plvt0-booked

[plvt0-booked]

Quite possibly the best answer.

[plvt0-booked]

Fog Wedding: Bliss Before the Break

Setup: In the land of dreams, he stumbled on it during a mission gone off-course with MC. A space anomaly shaped like a dream: silent, glowing, untouched. MC had called it a miracle. He believed her. There was no time here. No worry. No pain. Just stardust, still air, and each other. It felt like peace. Like a reward. Like the ending, they were promised but never dared to hope for. And so, without question, they let themselves believe. Only later would he wonder why the fog kept brushing the edges of the light.

Pairing: LADs x Non-MC (brief LADS x MC moment)

Genre: Angst

Writer's note: Here is my second fic to commemorate to the recent wedding banner; however, this one is based on my Held in Hallowed Fragments fic series. So if you haven't read it, give it a read. I hope you all enjoy.

It happened in a place between places. A wedding suspended in starlight, stitched into the folds of a quiet anomaly nestled deep in the veins of Deep Space.

They stood together.

He and MC.

Alone.

There were no guests. No officiant.

Just the two of them beneath a sky swirled with nebulas and soft gravitational folds, the space anomaly humming gently around them like it had always been waiting. They had "found" it days ago—or perhaps it had found them. A perfect little corner of the universe where the war couldn’t reach. Where Astra’s eyes felt dim and distant.

The ceremony had no structure. No expectations. Just a dress that shimmered like moonlight, a vow whispered between two trembling hands, and a kiss that felt like it could hold back time.

He was smiling.

He didn’t question why. Didn’t ask how they got here. Didn’t wonder if it was too perfect, or how the veil of stars seemed to pulse in sync with his heart.

Because this was the ending, Astra had spared him for once. A perfect ending after so many tragedies. A life free from war. From death. From pain.

He felt light. He felt at peace.

He felt…

Safe.

MC turned to him, her expression soft as she reached for his cheek. “Are you happy?”

He opened his mouth to say yes. The word was on the tip of his tongue.

But—

Something shifted.

The air grew heavier.

The light dimmed at the edges.

The fog crept closer.

His brows furrowed, just slightly. The illusion didn’t break—but it trembled.

A flicker of unease brushed his thoughts like static.

He looked toward the horizon—not past a crowd, but into the misted distance, beyond where light met fog.

And that’s when he saw them.

Two figures. Distant. Framed in fog.

One cloaked in cosmic robes—glowing faintly like a star in human shape.

The other…

Was you.

His breath hitched.

You stood beside the Overseer, quiet and radiant, yet so heartbreakingly still. You weren’t part of the joy. You weren’t part of this world.

You were watching him.

And for the first time since this dream began, he felt something twist in his chest.

Why are you here?

His smile faltered.

He turned to MC. She was still smiling. Still glowing. Still perfect.

But something was wrong.

It wasn’t her hand he craved. It wasn’t her laughter he missed.

It was you.

Then he heard the Overseer speak.

Their voice echoed through the fog, soft and ancient:

“Are you satisfied?”

And your reply—so quiet, so final—reached him like a knife:

“Yes. Even if the world forgets me… I’m satisfied.”

The dream fractured.

Just a little.

A single breath—sharp, ragged—tore from his chest. The golden light around them dimmed. MC’s eyes lost their glow.

No.

His body trembled. The perfect moment began to flicker, like a candle guttering in the wind.

What is this?

He looked back at you. You were beginning to walk away, step by step, fog rising around your legs like mist over memory.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

No. No, no, no. NO!

It all came crashing back. The fog. The dreams. The truth. You.

You were the one he loved.

And this—this perfect ending—it wasn’t his. It wasn’t real. It was Astra’s lie. A final insult wrapped in silk. A reward built on forgetting.

You were leaving.

Because he had been too blind to remember you sooner.

Panic surged in his chest. His hand snapped away from MC’s before he realised he’d moved.

“No!” he gasped aloud.

MC’s voice rose, confused, distant: “What’s wrong?”

But he didn’t answer.

He ran.

Toward you.

“Don’t go!” he screamed. “It’s you! I remember now! It’s always been you!”

But you didn’t look back.

The Overseer turned slightly, their gaze neither cruel nor kind.

Only understanding.

You had already accepted your erasure. Already made the deal.

This wedding was Astra’s fulfilment of your last wish: that he would live. That he would smile. That he would love—even if not with you.

And he had.

Blissfully. Blindly.

Until now.

“Please!” he sobbed, breath tearing from his lungs as he chased after your silhouette. “Don’t let this be goodbye! I never wanted this! Not without you!”

But the fog closed in.

And before he could reach you—

You were gone.

The dream crumbled around him. The stars shattered like glass.

And the last thing he saw was the veil of your soul folding into the Overseer’s light—safe, whole, at peace.

While he screamed your name into the void.

And woke up in the dark, cold room once more.

[plvt0-booked]

on their way to destroy IPC ✨

[plvt0-booked]

My yaps abt it (spoilers if u haven't watched the trailer^)

Her eyes look so cool

BUTTERFLY WINGS GIRL

VARKA LOOKS SO HOT OMG???

NEW HUSBANDO

WHY IS BABY DURIN DRESSED LIKE A FATUI

GASP ALICE

GASP ALBEDO

Fucking screams WANDERER IS FREAKING BACKKKKKJJ

[plvt0-booked]

His loser moment

[plvt0-booked]

Everyone on Earth needs to see this. It's vital.

[plvt0-booked]

AWWW

Imagine being Zayne's celebrity significant other. 

Imagine you had not planned to go live tonight.

but Imagine the apartment felt too quiet and you were too wired to sleep. You had just finished your last taping for the week, removed your makeup with the same lazy precision of someone who has done it a hundred times, and decided why not talk to your followers while you wind down?

Imagine you started a social media live. Nothing glamorous. Just you in an old tank top and a messy bun, legs crossed on the floor by the vanity. You told them you'd be doing your nighttime skincare routine. They flooded in anyway, laughing and teasing and asking questions in the chat.

Imagine you greeted the regulars.

Abcdeffg: you always go live when you're home alone huh 😭

Ladsslave: not you going bare faced and still looking better than my whole lineage

2days3days: did ur man vanish again 😭

Ztrope: 👀👀👀

1sht1kll: why do i feel like we're about to witness a reveal again

Ladsslave: not again. please god. i can't take another one

Imagine the way you roll your eyes at that last one, some weird trend seemed to be going on nowadays. "My boyfriend is not invisible. He's just... Difficult to catch." You said, rubbing toner into your skin. "He works late a lot, and no, he's not secretly a K-pop idol. Or a cult leader. Please stop guessing that."

Imagine the way your chat exploded with emotes and half serious conspiracy theories. You ignored the usual hate.

clote4: they're pretending again like her boyfriend ain't fake lol

1233kill: imagine hiding your man bc he's ugly 😭😭

dmnlf: must be embarrassing dating someone irrelevant

Imagine the way you smiled, unbothered. It's been like this for years. The world knew you were dating someone outside of showbiz and the tabloids hated that you refused to show his face. Photos of his back, his arm, the edge of his shoe. Your game of hide and seek had become a media circus. You'd gotten good at dodging paparazzi and cropping images. It was kind of fun, in a feral little way.

but Imagine the truth. You kept him hidden because the world was vicious and Zayne didn't ask for any of this. He was your soft place. Your safety. He saved lives not likes.

Imagine you eventually stood up, phone still propped on the table and stretched. "Alright, I'm gonna rinse, don't leave." You told the chat, before padding barefoot into the bathroom.

Imagine the chat continued to scroll rapidly without you. And then without any commotion, Zayne walked into frame. Just like that.

Imagine the way he entered the apartment silently. Still in his white coat and fitted dark scrubs with the sleeves slightly pushed up. His stethoscope was slung lazily around his neck. He looked exhausted but good. The kind of good that came from existing in someone else's home, not trying to impress anyone.

Imagine he did not see the phone on the table. Did not notice the stream.

Imagine he just tugged off his watch with one hand and move through the living room like muscle memory, his movements gentle. Shoes off. White coat on the hook. A soft sigh as he set down a grocery bag. Milk, tea, sweets and oranges. He then ran a hand through his hair, leaned against the counter and blinked slowly like he was still halfway out the door in his mind.

Imagine the way the chat lost their collective mind.

Ztrope: WAIT WHO IS THAT

Ladsslave: NO FUCKING WAY THAT'S HIM

Abcdeffg: the SCRUBS??? THE STETH??

2days3days: why does he look like he's in a medical kdrama rn STOP

clote4: oh.

dmnlf: suddenly i understand why they gatekept

1sht1kll: .... is this some kind of multiverse of malewife reveals? I fear we're stuck here

Imagine the way he scratched the back of his neck, yawning. Then habitually, absentmindedly he walked over the table and picked up the little ceramic dish where your rings lived when you weren't wearing them. He turned one between his fingers then set it back down. A small fond smile tugged at his mouth. Still unaware.

Imagine it wasn't until he turned toward the bathroom where a sound was coming from that he finally caught it. The soft red glow of the live indicator on your phone. His body paused, mid turn. He squinted over his glasses. Tilted his head. Registered the fact that the lens was pointed directly at him.

and Imagine it was on real time, three hundred thousand viewers witnessed the exact moment your very private boyfriend realized he was in a very publicly live.

Imagine the way his eyes widened a fraction. He blinked. Everyone could see the mental processing of denial, confusion, dread, betrayal then acceptance in that exact order.

Imagine he then did something so incredibly Zayne. He froze, then quietly backed out of frame like a ghost who had accidentally walked into the wrong haunting. The chat absolutely erupted.

Ztrope: SIR YOU ARE ALREADY CAUGHT COME BACK

Ladsslave: HE JUST MOONWALKED OUT OF THE STREAM I'M CRYING

Abcdeffg: NOT THE REVERSE STEP OF SHAME 😭😭😭

2days3days: NAHHHH BRING HIM BACK RN

clote4: actually he's fine nvm

Imagine the way you reentered the frame a moment later, patting your face dry with a towel, completely unaware of the war zone your comment section had become. "Okay, next is-" You froze.

Imagine because right  now on top of the table, your phone was slightly tilted. And you could see him. Just behind you, in the hallway mirror's reflection, Zayne. Halfway hidden behind the kitchen wall, arms crossed and blinking at you like a cat who had fallen off the counter and wanted to pretend he meant to do that.

"...Were you live this whole time?" He asked, voice soft but incredulous. You turned slowly. "Zay..." He raised an eyebrow. "Tell me I didn't just soft launch myself."

Imagine there was a pause. One breath. Then another. Then you start to panic. A soft, fast, whispering as you scramble toward the camera. "Oh god- the live! I was still live, it's on-"

Imagine the way Zayne hand catches yours as you walk over to the camera. His hand still cold from outside. Cold but steady and even a little warm. You look up at him and he smiles, quiet, tired, but fond. "Hey." He says as if you're the only one in the world. "It's okay."

Imagine then he turns to the phone. To the live audience. His voice is calm, but you can feel the tension in his fingers wrapped with yours. "I'm Zayne." He says, expression unreadable except for the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth "Their boyfriend. Yes, I'm real."

Imagine the way he says it so simply, so dry. The chat goes feral. The chat screamed.

1sht1kll: DEJA VU DEJA VU DEJA VU

Ztrope: HARD LAUNCH. THIS WAS A HARD. LAUNCH.

2days3days: he said 'soft' launch while looking like a heart surgeon in a cologne ad pls

Ladsslave: nah girl you just gave us our new parasocial dad. thank you.

Imagine the way Zayne's thumb brushes your knuckle. You glance at him and he looks calm. But you know by the way that his hands felt cold that he's nervous. He's not used to this. So you hold his hand a little tighter. Lean your head on his shoulder.

Imagine then you turned to face the camera. "... So anyway. This is Zayne. Yes, he's real. Yes, he's my boyfriend. And no, you cannot have him." There was a pause "You guys always said he wasn't real." You murmur with a soft smile. "Well. Surprise."

Imagine beside you, Zayne gave the camera a tiny, exhausted wave, like someone greeting an alien spaceship for the first time.

"I brought oranges." He says like a whisper. "I turned down the extra hour." He added, voice gentle and sweet, just for you. "Thought maybe we could just stay in. Be boring. Watch something terrible. Fall asleep on the couch. Just like what you wanted?" The chat melted.

1sht1kll: THE PANIC IN THEIR EYES 😭😭😭

Abcdeffg: HE BROUGHT HER ORANGES. I’M SOBBING

Ladsslave: WE STAN DR. ORANGE

Ztrope: THE MAN. THE MYTH. THE FACE CARD NEVER DECLINED.

clote4: lol acting like this isn't staged

2days3days: MY PARASOCIAL HEART CAN'T TAKE ANOTHER REVEAL I SWEAR TO GOD

Imagine the way you reached over to end the stream. "Okay, I'm logging off before this turns into a cult." Zayne leaned over your shoulder, glancing at the screen just before it went black. "... Too late." He murmured. Then just before you press the end the live, you pause just long enough to say. "We're logging off now. I owe this man a couch nap and a bad movie."

Imagine that was the night your quiet, different to catch, saintly boyfriend accidentally got exposed to half the internet with nothing but a grocery bag, a tired smile, and the audacity of existing in your space like he belonged there. Because he did.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: ahhhh uni days is approaching might as well jdhsjjdhsh

[plvt0-booked]

KPDH text post memes - Kinda Painful Edition

(part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 5)

[plvt0-booked]

Saja Boys—You Keep Leaving Me 

Summary: In the quiet moments between them, memories begin to slip away—fragile and fleeting like whispers on the wind. As the bond between you and the Saja Boys is tested by forces beyond control, you all struggle to hold onto what once was.

⚠️Content Warning: This is angst, no comfort, and deals with memory loss. Because of this, I am not adding the usual taglist. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with these topics. 

------------------------

The first time, it was small.

You blinked at the kitchen table, hair still mussed from sleep, and asked Romance if they’d gone grocery shopping yet—when the fridge had been stocked just the night before. When he said so, you frowned like someone had moved the world half an inch to the left.

“Must’ve forgotten,” you mumbled, and kept stirring your tea.

They chalked it up to stress. Late nights, bad dreams, lingering side effects of the last demon hunt. Jinu even made you an herbal tonic—something to “realign spirit-body memory.” You laughed at the bitter taste.

Then it happened again. And again.

You forgot you’d already eaten lunch. You forgot whose shirt you were wearing. You forgot Abby’s name.

But it was Mystery who noticed it first—really noticed. You flinched when he said your name too softly from the shadows, recoiling like you didn’t know who he was.

You didn’t.

That night, the rooftop was silent, heavy with things unsaid.

“She doesn’t remember me,” Mystery said, arms folded, voice unreadable. “Not at all.”

“That’s not possible,” Jinu murmured, flipping through one of the older demonology texts. “There was no ritual. No interference. Her soul’s stable.”

“Then why is it happening?” Baby snapped, pacing. His flame mark burned faint red against his spine, his control slipping. “Why does she look at us like we’re strangers?”

Romance’s voice was quiet. “Because we are, to her.”

He was the first one you stopped recognizing consistently.

The glamour magic he used, the illusion haze he always gave off—it made him forgettable in the wrong light. His was the first name to vanish from your memory entirely, even though you had his hoodie folded on your pillow.

“I keep thinking I’m dreaming you,” you whispered once, sitting beside him. “You feel like a memory someone made up.”

Romance smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

------------------------

Jinu started writing.

At first, it was just a way to track the anomalies. Short entries. Times, dates. Incidents. Forgotten appointments. Names missed. Tea steeped too long. He recorded everything with the methodical calm of someone trying to rationalize an unraveling world.

Then it became something else.

A journal. A memory keeper. A tether.

He began transcribing whole conversations, capturing the cadence of your laughter, the phrasing of your jokes, the questions you always asked about the stars. He sketched the way you sat cross-legged on the couch, the curve of your favorite mug, the particular look on your face when you forgot someone you loved.

The margins were filled with hope.

And then, regret.

Each page grew heavier—less clinical, more desperate. Small slips of poetry began to appear between the bullet points. Frantic, aching lines scrawled in the middle of records:

She forgot me again today. She said the soup tasted like home. Then she asked where her home was. I don't know if I should keep writing this. But I don’t know how to stop.

He kept the notebook by your bed, and each morning you woke up and read it like it was a story someone had gifted you. A tragic, lovely story about a girl surrounded by demons who loved her, who made her laugh, who followed her into the dark.

“That’s a lot of pages,” you whispered once, fingers running over the warped corners.

He just nodded, quiet. “We’ve had a lot of days.”

Sometimes you cried halfway through, overwhelmed by the intimacy of words you didn’t remember living. Sometimes you didn’t finish it at all, afraid of what the next page might say. Once, hands trembling, you looked up and asked in a small, broken voice:

“Who’s writing this for me?”

Jinu had prepared for everything—contingency spells, soul-anchoring charms, memory-fragments woven into talismans—but he hadn’t prepared for that.

He swallowed hard, managed a smile, and said, “Just someone who loves you.”

Then he stood, walked out of the room, and didn’t come back that day.

The next morning, the journal had a new page. You didn’t know it was written at 3 a.m., his hands shaking, his eyes swollen from crying silently at the foot of your door.

It read:

If she forgets again tomorrow, I’ll still be here. Even if she forgets forever.

This is for both of us now.

------------------------

Abby stayed close.

Closer than anyone, really. Not because he thought he could fix it—but because someone had to make sure you still felt human.

He was the one who walked you to the kitchen every morning like it was a ritual. Who handed you a warm drink before you could even ask for it. Who made toast the way you didn’t remember liking, but always ate. He never said anything when you blinked at the teapot like it was foreign, or when you asked him, soft and uncertain, if the couch was yours too.

He answered every question like it was the first time.

“You want honey or sugar today?” he’d ask, offering both, even if he already knew you’d choose sugar—because you always did, when you remembered.

And when you didn’t… he still smiled like it was okay. Like it didn’t tear him apart inside.

He didn’t flinch when you stared blankly at the boys mid-conversation, confusion flickering across your face like a stormcloud. He just reached for your hand beneath the table. Grounded you. Softly murmured your name like it was sacred.

But he broke—just once.

The day you forgot your own name.

You had frozen in the hallway, fingers clutching the edge of the wall, your breathing gone ragged. Panic painted your features. Eyes wide. Childlike. Empty.

“I don’t—”

Your voice cracked. “I don’t know who I am.”

Abby was at your side instantly. Dropping low. One hand on your shoulder, the other brushing your hair back with trembling gentleness, like you were something fragile carved from glass.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, voice hoarse with trying not to cry. “I got you, okay? You don’t need to remember anything right now. I’ll hold it for you.”

But you looked at him like a stranger. Like he was just another shadow in the too-bright hallway. There was fear behind your eyes—not just of the world, but of yourself. Of what you’d lost.

And that—that shattered him.

He held it together until you were asleep again, curled up under the blanket he wrapped around you. Until you whispered “Thank you” like it was muscle memory, not memory.

Then he disappeared into the training room.

When the others found him hours later, his fists were torn raw. The reinforced stone was cracked. Blood ran in small streaks down his arms where he hadn’t bothered to wipe it away.

He didn’t speak when they called his name. Just sat with his forehead pressed to the wall, breathing like it hurt.

No one tried to stop him the next time he threw a punch.

Because they understood.

Because Abby was the strong one. The unshakable one.

And even he was breaking.

------------------------

It was Baby who fought the hardest.

Not against you—never you. But against everything else.

The curse. The silence. The helpless way time kept slipping through their fingers, faster and faster, dragging you with it.

He wasn’t built for this kind of loss. Not the slow kind. Not the kind that made you vanish piece by piece. Baby had always been fire—volatile, wild, burning too hot to contain. But this… this wasn’t the kind of fire you could control.

This time it burned because of grief.

He started pulling all-nighters. Slamming through pages of old demonology texts until his eyes bled from exhaustion. He demanded they try reversal spells that cracked the floorboards and shattered light bulbs. He went hunting alone, again and again, chasing rumors of memory demons and cursed relics—anything with a trace of magic that might break the curse.

He came back every time with ash in his hair and nothing in his hands.

Once, Jinu caught him screaming at the gate. Punching the earth, shouting until his voice broke. He’d carved a dozen protective sigils into his skin that night. Not one of them worked.

And still—he kept trying.

“You’re gonna remember us,” he muttered one night, tucking a blanket around you with careful hands even though you were already fast asleep. “You have to. We’re not done yet, okay? We’re not done.”

You stirred slightly. Just enough.

Your eyes fluttered open—unfocused. Empty.

You stared at him like he was a stranger.

“…Who are you?” you asked, voice soft, unafraid—just curious.

And that did it.

The breath left his body like a blow. His hands froze where they hovered near your shoulder. Something in him—some stubborn, furious flame—sputtered.

He left the room before the tears could spill, stumbling out into the hallway like he was running from something on fire. Like if he stayed a second longer, he’d beg you to remember. As if begging would matter.

They found him hours later on the rooftop, sitting in the rain, shirt soaked through and fingers curled into fists so tight they’d gone white.

He didn’t speak. Just stared at the sky like he was waiting for something—anything—to fall down and fix you.

But no miracles came.

And the next morning, when you woke up, you didn’t ask where Baby was.

You didn’t remember him at all.

------------------------

And Mystery…

He never left your side.

Even when you stopped remembering your name, even when you couldn’t look at him without shrinking away, he stayed. Silent, constant. A shadow cast by loyalty too deep to sever.

At first, you were afraid of him.

The shape in the shadows. The flicker in the hallway. The golden eyes you didn’t understand.

He never minded.

Then came the day you didn’t flinch at all—because you didn’t see him.

That was worse.

Still, he stayed. Guarded. Watched from the corners like a sentinel with no orders but one: Protect her. He stood behind you during every curse recoil—when your body jolted like you were being ripped backward through time. When you blinked and forgot the word for tea. For music. For him.

He was there when you screamed into your pillow because the mirror was wrong again. He was there when you forgot how to laugh.

He was always there.

But the curse wasn’t content with names and faces. It wanted everything.

The final stage began like dusk falling.

You started forgetting the world.

Colors faded. The blue of Mystery’s jacket became gray. The red ribbon in your drawer turned pale. You couldn’t recall what strawberries tasted like. What rain sounded like. One morning, Abby caught you staring at a spoon like it was a foreign object.

You woke up one afternoon and screamed at your own reflection—clawing at your arms, begging it to stop looking at you.

That night, you didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

You sat perfectly still, lips parted slightly like there were words hovering behind them—but they’d been forgotten, too.

And when your eyes met theirs across the room, there was no one left behind them.

Nothing. Just emptiness.

Not confusion.

Not pain.

Just the terrible silence of a soul erased.

And that’s when they broke.

All of them.

Romance didn’t cry. He didn’t speak. Just sat in the corner, hands open in his lap like he couldn’t remember what they were for. Like he’d lost the ability to comfort at all.

Abby stood in the hallway with his forehead pressed to the doorframe, unmoving. No one could get him to look away—not even Baby.

Jinu’s journal was still open on the desk. Half a page written. The final sentence trailing off where the ink dried mid-word. He hadn’t picked up the pen again.

Baby didn’t sleep. Just curled up beside your unmoving body, fingers wrapped around your hand. Whispering stories into the skin you no longer reacted to. Hoping—just hoping—something would stir.

And Mystery…

Mystery was simply gone.

No goodbye. No final glance.

Just an empty patch of wall where his shadow used to fall. A chill in the air where he once stood. It was like the moment your soul slipped away, the shadows swallowed him whole.

Like he couldn’t bear to exist in a world that no longer had you in it.

And the worst part—the very worst part—

Was that you didn’t even know he was missing.

You didn’t know any of them were.

------------------------

The next morning, the bed was empty.

No sheets rustled. No sleepy murmurs. No quiet call for tea.

Just the sun bleeding through the curtains like it didn’t know better. Like it didn’t know someone was missing.

The room felt colder than it should have.

None of them spoke. Not right away.

It wasn’t silence—it was numbness. A stunned, fragile quiet like the breath before a scream.

Abby was the first to step inside.

He didn’t say anything. He just stared at the tangled blankets, at the pillow still shaped like your head had rested there. His hands shook, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Because if he touched anything, it might mean it was real.

Jinu stood in the doorway. The journal hung loosely from his fingertips, open to a blank page. The pen had rolled under the bed. He didn’t reach for it.

Baby paced. Once. Twice. Three times. Then stopped in the middle of the room like he’d lost the memory of why he was moving. His lips trembled, jaw clenched, eyes dry but far too wide.

He looked so young like that. Too young for this kind of loss.

Romance sat down at the foot of the bed. Slowly. Carefully.

He touched the blanket like it might still be warm. Like maybe if he believed hard enough, you’d wake up again. Smile. Call his name.

But the bed was still. Cold.

The ghost of you lingered—but you were gone.

And Mystery…

No one saw him.

Not even his shadow.

No one had the strength to say it aloud.

No one dared ask: Where did she go? Because deep down, they already knew.

You hadn’t run.

You hadn’t died.

You’d just… slipped away.

Erased, one memory at a time until there was nothing left to anchor you here.

When they looked around the room, it hurt in ways words couldn’t reach.

The fridge still held your doodles—some smiley faces, a badly drawn tiger, a list of snack requests you used to tease Jinu with.

Your sweater still hung on the back of the chair, sleeves stretched from too much love.

And that mug—your favorite chipped one, the one Abby had glued together three times already—sat on the counter, untouched.

The house was full of you.

But you weren’t in it.

You’d left them.

Not by choice.

Not physically.

But piece by piece—smile by memory—you’d drifted so far that even your soul forgot the way home.

And the worst part—

The part that left all of them cracked and quietly dying in their own ways—

Was that you didn’t even know it.

You didn’t even know who they were.

Didn’t know who you were.

You just vanished.

And they stayed behind.

With every memory you dropped.

With all the love you forgot.

And a grief that had no one left to grieve with.

------------------------

M-List

[plvt0-booked]

Me seeing ppl still liking and reblogging my posts and shedding a tear bc school has taken over and I haven't opened my fic's drafts in weeks 🥺🥺🥺

[plvt0-booked]

Sylus is an octopus when he sleeps. He has to hold onto some part of you in order to sleep peacefully. If you run, he will catch you and tangle your legs together or squeeze you in his arms, even if you’re at the edge of the bed. He does this unconsciously and is utterly clueless about it when you bring it up the next day. God forbid you’re a furnace—then he’s definitely not letting go.

I love thinking about Sylus who is just soooo clingy when he sleeps. The dragon just comes out and he has to hoard the treasure in his arms, protecting it and keeping it safe from anyone else. If you gotta piss in the middle of the night? Good luck soldier cuz he just keeps holding on tighter and tighter

If you bring it up to him when he's awake, he doesn't remember doing that at all. He's just sleeping, he doesn't realize he's using all of his beefy strength to keep his beloved in his arms while he sleeps

I think the only surefire way to wake him up so he'll let you go is to kiss him, 100%. Even just a peck on the cheek or a kiss on his arm and he's stirring into the world of semi-consciousness, the lure of affection from his beloved far more enticing than any dream he was having. But watch out! Because now he wants more kisses

"If you want to get up, you have to pay the toll," he mutters sleepily, red eyes barely cracked open to look at you. "D'you think you can afford it?"

[plvt0-booked]

He said NO.

[plvt0-booked]

I don't wanna draw rn

Do you see the vision?

[plvt0-booked]

Helluuu, I just read the post/req that reader called saja boys "husband" to get a creep to scram

Sooo, what about marriage proposal 😍 like, will saja boy ask the big question??? 🥰

(No need to do if ur too busy, thank you!)

Thank you for the request! This is such a sweet idea ❤️ Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys x Reader—marriage proposal

---------------------

🧿 Jinu

Jinu had the ring for weeks.

It lived in a tiny box tucked inside an even tinier compartment in his nightstand, where he checked on it more often than he’d admit. He practiced the words under his breath while brushing his teeth. Rehearsed with Derpy. Even tried to script the moment—quiet music, nice dinner, sunset maybe.

But none of it felt right.

Until one lazy morning, you walked into the kitchen wearing one of his hoodies, hair messy, yawning like a cat. You rubbed your eyes and said, “Hi,” like it was the best part of your day.

And something in him broke open.

"Wait," he said, heart in his throat. "Don't move."

You blinked, confused, as Jinu bolted to the bedroom. When he returned, he was breathless, ring box clutched in hand.

“I was gonna wait,” he said, “but then you walked in like that and I just—no. I wanna wake up to that face for the rest of my life. Please?”

You stared.

“Please marry me,” he added, stumbling through the words with zero coolness and full sincerity. “I’ll re-ask it better later. But for now. Say yes?”

Your mouth fell open—and then you smiled so big it made him tear up.

“Yes,” you whispered, arms around his neck. “Even if you do re-ask it later.”

He absolutely would.

But the first time was already perfect.

---------------------

💪 Abby 

It was the day after a grueling performance—everyone sore, exhausted, barely functioning. But Abby insisted you come with him to the beach, just for an hour. “Fresh air,” he said. “You’ll like it.”

You didn’t expect to find a blanket already laid out. Your favorite snacks. A thermos of cocoa. And Abby, trying not to look proud of himself as he offered you a seat.

“Okay,” you said, narrowing your eyes, “what’s all this?”

He shrugged. “Wanted to spend time with you.”

He did. But also, he was nervous as hell.

You lay side by side for a while, watching the ocean. It was quiet. Golden.

And then Abby shifted. Sat up. Fished something out of his hoodie pocket.

“I’m not great with fancy speeches,” he started, voice low and a little shaky. “But you already know that.”

You turned toward him, breath catching.

“But I’ve been thinking… if I’m gonna build something strong—like really strong—I want it to be with you. And I want to protect it for the rest of my life.”

He opened the box.

Simple. Classic. Completely him.

“So, yeah. Will you marry me?”

You didn’t even let him finish before throwing your arms around his neck.

“Abby,” you whispered, laughing against his shoulder. “You absolute idiot. Of course I will.”

He held you tight like he’d just won the whole damn world.

---------------------

📚 Mystery 

Mystery didn’t make plans like this. Not usually.

But tonight, the rooftop was clear. The moon was covered. The night sky was soft.

And you were beside him, legs tucked under a blanket, sharing the silence.

He reached into his coat and pulled out something small—a folded scrap of paper. At first, you thought it was a note. But when you unfolded it, something heavy slid into your palm.

A ring.

Plain but smooth. Black, with faint silver etching along the inside.

You looked up, heart thudding.

Mystery didn’t smile.

He looked at you. Like really looked, in that way only he could. Quiet. Intense. Real.

“I didn’t think I’d ever want to be known this much,” he murmured. “But you made it feel… right. Like the world got quieter when you said my name.”

You couldn’t breathe.

“I’m still a work in progress,” he added. “But if you want me… if you’ll have me…”

He paused.

“I want to be yours. Every strange, sharp part of me.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time. Just slid the ring onto your finger and curled your hand around his.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Always.”

Mystery didn’t smile.

But his hand trembled when he held yours.

---------------------

💋 Romance 

You thought it was just a regular performance night.

Until the lights dimmed early.

And the screen above the stage flickered to life.

Photos of you. Candid, blurry, sweet. Clips of your voice, giggling off-camera. A song you didn’t recognize but that clearly had you in the lyrics.

And then—

Romance.

Walking onto the stage in a fitted black suit, looking nervous for the first time in your life.

“This,” he said into the mic, “is the scariest and easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

You froze.

“I fall in love with you every day. In dressing rooms, in traffic jams, in grocery store lines. You’ve turned every ordinary thing into a love story.”

A hush fell over the room.

“I don’t want it to be a story that ends.”

He knelt. Right there. With a ring that sparkled under the lights and a gaze that didn’t look anywhere but at you.

“So please, my love,” he said. “Let’s make this permanent. Marry me?”

Your hands flew to your mouth.

And through a blur of happy tears, you nodded.

He was on his feet in a flash, lifting you into his arms.

The crowd exploded.

But he only looked at you.

As if none of them mattered. Only you.

---------------------

🔥 Baby 

He didn’t ask your size.

He just made the ring.

Melted scrap metal, crushed stones, laced it with fire and a whisper of demon magic. He worked on it when you weren’t looking, lips pursed, soot on his cheek, hands covered in tiny burns.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was his.

The night he gave it to you, there were no candles. No setup.

Just Baby handing you a small black pouch in the hallway, looking like he might combust from nerves.

“…I made you something.”

You peeked inside.

Your heart skipped.

“You didn’t even ask if I’d say yes,” you said, voice catching.

Baby crossed his arms, defensive. “Yeah, because I know you’ll say yes.”

You stared at him.

He looked ready to fight you for your own hand in marriage.

You stepped forward, eyes shining.

“Of course I’ll marry you.”

“…You will?”

“Yes,” you whispered, brushing your thumb over his jaw. “You chaotic, flame-sneezing gremlin. I love you.”

He blinked.

“…Okay cool,” he said, trying and failing not to smile. “Yeah. Cool. Good. Okay.”

Then he kissed you like you’d just promised him eternity.

Because you had.

---------------------

M-List

[plvt0-booked]

Calm and Serenity

Series Masterlist

Sylus x Non!MC

summary: you didn't know what sylus saw in you. he said you were calm, quiet and serene and that's what he needs. you believed it. he showed it. not until little miss hunter came. she's everything you're not. news that she's in danger can make the ever so calm sylus to run and leave everything behind. it made you think, would he do that for you as well?

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

[plvt0-booked]

Can you post Sage of Truth's pot stirring animation on it's own, please? I absolutely adore the little fang in his mouth but my phone overheats when I try going to the posts you already have up.

Of course, here ^^

[plvt0-booked]

love, patrols, and other christmas miracles

— one-shot | fluff | gn!reader

— ft. s. todoroki

— file brief: Shoto’s a busy pro hero. So are you. It’s Christmas Eve, and you both swore you’d make it home for dinner. Keyword: swore.

— sensitivity log: lighthearted (off-season) holiday fluff, mild hero-related chaos, soft romance

— author’s note: this was a sweet and fun request from a lovely user — hope it turned out close to what they imagined! and to everyone else: hope you love this much-needed dose of (off-season) Christmas fluff <3

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Shoto Todoroki had never been one to celebrate Christmas — or anything, really — for obvious reasons.

And somehow, he landed the most beautiful person alive, who casually celebrates every holiday and birthday like it’s a full-time job.

That morning, you both woke up early, just like any other day. Patrols on opposite sides of the city.

You went through your routine: showered together, got dressed, had a quick breakfast, and headed for the door.

But there, right on top of your Christmas-themed rug, sat a basket.

Full of food.

“What—?”

You both stared at it in silence.

Shoto instinctively closed his fists, prepared to dismantle it in case some villain thought poison was a festive gesture — until you gasped and bolted into the living room.

He followed, slightly alarmed.

“Love, what’s wrong?”

You were frozen in front of the wall, eyes wide. Did you… forget to cross off the 23rd yesterday?

Because either your Santa-themed calendar — the one where he’s wearing a kiss the cook apron and Mrs. Claus is giggling — was right, and it was the 23rd and the basket had just arrived early… or—

“It’s December 24th, Sho. That basket — they didn’t get the date wrong, right?”

You whipped out your phone.

6:45 AM. December 24th.

It was Christmas Eve.

And you were running late.

“I ordered the basket like a month ago ‘cause I knew we wouldn’t have time to cook, but… we completely forgot.”

“We’re both on patrol until ten,” Shoto said calmly, although there was a small furrow between his brows. “That only leaves us with fifteen minutes before the ‘mandatory’ holiday dinner begins.”

“We always have dinner together on Christmas, Sho. Even if it’s just us. We eat. We sit by the tree. We watch some cheesy movie. That’s the whole thing!”

Shoto gently took your hand and led you to the door. The basket was already inside. “We’ll be back in time. I’ll finish patrol as fast as I can.”

You nodded quickly. “Okay, but it has to be exactly 10:15 PM. Deal?”

The elevator reached the ground floor. The cold air hit your cheeks the moment you stepped outside. Shoto leaned in and kissed you.

Soft. Tender. Cold — like him. In the best way.

“Have a great day, Sho!”

He gave a tiny smile.

But before he could say anything, his phone rang.

You both stared at it.

His agency.

Yeah. It was going to be a long day.

He took off running, phone pressed to his ear.

“Ten-fifteen, Sho!!”

You yelled after him.

But the world, as always, had other plans.

For starters, that call Shoto got?

Santa. Robbing a store.

Terrifying kids because — why is Santa stealing?? Isn’t he supposed to be magical? Doesn’t he have elf labor and flying deer?

The agency gave clear instructions: “don’t traumatize the kids unless absolutely necessary.”

So Todoroki spent half an hour chasing a fully-costumed Santa Claus through a mall, trying to detain him without scarring toddlers for life. He finally caught him outside, calmly freezing his boots to the pavement.

Zero kids cried. Success.

Meanwhile, on your side of the city, a group of idiots decided Christmas Eve was the perfect time to rob a bank. While drunk. And with quirks.

Hostages, chaos, glitter explosions (don’t ask), and three hours later, you were still cleaning up ice cream from the ceiling — long story.

Then Shoto got assigned crowd control at a broken-down amusement park. Thirty-five civilians stuck at the top of a rollercoaster. In the spirit of practicality (and, fine, Christmas), he made an ice slide for them. Another hero caught them at the bottom. Safe. Efficient. Cold.

And just when things started to calm down as you layed down at your agency’s sofa…

Boom. Another emergency call.

“What could it possibly be?”

You grunted as you picked up the phone, not even trying to hide your exhaustion.

It was a message from your agency’s emergency team.

[Text received — 8:45 PM]

“We need backup. Hostile quirk incident near Hanamachi Station. Multiple injuries. Low hero presence in the area. You’re the closest.”

You blinked. Let out a breath.

“Of course.”

You grabbed your gear again, threw your scarf around your neck, and texted Shoto quickly:

“pls don’t be dead

also I might be late

still aiming for 10:15 tho

I am so tired

ily sho”

You jumped out of the window, because honestly, it was faster than stairs at this point.

Meanwhile, at the same time, Shoto’s phone buzzed. He was mid-evacuation of a warehouse that had partially collapsed due to a villain’s quirk surge.

He glanced at the notifications on his lock screen and read your texts.

He exhaled through his nose — that was his version of a laugh right now.

He typed back, one-handed as he helped someone walk:

“copy that. not dead. yet.

10:15 or we riot.”

He pocketed the phone, lifted two unconscious workers, and muttered, “Ten fifteen. No matter what.”

10:08 PM

You were both running — from different sides of the city.

Your hands were cold. Your feet ached. But you ran.

Shoto, who only resorted to this in real emergencies, used his ice to slide through the streets.

10:14 PM

You nearly collided outside your building.

“My dear boyfriend!”

You threw your arms around his left side, grateful for the warmth radiating from it.

He chuckled — genuinely — and pulled you close.

“Dinner is waiting, pretty,” he said softly, guiding you toward the elevator.

Two pairs of exhausted feet trudged toward your apartment.

In the end, you shared the basket dinner you received that morning.

Curled up on the couch. Wrapped in blankets. A cheesy Christmas movie playing quietly in the background.

The tree lit up the room.

The hot cocoa steamed gently on the coffee table.

Everything was soft. Familiar. Peaceful.

There was only one thing left: gifts.

“Love—”

Shoto turned to you, but you were already asleep on his shoulder.

He smiled.

“The gifts can wait until tomorrow,” he whispered, adjusting you gently against his side to make sure you were warm and comfortable.

And there, wrapped in the soft glow of the tree, you both drifted off.

Behind it, hidden just out of sight, sat a small velvet box.

Shoto’s gift to you.

A diamond ring — waiting patiently for morning.

It could wait.

It had waited this long.

But it was ready — for when you were.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

hot take: stealing is cold. - shoto todoroki

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