#or maybe just screaming instead of monkey noises
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not be able communicate by words means… constantly be misunderstood. misinterpreted. not have any way show own perspective, your side of story. your story always written talked about interpreted read thru other people.
someone did something wrong you. someone hurt you. someone say wrong thing…
someone make up malicious thing about you. maybe that you rude ungrateful bad temper behavior problem. it now become truth it now become you because there no way you correct them.
you can’t educate them. you can’t explain it to them. nevermind that, for example, you severely disabled n having symptoms that impact quality of life, or have symptoms that dare inconvenience people - can only watch as people around you speak “for” you not with your interest in mind but of their own selfishness - that people who can communicate by word say you only do that because you lazy, you selfish, want attention, on purpose, just want to for no reason, faking, inherent personality flaw.
not just big things. more often it those small things that build up every day, happen tens n hundreds of times each day, every day, every week, every month, every year… more often it those small things that add up that break you.
imagine everything bad, incorrect, & bad and incorrect thing said about you in your life. n now imagine you not able defend yourself, explain yourself, or even say those wrong not true.
n any attempt of yours to maybe protest, not enough, people not understand, or downright not listened to, made fun of. at first you shake head make noise meaning no all calm. after while of it not work you get frustrate n it start showing. you get impatient n snappy, why none of you understand, is any of you even trying. but people around you with privilege of able communicate n defend self thus never have experience of not have that, find it such basic of skill that they no longer see it as acquired skill but instead see as innate, born in, natural, cannot imagine person not have it just like can’t imagine living person not breathing—they only see their perspective n only see their interaction n not the many, hundreds n thousands, of previous communication where no one understood you (or even tried to). so they mock you (sometimes they the one who on purpose provoke you to see your reaction like you monkey in cage for their entertainment), geez big reaction why can’t you be patient. n you get label, impatient, rude, explosive, anger issues.
you protest in only way you can without words. you do it by sounds n noises n movement. you raise voice you scream you smash thing around you you hit yourself in frustration you hit other people who don’t understand you because you frustrated at their incompetence n how much they failing you. because. show me another way person can communicate without words. show me way that one can continue do after tens n thousands of misinterpretations n miscommunications n malicious interactions, n still remain calmly, “appropriately.”
you communicate in only way you can with only emotion you can feel at this point: anger, frustration, helpless. be misunderstood, even smallest innocent one, become trauma become trigger. miscommunication alone can set it off, make you see red n see billion of previous miscommunication where everyone failed you n left you to fend for self. then the backhanded jab that sometimes follow, that make thing exponentially worse.
you communicate in only way you can with only emotion left you can feel that consume you. loud sounds, screaming, get physical. it not earn you be understood. it only earn you this: be called impatient, irrational, explosive, land mine, rude, ungrateful, annoying…
“behavior issues.”
and that’s another misinterpretation of you you can’t defend yourself against. cycle repeats.
n other verbal people only listen to other verbal people. so these descriptions of you become “your truths”.
n the true you left there. to rot.
a lot people with no functional communication (either because no ability, or because circumstances) labeled as have behavior issues. yeah, no fucking shit. try it for a while. anyone would “have behavioral issues” in these circumstances.
no one seem to care. so okay fuck yeah am difficult kid, have behavioral issues, make your life miserable. yeah am terrible person, have inherent personality flaw of no fault but my own. except now do it on purpose, make it true now, put ability to control own truth in own hand. because you all seem want me be that so bad. so now you get it. don’t complain now, you all asked for it really really nicely.
but deep down. at most basic. hidden beneath. really just. want be understood. want be helped. want people to learn my communication.
“many behavior is communication” yes, those kind of behaviors should be respected n valued n listened, but try behavior your way out of correcting n explaining everything just said in post to person who just don’t seem to get it
without rely on good grace of nice people around you who keep on play guess games n give out guesses in words you can nod or shake head to. now, that’s cheating.
people not nice to people who *have no choice* but to *only* rely on behaviors & vocal noises to communicate
n, even if every single person nice. behaviors n vocal noises alone, not enough.
this written with full time experience in mind
#nonverbal#actually nonverbal#loaf screm#not exclusively autistic issue but relevant enough to tag#actually autistic#actuallyautistic#autism#autistic#disabled#disability#actually disabled#severely disabled#severe disability#functional communication#long post
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𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 - 𝘾𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨 𝙎𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙤
summary: chris shows up at your window after an argument, you tell him to go away, but hes reluctant.
contains: smut, rough sex, swearing, teasing, slight spanking ,orgasm denial, aftercare!
————----•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•----------——
its only been a day since me and chris's argument, but to be honest, i'm already missing him. a lot.
i lie in bed, wearing panties and one of chris's shirts which he left at my house previously. my house feels strangely empty, its uncomforting.
i look up from my dimly lit phone, at my clock, resting on the wall 11:45pm. i roll over in bed, placing my phone down and resting my puffy eyes.
my heart drops, loud clanging noises echo from outside my window. i sit up quickly, grabbing my phone. my heart thumps as i hear footsteps on the metal roof. "fuck fuck fuck.." i whisper to myself as i stand up out of bed.
the footsteps abruptly stop, and then i hear a few soft taps on my window. i suck a deep breath in before approaching my window, pulling open the curtains.
my eyes widen, chris is staring back at me. i let out a loud scream as he looks at me.
after a few seconds of collecting myself i angrily open the window "what the fuck are you doing here!" i whisper. "can we talk.. please?" chris says calmly. i shake my head before slamming my window down and yanking my curtains shut.
i throw myself back into bed, wrapping myself in the covers as i feel tears well in my eyes. just the sight of him makes me upset.
im expecting to hear his footsteps disappear, but instead i hear dead silence from outside my window, followed by a loud thump and the bushes rustling.
did chris just fall off my roof into the flower garden.
a small smirk plays at my lips, of course, chris sturniolo fell off my roof.
after a few minutes, i hear the metal clanging of my roof for the second time tonight. hes back.
his footsteps stop, then more taps on my window. i sigh before dragging myself out of bed, and yanking my curtains back open. this time hes holding a single flower, with a sorry look painted on his face.
i open my window "go away chris." i mumble "please let me in, im not going away." he sighs as he grips the daisy in his palm.
i stare at him for a few seconds before opening my window, i take a step back, allowing him inside my room.
he climbs inside, chris is covered in dirt and grass, his hair is stuck to his forehead as he stares at me. just now i realise what i'm wearing.
he sticks a hand straight out, offering me the flower. i try to hold back the smile which is tugging at my lips as i take it, placing it on my bedside table. chris's cheeks flush as he looks me up and down.
"wearin' my shirt while we're mad at each other hm?" he says playfully, trying to lighten the mood. "fuck off." i mumble.
"look, im so sorry about yesterday. if i'm being honest i was totally in the wrong." he says, fidgeting with his nails.
"i know." i bite back as i look up at him.
he tuts before shaking his head. "look, i didn't just come here to fuck, i want to genuinely apologise."
"who said we were gonna fuck?" i say, folding my arms. without another word he walks over to me, picking me up by my thighs before slamming me down on the matress.
"i did, cause those panties are turning me the fuck on." he growls as he yanks them down. i moan lightly as he reaches between my legs, "pathetic, wet all over your thighs hm?"
i groan as he pulls of my shirt, toying with my breasts "chris.. stop teasing" i whine impatiently.
"maybe if you didn't have such a fucking attitude, you'd already be taking my cock by now." he says as he rubs my clit lightly, i buck my hips up, desperate for pressure. "needy, aren't you." he sighs as he unbuckles his belt.
"turn around." he demands "go on, on your hands and knees."
my eyebrows furrow, but i comply anyways. he grabs my ankles, pulling me to the edge of the bed.
smack
his belt collides with my ass, "chris!" i yelp as he rubs where he just spanked me "you want pressure, you're getting fucking pressure." he groans.
smack
his belt lightly smacks my clit from behind, causing my eyes to water. i let out a soft whimper, before i can open my mouth again i hear his jeans drop the the floor. i arch my back even more on the bed, my chest pressing against the matress as i look over my shoulder.
"fuck!" i yell as he slams into me, giving me no chance to adjust to his size, he thrusts into me, hitting deeper and deeper each time. the room fills with my screams of pleasure and chris's grunts. i grip the pillows as my eyes pour tears from the intensity, without warning i clench around chris, orgasming.
he quickly pulls out, painting my back with white ribbons. i collapse onto my stomach as chris flops down next to me before rolling me onto him. my head buries in his neck as he holds my ass tightly, the tears slow as i catch my breath.
"im so sorry baby, are you okay? was i too rough?" he says frantically. hes met with no response, just a small groan. "hey hey, talk to me please." chris says rubbing my back. "just intense.." i whisper "really good though.." i continue.
we lie in silence for a few minutes before i break it.
"chris?"
"mhm?" he whispers
"did you fall off my roof earlier?" i ask
"possibly.."
————----•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•----------——
omg this was lowkey freaky for me but hope yall enjoyed!!
#sturniolo#sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo smut#chris x reader#chris sturniolo x you#Spotify
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Vital question- who out of the lmk cast would get cuteness aggression with y/n?
Cuteness Aggression
Sun Wukong is the original cuteness aggression sufferer. He has thousands of tiny monkey friends, and every time they do something cute, he has to fight for his life not to compress them into fluffy little carpets. He settles for aggressively patting their little heads instead.
But then, in general, all the show's monkeys (minus MK) would have this, manifesting mostly as "If I rub my face on you really really hard you'll smell like me and everyone will know that we're troopmates!" while only occasionally drifting into "I'm so fucking excited that I'm going bite you, sorry about the blood."
Also, if one little FFM monkey thinks you're so damn cute that you need nuzzles and bites? Every monkey thinks that you need nuzzles and bites. Pray that your rabies shots are up to date.
But for Sun Wukong especially, I think there's kind of this want to fill the loneliness in his life with a cute Y/N, even if it means picking them up and squishing the living daylights out of them. And the squishing isn't so bad until your bones stop popping and start straining to the point they may well snap.
Lots of kisses, too! If you've got fur he'll definitely kiss it until it's horribly ruffled out of place, and then he spirits you off for a long, loving session of grooming!
"You can't leave yet, bud! You look like such a mess! Aw, c'mere... let me fix you up..."
Hey, remember that thing I said about biting? Yeah, Macaque does that. Oh, so much biting. He's not even trying to be mean here! He really just stops thinking and leans over to take a chunk out of you because- you're Y/N! You're cute! The cutest, even! The very cutest in Megapolis, and maybe the whole wide world around! How can he not have a taste?! He just wants a quick bite! You're too adorable to resist!
Once he gets used to having you around it'll slowly taper off into mild nibbles and the occasional impulsive lick, but the need to be carried to the bathroom and patched up slowly fades away and is replaced with more basic forms of affection like sneaking into your bed at night and crawling into the bathtub and asking for help to wash his fur once you're done screaming.
Basic forms, not normal ones.
"Oof, Y/N. That's, not looking too good. In my defense, I didn't expect to cut that deep... oh well, guess I'll have to kiss it better~"
Yeah, I don't think anyone is gonna be surprised to see Mei here. Come around her place in a dress with lacy frills or pop out of the bathroom in a fluffy onesie for a sleepover and Mei's draconic brain overloads and bluescreens, and then she's right up on you, cooing and squealing and falling to her knees to beg for an album's worth of photos.
As best she’ll express her gleee through high-pitched noises and vibrating in place like he’s buffering. At worst she’ll consider indulging in the urge to violently shake little creatures before going to take a breaher because she wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt.
Screaming, and so much of it. “LOOK AT IT! LOOOOOK! Y/N DO YOU SEE THE PUPPY IT HAS A HAT.” She always stops just short of actually blowing out your eardrums, but damn if she doesn't come close.
She’s not the most aggressive, but damn if she isn’t the loudest.
Red Son would rather die than admit it, but he absolutely suffers from cuteness aggression-especially when it comes to you. He claims to be above such “foolish displays of emotion”, but the moment you do something even remotely adorable, his hands clench, his jaw tightens, and the flames in his body spark uncontrollably as he struggles against the overwhelming urge to combust from sheer affection.
Aside from you, the only thing Red Son truly finds to be “cute” are… well, small, fragile things. Little sputtering machines skittering at his feet. Itty-bitty mutts begging for scraps. Kittens misjudging jumps and smacking headfirst into the walls.
If you’re cute, that means you’re fragile, and if you’re fragile, that means the world is far too dangerous for you to navigate alone. So obviously, he has to escort you everywhere, with a firm grip on your wrist (or your entire body thrown over his shoulder, depending on the situation) because gods forbid he actually just hold your hand like a normal demon with a massive crush.
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Zǐsè de (紫色的) (zoo-doe-da is basically the pronunciation) (she/her)
The monkey on her head is her pet named Macaroon.
(Small bit of background)
Zise de is technically a celestial being (due to both her parents being one) zise de was raised by Macaque however, because of drama between her parents and her mom leaving zise de with a different family for the better. She eventually ends up being raised by Macaque! Zise de has shadow manipulation powers she inherited from her mother, which is also another reason why Macaque was interested in raising Zise De when he found her! She is also best friends with MK but not that close with his other friends due to being very shy and introverted and having trust issues. Major trust issues!
Other things about Zise de:
Zise de is 16ish years old during season 5
Zise de prefers to stay at home unless someone (MK) invites her to something or when she gets REALLLLYY lonely.
Her favorite food is tortilla shells and apple sauce Her powers are shadow manipulation (just to restate that! :3 ) Zise de is skilled in fighting because Macaque taught her how to fight growing up
She currently lives in a treehouse she built
Xiāo Húdié (@keykittygirl)
Species : Xian Li
Age : 12 years old
Has the eyes of the color violet who's seen as precious by the kidnappers, but seen as a freak by her peers and caretaker...
Living in the part of the city who's not that really tolerable toward demons of all kinds...
But at least one caretaker love her with her life like she does to the other kids...
But as time goes she keep wondering why...
And what happened before she was found on that river...
The morning of her twelfth birthday opening the door toward the answer...
As the night before a strange thrump has plaguing her soul till she out of light...
It happened not long after she obtained the spear that her lovely caretaker claim has been hers since she first find her...
And it's feel like it stirring something in her...
Something that has long forgotten...
As she thought she just tired and need sleep to calm herself down...
But instead of those strange feelings fading away it only get worse...
Nightmare along with a feeling of something start to shatter plaguing her all night...
And in the morning...
The tiredness caused her to wake up later than she used to...
Feeling something is odd about herself...
Something fluffy brushing around her legs...
And the noise around her has increased in loud...
But she's to weary to care...
But an average bullying make her realize what different...
A pair of fluffy ears over her head and a long fluffy tail tucking out from her simple nightgown...
But it's not her alone who realize...
The others...
They see it...
The look in their eyes...
The scream...
The constant yelling of abomination, monster, freak, and others...
It hurts more than it used to...
All she can do was just run...
And keep running to the point she almost got in an accident...
But luckily, that unfortunate moment has lead her to meet the Monkie kid and the Dragon girl or as they prefer MK and Mei...
Hope start to spark in her heart...
Maybe...
Just maybe...
They can help her find the answer...
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prompt to continue the azure/wukong storyline
azures longing turns into something sharper; obsession.
when MK has a small fight with wukong’s husband azure’s mind randomly decides that “qi xiaotian is my son and this bastard is his kidnapper.”
maybe he puts a love potion into food he knows wukong likes and sent it home w/MK unknowingly. poor MK has to watch his baba get delirious and tired, eyes blown out leaning over the table mumbling azures name as the powerful potion kicks in
So I presume this is for the Art School AU. Unfortunately, the au is no magic. So, instead, you get this!
The news nearly made Azure fall over.
“Wukong is alive?!” He gripped the table tight, trying to steady himself, unsure of how to react to the news he had just been presented with. Some part of him screamed in anger- Wukong and his successor was the biggest challenge against his campaign. The other part of him, the weak part that he had given away so many centuries ago, screamed in joy.
No matter what, he could not silence that weak part of himself.
“Well, yes. The boy-” Of course, of course, it was Qi Xiaotian. Azure had found it too easy to give a part of that weakness to him- they both loved too easily. “And Macaque.” Also of course. “They managed to release him.”
“I…” Wait. He barely managed a chuckle, straightening. Oh, he was an idiot. He had forgotten what he had done, before he had left for the ridge. A simple backup plan. “They’re hiding out at the mountain.”
“Yes, of course they are, but what is so amusing?” Yellowtusk said. “I have not heard you laugh like that before.” He sounded tense, as if worried reality would begin to break again.
“Just a backup plan.” Azure straightened. “Wukong will not be an issue.”
Peng cackled as Yellowtusk's eyes went wide.
"You poisoned him?"
-_-
"Alright," Wukong clapped his hands together. Everything was going great! The plan was fully hammered out and everyone was on the same page. "Before we get to training, who wants snacks?"
Hands went up. Even Nezha, who he figured would be furious at the pause, even raised his hands.
"Yeah, I figured." Wukong chuckled. "I-"
"I got them!" Qi Xiaotian bounced up to his feet and zoomed into the kitchen. Immediately, noises began in the kitchen. Hopefully, Xiaotian was breaking into the cabinets designated for him and the others, not the giant fruit storage pantry.
As the others drifted around, Wukong turned to the art. His heart ached, just for a second, at the little drawn Camel Ridge Trio getting sucked into the scroll. He bit it back. Nobody needed him getting cold feet.
Even if he had questions.
-_-
“No. Nothing like that.” Azure had too many close calls with poison to ever use it. Besides, he didn’t want to kill Wukong, no matter what his anger claimed. “A moment of weakness, I admit.”
Yellowtusk’s eyes narrowed. “Not poison.” he said, slowly. “Something else.”
-_-
"Need some help?"
Xiaotian glanced back over his shoulder in time to see Pigsy press the pause button on the microwave. "Always." he said, barely fighting back a massive grin.
Son. Pigsy, for the first time Xiaotian could remember, had called him "son".
He knew Pigsy and Tang both viewed him as a son. He knew it. Too many stories had been told of Tnag calling himself Xiaotian's father figure from Pigsy gushing about him to his relatives. But it was the first time Xiaotian had ever heard it out loud.
Soon enough, a wide array of snacks was on the tray. "Need anything else?" Pigsy asked. "I was thinking water."
"Yeah, but the monkeys also make this really great peach juice. I'll grab it."
"Got it!" Pigsy picked up the tray and marched out.
-_-
There had been food in the weird cold box. Azure had not stayed long, the little vial burning in his pocket.
Too many solid things. Too much of a risk someone else would drink from that jug.
-_-
Xiaotian opened the fridge to grab the jug of peach juice and paused. An open peach yogurt was on the top shelf, right next to the others. It was something Xiaotian had found that Wukong had liked with great delight. Although, he had never seen his mentor not finish one . Even weirder, it looked completely full, as if Wukong had opened it, stirred it, and just set it back.
"Hey, Monkey King?"
His mentor's voice raised over the talking in the next room. "Yeah, bud?"
Xiaotian poked his head out, showing the opened yogurt. "Do you wanna finish this yogurt?"
Wukong raised a brow. "Huh. Didn't know I had that in there." He seemed worried for a second before shaking his head. 'Eh, probably forgot. Sure, bud!"
"Okay!" Xiaotian pulled out a spoon, set the yogurt on the other tray, and walked in with the jug and the rest of the snacks. The moment he set the tray down, Wukong grabbed the yogurt. He eyed it, looking like he was wondering if it was off. "I did come out of the blue," he suggested. "Maybe you didn't get to touch it?"
Wukong hummed. "Yeah." He scooped up a good dollop and bit down. He hummed. "Tastes good!"
-_-
The potion had slipped from the vial easily and, with a few stirs, had disappeared. Azure had set the yogurt back without another word and had left the small cottage.
Something slammed down. “You gave him a love potion?!” Yellowtusk bellowed.
“You gave him a love potion?!” Peng squawked before bursting into laughter. Their chuckles died down when a heavy jug full of wine sailed at their head.
“That is not okay!” Admittedly, Azure should’ve kept in mind how the others would react. Yellowtusk was the most sensitive to the idea. The number of times Wukong or DBK or even himself nearly got love potioned and had to be saved by Yellowtusk was ridiculous. “Why would you do that to him?!”
-_-
“Hey…Wukong? You okay there, bud?”
It was Macaque who first noticed. Of course it was, because Xiaotian was an idiot. His mentor looked weirdly pale, setting down the yogurt. Or, tried to set down the yogurt. It more fell out of his hand.
“Wukong!” Nezha actually sounded panicked, gripping his shoulders as the golden monkey slumped over. From where he sat, Xiaotian could see how his pupils had dilated. The lighter yellow was drowning out the gold. “What’s wrong?!”
“I…Azure…?” The words were slurred, Wukong pitching forward. Suddenly Macaque was there, leaning him back. “Where’s Azure…?” The slurred voice sounded distressed.
“He’s not here.” Nezha said, sounding like he was trying to be comforting. “He can’t get to you, Wukong, you’re safe.” If it was meant to be comforting, it didn’t work, based on the tears welling up.
“What’s wrong?” Xiaojiao said, grabbing Pigsy’s hand. She squeezed it as distress clouded her eyes. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t know!” Xiaotian nearly whined, meeting his mentor’s clouded eyes.
Were they…pink?
-_-
“I just want to be happy with him.”
#my writing#Lionpeach#Azure Lion#Sun Wukong#Prince Nezha#Li Nezha#Qi Xiaotian#Yellow-Tusked Elephant#Golden-Winged Peng#Macaque#LMK#Monkie Kid#LEGO Monkie Kid#Long Xiaojiao#Pigsy#fic#fanfic#fanfiction#prompt fill#prompt fic
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Assumptions
This is 7k long, so if you'd rather read it on AO3, you can do that too
Suguru is on the way to his room, fully intending to enjoy the rare afternoon off by taking a thorough nap, when he hears Satoru’s tell-tale steps behind him. Satoru is not trying to be quiet, which Suguru is thankful for, because it gives him time to brace himself.
And not a second too early because just then Satoru almost jumps him, draping himself over Suguru’s shoulders and hanging off his back.
Suguru’s step doesn’t falter with the added weight and he knows Satoru notices it when he makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat.
“Why are you never, ever caught off guard?” Satoru whines in his ear, his volume just low enough to not make Suguru flinch but he still takes that opportunity to try and push Satoru off, his hand right in Satoru’s face.
“What are you being so rude for?” Satoru’s voice comes out garbled and he clings to Suguru like a deranged monkey, even going so far as to sling his legs around Suguru’s middle.
That almost staggers Suguru until he finds his balance again and Satoru drops his head into Suguru’s shoulder.
“You can’t just do that,” he whispers, a note of despair in his voice and Suguru frowns.
“I’m not the one doing anything,” he gives back, flicking Satoru’s forehead, though he’s careful not to make it hurt too much.
“Yeah, right,” Satoru mutters, but he continues to cling to Suguru instead of walking by himself.
“Fair warning, when I get to my room, I am going to flop down on my bed, with you attached or not,” Suguru tells him as his door comes into view and he can already hear the sweet siren call of his bed.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Satoru confidentially says and maybe Suguru wouldn’t have, but this–this is practically a challenge for him to do it and Suguru is not one to back down. Not when it comes to Satoru.
“Watch me,” he promises him and laughs when Satoru freezes in uncertainty, though he still doesn’t let go.
He’s going to regret that in a second because Suguru might not look like it, but he’s all compact muscle and Satoru is nothing more than some sticks strung together to form a humanoid shape. Suguru is going to break him, and he’s not even going to be sorry about it. He did warn Satoru.
“Come on, you wouldn’t, right? Right?” Satoru asks, over and over again, poking Suguru’s cheek, and the easy solution to this would be for him to simply let go of Suguru but of course he doesn’t.
Suguru can’t even find it in him to complain, not really, because Satoru is pressed against him, warm and comforting and solid, and when he reaches up to at least pretend to try and dislodge Satoru’s arm around his neck, he finds himself holding on instead.
Satoru must notice too but he doesn’t mention it and Suguru doesn’t know what to make of that.
He never knows what to make of Satoru in these moments, where he allows Suguru more than he probably should, where they both get a little bit clingy with the other, where Satoru acts as if all of this is normal and in fact wanted by him.
Suguru is never sure and he can’t find the courage to ask, in fear of shattering whatever it is they do have at the moment.
“If you don’t let go, you’ll have to nap with me,” Suguru threatens Satoru, his hand on the door handle and Satoru scoffs, his breath fanning over the side of Suguru’s face, making him shudder.
“As if that’s the worst thing that could happen to me,” he mutters, and Suguru thinks he must know that no matter how quiet he tries to be, with how close they are it is impossible for Suguru to not hear this.
It’s impossible for him to not hear it, and it’s equally as impossible to not be filled with warmth at Satoru’s words.
“One nap, coming right up,” Suguru cheerfully says, trying to distract Satoru from the blush on his face, but they are too close for that as well, Suguru knows.
“Do your worst,” Satoru says with a decided nod, as if he isn’t going to scream and complain the moment Suguru does flop down on him and just as Suguru is about to step into his room, Yaga’s voice rings out behind them.
“Geto, Gojo. A mission’s come up.”
Satoru and Suguru both go still for a long moment before Satoru drops his head to Suguru’s shoulder.
“Fucking geezer,” he whispers into the fabric of Suguru’s uniform, before he finally untangles himself and stands back on his own two feet. “We have the afternoon off,” he calls out to Yaga, sounding distinctly disappointed and Suguru sighs.
“Curses don’t keep to schedules. Now get going, I texted you the information,” is the heartless reply they get and true to his words, Suguru’s phone helpfully informs him of one unread message when he takes it out.
Suguru doesn’t want to admit that he’s just as disappointed as Satoru sounds even though he is. So instead of joining Satoru in glaring at Yaga, he pokes his side.
“Come on. We’re supposed to go together. If we do it in under an hour, we still have ample time to rest,” Suguru cajoles him, and he knows Satoru is on board when sparkling eyes meet his.
“Bet I can do it faster than you,” Satoru says with a wicked grin and Suguru knows that it’s on.
They’ll be back before the hour is over.
~*~*~
The curse is fast, and it’s elusive. Satoru and Suguru have been trying to get it to stand still for the better part of twenty minutes and even though there is no real rush, an imaginary timer is ticking away in Suguru’s head. He knows it’s the same for Satoru.
They said they’d be done in under an hour, but the curse is making it difficult for them by always slipping away.
It almost feels as if it’s dancing with them and Suguru can’t say that he likes it. He fears that something worse is coming, that it’s just trying to whittle them down, make them reckless and stupid.
Suguru can only hope that Satoru noticed the same thing, because he doesn’t actually get a chance to call out to him, not with how hard he’s breathing, just trying to keep up with the curse.
He doesn’t know what this curse’s goal is and it’s puzzling. There have been no dead bodies around, no mindless destruction and Suguru wonders if this isn’t a special grade curse, one with enough intelligence to have its own agenda.
It’s worrying.
Suguru meets Satoru’s eyes for a split second when the curse escapes one of Suguru’s own curses again, and he sees the same worry reflected back in Satoru’s impossible blue ones.
At least he’s not alone in this.
Still, Satoru wouldn’t be Satoru, if he wasn’t at least a little reckless.
“Hey, we said an hour, remember? Better get going,” Satoru calls out to him and Suguru wants to roll his eyes at him but in that moment the curse lets out an unholy cackle.
“Time to be serious then,” the curse hisses out and Suguru’s stomach drops out when he realises that they have been played.
It’s terrifying to know that the tables could be turned so easily on them, and he sees the same shock reflected in Satoru’s face when his eyes dart over to him.
It doesn’t take him longer than a second to focus his attention back at the curse, but by then it’s already right in front of him. Suguru sees the curse reaching out for him, he hears Satoru call out his name, and then everything is plunged into an inky darkness.
“You’re one of us,” the voice of the curse echoes around him, its hand wrapped around Suguru’s wrist and it feels as if he’s freezing inside out.
“What,” Suguru tries to say but the darkness swirls around him, making him dizzy and he has to cut himself off so he doesn’t gag right where he stands.
“More curse than human, more darkness than not,” the curse goes on and things start to take on some semblance of form.
Suguru can’t say he likes it much, but at least the dizzying feeling is subsiding.
“I’m human,” he finally gets out, still too caught off guard to do anything else, and the hand on his wrist is unforgiving.
Suguru doubts he can break free of that hold.
The curse cackles again and Suguru takes that time to get his bearings back. He’s not in a domain, though whatever the curse is doing to him must come close to it. Some innate technique maybe? Things are still shadowy around him, but the longer Suguru watches the more shapes he can make out, though everything is plunged in darkness.
“Yes, look, adapt,” the curse hisses and Suguru immediately stops looking because he’s not going to do what this curse tells him. “You’re one of us.”
“I’m not,” he still says, can’t allow this curse to even insinuate that and he startles when the curse takes on a physical form again.
The glee on its face is unmistakable.
“Look at yourself, look,” the curse urges him and it raises Suguru’s hand. “You’re like us, dark, tainted.”
It sounds elated by that and Suguru tries to punch it with his free hand but his hand shoots right through its head. It seems as if it doesn’t have a physical form inside this technique and just when Suguru is about to call out one of his own curses, his eyes get caught on his own hand.
It’s black too, like the inky darkness surrounding the curse itself and Suguru freezes.
“See, you’re like us, tainted. Willingly accepting us into your body and not realising that it changes you,” the curse almost hums out, satisfaction running through it and Suguru shudders.
His eyes dart to his left hand only to see that one perfectly unmarred; his skin almost starkly white against the darkness of the shadows around him. It’s only his right hand that’s black and Suguru feels like throwing up.
It’s the hand he always uses to condense the curses; it’s the hand that holds their essence.
“Yes, yes, it is,” the curse agrees as if Suguru had spoken out loud. “Here, too,” the curse goes on, reaching out for Suguru and caressing his cheek, before it trails his hand down Suguru’s throat, down his chest, until it comes to a stop at his stomach. “So many of us. So similar to us.”
Suguru looks down at himself and is horrified to see that his stomach swirls with the same shadows as his hand does, as his surroundings do.
He can’t let this get to him, though.
“You’re a liar,” he gets out, trying again to push the curse away, but his hand doesn’t connect with anything.
“Look, look,” the curse urges him again, but this time it directs Suguru’s attention away from himself, to something outside of their little bubble.
There’s a blinding, bright light that makes Suguru squint for a moment, before it takes on a humanoid form.
“He’s not like us, so different from you.”
Suguru frowns but it only takes him a second to realise that the curse must be talking about Satoru. Satoru, who is enveloped in energy so pure it makes him look radiant.
“Satoru,” Suguru breathes out, because he almost forgot that he’s not alone, almost forgot that Satoru is still there and can help. “Satoru!” he says, louder, hoping to get Satoru’s attention through the shadows but the curse only laughs again.
“You already started tainting him, too,” the curse cackles out. “You’re so useful to us.”
Suguru wants to tell it to shut up, but his eyes got used to Satoru’s blinding light and now that he can see him somewhat clearly his eyes get caught on a black shape on Satoru’s face.
It’s in the form of a handprint and Suguru goes slack with shock. That doesn’t stop him from taking in more of Satoru though, and he notices the receding darkness on Satoru’s chest, right where he was pressed against Suguru not even an hour ago.
“It’s contagious,” Suguru breathes out, his heart hammering away in his chest.
“You’re going to spread it,” the curse agrees, clearly pleased. “Soon, there will be no difference between us and him.”
Panic grabs at Suguru’s mind. Satoru is bright and happy, everything a curse is not and the thought that he could taint that, could spread this darkness to him simply by touching Satoru is sickening.
But he can’t let this get to him, can’t trust the words of a curse, of all things.
“You’re a liar,” he says again, much more certain this time, as he summons a curse of his own to throw at the one currently holding him hostage.
He very decidedly does not notice the swirling darkness running down his arm, moments before his own curse manifests.
Suguru doesn’t have time to think about that right now. He needs to get out of whatever technique this is and then he needs to take this curse in so he can verify what it just said. And just as he’s thinking that, Satoru shatters the technique surrounding Suguru and the curse.
“Suguru!” he yells out as soon as the first cracks appear and the curse shrieks.
Suguru takes that opportunity to throw his own curse at it, watching with satisfaction as it’s being teared at by vicious claws.
“Suguru, you good?” Satoru asks, coming to a stand next to him, hands extended as if he’s going to cast red at this curse.
“I am,” Suguru gives back, putting his hand on top of Satoru’s—decidedly ignoring the way it makes him flinch, thinking that his blackened hand should leave a print on Satoru behind—and lowering his arm. “I need that curse. Don’t obliterate it.”
“Did it hurt you?” Satoru asks, tension visibly still running through him and Suguru thinks that if he says the wrong thing now, Satoru is going to explode the curse where it stands.
“No,” Suguru tells him, keeping an eye on the curse at all times, so he doesn’t miss the moment when he can take it in. “I’m fine, Satoru. But I need that curse, so don’t do anything stupid.”
It has the wanted effect, because it makes Satoru puff up with indignation.
“I never do anything stupid,” Satoru immediately complaints and Suguru allows himself a small smile.
“Sure,” Suguru agrees and follows the fight of the curses, hand at the ready to take the curse in.
It doesn’t take much longer, the curse not standing a chance against Suguru’s own and before he knows it, it’s in his hand. Suguru doesn’t particularly want to swallow it, but he needs to verify what it said on his own, because a curse is not to be trusted, and so he brings the sphere to his mouth.
The taste is the same, he’s pretty sure about that, but this time it feels so much worse than it usually does and Suguru gags before the curse even made it down.
“You’re not fine,” Satoru accusingly says from his side, watching him over the rim of his glasses and his gaze is piercing. “What’s wrong?”
Suguru forces himself to swallow, waits for the curse to at least settle a little bit so he doesn’t throw up the moment he opens his mouth before he gives Satoru a tight smile.
“It was a strong curse. I’m good,” he then tells him, putting a hand over his stomach as if that could help to make the curse settle peacefully. As if that could help to keep the darkness inside of him, where it should be.
Satoru continues to stare at him, his gaze searching, but something in Suguru’s expression must convince him, because he bumps their shoulders together.
“If you say so,” Satoru mutters before he gives Suguru one of his trademark smiles. “Then it’s time for some sweets!”
Suguru wants to argue that they agreed to do this in under an hour so they can rest some more, but something sweet on top of the vile taste of this curse might not be the worst thing, so he simply nods.
Satoru laughs at his agreement and drapes himself over Suguru’s side, one arm thrown around his neck, and Suguru fights the urge to flinch away. There is no reason at all to believe the curse. There is no reason at all to think that he could be tainting Satoru at this very moment and there is actually no way he can explain what happened with the curse without sounding stupid.
He needs to verify what the curse said, first.
But that comes after dessert with Satoru.
~*~*~
The curse said the truth.
Suguru verified it the moment Satoru left for his own room, sneaking out beyond the protective barrier so he doesn’t get in trouble with the higher-ups as he summoned the curse to come out again, to use that innate technique on him again.
Suguru is coated with darkness; his hand, his stomach and—Suguru can only guess at this—his mouth and throat as well.
Everything that regularly touches curses is tainted, seems more curse-like than human and Suguru feels sick again.
To think that he touched Satoru like this all this time, that he rubbed that inky darkness all over him without a second thought makes Suguru want to tear his hair out.
“What is happening,” Suguru whispers out, hunched over as if that could stop the darkness from spreading further, and he almost sets the curse free, he’s that unwilling to take it back in again.
He can only imagine the dark smudge it leaves behind on him as it goes down again.
Suguru presses a hand to his mouth, tries to keep the curse and the bile down, as he wonders how he’s going to stay at the school once he becomes more curse than human. He distantly wonders if the alarms will ever go off due to his mere presence and it tears a desperate laugh from his throat.
It will only be a matter of time until he has to leave, that much Suguru is certain about, and until then he’ll have to make sure to keep the darkness to himself.
Suguru hides his face against his legs, presses into his knees until colourful spots appear behind his eyelids and he pretends the burning is due to that instead of tears.
He’ll have to keep away from everyone; he can no longer allow Satoru to touch him so casually, can no longer reach out for Satoru in turn, because he has to keep him save and bright and untainted.
Suguru will simply have to stay away from everyone.
~*~*~
It works for about two days, before Satoru clearly catches on that something is not alright. Two days of desperately putting space between himself and Satoru, of dancing out of the way of reaching hands, of turning when Suguru hears Satoru come up to him so Satoru doesn’t get a chance to drape himself over Suguru’s back.
Two days of keeping Satoru as far away from him as he can.
It’s been two of the most miserable days of his life.
Suguru is despairing on his bed, trying to keep out of the way of everyone when Satoru comes into his room without announcing himself and Suguru immediately tenses.
Satoru doesn’t step further into the room though; instead he leans against the closed door behind him and going by the look on his face, Suguru briefly fears that someone died.
“What’s wrong?” Suguru asks, sitting up as if there is anything he could do if someone really died.
“That should be my line,” Satoru gives back with a bitter smile, “though I can guess. The curse a few days back—it talked to you, right?”
“What?” Suguru breathes out because he doesn’t understand where this is coming from all of a sudden.
“When it touched you, I thought it was just for a brief moment, but it was longer for you, wasn’t it?”
“I was—yes,” Suguru admits because that one is easy. He was trapped in that technique for long, long minutes.
“And it talked to you?”
“It did.”
Suguru isn’t quite sure why that admission is enough to make Satoru’s face twist like it does and he hunches his shoulders as if he’s bracing for a fight.
“It told you, didn’t it?” Satoru finally asks, his voice only audible because it’s deadly quiet in the room and Suguru reels back.
It leaves him speechless for a moment, before a question bubbles up his throat but when Satoru looks at him over the rim of his glasses, the words die on his throat. Of course Satoru would know; if anyone it would be him, with his Six Eyes, seeing right through Suguru, seeing everything that is stained and bad about him.
So instead of asking the question with an obvious answer, he settles for the next best question.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice shakes and it makes Satoru flinch again.
“Because of this, obviously,” he gives back and nods at Suguru. “You’re pulling away, you’re avoiding me. You think I wanted to have that happen sooner? Of course I wouldn’t tell you, Suguru.”
The answer leaves Suguru speechless before anger boils up inside of him.
“You’re so goddamn selfish, Satoru,” he hisses. “How dare you decide that for me? I have a say in this, too, and it doesn’t just concern you!”
“Suguru,” Satoru breathes out, his face pained like Suguru has never seen before and he wants to reach out, wants to pull Satoru close and wipe that look off his face, but he can almost see the black smudges he would leave behind on Satoru and so he curls his hands into fists in his lap.
Satoru might not care about that, but Suguru does.
“No, Satoru,” he bites out. “I want you to go.”
Satoru opens and closes his mouth several times without getting a single word out and Suguru pretends he doesn’t see the sheen of tears in his eyes.
This is not just about Satoru; Suguru is spreading the darkness to everyone he touches, so it’s unfair of Satoru to act like the only victim here.
“I’m sorry,” Satoru eventually gets out, his voice thin and reedy and he leaves without a look back.
Suguru pretends he doesn’t see how the hand that reaches for the door handle shakes, because this is—for once—not about Satoru. He has no right to act like this, has no right to make Suguru feel bad about protecting him and that thought is enough to make the anger take root in his chest.
Suguru is protecting Satoru and for him to act as if that is a bad thing—no. It’s best if Suguru doesn’t come near Satoru at all again.
No matter just how much that hurts, how much Suguru misses Satoru all the time. It doesn’t matter. As long as Satoru can stay bright like he is, Suguru will keep his distance.
It will be fine.
~*~*~
Suguru barely leaves his room anymore for anything but class and missions. He doesn’t remember the last time he simply chatted with anyone, doesn’t remember the last time someone touched him and Suguru didn’t think it would affect him like it does but he feels so goddamn alone these days.
It’s a self-chosen isolation, he knows that very well, but that doesn’t change the fact that he hates it, hates every second of it with a passion he didn’t know he still had in him.
Moments when he sees Satoru are the worst; he’s still angry with him, still mad that Satoru would put himself in danger like that without a second thought, but that doesn’t stop Suguru from wanting to reach out for him.
It almost feels as if his fingers itch, as if there’s a physical ache whenever Suguru doesn’t reach out for Satoru and that alone is reason enough for Suguru to double down on his decision.
If it was up to him he would touch Satoru at every given moment; it would only make the darkness spread faster.
Suguru has confirmed with the curse a few times already that the lingering darkness on Satoru has left, likely being burned away by his own brightness, and the thought that Suguru hasn’t damaged Satoru irreparably yet is the only reason he even stays at the school.
Time passes slowly like this, with Suguru being as alone as he’s never been before, and there are days where he wonders if it’s worth it.
He misses Satoru so much that he finds himself wondering sometimes if a little bit of darkness on him would really hurt that much. Clearly Satoru is capable of cleaning himself of it; what harm could a touch to his shoulders really do then?
Thoughts like these always leave Suguru sick to his stomach; he can’t believe how selfish he is capable of being, how irresponsible.
It makes him want to leave, makes him want to disappear so that Satoru never has to lay eyes on him ever again, but duty keeps him at the school.
There are curses to fight, missions to take on and if Suguru doesn’t do that, then someone else will have to go out. Someone who might get corrupted the same way Suguru already has, and it’s not something he’s willing to risk.
So he continues on as best as he can, even though it feels as if he’s half-dead already.
And it must show, despite how rarely Suguru ventures out of his room, because a few weeks later, Satoru is back.
And this time he seems angry.
“What are you doing?” he asks without preamble, pinning Suguru with his gaze to the bed.
“What do you mean?” Suguru gives back, aware of how empty he sounds, but he can’t change it.
There is nothing fun in this life anymore and he wasn’t aware just how much Satoru brought to his life by simply being there, by being himself.
Suguru misses Satoru something fierce in that moment, and the fact that he’s in the room, that he’s just out of reach makes it worse.
“I get why you keep your distance from me, with—everything, but everyone else? Haibara asked me several times already if something is wrong with you, because you won’t even talk to him. Hell, even Shoko asked if you’re dying and you know how she is. She practically admitted to worrying her head off with that. Why are you avoiding them, too? Your issue is with me!”
“My issue,” Suguru repeats tonelessly and it drags a tired chuckle out of him.
It sounds so insignificant put like that.
“That’s one way to put it,” he mutters, and he has to give it to Satoru, he always has a way of downplaying things, intentionally or not.
“I’m sorry it’s giving you so much trouble,” Satoru whispers out and he seems honestly sorry about it, too. “That’s exactly why I never wanted to tell you. I was afraid that would happen.”
“Oh right,” Suguru says and now the anger is coming back. “You just wanted to let me go on like I did before, casually reaching out and touching everyone? Spreading it?”
“Spreading it?” Satoru asks and rears back as if he has been hit. “Is that what you’re—I didn’t think you were this prejudiced, actually,” Satoru bites back, but even though he tries to sound angry, all Suguru can hear is how hurt he is.
And what right does he have to be hurt when it’s Suguru’s life that’s in shambles? When it’s everyone’s life he endangers.
“So you think just because you shine so brightly, the other’s lives don’t matter? Just because you think you can handle it, I should go around and carelessly endanger everyone else, too?”
“The other’s lives?” There is a pause before Satoru cautiously goes on and he isn’t quite able to meet Suguru’s eyes anymore. “I’ll take it where not talking about my feelings here.”
“Your feelings? What do you mean, your feelings? Gods, Satoru, for once in your life things aren’t about you, alright?” Suguru hisses out and Satoru flinches at the venom in his voice.
But Suguru is near his breaking point; he has spent the last few weeks away from the one person he wants to be close to and now Satoru acts as if only his feelings matter. As if Suguru wouldn’t rather die than keep going like this.
“What is this about?” Satoru asks, guarding himself against Suguru’s answer and Suguru glares at him.
“You said you knew. When I told you the curse told me, you acted as if you knew, so don’t pretend otherwise now.”
“I think—” Satoru rubs a hand over his mouth. “There might have been a misunderstanding. I need you to spell it out for me, what that curse told you. Please,” he adds, and it’s so unlike him that Suguru almost immediately folds.
“I’m turning into one of them,” comes tumbling out of his mouth and once he started he can’t stop talking. “It showed me that I’m just like them; tainted and corrupted. And I’m spreading it. I’m spreading it to everyone, Satoru, I’m hurting all of you with it as well and you especially. You shine so bright, you emit such a strong light, and yet my touch leaves darkness on you as well. I can’t do it, I really can’t, you’re only going to get hurt in the long run.”
His voice breaks over the last sentence, and Suguru is too tired to feel ashamed of the tears that spill down his cheeks. He has missed Satoru so much and it had hurt to stay away from him; it had hurt even worse to find that Satoru simply accepted it and kept his distance as well.
But now that everything is laid out, Suguru feels even more alone.
It’s not as if anything is going to change, after all.
“What do you mean, you’re corrupted? You’re still you, Suguru,” Satoru says and Suguru flinches when his voice is a lot closer than he expected. “Nothing about you has changed.”
“Right,” Suguru scoffs, and jerks when Satoru kneels down in front of him. “Because I was corrupted to begin with. Ever since I took in my very first curse.”
“I still don’t really understand,” Satoru says after a moment of silence and Suguru is glad that he’s not reaching out for him.
He doubts that he could move away, that he could bring himself to deny Satoru’s touch at the moment.
“You have the curse, right?” Satoru then asks and Suguru nods. “So I’m guessing you confirmed whatever it told you?”
“Of course I did. That was the first thing I did when we returned that day.”
Suguru is almost affronted that Satoru could think he wouldn’t double check it. As if Suguru would simply believe the words of a curse.
“Show me, then. Let me know what it is you saw.”
Suguru doesn’t want to; he doesn’t want Satoru to know just how tainted he already is, but when he meets his impossible blue eyes, he knows that he doesn’t have a choice. He brings out the curse and orders it to show Satoru exactly what it is it showed to him multiple times already.
“Oh, I didn’t know I’m that bright,” is the first thing out of Satoru’s mouth. “If that is what curses see all the time then it’s no wonder they hate me so much.”
Trust Satoru to be as self-absorbed as always, Suguru thinks, and even in a situation like this he has to admit to himself that he sounds more fond than anything.
It’s probably just Satoru’s way of trying to alleviate the tension, anyway.
“I can’t get it to speak again,” Suguru whispers out as Satoru stares at him, the course touching him so it becomes clear just what is wrong with Suguru. “But it’s pretty self-explanatory, I think.”
“It’s actually not,” Satoru says and it’s so surprising that Suguru dissolves the curse in his shock. “Rude,” Satoru mutters. “I wasn’t done looking. But now that I know what to look out for,” he trails off as he closes his eyes.
Suguru wants to ask him what he’s doing but a look of concentration is on Satoru’s face and Suguru knows better than to break him out of it. Satoru always gets cranky when something disturbs him during moments like this.
“There,” Satoru says as he opens his eyes again, and just by how he looks at Suguru now, he knows that Satoru figured out how to see the corruption by himself.
“You shouldn’t,” Suguru whispers and he has to fight the urge to hide himself away and never resurface.
He never wanted Satoru to see him like that again.
“I should. Suguru, you’re not turning into one of them,” Satoru says and reaches out to take Suguru’s hand in his. “Wait, I think I can—” he closes his eyes again, but this time he’s clearly reaching out for Suguru’s own cursed energy because with the next blink, Suguru can see what before he only could when the curse touched him.
Satoru shines just as brightly as Suguru remembers.
“Look, Suguru,” Satoru says and looks down at their still clasped hands. “It’s not turning you, it’s just the residual of what the curses leave behind when you touch them.”
As if to make his point, he wipes Suguru’s hand with his own and true to his words, Suguru’s hand underneath it is still distinctly human and not black.
Satoru’s on the other hand—
“You just took it onto you,” Suguru accuses him and he can just hope that such a small amount is not enough to turn Satoru; that Satoru’s own light will be able to take care of it.
“Think of it as dirt,” Satoru says and looks back up at Suguru. “Curses are dirty, so when you touch them, that dirt stains your hands. If you stopped, it would eventually wash away. If you touch someone else, it wipes off on them. But it’s not permanent, and it’s not altering you.”
“Then what about this,” Suguru whispers and puts a hand to his stomach.
He wants to believe Satoru’s words so badly, but he knows that his stomach is practically leaking with darkness. He doesn’t even need to look down to know it.
“Also residuals. It’s just like—mh, how to put it,” Satoru mutters and taps a finger against his chin. “It’s like water passing through a sieve. The curses being the water here and you’re the sieve. Just because water can get through the sieve doesn’t mean the nature of the sieve changes. Just like your nature as a human doesn’t change, no matter how many of these curses you take in. In fact, I think that if you would stop, and simply let them sit with you, you would purify them and eventually absorb them, but that’s just a theory.”
Suguru can do nothing but blink at him.
“Where did I lose you?” Satoru asks, that trademark asshole grin back on his face and Suguru wants to punch him for it.
And if what Satoru says is true, then he can, again.
“Are you sure?” he asks, the fear still lingering in his mind and Satoru’s expression immediately turns softer.
“I am sure,” he promises. “Besides, if you were really turning into one of them, all of you should change, not just the parts that regularly come into contact with the curses.”
Put like that it makes a disturbing amount of sense and Suguru feels foolish for not coming to the same conclusion before.
But then again—the curse did pray on his fear of hurting Satoru, so Suguru thinks he can maybe forgive himself for not seeing beyond that.
“Great, that means I can do this, then,” Suguru gives back and immediately puts his hand to Satoru’s face and pushes him away.
“What did you do that for?” Satoru says, now from his position on his ass where he fell over with the force of Suguru’s shove.
“Just because I can,” Suguru breathes out and Satoru must realise how much that means to him, because he doesn’t comment further on it.
“So no more avoiding me?” Satoru asks, rubbing the nape of his neck and it dawns on Suguru that there must be something else they have to talk about.
“What did you think I was avoiding you for?” he asks and watches how Satoru freezes.
“No reason,” he rushes out and even if Suguru knew him less well he could tell that it’s a lie.
“Satoru,” Suguru admonishes him but Satoru only gives him a forced smile.
“Seriously, no reason at all,” he repeats, just as unbelievable as before and Suguru frowns.
“You said—your feelings, before. That we’re not talking about your feelings,” he mutters and his stomach does a funny thing. “What feelings?”
“None, I don’t have feelings, you should know that best.”
Suguru probably should, given how close they are, but the truth is most likely not something Satoru wants to hear. Because Satoru has so many feelings, he sometimes doesn’t know what to do with them.
“I do, that’s why I know that’s bullshit,” Suguru gives back and Satoru opens his mouth as if he wants to argue further, before he completely deflates.
“Fine. Fine, Suguru, I have feelings, but—let’s not do this, alright? I just got you back, I couldn’t stand it if you—” he cuts himself off here, a hand pressed to his mouth as if he wants to physically stop more words from spilling out.
“You thought we were talking about feelings, about your feelings, and that I was avoiding you for it,” Suguru mumbles, trying to figure out just what he is missing, what Satoru thought was happening. “You thought I was prejudiced—Satoru, just what are we talking about here?” Suguru demands to know because it cannot be.
He has an inkling of what Satoru could have meant, but he doesn’t dare to trust it. Because that would mean that Satoru—
“We’re not talking about anything here,” Satoru mutters, avoiding to look at Suguru. “Let’s just drop it, alright? It’s not important.”
“Not important?” Suguru’s voice goes high with disbelief. “Satoru, are you telling me you thought the curse told me about your feelings—for me—and I avoided you over it?”
Speaking it into existence almost feels wrong, because surely this is not what’s going on here. Surely, Suguru is reading too much into this and Satoru will laugh in his face every second now.
Except Satoru stays quiet.
“You thought I would avoid you because of that?” Suguru asks again, because he needs an answer to this, he needs to hear Satoru say something.
“Well, why wouldn’t you? It’s not reciprocated, so why wouldn’t you, Suguru?” It seems as if Satoru has found some anger to lean on in that moment because his eyes are blazing. “It’s just the logical thing to do when your best friend confesses his feelings to you and you don’t feel the same.”
“Fuck you, Satoru,” Suguru hisses out, because how dare Satoru make assumptions about Suguru’s feelings. “You have no clue about my feelings.”
It’s enough to get Satoru to deflate again and now he simply seems tired.
“I know. This misunderstanding really drove that home, right?” he asks with a tired chuckle. “Still, I’d rather not hear you say anything to that. Just let me—I have missed you, okay? Let me have this for a few days. And then you can reject me.”
“You’re still assuming things about my feelings for you,” Suguru chides him as he slides down to the ground. “And you still didn’t actually confess anything.”
Suguru reaches out for him, carefully tangling their hands together. It’s been so long since he did that, so long since he allowed himself to touch Satoru and it’s only in that moment that he realises just how incomplete he felt all this time.
“Suguru,” Satoru breathes out and there’s a thread of hope in his voice. “If you’re playing with me, I’ll hollow purple you into the next life,” he threatens but Suguru can feel how his hands shake.
“Fair,” he gives back with a small smile and it seems to be enough for Satoru.
“I’m in love with you,” Satoru says, the words falling between them like a promise and Suguru is not going to let it go unreciprocated for a second longer than it takes him to form the words himself.
“I’m in love with you, too.”
Satoru sucks in a breath, as if it’s really a surprise to him and Suguru takes that moment to pull him into a hug. Satoru slots against him like he always has, and when Satoru’s hands grab onto him almost painfully, Suguru knows that he’s not the only one who has missed this something fierce.
“Next time we should both use more words,” Suguru mutters into Satoru’s temple, who lets out a weak chuckle.
Suguru doesn’t mention how wet it sounds because his own eyes are burning as well.
“Let’s rather make sure that there isn’t a next time,” Satoru shoots back and that, too, works in Suguru’s eyes.
“Deal,” he agrees and presses a kiss to Satoru’s temple.
Now that Suguru no longer has to be afraid to taint Satoru with his touch and now that he knows he’s actually allowed to—and even welcomed—to touch Satoru, he fears he’s going to have a hard time stopping himself.
But when Satoru rubs his nose into Suguru’s throat, his hands still clutched tightly into his shirt, he thinks that maybe he doesn’t have to; not with Satoru doing the exact same thing.
#bt writes#jjk#satosugu#stsg#hurt/comfort#misunderstandings#angst#curses#assumptions#touch-starved#love confessions
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"And that's the ritual," Xanthe says, dusting off their hands and smiling at the class. "Obviously I didn't finish it - please don't use magic in this building, the university doesn't have the funds to bring it up to code yet - but even if I did, well, no one's seen the Monkey King in ages, so I doubt he'd show up. If you're going to do this on your own, well, don't, but maybe try an easier summoning."
One student looks up from scribbling furiously to stare in consternation and ask, "wait but why did you summon him if you can't summon him?" in the clear tone of will this be on the test and Xanthe has to grit their teeth in a smile to refrain from sighing.
"Well, I was never going to finish the summoning anyway, so it's no problem if there's no one on the other end," Xanthe says, and then, in response to several students meerkatting up with their hands in the air, "yes a lot of my summonings do work. This one wouldn't anyway. I just thought it would be fun. Who doesn't like a Stone Monkey?"
The last words echo, and Xanthe holds their breath at the noise, well aware that the school's insurance premiums are about to go up, as the flash and crackle of fireworks sends the smell of smoke into the classroom. Not even firework smoke, either, the scent of incense, and behind it, peaches. It's actually not a bad scent for a perfume, if Xanthe were to bottle it, which they aren't, because they're definitely about to deal with a crisis instead.
"Who dares summon me?" says a dark and booming voice, echoing through the vast lecture hall, against every student's silent, shallow breath. Xanthe turns slowly, with a growing sense of dread, to see a man-sized monkey in full armor, extra plumes atop his helmet, including extra feathers the hot pink of a craft project grab bag, tucked into improbable joins in the fabric and metal.
There's something... off, about this Monkey King. After a moment, Xanthe puts their finger on it. His shoes are brand new, and, if they cared a little bit more, probably a very impressive brand or model or whatever shoes do. Great. Now they have to deal with an imposter Monkey fucking up their classroom. Well, only one way to deal with the kind of trickster who wants to impersonate a trickster god. "Ah, thank you for joining my class, Wukong. Can I call you Wukong?"
"I, um," says the Monkey, floundering for a moment. Off his footing. Good. Xanthe smiles a bland professional smile at him, daring him to argue with them. But the thing about tricksters - the personality type, not the actual gods, who are a lot more fickle - is they can't resist a good yes, and. "Yes, of course, Professor. We're all friends here. I've come to show everyone a little Monkey Magic."
"What's Monkey Magic?" calls a student, and Xanthe, who just told everyone not to do magic in here, holds their breath, waiting for the Monkey to do something unspeakable, or just with a lot of property damage. But instead, in response, he does an honest to heavens card trick, having Xanthe pick a card and everything. Earnest clapping follows from almost every corner of the room.
"That's fake. I bet you're not even a real monkey," calls another student, scowl clear and arms crossed. Xanthe doesn't roll their eyes, mostly because it's becoming clearer and clearer this person is very obviously not Sun Wukong, but he's probably some sort of monkey, anyway. Or else his magic is good enough to let him look it, which would be something on its own.
"You want to see another Monkey Trick?" the Monkey asks, with bared fangs, and Xanthe barely has enough time for their heart to stutter in their chest before the Monkey is biting off the student's finger, screaming coming from not only the one voice but every surrounding voice, and many sympathetic voices around the classroom. Xanthe springs forward to grab him, but his mouth is covered in blood already, a finger dangling from it.
There's a fight that follows, but not a long one, or not nearly as long as Xanthe expected, pulling a sword they promised the administration they'd only use outside, and a lot more tugging than they thought they'd employ. The Monkey goes quietly with their sword to his neck, like he didn't think bladed weapons would come into play, and didn't plan on that kind of fight. Which, okay, he's definitely new. Most of the struggling seems more like trying to get back to his Trick than even defying Xanthe, really.
"This," he says, to the classroom, holding out the finger in demonstration, despite Xanthe's sword still near enough to make him shiver, "is a finger! If you displease Monkey Gods you get the finger!" He brandishes it again, just to make his point, but he's contained at the front of the classroom, and Xanthe isn't sure whether to call someone, or attempt to banish him, or evacuate the class, or what.
"Don't you mean... lose the finger?" asks another of the furious note-takers. Xanthe isn't even sure what anyone could've been taking notes on, these last few minutes, but several dozen students have found a way. And at least half of them do seem worried this is going to be on the test.
"I do not!" the Monkey says, popping the finger into his mouth - actually popping, there's a noise Xanthe hears and suspects everyone else hears - and swallowing it, making some kind of flourish with his hands that seems much more in line with the earlier stage magic than the kind of dramatics one might usually expect the Monkey King to employ. But, then. Who even knows who this is?
There's another scream, and Xanthe looks over again, at the same student whose finger is back and seemingly perfectly aligned, which is definitely real magic and not stage magic. And Xanthe is going to have to explain this to one of the school doctors, because there's absolutely no way one of their 102 students actually knows what just happened here. Tentative clapping surrounds the student in question, with whispers traveling outwards as other students crane their necks to see what's going on.
Xanthe wants to slap their hand over their face. Or slap the Monkey, maybe. They're not really sure what they want to do at this point, but there are gazes aiming toward the clock, so they just dismiss everyone, not even bothering to remind them of their upcoming test. At this point, they might as well just cancel it.
As everyone files out, they turn to the Monkey. "You're not Sun Wukong," they say, voice low, filled with bitter vitriol, maybe a little too much for just a little spectacle, but it never does to set expectations for baby gods that what they're doing is the least bit acceptable or funny. Xanthe hopes they don't have a new responsibility. It's all they need to teach another god how to use their powers on Earth.
"Technically, I am," he says, a little too much laughter in his voice, and Xanthe isn't quite sure what to think of that, or of the technicalities of the whole thing. Once gods come into play - or any supernatural entity, really - it never does to try to think about what is or isn't technically true. He leans in to whisper, so no eavesdroppers can hear, although why he trusts Xanthe is anybody's guess. "My name's Marcus. What's yours?"
Oh, this is really going to give their students the wrong impression of how often deities actually interact with the average person. Their life aside, and they've been trying to avoid too many biographical details for that exact reason, it's not that common to meet a god in person, and they'll probably never meet another one, and now they'll be disappointed, and possibly leave Xanthe bad reviews. With a sigh, they hold out their hand, hoping this Marcus will just shake it, and not bite it. "Xanthe."
He takes it very pleasantly, a firm professional grip, and it seems likely he was raised human, and not by himself in a mystical cave full of treasure or what have you, because he takes to it much more naturally than the shape of his hand would have you expect. Dimly, Xanthe remembers hearing about a minor hero going by Monkey Prince, and wonders if he was just in the area listening in, or what.
"Monkey!" a booming voice sounds, with a crack of thunder emphasizing it, and, yeah, that's much more normal. The students tarrying in the classroom get an eyeful.
You’re a mythology college professor. One day, you decide to show your class how people used to “summon” gods. Yo your surprise, the ritual works.
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The Place the River Remembers You: On Seeking Wellness Retreats in Rishikesh
There is a hush that lives in the foothills of the Himalayas—an ancient hush, older than questions, older than time. It floats with the morning mist above the Ganges, brushing against skin like breath. And somewhere along that riverbank, where the stones seem to remember footsteps that once carried burdens heavier than any backpack, people arrive—not for adventure, but for quiet return.
Some carry it in their shoulders, others in their gaze. The weariness. Not just tiredness, but a deep ache from too much noise, too much chasing, too much pretending. Burnout is not always fire—it is sometimes a slow hollowing out. The kind that leaves a person feeling more like a concept than a soul.
And then—Rishikesh.
Or more specifically, wellness retreats in Rishikesh. They don't flash neon promises. They don’t scream healing. They whisper. They wait. They make no claims because they know that real change cannot be sold—it must be invited.
A Different Kind of Arrival
Here, one does not check in. One arrives.
Sometimes from a 14-hour flight.
Sometimes from a lifetime of running.
In these retreats, time bends. Not in a sci-fi way, but in the way a breath stretches when silence is finally allowed to land. Yoga mats rest like prayer rugs in open-air halls. The sun doesn’t rise—it unveils. Meals are simple but sacred. And the air—how does one describe air that carries memory? It smells of sandalwood, dust, rain, and something else. Something softer.
The Power of Silence
Silent retreats in Rishikesh are not escapes. They are encounters. To be silent here is not to mute but to listen. Not to others, but to the self one forgot how to hear. In the stillness, there are moments when tears arrive without permission. Not from sadness, but from the sudden recognition of a self buried beneath obligation and applause.
A Story of Solitude and Softness
There is a woman—perhaps fictional, perhaps real—who came here on solo travel to Rishikesh. Her story was not unusual. A breakup. A burnout. A blurred version of herself in bathroom mirrors. She didn’t come looking for enlightenment. She came because she had no more energy left to pretend she was fine.
She found a retreat that didn’t ask her to explain. The mornings were quiet. The afternoons held periods of breathwork, wherein she first felt the rims of her grief start to circulate. One day, at the same time as sitting in silence near the river, a monkey stared at her with flinching, and for motives she couldn’t name, she laughed. Out loud. No one shushed her.
Holding Space, Not Healing
The thing about wellness retreats in Rishikesh is that they don’t promise to fix. They don’t decorate pain with spiritual jargon. Instead, they hold space. Real, open, aching space. For silence. For breath. For ritual. For being.
Evenings here are not for scrolling. They are for fire circles. Or journals. Or simply lying on your back as stars appear one by one—like they’re gathering just for you.
The Quiet Return
And when it’s time to leave, people don’t pack souvenirs. They carry something else. Lighter eyes. Slower steps. A kind of inner pause that lingers.
There’s something poetic about solo travel in Rishikesh. It’s not about going alone. It’s about coming back accompanied by something you didn’t know you’d lost. Or maybe never had. A softness. A clarity. A voice that only speaks when the world is finally quiet enough to hear it.
Silent retreats in Rishikesh aren’t vacations. They are reckonings. But also, reunions. With self. With spirit. With slowness.
And the River?
She remembers.
She always does.
#Rishikesh Retreats#River Healing#Yoga by Ganges#Soulful Escapes#Wellness Travel#Silent Retreats#Mindful Journey#Peaceful Stay#Ganges Calling#Ayurveda Stay#Rishikesh Peace#Nature Detox#Solo Travel India#Rishikesh Silence#Inner Peace Trip#Spiritual Rest#Detox Travel#Calm in Hills#Retreat India#Wellness Walks
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Conversation
establishing dominance
vox: *monkey noises*
mysta: *more monkey noises*
vox: *louder monkey noises*
ike: what the heck are they doing??
shu: they're trying to establish dominance, have some popcorn ike i want to see who wins
luca, tposing: *takes a deep breath* POOOOGGGGGGGGGGG
vox and mysta: *stunned silence*
shu: huh. didn't see that one coming
#luxiem#incorrect luxiem#vox akuma#mysta rias#ike eveland#shu yamino#luca kaneshiro#wow a post with everyone!#i feel like foxakuma would actually do this#or maybe just screaming instead of monkey noises#akumamatata#mystaworldwide#yikesmemeland#shunanigans#kaneshitpost
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...The universe is controlling my hands. @rarepears Alcohol wasn’t allowed in the Gusu Lan Clan. The cursed liquid only clouded people’s judgements and dull their bodies, causing them to make a fool of themselves. However, that rule was for drinking alcohol. With so many disciples training with blades, it was inevitable that some would sustain injuries. Small cuts, scrapped knees, or bruises were all common. Thus, they periodically brewed their only alcohol from grains or sorghum to treat wounds. Lan Qiren had just finished checking up on the inventory when he heard a strange noise outside. It was loud, much too noisy and sounding like there was a full market with a circus going on. How inappropriate. Even Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have caused such a ruckus!
He opened the door, ready to give a stern lecture to the source of the issue but the word were clenched tight in his chest. There were no demons or monsters chasing people around, no youngsters goofing about or even Wei Wuxian with another of his “genius” ideas.
Instead, a Mother Hen just a head shorter than him--dressed in lime green robes--was beating a chick with a roller pin. The wooden stick waved through the air, landing on the yellow bird’s butt as feathers flew in the air. “A-Nian! How many times do I have to tell you to keep out of the sugar jar?“ A woman’s voice--pitched high and shrilling--came from the hen. Its--her--beak moved and her expression was animated. Lian Qiren had no idea how he saw mother’s rage across a hen’s face but he did. Beside her, it wasn’t the usual quiet mountains or flowing river of Gusu. It was a cobblestone street with stands and shops, where crowds moved through. Merchants yelled about their sales, vendors boasted about their food, and mortals living their normal lives. Except all of them were animals dressed in human clothing. A cow walked into a cosmetic store, with flowers in her hair while looking for the right shade of lip stains. A goose was selling hot noodles, a cat held a fan while reciting poetry, and a dog was chopping vegetables to make buns. There was something very wrong happening. It must be an illusion. Maybe they were under attack. “Dad, that man looks ugly,” a lamb whispered to the older sheep. “Is he a hairless monkey?“ “Don’t stare at strangers. It’s rude.“ The father yanked at the child’s hooves. “And yes, I believe that is a hairless monkey. Poor sap, don’t know what happened to him for him to loose his fur.“
Lan Qiren tried to remember how many hours he slept for the past week. It was either he was going mad due to exhaustion or something was very wrong with the world. Something bumped into his leg from behind. “Aiya, don’t stand there like a statue!“ the angry old ferret yelled with a raised paw. It was pushing a heavy cart of rice. “Shh! Shh!” “My apologies,” Lan Qiren said with a bit of difficult as he watched the ferret’s whiskers quivered. “Do you know where we are?” “The village of course.” “And what is the name of--” The ferret was already moving past him, screaming at the ox waiting by the rice shop to come help him unload. Lan Qiren walked ahead, seeing unfamiliar buildings and mountains in the distance. The style of architecture was similar to what he once saw in the more southern parts but he didn’t recognize anything else. No one knew of cultivation but there were statues of animals in fighting poses all over the village. And there was a temple. Inhaling slightly, Lan Qiren moved quickly and he was glad that his powers hadn’t been lost in this strange world. The temple looked like any other temple, large and made of thick red wood and a sturdy giant door. He knocked and after a few minutes, the door opened but there was no one behind it. “Achem,” someone coughed. He looked down, only to see a small furry animal that only came up to about his knees in height. It was an old animal with wise eyes, the fur around its nose longer like a mustache. Dressed in a brown robe, his paws were placed behind his back. “Ah, aren’t you a strange looking one,” the red panda greeted. “Are you here looking for the dragon warrior?”
Im sorry but mdzs crossover with kung fu panda is too much fun.


These two ESPECIALLY.
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night randez-vous
Young Masriel AU in which Asriel lets Stelmaria scope out the area before sneaking into Marisa’s room.
the idea & gifs by @tragicotps So uuuh... *nervous chuckle* I did a thing, and I hope it's okay? You absolutely destroyed me with that post, and I wanted to write it as soon as I stopped screaming in my pillow over how talented you are. It's insane, you're insane, I love your work 💛
I am also crediting @queenofnabooty because the "worse half/better half" exchange came from your tags and I died laughing, I hope you don't mind :D
Word count: 1,130 Also on: AO3
'You're late.' 'You weren't exactly elaborate in your instructions.' Within the amber eyes, a mild rebuke and a twinkle, almost a teasing. 'We spent some time searching for your room.'
The stars are dancing, and the candles are lit, and lovers are, as lovers always are on nights like this, awake and longing.
Marisa, in bed, is doing her best to concentrate on the pages, but her mind wanders. She finds herself looking at the door way more often than she promised herself she would. She also finds her heart leaping at every sound. It shouldn't do that, they agreed long ago. Distracted, she almost starts biting her nails again, a habit that has long been beaten.
'Oh, hush.'
Her daemon chatters lightly, restless because she is. A frown on her face, when she buries her nose back in the book, is not the kind that causes trouble. She hasn't turned a page once this evening. Both are well aware of that.
A sound comes three long quarter-hours later, and it is not the sound she expects. Instead of careful steps, a barely audible scratching.
'Hush, I said!' Marisa scolds, before she realizes that the monkey is listening, too. Tilting a head, he regards the door, his tail curled in a golden question mark. Looks are exchanged: his – sharp and insistent, hers – well, hers is softer for once. Their nature keeps getting mixed up in unpredictable ways.
As the scratching continues, her daemon jumps on the bed and squeaks eagerly.
'Him, you think?' A swelling, arythmic noise in her chest. Then, with a nod, 'Yes, who else.'
She kicks the covers off, throws on a robe. Pauses before the mirror to check her reflection and put a few unruly curls back to their place. Then hurries to the door. Then comes back for a candle. Just in case it's someone else, to pretend she was sleeping, and just lit it, and surely did not expect–
Silky gold at her knees, pushing her forward.
'Ohhh!' she exclaims in a whisper, unable to even get properly mad. Then finally, finally–
There isn't anyone at the door. Marisa opens it just a crack at first, then wider. The hallway is dark and empty to the eyes, as her expectations grow dark an empty, too.
Maybe he left. Maybe she waited too long. Maybe he thought her asleep. How could he have thought her asleep? What a rude, intolerable...
Shadows come alive suddenly. One in particular does, and Marisa recognizes the graceful step. Candlelight turns the pearliness of the leopard's fur to near-gold, like her own daemon's; colors the eyes amber. Stelmaria slides closer, greeting Marisa with a slow whisk of a tail.
'We thought you changed your mind.'
A deep voice blends with the curtains' rustling. To the right, a window is open, leading to a cascade of balconies on the outer wall. She must have come through there. Marisa's eyes examine the shadows for a moment, trying to guess where Asriel might be.
Not far, though. The thought is warming.
'You came,' she smiles down at Stelmaria. The leopard nods with her usual enigmatic expression, yet looks subtly pleased. 'You're late.'
'You weren't exactly elaborate in your instructions.' Within the amber eyes, a mild rebuke and a twinkle, almost a teasing. 'We spent some time searching for your room.'
'So, where's your worse half?'
If leopards could snort, that's what this sound would have been. Stelmaria glances at the windows.
'Conquering heights. Where's your better half?'
The monkey brushes past Marisa's legs, chattering excitedly, though making sure to lower his voice. His fur in orange light is gilded with a color so deep, it shines from within.
It's sweet, to see the mightly leopard in such a twitter. She grumbles tenderly, then treads forward to let the monkey throw his golden arms around her neck. She even gives him a lick on a shoulder. Both let out a sigh of the deepest content.
The same emotion is trembling in Marisa's own chest, lungs, hands, a longing so profound she can hardly stand it for a moment longer. The need to hold, and to be held. To call him his. Her Asriel.
She bites her lip, and worries. Outside, the rain is splattering – in quietude, gusts of air through the window bring its noise.
'Why would he climb the balconies, or the roof? It isn't safe. He's being reckless.'
'We couldn't go through the house', Stelmaria hums, 'the help was everywhere. And he was determined to come see you.'
She pauses, with something resembling a smile. 'Of course, he's not as agile as I am, hence the delay.'
Marisa bites a nail again, frowning. With the utmost care, the leopard slides out of embrace. Her voice is spiked with honey as she comforts Marisa by settling on the floor right at her side. Down below and out of the orange shimmer, she regains her ghostly silver frame once more.
'He's close, child. I can feel him.'
The monkey comes to lay a hand on her neck. Marisa aches to do the same, but Stelmaria, probably knowing her better than she knows herself, is already whispering a caution.
'We don't want him to fall.'
Well, that is true. Being away from your daemon, albeit barely, and then a feeling so intense and unexpected – he could fall. So Marisa waits, and keeps tangling her hair, and longs in silence. She could look out of the window and see him. She doesn't want to distract him. Three pairs of eyes, none moves away from a wide frame behind the curtains rustling in the night.
Then – a creak, a thump, a loud breath, and Asriel is here, grinning in triumph. Stelmaria perks up. He greets the daemon with a hearty laughter and a rub over her forehead, but his eyes are already drawn to Marisa. He does not lose more time.
He's cold and wet all over, hair slicked with rain. When he lifts her and turns, Marisa laughs the happiest she ever did in life. Her heart leaps. Asriel keeps every promise at once by kissing her in the only way he vowed to – like she is his, forever will be. A longing in Marisa's soul finally soothes and purrs, even though the bastard nuzzles her neck, leaving chilly raindrops on her skin. She only laughs, they both do.
'I say, lady Coulter, you made me run around like a whipped boy.' Asriel is playing with her hair, smug as ever. Marisa feels soft and light in his arms.
'I say, lord Belacqua, it's the least I'm going to put you through.'
'Oh, I sincerely can't wait.'
He sweeps her up, with shushes and whispers covering their joy, and carries her inside. Their daemons follow.
***
By dawn, they're all asleep in a tangle: Marisa on Asriel's shoulder, her golden monkey curled up happily by his other side, and Stelmaria sprawling behind Marisa, nose to her back.
#FOR THE LONGEST GODDAMN TIME#these gifs weren't showing up on GIF search#and then as soon as i spammed the owner BAM of course they did#smh#hdm#hdm au#hdm fic#his dark materials#masriel#marisa coulter#asriel belacqua#marisa x asriel#asriel x marisa#young masriel#stelmaria#stelmarisa my love#golden monkey
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Lian (@squidthechaotickid)
she/they
Lian is a stone monkey, born at the same time as MK, and grew up not at Pigsy's -- but in the rival noodle shop across the street. Lian didn't even realize she was a stone monkey for most her life, working with her father as a dishwasher and server.
It wasn't until the events of s5, when the pillar of heaven was cracking, that she found everything out. She felt a strange draw to the pillar, as if someone were calling for her. When she arrived on scene, xiangliu explained her role in the matter; she was a backup. Nuwa had placed two monkeys in the stone that day; MK, the sacrifice, and Lian, a replacement in case MK was unable to fulfill his destiny. Fortunately, neither were sacrificed, and Lian was able to escape without ever being seen by the Monkie Kids.
But her life changed a little after that. She had a rocky relationship with her father before; he wasn't supportive of her transition, he was overbearing, he was generally just an unlikeable guy. She really didnt like her life all that much.
But MK? MK had a great life, at least in her eyes. She wanted his life so bad. What was she, anyway? Even in her destiny, she was only a replacement. Not even that important.
She eventually makes an effort to befriend MK, but it takes her a long time to tell him that they are, in fact, twins. She's a little bitter, but she comes around eventually.
She also has a thing for Nezha. Not romantic or anything, she just really really admires him, in the same way MK admires Wukong.
Xiāo Húdié (@keykittygirl)
Species : Xian Li
Age : 12 years old
Has the eyes of the color violet who's seen as precious by the kidnappers, but seen as a freak by her peers and caretaker...
Living in the part of the city who's not that really tolerable toward demons of all kinds...
But at least one caretaker love her with her life like she does to the other kids...
But as time goes she keep wondering why...
And what happened before she was found on that river...
The morning of her twelfth birthday opening the door toward the answer...
As the night before a strange thrump has plaguing her soul till she out of light...
It happened not long after she obtained the spear that her lovely caretaker claim has been hers since she first find her...
And it's feel like it stirring something in her... Something that has long forgotten...
As she thought she just tired and need sleep to calm herself down...
But instead of those strange feelings fading away it only get worse...
Nightmare along with a feeling of something start to shatter plaguing her all night...
And in the morning...
The tiredness caused her to wake up later than she used to...
Feeling something is odd about herself...
Something fluffy brushing around her legs...
And the noise around her has increased in loud...
But she's to weary to care...
But an average bullying make her realize what different...
A pair of fluffy ears over her head and a long fluffy tail tucking out from her simple nightgown...
But it's not her alone who realize...
The others...
They see it...
The look in their eyes...
The scream...
The constant yelling of abomination, monster, freak, and others...
It hurts more than it used to...
All she can do was just run...
And keep running to the point she almost got in an accident...
But luckily, that unfortunate moment has lead her to meet the Monkie kid and the Dragon girl or as they prefer MK and Mei...
Hope start to spark in her heart...
Maybe...
Just maybe...
They can help her find the answer...
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To the Wolves
my (first) entry for the Deal With the Devil collab, because i couldn’t resist writing for Yakuza Getou <33
Getou Suguru x Female Reader
TW Extremely dubious consent, coercion, manipulation, threats, implied murder, smut, nsfw
“No. I- I won’t.”
Sitting comfortably on the old, worn couch in your cramped little apartment, Getou raises a single eyebrow, “Oh? Is that so?”
His voice is perfectly pleasant, the smile on his face a touch amused, but you’re not so naive as to believe that the question is anything but a generous offer for you to rethink your reply. A smart person would take it – since the day you’d first arrived home to find him waiting for you, Getou hadn’t so much as laid a finger on you. He had no need for guns or knives, never shouted or bullied you, his reputation more than enough to cow you into submission before he’d even opened his mouth.
Of course, once he had, the simple threats to your friends and family’s lives had made certain that you were more than amenable to his request.
A mutually beneficial arrangement, he’d called it, as if there hadn’t been tears silently streaming down your face, your whole body stiff with fear.
But that was the world he came from. Violence and ruthlessness, cruelty masquerading as kindness.
By all accounts, someone like you – a lowly admin assistant living a very boring, mundane life – should never have crossed paths with a man like Getou. The irony, of course, being that it was precisely because of your job that he’d been drawn to you in the first place.
“I-I said no,” you stammer. “I’m not doing it.”
Getou sighs, long, pale fingers idly fixing the cuff of his left sleeve. “I had no idea the lives of your loved ones meant so little to you.”
“Please, I-” you break off, biting your lip as your hands curl into useless fists at your side, “I can’t. Anything else, I’ll do anything, I swear it, just… please.”
Men like Getou aren’t the type to be swayed by pretty words or tearful pleas, but there’s an unmistakable glimmer of interest that flickers in his eyes at the offer. Casually, he leans forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand and regarding you with a smirk. “So you’ll bring me the list of witnesses then?”
The barely audible hitch in your breath is enough to make him chuckle.
“No? How about those surveillance tapes, hm?” Smoothly, he rises to his feet and makes his way towards you. “Careful, little one, first rule of negotiation is knowing when you have something to bargain with. Don’t promise me what you can’t give.”
“Getou–”
He raises a hand and you quickly fall silent. There’s only inches between you two now, Getou’s taller, broader frame looming over yours. He could kill you like this, you realise with panic – reach out and wrap his hands around your throat and snap your pretty little neck before you could so much as scream. The tailored line of his jacket hides the gun he has holstered at his side, but Getou knows you're aware of its presence, have been since the very first time he’d broken into your home and threatened you.
It’d take him only moments to draw the sidearm, even less for him to pull the trigger.
The walls of your apartment are thin, would your neighbours come if they heard gunfire? Would you, for that matter, if your roles were reversed?
Yet Getou makes no move for his gun, instead reaching for your chin, tilting it up with two curled fingers until you meet his gaze, “You understand, don’t you, that I make one phone call and that charming sister of yours and her fiance meet a very tragic, very untimely end?”
He pauses, waiting until you jerk a quick nod of assent before continuing. “You love them. There’s nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with prioritising the ones you love over everybody else.” His voice is gentle, but the words make you shake, dread rising from the pit of your stomach as the pad of his thumb grazes over your bottom lip.
You don’t know if you’re supposed to say something to that, but even as you try, you can’t summon the words. The by now familiar scent of his cologne tickles your nose and invades your throat, the warmth of his touch burning through your veins. Your own heart hammers like a drumbeat in your chest, every cell in your body screaming danger, but you don’t run, you don’t even flinch.
Getou smiles kindly, and perhaps if you hadn’t seen first hand the aftermath of his handiwork you might be tempted to believe it. His spare hand reaches into his jacket, but instead of the gun you’re expecting, he pulls out his phone, the screen flickering to life with a swipe of his finger. “So tell me, before I make a call you and I both know you don’t want me to make, why you’ve suddenly decided that their lives aren’t worth your compliance?”
Nanami. Your boss’s face flashes to your mind, the odd, fleeting glances he’d sent your way over the past few weeks when he’d thought you weren’t paying attention. Your stomach erupts with butterflies, your cheeks unwittingly warming, but you just shake your head, “If I give you those files, you’ll kill them. You’ll hurt them.”
“Maybe,” he hums, “maybe not. It’s no less than those monkeys deserve, don’t you think?” He spits the word like it’s venom, the twitch in his jaw the only chink in his otherwise effortless composure. “You’re protecting them, even now.”
You make no attempt to defend yourself, terrified of saying the wrong thing and setting him off, but Getou seems entirely unfazed, laughing coldly at your stricken expression.
“Your boss, the one with the perpetual stick up his ass; Nanami,” potent disdain drips from his tone at the name, “Always so morally righteous, sitting up on his high horse. You think he cares for you, that he’ll protect you when all of this comes out? And it will come out eventually,” he says, his smirk widening at the sudden pallor in your face. “At some point there’ll be one too many unfortunate coincidences, and the higher ups will realise that they have a mole in their ranks. Fingers will be pointed of course, but eventually even those idiots will figure it out.”
A knot tightens inside of your chest at his words, constricting until it feels like you can’t breathe. You’re shaking your head, eyes filling with tears, “N-no–”
“Oh, little one,” Getou murmurs, dark eyes drinking in every ounce of your distress. “Surely you realised that they have security cameras covering every inch of your floor? There was no reason to look before, but once they do…” he trails off, letting go of your chin in favour of brushing the back of his knuckles along your cheek. “They’ll throw you to the wolves.”
His voice is soft and cruel, belied by the gentleness of his touch, but it does nothing to quell the rising sense of dread inside of you. You want to believe it’s a lie, another threat meant to scare you into submission, but some deeper part of you recognises the truth in his words.
Nanami, who’d told you once that there was innocence and there was guilt and very little in between. Nanami, whose office you’d bugged, whose trial only weeks ago you’d all but derailed with a few misplaced documents. You think back to the late nights shared in his office, bowls of ramen and case files scattered across the desk between you. You think of the rare smiles, his oddly dry sense of humour, the pleasant fluttering in your heart–
“You’ll rot in prison long before I do, and there is not a soul among that insipid bunch that would lift a finger to stop that from happening to you.”
A soft, strangled noise leaves your lips as you fight not to sob, and Getou sighs, the corners of his lips twitching downwards in contrived sympathy. “Say the word and I’ll walk away tonight. I’ll still have to kill your sister – I am a man of my word, you understand – but I promise it’ll be the last you see of me.”
He slides his phone back into the breast pocket of his jacket, taking your face in both of his hands as tears spill down long lashes. “And when they come for you, you can tell them I threatened you, show them what little proof you have – if you have any at all. Maybe it’ll even make a difference,” he says. “But I doubt it.”
Every word is like a knife, slicing away at the raw, bleeding, vulnerable parts of you.
“Please…” It’s weak and desperate, your voice cracked and broken. You don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore; your sister’s life, for Getou’s mercy, or maybe just for him to stop saying such awful things. He must take pity on you though, because he sighs once more, his right thumb sweeping across your wet cheek to brush away silvery tear tracks.
“I’m not a complete monster, you know. I protect what’s mine.”
And in one breath, everything screeches to a standstill and a trickle of very real fear creeps down your spine. There’s no mistaking his implication, not when he’s holding your face like that, his eyes dark and simmering with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.
“W-what?”
Getou closes the gap between you two, a startled noise leaving your lips as his hips press flush up against you. “Don’t play stupid, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and it sounds like a warning, “It doesn’t suit you.”
One hand slips to your neck, the other curling almost possessively around your waist. There’s no room for you to move, to back away or free yourself. For a moment, neither of you speak, the heavy silence deafening between you.
Does he notice the way your pulse races under his fingertips as they circle your throat, how you’re shaking like a leaf beneath him? Does he want you afraid? A scared little bunny rabbit cowering from the gaping maw of the big, bad wolf?
Judging from the bulge of his semi-hard cock pressing into the soft flesh of your belly, he’s not entirely unaffected, and for the first time it’s not Getou’s gun or his threats that you’re most afraid of.
It’s the selfish, twisted want that glitters and glints in those pitiless depths. You’ve never felt so entirely at somebody else’s mercy as you do with Getou now, staring you down like he wants to lay you bare, claim you again and again for all the world to see. And you don’t understand. There’s a thousand and one questions running through your mind, your insides twisted up into knots.
You know what it is he’s asking of you – though asking feels like a generous word when he can so easily just take – but none of this makes sense, not when he was threatening your family’s lives only minutes ago.
As if he can sense the turmoil and confusion raging through you, he leans down, his lips ghosting over the outer shell of your ear. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll walk away right now.”
I am a man of my word.
His earlier statement rings through your head as you search his face for any sign of deception – you find none. But walking away means your sister dies. It means you’re left on your own to fend off the wolves when they find out what you’ve done.
Nanami might believe you. He might even defend you, but you’ve worked in the Prosecutor’s office long enough to know that duress isn’t the bulletproof defence people think it is, and for tangling with the likes of him…
You were screwed the moment he showed up in your living room, this- this is just the coup de grâce. The final damnation.
“Why me?”
Getou doesn’t answer, but when he draws you into a kiss, his lips moving torturously slow against yours, there’s an edge of… something there, lying hidden just beneath the surface. And it terrifies you, more than his words and his promises ever could.
But when your back’s to the wall, what choice do you really have?
It feels like defeat when he takes you by the hand and leads you into your bedroom, ignoring the uncertain glance you cast over your shoulder towards the living room. You don’t want any of this, but you can pretend that it’s just… business if he fucks you out there.
Not in the bed you sleep in.
It’d be easier, you think, if it was cold and impersonal. If you cried and it stung and the only sounds in the room were flesh hitting flesh, ragged breathing and an occasional rough grunt.
There’s nothing impersonal about the way he watches you strip out of your clothes at his command. His own join yours on the floor without much ceremony – his gun pointedly set just within reach atop your nightstand.
The first time you’d laid eyes on Getou Suguru, it was two months into your new job; a photograph pinned to a thick, heavy file Nanami had dropped on your desk. A surveillance picture, you’d gathered, snapped as the man was exiting some neon lit club downtown. And you remembered the smug smirk he’d had, staring directly down the lens of the camera like it was a challenge, but that wasn’t what had struck you most.
It was the flutter of interest that’d shot through your veins the moment before common sense kicked in. Tall and fit, with long, dark hair swept up in the wind, a sharp jaw and a handsome face, you remember thinking he was probably the most attractive man you’d ever seen.
Now, standing naked before you, bright, colourful tattoos inked across his torso, accentuating the muscles that rise and fall with every measured breath, you can’t bear to look. It’s easier just to stare at the wooden floorboards, the corner of the shagged rug you’d bought at a thrift store when you first moved in. Easier to pretend Getou isn’t pulling you closer once more, pressing searing, open mouthed kisses along your neck, murmuring words that are lost to you entirely as his hands wander. You can feel it now, the heat of his body as he cages you in, his cock, thick and heavy and flushed nudging insistently up against your stomach.
You expect him to shove you to your knees, to force his cock down your throat in some archaic show of dominance before he claims your cunt, but he doesn’t.
“I want you to touch yourself for me,” he whispers into your ear, teeth catching lightly on the sensitive lobe as you shiver. “Like you do when I’m not here, those pretty legs spread, fucking yourself on your fingers…”
The comment feels too familiar to be entirely offhanded, striking a chord of panic somewhere deep inside of you–
But it doesn’t make a difference. It doesn’t matter now.
You allow him to kiss you again before climbing onto the mattress. Like a good girl, you fall back onto the pillows, let your legs ease apart, wrapping your lips around two fingers and sucking for a brief moment before gliding your hand down between your thighs.
His breath hitches, a soft curse sounding when saliva slicked digits spread your folds, the tip of your middle finger brushing lightly against your clit as you stroke your pussy. Your nipples harden and peak under the cool night air and you use your free hand to palm at your breast, pinching and teasing at the sensitive bud while one finger slips into the warmth of your cunt.
The mattress dips, Getou climbing onto the bed, settling himself back on his knees, your spread legs either side of him.
“Beautiful,” he breathes.
Your heart stutters, movements jerking as you brace for him to interfere, to touch you, but aside from nudging your thighs further apart to get a better view of your glistening cunt, he seems content simply to sit back and watch, his own hand lazily stroking at his cock.
Trying in vain to block him out, you squeeze your eyes shut and focus on the way your fingers feel between your legs, the pleasure–
(Not the shame, don’t think about that, don’t think about Getou watching you debase yourself for his enjoyment)
–that pools in your core as you rub the shining pearl of your clit. It’s a familiar dance, a routine you’d normally help along with a glass of wine and a few faithful toys, but you don’t exactly have that luxury here.
And even with the rigid tension in your shoulders, the unwanted presence of a man you’re terrified of impossible to ignore, you can’t help the quiet moan that slips past your lips, the way your hips stutter, grinding against the heel of your palm as your fingers hit that sweet, delightful spot inside of you.
Getou tenses at the sound, the last, fragile thread of his composure snapping–
He strikes fast. One moment you’re biting down on your bottom lip, your index and middle fingers knuckle deep in your dripping pussy, the next he’s braced atop you, one hand locked around your wrist, the other propping himself up. And as your eyes fly open with a startled cry, his lips crash against your once more – desperate and ravenous, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth to taste you.
And you don’t fight it when he pulls your hand from your pussy and drags it to his crotch, his fingers entwining with yours as he wraps them around his heavy, throbbing cock and moans. It’s humiliating, the way he thrusts into your hand, tightening his grip so you’re forced to feel every shivery twitch of his dick while he sucks eagerly on your tongue.
This is the choice you’d made, the deal you struck. It’s too late to back out now, and even if you tried to…
“I want you,” he pants, his lips glistening with saliva, an almost manic look in those dark, pretty eyes, “to ride me.”
… you’re not so sure Getou would let you.
So you allow yourself to be manhandled, lifted and situated across his lap like a doll. Hands braced on his tattooed chest, you lift your hips just enough for him to guide his cock to your slick entrance before slowly sinking down onto his length.
Every inch hurts.
It doesn’t make it any less painful, the way Getou soothes you, his thumbs stroking gently at your waist as you whine and mewl, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock as he stuffs you full.
“Fuck– good girl, taking me so well,” he purrs.
You’re not sure if it’s shame, pleasure, or some sense of twisted pride at the praise that has your pussy clenching, fire racing through your veins when Getou experimentally rocks his hips upwards. And if your cheeks weren’t already burning, the lewd moan that escapes you when the head of his cock hits your g-spot would certainly do the trick.
Ever observant, he wastes no time capitalising on your slip, lifting you up just to drive you back down onto his length at the perfect angle. You shudder around him, keening out a cry that has him groaning in pleasure.
There’s no illusion of control here between you two.
You might be the one on top, but Getou’s grip’s too tight, guiding every roll of your hips against his, his own rising in time to fuck his cock deeper into your warm, velvety cunt. And somewhere distantly you recognise that this could be a thousand times worse. How easily he could change the narrative in a heartbeat, flip you over, force your face into the pillows and fuck you like a dog until you’re gasping for air. He could use you, hurt you, probably kill you without ever needing to touch the gun he’d left on your nightstand – and you wouldn’t have a hope in hell of stopping him.
But he doesn’t. Lying back against your pillows, dark hair falling from his half up-do, cheeks flushed from exertion, Getou’s attention is wholly fixed on you - on your face, eyes screwed shut, bottom lip caught between your teeth as he hits somewhere deep inside of you that has you seeing stars, on your tits, the way they bounce every time you sink back down onto his cock.
His eyes are hooded, dark and intense, searching for every hint of pleasure he’s drawn from you. You gasp his name, fingers digging into his chest, your cunt fluttering so deliciously around him – and he loses that last little bit of his self control.
He jerks upright, one arm wrapping around your waist to anchor you to him as he braces himself with the other, and before you can so much as gasp his mouth is at your tits, hot tongue laving at soft, supple skin there.
“Suguru,” he growls, hips snapping feverishly against yours.
“Suguru,” you parrot, head lolling back as heat coils tighter in your core.
You’ll worry about the consequences later, when he pulls you boneless and sated into his arms and you feel his heart thumping at your back as he kisses you and tells you to sleep. When tomorrow you arrive at work and Nanami stares a beat too long as the love bites scattered across your throat, no doubt wondering why you won’t so much as look at him.
For now, you settle for pulling him closer, gasping as you chase that quaking, blissful end.
#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere getou suguru#yandere getou#yandere getou suguru x reader#yandere getou x reader#yandere jjk#tw: dubcon#tw: coercion#tw: threats#tw: implied murder#yandere#deal with the devil collab
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Oh MY GOD what about Bakugou, kirishima, and sero who get hit by a quirk who turns them into a lil toddler or whatever and they’ve got the biggest crush on their chubby/plus size classmate 🥺🥺
A/N - I literally love this idea so much, thanks to @fandom-fander for helping out with this headcannon.
Not Prof Read
Lowercase Intentional
Cursing
Toddler!Bakugo, Kirishima, and Sero x Plus size reader
Bakugo
aizawa sure as hell didn't feel like dealing with the angry pomeranian in minature form
he decided to leave the boy with the class and let them decide among themselves on who should watch the little firecracker for the day
extra credit anyone?
everyone immediately pinned the responsibility on you
kirishima, he didn't feel like getting screeched at by a small bakugo and needed to apparently go study
he also knew that bakugo had a fondness for you in his teenage form, so why not see if he still has it
fr little bakugo pretends to hate your guts
somehow this little toddler has the most hurtful insults
“you can't even get a boyfriend? that's pretty sad.”
suddenly choking out a child is okay
do it… no one has to know how it happened
even though he had pretended to hate you, he still kept trying to show off to you
you decided to take him out on a little bike/tricycle ride? homeboy flipped it trying to show off how fast he could go and then proceeded to complain about scraping his knee
hey at least he got your attention
he is a literal leash kid fight me oh my god
bakugo will simply run away
you expected him to listen? oh you're in for a surprise
the only option that you give him is to either wear the embarrassing monkey pack or to hold your hand
he immediately grabs your hand and is literally so giddy and its adorable my lord-
smiles for days my heart i can’t-
he may seem all happy and nice, but that can flip in a minute
he’s the biggest brat sometimes and you are literally this close to punting him across the room
you don't get him something that he wants? little pomeranian boy will turn into a velociraptor child in an instant
the decimals that that kids voice can reach up to is kind of impressive not going to lie
“no bakugo, you can't have that right now maybe later-”
screech
thankfully he tires himself out quick enough to set him down for a nap
but nothing is ever simple, is it?
he wont go to sleep without you though, claiming that there are monsters and he needs to know where you are so he can protect you
no matter how many times you had explained to him that there weren't any monsters around, you slowly succumbed to his pleas
almost feeling bad for him, he just looked so serious about how you could get hurt that it made you feel bad
you didn't notice how much taking care of a kid took out of you until now
you had made a mental note to apologize to your mom for having to deal with you when you were younger later
As soon as you settled down on the couch with the toddler laying on top of you, you almost instantaneously passed out
oh boy were you in for a surprise when you woke up to a teen bakugo, still curled into your torso
he looked up to you after feeling you stir, he almost had a smirk on his face before burying his head back into you
mostly to hide the redness spreading over his face, he wasn’t going to admit that he was blushing
no way in hell
he just mumbled a “later” before his breaths softened into a steady pace
yeah, you may be stuck here for a bit
Kirishima
you were there for the whole thing
red-top had pushed you out of the way of an incoming quirk blast and suffered the consequences
he became young again, almost too young
you felt bad
and who wouldn’t
so of course you took it upon yourself to watch him until the effects wore off
the thing you learned about him was that he was an even touchy-er child
homeboy just wanted to be held all the time
just climbing up and latching himself onto your calf
it was adorable but hard to walk with
If you pick him up, you’ve basically sworn an oath with the devil himself
you cannot put him down
ever
he gives the most pitiful looks when you do and drags his feet when you walk
he also wont leave you alone
so curious in whatever your doing at that exact moment
and he is impressed by everything you do
“what are you doing?”
“reading”
“wow so cool!”
a bug came in through the window and he screamed
you walked in all nonchalant, grabbed your shoe, and smacked that some of a bitch into a next dimension
he lit up omfg
“wow y/n, that was so manly!”
you brought him in to class since it had been a school day and were too afraid to tell aizawa about the incident
the girls were literally all over him
i mean, who wouldn’t be all over an adorable and friendly (looking at you bakugo) kid?
and the pebble boy was lapping up the attention like a thirsty dog on a hot day
you never expected him to act like this
shy maybe, but then again he was pretty outgoing in his teenage form
he was grinning from ear to ear
literally posing like a mini body builder and making little huffing noises
even you couldn’t help it, letting a little aww out like most of the other girls
this had been causing a slight disturbance to the class
so the whole going to school thing was pointless as aizawa sent the two of you home anyways
he is already a tired dad, he dosen’t need to be dealing with a toddler right now
putting the little strongman on your back you began to walk
you had been hoping that the effects would wear off in a few more hours
but nothing ever goes to plan dose it?
while you had been walking, you noticed a significant weight increase, but just decided to ignore it
hey you were more sturdy and thicc, you wern’t no pussy, why stop all of a sudden because of the extra weight?
the only single thing that had alerted you to kiri being fully back was the whisper in your ear
instead of a sqeaky and mousy voice, you heart a more smooth and even comment
“hey stranger”
girl you dropped him and ran, him having to catch up to you
he has the audacity to give you a heart attack, he better suck it up
Sero
this was the same situation as bakugo, aizawa just didn’t want to deal with the kid
and especially a kid who kept mixing up two languages
he really was just so one
aizawa gave him the option to go to anyone
of course he ran straight to you, clinging onto your calf, as that was as high as he could reach
hey you looked the most inviting and least scary
he was literally terrified of bakugo and almost started to bawl is eyes out when he went near him
though he calm down slightly when he went down to get to a similar height as him.
why wouldn’t you take the opportunity to watch a cute little kid and skip class
hey, aizawa said whoever watched him got extra credit
but there soon was a slight problem that you noticed
well not really a problem, but more of a hurdle
with sero being raised in a household that spoke both english and spanish, he started to mix the two, not knowing any better
he would be asking for “leche” and you would just stand there trying to understand with your limited vocab
just the loading circle above your head whenever he started to talk
but you managed with google translate and going off of the vast amount of spanish soap operas you watched at 3 am once a week
surprisingly, he was a very artistic kid
at least every ten minutes he would walk over to you and hand you a squiggly picture of a flower, you, or him and you holding hands
and he would just giggle before running away to make another
bro heart go melt
being pre occupied with some papers that the father teacher had sent home with you, sero couldn’t get your attention
he might of forgotten your name and got stuck in a predicament
then the most rational thing popped into his head
well his dad called his mom “mi amor” and you and his mom were both pretty ladies
it made total sense to him so he went with it
“hey...”
nothing
“hey...”
nothing again
“hey... mi amor~”
your head shot up immediately
since he noticed that the name had gotten your attention, he just started using it
when he had shifted to being a teen again, the two of you never mentioned the name again
until a few days later when he was back to normal in class
homeboy was trying to get your attention and the multiple taps on the shoulder weren't cutting it
he got an idea
“hey... mi amor~”
yep that got you immediately
and he still uses that nickname for you
#bakugo x chubby reader#bakugo x reader#bakugo katuski x reader#bakugo x y/n#bakugo x plus size reader#bakugo katsuki x plus size reader#mha x plus size reader#mha x chubby reader#mha x reader#mha x you#bnha x plus size reader#bnha x chubby reader#bnha x reader#bnha x y/n#bakugo headcannon#kirishima x you#kirishima x plus size reader#kirishima x chubby reader#kirishima x reader#kirishima headcanon#kiri x reader#kiri x you#kiri x plus size reader#kiri x chubby reader#sero x reader#sero x plus size reader#sero headcannon#sero x chubby reader#sero hanta x reader#sero hanta x plus size reader
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Otto Octavius / Reader - '13 squids' Chptr 1
In which you rip a piece of glass out of the Doctor's arm and he starts to feel things, feel things for a person. Ew, gross, that's never happened before. Maybe he's lost more blood than he thought he did? BAD AT SUMMARY'S _ PLEASE READ.
Authors Note: Its like 12 monkeys except the plot lines aren't similar at all and it's 13 instead of 12 squids instead of monkeys. Im going through my drafts and publishing anything good, I dont have time to think of a better title.
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When you moved to new york, you assumed the place would be……well new york. Rats on the street, strange people asking you even stranger questions, the normal everyday weirdness that came along with living in a big city. New york was “quirky”, that’s what everyone kept telling you.
This definitely was not fucking quirky.
You let a string of profanities as you ducked behind the bar counter, the garbage can hurdling through the window of the restaurant barely missing your head. You crawled over to the corner of the counter as fast as you could, curling up into a fetal position and trying to steady your breathing. Hopefully the hard wood would shield you from the fight going on outside, but you doubted it. Heroes and villains brawling on the street was something you’d never get used to. You supposed it was just the way things were now, in the 90s people had portable cd players, now they had iphones. 10 Years ago people had cops, now you had people made of sand and skinny kids in spandex injected with spider DNA. You weren't the type to care about superhero politics, people were fallible and it felt weird to idolize or demonize them based on a handful of chaotic events where no one actually physically there could really fully understand what was going on, flying cars and screaming usually made it hard to pay close attention to things. You just wish they weren't allowed to destroy property. This sucked. Another piece of scrap metal flew over your head and you yelped.
“GIVE IT UP OCTO DOCTOR”
Aaaaah. So that’s who it was. You’d seen spiderman when the fight first began, but you werent sure who he was scuffing with. Otto Octavius, the guy with four metal arms attached to his spine or something. Pretty intimidating. You’d seen videos of him, robbing banks, ripping tank sized holes through government buildings, he’d use his arms for support and just hang there like a ragdoll, smiling and looking at the crowd through his sunglasses. You wondered if he ever walked around anymore. You felt the earth shake and rumble, for metal tentacles gripped the ground and a pair of black boots floated along the top of the restaurant window.
“What doc, you running away? They should start calling you doc bawk bawk baaawk in the papers!”
Jesus, this kid had to work shop his quips.
“If you -” He coughed loudly.
“If you know whats best for you you’ll stay out of my way, spider.”
You cringed into yourself at the sound of his voice. That cough sounds nasty, is he sick?
With that the tentacles scampered away, as did the black boots.
As you sat on the floor and shook you realized the commotion outside was over. No more loud noises. Slowly, you got up off the floor and poked your head out.
Nothing. Just an empty, fucked up street outside.
The lithe figure in the gaudy spandex jumped after the doctor and you crumpled to the floor.
A few tears spilled down your face and you laughed. Loud noises, banging, abrupt movements, it all terrified you. You were jumpy, you didn't know where it came from - luckily most people found it endearing. That or they tried to make you dance purposefully, slamming books closed, yadda yadda. You’d gotten a lot of that in grade school.
After a few minutes you got up and brushed yourself off. Time to clean up. Yaaaaaaay.
You were pissed. If you left the restaurant like this your boss would be angry angry, you could call him but you’d rather not deal with another bout of yelling and loud angry noise tonight, you might actually have a breakdown if anyone else spoke to you or touched you for the rest of the week. After you cleaned the debris off the floor you’d figure out an excuse as to why you didnt want to talk to him unless it was over text. Old people and cell phone etiquette.
You got a rag and wiped all the glass and concrete off of the counter top onto the floor, stacking the barstools ontop of the bar to get them off the floor. Now for the fun part - sweeping. You actually quite enjoyed cleaning most of the time, you found it relaxing to put on your big clunky headphones and dance around the restaurant while you got it sparkling. That’s one of the reasons you’d taken the closing shift - less people, more interesting conversation, more alone time. The bigger broom was kept in the big back storage room, you walked towards the rear of the floor and dug the keys out of your pocket - about to open the door.
That’s when you heard it.
“Ah, ah, good god.” Someone was behind the door. They were in pain.
Immediately you rushed for the first aid kit and the bat your boss kept on the wall (Your boss gave every female employee working alone mandatory “self defense” lessons with the thing, they usually ended with the guy going on tangents about his favorite ball team.)
It was probably someone that had turned into collateral during the fight, hiding in the storage room because it was the only door in the back alley that was open.
…..The only door open.
Your stomach fell. It wasn't open, you remembered locking it right after the delivery guys left. That door was made of metal and hardwood, at least an inch thick, and you knew from experience that it was nearly impossible to break down. Once you’d gotten locked in that storage room for 15 minutes - it was in the dead of winter and you thought you were going to die. You clipped the first aid kit around your lanyard and got ready to swing the bat, whatever was back there was strong as shit and you really didnt want to see what it was. Somewhere in the back of your mind you wondered if your heart was supposed to beat this hard, maybe you were having an attack? Swallowing your fear you quietly unlocked the door and swung it open.
“DONT TRY TO HURT ME, I WANT TO HELP YOU SO JUST DON-”
You began to yell out your demands when you realized who it was.
Doctor Octavius.
His blood was all over the floor and he was gripping his shoulder, trying to apply pressure you guessed. His tentacles were cooing and chirping, almost like they were concerned for him. Crying for help.
The baseball bat clattered to the floor.
“Oh Jesus, ok. -”
You kneeled down next to him and the arms hissed at you. The doctor seemed to be fading in and out of consciousness, he just looked at you and blinked, not saying anything. You stood your ground, the arms continued their hissing.
You raised the medical bag in the air.
“I thought you were an intruder, someone trying to rob the storage room. I'm sorry if I scared you, I just want to help. I'm not a professional, but I've been to a few emergency first aid classes. I wont hurt you, I promise, but if you dont let me help he’ll continue to lose blood and he might die. “
You looked the metal arms in their red eyes as you spoke, they seemed to almost understand what you were saying. Maybe they were sentient? Like little robots? One of them cocked their head to the side.
“Please.”
As much as you didnt want to deal with this, you couldn't watch this man die. You didnt know why he robbed banks, stole chemicals and metal, but you assumed he had a good reason for it. He had been a doctor once, well respected, a genius, whatever he was doing had to be right (in his mind at least). No one was completely one thing.
The tentacles seemed to confer amongst themselves, then to your amazement they cleared away from Octavius. One of them nodded towards him and cooed. They were giving you permission.
You paused for a moment and then scrambled closer to the man.
“Otto? Dr. Octavius? Dont fall asleep doctor, you have to stay awake for me okay?” His slumped over form slowly turned to look at you.
“You dont have to talk, just stay awake. Im going to take your coat off to see if I can get a better look at the injury.”
One by one you lifted his limp arms through his jacket and shrugged the leather off of him. Jesus fuck. There was a piece of glass stuck into the top of his arm, it was massive. Nearly half the size of a mug and halfway stuck in. You opened the medical bag and grabbed a sizeable pair of plier grabby things. You did mention you weren't a professional. You sanitized the pliers and looked at him.
“I dont know if you can hear me, but this is going to hurt. Im really sorry.” You turned your gaze to the metal arms moving and wriggling around behind his back.
“Understand that im not doing this because I want to hurt him, when I pull it out I need you to make sure he doesnt kill me, I need you not to kill me, can you do that for me please?” The tentacles chittered and one wiggled up and down, nodding at you in agreement.
You took a deep breath, squeezed the doctors other shoulder lightly, and yanked on the glass with the pliers. It came out smoothly.
Suddenly the doctors eyes turned from half lidded and sleepy to wide and glassy. He moaned in pain and reached for his shoulder, you grabbed his dirty hand before he could touch the wound and guided it to the ground, holding onto it for a moment while you pressed a clean cloth to the cut to stop the bleeding.
“Shhhh, you’ll be okay. It hurts right now, but it will get better. Just pull through for me, I need to stop some of the bleeding, sanitize the wound, and then give you stitches. It wont take long, you’re going to be okay Octavius. Alright?” To your surprise he actually responded. He hissed a quiet “thank you” and squeezed your hand.
You gave a solemn nod.
“I'm sure anyone else in my position would try to do the same.” He flinched when you sanitized the wound, but for the most part he was still. Even while you were giving him sutures he stayed still and looked at the room, or your face. After the offending object had been pulled out of his arm it seemed like the pain was mostly downhill. When you were completely done you realized you had no clue what to do with him. He was a wanted criminal, obviously, that's half the reason you chose the home operation approach, where were you supposed to take the big dude now? To his villain lair where he couldn't reach anyone if he needed help? Did he even have a place to live?
He was mostly conscious at this point, but he still stayed silent.
“So, what now?”
He turned to you, confused.
“What now?”
“Yeah, what now? I assume if you knew how to take care of semi big injuries like that the tentacles, arms, im sorry, they’d know too. They’re smart. I cant leave you here, your tussling with the spider kid kind of totally fucked up the resteraunt and now I have to call my boss - he’d kill you if he found you here -” The doctor chuckled.
“Would he now?” You cracked a small smile.
“He’d give it a good college try. So, that being said there are a few options. I get you a hotel room for a few nights and sneak you in, I take you back to your house - lair - dungeon - whatever and check in on that arm wound once every few days, or……you stay at my place I guess.”
His smirk enduring, he tried to shrug his jacket on.
“NO- “ You put your hand on the leather.
“I dont wanna know what the last time you had that thing cleaned was. If that gets on the wound ,even while it’s dressed, there’s a serious chance you could get a very very gnarly infection.”
He rolled his eyes, but to your relief he put the soiled piece of leather down.
“I was, before my…. Social fall from grace, one of the best scientists in the world. You dont think I know enough to treat an arm wound?”
“Im not saying that, im saying
A: I’ve known a few scientists in my time, when I think of them I dont think ‘personal hygiene, self care, awareness of their needs.’ I know a guy, he’s in college majoring in quantum physics and I once saw him drink cold chocolate ensure for a month straight because he ‘didnt have time for ramen.
B: It would be easier with an extra pair of eyes, you cant see the back part of your own shoulder too well.
C: It would make me feel better. I already have an anxiety thing, if my brain knows there’s a guy somewhere that I stitched up, who may be dead, alive, or dying, ill freak the hell out.”
He sneered.
“I dont need the help of a college student.” “Im not in college. Im a free lance artist. I just go to shows a lot, there’s a really good Oingo Boingo cover band that plays around here, that's how quantum and I met.”
“Even worse. Your practically asking me to babysit you. What makes you think I wont just leave, you cant stop me.” You stared into his deep green eyes and cracked a smile.
“If you wanted to leave you’d already be gone.”
He stayed silent.
“If you dont need my help, that’s fine, ill just see you on your way and go home. I just thought it would be nice if you had someone that could help you when you couldnt help yourself. You’re a grown man, im not forcing you to do anything.”
He looked at you. He was clearly thinking about something, but there were no clues about his answer to your question on his face. He was stoic, his greyish brown hair was fluffy and his skin looked soft despite the wrinkles and marks that peppered it. His glasses were crooked on his nose and…..and he had no……shirt. How you failed to realize this earlier you were not entirely sure - but oh wow. He was a soft man, and his stomach was covered by a metal plate that looked attached to his skin, for the arms you guessed. You wondered if it hurt him, you’d have to inquire more about the arms later. As you looked at his face you realized he was sort of beautiful. Hopefully he did keep in contact, you wanted to ask if you could paint him. A voice derailed your train of thought.
“If I need you, lll find you….”
You watched as he reached out to you and ran his gloved fingers through your long hair, brushing it over your shoulder exposing your name tag.
“Thank you, y/n.”
Telling from the look in his eyes he was being completely genuine. He began to get up when you stopped him.
“Wait”
He looked down at you, smirking, and he pulled a cigar and a lighter out of his pocket.
“What?”
The air smelled familiar. He smoked clove, the same as you. Yours were herbal cigarettes, though. Non addictive. As attractive as you thought smoking once in a while was, other people begged to differ. You’d saw your own leg off before you doomed yourself to a life of unwanted, unwarranted medical advice and shaming from strangers on the street.
You looked at his arms.
“What should I call them? I’ve been referring to them as tentacles in my head, but that’s just because the papers gave you that nickname. I dont want to offend them.”
He stopped. A look of genuine surprise crossed his face, then he put the mask back on and continued to smirk at you. He processed what you said, and then he laughed.
“Smart, smart girl. Good job, it takes most people a while to realize they’re somewhat sentient. Actuators, that’s what they prefer. Though they dont mind arms either, just not tentacles. They really should ask before they print that sort of thing in the news, i’ve never met a - for lack of a better term - supervillain that likes their nickname. Except the green goblin, but…. You know-”
“He’s just kind of weird, man.”
“Yeah, that.”
The actuators chittered, trying to get the doctors attention. He turned to them briefly, the same look that proud fathers get when they talk to their children crossed his face, then he turned back to you.
“They like you.”
You blinked, and he was gone.
He doesn't hover.
#otto octavius/reader#otto octavius#the amazing spider man#spider man no way home#spiderverse#green goblin#otto octavius imagine#fanfic#fem reader#otto octavius x reader#doctor otto octavius#doctor octopus#peter parker#marvel mcu
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Hbhbhbhbhnbhb i'v been screaming about your silktea ship for 500 year's and I need more. #49 I can't stop thinking about you. Please and thank you.
*trips and falls back into answering prompts* yeah so while I'm working through writer's burnout for some of my longer fics I figure I finish some LONG overdue prompts .
prompt list
Dark Turn
Rating:PG
49 “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
We see Sandy and Huntsman keep in touch after he heals and he returns to his queen. Keeping their relationship on the down-low is hard as it is but especially hard when you are technically dating the enemy.
Continuation of some other silk tea but could probably be read without context.
PART ONE here and PART TWO and PART THREE
-----------------------------------------
Sandy was his secret, His black mark on his soul and red ink on his ledger.
And then like Schrodinger's cat he was also his life, his reason to live, and the only good thing about himself.
Both exist at the same time in an uncertain state. He and Sandy kept in touch after he was officially healed and back with his queen; his return was received without any reaction from her.
Other than a side comment..
"Oh? You're not dead? Shame. My, You have gotten fat. Hope you haven't found a food source that you didn't share with your queen"
Other than that nothing had changed. He was out back to work with little fanfare. He thinks Syntax was upset when he returned so he made sure to rub it in his face by throwing himself into his service like he never left.
Yep nothing had changed.
Well….one thing changed.
His human burner phone buzzes in his pocket, alerting him of a text. He makes sure to take it out and cup it gently, keeping it out of prying eyes.
Big blue 💙
Is displayed and he can't help the smirk that plays on his face.
"A human phone? What need do you have for that?" Syntax asks and Huntsman snaps it shut quickly.
"For Intel on the monkey kid." He lies easily shoving it in his pocket.
"I have contacts on the surface."
"Seems unlikely. Humans don't like our kind" Syntax scowls
"Said the human who helped us and joined our kind." Huntsman bites back pushing past him out of the lab to get some privacy.
Once out of earshot and down a tunnel away from any of his clan members. When he's certain he's alone he takes out the burner phone and checks his messages. Looks like it was time for their normal lunch chat.
Sandy always texted him to see if he was free and then Huntsman would call him when he was free, and more importantly safe to do so.
He dials and even though they have done this for a week now his stomach flops at every background noise worried someone was just behind him listening in.
The phone clicks as Sandy picks up.
"Hey there spider cake." Sandy's smooth voice pours over him like coffee. Sandy always had a new pet name for him, it was cute and he hated that it never failed to make him blush. He wishes he had just as good pet names to give back but he could never seem to get them past his lips.
"Hi. Missed you." He pulls the phone to his ear and closes his eyes pretending they were next to him. He hears Sandy chuckle through the receiver.
"I missed you too. Mo misses you too by the way." They respond and Huntsman smiles while rolling his four eyes.
"No way the flea bag misses me. Mo hated me the most out of all your cats." Huntsman leans against the wall of the tunnel and then slides down, he thinks he looks like a fourteen year old human girl with how he acts around Sandy.
"No he really does! He keeps sitting in your spot on the sofa and wandering around yowling for you."
Huntsman lets out a little snort and closes his eyes pretending Sandy was right next to him instead of far away in his boat.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” the words fall past Huntsman's hips before he can even stop them. He hears how the demon's breath hitches on the other side and he thinks maybe he's messed up and shouldn't have admitted something so honest.
“I can’t stop thinking about you also…" Sandy replies and it just makes Huntsman's heart explode in his chest.
"When can I see you again?" Sandy asks sounding slightly heartbroken and it makes Huntsman whimper slight
"Soon, I just need to make sure no one here suspects anything..." The spider demon admits trailing off and gripping the phone slightly tighter. The last thing he needed was to accidentally have Syntax follow him and then report back to the queen of his sin.
"Alright….just let me know when."
"I will."
"I love you."
Huntsman's heart stutters and stops in his chest and his whole life narrows down to three words he's not strong enough or brave enough to say back. He knows deep down Sandy would never hold it against him if he needed the time to say it back, but the overwhelming guild drained out that logic quickly.
"I have to go." He hung up and pushed the phone to his chest.
This was bad. Because one day he not only did he have to say it back but because he knows we WILL say it back. And it would fall easily from his lips.
And the problem with that is it wasn't allowed. You loved the queen unconditionally and that was it. You didn't fall in love with another and devote yourself to them.
He stands up and pockets the phone, worried about what he's going to do.
And then sharp pain erupts through his legs and forearms.
He's pinned to the wall, quite literally. leg enhancers shoved through his limbs, splintering flesh and bone.
"Well…" a cool voice draws out and Huntsman's breath hitches when he sees WHO had attacked him..
Syntax.
"Won't MY queen find this quite interesting?" The voice curls out from fanged teeth with an edge of a hiss. A shiver runs up Huntsman's spine from the absolutely Feral look from Syntax. Huntsman squirms underneath his glare, his heart pulling wildly in his chest.
Syntax chuckles, deep and threatening like the edge of a blade, And Huntsman struggles against the titanium trap to no avail.
"Once I report this to the queen I will become her new favorite."
The sentiment that this was about impressing the queen seems ridiculous in Huntsman's head, but that might be because his loyalty was waning.
He opens his mouth, a protest on his lip. But he's silenced by a pinprick to his neck. The pain is swift and vision blurring is even quicker.
He feels sick, stomach-churning, and he topless forward. The flip phone drops from his hand and is crushed under the weight of Syntax's foot.
The last thought in his head is how everything took a dark turn, and he hopes Sandy would forgive him
To be continued….
#silk tea#silktea shipping#prompt ask#prompt request#look at me actually coming back to this XDD#Sandy#Huntsman#lego monkie kid#monkie kid#writting#no beta we die like clowns#ignore any mistakes they live here now
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