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codename-bewareofthefangirl · 7 years

Note

the GoM turning into little kids (around 4 or 5 y.o, but mentally they haven't changed) with Momoi babysitting them, cuteness overload please sorry this is such a strange request x)

Hi dear! I’mfinally here, sorry if I made you wait, but exams took all my time! Actually, Iliked this ask and it wasfun to write it! Ihope you’re going to enjoy this little thing!

Have a niceday!

Children!Miragen &Babysitter!Momoi, Fluff, Funny

Akashi’sResidence, Dining Room, Late Morning

Momoi was seated on the couch, frozen in pure shock.Her eyes were wide open and she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Maybe shewas dreaming.

“So, exactly….how is this possible?” Momoi blurted, covering her mouthwith the hand, trying to calm her beatingheart. Was she having somestrange hallucinations?

“We don’t know for sure, but it could beAomine and Kise's fault for breaking an ancient, sacredvestige of my family while playing. We used to be bounded tothe Shinto Shrine of this city.” Akashianswered to her politely.

A child Akashi. An adorable, five years old Akashi,with big round, red eyes and wrapped in his, now too big, clothes.

“EHY!” The two culprits exclaimed, glaring at thered-haired boy.

Momoi felt her heart squeezing. Aomine was backexactly as he was when they were little, when he was still cute. Kise returneda child too but…he was ten times more adorable. A model child. Even if his t-shirtwas baggy and his pants covered his feet…he was a small blonde angel. Theinnocence personified.

“Please don’t aggravate the situation.” Kuroko shifteduncomfortably seated between them and Momoi squirmed in delight. She hadn’tseen him for a second! He had dimples! Dimples!

She felt the need to hug him tightly.

“I’m hungry.” Murasakibara whined rubbing his eyestiredly. He was tallerthan the others, but not less cute. His long purple hairfell messily on his shoulders and he was sort of more…slender and delicate thanusual.

“It’s not the right moment!” Midorima glared at him,trying to fix his glasses; however, they were too big for him and slid down hisnose, leaving him mostly blind.

“Guys, please,” Akashi sighed exasperated, but hischubby cheeks made it difficult to take him seriously.

Momoi’s was shining.

“I’m sorry if I bothered you,” the captain resumed,“But I think we need your help to survive until we find a sol-“

“Yes!” the girl thrilled ecstatic and clapped herhands devouring the children with her eyes, “This is the best day of my life!You’re all so cute!” she chirped cheerfully and they felt their blood freeze.

“I told you it was not a good idea…” Aomine mumbledshrieking in his large tank top.

An hour later

Momoi had found some children’s clothes for them and shewas literally delighted about the results.

“Ki-chan! Smile!” she bubbled pointing the phone atthe boy. The blond, instinctively, flashed a sweet, innocent smile and showedher the peace sign. However, his shoulders were tense. He had been happy atfirst, his mother still repeated that he had been the cutest child and he wasproud of it, but…the girl had been taking photos for more than half an hournow. He. Was. Tired.

And, most importantly, why he was the only one infemale’s clothes?!

Momoi had forced him into a pink, frilly dress (Kisedidn’t want to know why Akashi had one) and put flowers in his blond hair.

“You’re an angel!” the girl sighed satisfied, beforepulling him into a hug and squeezing him.

Aomine snorted at his pained and embarrassed face, butthen grew impatient.

“Satsuki, let him go!” he whined crossing his slenderarms, “We have to play!” he scowled, looking around for the basketball.

Kise brightened up at his words and wiggled to get outof her grasp, but she gasped and hid him against her chest.

“Ki-chan can’t play in a dress!”

“Then let him change!” Aomine rolled his eyes, puffingout his cheeks, “But I bet he can play like that just fine,” added with acheeky smirk.

“Aominecchi!” the other cried, trying to free himselfand stretching a hand towards him. Momoi ddn’t even noticed and furrowed,looking out from the window.

“You can’t play now! It’s raining!”

“We are playing here.” Aomine shrugged, finallyfinding the ball and showing a bright smile that Momoi didn’t even know hecould do anymore.

“Do you want to break something again?” she scoldedhim motherly.

“We’re not going to,” he complained absentmindedly,too focused noticing that the ball was bigger of what he had thought.

“Akashi-kun!” Momoi called the owner of the house,hoping for his help.

The boy was seated on the couch in a elegant kimonothat Momoi insisted he had to wear, dangling his legs, and was quietly readinga book. Actually, the book was so big that he was keeping it on his lap and hehad problem turning the pages.

“Let them do what they want,” he sighed shaking hishead a little, “It’s better than hearing them complaining.”

“Yes!” Kise cheered when finally Momoi let him go andhe tumbled unsteadily towards Aomine, who was realizing that couldn’t maneuver theball as he wanted with his small, tiny hands…He hated that body.

“Yeah but we can’t play like this,” he admittedunwillingly, hugging the ball which had betrayed him with a scowl.

Kise blinked for a second, taken back by the cute pouton Aomine’s face. Then smiled brightly and patted his head.

“It’s okay, Aominecchi! We can do passes! It’s gonna befunny the same!” he proposed beaming and Aomine looked awe-struck at him. Damn,flowers looked good on him. And why he seemed so innocent and pure? It was allSatsuki’s fault.

Without waiting for an answer, the blond grabbed hishand and dragged him where they had more space to play.

“Come on! Let’s go!”

“…we should play House instead…”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Aomine grunted under his breath, but theflaming red cheeks betrayed him.

Momoi, pouting, looked around to find her nextvictims.

In a corner of the room, Midorima and Kuroko were seatedon the floor, on the opposite sides of a small table. The two were lookingintently at the chees board, so seriously that they didn’t move and…

“Is Tetsu-kun sleeping?” Momoi whispered letting outincredulous giggles, coming near to Midorima.

“He fell asleep while I was thinking,” Midorimaconfirmed annoyed and fixed his new glasses: small and round. Ridiculous, hehad said, but Momoi had ignored him.

The girl emitted some soft and strangled noises,patting his head.

“Don’t worry, I bet Akashi-kun is going to play withyou.” She reassured him kindky.

Then Momoi gently picked up Kuroko in her arms andlulled him sweetly. He curled against her and continued sleeping peacefully.The girl fondly laid him on the couch where Akashi was reading and covered himwith a blanket, giving him a small kiss on the forehead.

Aw, maybe one day their child was going to be likethat too.

“Momo-chin,” Murasakibara called her, tugging hersleeve, “I want some chips,” he asked shyly. His purple hair were combed in acute braid and Momoi smiled satisfied of her work.

“You can’t now, or your tummy is gonna hurt,” shepatiently replied caressing his head.

“Don’t treat me like a child,”

“You’re a child right now, more than usual.”

He frowned at her words and tugged her again.

“I’m hungry, I want some chips,” he whined and showedher his puppy eyes, “Please.”

Momoi sighed and put a hand on her waist with a smirk.

“Then let’s see if there’ something else, tasty buthealthier in the kitchen!” compromised taking his hand.

Murasakibara huffed but let her guide him.

Akashi, looking at them, chuckled.

“You’re good with children,” he told her and shesmiled with a shrug.

“Because children are cute, soft and adorable!”

That evening

Well, she had been wrong.

The guys had remained cute for the first three hours.Four maybe. Then they had become some evil little creatures.

Now she was dead tired and couldn’t take it anymore.

Aomine and Kise went from laughing and playingtogether to crying and arguing every fifteen minutes. And yes, their bodywasn’t used to restrain their emotions so they both ended up crying for real,being frustrated because they were crying and consequently crying even more.

They had also fallen and bruised their kneesrepeatedly, had broken few vases and let handprints on the white wall. To fixit, they had decided to put their signs under them so that “it looked likemodern art.”

Akashi had revealed to be absolutely useless. Hewanted to finish his book for school and he had ignored everything else,Midorima included. This had made the little green haired child sob in silencein the corner of the room because he wanted to play with someone. So, Momoi hadscolded Akashi and hidden his novel, forcing him to play: a horrible idea. Hehad entered the Emperor Mode and crushed Midorima at every game, until hereturned to cry in his corner.

Murasakibara begged continuously for food, especiallysnacks and other unhealthy things. When Momoi didn’t give them to him, he wouldclimb to the cupboard and take them by himself. Obviously, this had ended in astomachache and with the boy whining and rolling in pain on the floor until themedicine she had given him worked.

Kuroko fell asleep suddenly and in the most strangeplaces. If he wasn’t sleeping, he was wandering around helplessly or watchingthe others playing, but his ability worked more than usual and Momoi spent hertime calling and searching desperately because she couldn’t see him. But afterhaving found the ghost boy asleep on the edge of the stairs, she didn’t want tolose sight of him again.

Dinner had been catastrophic. Not only they were pickyand she didn’t know how to cook, but they had started a food battle. It hadtaken her more than an hour to clean everything, while they played (making moredamages to the house) in the dining room.

It had been exhausting.

She had never thought she could arrive to this pointbut, she wanted his loud, tall and snarky guys back.

“Momoi-san, I’m tired.” Kuroko yawned hugging her legand rubbing his head against it.

She sighed and forced a smile, taking the boy in herarms.

“Alright guys, let’s go all to bed!” she told theothers, but they started protesting.

“I’m not tired!” Aomine grumbled clenching his fists.

“We’re playing!” Kise whined trying to win her overwith his cuteness.

“I’m not finished reading,” Akashi coldly stated andMomoi felt like burning that book.

“I was playing with Murasakibara!” Midorimaabsentmindedly replied, looking at the chessboard.

Said boy, gave her a pleading look.

“I want a sweet.”

Momoi had enough.

“I said,” she hissed lowly with a frightening smile onher lips, “Let’s go to bed, now. Or, I’m going to put you all in frilly dresses,take photos and then posting them on every social I have. All right?”

The room fell silent.

“I’ll finish it tomorrow,” Akashi suddenly compliedand closed the book.

Ten minutes later, all the kids were curled on the bigdouble bed in Akashi’s room and were sleeping softly. In silence, like littleangels. Aomine and Kise were holding hands, Midorima was hugging a stuffedfrog, Akashi was hugging a pillow, Murasakibara was sleep talking and Kurokowas smiling.

Momoi sighed, letting fondness fill her. She gave eachof them a kiss on the cheek and then quietly walked out from the room.

She silently closed the door behind her back andhuffed tiredly.

Finally.

Finally, she could rest too.

“Momo-chin?” Murasakibara voice reached her, “I’mthirsty.”

“I have to pee!”

“Aominecchi stop kicking!”

“And you stop hugging me, Kise!”

“Make silence!”

“You’re the one who’s growling Akashi-kun.”

“Wait, where’s Kuroko?”

Or maybe not.

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sophisticated-angel · 7 years

Text

Out of My Hands - Part Seven

Character: Dean Winchester

Warning: Mention of blood

Word Count: 2,015

Pairing: Castiel x Reader, eventual Dean x Reader

Prologue - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six

Summary: Hiding in her own home from Castiel, the reader’s night is interrupted by Dean and a wounded Sam. For the first time in a long while, she lets herself be vulnerable.

Story:

They didn't even make it out of town.

Dean had taken a back road as an experiment, and, as their luck would have it, they stumbled across a shifter hiding out in the woods. They lost it, spent the day tracking the damn thing, and then when they finally found it, it took a good chunk out of Sam before Dean riddled it with about six silver bullets. Dragging his bleeding brother into the backseat of the car, Dean patches him up as best he can with duct tape and a ratty old t-shirt and floors it back in the direction he came from earlier.

There's bound to be a hospital if he kept driving out, but she's closer.

* * * * *

Not even locking your door makes you feel any better. Night falls, darkness consumes the place, and you leave the lights off, feeling as if the dark might hide you. You want to lose yourself more than anything, want to somehow separate your mind from your body and cease to exist for a few minutes. The best you can do is hide the trench coat he forgot, bury yourself beneath a heavy afghan, and try to focus on the late night infomercial buzzing on TV.

You were simply friendly, weren't you? Nothing you said or did warranted any sort of romantic advances, hadn't been asking for flirtations. It was the first and last time you'll ever give him a chance. For a moment you thought maybe he had the potential of being at least tolerable, in the distant future maybe a friend of sorts, but not anymore. What he tried to do was just . . . weird. It made you uncomfortable, to say the least.

The knocking comes just at the clock strikes one in the morning.

You jump, lifting your head to watch the front door. In seconds the knocking comes again, rapid and urgent.

“(y/n)!” calls a voice from outside. “(y/n), I need you!”

Not Castiel, Dean. But didn't he skip town?

Throwing the afghan aside, you set your feet on the ground and walk quickly over to open the door. On the other side is Dean, as was expected, and leaning heavily against him is a barely conscious Sam.

“Dean? What the hell?”

“Can you play doctor?” he gasps.

“What?”

“Can you play doctor?” he almost barks. “Can you help me fix him?”

Taken by surprise, it takes longer than you would like for your mouth to form an answer. “Yeah. Get him on the couch.”

Dean doesn't save time for pleasantries, and as he drags his brother over to the sofa, you jog to your kitchen and pull a med kit from under the sink, something a little more heavy duty than what you would normally find in someone's medicine cabinet. Mind in medical mode, you carry the case back to the couch and give it to Dean to open while you give Sam's injuries a once-over.

“Duct tape?” you tug at the edge of the silver tape.

“It's all I had at the moment.”

“Whatever works, I guess. What happened?”

“Damn shifter in the woods sliced him open pretty good. We haven't managed to leave town yet.”

“Geez. Alright, this has to come off.” Working swiftly but gently, you pry the duct tape from where it sticks against Sam's side, eliciting a hiss from the dazed man.

Once the wound is exposed, blood flows freely from it, seeping into his already ruined shirt and jacket and rubbing off on the fabric of the sofa cushions. You'll clean those up later once Sam isn't actively staining them. Dean already has a needle threaded, and though he's probably more than ready to do the stitching himself, you're too far gone in your work to acknowledge that, instead plucking it from his hands and setting to work yourself. Dean has the forethought to stick a roll of gauze between his brother's teeth. With expert movements, you've got the wound closed in less than a minute, and then it's only a matter of making it look neat and clean.

Sam begins to wake up more as you finish taping a bandage to his side, grimacing at the throbbing he probably feels.

“Go get him some water,” you order. “Cups are in the cupboard to the left of the sink.”

Dean doesn't bother protesting, and in moments he's holding a half-full glass of water to his brother's mouth, babying him. Even when Sam tries to hold the glass himself, Dean keeps his hand on it. You leave the two to get up and wash your hands at the kitchen sink, taking the med kit out with you and putting it back in its place. From here you can pick up on Dean's worried words as he finally starts to calm down.

“You alright, Sammy?”

“I think I'll live,” Sam mutters as he tries to sit up farther, wincing.

“He needs to lie down,” you say. “I'll help you get him upstairs. He can have my room for the night.”

“(y/n), I don't-” Sam begins.

“Don't argue with me.”

With Dean's assistance, you guide Sam up to the second floor and get him lying down on your bed, stripping him of his shirt and jacket before pulling up the comforter. He doesn't fight, doesn't have the strength to. Matter of fact, he's almost out when you lay him down. While you fuss over Sam, Dean backs off and stands awkwardly by the end of the bed until you suggest that he go downstairs and make sure you got everything back in the med kit.

“Dean likes you,” Sam murmurs.

“Does he now?” You roll with it, chalking it up to a product of his exhaustion and injuries.

“Yeah. Guy's got a major crush on you, only he won't admit it because he's an idiot.”

“That's not uncommon. The idiot thing.”

“You'd like him. I know he likes you.”

“You already said that.”

But Sam's asleep, unable to carry on the conversation. He snores softly once, completely at the mercy of Sandman, and you grin. With a momentary glance back, you flip off the light and head back downstairs and into the darkness of the living room. You must have done that whole thing in the dark without realizing it.

Dean hovers near the door to the back patio, pulling aside the curtain to peer out into the dark yard, and he doesn't notice your presence until you flip on the kitchen light.

“You alright?” you ask. “No injuries you're hiding?”

“No. I'm good.” He turns away from the window and rests his elbows on the counter. “Thank you, before I forget.”

“Not a problem.”

“I would have taken him to a hospital, but you were closer, and I didn't want to make him wait any longer than necessary.”

“Happy to be of service. So what the hell was a shifter doing out there in the woods?”

“Killing people. Found a couple of bodies in its stink hole. Burned them and killed it.”

“Not bad for just one day. Sam isn't dead either, so that's a bonus.”

“Yeah.” He cracks a small smile, a quiet repetition of 'thank you'. “Well, I guess I'll go back out to the car.”

“You're gonna sleep out there?”

He shakes his head. “No, I'm too worked up. I'll probably just sit with the radio on until Sam wakes up.”

You say nothing as he heads for the door, keys in hand, but the moment he puts his hand on the knob, one words comes.

“Stay.”

He stops, turns, and eyes you questioningly.

“Stay,” you say again. “I mean, if you won't sleep, I could really use some company right about now.”

“Aren't you tired?”

“Not really. Stay?”

“Alright.”

He turns away from the door and pockets his keys again, and your heart does a tiny relieved flip. Taking your afghan from the end of the couch, you wrap it around your shoulders and sit cross-legged on the floor, plucking at a fraying thread as Dean sits next to you with his legs stretched out.

“Rough day?” he inquires.

“Not rough, just . . . odd.”

“Hunting odd?”

“No, different odd.” Rubbing your hands together, you habitually tug at the wedding band on your left ring finger, recalling the events of earlier in vivid detail.

“Fair enough. You seem tense.”

“I am tense.”

“Any particular reason? Besides me barging in here with my half-dead brother.”

�� You shrug. “Just . . . people. I don't know. Just this one guy.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Not even close.”

“Stalker?”

“Warmer.”

“I was kidding. Is he the reason you asked me to stay in the house?”

“Yes – no, I don't – I'm not . . . I just want company.” Exasperated, you cover your face with your hands and hunker over the nest formed by your legs. “I'm lonely, Dean.”

Dean lets out a breath. “This might seem a little bit forward, but what's wrong?”

“Just a weird day. I don't know what's going on with my life anymore.”

“That's fairly normal for people like us. Be specific.”

“You don't want to hear about it.”

“I do if there's a problem. Would you rather I start?”

“Go for it.”

“Tell me about your ring.”

Sitting up, you stare in surprise, momentarily glancing down at your left hand and the ring that adorns it. Damn thing doesn't usually attract anyone's attention besides your own. “There's nothing to tell.”

“It had to come from somewhere.” Reaching over, he taps the ring. “What's the engraving?”

“I don't know.” Pulling your hand away, you ball it in the blanket. “Some weird language. I don't know what it means.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“Nobody. He's nobody.”

“He must have been someone at some point. Fiancé ? Promise ring? Close relative who died?”

“Just leave it alone, would you?” you snap suddenly. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Sorry.”

“So am I.” Rising, you discard the afghan and stride into the kitchen, desperately needing something to do. Bloodstains on the couch, you remember.

As you mix up a combination of a few chemicals, you're vaguely aware of Dean watching you from the other side of the counter. Brushing past him, you carry your concoction and a dishrag out to the sofa and rub the red spots vigorously. The stains begin to fade almost instantly, courtesy of your prompt removal and the chemicals in the bowl. The sparks in your head threaten to set fire to something, renewed aggravation and confusion flooding your insides, and they find an escape through your mouth.

“I don't have a boyfriend. I don't have one night stands. I used to, just not anymore. Too much going on. Too much crap in my life to have time for romance. This stupid ring doesn't mean anything. I don't know why I can't just take it off-”

Dean spins you around and plants a firm kiss on your mouth, hands gripping your shoulders. You freeze, holding your breath, the dishrag clutched tightly in one hand, until he breaks the moment. Gasping finally, you can only stare, too stunned for words.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “I don't know what came over me.”

“I don't care.” Euphoric, you toss the rag, throw your arms around his neck, and pull him in for a second kiss.

You haven't felt this in more than a year, this sort of happiness. You've been deprived of affection, shut off from the world of selfish physical pleasure both against your will and by it. There is nothing terrible about this kiss, no hesitation on either side, and it overwhelms you so much that you begin to tremble slightly. All at once it becomes too much, too strong, too unexpected, and with a shaking breath, you pull away and begin to cry softly.

“Hey, what's the matter?” Dean catches your head in his hand. “Is something wrong?”

Feeling very vulnerable, you hug yourself and lean into him, head resting over his heart where you can hear it beating. “Hold me,” you plead. “Please, hold me.”

READ PART EIGHT HERE

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#supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #out of my hands #series #reader insert #part seven #x-reader #sophisticated-angel

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