guys fuck. heard enough of that in my life, thanks,” he reaches into the fridge for the champagne you stashed there earlier; when he returns, his face is bright in the way you've come to recognise as his i've got an idea that i think is great but is actually fucking awful mode. “actually…”

his girlfriend groans, the expression on her other half's face familiar to her too. “don't, matty.”

“no, let him talk,” george is perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, his best friend's face not a deterrent for him. the fucking pair of them, honestly. “tell us, mate.”

“well, how about a bet?” matty's eyes are locked onto george's; dread begins to build in your stomach out of sheer habit. “person who gets their girl off most times tonight gets free weed from the other. for a month.”

it's not the worst idea he's had, by any means - honestly, you'll take as many orgasms from george as you can get - but it still warrants a facepalm from both you and your friend. you sigh. “i don't think…”

“and how would we know the other isn't lying about the number?” george is incredibly still, hyper-focused; quite sexy, if you're being honest. “you thought about that?”

matty nods. “the girls write it on a bit of paper each and sign it, without conferring, and then we swap them and reveal.”

“for fuck's sake,” his girlfriend nudges him. “matty, don't be fucking stupid, there's no way…”

george just smirks, cutting her off. “alright, then. game on.”

[crheativity]

Congrats on 200!

If it's cool with you, can I request a 5pm spa day with Vil?

WARNINGS: I don’t know anything about skin care (which is probably not a good thing). Also, featuring workaholic Vil. This also might be a bit out of character, I’m sorry, I tried D:

COMMENTS: Thank you Ithseem!! I’m sorry this took so long!! Not knowing anything about skincare or spa days made this like 10x more intimidating haha. I hope you enjoy it!!! Also, Vil with banter >>>>>

(Also, I promise I haven’t forgotten your other req, it’s just taking a while ;n;)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the more “perfect” someone is, the busier they must be. If that was the case, you thought, then your boyfriend must be the most perfect person in the world.

It wasn’t that you were starved for attention - your boyfriend, the one and only Vil Schoenheit - gave you the attention you wanted any time he could (and quite often when he really should be working). But that never stopped you from feeling just a little bit lonely when he was away for a model shoot or busy with his acting. The past couple of days had been particularly painful. Vil had been away for about two weeks, shooting various cameos in various TV shows that you definitely remembered the name of.

Now he was finally back, and, as such, you’d gone to see if you could spend time with him, only to find him sitting cross-legged on his bed, deeply entrenched by a small mountain of paperwork.

“What’s all this?” You made your way over to his bed, attempting in vain to find a free spot to sit.

He glanced up at you and smiled, humour dancing in his eyes. “I believe it’s polite to knock before entering someone’s room.” He gently reminded you as he shuffled around some papers, making room for you next to him.

You sat down, wriggling into a comfortable position. “Usually, yeah, but you’re my boyfriend. You don’t count as a ‘someone’.”

He raised his eyebrows, his smile quirking into something a little more smug. “If I’m not a ‘someone’, does that mean I’m no one at all? Or do I not exist to you, hm?”

You took his arm and hugged it, humming in thought. “More like the fact that you do exist is unbelievable.”

Vil rolled his eyes but smiled. “And where did you learn that one?”

“From the best - you.”

He chuckled and patted your head with his spare hand.

You remained there in quiet for a while, the silence only occasionally broken by the scratching of Vil’s pencil on paper.

After a couple minutes that felt more like a couple hours, you felt restless. Having Vil back was amazing, but you wanted to do something, not just sit here and wait for him to finish whatever paperwork he was working through. That was out of the question, however. Vil always preferred to have his work done before doing anything else, so he didn’t have it hanging over him to do later.

To stop him in the middle of his work for something that could be done later, it’d have to be something pretty special.

After a couple minutes of brainstorming, you had a plan. It wasn’t guaranteed to work, but it was better than nothing.

Hesitantly, you tugged Vil’s arm. “Vil?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you wanna have a spa day?”

Vil glanced up at you, surprise and some suspicion evident in his expression. “Pardon?”

“I just wanted to ask if you wanted to do a spa day.”

“…Why do you ask?” He looked interested, but confused.

“Well… you were gone for ages and I missed you. And I know you worked really, really hard on those shoots. So I was trying to think of something that you like that we could do as a celebration or something, I guess? Like, a celebration that we’re together again and a reward for your hard work.” You glanced up at him and smiled hesitantly. “Is that okay?”

Vil looked surprised, a faint splash of pink dusting his cheeks. He hesitated, then smiled. “Oh, alright then. This can all wait.” He took the papers on his lap and placed them in a pile, then gathered up all his other papers and dumped them unceremoniously on his desk. “It’s all utterly boring anyhow. But, dearest,” he paused and turned to look at you, a curious light in his eyes, “what made you think of a spa day?”

You shrugged and smiled. “Because you like them, right? And besides, relaxing after a long trip is better than doing more work.” You wrinkled your nose at the paperwork as though it smelt like Grim after rolling around in the mud.

Vil quickly walked over to you and pulled you into a tight hug. “Thank you, dearest.” He pulled away, a tired smile on his face and a purely, genuinely happy look in his eyes. He turned and went to prep everything needed for the spa day, and for that you were glad;

Even when he was exhausted, he knew how to make your heart skip a beat.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

[pink-tk-a-latte]

Don’t Make Me Worry

˙.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆˙

To a Happy New Year in 2025!!!!!! It is the season of the Hinomoris!!! Hwuagauhsha I love the Hinomori sisters,, I miss all of the siblings COLOPALE GIVE US ANOTHER SIBLING EVENT. Fair warning for a smidgen of baby talk from Shizuku bc, as a ler, she would.

sfw tickle fic!! project sekai: lee!shiho, ler!shizuku (familial) feat. a cameo from the tenmas!!

˙.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆˙

“Shii, please don’t be angry with me!”

“I’m not angry,” Shiho muttered as she slid the door shut, channeling every ounce of her self-control to not slam it. Her hand was shaking, just a little, and she quickly hid it behind her back.

Knelt on the tatami mat, Shizuku pouted, her hands coming together nervously. Noticeably, she did not have her phone on her. They had Tsukasa and Saki on the case, but the missing phone was still the root of Shiho’s flaring headache.

“But you look angry! I’m so so sorry, Shii!”

“It’s fine. Just drop it.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting your practice time and bothering you and making you bring me home! I deserve to be yelled at. Please forgive me.” The line of Shizuku’s eyes began to quiver, and Shiho’s stomach plummeted.

“Please don’t cry, I don’t know what to do if you cry!” she rushed out. Shiho felt maybe a little bad treating her older sister like a child. Then again, if she was going to get lost around the city at night, like a child, maybe she deserved it… “I’m not mad at you. It’s just…” Shiho joined her sister on the mat and crossed her arms. “Look, you were out there all by yourself. What if you broke something or got stuck, or a crook came after you? It feels pretty crappy when I can’t be there to back you up, s’all.”

Shizuku’s watery frown quickly bloomed into a smile, and she reached out a graceful hand to ruffle Shiho’s hair. “Aww, Shii is so cute when she worries about me! I’m so lucky to have such a caring baby sister!”

Of course. I worry about you too, you know. With a grunt, Shiho batted her hand away. “It— It’s not like that! And you’re too carefree! You weren’t thinking; something really bad could’ve happened,” she scolded.

“Oh, I would take care of it. I’m an idol, remember? I’m strong!” Shizuku put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a tranquil, airy smile. Shiho sighed.

You being an idol is what has me worried. Shiho’s arms remained crossed, wary of her sister at her side. She fixed an aloof expression to her face (and failed to notice her pinkened cheeks or the moue of her lips. Cute when she worries).

Her stony silence was disrupted by a high squeak and a zap of electricity splitting through her ribs. Shiho launched herself to the other side of the mat. Embarrassed pooled in her cheeks, until she glanced at her sister and paled at the expression she found.

“Sh— Shizuku!” Her voice jumped in volume, her mute removed. “What is up with you?”

“I’m showing you I have ways of defending myself!” Shizuku laughed lightly, inching closer. Shiho inched away. “If a bad guy tries to attack me, I’ll just do this!”

“Huh!? Get awa— AHehey!”

Her nimble fingers fluttered under Shiho’s arms. She gasped and flailed, feeling her core muscles stiffen and her composure crumble. “Ehehaha wahahait! Shizukuhu nohoHOhaha!

Soft, shrieky giggles rung out of Shiho’s mouth, Shizuku’s hands an unwelcome worming in her underarms. She fell onto her side, squirming and puffing air. “S- Stohop waHAha whahaHY thiHIhis!? Thihis dohohoesn’t— this doesn’t hahahehehelp!”

“Doesn’t it? Hmm, but it looks like it works,” Shizuku asked, a guileless frown on her face even as Shiho’s mind buffered in bewilderment. “My trick is so effective, it even made gwumpy Shii laugh!”

Shiho’s stomach fluttered. “IHIhI’m nohot, ihihit’s juhuhust chihihildihihish!” Shiho’s wriggling and head-shaking was futile; she knew Shizuku had mastered the art of clinginess. All she could do was squeeze her elbows to her sides and try to hide her aching, red-hot cheeks.

Shizuku leaned over, beaming when she caught Shiho’s smile, so wide that her eyes had to squint to fit it on her face. “Aww, there’s that smile I wuv so much!” Her fingers escaped Shiho’s underarms and crawled down her ribs. Squealing, Shiho curled into a ball and covered her face. “That warm smile that belongs to my adorable adorable sister! Shii must be having so much fun.”

As earnest as Shizuku was, her observations were lighting sparklers in Shiho’s face. She didn’t deny it— but only because she didn’t get the chance to, okay!?

As Shizuku continued to spout gibberish such as ‘Shii’s just so squeezable!’ and ‘it’s my roly-poly sister!’, the fluttering fingers suddenly vanished.

Eyes popped open, Shiho inhaled and prepared to rub the tingling away, when the hands suddenly reappeared, now finding a way under her hoodie. “Oh, Shii, what’s this?” Shizuku tilted her head, and Shiho squeaked and braced herself. “All of a sudden I feel… Aah… Aaah… Aaaah tatatatatatata!”

Not the tatatata’s! Shizuku accompanied these with quick skitterings up and down Shiho’s sides. It was her worst nightmare right from her childhood! The Shiho-ball cried and rolled around in an effort to outrun the embarrassment. “NOnohono! Stohop stop! AHAHIhI’m nahaHAT a kihihihID! SHIhizuKUHUhu!”

Like a string suddenly plucked and reverberating in Shiho’s muscles, a burst of strength allowed her to break free and roll away, collapsing onto the tatami mat. She gulped in air and threw her arms over her burning face.

“Onee-chan! Thahat wouldn’t stohop a crook at all!” Shiho exclaimed, astounded at how grandma-like her sister could be. Tickling? As a weapon of defense? Seriously?

Shizuku padded over to her, her hands nearly brushing Shiho’s sides. She tensed, only to relax when all Shizuku did was flop onto the mat next to her. “Aww, Shii, I only wanted to relieve some of your stress.”

Shiho dropped her arms. She turned to Shizuku. Her wobbly eyes had returned, and Shiho breathed. “I… get that, but.” Shiho looked down and pretended her fingers were playing a chord on her bass. “It’s not so easy to stop worrying about you.”

Shizuku giggled, as delicate and comforting as her name. “I understand what you mean. I’m always worried as well.”

Shiho glanced to her side, eyelids and mouth parted. “Really?”

“Mhm.” Shizuku’s eyes crinkled honestly, a clear, intent sheen to them that Shiho had only seen maybe once before. “I worry about Airi, and Minori, and Haruka. And about my future as an idol, and making the fans happy.” She shook her head. “But I still want to be a reliable older sister for you, someone that you can confide in. That’s why I’ll do my best not to be a reason for Shii’s concern!”

I’ll always be looking out for you, though… Shiho sighed, a tiny smile creeping up her mouth. “And I guess… I’ll let my sister work herself up over me more often.” Then she huffed again. “Just don’t lose your phone again, got it?”

Evidently not getting it, Shizuku gasped, eyes twinkling, almost like she was about to cry again. “Shii!”

“Ah, Shizuku! Don’t glomp me like that!”

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

Meanwhile, with the Tenma siblings…

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

“Found it!”

Tsukasa hopped to his feet, planting a hand on his hip. The phone he held up like a trophy had a translucent mint case, a dangling swan charm, and scuffs and scratches all over. Definitely the right one.

“Yay! Good job, Nii-chan!” Saki clapped and cheered as she stepped out of the bush she had been looking in. “Now let’s call Shizuku and Shihoppy and tell them the good news.”

Pulling out his phone, Tsukasa laughed triumphantly. “Aha, of course! I shall inform Shizuku that her hero and his sister-in-arms have prevailed!” He dialed a contact — Shizuku’s, of course — and listened to his phone ring.

…And the phone in his other hand, Shizuku’s phone, rang as well.

Brother and sister looked at each other.

“Ah.”

“Ah…”

Maybe we should just walk to their house…

˙.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆.☘︎ ݁˖✮⋆˙

Grhalsjkaja Shizuku the girl that you are… anyway lee!Shiho!!!! Or as I like to call her, Shleeho!! Ahaha…

Anyway the Hinomori siblings are so darn adorable I just know Shiho worries so much about Shizuku bc that girl does not worry enough for herself, the same way Shizuku dotes on Shiho and tries (tries) to give her as carefree a life as possible

HC that Shizuku baby-talks her lees not even in a malicious way just bc that’s her natural reaction whenever she sees something cute, and Shiho when she’s tkled curls up into ball hoping that will protect her. Normally she’s a fighter but when it comes to tkling… it’s flight or freeze

ALSO I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE FIRST DRAFT AFTER SPENDING 3 HOURS ON IT AND HAD TO RETYPE LIKE 85% OF IT SO I AM WRITING THIS FUELED BY RAGE. I hope I didn’t forget smth bc I literally don’t retain anything. Also I’ve been working on this since July?????

[riguren]

the playable wriggle in th19 copium has long since vanished but i am disappointed by how little wriggle gets anything in canon nowadays.

she only ever showed up in 3 games, and she only got dialogue once. one of those times she was just a background character! in HM! because who isn't! basically everyone showed up in HM.

and when it comes to print works, the last non-cameo appearance she got (and even in said cameos she shows up for like one panel) was in strange creators of outer world. in 2017. and even then it was just information, she doesn't get anything other than zun's comments about her and a bunch of description.

why do i care so much about wriggle pretty much fading into irrelevance in canon anyways? while she's my favourite blorbo, at the end of the day she's still a blorbo in a series with well over a hundred.

in this year's popularity poll, she placed 87th. she placed higher than ichirin, at 124th. yet ichirin was playable in not just one, not just two, but three of the fighting games. wriggle placed higher than shinmyoumaru, at 91st. she placed higher than the final boss of a mainline touhou game. (admittedly ddc isn't very popular) she placed higher than mizuchi, at 136th, the literal main antagonist of a currently ongoing manga. (ok tbf who isn't higher than mizuchi)

the worst part about all this is that she didn't come from the print works that most touhou fans don't read. no, she didn't come from one of the less popular touhou games. she came from IN. the second most popular touhou game, only behind EoSD. my girl is an OG and still barely got anything more than a cameo or two here and there.

i will EXPLODE into millions of tiny bits if this goes on for a few more years. i would KILL for anything remotely wriggle-related in official works. hell, if a wriggle fumo were announced i would probably vaporise instantly. i am starving zun please save me

[levy120]

The fact a certain purple alien dude is getting some attention lately (hi there @rainbow-wolf120 👋) that has been making me super giddy!

A Rayman/Tonic Trouble Crossover has been a dream from the moment I recognized the general in his Rayman 2 cameo, but I never could quite cook up the muse/energy to fully commit to the bit myself.

Figured I might indulge anyway and share a little blurb/draft I did a while back just to get some wriggles out and share in the Tonic Trouble hype :D

💫🍹🛸

"Don't be such a wuss."

"I'm just saying that this is a bad idea."

Rayman rolls his eyes at the reluctant alien.

"You'll get used to it," he says, "Don't forget that I need your expertise."

"I don't have expertise," Ed protests, "I'm just the janitor!"

Rayman quirks a brow at him.

"Didn't you clear up that whole Tonic mess?"

"After causing it!" Ed cries out. He's clearly not proud of it, frantic even. Enough so that Rayman loosens the tension in his stance.

The alien was serious about having no expertise because if anyone HAD been around to listen, they would have been caught by now. 

"Hey," he says, his hand dangling loose at his side. He can’t help but notice the way Ed stares at it ever since Rayman dismantled the first ambush they'd run into.

"It's okay."

Ed gulps.

"No, it's not."

His hands fly to his face and Rayman hears the alien groan.

"I had hoped to never have to deal with this again."

Rayman scoffs and nudges the alien in his ribs.

"So did I," he says, "And yet, here's a crazy purple alien ravaging my Glade with an army of Grolgoths. One was bad enough!"

"I met the guy ONCE," Ed laments.

"Precisely," Rayman says and takes another glimpse around the corner again, just to be sure, before he focuses back on Ed.

"How high are the chances he'll recognize you?"

"Not… very," Ed admits. He's changed too since being on the stand. For better or worse, he doesn't know yet.

Considering no one came to pick him up…

"They've probably forgotten about me, actually."

Doesn't mean he likes hopping into the deep end.

To his disappointment, that's EXACTLY what Rayman wanted to hear and the Limbless gives him a confirming nod.

"I've heard they store the Grolgoths here. Do you think you can maybe hijack one?"

"Oh sure," Ed replies, his voice laced with snark, "If you want it crashed at the first instance."

Rayman snorts, in fact. That large hand covers part of his face, but Ed sees the amused glimmer in his eyes.

"Yeah," he says, "That would be favorable actually."

"Sure," Ed submits in annoyance, "I'm just a sucker for punishment."

---

AN/Trivia: Rayman has no reason to trust Ed save for the fact he's a "friend" who was dragged in by Joe the Alien to help.

This was supposed to explore the idea of the General recognizing Ed and pinning him as a Traitor. So he sends Razorbeard on his tail and that would be the backstory of his skeleton appearing in that Rayman Arena Cutscene in one of the robots chambers (and explore whether or not Razor was actually successful or faked a prop to save his butt xD)

[cyberrat]

89th Batch Of Fics: 15th Fill

Tim Drake/OC – Milky Verse – Gotham Timeline – Part 77 – cont B64F4 – noncon/dubcon; dark verse; forced body modification – Tim Drake, a calf, finds himself in an... undesirable situation.

----------

Here it is, fam! The big Milky Verse sequel! You don't really need to read the 76 parts prior to this, though there might (most likely) be cameos from the other timeline!

(Original Milky Verse starts in B44F1. I am thinking of uploading them all in their own separate AO3 fic but that could be a lil while until I get around to it)

Long story short for those that are not in the loop: the scientists in universe have figured out ways to medically alterate consenting people into cow hybrids because the milk they produce is just super tasty and with some healing qualities thrown in.

The offspring of those cow hybrids are called calves and are pretty normal except a lot of them experience very heightened bouts of sexual desire (usually called fuck hunger) so uh.... yeah.

HAVE FUN!

----------

Tim is squirming as hard as he can in the arms of his jailer, but there is not much he can do. Not when he is getting all dumb and floaty in his head, the fuck hunger crawling through his veins despite him trying his best to push against it.

To keep himself sane in the insane situation he’s found himself in. He’s losing despite his best efforts and the frustration has tears prickling in his eyes, his teeth grit and his legs trying to kick out against the huge man’s legs.

The guy is holding him in a bear hug, crushing Tim’s arms to his sides and leaning back for good measure until Tim’s feet are no longer even brushing the ground and he’s just uselessly wriggling in the air.

“Let… let go of me,” he hisses through grit teeth. His voice sounds choked with tears which he hates as well. He does not want to sound so upset.

“Shhhh,” the huge guy is whispering against one of his ears. “Ssshhh, don’t struggle now. The boss doesn’t want you to be so upset. I don’t want you to be so upset. Shhh, cute little cow. Neddie is going to be so sweet to you. I’m gonna make you feel so, so good. You’re hungry, right? Right? Boss said you shouldn’t fight it. It’s only natural. Cute little calf. Shhh.”

Ned is an absolute behemoth of a man; huge with meaty, muscular arms and a curiously triangular, small, bald head on his broad shoulders. He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, Tim had noticed that early on; but he is smart enough to not step a toe out of line of his insane boss’ instructions.

Tim is biting his tongue, half hoping that if he bites it through, the pain might startle his body out of its cravings. Or he might choke on his own blood. Or die from blood loss. Or something.

But Ned is too intelligent for that, too, wedging thick fingers encased in a sturdy protective glove first into the corner of Tim’s mouth and then wiggling them between his teeth to stop him from self-harming.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Ned says gently, his breath ruffling the hair on top of Tim’s head. It’s warm; just like the rest of him. His big, warm body pressed against Tim’s back. The way he effortlessly holds him in the air as if he weighed nothing. The promise of his big fat cock pressing into the small of Tim’s back and distracting him so… so much.

He blinks profusely against the tears in his eyes, sniffling. He’s trying so hard not to cry, but the frustration about his situation and his own body’s betrayal is leaving him feeling impotent and he hates that.

Ned keeps his fingers between his teeth and is slowly stroking across Tim’s tongue. It’s stupid how comforting that is. The feeling of something thick and blunt in his mouth. How that little bit of stimulation already gets him drooling and his insides to feel molten.

“You’re fine,” Ned tells him softly, petting Tim’s tongue and rotating his whole body slowly left to right, rocking the calf back-and-forth. “You’re so, so fine. Just don’t fight it. Be a good boy. I just want to help you through, right? Right.”

Tim closes his eyes tightly. He doesn’t want to, but his body goes practically belly up for it. Ned pets his tongue a couple more times, pulls his fingers out, watches how much drool is glistening on his glove, and hums in a very satisfied way.

Tim slowly finds himself getting lowered onto the floor of his cell. Because that’s what it is. No matter how much Ned and his fucking boss try to tell him its his special calf room.

His very special room where he can get fucked to his heart’s desire and slowly but surely be made into a cow.

(Not as slowly as it should function. If he actually were wanting to become one. He’s never considered it, but being a calf, he’s been educated throughout his life. He knows how these things are supposed to go. Careful modifications. Slow introduction to the system.

Consent.)

Ned moves his fingers slowly in Tim’s periphery. He can see the unnaturally thick drool stretching into strands between his index and thumb and he hates how the sight alone is getting him hot.

From the cell adjacent to his, he can hear the constant ruckus become louder. There are no ceilings here; the not-so-abandoned factory has been put up in a hurry and is easy to take apart. He’s figured it all out in the two days he’s been here but frustratingly can do nothing about it.

The walls are too slick and high to climb. And they are careful in constantly manipulating his body, keeping him weak and dumb and helpless.

The calf in the other cell has been moaning for a while now but something must have changed because the cadence of their voice shifts into the decidedly desperate and downright frightened.

Ned pauses. Tim can feel him going still behind him and turns his head a little too see the giant of a man is staring with a thoughtful expression at the dividing wall as if he was able to see the other calf through it.

Tim grits his teeth, forcing himself to be quiet and not disrupt whatever thought process was painfully going through the goon’s head. He almost whispers a harsh ‘yes!’ in triumph when he feels himself slowly getting lowered towards the ground, Ned muttering: “I should see what this ruckus is about…”

But instead of just leaving Tim be, he suddenly hefts him again, practically clamping him like a sack of potatoes underneath his arm and dragging him toward the fucking machine in one corner of the room.

Tim, being a calf, has seen and experienced a myriad of machines throughout his life. This one… he hated this one. It felt like it came from the middle ages. Some ancient contraption, rusty in places and rattling worryingly beneath him when it got really going on its highest setting.

He starts to immediately fight it, but there’s not much he can do. Not with the artificially induced fuck hunger coursing through his veins, and Ned patiently trying to soothe him through it until he seems to get fed up and just mutters his trigger phrase.

It’s not a hard shift in his psyche, the phrase only just having been established during an impromptu hypnosis session, but it is enough to have an additional haze to the fuck hunger settle across him.

Tim is relegated to a quiet, horrified, angry onlooker in his own mind, watching himself get haphazardly strapped into the machine, his hole already slick and relaxed for the silicone cock pumping into him.

Ned promises to be back for him in just a second.

He’s left to his own devices, held in place, fucked by the rattling, groaning machine as Ned hurries to the other room to see what the calf there was getting up to.

The worst thing is that he leaves the door to Tim’s cell wide open, knowing that the calf won’t be able to do jack shit in his current condition.

Tim hates it here.

[scifrey]

Keepsakes:

A Hospital Bracelet: Hurt

Status: Ongoing Ficlet collection; unbeta’d

Series: the Hob Adherent series

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse (including the Good Omens and Lucifer television shows), but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature. There is medical violence, gun violence (including a gunshot), and some pretty gross wound descriptions in this chapter. Please curate your experience accordingly.

Warnings: Discussions of violence. Some whump and hurt/comfort.

Relationships:  Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Delirium of the Endless, Death of the Endless, Dream of the Endless | Daniel Hall, Destruction of the Endless, Desire of the Endless, Despair of the Endless, Destiny of the Endless, Matthew the Raven

Set about five years after the end of Cling Fast.

READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:

A Hospital Bracelet: Hurt

Inspired by a prompt from @hummingbird231 on Tumblr.

As that bitchy little twink Shaxbeard once wrote, there are more things on Earth than can be dreamt of in men’s philosophies, and Hob should know because he is married to one of them. 

He’s also acquainted with several more–the Bookseller, the Snake, a young lady who once lived in a world where everyone’s eyes were buttons, and of course the actual Devil themself. Hob knows a handful of people who summon and exorcize demons, are creatures of the night themselves, were raised by ghosts, or live in the metaphysical gaps between tube stations.

But Hob is nothing particularly special. He’s just a bloke who chooses not to die.

Which is, you’ll agree with him, very different from someone who cannot die. There is a chasm of difference there. A whole grand canyon of difference.

And one that his kidnapper is not grasping.

“It’s… it’s not… it’s not in my blood,” Hob tries, using his most reasonable Professor voice, from where he’s strapped the lab table. Well, the massage table that’s been repurposed with camper tie-downs and BDSM gear. Poor quality BDSM gear, because the cuffs are cutting into his wrists unpleasantly. “You’re just gonna make yourself sick if you inject it into your own veins, mate. Who knows what’s still swimming around in there? Bubonic plague, Smallpox, Syphilis, Spanish Flu, all the ‘s’es really, AIDS for certain, and I definitely had Covid-19. I did the grocery run for all my elderly neighbors, so of course it got me.”

The mad scientist, who gave her name as Jill when she’d first started hanging around the New Inn a few months ago, sneers at Hob. 

“I’ve read Dracula,” she says, as she continues to fill the blood donation bags that she clearly stole from a clinic, if the labels on the equipment are correct.

“I’m not a vampire,” Hob protests. “Trust me. Besides, you’ve seen me in daylight–”

“Dracula could walk under the sun!”

“Dracula was fiction,” Hob points out, in what he feels is a very reasonable tone, all things considered.

He’s starting to get lightheaded from the blood loss, which is not a good sign.

He’d be alarmed, except this woman is one-thousand percent amateur, and while he’s absolutely mortified that he didn’t catch her dropping the roofie in his beer, he’s not at all concerned that he’ll be able to get himself out of this mess. He’s almost wriggled his way free of the cuffs–the only bonus of them being poor quality, otherwise they itch–and he feels pretty confident that he can get himself free and back home before Dee even realizes he’s not sleeping off a hangover upstairs, and starts investigating.

Of course the bitch waited for the weekend where Morph and Matthew are at a comics convention to play Frankenstien, or this stupid little garden shed would already be in cinders.

(Hob has to give her credit, she has soundproofed it very well, considering the amount of grey foam on the walls and the fact that no one came running when he began shouting his head off as soon as he woke up and realized where he was. There may have been some hysterical, terrified screaming before Hob registered that he wasn’t in some sort of government lab. But then he took a moment to breathe and think, and realized he could get out of here with enough time and focus.)

(Hob is totally changing the keypad on the door between the bar and his flat to a biometric thumbprint censor when he gets home.)

“The Bible was not fiction,” Jill insists, pulling out the blood draw needle and stopping the flow in Hob’s arm with a cotton ball and a bandaid with such expertise that Hob understands immediately that she must actually work at the clinic she’s stolen the supplies from.

Well, worked. She’s getting sacked the minute Hob can get to a phone.

He supposes he should be extending some of his usual charity and understanding to Jill, who just seems to have fallen into an unhealthy obsession, and definitely needs professional medical help. But she drugged him, broke into his flat, and kidnapped him, goddamn it. He’s allowed to be bitter and vengeful. At least for now.

“Parts of it are,” Hob says. “But that doesn’t mean every book is true.”

“Some fairytales are true. Some myths,” Jill presses, eyes glittering with manic delight.

“Well, yes,” Hob allows. “But–”

“I was there, the night the Devil gave you the Key to Hell,” Jill goes on, as if Hob hadn’t spoken. “I tried to get into the pub during the storm, but the door was locked, and when I looked in everyone was frozen, and there were angels bargaining with you, and you told them you were over six hundred years old–”

“That doesn’t make me a vampire!” Hob protests, furious with Lucifer for this oversight and honestly, already writing the scathing letter to his penpal in his head.

Dear Luci, did it not fucking occur to you to freeze the people who were outside in the parking lot too? Love Hob, 🖕

Jill looks down at him with pity, of all things. “It’s alright, Robert,” she says softly, as if he’s the one who’s confused. “I know it must be terrible, to be a monster who wants to do good things. I promise, you won’t be alone in that soon. We can be good monsters together.”

“I’m not a monster,” Hob gasps, horrified. “I don’t drink blood!”

Jill tilts her pitying look the other way. “You don’t have to lie to me, Robert, not me.” She crouches by the table, a comforting hand on his and a conspiratorial look in his eye. “Your thrall is always so pale and wan. There are marks on his throat.”

“My thra—do you mean my husband?” Hob says, incredulous.

Jill scowls. “He’s not your husband,” she insists. “You’re not gay. You were married to a woman. I watched Elizabethan Manor.”

“I’m bi!”

“That’s not a real thing,” Jill scoffs, and pats his hand as if he’s a silly child. “You don’t have to pretend with me. He’s your thrall, and that’s fine, that’s ethical, having an arrangement with one donor. I approve. I won’t mind that you keep him.”

Hob feels his face do something thunderous. “You won’t mind.”

“Of course,” Jill says, standing and turning away to do something with the bagged blood on the shed’s crumbling potting table. “When we’re married.”

“That is not happening,” Hob growls. “And if you even try it with Morph, I swear–”

“I just want you to know it’s fine,” Jill says consolingly. “I’m telling you right now, you can keep your pet. I’ve already come to terms with it. No need to quarrel about it.”

With her back turned, Hob can’t see what she’s doing, and he does not like that. However, it also means that she can’t see him, so he puts some real effort into getting the wrist furthest from her out of its cuff.

He stills when Jill turns back to him, a fat syringe filled with his blood in her hand and her sleeve already rolled up, a rubber band around her bicep.

“I don’t have to do it this way,” Jill says, reasonably. “It doesn’t have to be clinical.”

“Don’t do this–” Hob pleads.

“We could do it the fun way. I know you’re attracted to me.”

“I flirt with everyone while I’m tending bar, it’s my job, it doesn't mean–”

“And then, when eternity stretches out before us, you will share your secrets–”

“I have already!” Hob protests. “It’s not something that happened to me, it’s not, it’s not genetic, or, or… it’s not something that someone infected me with and it’s not something I can pass on. I know for a fact because I’ve had kids, and they died. I just… I made up my mind not to die, and so I don’t.”

He doesn’t mention Dream, or Death, or the Endless, because this bellend hasn’t brought them up at all, and he’s not about to give her more folks to go after. 

Jill laughs, as if he’s a toddler who thinks he’s told the world’s funniest joke. “I can’t wait for you to drop this charade. Oh, Robert, we’re going to be so good for each other…” She lines up the needle, and slides it under her skin.

“Seriously, Jill, you’re going to hurt yourself and I’d hate to be the reason for it–please, please don’t–”

Jill pushes down the plunger.

Fuck.

As Hob predicted, Jill starts to take a turn for the worse about an hour later.

Never mind that you can’t just Van Helsing your way through blood transfusions–even Hob knows that the body will reject a non-compatible blood type, and sometimes violently–Hob wasn’t joking when he said that he’s had every major disease ever. Antibodies are a thing of course, but there’s no guarantee that every fleck of illness in him has been subdued. 

“You’re not looking so good, Jill,” Hob says from the massage table. He’s got one arm free and has been trying to subtly work the other one. He doesn’t want to alert his captor that he’s loose until he can get his legs free first.

Part of the reason he says it is because he’s hoping she’ll leave to take care of herself, so he can get himself the rest of the way free and the fuck outta the shed before she comes back. The other part is because she genuinely does not look good.

Her skin is rapidly paling, leaving only feverish splotches of colour on her cheeks. She’s got her arms wrapped around herself where she hunches over the potting bench, shivering non-stop. The sweat is thick and clammy on her forehead.

“It’s just my mortal body dying,” Jill gasps around a wracking bout of chills.

“And that’s the problem,” Hob agrees. “You need to go to the hospital.”

“No,” Jill grunts.

“Jill, I’m not a vampire, but I didn’t lie when I said I was immortal. I’ve watched a lot of people die. Don’t make me watch you, too, not when there’s all this amazing modern medicine that can help you–”

“No,” Jill repeats.

Both wrists freed, Hob unclips the belt around his chest, and sits up. “Fine. We’ll do this the hard way, then.” He reaches for the straps holding down his ankles.

“No!” Jill shouts, and shoots him.

Hob’s first thought, when he comes to, is that he hadn’t expected her to have a gun. 

He should have expected her to have a gun, because it was a safe assumption that anyone kidnapping and hoping to hold another human being against his will was likely to have a weapon of some kind. And Jill wasn’t exactly the type to be proficient in the art of the blade. A gun is the easiest weapon for an untrained civilian to use.

If one of the most painful to survive.

“Ow,” Hob says, unsure where exactly the pain was the most intense just yet, but deciding that it really does have to be said.

“Oh, you’re back to life,” Jill says from somewhere to his right. 

Hob rolls his head in her direction, at peers blearily at her. It’s too bright, whatever window is behind her blurred and glaring, making it hard to pin her in his sights.

“I’m not back to life, because I didn’t die,” Hob mutters.

“That was very rude of you,” Jill says, and then hunches over the steering wheel to cough hard for a few seconds.

Steering wheel?

Yes, steering wheel.

“That was rude of me?” Hob asks, struggling to sit up.

The side of his head screams in burning agony, and Hob bites down on a matching one that’s trying to crawl up his throat. Something hot and wet trickles over the shell of his ear and down his neck. He squeezes his eyes shut at the revolting sensation and realizes that most of the pain is coming from a spot just above his right ear.

Oh my god, she shot me in the head! 

Or, at least, the side of his head, he figures, seeing as he’s conscious right now. He wants to touch it, wants to see how much of his brains the bitch blew out, but his hands are bound behind his back with zip ties, and he’s strapped into the passenger seat of the junky old van they’re in.

Hob’s never been shot in the head before. He hopes he’s not losing any memories along with the grey matter.

“You’re not healing fast,” Jill says, ignoring his incredulity. “Are you hungry? Did I take too much blood? We can, uh, pick up a hitchhiker, I guess?”

“I’m not a vampire!” Hob snarls. “And I don’t have supernatural healing, either! I’m just a guy who cannot die! Ow!” he adds as his head throbs and another gush of what Hob assumes is blood and brains plops onto his shoulder. “This is seriously gross.”

Jill gags as a response, which turns into another series of coughs. She’s clutching so hard at the steering wheel that the van wobbles on the pavement in response. Agonizingly, Hob turns to look out the window and is relieved to see that they’re on a country road at least. Jill can’t accidentally drive into a crowd or oncoming traffic out here, thank god.

Jesu Maria, Hob’s head hurts. The pain and the whizzing landscape are combining to make him nauseous and he swallows his own spit and bites the inside of his cheek hard, because the last thing he wants to do is vomit when he’s strapped back like this, and his goddamned brains are leaking out of his goddamned skull.

“Where are we going?”

“My mum used to have a caravan in a park,” Jill slurs. “S’mine now. She died.”

Hob digests that. “Recently?”

Jill’s already blood-shot eyes well up with tears. “Last week.”

“Ah,” Hob says, but doesn’t add: So that’s why you decided to do this now. Her death scared the shit out of you. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Jill blinks hard, tears rolling down her cheeks, and then is taken by another coughing jag. The van skids off the asphalt dangerously, skidding in the gravel of the shoulder, bumping on to the grass for a heart-stopping few seconds before Jill jerks the wheel and rights it.

“WHeE! ThIs iS fUn,” says a voice from behind Hob. He doesn’t bother to turn to look, because he knows said voice well enough to place it immediately.

“Hey sis,” he greets Delirium. “You here for her or me?”

Del just reaches out to stroke Jill’s cheek kindly.

Jill, who can’t see the Endless in the van, nonetheless jerks at the touch, then turns to blink owlishly at Hob. “Who are you talking to?”

Hob shrugs. He sees no point obfuscating the truth. Not if Del’s presence means what he thinks it means. “My sister-in-law.”

Jill glances in the rearview mirror. “There’s no one here. Are you, like, communicating through telepathy?”

Hob groans and lets his head fall back against the seat instead of answering. “Ow.”

“Ew,” Del says, her face right up against his wound. “THaT iS sO cOOl.”

"Is it big?"

"MmmMmm, SiZe of A gOlF bAll?" 

He feels something, small and warm, touch the edge of the wound, just on the inside curve of his skull.

“Gross, don't stick your finger in it, Del.”

“Who are you talking to?” Jill demands again, twisting in her seat to check the back, eyes darting and rolling wildly. “Cut it out!”

“Pull over,” Hob says.

“No!”

“HoLd On,” Delirium says gently.

“How?” Hob chuckles.

All the same, Hob closes his eyes. He doesn’t like being in car crashes. He’s had enough nightmares about them to add fodder by witnessing what’s about to happen.

“Jill, please, for your sake, pull over.”

“No!”

“You’re not well, you need help. Please let me help you.”

“You are helping me,” Jill says, a stubborn set to her voice.

“Then, I’m sorry,” Hob says.

“Sorry for what? Hey, why are your eyes closed, are you–”

Hob wakes in the grass. His body must have been flung from the wreck, because when he shifts, he can’t see the van anywhere around. He feels like one giant bruise, and wriggling around to get his arms under his feet and in front of him is made easier (more painful! But easier!) by a dislocated shoulder. 

Once his hands are at his front, Hob decides to pass out again.

“Uncle Hob,” Dream of the Endless says, when Hob collapses at the foot of his throne. “You can’t stay.”

“I’m exhausted,” Hob complains. “And I don’t hurt here. Can I rest just a little?”

“No,” Dream says, emerald eyes glittering, and blows sand in his face. “It's not safe for you to be unconscious right now. This dream is–”

Hob gasps back to reality, screaming as his consciousness slams back into his body. His voice echoes across the night sky, scaring some birds from the nearby hedgerows. Hob pants and whines as he takes stock of the extent of the damage–the side of his head, his dislocated shoulder, scrapes like fire on the exposed skin of his cheek and arms, and, yeah, that’s a broken ankle.

Fuck.

He lays still for a very long time, watching the stars wheel overhead, and after a while he realizes that nobody is coming. The road is deserted, there are no sirens in the distance, and Hob has no idea where his phone is. 

Del is gone.

He would have liked the company, but he's feeling tortuously clear-headed from the pain right now, so he understands why she couldn't stick around.

Hob rolls and jerks around on the ground until he gets his shoulder popped back into its socket, grunting and sobbing with the relief of it. Then he slides his zip-tied wrists between one knee and jerks hard until the plastic snaps. Not before it gouges deep into the flesh on the backs of his hands, though, leaving thin, weeping cuts behind. 

Hob manages to get himself upright, and take stock of his surroundings. Several car-lengths behind him on the road, the balustrade of a small one-lane stone bridge is smashed outward, a piece of the van swinging from one of the poles.

Fuck, again.

Hob limps over to the side and peers down at the wreckage of twisted metal resting against the stone pier cap. He watches for a few minutes. He's just about to give up when he thinks he sees something moving inside.

Triple fuck.

The water rushing under the bridge is deep and likely to be cold, this late in the autumn. Bracing himself for the shock of it, and the pain swimming will cause his ankle, Hob throws himself over the side. He surfaces a few meters away from the van, and struggles against the current until he can get his hand on the dented fender and haul himself close enough to heave his torso over the side and get a good perch on the crushed remains of the passenger door.

By the time Hob has caught his breath enough to try peering through the window, Death is already perched beside him on one of the wheels.

“Oh,” Hob says. Sinking realization makes him slip a little.

“I’m sorry,” Death says, reaching out to offer Hob both a hug and a more stable perch against the crumpled metal.

“Me too,” Hob agrees, burying his face against his sister-in-law’s shoulder and letting her hold him up. “Damn shitty way to die.”

Death holds him until Destruction rescues him from the river, a few hours later, with an ambulance and half a fire brigade following in his wake.

PART TWO "A HOSPITAL BRACELET: COMFORT"

[teddywrites0]

𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐝 (𝐛.𝐜)

summary: bang chan is a hunter. not an ordinary hunter, no, a supernatural hunter. his lover is resurrected from the dead, given a mission by the devil himself. (femdemon!reader hunter!bangchan, reunited lovers, lee know cameo, supernatural au, inspired by the show supernatural obviously. winchester brothers mentioned lol)

warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of death, explicit mentions of injuries, mentions of murder, lowercase intended, let me know if i missed any (:

a/n: super hyper fixated on supernatural (the show) recently, its not necessarily accurate to the show it has my own little twist, so this is for my supernatural watchers (; (and those who just enjoy this kind of stuff lol)

wc: 2.0k

of course you knew this would happen eventually, you’d be bound to a chair or a bed by a hunter in no time. however, you didn’t expect it to be someone you were familiar with. someone who, before you went to hell and lucifer turned you, was very important to you. you wriggled your wrist under the rope leaving a burning sensation. “god this is ridiculous.” you mumbled. you were in a motel room, the man in question sitting on a bed in front of you, legs spread in a relaxed position. he chuckled, “you know it’s not funny to play with someone’s feelings, to prance around in her body. though, i’ve never encountered your kind of demon. hell shapeshifting demons? haven’t seen one on earth in centuries.” you shook your head rapidly. “channie this is a misunderstanding it is me.” he crossed is arms, “the only time i’ve ever heard of someone rising from the dead he was brought back by an angel; those brothers from america. lucifer doesn’t have that kind of power.” — “if you’d listen you’d understand.” you said gritting your teeth. “and why should i do that? all you demons do is lie, it’s in the job description.” he threw holy water at your face, steam rising as you felt like your skin would melt off. you seethed, “if you exercise me i’ll have to find a skin suit to use and i don’t want to get my hands dirty.” he stood up furrowing his eyebrows, “if i exercise you, you’re banished to hell.” he said in a confused tone. “you’re wrong. i was put back here for a reason, because i made a deal.” he walked around the chair in a circle, “i’ll let you tell your little story.” he said with a cocky smirk. he sat back on the bed, “a soul for a soul.” he scoffed, “what?” you rolled your eyes, “i made a deal to give lucifer a soul if i could have mine back, i just have to kill the son of a bitch myself.” he chuckled again, “see that’s why i don’t trust you, y/n wouldn’t kill a random innocent person.” — “you know that serial killer the cops are after? it’s not a random innocent person… it’s someone who deserves it.” his eyes widened slightly, “yeah the one who killed me.”

“so how exactly does this work?” it had been nearly an hour, you were still bound to the chair but you were gaining his trust. “if i kill him myself, i won’t be this anymore, i’ll be back with you and we can be partners again. we can be together again.” he thought for a second, a look of contemplation on his face. “how do i know i can trust you?” — “because it’s engraved on your heart.” you said through frustrated, gritted teeth. “what is that supposed to mean?” you scoffed, “don’t play dumb, you’ve heard of it. soul ties? god you’d think years of experience would teach you a thing or two.” he ran his hands through his hair, “so what? if our souls are tied and you fail this mission, i die? and you- you stay like that?” you nodded your head, “precisely. it’s a cruel punishment but deals come with consequences. i live for an eternity as a monster without you.” he began to pace around the room, “you shouldn’t have to think. you just have to trust me, the only proof you would have is keeping me here until you die. which is at midnight might i add.” you shouted. he glanced at the clock, 9:00pm. “do you know where this guy is? if you’re really you then you’d be smart enough to track him.” you mentally facepalmed, “i can smell a hell bound soul a mile away. came with the job description.” you repeated his words with a smirk. “if i untie you you’re out of the door right away, and i know how to track you if you’re gone past midnight.” you smiled, “you’ve got a deal.” he untied you and you quickly stepped toward the front door, you turned to face him, “see you soon.” and with that you left. you picked up the man’s scent pretty quickly, you ran through the woods and into a clearing. he was close, you couldn’t pinpoint where until you heard a shrill scream. you ran to the noise, a woman tied to a tree the same way you had been when this man had killed you. the man approached her, holding a knife to her neck. you held your hand out, using your new power to throw him at a nearby tree, holding him there. you ran to the woman, untying her, “run as far as you can until you find someone who can help.” she nodded and dodged through the dark woods. “what- what are you?” the man questioned frantically. “oh please you don’t remember me? victim number five?” you taunted. you stepped closer, the moon light cascading over your face. “but- but how?” you chuckled, “just wait until you meet him face to face.”

it was almost ten by now, you were having fun. torturing your killer, making him beg for mercy the same way you had. “please i- i’ll do anything, i’ll turn myself in!” he pleaded. “tsk where you’re going is worse than any prison you could ever imagine.” you lifted your hand again, “no please no!” with a twist of your wrist his neck snapped and he toppled to the floor. “i have to say if we hadn’t made this deal i’d love to have you as a permanent soldier.” a familiar voice said from behind you. you turned around, “minho?” you said with widened eyes. “relax im only using his body for laughs.” you balled your fists, “you killed my brother?” he put his arms up defensively, “no no sweet girl, but he’ll be pretty messed up when i’m done with him.” tears pricked your eyes, “i did what you asked.” he came closer, using his index finger to lift your chin. “good girl. now you get to live a full, happy life with your lover.” he put his index and middle finger to your forehead, mumbling something in latin. a white light appeared and forced its way down your throat, the darkness that clouded your mind was whisked away. your body began to feel weaker, “now, given the fact that you rose as a demon you were strong, but now you’ve got your soul. it’s going to be a healing process.” he said with a smirk. you slowly kneeled as your knees felt weak. your eyes flooded with tears and a burning sensation coated your neck. he removed his fingers, grabbing a broken bottle from the ground and holding it at your eye level. “take a look.” in your reflection you saw a scar had formed on your neck, where your throat had been slit at your death. “it’ll be permanent but then you’ll have a story to tell at christmas dinner. besides you’re a hunter, it’s kind of pitiful you were murdered by a civilian.” he teased sinfully. “let my brother go.” your voice now hoarse. “it would be my pleasure.” his head shot up and black smoke shot out of his mouth, floating above his body and plummeting into the ground. his body toppled to the ground and you hurried to catch him. “y/n?” he whispered with squinted eyes. “c’mon we have to go.” you pulled his arm over your shoulder.

you stumbled through the hallways of the motel searching for the room chan was in. the time was pushing 11:50pm. you found the room and began to bang on the door with your free hand, your other arm occupied by holding your younger brother up. “christopher open the damn door!” you shouted. it swung open and suddenly you both were pulled inside. you struggled to keep minho up when you felt a splash of water on your face. only this time, it didn’t burn. “seriously?” you said with a glare. “s-so you weren’t lying?” chan said in disbelief. “no time for that he needs rest.” he quickly helped you bring your brother into the bed, laying him flat on his back. “he didn’t hurt him physically but he drained his energy, he passed out halfway through the walk back.” — “what about you? when people rise from the dead it isn’t exactly unicorns and rainbows.” he said sternly. “i’ll be fine i’m more worried about him.” you said standing up fully. chan could finally see you now, he hadn’t gotten a good look at you since you were kneeling over your brother. he hurriedly lifted your chin, examining the healed scar in panic. “chan i’m fine, i was brought back by lucifer did you expect me to come back without my cause of death evident?” he chuckled, “god i’ve missed you.” his hand went from your neck to your cheek, leaning in slowly. “y/n?” your brother croaked. you rushed to his side. “b-but how? i thought you were dead.” he said as he tried to sit up, failing miserably as he groaned in pain. “you need to rest, i’ll explain everything later.”

you sat at the side of the bed watching minho like a hawk. he slept peacefully yet every flinch or twitch worried you. a pair of hands rested on your shoulders, chan knelt in front of you, “he’ll be alright, you need to regain your strength as well. you’ve been dead for three months i’m sure some sleep will do you good.” he joked with a soft smile. you rubbed your face with your hands, “i didn’t want to have to tell him about my job.” you began to tear up. “hey, hey if anything this is my fault. you wouldn’t be a hunter if i hadn’t dragged you along with me.” he held your cheek in his hand, wiping a stray tear with his thumb. “it’s not your fault, being in love with someone means sacrifices. if i have to sacrifice a normal life to be with you then i’ll do it.” you said seriously. “we can have a normal life. we can retire, get married, start a family. we know how to protect ourselves from nearly everything. if anything comes after us we know how to fight, but i promise, no more jobs. there are plenty of hunters out there to pick up where we left off. i’m not going to lose you again.” you wrapped your arms around his neck, harshly planting your lips on his. your lips moved against each other like they were made for one another. technically speaking, they were. you pulled away breathing heavily, “we should move to daegu.” you said surely. he chuckled, “anything for you.” you smiled as he pulled you in for another kiss.

five years later >>

you dipped your paintbrush into a dark green paint, carefully swiping it on the canvas. the beautiful country side in front of you didn’t even realize how much of a muse it had become for you. chan emerged from the front door, stepping onto the porch you had been residing on all morning. he handed you a glass of ice water before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “how many mornings am i going to see my beautiful wife out here painting the same view?” he questioned with a soft smile. you stood up from your stool wiping your hands on your apron and setting the glass down on your easel. “until i’ve painted every single new flower that grows.” you said as you wrapped your arms around his waist, looking up at him with admiration. you were chest to chest, and you could feel his heart thumping against yours. you both could hear each others hearts beating rhythmically. “i’ll never get tired of that feeling.” he said with a satisfied sigh. you kissed the corner of his lips, “i’m glad it’s you.” — “it will always be me, my name is engraved on your heart.”

[the-tragic-heroine]

死鬼祭 | Shiki Matsuri

fandom: tokyo revengers

characters: kurokawa izana, kakucho, haitani ran, haitani rindou, madarame shion

pairings: tenjiku x female reader

cw: blood, violence, minor character death, supernatural elements, she/her pronouns used for reader

tags: @akemiixx01​

—✧ SUMMARY ✧—

The villagers say that you cursed them all. You believe that they were the ones who cursed you. (Or, in which the circumstances of your unfortunate birth woke a forgotten, slumbering god.)

Very vague depictions of the supernatural here, and a few cameos of specific yokai if you can spot them! Title is based off of a song by KODOKULOVE! More characters may be added as the story progresses.

Read on AO3 Read Chapter One | Read Chapter Two | Read Chapter Three

CHAPTER 肆 FOUR

“Damn, there’s even more of these fuckers around than before,” Ran said as he cleansed the shrine grounds. “Hey, princess— my beloved little bro’s training been paying off yet?”

“Fuck off,” Rindou grumbled from where he sat next to you on the engawa as usual. He clicked his tongue and pointed at the slip of paper you were writing on. “You missed a stroke there. And here— the kanji is wrong.”

“Not again,” you groaned, dropping your brush with an exasperated sigh. Your fingers were already stained dark with splotches of calligraphy ink. “Who decided to come up with this many characters? And look, they’re practically the same, too!”

“Yeah, keep saying that. Just don’t come crying to me when it doesn’t work.”

“C’mon, Rin— don’t be so harsh on her,” Ran said, dusting his hands off and making his way back to the two of you. “Anyways, I’m done. If any more come back, though, you’re handlin’ it. I’m gonna take a nap.” Before either of you could say anything, he plopped down by your side and stretched himself across your lap like a cat. With a contented hum, he let his cheek rest against your thigh and closed his eyes.

Rindou’s brow twitched. “Get off her, you lazy asshole.”

“Nope.”

“It’s okay,” you interjected with a little laugh. “I don’t mind, really. Besides, I think I need a break. We’ve been writing all day.”

Ran cracked open one purple eye. “Yeah, Rin. Let’s have a break.”

“Ugh, fine. Whatever.”

Rindou moved to gather up the papers and stand, but you stopped him by placing a hand on his arm. He glanced over at you with an incredulous expression as you lay down yourself, tugging him down together with you. “Hey—”

“I say we all have a nap,” you announced, beaming brightly. “Izana can’t be mad at all of us, can he?”

“He sure can,” Rindou muttered, but found himself settling down by your side all the same. “C’mere, the floor is hard. You’ll get a headache if you sleep on it for too long.” He shifted your head so that you lay against his shoulder—and at the same time, Ran moved off your lap, wriggling his way up your side and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“The fuck are you doing?” Rindou snapped.

“You’re gettin’ too close. At least lemme have a bit, too.”

“Shut up, you guys,” you grumbled, but you couldn’t stop the giggle bubbling up. “Stop arguing and sleep.”

When Izana returned later that day, he found the three of you still curled up and fast asleep in a tangled mess of limbs—with both Ran and Rindou each clutching one of your hands. He smiled, as he usually did, and as he passed by bent down to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes made a mental note to assign both brothers to housecleaning for the rest of the week.

—✧—

Kakucho steeled his expression when he and Izana entered town together—for him, the first time in a couple of weeks, as Izana had deliberately prevented him from going. Yet, from the state of the village, he could have been convinced that another hundred years had gone by.

What had originally been a flock of malevolent spirits scattered between buildings and people had melted together into a thick, oozing miasma that stretched over nearly the entire area, like if fog had solidified and turned black. The villagers could not see any of it, of course—but the negative atmosphere was palpable. People argued. Children cried. The rest wore a haggard, exhausted imitation of what their faces used to be. Not even a single bird dared to perch on any rooftops.

“You’re concerned,” Izana said, matter-of-factly like he was merely stating the weather. There was no sense in debating it, so Kakucho simply shrugged his shoulders in half-hearted affirmation. Izana’s white eyelashes fluttered as he smiled.

“Don’t worry. She’ll understand,” he said, stepping into the village and breezing past wretched person after wretched person without sparing them a second glance. Kakucho trailed behind him with his mouth firmly shut. “Even if she doesn’t, she will not have a choice. This place is beyond saving.”

Was it? The black-haired subordinate could not help but think back on his master’s previous actions: how he never allowed any of them to cleanse the village; how he never permitted more than one person to patrol the area without him; how he purposefully allowed your tormentors to live; how in spite of his over-protectiveness and constant watchful eye, he never warned you against going back into town until you were violently driven out yourself. He thought about Rindou’s words and how you finally started to trust them, even after all that you went through. His stomach twisted inside-out. Of course, even without having to look at him, Izana noticed.

“I normally don’t appreciate weakness,” the god said. “Especially not at this crucial moment. But, you know, I’m glad. That you care about her so much.”

Purple eyes caught Kakucho’s startled gaze. “I’ve known you ever since we both came to be,” he continued. “Together we learned about the cruelty of selfish humans and the world—yet your heart is still as soft as it was the day you were born. What is yours is mine and what is mine is yours, too. Don’t forget it.”

With that, Izana entered one of the village homes. Kakucho followed instinctively, and it was only when he heard the telltale sound of weeping that he realised where they were. Hunched over the unconscious form of a familiar young man was his equally familiar mother, crying without end. He lay deathly still upon a worn futon.

Kakucho knew right then what Izana wanted him to do.

What is mine is yours.

Your smiling face flashed to his mind—the last living person who held Izana’s heart in her hands. The heart that had been crushed into dust and left to rot over centuries. Without any more hesitation, Kakucho reached into the young man’s chest, gripped that weakly beating organ, and squeezed.

Black ink bubbled up from the corners of his lips, parted to let out one last breath. Out poured more of the putrid liquid, streaming from every orifice: his ears, nose, and eyes, forming a gaping shadow on the floor reminiscent of your mother’s death.

—✧—

Unbeknownst to you, the first stone had fallen. (But in Izana’s eyes, that stone had already tumbled into motion centuries ago.)

It arrived at your doorstep in the form of a loud commotion: a litany of hushed, frantic voices, intercepted in-between by shrieking wails of blood-curdling anguish. Terrified, you found yourself huddled inside of your room once more, mind looping with blurred memories. Shion was pacing irritably in front of the closed door; the second you saw him materialize out of his spiritual form, cracking his knuckles with a feral grin and a bloodthirsty glint in his eyes, you had dragged him inside with you before he could even protest. (Why the others had left him alone with you again, you did not know—although you had an inkling that perhaps they felt he was not competent enough to join them on more important missions.)

“Lemme at ‘em,” Shion growled, a prominent vein bulging from the side of his half-shaved head. “I’ll teach ‘em not to mess with us.”

“No,” you snapped. “No. Pretend we’re not home and they… they might leave. Or at least, buy us some time before Izana and the others make it back home…”

“Why? Why do I gotta wait for ‘em?!”

“Because you’re gonna turn this place into a bloodbath!”

“So? They’d do it too. That’s the fuckin’ point—”

“Yeah, but you would find a way to make it so much worse—”

Your argument was cut off abruptly by the voices outside, now close enough that you could distinguish what exactly they were saying.

“Please!” A voice you instantly recognized pierced you right through the chest. “Please, my son— Please do something, I’m begging you—”

“Ma’am, it’s dangerous! Come home!”

“There’s nothing that witch can do! He’s already dead…!”

In an instant, you were on your feet and pushing Shion aside. He gaped at you, stuck in place with a dumbfounded expression as you shoved open the fusama and ran to the shrine entrance. A beat later, he was chasing after you, shouting in confusion. “[Name], what the fuck?!”

Your response was to whirl around and slam your hand against his chest. Shion only had half a second to glance down at a piece of paper, which had adhered itself to his body, before an electric jolt paralyzed him from head-to-toe and he collapsed to the floor. One of Rindou’s talismans, he thought as he convulsed in place, glazed eyes only able to stare at the ceiling. Unable to move, he listened your footsteps recede. Bastard.

By the time you made it to the entrance, the villagers had already given up on holding the grieving mother back—and when you emerged from behind the door, they cowered and fled. The woman threw herself at your feet, her face a mess of tears and snot, hands curled like claws around your ankles. You crouched down hesitantly, leaning in as close as you could so that you could decipher her through her sobbing.

“Please,” she cried. “Please bring him back! I am sorry for everything we have done! Just please… give him back to me. I have no one left. I am all alone…”

I am all alone.

Your feeble heart shattered and as best as you could, you wrapped your arms around her while she wept into the dirt at your feet. There was nothing else you could do, for even a god such as Izana could not bring the dead back to life. You wondered about the remaining teenagers back at the village; you had not seen any of them during the last time you visited, and shuddered at the memory of Ran’s coldhearted yet gleeful retelling of their injuries. Were they near death, too? Would they be next? How many more people would break just like this, finding themselves at your home and begging desperately for a forgiveness that you still were unable to grant?

“Please, say something,” the woman said, lifting her head to look at your stricken expression. “I will do anything to save him. Please tell me there is something you can do…”

You swallowed. “Ma’am,” you breathed out, forcing yourself to remain steady. “I… I’m not a witch, nor a healer. There is nothing I can do for your son. I’m sorry.”

“No,” she rasped, eyes wild. “No, you’re lying.”

With a growing pit in your stomach, you realised where this conversation was heading yet again. You attempted to wriggle your way out of her grip, still locked like a vice around your ankles. “I’m not,” you protested, trying not to panic. “I’m not lying—”

The relief when she let go was fleeting; you had no time to react when she launched herself at you, shaking you viciously by the shoulders. The force of it sent you careening to the ground, landing you flat on your back and knocking the wind from your lungs.

“You’re lying!” she screeched, spittle flying from her cracked lips, tinged with black. “I’ve seen those ghosts creeping about your shrine! You have been communing with demons, haven’t you?! Give him back! Give my son back!”

This time, both of her bony hands wrapped around your throat. You wheezed, nails scrabbling at her wrists, legs kicking out from beneath you as your vision began to grow spotty. Her shouting grew muffled as your ears began to ring—but it wasn’t just her voice anymore. Your eyes flew open in horror, all the while gasping for air, just in time to witness the first few trickles of a dark substance leaking from the corners of her mouth. Then her ears, her nose, her eyes—and with a distorted cry, it all rushed out of her at once, engulfing you both in a twisting mass that threatened to permeate your own body.

Why did you think you could fix things? Why did you think you could do this alone? Why did you think that there was even hope for them to be saved? Now, because of your own stupidity, you were going to die, and without your belief to keep them going, Izana and the rest of his followers would die, too—

“Tch, tell Rindou that his stupid talismans ain’t SHIT!”

The black smoke surrounding you burst like a bubble, scattering blobs of goo in every direction. Sweet, sweet air poured into your airways as you were abruptly released. One of your hands grasped your aching neck while you coughed and gasped, the other bracing yourself on the ground. In front of you stood Shion, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, a look of pure fury on his face. And, writhing several meters in front of Shion was the grotesque form of the village woman, now completely covered with a ghastly, laughing mess of demonic spirits.

“I’ll get back atcha for doin’ that, you bitch,” Shion grumbled, turning his head briefly to glare at you over his shoulder, but his words lacked any real sort of venom. With that he turned back around and stalked toward the demons, whose attention was now focused entirely on him. Then, he was onto them.

Shion did not fight like Ran, who moved with a conscious elegance and grace like he were putting on a performance. He did not fight like Rindou, whose form was stable and practiced to perfection. Instead he was like a wild animal, all vicious teeth and claws, ripping through each entity as if they were nothing but rice paper. You watched, wide-eyed and frozen in place, while Shion tore his way through the horde until only the villager remained—still tearfully wailing into the forest, tongue black and dripping liquid soot. He spared you one more glance with burning eyes, only for his brows to furrow and his rage to shift into something else: softer, more muted. Don’t look.

But you did look. Maybe it was the guilt gnawing away at your insides, or maybe you were too enraptured by the sight, or maybe your brain was still struggling to process everything in anything other than slow-motion. Whatever the reason, you watched as Shion plunged one hand down the woman’s gaping mouth, her jaw snapping further open as his entire arm vanished up to his shoulder. Several long, agonising seconds passed before he appeared to grip something—then pulled. With a horrific spray of dark liquid, both blood and enigma combined, Shion yanked her still-beating heart right out of her body. Around it curled a demon, clutching the dripping organ in the imitation of a warm embrace.

“My son,” it gurgled, before Shion crushed it into nothingness.

A heavy silence fell upon the woods. When he appeared by your side next, a bloody hand reached for your face—but quickly recoiling in realisation and awkwardly offering the sleeve of his yukata instead. The fabric brushed against your wet cheeks. You did not know you had been crying.

—✧—

“Can’t believe fuckin’ Shion out of all people saved the day,” Ran bemoaned. “All ‘cause we weren’t home for what, one fuckin’ hour? D’ya think Izana did it on purpose?!”

“That’s what you’re upset about?” Rindou shot him a glare.

“Shut up, Rin. You’re the one who’s mad he didn’t get to see our little [Name] use his talisman on the buffoon.”

“Look, I’m not mad. I just wish I could have seen it in person.”

“Maybe we could ask her to do it again?”

Both brothers glanced over at you, sandwiched between the two of them at your usual spot. But you gave no sign that you were even listening, eyes staring blankly ahead as you sipped a cup of tea. Ever since that incident, the men had been staying home more often than not; instead, Izana, sometimes accompanied by Kakucho, was the one who was absent in their stead. In fact, you had not seen the shrine god in quite some time—not after the evening he spoke with you in private.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last talked like this,” Izana murmured. He was laying on his side next to your futon, one hand propping his chin up and the other stroking your hair. “I take it you’ve been enjoying the company of my servants, however.”

You studied his face through sleepy, half-lidded eyes and slowly nodded. Izana smiled, as he always did, but this time it was tinged with the faintest melancholy. He pinched a lock of hair between two fingers, rubbing them together before letting them fall against your cheek. Purple eyes traced every little movement.

“Soon,” he said, voice gentle like a sweet lullaby. “Soon, the sun will rise… but only after the storm has passed.”

“I don’t understand,” you whispered. “What are you doing…? What are you trying to do?”

“When the time is right, I will tell you, little one. Just know that I am doing it all for you. And for us.”

Izana really was beautiful, you thought to yourself; the moonlight shining through the window illuminated his white hair and lashes with an ethereal glow. In moments like these, he truly embodied the image of a deity. Yet…

“I thought that gods and spirits were different from us,” you admitted quietly. “But now, I think… I think that you’re all just another kind of human.”

“In any other situation, I would be offended,” he said with a small laugh, “but coming from you? I can be convinced to take it as a compliment.” As he spoke, his fingers drifted to your mouth, thumb swiping across your bottom lip. When he leaned in, your eyes fluttered shut.

You awoke to an empty room with the taste of plum sake on your lips.

[languajix]

@tmnt-fandom-family-reunion cabins 14 & 15!

(Cameo from another AU in cabin 14 in this section - @wandering-ghost's Mikey and Leo from the Ghost of the Past AU)

-

Mike booked it towards the nearest campfire, skidding to a stop. "You guys haven't seen a baby turtle crawl this way, have you? Softshell turtle, purple lines? Huge opinions in a teeny tiny package?"

The two turtles sitting at the nearest log turned to look at him. Oh thank shell, they were from his cabin. Versions of his own nibbles - the Michelangelo, Mikey, was a teenager, but his ghostly companion Leonardo looked to be only about three or so by Mike's estimation. They both shared a glance and a shrug. Mikey tilted his head. "No, we haven't. Do you need help looking?"

Mike tried for a smile but he was pretty sure it was more than halfway a grimace. "Uh, please. If you see him, give me a holler, and don't touch him, okay? Unless you're up to date on your shots." Ah. Probably shouldn't have suggested that Dee had rabies or something, that wouldn't help get either of them much help, but too late now -

-Something moved out of the corner of his eye. A shadow, from something just around a corner? It was gone before he could track it, but it was too big to be Dee's, in any case, so he turned to maybe go the other direction when El started slapping him insistently on the arm.

"Not now, little buddy, Dee wandered off and we gotta find him before he gets really lost, okay?"

El frowned and lifted his hands. "Dee." He tapped the side of his head. His ear.

"...wait, you can *hear* him?" Oh please please please.

El waved his arms in a sort of shrug, then pointed, insistently, somewhere almost in the direction of the shadow Mike had just seen. Great. Excellent. If El was right, then hopefully that had been a helpful, responsible counselor or camper, and Dee would be doing his thing or napping and Mike could take them all back to the cabin and let his nerves settle.

(But that shadow had been awfully large, and Mike had seen many a monster movie... and he could only feel the way his heart thumped dully with dread.)

Nothing was there when they turned the corner, and Mike was both incredibly relieved and incredibly disappointed. Oh shell. What was he supposed to do now? He'd never be able to face Donnie and tell him he'd lost a nephew. 

"Was this where you heard it?"

El nodded, looking around, but Dee was nowhere to be found.

Lee sniffed the air and squirmed. "Not the time, Baby Blue. I give you license to wiggle as much as you want *after* we've found Dee. You remember Dee? You guys are like, peapods or whatever. Peas in a-"

At Dee's name, Lee had begun to wriggle even *harder.* He chirped, practically crawling out of Mike's arm, and Mike had to lean backwards, hard, to try and catch him before he fell completely out. "Whoa!" 

Lee wanted to go somewhere. Insistently. Okay, maybe luck was on Mike's side and the place he wanted to go was the place where Dee had gone to. Dee's legs could only push him so far, so he had to be close, and this was kind of within reasonable range. "Okay, okay, okay. Is Dee over here? Is that what you're trying to tell me? *Please* say that's what you're trying to tell me."

He started moving in the direction that Lee's snout pointed.

Monster Movie trope 1: The big shadow moving out of the corner of the victim's eye.

Monster Movie trope 2: Finding the nest.

The space was mostly rock, so it was hard to be sure, but there were some very shallow, telling scrapes along the stone floor and the walls that gave Mike an incredibly rough idea of size and shape of the... whatever it was supposed to be. And whatever it was was big. Towards the entrance to the hidden little alcove was an empty marshmallow bag or two that looked like they had been torn open with some serious teeth. This was bad news. Bad, bad news.

"...you're sure Dee was here?" He asked, and Lee sniffed the air again, pointing his nose in every direction.

El sniffed the air himself and then nodded.

Mike was prone to catastrophizing sometimes, he knew. So he tried as *hard* as he could to pretend like he was someone else. Like he was Leo, maybe. And just look at the facts before he got too sick to his stomach.

There was no blood. 

There was also no creature.

There was also no Dee.

El said he'd heard Dee just a moment ago.

So Dee had, what, come across some camp cryptid and it didn't eat him? It took Dee, walked out of here, towards the cabins, and...

He turned on his heel and started heading back out, ignoring the cold sweat on the back of his neck, dripping slowly down his shell. "Guys, how do you feel about playing the Hot or Cold game?"

Campfire Stories

@tmnt-fandom-family-reunion's current theme is Campfire Stories. Cabin 14 represent!

Camping was honestly so cool. Mike had shaken hands or exchanged friendly nods with... just so many other versions of his own family that his brain was starting to spin.

No one had believed the invitation but him. It promised it would send whoever joined in right back to the moment they'd left, like they were never gone, which worked for him because he did actually have a lot of responsibilities and he was starting to get really worn out. Vacation? Yes please. Maybe there'd even be some good food. So he'd gone, alone, and. Well.

If he freaked out a little as he started to realize he was looking at a whole bunch of alternate versions of himself and his brothers, and alternate versions of the kids, and just like, a bunch of alternate sets of four-ish mutant turtles in general, no he didn't. This was just like the comic books, and Mike loved comic books. When was the last time they'd been on a comic-book-style adventure? They were due. They were due for an epic crossover event spanning a bunch of different titles that everyone had to buy every issue of to make sense of the storyline and might be a bit of a cash grab but who cared because crossovers were awesome.

And maybe it gave him a few little twinges just seeing so many complete sets of four wandering around, but that was fine. It was all good. He supposed that if he couldn't have found his way to Donnie, then at least he found his way to somewhere almost as cool.

...Then, partway through orientation, a tiny portal had opened up, and into his arms had tumbled his beloved nibbles.* How they'd got there was obvious; Little El had a partly chewed-up invitation in his mouth.

(Was some part of him the teeny-tiniest bit sad that Donnie had missed the opportunity to come so they could hug in person? Maybe. But who would he tell?)

Luckily, he'd been able to finagle a daycare of sorts while he went around greeting and bothering everyone. That was for the better, really; the camp was chaotic as heck, and the kids were better off out of the thick of things. He'd checked back in every so often and they seemed fine - Baby Lee was chattering away, Baby Dee was puzzling something out with some toys in a quiet corner, Baby Angie was sleeping, Baby El was peering out the window and waving to anyone passing by. But the day was long, and the sun had started falling, and the last time he poked his head in to check, El had burst into tears and wouldn't stop shrieking until Mike had picked him up, and any indication Mike was about to let go caused yet another wave of panic.

(It was weird to not... feel them, y'know? How they were feeling. They were just normal babies like this. For a given value of 'normal,' of course - nothing about them or their lives was normal. But hey, turns out it wasn't so unusual to be a giant mutant turtle, or to travel the multiverse. Who knew.)

Mike leaned back against the cabin wall, staring out at the various campfires that had already been lit across the camp. So many different turtles all chatting with each other. Mike had to admit, if not for the kiddos, he'd probably be right in the middle of all of that, but he wasn't going to wind them up. Baby Lee and Baby Dee each wiggled to find a more comfortable spot on either side of the crook of his neck, while El chewed on his own tail, held against Mike's plastron with his arm. No scolding could get El to remove it, and Mike couldn't pull it out because, hey, one hand, and the one hand was currently occupied with a sleeping Baby Angie.

There was one campfire burning right by the cabin that no one had started huddling by, yet, and Mike stared into it. Memories of campfires at the Northampton farmhouse, s'mores and smoke and hotdogs on sticks, were a lot less painful because Donnie wasn't dead. The sickly-sweet tinge of grief had washed away with time and with knowledge. It still made him a little sadly nostalgic, though, for a better time when they were whole.

"Hey, guys," he murmured to the tiny turtles. "You're too baby for s'mores, I think, but wanna sit by the fire for a bit? Give your creaky old uncle a chance to rest his legs?"**

Baby Lee chirped, of course, just happy to have something to respond to, and Baby El signed "yes." No response from Angie or Dee, as expected. Mike hefted Baby El a little higher - oof, he was getting so big, Mike was proud, though based on some of El's more grown-up alternate selves it was clear El still had a metric crap-ton of growing left to do - and walked them all over to the fire, settling himself down on a long, low-lying log. Just the right height for El to sit down on and give him a break for a bit.

"Think you're big enough to sit next to me?" He squeezed Baby El gently.

"Yes!" Baby El signed again. So Mike relaxed and let El slide down off his lap and onto the ground to his left. It only took El a few clumsy tries to sit himself properly on the log with his tail swaying behind him. As soon as he was situated, he'd wrapped his tiny fingers around Mike's belt, like saying, you're not allowed to go anywhere. Aaaw. Mike had the world's cutest nibbles, hands down. He patted the top of El's head with his left arm.

He dropped Baby Angie into his lap, freeing up his hand, and carefully did the same for Baby Lee and Baby Dee, trying hard to be patient and not move too fast because he did not want a fingerful of teeth tonight.

"So I know you guys've never been camping, but normally, you roast marshmallows and tell stories by the campfire!" He explained. "Scary stories, but, uh. Unfortunately, I can't just give you back to your Turtle Dad at the end of the day to deal with your nightmares and your sugar highs. This sucks. Hard to be the cool uncle in these conditions." He rested his hand on the log and leaned back a little to roll out his shoulders, stretching his legs out towards the firepit. Baby El tried to copy him and almost fell off.

"So scary stories are out. Fun stories are in! Do you guys wanna hear some fun stuff about your Tad when he was a kid?" Mike chuckled only a little bit evilly. "I got some embarassing ones. He can't stop me from telling 'em, now. You snooze, you lose, Donnie-boy."

The flames in front of them wavered, sending up sparks and lazy plumes of smoke into the slowly darkening twilight.

"So there was this one time..."

---

Would anyone like to join Mike at the campfire?

Hold Every Memory Mike (+nibbles)

*'nibbles' are Mike's word for the Rise babies, his 'nephews' by Don. They're his nephews/niblings and 'the right size for a little nibble.' We're adding the 'Baby' prefix here to separate them from some other similarly-named characters within the cabin - all babies are Baby __ for consistency

**do not believe his lies he is not even 30 yet

[idkrnnn]

It's her day

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update 17/June/2022

Oh my word, it's a hot one here!

Hope everyone is staying cool if it's hot where you are (or keeping warm if you're on the other hemisphere! :D)

The plan was to get some editing in this week, but I skipped that because I was on SUCH a roll with writing!

On such a major roll in fact that I finished Mason/Morgan's version of Chapter 14!!!!!

On Thursday I was doing so well that in the back of my mind I was thinking, 'I might get this done this week...', but I didn't want to rush myself because I wanted to make sure and get everything in I wanted (as well as a couple of extra dialogue choice sets because, well you know, it's me, hehe!)

So that means I can get a jumpstart on Adam/Ava's early and begin it today!

Chapter 14, although a split version of the chapter so each love interest has their own chapter, is really lovely and straight forward after the intensity of the last few chapters! But I think it's also needed for the reader, as A LOT has happened in the story at this point—not just with information, but to the actual MC, so some downtime is definitely needed for a bit.

There was also a major thing that I added in this week that meant a lot to me personally.

'[New Character] gathers three rats into his arms, their colours like an ombre: one flint black, the next a caramel-brown, and the last one a silver-grey. 

He hugs them against his chest with a sigh of affection. The rats nuzzle against him, one of them wriggling to be free and scamper onto his shoulder.'

For anyone who's been following me for quite some time might recognise this cameo...

Although I lost my boys a while ago now, I just really wanted a small part for them in the story. They were with me for so much of Wayhaven when they were with me, that it feels right to have them memorialised in there.

So yeah, it was a little bit of an emotional moment to write that, especially with M being their usual grumpy self in this scene too, lol!

For Adam/Ava's version of Chapter 14, I'm a little ahead of myself again too, as I have a chunk of scene I cut from Chapter 11 for them to use in this chapter instead, so that's nice! I've got to rewrite it to fit in with what's happening here, but having that base is always a good jumping point!

Hope you all have a wonderful weekend! We'll be offline as usual, so I'll update you all again next week! <3

[sadinasaphrite]

Whumptober Day 2 - Grim

Next up is Grim, and an early cameo from everyone’s favorite huntsman. No major warnings apply.

Read on AO3!

No. 2 NOWHERE TO RUN

Cornered | Caged | Confrontation

Fic under the cut!

Humans were so stupid. Pathetic human brains were incapable of functioning without their dumb little rituals, but it seemed far more stupid that he had to follow the same idiotic customs.

Brush your teeth, Grim. Don’t copy my answers and do your own homework, Grim. Clean your dishes, Grim. Stop setting the couch on fire, Grim.

Didn’t they know that he was Grim the Great, destined to become the greatest mage of all time? These students should be honored to bow down in praise of him. Stupid. Grim skulked along the high cliffs on the edge of the campus. He’d just finished ditching Yuu to avoid more nagging about responsibilities he was shirking. Once he was a great and powerful wizard, he wouldn’t need to do chores. He’d just wave a hand and they’d all do themselves!

A familiar scent wafted through the air and Grim froze.

Could it be?

He scampered through the bushes, his small frame twisting through the low brambles as easily as a cat ferocious monster of small stature. He followed the smell to a dense thicket in the bushes. Crouching down, he found a little tunnel in the branches, empty apart from a single can of open tuna.

Hah! Humans were stupid and wasteful! One human’s trash was another Great Mage’s treasure, and Grim certainly wasn’t going to look a gift meal in the… can? He’d work on the analogy later, once that free tuna was safe in his stomach!

He gleefully bounded toward the can, so focused on his goal that he didn’t see the trap until it was sprung. Metal plates snapped closed on either end of the tunnel, and closer inspection revealed that the tunnel itself was a rectangular cage. A cage that was now firmly sealed shut. He wriggled backward and kicked at the metal plate behind him, but it didn’t budge. Something was keeping the trap door in place. Crawling forward over the damnable deceptive tuna proved that the other plate was also firmly closed. He was trapped like a rat.

With an open can of tuna. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take a few minutes and… no! No, none of that. He wasn’t some mindless animal! He was the Great and Powerful Grim! He’d break himself out and then have his tuna.

The cage was only barely large enough for him to fit, and too narrow for him to even turn around. A few minutes of wriggling and struggling only made him feel exhausted and humiliated. Fine, then. His flames would make short work of this puny trap!

“Grrrraaah!”

Cerulean flames burst to life all around him, swirling through the brush. Hah! Now he just had to… oh no. Oh no. The cage wasn’t affected by his flames at all, but the thick brush around him certainly was. Blue turned to red as the brush caught fire. Within seconds, the air filled with the crackle of burning leaves and branches.

Dread filled Grim’s gut like a ball of lead. This was bad. This was very bad. He’d only been at the school for a few weeks, he hadn’t had enough practice at being a great mage yet! He didn’t know how to use water magic!

Searing heat pressed in around him from all sides, scorching against his fur and singeing his whiskers. A branch above him popped and showered him with embers, tiny flecks of fire that burned across his back. Grim yowled and thrashed, the whole cage shaking with him. The air filled with smoke, most of it escaping upward, but just enough clinging to the ground to make him hack and choke.

Where was everyone? Ace, Deuce, Yuu, anyone! He’d do his chores, he’d give up tuna for a mont—...for a day, maybe. Just someone, anyone, get him out of here!!!

The fire’s roar turned into a furious hiss around him, and Grim didn’t realize anything had changed until the wave of water crashed across his back, knocking the cage onto its side. He yelped before breaking into hacking coughs, unable to even attempt to right himself.

The fire was gone, replaced by soaked, charred remains of bushes all around him. Footsteps crunched through the blackened leaves, and Grim had just enough time to catch a glimpse of thick, tan boots before he was flying through the air as his rescuer picked up the cage.

“Mon dieu! Qu'est-ce que c'est?”

What in the hell?

The cage rotated, and Grim was brought face to face with gleaming green eyes surrounded by a bob of blond hair.

“Ah, when I set up a trap, I did not expect to catch our newest and most disruptive student instead!” the man said with a thick accent.

“This is your trap?” Grim spat. “Why do you have a trap set up where anyone could wander into it?”

“There has been quite an influx in raccoons on the campus, creating quite a pest problem,” he said. “Directeur Crowley asked me to capture the troublesome beasts and relocate them to the forests outside of campus.”

Despite his words, the man had made no sign of opening the cage, instead slowly rotating it in the air, examining Grim from all angles like he was a specimen in a jar. Something about the stranger’s gaze, curious and calculating, made Grim’s skin crawl.

“And these raccoons like tuna, do they?” Grim asked dryly.

“Oui,” Green eyes glimmered beneath the wide brim of his hat. “Why else would I use it?”

Why else indeed.

“You gonna let me out, then?”

“Bien sûr! I was merely making sure you were unharmed!”

“Well, I’m fine! Lemme out of this box!”

The stranger adjusted his grip, and the trap doors on both sides of the cage clicked open. Without another word, Grim shimmied backward and slipped free of the trap. He fell, twisting in the air to land on his feet, and bolted the moment he hit the ground. He only looked back once to see the stranger watching him with amusement, a finger tapping thoughtfully against his chin. Grim looked away and ran all the way back to Ramshackle Dorm.

Maybe even a great mage needed to watch their step now and again.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

dedicated to the very talented @xojo. love you, and your blog!!

***

“Guys.” Sam says, passively frowning at his beer. “We need to get back.” He pauses, contemplating, and then as if he reached a decision, promptly finishes off his mug. “While I can still drive.”

Dean squints and looks around himself. 

The club is insanely crowded.

And Cas is blurry and drunk, with his arm hooked around Dean’s waist - and it doesn’t feel like he’s looking to let go soon, so it’s perfect. Dean can feel his warmth through all the layers in between; Cas runs hot, leans heavy, and is currently pressed up against Dean bodily, and Dean far from minds it. 

(They’re celebrating, and it sure feels like it.)

“Well, you’re drivin’, Sammy.” Dean throws the keys at him, terribly - so out of it, that Sam actually has to put in an effort to catch them. “Let’s get outta here.” He adds, to the trenchcoated man wrapped around him - who doesn’t really take notice.

“I literally just said that.” Sam returns, the soberest of the three, and leads the way to the exit.

Dean follows, keeping track of only his tall, hairy head above the crowd, because anything else, and they’d have gotten lost - while Cas hitches a ride, holding on like he absolutely must.

Dean loves it. 

Drunk Cas is pretty much everything Dean had no idea he wants Cas to be - well, sometimes, anyways.

It’s not easy to get him floored, but Jesus, is it worth it. In goes an unbelievable amount of alcohol, and out comes a wonder. Flirty, grumpy, clingy. It’s glorious.

“Get in the back with him.” Sam tells him when they get to the car, and well, Dean was going to do that anyways - because there’s like six to one odds that Cas falls asleep within five minutes, and Dean kinda (really) likes it when he does it on his shoulder.

“And you take care of Baby.”

He yells at Sam, force of habit, as he piles Cas in the backseat, nudging at him to scoot - and the trenchcoat getting in the way, as always. 

“I’m your -” Cas starts, jolting awake, and wriggling about two inches further on the seat disgruntledly. It’s ridiculous, but Dean squeezes fit - mostly on the bulky coat than leather - immediately greeted by Cas leaning into his space. One hand goes around his shoulder, the other turns his chin. “I’m your baby.” He growls, in a monotone.

It’s fucking adorable.

“Cas, she’s always been Baby.” Dean points out, face flushing with color. “You’re my babe.”

“Babe.” Cas repeats, and holy shit, that’s not even just cute. That’s the turning-Dean-on-way-too-much-to-be-in-the-same-car-as-his-brother territory.

“Sounds good?” Dean mutters, shifting. Their faces are way too close to not be kissing right now, and really, Dean won’t mind - but his husband has other plans.

“What else am I?” Cas asks, gravel and cigarettes and a completely wrong octave. 

“Uh.” Dean pauses. “Sweetheart. Honey - Huckleberry?” Cas nods, as if he agrees - as if he’s not satisfied yet. Dean looks up at the root, thinking. “Sunshine, I guess. Angel, sometimes. Sugar, that too. In the mornings.”

Cas hums appreciatively.

“And then there’s the times you’re being adorable on purpose, pretending you don't get references? Bang, baby in a trenchcoat. And how you act like you’re basically capable of getting high on hugs, so huggybear? There’s that. There’s Happy Meal, and you know, hot wings. Darling.”

He keeps going, easily drunk enough to not notice he’s rambling. All the way to the end.

“ - so that’s all, I guess.” Dean grins, eyes downcast, shy. “Oh, and you’re hubby sometimes, when I know you’re not listening.”

“He’s not listening.” Sam quips, and Dean scrambles to his senses, about to flip him a bird before he realizes he’s actually got Cas slumped over his side.

Face in his neck, nose in his flannel, hair tickling Dean’s chin.

“But hey, I was.” Sam adds, smirking pointedly at the rearview mirror,and Dean reddens furiously.

“Shut your face.”

“Sure.” 

“And keep your eyes on the road.”

“I’ve been driving twenty years now, jerk.” Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean catches the bitchface in even his voice. “But this is the first time I’ve heard the words ‘huggy bear’ come out of your mouth.”

“I -” Dean huffs, too drunk to think of comebacks. “Bitch.”

Sam laughs. “Whatever, Cas’s hubby.”

And Dean has absolutely nothing to say to that, because Cas’s dorky little ‘what else am I’ cameo had pretty much given Sam the edge in all their future fights ever.

But as long as he’s got his ridiculously dressed husband snoring quietly in his arms, he lets himself believe he’ll make it through.