#awakening trio apartment au

[zeenmrala]

sonnet 29 - savage x gn!reader

summary: modern au. gn!reader. when savage finishes a late shift at work, he comes home and reads to you, as he usually does - but the content of the text that he chooses tonight resonates with him in a deeply personal and profound way. features sonnet 29 by william shakespeare.  pairing: savage opress x gn!significant other!reader  cw/tw: domestic fluff that snowballs into angst. hurt/comfort. grief, insecurity, envy, mention of manipulation, sickness and abuse. happy ending. word count: 2.2k a/n: thank you candy + kima for beta-reading! this was inspired by prompt 6 of this list: ‘reading to them late into the night.’ this is purely self-indulgent: i love shakespeare and i want savage to read to me. i also hated how savage had no time to acknowledge or process the death of his brother feral, and that we did not get to see the extent of how maul's madness and his mother’s terrible behaviour affected him.

Sonnet 29 - [Read on AO3]

The weather outside is wet, grey and cold, and peppers your bedroom window with the delicate pitter-patter of rain song. The bare branches of a nearby tree are encouraged closer by a whistling autumnal breeze, and frequently knock against the glass. The howl of said wind is a muted, soothing backdrop to both of those gentle tapping sounds, and the trio of noises are a grounding comfort as you awaken from your dreamless sleep. The flickering glow of candles drapes your bedroom with an incandescent cosiness, the light so pleasant and warm, perfect for your now sensitive, sleepy eyes. You roll over, leaning across the cold and unslept-in side of your double bed to grab and then squint at your phone, which reads 4:13am. Perfect. Savage will be home any moment now, so you won’t bother trying to get back to sleep. You smile softly and sit up with a yawn, stretching your arms out into the cold air, before quickly pulling them back into yourself and the sanctuary of the warm bed with a shiver. You turn onto your side and curl up, nestling beneath the duvet and fluttering closed your tired eyes to rest them as you patiently await the tell-tale squeal of the elevator from down the hall - the sound that will indicate Savage’s imminent arrival.

As if right on cue, you hear the softened screech of the lift, and then the muffled thud of large feet padding closer. The lock of your apartment door then clicks, and you cannot help but grin as you listen to Savage try in vain to be quiet, shuffling around in the small hallway in the darkness, no doubt knocking his horns into the lampshade that hangs from the ceiling. Being as large as he is, Savage still struggles with residing in a building that wasn’t designed for someone of his size, which, though frustrating for him, is endlessly endearing to you. You quickly decide to let him know that you’re awake before he breaks anything in his attempts to prevent rousing you. “Savage,” you call out, your words laced with sleep. “I’m awake.”

He turns on the light in the hallway then, and makes his way to the bedroom. “What are you still doing up?” he asks softly as he appears in the doorway, ducking beneath it to enter the room. He steps closer and drops his keys to the bedside table, and leans down for a kiss. As you peck his lips, you notice that his yellow skin is cold from the weather, and raindrops linger on his tattooed cheeks. He smells like the nightclub he works for, that cheap booze mixed with the ashy remnants of other people’s cigarette smoke - but beneath that there is still the intoxicating goodness of his natural scent, a musky richness that never fails to make your head spin. 

“I was just so excited for you to come home,” you whisper against him. 

His lips curve into a muted, amused smile and with a final kiss, he then pulls away to the wardrobe. He shrugs off his jacket which is damp from the rain, then grabs a hanger. It’s a black double-breasted topcoat that was tailor made to fit his unique large frame, and you always think that it makes him look so smart and stylish. “Tea?” he asks as he hangs it up. You cannot help but grin at his offer, knowing that he is once again beginning the early-morning ritual you always share when he works late.

“Chamomile please,” you respond.

“Of course,” he says softly. “So how was work?” you ask, sitting up again, rubbing your groggy eyes as he makes his way from the bedroom to the kitchen.

“Fine,” he replies back, but you notice that his tone is slightly dejected. You hear him fill the kettle with water and switch it on. Then he pokes his horned-head around the doorway to say, “But all the better now it’s over, and I have come back home to you.”

You smile at that comment, but before you can reply he has disappeared again. You can hear the sound of him traversing the tiny kitchen, cupboards opening and closing, clinking mugs and teaspoons, the bubbling rattle of the kettle. Then he returns - two cups of steaming tea in his grasp, one in each hand: he makes them look like shot glasses with how large his fingers are. He passes you your tea, and you gratefully accept, holding the cup in both of your hands, pleased for the warmth that it emits.

“No sugar,” he states. “And in the cup with the smiling little tooka on it.” 

“Just how I like it,” you reply with a soft giggle. “Thank you, love.”

Savage smiles at your gratitude and places his mug on the table, then kicks off his shoes. You watch him closely, noting how much you like his work attire on him, how sharp and dapper he looks: he wears all black, a crisp shirt that, as most of his clothes do, appears the slightest bit too small for him. No tie tonight, a leather belt with a simple silver buckle, and fitted trousers that show off the shape of his thick legs wonderfully. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him wear his work clothes, what with him having time off due to the events of the past few months.

“How are you doing?” you ask softly, tucking your legs beneath you.

He sighs as he then falls back into the old armchair across from the bed, which is situated next to the bookshelf. He spreads his legs and rests his thick forearms on the fraying armrests and briefly closes his eyes, shaking his head. “It is…strange. Being back at the bar again,” he admits hesitantly.

“What’s strange about it? Talk to me,” you insist, a spike of worry unfurling in your chest.

“Seeing people…laughing, dancing, celebrating. As though nothing terrible has happened.” He opens his glowing eyes to look at you then, and his face softens with grief. “I still can’t believe that he’s…gone,” Savage says wistfully.

“Me either,” you reply. 

A pause. “He really liked you.”

The absence of his brother has haunted Savage since the day that he died four months ago, and you know that the weight of responsibility that Savage bears for Feral’s passing will always sit heavy on his shoulders. It is not helped by the fact that his family has crumbled in the face of such loss, what with his other brother Maul’s sickness and his Mother’s total apathy and indifference to both of her son’s pain. It has been heartbreaking to witness.

Savage takes a deep breath then, exhaling with a pensive sigh. He then plucks his small pair of wiry reading glasses from the bedside table, seemingly keen to move on. “So what are we reading tonight?” he asks as he perches the spectacles on his nose. Late night reading sessions by candlelight have always been a part of your routine together. It’s always a highlight of your day, stealing these precious moments after Savage finishes his shift, indulging in each other’s company before the sun’s rise and your departure for your own job. And since Savage had to take time off of work, you both kept up the habit. Comforting him and distracting away the sleepless nights with stories of faraway people and places, getting lost in fictional worlds together to cope with the tragedy of Feral’s death and Maul’s suffering.

“I was thinking maybe a poem or two tonight,” you reply, grabbing one of the tattered books that litter the wooden floor by the side of your bed, then reaching over to pass it to him. “Maybe a sonnet?”

“Which one?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

He flicks through the small volume of poetry, which looks positively tiny in his large fingers, and stops at a random page. “Sonnet 29,” he reads.

“Sonnet 29 it is.” 

And after a brief pause, he clears his throat and settles into a comfortable position. Then he begins to read:

“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state…”

His voice is deep and rich as usual, he speaks clearly and slowly, enunciating each word perfectly. You feel a tug at your heart as you hear him read these antiquated lines, written by such a sad soul, from a time so long ago. Words that despite their age are timeless, that now may very well be resonating with Savage. Disgrace. The despair he feels in the face of his loss has been monumental, and you both know that there have been those around you that blame him for what happened, and the guilt and sorrow of such sentiments has begun to decay him from the inside out. Outcast. You are aware of how isolated his upbringing was, of how feeling separate from those around him has always plagued him. How that feeling has only been exemplified with the loss of Feral. “And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries And look upon myself and curse my fate…”

It is devastating how well Savage is embodying the pitiful, downcast narrator of this poem. A man broken by tragedy, his pleas and prayers, no matter how desperate, ignored by the Forces above. His existence falling to ruin. You notice Savage’s fingers gripping the pages tighter, and it is then that you understand: he really does relate to these words. He pauses at the end of this line, blinking slowly as the meaning of what he speaks steadily settles within him. As he realises that his pain has been understood by a poet, who lived hundreds of years before he even existed. Savage inhales softly, then continues: “Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d…” Savage has never been one to complain, never been one to envy: does he truly resonate with these words? Does he wish he were someone else, someone without a violent past, without a broken family? Does he long for a temperament that is not easily inflamed, a body that is not large and imposing? To be someone whose friends and family have never once attempted to manipulate him for his strength? “Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, With what I most enjoy contented least…” Savage’s voice is quieter now, the tragedy of these lines making his voice syrupy with regretful understanding. Though you are aware of him sinking into a grief-fuelled depression, one that has leached him of his hobbies and passions; he has never before struck you as insecure or unsure of himself in any respect. Has he envied those with more money than him? Your home is modest, but you get by, it has never been noted as a problem before. Does he secretly wish for the decadent lifestyles of those that he works for? Or does he simply yearn for the sweet relief of self-medication, exotic drugs and acrid drinks that he cannot regularly afford? “Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state…”

After reading these two lines, he stops talking, reading the rest of the poem in silence. You worry that this was a terrible idea, that the content has been unnecessarily upsetting. That the poem is going to end with a bitter lament on the poet's lover, and Savage wants to save you the awkwardness of it by ending it here. But then he reads those final four lines aloud to you, his confidence restored, his countenance painted with…relief. “Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

There is a deep silence when he finishes, as his words ring in your ears, the meaning of the piece striking you unexpectedly, deep in your heart. The poet’s spirits, once melancholic and dire, are immediately lifted when he thinks of his lover. That he is like a bird, flying the sky at sunrise, whistling songs of beauty and reverence. Joyous. That his love brings such richness and wealth to his life, he no longer wishes to swap places with those of such greatness as monarchs. “It is all very truthful,” Savage muses, shutting the book. He thinks for a moment, then brings his eyes to yours. “My suffering has caused me at times, to envy and wallow,” he admits. “I have often compared my own fate with that of others, desiring to swap our lives, to switch places and live a menial existence without the heartache of my grief. My guilt.” He pauses, and adds with a devastating inflection, “and the overbearing reality of my abuse.” Savage then sits forward, taking the reading glasses from his face. “But then I look at you, my beloved.” Your eyes prickle with tears as you listen to him. “I look at you, and I know that I would not change a thing. Not for the world. Not for the galaxy. How could I ever envy those without you in their life?” You inhale sharply at the sweet shock of his confession, placing your cup of tea aside and stumbling out of the bed and into his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, and feel his large, warm palm settle on your back. “Oh Savage,” you whisper. “I am so sorry for all of the pain that has been inflicted upon you. It’s not your fault. You don’t deserve this, any of it.” “When you say that, my love,” he mutters in a hushed whisper. “I truly believe it.”

–

tagging some mutuals who make like this (but please feel free to ignore if this isn’t your cup of tea): @kimageddon @eyecandyeoz @stardustbee @maulslittlemeowmeow @moonstrider9904 @dinsverdika @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @grinningnexu @elledjarin @gggoldfinch @nxctuaryninetythree @wingofshadow @seriowan @itsagrimm @lazarithebellydancingmime @corona-one​

[awhitehead17]

Embracing the unknown

Demigod AU, Bat Bros, Humour, Angst, Fights, Rescuing, Protective Siblings.

Summary: As children of the gods, they have dangerous lives, and often attract unwanted attention. To survive they either fight or run and because of this they’re always on the move meaning they can’t ever settle in one place for too long. Could the pattern be changing after a group of unknown demigods rescue them from a sticky situation and take them somewhere that could be a safe haven for them to live?

A/N: This has been done for day five of Batfam Week 2023 for the prompt ‘Fantasy AU’.

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

A loud sound causes him to jerk awake. Alarmed and suddenly alert, Tim bolts into an upright position and looks around for what caused his awakening and finds Jason deviously smiling at him.

Huffing at him, now realising he’s not in any danger, Tim rolls his eyes and slumps back down, resting his back against the wall. “Asshole.”

“Sorry sleeping beauty,” Jason snarks, “I figured you’d want to know Dick’s been by, he’s managed to gather a lot of cash and has gone to get us some food for tonight.”

At the mention of food Tim’s stomach audibly growls. He’s starving and food’s been scarce lately, the three of them have struggled for several days now trying to get money so they could buy something edible that isn’t picked out from the back streets of restaurant trash containers.

Tim, along with Jason and Dick, has been living on the streets for over year now. The three of them stick to back alleys, always hiding and never making a fuss of anything, they scrape by with what little money the they can conjure up and spilt it the best they could between them.

When Tim found himself an orphan after his mother had been murdered in their home he ran to the streets terrified. After a scuffle that almost landed himself in a police car both Jason and Dick had found him and got him out of trouble before taking him under their wing. The two older boys, Dick in his early twenties and Jason in his late teens, had already been on the streets for years and had grown close, it didn’t seem to faze them to add Tim into the mix. If they hadn’t Tim doesn’t think he would’ve survived the streets, he’s grateful for them and by this point they’ve become family.

In the trio Dick is the so called bread winner. He’s got a talent for being an entertaining street performer where he manages to busk his way for tips. Some days are more successful than others but he does tend to get a few dollars each time. Jason and Tim try their best but they don’t have the natural talent as Dick does, his parentage having a big part to play in that, but they try to do what they can, from dumpster diving to quiet jobs on the side.

They make it work and it’s been that way for a year.

Why couldn’t they get a home? Why couldn’t they get real jobs? Why the streets? It’s all because they’re demigods, sons of the Greek Gods and Goddesses.

They live dangerous lives, their blood having power more than the average mortal does which can often attract unwanted attention. Their parents, the Gods, have powerful enemies who’d love to see them dead and they often send creatures to hunt them and kill them. They occasionally have to fight these creatures or out run them and because they’re always on the move it means they can’t settle in one place for too long before they have to move again.

It's sad to think about but they get on with it. They’re in it together and always look out for one another.

About twenty minutes later Dick returns to their current hideout; a hole at the bottom of an apartment building, with three plastic bags in his hands wearing a beaming smile. Both Tim and Jason look at him with surprise.

“Damn, how much did you get?” Jason asks gleefully. Taking a bag from Dick he peers inside it looking at its contents. “When you said you did well this isn’t what I expected!”

Dick hands off another bag to Tim who takes it and looks inside with curiosity. “You wouldn’t believe it. As I was performing a man came by, average guy, wearing a suit, didn’t seem to be in a rush, he stopped and watched for a few minutes before walking over to my cup and placed a wad of cash inside! I stopped and thanked him, asking if he was sure and he shrugged and wished me a good day and then continued on. I pocketed that money carried on for a bit before finishing.”

Tim takes in what Dick’s brought in the bag he’s holding. There are protein bars, a chocolate bar, bread rolls, packs of nuts. There are also non-food items such as, medicines, vitamin tablets, tissues and basic toiletries.

“I spent about half of it so there’s still some cash left. I figured we could save that or go to a thrift shop and hunt for some clothes.”

“Amazing,” Tim says appreciatively, “thanks Dick.”

Jason appeared to be more weary of the situation. “Any idea who this guy is? Name, number, nationality? You weren’t followed right?”

Dick shakes his head. “None. I’ve never seen him before. And no,” he sounds indigent now, “I was not followed. I know what I’m doing. Let’s eat and spilt what we have, for now and for later.”

They end eating the bread rolls filled with some sandwich fillings Dick had brought, they share a couple bottles of water between them, a couple fruit pots and the chocolate bar. Feeling ravenous Tim practically inhales his bread roll before forcing himself to slow down, he hasn’t eaten this well in weeks. When he glances at the other two they seem to be in a similar state, trying to enjoy the food and not finish it all at once. Who knows when they’ll next get to eat properly.

After finishing their meal they work to spilt the items into the two old and worn backpacks they have. It’s best to pack now so if they need to move quickly for whatever reason it’ll just be a case of grab and go without losing everything they’ve collected.

That evening they spend the time entertaining themselves, talking, sharing stories or simply sitting in silence as night time arrives and plunges their little hideout into darkness. When night falls Tim calls it a day and settles down in his corner where a blanket and jacket are spread out, the blanket covers himself and provides cushioning from the floor and the jacket is a makeshift pillow. The last time he slept in an actual bed must’ve been before he lived on the streets over a year ago, by now he's forgotten what it feels like. After some tossing and turning and listening to the whispers of Dick and Jason talking Tim falls into a pitiful sleep.

He wakes up to the world shaking and Jason swearing up a storm. Bleary and disoriented Tim scrambles up to his knees, he slips on the jacket he had been using as a pillow and looks around. It’s light inside their hideout, a light orange colour filling up the space to show the start of the sunrise, however the rich colour was ruined by the walls shaking and pieces of debris falling from the ceiling.

“What the fuck!” Jason screams out. He yells again and ducks away from the hideout’s entrance. Dick is crouched near him looking as frantic as Jason.

Doing his best to ignore the shaking, Tim gets to his feet and stumbles to the men, he attempts to peer out of the entrance to see what's going on for himself but he’s stopped when Dick pulls Tim behind him, shielding him. Tim grips onto Dick’s arm, concerned and confused. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

Dick looks over his shoulder, his expression grim. “We’re being attacked. Stymphalian birds have found us and are attacking the building. They’re pushing their way through the concrete trying to get to us.”

A loud screech from outside could be heard and before Tim could even react Dick is shouting and tackling him away from the entrance, the elder uses his body to protect Tim as they crash to the floor. When they right themselves Tim sees metallic feathers now inside their hideout, long and bronze feathers that the birds had thrown through the gap.

Tim gasps. “Holy shit.” He turns to Dick with a wide eyed look. “What do we do?”

Shaking his head Dick looks lost, “I have no idea? Jason?”

“Shit!” They peer over to find the other man jumping back and narrowly avoiding the birds talons as they start to squeeze through the entrance. Their makeshift door is holding them back for now but they’re squeezing through the gaps where the door doesn’t quite fit the hole.

“I don’t know either. We can’t stay in here because we’ll be trapped but we’ll get mauled the moment we open that entrance.”

The walls shake again and the birds screech. They each cover their heads as more debris and dust falls down on top of them.

“We don’t have the weaponry to fight them either,” Dick comments, glancing around their hideout, “we’re sitting ducks.”

Tim’s mind is frantic. He’s trying to come up with a solution but nothing comes to mind. He doesn't know how to kill them and as Dick unhelpfully pointed out they don’t have the right weapons to fight off something attacking them like this. Tim has a retractable shield, while somewhat helpful it doesn't stop the birds from attacking him from behind. Jason has a few small daggers on his person and Dick has a couple escrima sticks. None of what they have will do lasting damage and certainly not enough so they could escape.

The birds screech again before the sound completely cuts out and everything goes quiet. It’s eerily silent for several beats and the three of them all share a glance in question and confusion as they wonder what’s going on. That’s when shouts, human shouts, could be heard followed by pained squawks and shrieks. The birds that had been attacking their hideout seems to have disappeared but there’s still commotion going on outside the building.

Jason makes a move to open up the entrance, risking the chance to get a glimpse to what is going on, but before he could grasp the handle the entrance door is suddenly yanked open and the three of them stumble back in surprise. Unexpectedly a blonde girl appears, her hair frazzled and her expression wide eyed and frantic. She peers into their hideout, taking in them and their surroundings before she’s jerking her head. “C’mon, grab your stuff and let’s go.”

Tim frowns and looks at Dick and Jason who look just as confused as he feels, none of them move for a moment but it’s in that time the girl is back now appearing exasperated by their behaviour.

“Look I get it, you don’t know me, why would you trust me, but it’s simple really. It’s either me or the birds; take your pick.”

Then she’s gone again.

“We don’t have a choice really, do we?” Tim comments, making a move to grab a rucksack from the side.

Dick moves to grab the other bag and shoulders it. He shakes his head. “Not really but be alert. We have no idea what's going on or why. Jay?”

Jason huffs but seems to be resigned. “I don’t like it but I like the idea of those birds even less. At the first sign of trouble we run and ditch okay.”

They all nod in agreement and climb out of their hideout for what would most likely be for the last time. As he leaves a sense of sadness washes over him, this hideout has been home for a month to two, the longest one since he's lived on the streets, it’s sad to be leaving.

Any sentiment thoughts completely vanish as soon as he stands on the street because the scene he steps into is one he had not been expecting. At the end of the alleyway the birds are there, screeching away and diving down at two others who are fighting them off with what look like proper weapons. A girl had a long spear in her hands, she was jabbing and taking swings at the monstrous creatures while her companion, a dark skinned male, appeared to be shooting beams of light from his hands and is burning the birds any time they get close.

“C’mon, this way!”

Tim’s broken out of the trance he had fallen into while watching the pair expertly fight the birds by the blonde girl. She’s standing at the other end of the alleyway next to a jeep and is waving the trio over.

After a moment of hesitation Dick and Jason start that way however Tim hovers behind, watching the other two continue to fight the birds. It’s only when one of the birds decide to take a dive at him, away from the fight, that he gets his ass into gear.

Taking off in a sprint Tim heads for the car with the bird screeching right behind him. As his feet pound against the floor he hears a shout of “dive left” and he lets his instincts take over. Dropping to the floor he rolls to the left and narrowly avoids the birds talons. As the bird goes to sweep back up that’s when it’s pierced through the body with a razor sharp spear. It’s wings stutter for moment before it drops down to the floor with a solid thump and promptly dies.

When the bird stops twitching Tim fights the feeling of nausea inside his stomach and scrambles to his feet to continue sprinting to the jeep. Once there he's immediately ushered into the vehicle by Jason and finally all three of them are inside in the car with the blonde at the steering wheel, she wastes no time in starting up the engine and booking it out of the alleyway.

“Wait!” Tim exclaims. “What about the others? You can’t just leave them!”

The blonde doesn't pay him much attention, keeping her focus on the road in front of her. “They’ll catch up. There's another car waiting for them. You three were the priority.”

“And what does that mean exactly?” Jason questions suspiciously. He leans forward from the backseat and glares at the blonde. “Who are you and where are you taking us?”

The girl huffs and meets Jason’s gaze through the mirror. “You’ll find out soon enough. Just trust me, you’re safe and you’ll get answers soon.”

“That isn’t good enough-”

“Jason.”

At Dick’s tone Jason huffs and glares at the man before rolling his eyes and slumping back in his seat grumbling unhappily. Tim watches him for a moment before looking at Dick in the front seat who appears to be switching his gaze between the road in front of them and the girl at the steering wheel. Tim doesn't know what’s going through his head but he’s glad he’s not alone in this. Jason and Dick are here so hopefully things will work out and if not they’ll be together to escape whatever it is they’re headed too.

It turns out they’re headed to a giant mansion in the middle of nowhere. They’ve been driving for about an hour outside the city before the girl, whose name they learn is Steph, turns off the main road into some country lanes before finally pulling up to an over exaggerated size of a drive way which loops around a water fountain and everything.  

The mansion is a huge and historic building, probably dating back centuries and the gardens surrounding the building are well maintained. Steph stops the car at the bottom of a huge staircase that leads to the front door of the building. “C’mon,” she says undoing her seatbelt and climbing out of the vehicle, “you’ll get your answers soon enough.”

The three of them hesitate to follow. From the front seat Dick looks over his shoulder at Tim and Jason, sharing a dubious look. “We stick together and run at the first sign of trouble. I have no idea what she wants but her and the others did save us from the birds so…” He trails off but doesn’t seem to believe his own words.

The three of them soon climb out of the vehicle then and as they gather at the bottom of the stairway they look up to see Steph talking to a tall man and child. The man switches his focus between Steph as she talks, her hands waving around animatedly, and them at the bottom of the stairs. The child on the other hand glowers at them without remorse.

After a few moments Dick lets out a gasp and a quiet “oh my god.” Both Tim and Jason whip their heads to the eldest in alarm.

“What is it?” Tim asks concerned. What if Dick’s just worked out this is trap? What did he see?

His answer Tim wouldn’t have ever guessed. “That’s the man who gave me the money yesterday.”

“Holy shit.” Tim curses, he looks back up at the man and the still glowering child. “That can’t be a coincidence surely.”

“Probably not no,” Jason says eyeing the place with speculation, “maybe giving Dick money was just the start of things. He followed us and when got attacked he saw an opportunity to help save us under the disguise of rescuing us only to bring us here to capture us instead.”

“For now just stay alert, we don’t know what he wants.”

The three of them wait at the bottom apprehensively for several more moments until the man and Steph to finish talking. Together they descend the staircase and only stop once on the floor with them. Now the trio could see the man clearly, he’s taller than Dick but shorter than Jason, he’s got a similar board build as Jason does but he’s clearly older with stubble on his face, lines across his forehead and combed back black hair. He's wearing smart attire that consists of a white shirt and black slacks and dress shoes.

The man’s blue eyes linger on the three of them and Tim gets the instant uneasy feeling of being analysed which he doesn’t appreciate from a stranger. The feeling only increases when the man talks.

“I know this must be confusing for you three and I understand you’ll have questions. I wanted this meeting to be under different circumstances but here we are now. Please know that you are safe here, it’s warded from anything and every creature dangerous to our kind. Why don’t we go inside to talk further.”

The man and Steph makes a move to go up the stairs but Tim, and the others don’t make a move to follow. The whole situation seems surreal, they can’t trust what's happening right now.

“You gave me that money with intention didn’t you?” Dick asks, his gaze firm and piercing the man. “That wasn't the first time you saw me either.”

The man pauses and seems to regard Dick for a moment before he’s shaking his head. “No. I’ve seen you perform a few times in different locations of the city. I wanted to be sure before approaching you.”

“Be sure of what?” Jason questions sharply. “That he was a demigod? Or that he was the right guy for whatever it is you have planned? We’re not buying this whole innocent act…”

The man turns his gaze on Jason, almost challenging him with the way he straightens up and keeps eye contact. “I don’t expect you to believe it, I understand that you can’t and won’t trust me or my family yet. That’s why I would like to talk to you. Now please, come inside.”

Without further ado he climbs up the steps without looking back. When he reaches the top he talks to the child still standing there and he leads the kid inside with a hand on his back. Steph stays at the bottom hovering stiffly. She opens her mouth to say something but seems to think better of it because she soon shakes her head and climbs the steps.

Still feeling uncomfortable, Tim takes the leap and follows Steph up the stairs, once he gets moving Dick and Jason follow behind him. This is either going to turn out to be really bad or something unexpected.

The inside of the building is just as, if not more, grand than the outside. Incredible features decorate the foyer, it’s in fact overwhelming to see it all at once. Tim doesn’t know where to look and stepping on the rich red carpet makes him feel like he’s committing a crime. Before he gets the chance to attempt to absorb his surroundings a voice is calling out directing him into a large room which Tim could guess is a family room, perhaps a smaller version of one at least. Inside there’s a few couches and loveseats, cabinets, a TV and bookcases line the walls, alongside that there’s an open fire and warm blankets and cushions. The coffee table in front of the couches is full of different bowls of snacks.

The kid and Steph are sharing one of the two couches while the man stands in the centre of the room. When Tim and his brothers enter he gestures for them to take a seat. They hesitate for a moment before Dick takes Tim’s hand and drags him to the other sofa, coincidentally the seat where they can see both the window and the door. Jason moves to stand behind them.

It falls silent and they stare at the man waiting for him to explain what the fuck is going on, surprisingly however Steph breaks the silence first. “Duke and Cass are almost back. No injures and they managed defeat the birds.”

“Thanks Stephanie.” He says and then turns to the trio. “I realise I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Bruce Wayne. You know Stephanie, and this is my son Damian. Cassandra and Duke are two others you would have met earlier.” He gestures to the kid who is still glaring at them. Tim scowls back not liking this kid’s attitude, he then scolds himself because he shouldn’t get wound up over a ten year old’s behaviour.

“That’s great,” Jason snarks, “now tell us why you brought us here.”

If Jason’s sharp demand irritates Bruce the man doesn't show it. He simply nods once in acceptance. “As soon as I saw you performing on the streets and I knew there was something different about you, just yesterday I manged to confirm you were in fact a demigod.”

Dick sounds both weary and suspicious when he asks, “how did you find out?” In his peripheral Tim sees Dick hand come to rest on his thigh, a place Tim knew where his stamp is.

A stamp is something every demigod has and is born with; it’s mark on the skin to show who their godly parent is. Every god has a different design, no bigger than a person’s palm, and every child born of that god has the same one, although it may appear on different parts of the body. Dick’s is on his right thigh, Jason’s is on the inside of his left ankle and Tim’s own is on his right shoulder. It’s a clear declaration that that person is in fact a demigod and who their parent is.

Dick must be thinking Bruce might have seen his stamp. Impossible considering Dick only ever wears trousers.

“It was your aura.” Bruce tells them. “When you were performing you were using your power, that’s how you manged to capture everyone’s attention, intentionally or not, because of this when I got close enough to give you the money I saw your aura, your power. That confirmed it. After that I began planning a way to approach you without making you feel like you were cornered however when we picked up signals there was an attack of Stymphalian birds in the city, it was coincidence they happened to be attacking you.”

His eyes drift from Dick to Tim and Jason behind them. “I didn’t make the connection it was you until Steph called to say she had three of you on the way here. The birds come from Ares, he only attends to attack his own offspring, as a way to challenge them, which means one of you is one of his.” His gaze lingers on Jason longer than Tim, telling them he knows exactly who it is.

Behind him Jason grumbles underneath his breath and Tim restrains himself from laughing. It was a nice feeling to break up the constant tension he’s been in since he got rudely woken up that morning.

Before anyone could say anything more two more people appeared in the room. They greet Bruce cheerfully and give him a quick rundown of what happened earlier before they settle themselves on the spare loveseats available. Tim figures this must be Cassandra and Duke, the ones they left behind to deal with the birds.

“You still haven’t explained why you brought us here.” Tim comments frowning at the group gathered. They don’t seem to be hostile towards them, the exception being the kid who is still glaring. “Not that we don’t appreciate your help, so thank you, but why are we here? You’re clearly demigods, but so what? Aren’t we all just in more danger the more of us there are together.”

“No. As I mentioned earlier this place is warded, consider it a safe haven for demigods.” Bruce explains with apparent never-ending patience.

“You’re here because I would like to help keep you safe, that’s why I spent a long time working out if you were a demigod or not. My intention was to speak to you and offer you a place here anyway, you being attacked removed that stage. I help keep demigods safe and help find them other safe havens if they wish to not stay here. I can help you to learn how to control your powers, help you to learn to fight and wield weapons, and simply to provide food, water and shelter.”

It's a wonderful idea Tim thinks to himself, the idea of being able to live somewhere without fear or without concerns about their next meal or really any concerns at all, even not being attacked. But. It’s too good to be true.

Glancing at his brothers he can tell they’re thinking the same thing. Dick turns to Tim and sends him a tight smile, he reaches over and grabs Tim’s hand, squeezing it in comfort.

“Why haven’t we heard of this before, safe havens for demigods?” Jason asks still sounding sceptical. When Tim glances at him his brother is sporting a frown with his arms crossed defensively over his chest.

His question makes sense though, out of the three of them Jason’s been on the streets the longest, ever since he was a young boy, the amount of things he’s witnessed in that time is almost endless, if anyone would have heard about a safe haven it would be Jason.

“We tend to keep it quiet. Only between ourselves and other havens. While it’s warded pretty well it’s not indestructible if a god or gods decide to attack then we would be in trouble.” Bruce looked troubled himself in admitting that, Tim honestly respects him a little for that, he’s enough of a leader to be able to identify and admit a weakness.

Behind him Jason huffs clearly not believing the explanation but he doesn't comment on it again.

The room lapses into an uncomfortable silence. Tim, Dick and Jason are still feeling uneasy about the situation they’ve found themselves in, it doesn’t help they have five pairs of unfamiliar eyes on them, observing them and every move they make. When it becomes clear they won’t be questioning Bruce anymore or there’s nothing left to be said the man speaks up again.

“I’m not expecting it but perhaps you three can stay the day and night, we have plenty of guest bedrooms, and then you can let me know what you think. You don’t have to stay here, you’re welcome to go to a different safe haven or instead you’re welcome to return back to the city.”

Jason mutters a comment about leaving there and then, how there’s no decision to be made, but Dick looks more thoughtful on the matter. He speaks up for the three of them. “We’ll be grateful for your hospitality for the day and night, thank you. We’ll need to talk about it between ourselves and perhaps we can talk to some of you about it as well, to gain different perspectives.”

The others in the room nod in agreement, as usual Damian glares at them, Tim’s now beginning to wonder if his face is just permanently stuck like that. Jason swears at Dick underneath his breath and Tim sends him a tight smile. He can’t help but admit he is curious about the place, how it works and why it exists. He became an orphan because he was attacked in his own home, he now can’t imagine living somewhere where it’s almost completely safe.

“If you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask me,” Bruce says, he starts heading for the door, “I’ll be in my office if you need me. The kids will be more than happy to show you around and what this place is all about.”

With that Bruce leaves the room. It’s only seconds later that Damian gets up and also leaves, good riddance, Tim thinks, the kid was starting to piss him off. His attention is clearly averted however when Steph lets out an excited sound.

“Oh! Let’s do a house tour! This place is insane and overwhelming, especially the first time you see it.”

The blonde eagerly gets up and darts out of the room, sprouting off things about different rooms and what they can do. The other two, Duke and Cass take their time. Duke officially introduces himself and somehow immediately strikes up a conversation with Jason, Cass quietly and politely nods at them before gesturing Dick and Tim to follow her as she heads for the door, only steps behind where Duke and Jason are beginning to walk. Tim shares a look with Dick to which the elder merely shrugs and sends him a small grin, together they get up and leave the room, embracing themselves for the unknown.

[hellonoblesky]

hi dovie im writing that fanfic where albatross sneaks into soukokus bed. i need to know what his terrors would be about (im giving you a "PLEASE GIVE ME A CHARACTER ANALYSIS IM BEGGING YOU" look rn btw)

LOVe. LOVELOVE LVOE PEACE AND LOVE MWAH MWAH

SO. So. In the Trainwreck Trio au Albatross is the sole survivor of Verlaine's killing of the Flags, yeah? So he has nightmares n stuff from That alongside survivor's guilt, and a feeling of inadequacy because he couldn't save Doc who was the one person he really did think he saved there, and also bc they teased him for not being very smart all the time so he's like "AUGH why do I get to survive but all the smarter people died?? I'm not worth this, god DAMMIT" <- Which feeds into his nightmares and terrors, really sending him into a silly doom spiral of The Horrors

BUT ALSO the only reason Albatross even SURVIVES Verlaine's onslaught is that in this au Wollstonecraft was on standby for repairs for Adam, so Adam calls her and is like "HEY I THINK VERLAINE JSUT FUCKING MAIMED ALL OF CHUUYAS FRIENDS GO?? CHECK ON THEM PLEASE AND THANK YOU" so she goes in there with a team and they re-stabilize Albatross literally by having to move the majority of his organs and internal functioning system into a metal vessel and then working circutry and robotics through him so he's functional enough to pass as a normal person (given that no one pays attention to or makes contact to any part of him lower than his chest because it is Metal you knock on that man's stomach you hear Clanging)

^ This is important because alongside the Terrors and Horrors of watching pretty much his entire found family get torn apart right in front of him, Albatross begins a spiral into a state of questioning his personal humanity, the thought of "I should be dead I should be dead I'm not dead because of these machines in me I'm part of a machine now am I a Person anymore??"

Which feeds into a self-isolation that was originally fueled by his survivor's guilt and probably PTSD, because now he's like "Oh. oh those are normal people I don't think i. i deserve that. ok. hm. ok i'm leaving now."

AND TO HIM. TO HIM?? CHUUYA AND DAZAI BOTH FALL UNDER THE CATEGORY OF HUMAN. HE LOOKS AT THEM AND HE'S LIKE "Yeah... there they are,,, just normal guys..... not exactly the normallest of guys but they're more people than I am i think,,"

So, you remember that one post about dead albatross symbolysm? The kin awakening one? Yeah so the frantic sobbing-so-hard-he-can't-breath breakdown I mentioned he probably had at the end of that? That's like, within the AU timeline, so it's like

>SB Events >The Horrors (Self-Isolation Version) >Breakdown/Tipping Point (Catalyst for him being able to Begin to return to regularly interacting with people, starting w Chuuya) >The Horrors Pt2 (Adjusting to everything) <- This is the stage where the drawing I did takes place in! He's too unstable to just be able to Ask to stay over but he figures if he can Sneak in then it's fine >Dark Era (He's a lot better at this point but also he has an episode about Dazai leaving because Losing People Doesn't Go Over Well With Him) >Current day (Epic Gamer moment)

ANYWAY so the Terrors and Horrors you want to go for for ur fic are probably feelings of like. Feeling lost and struggling to find closeness but also being so close and Needing that closeness to someone, an unhealthy dose of anxiety but specifically the anxiety you feel when it's mixed with depression so it's anxiety but somehow?? Slower. Like it's definitely Anxiety but mixing it with Depression made it's constancy thicker so it's less a "fidget nervous gotta run gotta go fear fear fear" feeling and more of a "the swamp is swallowing me and the branch is just out of reach but if i can just move a little to the side here jsut a little", if that ??? Makes sense??

TL:DR: Survivor's guilt and a feeling of displacement. Horrors and terrors of the Depression stage of grief mixed with Anxiety

AND if you have other questions I can answer them :)!!!!!!!<333

[someobscurereference]

(First off, I'd just like to say that reading your stories and your replies to asks, really puts a smile to my face when I have bad days. You're amazing💙) Hi! If this is not too much trouble, I'd love to read more of the awakening trio sharing an apartment. It's such a nice slice of life thing that makes me happy. Just them trying to survive adult life and loving each other 💙

I(Aww, I’m so glad you like my fics and asks and what not! I’m glad you get a kick out of them!!) Secondly, I’ve been a bit slow to reply to this ask because I’ve been busy with school, but this ask did make me happy because I also love this AU and I’ve been thinking about it too! 

So here is some more HCs for romantic but platonic if you want/platonic but romantic if you want (because either works for me, tbh) modern AU where the awakening Trio live in an apartment together AU!

All 3 of them dressed up for Halloween. Owain wanted coordinated costumes but Severa and Inigo vetoed all his ideas and aren’t into most of his anime/game series characters that he wanted to cosplay (or his OCs, who are just all grizzled antiheroes) so they ended up doing their own thing. Owain made his own and almost nobody knew who he was dressed up as. Severa did a combination of buying a costume (she went through like 20 before finally picking one) and then putting her makeup skills/handicraft skills to good use and making it even better. She was very proud of herself and did help Owain a little. Inigo was lazier with his and just bought a pair of fake vampire teeth and a little cape he just threw over a white shirt so he could be a “handsome vampire,” he claims, without having to wear fake blood or anything more grotesque. Severa and Owain were not impressed with his lack of effor.

Owain and Severa did force him to watch a bunch of scary movies with them to make up for his lack of enthusiasm. Inigo is a bit of a scaredy cat, though, so he ends up being terrified when they move on from the campy movies to more actually spooky ones. Severa and Owain get actually into it and talk over each other during the movies, alternating between discussing character motivations, rewriting the story in their heads, and predicting what will happen. Inigo is definitely jumping at every little noise by the time they go to bed.

Also, this is a separate fic topic I will touch on one day, but Inigo has a more sensitive stomach than Severa or Owain, and as a result the other two have become very familiar with what he can eat and keep it in mind when they go to restaurants together/order takeout. 

Severa is definitely better now regarding her inferiority complex with her mom than she was when she was a teen (and she might have gone to family or individual therapy for bc that exists in this world) but even so, Owain and Inigo make it a point to give her a lot of compliments when she has clearly worked hard on something or gets a promotion or basically does anything that deserves praise.

Severa’s like “I know what you’re doing, shut up” but she actually does appreciate being told she’s appreciated/having her efforts recognized, so they keep it up and she’s not really complaining. 

This is just personal HC now but Severa is several inches taller than both Owain and Inigo, so when they stand together in squad formation, she is often in the middle and visibly taller than them, especially when she wears any shoe with a heel. 

This goes back to what I said a few posts ago about Owain or Inigo just sitting on each other’s shoulders to change the bathroom lightbulbs rather than get a ladder (though as a person who pulls out the ladder a lot, pulling a whole ladder out is a hassle.) It’d be a lot safer and smarter if they just used a little stepladder or something though, so one of their parents probably do insist on them getting one at some point

Between Inigo and Severa, they take So Many Baths. So many. Owain will do so only when he finds a cool bathbomb he wants to use, but Inigo will take a bath about once a week (or sometimes after dance practice, so maybe a little more frequently) and Severa takes a bath like Every Other Day. 

Lissa canonically has trouble sleeping when she’s stressed, and Owain inherited this sleep trouble via Sleepwalking. He doesn’t tend to do it now that he’s an adult, but there has been the rare occasion where Severa or Inigo have woken up to see just a Dark Silhouette looming over them in the dead of night and they did scream very loudly, which woke Owain up and did cause some brief Chaos. Alternatively, they have woken up once or twice to find that Owain sleeping in the middle of the floor rather than on the bed, pillow and blankets moved and all.

Owain plays Luigi’s Mansion as one of his many childhood comfort games and can beat it in just a few hours. He plays it (among other games) when he has bad days but also when he’s just feeling nostalgic and doesn’t want to do another hobby. Severa and Inigo will ask how he’s feeling if they catch him playing it and have often been found chilling on the couch while he plays. They’re almost as familiar with the game as he is by this point.

Their apartment is always Noisy

Severa loves playing music out loud while she does her makeup and changes clothes or cooks; it’s always on blast. Inigo uses headphones a lot when he’s doing his own thing but has been found to unplug them and play his music and podcasts out loud when the others aren’t home. He does put Netflix on and then will just leave the room and listen to the audio while he’s doing other stuff though. Severa also does this with TV shows. Owain always has his laptop open and is playing random tutorial videos for Literally Everything Under the Sun and Lets Plays while he does hobbies or housework or anything. His attention is always Split like that. 

So their apartment is Never Quiet.

This is getting long so I’ll stop here, lol. But I hope you enjoy!

[wingsofkpop]

Hiraeth - I.X: Was it Worth it in the End? Part Two

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, very heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, violence, explicit descriptions of fighting and injury, weapons, blood and gore, brief mention of a mutilated animal corpse, minor character death, description of trauma and mental illness, brief mention of suicide, mentions of murder, satanic themes and ritual, etc. 

Trigger Warning: This chapter does contain graphic and explicit themes regarding violence, trauma, and death. Please do not read if this will harm you. This is your final warning.

word count: 10,6k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

The nighttime is hushed, almost anxious as Minho maneuvers his way past gravestones and overgrown shrubbery. It’s almost like nature itself is too afraid of accidentally provoking the witch, sensing the torpedo of dark magic and violent sorrow stirring through his veins. He peers up at the crimson moon, grateful for the illumination it provides, and continues down his path—ignorant of the cold air bleeding into his flesh. 

Minho knows this is probably not the best time for a visit, aware that his ex-covenmates are likely plotting some sort of mission to overthrow him, but he doesn’t care—he can’t care anymore. A part of him, the shameful, guilty part of his mind. actually hopes they will succeed, at least then, he would no longer have to endure the pain that comes with bearing this black magic. He can feel its poison rushing through his veins, seering his body from the inside out, killing his soul over and over and over again… 

But isn’t this what he wanted? Revenge? Retribution? Minho performed that spell to hurt the very friends that hurt him—to hurt Mark, and he got his wish… so why does it feel like the world is caving in around him, swallowing him whole? 

Once he reaches his destination, Minho collapses to his knees, unable to bear the weight of his burdens. His eyes burn with tears, but he doesn’t allow himself to cry. A silent gust of wind strokes his cheeks, painting his skin red with bitterness and anger. He welcomes the cold air, accepting the punishment, before lifting his hand to splay his fingers against the even colder surface of the headstone. 

“I’m sorry…” Minho whimpers, “It didn’t have to be like this…” 

The silence heightens his anguish—deepens the wounds in his heart. 

If he could take it all back, he would… but he can’t. 

“I wish you were here, noona…” 

His murmur is lost to the wind, but it doesn’t matter. He climbs back to his feet before sparing one final glance at the burial place of his lost friend. After a deep inhale and a wordless goodbye, Minho turns and hastily begins back toward the mausoleum. 

He was allowed this one moment of weakness—now he must get back to the horrible reality he manifested for himself. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Can you be any more obvious…?” 

Mark quickly awakens from his mindless trance, discovering, to his dismay, Dahyun looking down at him with a single raised, all-knowing eyebrow. He fakes a cough into his elbow before shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You’re kidding me, right?... You literally haven’t taken your eyes off of her since we met up in the forest.” 

Heat immediately rises to Mark’s cheeks. As if on instinct, his eyes trail back to his subject of interest, watching as you wipe the sweat from Jaebeom’s girlfriend’s forehead and neck before shifting to do the same to Felix. It’s such a simple action, but you somehow look so ethereal—almost like an angel sent from heaven. 

He curses himself for his own cheesiness, then releases a defeated sigh. 

“We got into a pretty big fight earlier.” 

“Then don’t you think you should—I don’t know—talk to her instead of staring her down like a creep?” 

“I think the last thing she wants to do is talk to me.” Mark drags a hand through his hair. “I… said some really stupid shit in the heat of the moment. She probably hates me.” 

Dahyun scoffs, “God, you are such a fucking idiot.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you need to get your ass over there and apologize to that girl.” 

Her harsh tone doesn’t falter beneath his glare, nor does her tenacious expression as the two proceed with their silent staring contest. After a minute or two, Dahyun breaks off the competition with a long, heavy sigh. Her eyes are soft when she looks back at him, and suddenly Mark finds the dried mud on his shoes a lot more interesting. 

“Mark, anyone can see how much you care about her—how much she cares about you.” Even when a gentle hand caresses his shoulder, the witch keeps his attention to the floor. “(Y/N) could never hate you—no matter how much stupid shit you pull.” She snickers, “And you pull a lot of stupid shit, so that has to account for something.”

He can’t help the amused chuckle that falls from his own lips. 

“Thanks, Dubu.” Mark says, tilting his head to finally meet the warmth of her gaze. 

“She’s a good one—a really good one, Mark.” The wolf hums, “Don’t let it be your fear that pushes her away.” She doesn’t give him a chance to reply further, pacing to a nearby corner to join a conversing Bang Chan and Yugyeom. 

Sparing the wolf trio one final glance, Mark musters up the remaining courage he has left and pushes from his perch against the kitchen countertop. He forces himself to walk in your direction—each step releasing more butterflies into the confines of his stomach. Once he reaches you, close enough to touch your turned back, he almost chickens out, content with spending the rest of the night watching you like hawk, but the sound of Felix’s breathy voice locks him in place: 

“—Channie-hyung and I have always wanted to go to Chicago… Is-Is it as windy as they say?” 

“Even windier.” You say with a laugh. “I can’t tell you how many scarves I lost, and don’t get me started on how freaking cold the winters are.”

Felix laughs too, although it resonates as more of a wheeze than anything. 

You shrug, “It’s a gorgeous city though—probably my most favorite place I’ve ever lived.” 

“Then why did you leave? If you loved it so much?” 

Mark’s interest piques when he notices how your figure grows tense at the young boy’s croak. He’s heard his fair share of stories of your heartfelt time in the Windy City, but he never quite figured out why you ultimately decided to move to Moon Dye Bay. You’ve always been reluctant to reveal certain details from your past, especially regarding your time in the foster system, but even then Mark has been able to pry the worst memories from your brain. 

This subject, however, has been a brick wall. 

“Because I couldn’t stay.” You finally answer, “It’s complicated, but something happened and basically I—” 

“(Y/N)?” 

He silently cusses as Felix interrupts your explanation, but his annoyance dissipates at the panicked expression etched along the teenager’s sweaty face. 

“What is it, Felix?” You shift your position on his bedside to better face the boy, leaning forward to place a gentle hand on his forehead. Mark can only imagine how hot the skin is to the touch. 

Felix’s words crack as they leave his lips, slicing at the witch’s heart like a dagger: 

“Am… Am I gonna die?”

“Of course not.” You immediately say, but Mark can sense the uneasiness in your tone. “Everyone is doing everything they can to help you, okay?... You’re gonna get through this, and one day you and your brother are gonna go see Chicago yourselves and try not to get blown away into the next century.” 

Felix sleepily chuckles, “Thanks, (Y/N).” 

“You should get some sleep.” The moment the command leaves your lips, Felix is already closing his eyes and diving headfirst into dreamland. Not wanting to startle you, Mark waits a couple seconds—partly to give you time to regain your composure, and partly to give himself time to think of what to say. However, he doesn’t have much of a choice when you suddenly turn, growing aware of his presence. A frown overtakes your face, and he instantly regrets ever leaving his countertop. 

“Did you need something?” 

“No—yes, I mean—shit.” Mark buries a hand in his tresses to tug at his roots, attempting to juggle between putting together the right spoken words and reminding his body to breathe. “(Y/N), I—” 

“If you came to apologize, I don’t want to hear it.” He helplessly watches as you rise from the bed before tossing your used rag on a nearby table. “I think you made yourself pretty clear back at my apartment.” 

“I shouldn’t have said what I said—” Before you can storm away, Mark latches his fingers around your wrist. “—please. Just give me a chance to explain.” 

Your shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh, but you make no move to tear away from his grip and he takes it as a chance to continue: 

“After my mom died, I was so fucking angry…” Mark notices your surprised gaze when you lift your head, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. “I was angry at the world, at her, at myself… and when my magic began to show up, things got a whole lot worse.” He shakes his head, “I thought about just ending it—jump into the bay or maybe drink myself to death—but then I met…” 

“Then you met Jackson.” 

“He taught me how to deal with the anger—to use it as a tool, not a weapon.” His eyes begin to burn at the countless memories that reel through his mind. “It was because of him I learned how to control my powers, and I was able to bring the coven together—hell, he was the one who told them to nominate me as Regent, which right now, seemed like the worst fucking decision on the planet.” 

Mark takes a moment to blink away his tears before taking a seat on an empty cot. He still can’t find it in himself to glance at your face, keeping his eyes trained to the wooden flooring. 

“But when Jackson had an idea, there was no stopping him.” He chuckles sarcastically, “The bastard was as stubborn as a goddamn mule.” 

“What happened to Jackson, Mark?” Your voice is both a sweet lullaby and a screeching siren against his ears. “How did he die? Really?” 

“The initial plan was to infuse enough magic into Jackson’s werewolf form so his venom would be lethal to the Primes, or at the very least, to Jinyoung. It all went smoothly in the beginning, I was able to channel enough power to complete the transformation… but something went wrong—

“—Jackson was different when he shifted. He was ruthless… He didn’t want to just kill the Primes—he wanted to slaughter every vampire along with those who protect the secrets of their existence… no matter if they were witch, werewolf, human—they all deserved to die…

“The combination of his determination and the bloodlust drove him fucking mad… If Jaebeom hadn’t ripped out his heart, there’s telling what he would have done—who he would have killed…” 

Mark leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, attempting to hide his shame beneath the curl of his bangs. “—Jaebeom may have dealt the final blow, but Jackson died because the dark magic I used turned him into a monster—he’s dead because of me…” 

Silence encompasses the room like a vice grip to the throat. For a moment, Mark believes you left him, too disgusted and ashamed to even breathe the same air as him, but the entrance of your worn boots into his vision proves otherwise. The image is replaced by your face when you kneel in front of his broken figure, laying your hands over each bicep. He notices your touch is gentle, but not hesitant, and warm—always so warm. 

“You can’t blame yourself for his death, Mark.” Mark doesn’t realize he’s crying until you wipe a tear from his cheek. “How could you have known what that spell would do? You couldn’t have—”

“Magic always comes with price—especially dark magic.” He whispers, unable to hold back more liquid sadness as it trails down his skin. “(Y/N), if I ever lost you the same way I lost Jackson, my mom, I—” 

Mark’s voice cuts out into a sob, and once your arms wind around his form, he completely breaks, releasing every ounce of repressed sadness and despair and pain into the crook of your neck. He knows he’s selfish for melting into your embrace—for consuming your comfort like a demon expelled from the heavens—but he doesn’t care. 

When you guide his eyes to meet your own, Mark can spot the glassiness of your own orbs in the artificial light—along with enough compassion and ardor to send another flood of tears down his face. 

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” You affirm, your tone unwavering and stern. “I’m here—and no matter how many times you fall, I’m gonna be here to pick you up…

“I’m here, Mark… Do you understand me?” 

He nods with a sniffle, tightly squeezing your hands between his own. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You smile at his apology. 

“I’m sorry too… for everything.” 

“Just… No more secrets. For real, this time.” 

“For real, this time.” Mark’s heart rate picks up when he suddenly notices how close his face is to yours. From this angle, he can count the constellations glistening within your eyes and map the delicate curves of your facial features. If he were to lean just an inch closer, just one tiny inch, his lips would be on your own—

“Sorry to interrupt, but we have an issue.” At Yugyeom’s statement, you and Mark immediately wrench away from one another, almost as if having been caught engaging in forbidden territory. Mark pretends he doesn’t miss the weight of your hands inside his own as he rises from the cot, making sure to put an appropriate amount of distance between his and your shoulders. 

He clears his throat before humming, “What’s going on?” 

“Chan wants to go and find Chaeyoung’s body.” Although Yugyeom’s face remains neutral, Mark can see the sadness lingering within his eyes at the mention of his fallen packmate. “He doesn’t remember exactly where she was, so him, Dahyun, and I are going to search the forest.” 

You immediately shake your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Sunrise isn’t for at least another hour, and we have no way of knowing Youngjae broke the curse yet.” 

“I’m with (Y/N) on this one, Gyeom.” Mark agrees, “We’re safest here in the bunker.” 

“We can’t just leave her out there. I mean, she—” Yugyeom cuts himself off with a heavy sigh, before continuing in a softer tone, “You know how it feels to lose someone, hyung… Chaeyoung is—was… our family.” 

Mark takes a moment of silence to ponder, conflicted between his common sense and Yugyeom’s pleading gaze. As you said, sunrise is an hour away—but Youngjae, the coven and the Primes should have overthrown Minho by now, right? Plus, he literally blew Changbin’s head off with that shotgun. There’s no way his body could regenerate that quickly… 

“We’re all staying together.” He finally says, moving toward the kitchenette to grab his weapon from its perch on the counter. “And if anything seems shady, it’s an immediate retreat.” 

Yugyeom delivers a nod before heading off to gather the other wolves. Mark moves toward the bunker exit, but is stopped by your form. A heavy sigh cascades from his lips—just from your expression, he knows this conversation isn’t going to go his way. 

“(Y/N)—” 

“If you’re gonna tell me I can’t go with you, don’t even bother.” 

He shakes his head, “It’s too dangerous…” 

“If someone tells me that one more goddamn time—” He can’t help the tiny smile that spreads across his face at the sassy way you roll your eyes. And he doesn’t protest when you move to follow Dahyun up the ladder. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Youngjae inhales a deep breath, taking the moment to feel his lungs expand, before releasing the air in an even deeper exhale. Even with the relaxation attempt, his body remains tense and his thoughts disorderly. He can’t help but feel as if Minho is waiting somewhere in the darkness of the crypt, ready to pounce on him like a predator to its prey. 

Would he toy with his catch first? Or would he skip the pleasantries and go right in for the kill? 

A hand appears on his shoulder, wrenching Youngjae from his morbid daydream. He angles his head to meet Lia’s concerned gaze and immediately tries to mask his fear beneath an expression of indifference. Unsurprisingly, the female witch sees right through his facade:

“I’ve known you practically my whole life, Youngjae. Whatever it is, you can’t hide it from me.” 

His shoulders sag in defeat as a sigh blows past his lips. 

“I’m just… worried about Mark-hyung. He’s powerless out there.”

“Mark is smart—he’ll know what to do if he finds himself in trouble.” 

“And if he doesn’t?... I-I mean, what if Minho or Changbin found him before he could warn the pack? He could be dead for all we know—” 

Lia silences his desperate quip with a shake of her head, “You shouldn’t think like that right now—” 

“What else am I supposed to do?” Youngjae runs a frustrated hand through his hair before gesturing toward the main exit of their underground penitentiary. “Even with yours and Jisung’s energy, I don’t have enough power to take down the barrier spell.” 

“Help is on the way—” 

“How do you know that for sure?” 

Lia remains silent, simply continuing to stare at Youngjae. He feels almost uncomfortable beneath her gaze, resisting the urge to shrink back and become one with the shadows. 

“I don’t know… but I have faith.” She murmurs after a brief moment. “We’ve lost a lot, but I still believe that we’ll all somehow manage to come out of this alive. You should try doing the same.” 

With that, Lia leaves to speak with a dangerously quiet Jisung. Youngjae spares the pair a single glance before heading toward the crypt entryway. A single beam of moonlight illuminates the exit stairway, almost as if mocking him about his inability to escape the dingy prison. 

Youngjae knows Lia is right—of course she’s right. Worrying about the possible pitfalls of this plan won’t help him, or Mark, or anyone. He can only pray that his mentor safely found his way out of the cemetery and is sending backup right this very moment. 

He needs to have hope, if nothing else. 

“What if we somehow lure Minho down here?” Youngjae’s thoughts quiet at Lia’s suggestion, angling his head to meet her gaze. “Technically Youngjae just needs to touch him to siphon his magic… so why don’t we bring him to us?” 

“Minho-hyung won’t step past the barrier.” Jisung dissents, dragging his fingers through his already tousled hair. “He probably knows we’re planning something against him, so there’s no way he’ll believe whatever ruse we try to pull.” 

“Then we have no choice. Youngjae, are you sure you can’t take down the spell?” 

Youngjae sullenly shakes his head. 

“Is there something else you can siphon? Maybe the crypt itself?” 

“The crypt was built by humans.” He answers, “I can only draw power from the supernatural—”

“Then it’s a good thing my dear brother and I weren’t turned into superwolf bait.” 

Youngjae, along with the other witches, nearly leaps a foot in the air at the sudden voice. He whirls around to face the stairwell, which to his surprise, is now occupied by the last person he ever expected to see: 

Im Jaebeom. 

Jisung chokes, scurrying backward into the shadows as the hybrid approaches the trio. After taking purchase against the doorway, he offers his signature sly smirk. 

“Evening, Harry Potter and friends… Funny meeting you down here.” 

“Now is not the time for games, hyung.” Youngjae breathes a sigh of relief as Jinyoung’s voice echoes throughout the stone walls. Seconds later, he comes hustling down the staircase before shoving Jaebeom out of the way. The vampire then peers into the crypt, his gaze burning with the determination of a man at war. “Is anyone hurt?” 

“No. We’re okay.” Lia steps forward. “If you’re here, I’m guessing Mark reached the wolf pack?” 

“Your guess is correct.” Jinyoung nods, placing a hand against the invisible doorway. “My brother and I will do everything we can to help disarm the rogue, but I think it’d be best to free you all first.” 

Youngjae joins the conversation. “I can take down the barrier spell, but I’ll need to draw energy from one of you to do so.” 

“Let’s do this quickly then.” Jinyoung goes to roll up the sleeve of his white shirt, but is halted by his immortal companion. Surprise filters through Youngjae’s veins as Jaebeom shrugs the leather jacket from his shoulders with a huff: 

“With my luck, he’ll drain you dry and I’ll have to deal with this voodoo fucker myself. I think it’s best we use my energy—sorry not sorry.” 

“Alright, then.” Youngjae hums, “I’ll need you to push through the barrier just enough that I can touch you… It’s gonna hurt. A lot.” 

“Good thing I’m a sadomasochist.” Jaebeom snickers at his brother’s unamused expression, “Too much?” 

“Move your hand through that goddamn barrier before I throw you to the superwolf myself.” 

The hybrid rolls his eyes, but follows Jinyoung’s instructions and proceeds to force his limb past the invisible blockade. He remains silent, but Youngjae can spy the uncomfortable twitch of his eyebrow and the tension along his stone-cold features. Blood begins to bud along his knuckles like a patch of blooming roses before flowing down his pale skin the more he presses against the barrier.

The siphoner raises his hand in preparation. “Just a bit more.” 

A mere couple seconds later, Youngjae feels Jaebeom’s bloody flesh brush against his own. The skin-to-skin contact is slight, but enough, allowing the hybrid’s energy to spread through his veins like wildfire. Youngjae almost cries in relief as the magic conquers his entire body—a new kind of hope sparking somewhere within his chest. 

“Phasmatos Siprum… Emnis Abortum…” Youngjae murmurs, positioning both hands against the invisible wall. He feels it crumbling beneath his fingertips, unable to withstand the power flowing through his figure. “Fasila Quisa Exilum San… Fasila Quisa Exilum San…”

A proud grin stretches along his features as the barrier buckles, then completely shatters. With Lia and Jisung in tow, Youngjae beelines out of the crypt and into the stairwell where Jaebeom, who’s cleaning the crimson from his knuckles, and Jinyoung reside. The latter nods, which Youngjae is quick to return. 

“‘Kay, they’re free… Now what?” 

“Now we find Minho and end this once and for all.” Lia answers, not sparing the hybrid a glance as she dashes up the stairs. Youngjae and the rest of the group try to keep up with the female witch as best as they can, not faltering until they reach the surface. The cemetery is quiet when they emerge from the crypt, Youngjae notices—almost too quiet. 

He takes a short moment to breathe in the fresh night air before turning to a tense Jinyoung, “I need to get close enough to siphon Minho’s magic to perform the counterspell. You think you and your brother can find me a way in?” 

Jinyoung nods. “You can count on us.” 

“Stay close…” Lia warns with a sigh, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard already knows we’re free—” 

Lightning suddenly strikes a mere few feet from where Lia is standing, earning a chorus of screams and surprised gasps from the witch trio. Youngjae watches as Jinyoung speeds forward, grabbing Lia just in time to avoid being burnt to a crisp by a second bolt. With Jisung at his side, Youngjae quickly takes shelter underneath the overhang of a nearby tomb as even more lightning bombards the earth. He surveys the area, searching for the perpetrator responsible for the weather abnormalities. 

“Minho!...” Lia screeches from behind a large tree, her tone far less than friendly. “Quit being a fucking coward! Come out here and face us goddamnit!...” 

Youngjae huddles closer to Jisung as the wind suddenly picks up, ripping at his hair and clothing like a vengeful spirit. He moves to speak to his younger companion, but his words die on his tongue as the subject of the hour waltzes into view. The heavy gusts don’t seem to affect him, though that’s no surprise since the wretched weather is his doing. 

Minho smirks, “They say lightning never strikes one place twice… You must be really special then, Lia.” 

“Oh fuck off! We’re tired of playing your stupid games!” 

“This only ends one way, Minho—” Jinyoung says, cautiously moving from Lia’s side to approach the powerful witch. His steps, however, are halted by another vicious bolt of electricity. Youngjae attempts to make out Jaebeom’s form through the blurriness of his wind-induced tears, but the hybrid is nowhere to be found. “—so we can do it the easy way, or the hard way! The choice is yours!” 

“Last I checked, this isn’t your fight, Prime.”

“It became my fight the moment you threatened my family and my friends!” 

Minho snickers, “Trust me, I had every intention of ridding this town of you and your brother’s filth.” 

“Was it also your intention to kill an innocent werewolf girl!?” Youngjae’s heart drops at the vampire’s following statement. “Son Chaeyoung is dead because of Changbin—because of you!” 

“Every war has its casualties.” 

“And what of Felix!? Will his death just be another trivial loss in your obsession for revenge!?” 

This time, Youngjae notices the cockiness melt from Minho’s features into something akin to trepidation. The wailing of the wind picks up to a screech, nearly drowning out the dark-haired witch’s weak inquiry, “What are you talking about?”

“Felix was bitten… and is dying as we speak!” Jinyoung shakes his head frantically. “Do you believe he deserves this, Minho!? Do you believe Chaeyoung deserved to die!?... You can fix this—make this right!” 

Minho remains silent, and for a moment, Youngjae wonders if the witch will actually come to his senses and call off this whole ordeal. But just as soon as it appeared, the pained look along his features transitions into something more sinister.   

“We’re all gonna die someday, so what does it even fucking matter!?” 

“Are you hearing yourself!?” Lia screams from behind a nearby tree, “Look what you’ve become, Minho! How would Nayeon see you right now!” 

“Don’t bring her into this!” Minho’s hiss blends with the moans of the wind. Massive raindrops begin to pelt down against the earth, immediately soaking Youngjae to the bone. For the first time, he notices the dark witch’s position in relation to his own. Realistically, Youngjae can be at Minho’s side in mere milliseconds, before he has a chance to blink. If only he can get him to move a bit closer… 

As if reading his thoughts, Jinyoung attempts to coax the witch another step forward. 

“Please, Minho… I don’t wish to hurt you.”

The latter shakes his head with a chuckle. “It’s too fucking bad that you think you can.” 

Minho raises his hand, harshly forcing the vampire down against the muddy earth. Youngjae watches in horror as Jinyoung’s limbs begin to contort and rearrange against his own will—the sound of cracking bones and the vampire’s pained groans filling his ears like a haunting melody. He forces his gaze away from the gruesome sight and prepares to advance on the dark witch, but Jisung stops him with a hand to his shoulder: 

“Not yet, hyung.” 

“But Jinyoung—” 

“Trust me.” His eyes are wide with determination—Youngjae can’t remember a time he’s ever seen Jisung so fierce. “I have a plan. Wait here until my signal.” 

Though filled with confusion, Youngjae does as the young witch requests and stays in place while Jisung himself carefully maneuvers his way through gravestones and buildings, attempting to remain out of sight. A sudden burst of lightning cracks through the atmosphere, and at first, Youngjae fears Jisung has been caught, but quickly realizes Minho has his sights set on another party: 

“I was wondering when you’d join the fun—I looked forward to tearing your bitch-ass apart.” 

“I would say I’m flattered, but I rather like my ass.” Jaebeom saunters across a nearby rooftop. In the midst of the storm, he almost reminds Youngjae of a superhero—or more likely in his case, the psychotic supervillain. “Look, you’ve had your fun, kid. Now I suggest you release my brother and cut out all this petty-teenage bullshit before I break your body in places you never thought possible.” 

“That’s it?... And here I thought you’d want the antidote?” 

Jaebeom’s face darkens. 

“...So there is a cure?” 

“Of course. Every spell has its loophole.” Minho finally lowers his hand, ceasing the painful reconstruction of Jinyoung’s skeleton. Youngjae watches in confusion as the former retracts something from his pocket—some sort of vial, it seems—and offers it toward the hybrid. “The blood which Changbin drank to turn—it’ll heal anyone fallen victim to his bite.” 

“You better hand that over before I rip your teeth from your skull.” Jaebeom growls darkly, hopping down from his overhead perch.

The witch shakes his head, “Not so fast, Mr. Wolf… See, there was only so much left—enough to heal one lucky soul.” 

“You’re a sick fucking bastard,” Jaebeom spits. “You wanted this to happen—”

“Your little bloodsucking girlfriend is dying, isn’t she?” Minho tosses the vial toward the hybrid, who effortlessly catches it between two trembling fingers. “If you want to save her life, then I suggest you go before the venom does its job.” 

“Jaebeom-hyung, don’t—!” Jinyoung gasps, slithering across the muddy earth like an earthworm lost to the world. 

“You know she doesn’t have much time—” 

“We can’t do this without you—we need you!... I need you, hyung!”  

Jaebeom, staring at the tiny container in his grasp, doesn’t reply to his incapacitated companion. Youngjae curses the smirk that spreads across Minho’s face—a sign of victory—and attempts to spot Jisung and Lia somewhere between the ferocious raindrops. He has no such luck, and instead decides to pray for a miracle instead. 

“If you hadn’t fucked around with the few people I care about, I might have actually liked you.” Jaebeom murmurs with a sigh before tucking the vial into his pocket and sending the dark witch a malicious sneer. “Well isn’t that too fucking bad.” 

Youngjae leaps almost ten feet in the air as lightning strikes for what seems like the millionth time, although this time, it’s inches from where Minho is standing. After searching the area, Youngjae discovers Lia and Jisung across the way, hands clasped, eyes bright with passion, uttering some sort of offensive charm. Minho attempts to sprint in the opposite direction, but Jaebeom easily tackles the witch before he can get far. 

“Now Youngjae-hyung! Do it now!” 

At Jisung’s cue, Youngjae takes off into the rain. The bitter feel of Mother Nature’s tears against his skin quickens his movements, wanting nothing more then to end this hurricane, both literally and figuratively, once and for all. He reaches Minho in what seems like hours and hurries to grab his wrist—but just like the tides during a storm, the tables quickly turn. 

At the wave of Minho’s hand, Jaebeom goes flying across the cemetery, crashing into a stone statue and collapsing into the resulting rumble. White-hot pain spreads through Youngjae’s veins like a poison, freezing his muscles and immobilizing his limbs from any further movement. He collapses to the ground, where mud immediately clings to his clothing.

Minho rises to his feet before stepping on Youngjae’s hand with a cackle, “Don’t you fuckers get it!? I’m untouchable! You can’t fucking win!” 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Minho…” Youngjae chuckles, curling his fingers around the tread of the dark witch’s boot. Minho realizes his mistake as soon as the former’s hand begins to glow, foolishly attempting to squirm from his touch. 

Thunder roars in the distance as Youngjae grins in triumph: 

“Because unlike you… we’re not alone.” 

The last thing Youngjae sees before he loses consciousness is a flash of white and the bewildered face of the dark witch as he collapses beside him.   

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I take it Mark apologized?...” You nearly leap out of your own skin at the sudden inquiry. With a less than agitated frown, you turn to acknowledge the culprit for your almost heart attack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear some of these supernaturals have powers of teleportation or something… 

“Goddamnit, Dahyun. Not all of us have superwolf hearing.” 

“Sorry, dearie. Force of habit.” The she-wolf offers an apologetic smile, moving forward to hook her arm with your own. She allows Yugyeom, Chan and Mark to gain a bit of distance ahead before repeating again, “So Mark…?” 

“We both talked it out and apologized… so everything’s okay now.” You hum—the tiny fib leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Truthfully, your encounter with Mark left you conflicted. Of course, you’re more than glad he finally opened up about his past, and even more glad that he trusts you enough to reveal his lingering feelings of trauma, but there’s still a pretty big fucking elephant in the room—one involving his dead best friend and the fact you can talk to him beyond the grave. 

You should have told him then and there—right after you promised to abolish all secrets—but something inside you couldn’t do it… and you don’t know why. 

“Why are you so interested in Mark and I’s relationship anyway?” You utilize your curiosity as a distraction from the guilt breathing down your neck, angling your neck to peer at Dahyun’s side profile. “Is there… history between you two?” 

“No, no—nothing like that. Mark and I have just known each other since we were kids. Our moms were close friends, so Mark, Yugyeom and I pretty much grew up together.” 

“He never told me that.” 

“Don’t take it personal, sweetheart. Mark doesn’t like to talk about his past—” Dahyun sighs, “—too many bad memories between his dad and the bullshit that happened with his mom. He’ll come around eventually… he just needs more time.” 

“I know his mom passed when he was a teenager, but Mark never actually mentioned how she died…” You bite your lip, sending a curious glance to your wolf companion. “It’s really not fair to ask you, but—” 

“Mark found her in their own kitchen with her entire throat ripped open.” Dahyun’s blunt answer leaves your throat dry, unable to speak another word if you wanted to. “The sheriff ruled it as an animal attack, but I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure out what really happened.” 

Your heart sinks, and you choose not to say anything further. 

“Dahyun! (Y/N)! Don’t get too far behind!” Chan’s voice echoes from somewhere up ahead. With the black of night beginning to fade, you can just make out his, Yugyeom, and Mark’s silhouettes a couple dozen feet away. Dahyun gives your forearm a gentle squeeze before releasing your conjoined limbs to catch up with her packmates. You do the same, meeting an armed Mark about halfway. 

His eyes glitter with concern underneath the fading starlight. 

“Everything okay…?” 

“Yeah, Dahyun and I were just catching up.” You inhale a deep breath before releasing it in an even heavier exhale. “But there is something I need to talk to you about—about Jackson and the whole resurrection thing.” 

Mark shakes his head, “You have every right to make your own decisions, (Y/N), but I wish you and Youngjae would have come to me.” 

“I know that, but it was more complicated than that—” You try to gather your thoughts while also attempting to make sense of your words. “I couldn’t tell you because, well—because Jackson told—” 

“Mark-hyung! We’ve got an issue!” Yugyeom’s warning immediately cuts off your explanation. Mark shoots you an apologetic glance before hurrying the two of you forward to join the wolf trio. It only takes seconds for you to distinguish the cause of the beta’s distress. 

A deer carcass lays precariously on the forest floor, and albeit it’s practically torn to shreds, you can just make out a single word carved into its bloody flesh: 

Die. 

“Shit—we need to go. Now.” 

“We’ve already come this far. Chae should be around here somewhere.” Chan ignores Mark’s directive, stepping over the animal corpse to traverse further through the forest. He barely takes a step before the witch is grabbing his wrist. “Let me go, hyung.” 

“Don’t be an idiot.” 

“Don’t tell me what to—”

“Shut the fuck up. Both of you.” Dahyun quietly hisses, “Listen.” 

You try to do as the she-wolf says, but all that meets your ears is the combination of your own labored breathing and uneven pulse. Judging by the confused expression along Mark’s face, he’s probably dealing with the same situation. 

“What is it?” 

“We’re being watched.” Yugyeom answers Mark’s inquiry in a whisper. “Mark, you and (Y/N) need to find somewhere to hide right now—Chan, Dubu, get ready to fight—”

As soon as the command leaves Yugyeom’s lips, Mark takes you by the arm and drags you behind a broad tree trunk. You fish Jinyoung’s pocket knife from your pocket while Mark cocks his shotgun in preparation. Who knew the day would come that you’d actually be grateful for the presence of two dangerous weapons…  

“If anything goes wrong—you run like hell, got it?” 

You shake your head at Mark’s demand. “I’m not just going to leave you—”  

“Yugyeom! Above you!” At Chan’s warning, you’re suddenly shoved to the ground by the witch, watching in horror as a deranged Changbin descends from the treetops onto the beta himself. His skin is a sickly ashen shade, and his black veins so prominent it would make a nurse weep. There’s no human emotion left inside his dark eyes as he strikes Yugyeom over and over again with his lengthy sharp talons, tearing open his skin like a birthday present—he’s a complete animal. 

“Bin, stop!” Chan throws his arms around Changbin’s shoulders in an attempt to pull him from Yugyeom, winding a tight arm around his throat before thrusting a knee against his spine. “Think about what you’re doing!” 

With Dahyun’s assistance, the two wolves manage to separate the dark wolf from that of Yugyeom’s wounded self. Even so, Changbin clearly does not appreciate being stolen away from his prey. He easily escapes from Chan’s hold, landing a couple heavy hits against the latter’s nose before shoving him to the ground. Dahyun takes the moment to strike, bringing the dark wolf to kneel with a harsh kick to his knee, but the action does minimal damage. Changbin punts the she-wolf a dozen feet away as if she weighs nothing. You wince as Dahyun connects with a nearby tree trunk with a vocal thud before dropping to the ground with no movements of rejoining the fight. 

“Shit…” You curse to yourself, “They won’t be able to take him down by themselves—he’s too fucking strong.” 

“Watch your ears.”  You notice Mark aiming his gun toward the dark wolf, waiting for an opportunity with his finger on the trigger. At his discretion, you cover your ears just in time for him to fire a first and second shot. A ferocious growl echoes through the trees, spreading goosebumps across your flesh like wildfire. 

You watch both Chan and Yugyeom take advantage of Changbin’s distraction. The alpha delivers a swift, yet heavy hit against his wounded shoulder while the beta goes for his legs. Similar to Dahyun, they manage to pin Changbin to the forest floor. For a moment, you almost believe the fight has concluded in your team’s favor—but the tides shift. In the blink of an eye, Chan is impaled with a large jagged branch and sent tumbling into some foliage whereas Yugyeom is dealt punch after strike after kick, unable to escape the barrage of Changbin’s wrath. He eventually, like the former two, collapses to the earth and makes no move to rise. 

Changbin cracks his neck before stalking toward where you and your companion stand. 

“Mark—” 

“I got it!” Mark quickly feeds another couple shells into the shotgun barrel, cocks the weapon, then aims down sight. He manages to sink a bullet into your target’s abdomen, followed by another in his bicep, but Changbin merely releases an annoyed snarl and continues charging forward. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—(Y/N), move!” You leap out of the way just in time to avoid a powerful strike. Changbin’s hand splinters the trunk of the tree, sending pieces of bark in every direction. A particular shard catches the bridge of your nose, causing blood to warmly cascade down your skin. You quickly wipe the liquid from your right eye, ignoring the nausea fluttering inside your gut, before focusing back on the situation at hand. 

You look up in time to watch Mark swing his shotgun harshly against Changbin’s skull. Taking advantage of his disorientation, you rush forward to stab your pocket knife into the wolf’s back. Changbin practically roars in fury, angling backward to land a hit to your face before you have time to react. The force of his strike throws you to the ground, a sharp pain lingering in your left cheek. 

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Mark throws himself against Changbin, delivering hit after hit to anything and anywhere. Still, Mark’s human strength does little to outbeat the dark wolf, and you watch in horror as Changbin effortlessly pins the witch against his chest with a bloody hand around his throat.  You desperately search for something, anything, in hopes of saving Mark from whatever deadly fate awaits Changbin’s bloodlust, but fate doesn’t seem to be on your side.

“Changbin—please don’t do this!” You cry, praying to some type of deity that the wolf is sane enough to understand your words. Even so, your confidence is low, seeing as talking clearly had no effect during your last encounter, but you’re fresh out of options at this point. “You know this isn’t who you are!” 

To your surprise, Changbin actually answers, “You don’t know anything about me.” 

“Maybe not, but I know you don’t actually want to hurt anyone…” You cautiously rise to your feet with a shake of your head, wary of the tight hold Changbin currently has on Mark’s jugular. “Your thoughts are all sorts of fucked up right now because of the dark magic, so why don’t you just let Mark go and we can—” 

“Don’t you fucking get it! This fucker—” He yanks at Mark with more force than necessary, “—took everything from me! He took my pack, my alpha—the only people I ever felt safe with!” 

“I understand you—” 

“No, you don’t!” Changbin wails, “You can’t even imagine how I feel! How fucking hard it is to wake up in a world you know you’ll never belong! How much it fucking hurts just to go on and pretend like everything’s normal when it’s fucking not!” 

“Tell him it’s okay to feel angry—” You whirl your head around to find a seemingly exhausted, yet wild-eyed Jackson Wang at your side. “—but none of this was Mark’s fault.” 

You’re mortified at first, having never encountered the ghost anywhere outside your bedroom—but whether it’s the desperation etched along his features, or the flush of purple that overtakes Mark’s complexion—you quickly transfer back to reality: 

“Changbin, it’s perfectly normal to feel angry and cheated, but this wasn’t Mark’s fault—deep down, I think you know that.”

“What does it fucking matter anymore? I’m all alone anyways.” The pure agony etched along his face has your heart splitting in two. 

You’ve never seen a creature so strong and so powerful look so… vulnerable. 

“You said the exact same thing to me when we first met…” Jackson murmurs softly.

“You told Jackson you were alone at one point too…” 

An obvious wave of tense silence washes through the forest, making the beat of your heart that much more prominent in your ears. 

Changbin’s whisper is dark—dangerous. “How the fuck do you know that?” 

“Because… Because he’s here, Changbin.” You say, your eyes meeting Mark’s as the words leave your tongue. “You’re not alone because Jackson is still here.” 

You don’t know what kind of reaction you expected from your revelation, but it certainly is not the heinous laughter that spills from the dark wolf’s lips. 

“You must have lost your goddamn mind… Jackson-hyung is dead!” 

“Maybe physically, but his spirit still remains.” 

“You mean—” You turn to discover a bewildered Yugyeom unsteadily leaning against a tree, “—his… ghost? You—You can see his ghost?” 

You nod.   

Changbin sneers with a low growl. “I don’t fucking believe you.” 

“There’s a cliffside back along the bay about twenty miles from the lodge,” Jackson begins, his tone a blend of nostalgic and sorrowful. “Changbin and I used to go there to watch the full moon rise before we turned into our wolf forms… I-I’ve missed that so much…” 

“You and Jackson would always watch the full moon rise on a cliff overlooking the bay before you transitioned,” You repeat. “He says he misses those moments with you…”

“Stop it!” Changbin frantically shakes his head, “You’re lying!” 

“He’s here, Changbin… He’s really here.” You move forward again, more confidently this time, and raise your hands in a sympathetic gesture. “And the last thing he wants is for you to make the same mistakes he did, so please—let Mark go and let us help you…” 

It’s as if time freezes for a moment. Changbin seems to fight a battle with himself—countless emotions rushing through his teary eyes. You watch the dark wolf glance toward an unconscious Dahyun and Chan, then to a silent Yugyeom, before finally setting his focus back to you. You can only pray your face reflects the hope swirling throughout your veins—pray that Changbin will do the right thing. 

To your delight, the blackness of his veins gradually begin to fade and the sharp claws protruding from his fingertips recede. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until Changbin finally retracts his hold from Mark’s neck. You’re quick to take the unsteady witch in your own arms before sending the now normal wolf a thankful smile. 

“Thank you, Changbin…” 

He nods shyly before wiping a couple tears from his cheeks. You watch as Yugyeom cautiously makes his way toward the younger boy, murmurs something, then tugs the latter into a tight embrace that pulls even more liquid sadness from his eyes. The sight has your heart melting into a puddle of warmth—the emotion doesn’t last though, not when Mark’s dark croak enters your ears:

“You… can see Jackson…” 

You shrug sheepishly, “I wanted to tell you, but he said not to… He didn’t want to hurt you anymore than he already had.” 

Mark remains silent. You try to search for his features for some kind of anger or disappointment, but are only awarded with his surface level blank stare. Worry flooding through your veins, you look to Jackson for any possible guidance, but the ghost merely shakes his head. 

After a couple tense seconds or so, Mark finally murmurs, “Jack… I—I’m so sorry. For everything.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Jackson says immediately, “If only I had listened to you, then maybe things would have played out different.” 

“He says it wasn’t your fault—he should have listened to you.”

“We both made some pretty shitty mistakes.” Mark hums, “I miss you, man. So fucking much.” 

You don’t wait for Jackson to reply, already knowing his answer. 

“He misses you too, Mark. Just as much.”

“How is this even possible…?” You and Mark turn to find the shocked gaze of Yugyeom, who is closely followed by the despair of that belonging to Changbin. “Supernaturals can’t even see spirits, much less mortals…” 

“We never exactly figured that out. Jackson said he felt drawn to me from the Other Side—he kind of just showed up in my bedroom the night after Mina and Momo died.” 

“Any contact with the dead usually requires some sort of spell or medium.” Mark bites his lip in confusion. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, not even in any of my mother’s grimoires—”

“Jackson!” Your body grows rigid as Jackson suddenly collapses to the ground with a pained groan. You hurry forward, kneeling next to the man, and reach for his shoulder. The realization of his phantom existence hits you like a bag of bricks when your fingers phase through his form. You settle for calling his name again instead, “Jackson—what’s wrong?” 

“What the hell is going on?” You hear Changbin stress from somewhere behind you, but your focus is completely on the ghost in question. 

Jackson lifts his head with a gasp, revealing a line of blood dripping from his nose. “I-It’s the witches!... They know about our plans—they’re trying to force me back to the Other Side—”

“(Y/N)?” 

You shake your head feverishly, “It’s, uh, it’s the witches on the Other Side—they don’t like Jackson crossing over, so they’re trying to bring him back…” 

Mark nods. “Witches, dead or alive, will do anything to maintain the balance of nature.” 

“(Y/N)—shit—I don’t have a lot of time—” Your chest tightens at the urgency behind Jackson’s words. “I know so much just went down, but—” 

“Don’t worry, Jack. I won’t let you disappear again.” You affirm before climbing to your feet to face your new subject of interest. “Mark—I need you to perform the resurrection spell.” 

“Woah, wait—” Mark shakes his head, “(Y/N), I can’ t—” 

“If we don’t resurrect him now, then Jackson is gone forever!” Your warning spreads a new tension across the atmosphere, manifesting in the form of sullen and panicked expressions. “Please, Mark—we have a chance to bring him back!” 

“I can’t do the spell because I don’t have any magic…” Your heart sinks at Mark’s revelation. “Minho absorbed all my magical energy back at the graveyard… I’m so sorry, Jackson…” 

“Hold on, you told me that there’s different types of magic…” You push, “Can’t you draw energy from something? Like the forest, or the moon, or, or—”

“Or me.” You turn, discovering the speaker of the response to be none other than a determined Changbin. “Minho-hyung’s spell may be gone, but I can still feel the magical energy lingering through my body.” 

Mark hesitates, “I-I don’t know if it will work… and if something goes wrong—” 

“Do you want Jackson-hyung back or not?...” 

A moment of silence passes after Changbin’s question. You keep an eye on a repeatedly wincing Jackson, and the other on the witch’s face, attempting to decipher his thoughts inside the glow of his gaze. For a moment, you wonder if Mark will even provide an answer, until the words finally leave his lips: 

“Fuck the balance of nature. I’ll bring you back, Jackson—I promise.” 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jinyoung stares at the sun as it gradually rises past the horizon, bathing his skin in a warm, celebratory light. His gaze wavers across the cemetery to the notorious mausoleum, where he watches Lia and Jisung carefully assist a barely conscious Youngjae past the doorway. After this crazy night, the siphoner definitely deserves a good, long rest. Then again, so does everyone else. 

He releases a heavy sigh before shifting away from the witch trio. After sparing one final glance to the sunrise, Jinyoung allows his feet to carry him through the early morning glow, past countless tombstones and other structures, and settles beside a second figure in front of a particular burial site. He silently reads the engravings along the headstone before addressing his companion without so much as a glimpse: 

“I assumed you would be halfway back to the bunker by now.” 

Jaebeom doesn’t respond, not that Jinyoung really expects him to. He peers at the hybrid through the corner of his eye, attempting to seek meaning beyond his blank features. Centuries later, Jinyoung still can’t predict the workings of Jaebeom’s inner thoughts. Especially when it comes to the situation at hand. 

“Mark called. Changbin is no longer affected by Minho’s spell.” He explains, “They’re also preparing a ritual to resurrect Jackson Wang—” 

“Tzuyu…?” 

Jinyoung’s chest tightens as the name falls from Jaebeom’s lips. 

“Their youngest, Ryujin, is looking after both her and Felix.”

“So she’s still alive…?” 

“It seems so.” 

A brief moment of silence passes between the pair. The earth grows brighter and brighter as the seconds roll by, reminding Jinyoung that time is a friend to no one. 

“Hyung, did you… truly switch off your humanity?” 

“I did, at first.” Jaebeom’s answer is quiet, and Jinyoung can detect the subtle hint of vulnerability hidden beneath his gruff tone. “But I guess I can never completely turn it off.” 

“It’s alright to feel, hyung—be it anger… or passion… or fear…” 

Jinyoung notices Jaebeom shift uncomfortably before glancing down at the glass vial in the palm of his hand. For once, he can actually distinguish the emotions present within the hybrid’s dark eyes. The knowledge only jabs at his heart. 

“Everything is taken care of, right?” 

“The night has ended, and Minho is safely sealed away in the crypt.” Jinyoung nods, “We live to see another day.”

He watches his companion tuck the precious vial into the pocket of his jeans before turning away from the headstone. Jinyoung is not sure where the urge comes from, but he abandons his perch, grabbing Jaebeom’s shoulder before he can leave the cemetery. He ignores the hybrid’s confused expression and pulls him into a tight embrace. 

“Thank you for staying, hyung…” Jinyoung’s murmur is slightly muffled against the fabric of his jacket, but he knows his companion heard them loud and clear. 

Jaebeom hesitates for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sudden act, but eventually winds his arms loosely around Jinyoung’s back with a gentle murmur of his own:

“You will always be my family, Jinyoung… Always and forever…”  

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I’ve never used magic like this before, so I can’t promise this will work.” Mark glances to where he assumes Jackson’s spirit is located inside the white circle makeshifted out of a bag of flour Dahyun managed to find in a bunker cabinet, before glancing to the companion at his side. “You sure you’re up for this? It’ll feel like I’m literally sucking the life force out of your body…” 

Changbin nods, “If it means bringing Jackson-hyung back.” 

“Okay, then.” Mark turns to the surrounding crowd next, “In order to do this, I’ll need to lower the veil to the Other Side. This will create a temporary door that Jackson can pass through to physically enter our realm. Once he crosses over, he should become mortal again.” 

“Seems easy enough.” Dahyun snickers, although the sound is dry and forced. “Anything else we need to know?” 

“Whatever happens, do not enter the circle.” His eyes drift from the she-wolf to your silent form. As if sensing the scrutiny, your gaze connects with his own, and knowing he has your attention, Mark continues in a darker tone, “Just as spirits can pass into our realm, we can cross to the Other Side… so for the love of god, don’t do anything stupid.”

Your and Mark’s staring contest ceases when your head snapes toward the circle. Seconds later, you break the tense silence with a soft murmur, “Jackson says it’s getting worse. He can feel the witches trying to drag him back.” 

“Then I guess that’s our cue.” He sighs before nodding toward the circle one last time, “I’m gonna do my best, Jack. Just hold on.” 

With one final glance to the grimoire you gave him earlier, Mark inhales a deep breath and takes Changbin’s outstretched hand into his own. He closes his eyes, focusing every part of his brain on the electrifying sensation of the magical energy coursing through the wolf’s body. Bit by bit, he feels Changbin’s power bleeding into his own veins, awakening the slumbering supernatural nature of his soul. Once he’s sure enough he’s acquired enough magic, Mark opens his eyes and begins the incantation: 

“Vita mortem, mortem vita est… Partis inferioris velum, partis inferioris ante illum vetum…” Almost instantly, the wind picks up while the air grows uncomfortably cold. He ignores the violent shivers wracking through his limbs and proceeds to repeat the words as the temperature continues to drop. With each spoken syllable, Mark’s head becomes dizzy and his flesh feels as if it’s being scorched off, but he continues. 

No amount of pain could ever dull the hope of seeing his best friend alive once more.

“Holy shit—it’s actually working!” 

Mark doesn’t realize he had shut his eyes until he opens them, nearly yelping in delight when he discovers the image of said friend standing in the center of the white circle. Jackson looks no different than the day he last saw him, and he can’t decide if he wants to laugh out of irony or burst into tears. 

“The veil is down! I’m gonna start the spell to cross you over!” Mark yells over the howling of the wind, clutching Changbin’s hand tighter as he transitions to the next phase of the spell. “Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet ohnaz eespalit… Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet—fuck!” 

A brutal force comes down against his head, almost resembling that of a punch, before spreading hot fire down his neck and to the rest of his body. Mark doubles over with a wheeze, attempting to fight against the painful sensations by grounding himself in Changbin’s touch. However, as soon as the first wave concludes, a second, even more excruciating one follows. He feels as if someone is trying to crush his brain—to kill him from the inside out. 

“Mark-hyung! What’s wrong!?” 

“It’s the witches!...” Mark is thankful that Jackson answers Yugyeom’s panicked inquiry, “They’re trying to break the spell!” 

“Like… hell they will…” Mark hisses, righting himself with a pained groan before grabbing Changbin’s other hand. “I’m not going down without a fight—hold on!...” 

He jumps back into the spell, weakening the manipulated pain through the absorption of more of the wolf’s energy. Borderline high off the power, he pushes everything he has into the ritual, determined to see it through to the end. After a minute that passes like a decade, Mark detects a shift in the atmosphere, indicating the near completion of the spell, and shouts: 

“Jackson—get out of the circle! Get out now!” 

As if in slow motion, Mark watches Jackson quickly move to escape the white border. But just as soon as his toe brushes the edge, he is wrenched away and lifted from the ground. 

Dahyun cries, “What the hell is happening!?”

“They won’t let me cross over!” Jackson squirms and writhes, attempting to escape whatever invisible grip is holding him hostage. His efforts are futile, and he continues to rise higher and higher off of the ground. 

“Hang on, Jack!” Mark releases Changbin’s hands and raises his own palms in Jackson’s direction. However, the same torturous pain from before returns once more, hitting his nerves like a sledgehammer to a brick wall, and throws him to the earth. “Shit—no! H-He has to pass through the circle!” 

“(Y/N)! Don’t!” 

Mark raises his gaze at Dahyun’s shriek, only to watch in horror as you rush past the flour boundary and grab hold of Jackson’s hand. A blinding light immediately erupts from your clasped palms, expanding through the area until all Mark can see is white. 

After a long moment, his vision eventually returns, and he finds the forest completely silent. The temperature is no longer frigid, he notices, and the strain within his brain is gone. For a moment, Mark is filled with prowess, victorious at the fact he successfully carried out an ancient resurrection ritual, however, his triumph is temporary, especially when he notices your form laid motionless in Dahyun’s arms. 

“(Y/N)—fuck!” Mark hurries to where you lay, stealing your figure from the she-wolf to cradle you in his own hold. “Shit, shit, shit—she’s not breathing! Fucking goddamnit!” 

His panic only grows tenfold when he hears the murmur cascade from Dahyun’s lips: 

“Mark�� where’s Jackson?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jaebeom scales the final rung of the ladder before making his way toward the corner where the snoozing trio resides. He moves cautiously, mindful not to awaken the young werewolf caretaker, yet eventually finds himself perched on the edge of a familiar cot. His heart thunders inside his chest, and he cannot tell if it’s out of anxiety or hope. Though at this moment, Jaebeom can really care less to find out. 

“It’s about time you showed up…” He winces at the broken husk of his companion’s voice, attempting to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “I thought you were actually going to leave me to die in the hands of a neurotic teenage wolf…” 

Jaebeom doesn’t respond to her quip—he can’t find it in himself to do so. 

Tzuyu raises an eyebrow, “What’s with the face? Did you take down the witch or not?” 

“We did.” He hums, “The spell is broken.”

“Good thing—” The vampire pauses to cough, and the sound is like broken glass against his ears. “—you and your brother are safe for the eternity to come.” 

“Tzuyu… I found the cure.” 

“What are you waiting for then? My consent?” She snickers playfully, “We fuck for over a century and this is the most gentlemanly behavior I’ve ever seen from you, Beomie.”

Again, Jaebeom remains silent. 

Recognizing the obvious tension in the room, Tzuyu’s face falls. “But… I guess it’s more complicated than that, hm?” 

“There’s only enough for…” He’s unable to finish his sentence, not when his companion’s eyes are gazing at him with such sullenness and sympathy. Jaebeom has to look away for a moment, though the action does little to relieve the tightness of his chest. 

“Ah, I see.” Tzuyu hums, glancing across the way to a slumbering Felix. Her pale lips twitch, as if attempting to upturn to a smile, but it instead appears as a weak grimace. “You know, I really never meant to hurt (Y/N)… or you.” 

“Tzuyu—”

“I’ve known you for decades… but I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you look at her.” Another violent cough wracks through her body, expelling a mass of dark blood past her lips. Jaebeom is quick to wipe the splotch from her skin with the blanket, trying not to dwell on the fact that her skin is ice cold. “I’ll admit, I was jealous at first… I’ve always wanted someone to look at me like that… 

“I know you’re afraid to care—to love, Jaebeom.” Tzuyu murmurs sadly, lifting a hand to rest against the hybrid’s cheek. “Especially someone like (Y/N)… and you’re right to. She’s too good… too human. 

“One misstep and you could lose her forever.” 

“I want to be selfish…” Jaebeom whispers, “I want to be selfish so fucking bad—”

“But you can’t be, Beom. Not with her.” 

“Then let me be selfish with you.” 

Tzuyu smiles. 

“I’ve lived over three lifetimes, and he is barely a ways into his one—so you’re going to give the cure to that damn kid, Im Jaebeom.” He leans further into her touch as she caresses the apple of his cheek. “Promise me that you’ll stay away from her—to keep her safe?”

He nods.

“Good… Can you hold me for a moment? I’m cold.” 

“I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.” 

And so Jaebeom takes Tzuyu into his arms. However, it’s not until the vampire grows still does he allow a single tear to cascade from his eye, staining the bloodied bed sheets with the agony of a heart that has been broken too many times to count.

[blahkugo]

Biggest Fan

DABI x HAWKS x READER

Music! AU inspired by THIS photo set...or, the one in which Dabi, Hawks, & Endeavor are a famous rap group, and the reader gets VIP treatment. 

NSFW begins after the ~~~ for those of you who don’t care for plot! 

Warnings: 18+!, SMUT, cursing, threesome, rough sex (? not sure what your definitions of the word are but they do be slapping you around…), just pure filth basically 

You’ve been squealing into the phone for the past ten minutes. Honestly, you can’t believe the words coming from your best friend’s mouth, even after asking her to repeat them a fourth time. 

“Babe, even if you weren’t my agent, I would have found a way to get you in,” Rumi scoffs into the speaker, unphased by your relentless questioning. Though she’s always been a bit impatient when it comes to your antics, she knows how big of a deal this is to you. “How could I not? You talk my ear off about them.”

“I owe you for the next thirty years!” Your screech turns the heads of a few other customers, and you can feel the irritation radiating off the glare of one particularly peeved woman seated near you. But who cares? You’re too excited for a few middle-aged drags to dampen your mood. 

“Remember what you just said the next time I try to skip out on an interview,” her laugh echoes loudly; she must be at the studio.

“Yes! Whatever you want, Twinkle Toes. It’s yours!” She begins to grumble at the use of the old nickname,

“How many times have I told you not to-” You catch the scowling woman turning towards you.

“Got-to-go-text-me-the-details, love you!” The parting phrase comes out a hurried ramble. Unbothered as you are by a few stares, direct confrontation definitely isn’t worth the trouble. You’re out of the bistro and in your car before anyone can open their mouth. 

The cup of iced coffee you press to your flushed face does nothing to curb the elation threatening to bubble over from inside you. Rumi really has outdone herself this time. Being that she’s both a long-time best friend and client of yours, you know just how hard she’s been working to book a job of this caliber. Images of the two of you icing sore feet after hours of grueling practices spring to mind, making your bad ankle throb. If you could tell your younger selves who they are now— an internationally acclaimed dancer and a talent manager with a novel’s worth of influential clients— they wouldn’t believe it. And the work was paying off in more ways than one. Soon, Rumi will be making her music video debut...and you’ll actually be in the presence of your favorite artists, Suns of Icarus. 

The rap trio’s been all you can talk about forever. No, like really, forever. Even back at arts school, Rumi had to talk you out of choreographing dances to their music practically once a week. You can still hear her promising you that your 70 year-old ballet instructor did not, in fact, want to see you pirouette to a song that's chorus consists of Hawks saying the word “pussy” over and over again. Usually the memory would drown you in embarrassment (especially considering the story is Rumi’s favorite icebreaker), but now even that can’t hamper your mood. You sigh cheerily, pulling into your reserved parking space. Tomorrow, you’ll be surrounded by your idols.

-

“Are you sure I look okay?” You ask for the third time in an hour, tugging at the hem of your silk tank. Though you’re wearing your favorite suit, you can’t help but feel out of place in the large dressing trailer. After all, it’s  not every day that you accompany your clients on their gigs. Your job is getting them the gigs, and usually you prefer it that way.

“(Y/N), quit stressing! If you looked any hotter the guys would have a heart attack,” your best friend bellows loudly. “Doesn’t she look smokin’?” She questions the hairdresser who, apart from a nod and reassuring smile, you can’t quite understand over the sound of the blow dryer. “Who’s the bad bitch that got me this job in the first place? Oh right, that was you,” she pumps a manicured finger towards you to echo the claim, “so woman up!” 

She doesn’t put her finger down until she sees your face soften. It’s not like she’s wrong. “Professional smooth-talker” is basically your job description. In Hollywood people are afraid of you, the woman who can make or break a career. Who are you to let a couple of talents get you riled up? You allow your body to relax in your seat. Even if those talents are the group of boys that you’ve been crushing on since you were 16. Recalling that fact has you scrambling out of the trailer, face beet-red yet again.

“I’m going to grab something from the coffee cart. Be right back!” The door shuts behind you with a loud thud. Rumi should be spending this time going over the routine, not talking you down from the ledge you’re attempting to throw yourself off of over a few stupid guys. Besides, you’ll probably receive a polite greeting at best. The world’s favorite musicians have more important things to do than indulge your fantasies. 

Having iced coffee and a bagel in your hands is all you need to feel the tension in your shoulders dissipate and your smile return; truly a working woman’s comfort meal. The spring in your step is restored as you walk back to the trailer, too entranced by the savory goodness to properly hear the voice that hollers from your right. You do, however, hear the scolding that follows the catcall,

“How many times have I told you not to hit on people that work for us, birdbrain.” Your entire body swings towards the familiar nickname and a piece of bagel nearly falls from your mouth. Not even a few feet away, Dabi holds your favorite vocalist in a one-handed headlock, attempting to ruffle the blonde’s hair while keeping a cigarette balanced between his own fingertips. 

“Not the hair, man! The stylist’s already had to touch it up twice today!” Hawks’ shrieks are muffled beneath the bicep of his counterpart. 

“Go apologize,” The lanky man shoves Hawks towards the spot your feet are now cemented to. Though he’s reprimanding him, you swear you detect a hint of amusement in his tattooed face. “I’m sorry about him, sweetheart,” he calls, lips contorting into a smirk that should be illegal. You feel your thighs press together on their own; the situation isn’t made any better by the pretty boy walking towards you, hands threading through his golden locks in an effort to fix the havoc Dabi wrought. 

“My bad,” he flashes you an award-winning set of teeth you’ve previously only had the pleasure of viewing through your laptop screen; somehow they’re even pearlier in person. The glimmer of a tiny gem catches your eye and you notice one is sealed to his canine, only dazzling you further. “I meant what I said though, you’re gorgeous,” his hand moves from his own hair to twist a piece of yours between his fingertips. The lack of boundaries leaves you feeling stupefied, but he doesn’t let up, going as far as wrapping the lock around his polished index finger. God, even his hands are pretty...What if they were trailing the inside of your thigh and—  Your mind shouts at you to behave, a fruitless undertaking when the object of your adolescent desires is touching you ever-so softly. 

“Um- I- Thank you?” The stuttered phrase comes out confused. Where the hell is the professional smooth-talker side of you when you need her? “I’m Rumi’s agent and uh- I-I’m a big fan!” Heat blazes through your face and chest; you’d slap yourself for the outburst if they weren’t here. 

“Oh, really? She told us all about you!” He waves a hand towards Dabi. “Oi! Matches! She’s not an assistant, she’s Rumi’s manager!” The gloomier man extinguishes his cigarette before making his way towards the two of you, smug expression wavering only when he glances at Hawks. A short wheeze leaves the blonde when his chest is smacked lightly by his partner. 

“I told you not to call me that.” Dabi turns his attention towards you. “(Y/N), right?” He sticks a hand out to shake and you quite literally drop the remains of the bagel to reciprocate the motion, a move that makes you redden and him snicker. “Rumi told us you’re our biggest fan,” his sly grin tells you your loud-mouthed best friend had probably spilled too much information their way. Oh, she’s definitely going to get an earful later. 

He doesn’t drop eye contact the entire time he’s speaking to you, and you find yourself enchanted by the deep sea-blue of his irises. You would literally swim in those pools if given the chance. Only when Hawks clears his throat do you realize you’re still shaking his friend’s inked hand. After dropping it rapidly, you urge yourself into composure out of pure distress. 

“Sorry, I’m honestly a bit starstruck. I’m sure Rumi told you how much I love your music,” you finally sound a bit like your usual self. 

“She didn’t really mention our music, did she Matches?” Hawks chirps, dodging Dabi’s fist this time.

“No, I don’t think she did, dipshit,” he spits the insult through gritted teeth as a final warning. “But I do remember her telling us something about being your first two crushes...or was it your ‘sexual awakening’? I can’t really remember the term she used…” Your knees almost buckle at the obvious teasing, and you silently swear to murder Rumi when she’s done shooting this video. It’s evident that the mockery is highly amusing to them— the glints in their eyes border on ravenous. 

Because you’re not typically someone whose presence is taken lightly, the thought of being toyed with by a few arrogant men has your blood boiling. You’ve already dealt with too many pretentious assholes who don’t believe women, especially younger ones, belong in management; you didn’t claw your way to the top of the industry for all of that hardship to go to waste. Ever the more perceptive of the duo, Dabi seems to realize the shift in your mood. 

“Relax,” he reaches a hand towards you before thinking better of it, choosing instead to tug at the thin, silver piercing adorning his bottom lip. “We’re only teasing. She didn’t say anything like that, obviously.” You stare at him incredulously, arms crossing your chest. “Why don’t we give you a tour?” Though he’s the one who makes the offer, it sounds as though he’d rather be doing anything else. 

“We’re not really assholes, promise,” Hawks jumps in, crossing his fingers over his heart in a show of good faith. “This one just gets too big headed around beautiful women,” he points at the heavily-inked man, who simply rolls his eyes at the accusation. You’d thought the blonde was…well, nothing more than the stereotype his hair color implied, but he’s sharper than he seems. It appears that unlike Dabi, who comes off curt and ungenuine, Hawks’ wit stems from his charm. 

You can’t help but think of how the two of them compliment each other beautifully. That’s probably why their entire fanbase thinks they should be dating. With that ludicrous thought, your exuberance returns. After Hawks assures you they don’t have to be on set any time soon, you find yourself taking them up on their offer. They seem to be a handful, sure, but how long have you dreamt of spending uninterrupted time with your favorite members of the group? Besides, it’s only a tour. What could go wrong?

-

It’s apparent only five minutes into your time together that Hawks (despite his insistence you call him Kiego, it’s difficult after years of referring to him by the stage name) does not know the meaning of personal space. He spends the better part of the tour hooking an arm through yours, touching your hair, or pestering Dabi. While some may take this over-familiarity as a sign of disrespect, it feels more to you as though he’s simply comfortable in his skin. 

Rude or not, his bold actions do nothing but spur your heart to beat out of your chest. Every time he guides you towards an attraction with a cheerful comment, you swear his fingers purposefully dash under your layers of clothing, brushing faintly at the skin of your waist in a way that makes your heart (among other parts) flutter.  

“And as I’m sure you know, we’re filming this music video mid-tour,” his hand flits away as swiftly as it skimmed you, prolonging the torture of wondering whether his movements are purposeful or a figment of your twisted imagination. After showing you most of the fabricated scenery— and even the gorgeous, cherry-red convertible that was rented— for the video, you’ve arrived at the group’s infamous tour bus. You once read that most of their concerts end with the vehicle being mobbed by ruthless fans, one of the sole reasons you’ve never attended a show. Someone as busy as you doesn’t have time for all the horrid traffic the mobs cause. “Wanna see inside? It’s actually pretty roomy.” 

You nod, eyes trailing towards Dabi, who’s busy stomping out the most recent cig he’d been puffing on. Aside from the occasional chuckle at your flustered blunders or annoyed curse thrown towards Hawks, the taller man had kept mostly to himself. His indifference confuses you, makes you wish you hadn’t reacted so bitterly to the loose smile and banter he offered you upon first meeting. At the same time, part of you is irritated by his standoffish personality. From what you’ve seen so far, his remarks serve the single purpose of humiliating others for his own amusement— a stark contrast to the misjudged softy he’s portrayed as on camera. 

You’re guided onto the bus and Dabi follows, cursing under his breath at something or other. Sociable as he is, Hawks begins to chatter again, seeing no issue in being the center of your attention. You realize the space is much roomier than it seems. State of the art technology allows the bunk beds to fold back with a press of the button, leaving room for a decently sized couch. It’s also much cleaner than you would expect three young men living on the road to allow. 

“And the lowest one was my bunk, just in case you’d like to see it again later,” he whispers the sentence as though it’s his best kept secret, wagging his thick brows exaggeratedly to key you in on his joke. “Hey, why are you laughing? I’m totally seriou–” The doors swivel open and your giggles are cut off by heavy footsteps and a booming voice,

“Oi! Keigo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You have to crane your neck to see the pillar of a man’s scrunched, stoic face. Endeavor, the pyrotechnic-obsessed “hype man” and third part of Suns of Icarus’s trio, stands a few feet from you, clearly exasperated by something his bandmate has done. Hawks must know precisely the reason for the bottle-redhead’s tone, because his face pales. 

“Enji, we made a new friend!” He pulls you into his chest in an obvious attempt to shield himself from the giant, but your face heats at the close contact regardless. 

“You were supposed to be on set for your solo scenes ten minutes ago,” he crosses his sculpted arms, “so let’s go.” The lively man is being whisked away by the larger one before he can utter a word of rebuttal. “Nice to meet you,” he calls casually to you over his shoulder. 

“Dabi, keep (Y/N) company! I’ll be back!” Hawks shrieks with a dramatic flare. The man was truly born to be an entertainer. 

An unbearable awkwardness envelops the two of you once you’re alone. Without his best friend around, Dabi drops any semblance of amiability, but it’s not as if he was trying very hard before. He plops down on the couch and pulls out his phone. You sit as far away from him as possible, but realize you don’t have your own device to keep you busy. After a few nervous minutes of twiddling your thumbs, you attempt to break the silence.

“So, Haw– Keigo and Endeavor use stage names, why don’t you?” You spout the first question that comes to mind, hoping it’ll spark an interesting conversation.

“Dabi is my stage name,” he answers curtly, without looking up from his cell. 

“Oh...but– even your bandmates call you by it?” 

“Yep. Don’t care for my real name,” his eye roll sends ice through your veins.

“Excuse me,” you snap, “have I done something to offend you?” The frustration in your tone wins you eye contact, at least. 

“Nope.”

“Unbelievable….I’m going to need your publicist’s information.” 

“Huh?”

“Well, anyone who can make you seem like the world’s most ‘misunderstood heartthrob’ on camera certainly deserves a pay raise, dontcha’ think?” His eyes drop to send a steely glare your way, but you’re too fed up to feel intimidated. You smirk at him, a single eyebrow raised in twisted satisfaction. There’s the bitchy self you know and love. 

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” he sits up, “but I know everything I need to know about you.” 

“Oh? Enlighten me then, sir.” 

~~~

“You may think Keigo likes you, but he likes everyone. You’re, what, thinking you’re special because he’s throwing some attention your way?” Dabi inches closer. “Hoping he’ll get in your panties?” 

“It’s not like that at all–”

“Don’t lie. The idea of being with someone you’ve idolized for years is thrilling, isn’t it?” The heat that rises on your cheeks is enough to confirm his suspicions. “He doesn’t like to see people for who they really are, but I know your type...just another tramp that’ll use him and move onto the next,” his smug expression returns after that little rant. Paired with the tattoos covering most of his face, he appears every bit as wicked as the skeleton his ink emulates— devilish, even. 

“You’re wrong.” You can’t think of a proper argument when he’s so close to you, basically breathing down your neck. 

“Am I?” His hand trails up your clothed thigh, and an unwelcome shiver crawls up your spine. “So you’re going to stop me when I do this, right?” Then, he kisses you. 

It’s not at all soft, or compassionate, or anything resembling your naive teenage fantasies of the artist in the slightest. Rough, slender fingers wrap around your jaw and yank your lips to his. He doesn’t stop at a peck either, choosing instead to assail your mouth with all of his pent-up rage. The cool, hard metal of his lip ring strains against you, a pleasant contrast to the quick heat traveling the rest of your body. You want nothing more than to prove him wrong— to throw him off you, tell him to go straight to hell— but he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and- God, it just feels so good. Your mouth parts in a breathless moan and Dabi takes the reaction as an invitation to swipe his tongue against your teeth. With your bodies melding together violently, the make out feels simply a continuation of the intense argument you were having moments before. 

Pulling you between his lap, he shifts you so that your back is flush across his chest. Nimble fingers make quick work of your clothes. You just barely raise your hips so that he’s able to take your pants off with ease, but you’re sure he notices the eager movement. When you’re left in nothing but your panties, you feel the rumbling of his solid body behind you as he laughs, the sound bitter and pleased all at once.

“Oh you really are a whore,” he chides. “Who’d you wear these for, hm?” He runs his fingers across the band of your red lace thong. 

“Not you,” you bite back, feigning disinterest towards the dangerous position he has you in. The asshole’s not going to get to actually hear you admit defeat so easily. One of his hands kneads your chest and the other grabs your cheeks harshly, pushing them together so that you’re unable to speak.

“Not me? Take a good look at yourself, sweetheart.”  He lifts your head upwards and your breath hitches; the entire ceiling of the bus is covered in a dark, reflective surface. “Who has you naked in their lap right now?” he whispers onto your neck, licking a long stripe upwards until his teeth graze your ear. You watch fervently as he strokes his digits across one of your perked nipples, tweaking the bud roughly. “Who are you being such a slut for?” He’s aware he won’t get a response because his left hand still grips your face, demanding you watch his every move. 

Dabi then snakes his fingers down your midriff tortuously slowly, brushing lightly in a way he hasn’t touched you yet; as if the skin there is delicate, worthy of his valuable adoration. The ink traveling his arms makes him appear so ethereal, so sinister and compelling, that you can’t help but let out a muffled mewl. Once he reaches your panties, his fingers dart beneath the material and the tender moment is lost. An onslaught of pleasure wracks your body when he begins to draw quick circles on your clit. He lets go of your cheeks, now sore and reddened from both pressure and bliss. 

“I’m going to ask one more fucking time,” his fingers glide against your soaked slit, “who are you being such a dirty slut for?” You contemplate not giving him the answer he’s looking for, and part of you is sinfully curious about what may happen if you enrage him further; however, that idea is put to rest immediately when he snaps his head up to look at you through the mirror, blue eyes pooling with lust and a hint of something animalistic. That stare, paired with the relentless strokes across your clit, provokes your moaned answer,

“F-for you, Dabi.” He uses his free hand to insert two, thick digits inside you.

“Say it again.” 

“I’m- fuck– a s-slut for you,” you practically sob out. You press the back of your head into his shoulder harder, squeezing your eyes closed and biting your lip. 

“Not going to keep your eyes open? Fine.”  The fingers are removed from your clit and you’re about to let out an unsatisfied whine, only for him to grab the back of your head and mash your swollen lips to his once again. Then, after another brief caress of your abdomen, he’s back to touching your sensitive bud. All of your moans are silenced by his mouth, and you feel the vibrations of a low groan from his own throat when your ass grinds against his clothed member. When your stomach pulls taut you know you’re seconds away from feeling that all-encompassing pleasure, the tidings of an orgasm so close to washing over you. 

“Oi, Matches! You didn’t throw her out did you?” Hearing Hawks’ voice call out from the front of the bus has you reeling your lips away from Dabi, and though he slows his movements, he doesn’t remove his fingers from your core. Rather than push you away, he takes the other hand off your clit to hold you tightly against him. “(Y/N)? Dab–”

For a few seconds, the only sound you can hear is your own heart beating out of your chest. Takami takes in the scene in front of him— your bare body splayed across his best friend in the lewdest of positions. You know your face is blooming in embarrassment as you wait for a reaction, for his face to drop in disappointment, anger, anything. Instead, he smirks. 

“Starting without me? That’s no fair,” the golden-haired boy actually pouts, but there’s something deeper swimming in his eyes, something almost bloodthirsty. Though this is happening right in front of you, you can’t truly believe it. Dabi relieves the pressure of his arm from your chest.

“Look Kiego, the whore’s fucking drenched for us,” he lifts his fingers towards the beautiful man in front of you proudly, as if showing off a trophy or a new toy. Then he pops the damp fingers in his own mouth, humming at the taste of you. Hawks’ tongue dips out of his mouth, darting across his bottom lip. 

“I want a taste,” he leers at your bright panties, now soaked through. You think you must have died and gone to heaven, what with the two Adonises staring at you as if you’re their last meal. Hawks kneels at the foot of the couch, brings his face right up to your navel, and licks a long, cold swipe. His digits toy at your waist like they were earlier, except this time the movements are decisive and fierce. Just as he’s about to tug your panties down and place his mouth where you want it most, Dabi seizes his jaw and pulls his partner into a long, sloppy kiss. You let out a sigh at the view and— teases that they are— the sound doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Is watching us turning you on?” Dabi taunts cruelly. 

“Looks like she’s a bit of a pervert, hm?” Hawks retorts, sliding a finger across your clothed slit. The movement causes your entire body to quiver, your senses on high alert. Without another word, he leans down again, shifts your panties to the side, and takes your clit between his lips. The way he laps at you hungrily makes you believe your initial judgment of him was completely inaccurate, and when he inserts two lengthy digits inside you, the thought is confirmed. Hot, white pleasure consumes your body as your core clenches around his digits. He simply cocks an eyebrow at you and chuckles darkly, holding you tightly against him by your waist so that you’re unable to wriggle away. Gone is the lovable persona you were introduced to, replaced now by someone entirely foreign, deviously lewd. 

“Fuck, Hawks,” you whimper, greedy for more. 

“Thought I told you to call me Keigo,” he scolds beneath you, biting the inside of your thigh so that a sharp gasp leaves you. 

“I-I’m sorry, K-Kei–” You’re cut off mid-moan when Dabi kisses you, wrapping one slender hand around your throat and squeezing. His other one threads through your hair and tugs harshly. A painful hiss leaves you but the sound only makes him pull harder, smirking against your lips.

It’s as though they’re competing for your attention. If one of the men evokes a sob or whimper, the other attempts to outdo him— and they have no regard for your body, becoming instead the battleground for their lascivious rivalry. You lose yourself in the intense sensations, unaware of time or its passing, instead focusing solely on the coil tightening in your abdomen. Every gasp, every moan, only pushes them further, and soon your legs are shaking as you feel yourself nearing the delicious edge. 

Just as you’re about to let go, allow yourself the mind-numbing relief of an orgasm, Kiego withdraws his fingers. Rubbing your bruised thighs together is a desperate attempt at friction, but the momentum is completely lost. Your core clenches around nothing, and you cry out, hopelessly bitter at the emptiness between your legs. 

“Sorry, princess,” his hair is sticking up, golden locks tousled from the harsh grip of your fingers. And yet he still looks perfect. He wipes your juices off his chin with a thumb, “but that’s for starting without me.” Despite the apology, he sounds absolutely delighted at your loss. You whine again, hoping it’ll change his mind. “What do you think, Dabi? Should we let her cum?” 

Hearing his name, the tattooed man takes his attention away from your chest and the onslaught of purple marks his lips’ were just peppering on your throat. 

“I don’t think so,” he tweaks at one of your nipples, eliciting a soft groan from you. “I want the bitch begging for it.” Dabi pushes you away from him and stands to unbuckle his belt. “Besides, don’t think she’s done enough to earn it.” You should be outraged at the way they decide your fate as if you’re not even present, but in reality it only thrills you, your clit throbbing at the lack of control. 

“You’re right,” your idol sneers, canines bared and gleaming as he unzips his own pants, “and I wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around me.”

They switch places, shifting you so that your breasts are pinned against the couch between Kiego’s legs. Dabi grinds his hips against your clothed center, and you mewl at the long-awaited friction, hard member straining against his briefs. 

“Get to work, princess,” Kiego calls to you, boxers down to his knees. You can only balk at the sight in front of you. His cock is thick and long, essentially everything you could’ve ever hoped for, but that’s not it. 

Rather, it’s the shiny, silver ball pierced through the shaft and poking out from the top of his head that stops you dead in your tracks. He notices your eyes widen at it, but only snorts, wrapping your hair around his hand and yanking you roughly towards him. 

“Oh, that little thing?” Now he’s shoving you against his length, using your face as nothing more than a means for friction. “Just a drunken dare from Matches.” The nickname provokes the other man into leaving a stinging slap against your behind. And just like that, the angered man drives himself into your cunt. 

“I told you,” slap, “not to,” slap, “call me that.” With each thrust into you, Dabi releases an onslaught of pent-up anger onto your rear, the biting pain causing you to cry out around Kiego’s member. 

“Yeah sweetheart, just like that,” he leans his head back against the couch with a deep groan. “Such a pretty little whore, choking on my cock.” One of his free fingers shoots out to wipe at your tears, hand moving ever-so-lightly to cradle your jaw. The gesture might have been sweet if his other hand wasn’t forcing you down further to swallow him whole. 

“Mmmph–” you scrape carelessly at Kiego’s thighs in an attempt to secure yourself, moans coming out garbled with his cock down your throat. 

“Not done with you yet, slut” Dabi still pounds into you relentlessly. You’re overwhelmed with the feeling of being stuffed from both ends, knees on the verge of giving out until he fastens his hands around your thighs, pulling you into him with even harder plunges. “Fucking take it.” Something hard and cold grinds inside you, and you’re acutely aware of the ridged piercings now pressing against that perfect, spongy spot in your heat.

When he reaches an arm around to rub furiously at your clit, you’re sobbing. Kiego’s deep, golden eyes watching you, Dabi’s unrelenting fingers and thrusts, it’s all too much. 

And then you’re finally letting go. Legs shaking, mind wracked with white as you clench your eyes shut. Your mouth moves away from Kiego’s shaft, only concerned with riding out your high. The tattooed man behind you doesn’t stop his movements either, still pressed deep inside you until your tongue lolls out of your mouth and you’re tapping furiously at his waist. Kiego smiles, taking himself in his hand and slapping his cock against your cheek while he strokes himself. 

“That’s it, baby,” he smooths your hair back, grunting. “You look so pretty when you cum.” He pumps himself a few more times before he finishes, sticky liquid spurting across your lips and into your hair. You reach around to grab at Dabi’s waist again, willing him to stop. He removes himself from inside of you only to flip you around and your cunt clenches at the feeling of emptiness. 

Pulling you into a long, winded kiss, he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip to taste Kiego’s release. Then he’s pushing you to your knees once more, hands threading through your hair roughly.

“Suck,” he scowls down at you. Though you’re breathless, still reeling from your orgasm, the simple command spewed at you has your lips wrapped around him in a second.

He isn’t as girthy as Kiego, but just as long. A trail of piercings go down his length, and your tongue brushes against the cool metal while you wrap your fingers around the area you can’t reach. You stare up at him through thick lashes, piercing blue eyes ogling you as you take him further in. His hand is still perched on your head, but he makes no movement to push you down— instead, basking in your slow seduction. 

You’re sure you look a mess, dried mascara down your cheeks and still covered in Kiego’s cum, but Dabi only revels in the power he has over you, positively thrilled at the way you no longer fight for dominance. He breaks eye contact only when the blonder man tugs him into a kiss, deep and passionate, and the sight only urges you to swallow him deeper. 

“I like her with her mouth so full,” Kiego whispers against Dabi’s lips. 

“Just as long as the bitch isn’t speaking,” the other man groans, rutting into your mouth so that you know he’s close. 

Soon he’s pulling out of you to pump his shaft, your mouth wide open so that the head of his cock brushes against your tongue. Kiego reaches down to move Dabi’s hand, grabbing at his partner’s length so he can stroke it himself. It doesn’t take long after that for the brooding man to cum, head thrown back in a loud grunt while the tantalizing male next to him coaxes him through the orgasm. Kiego angles him so that his hot, white liquid gushes onto both your face and tongue; you suck at Dabi’s head until he forcibly pushes you off him. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his sweaty locks. “Knew you were good for something.” With that final statement, he turns away from you, pulling his pants back on and returning to his spot on the couch as though he wants nothing more to do with you. 

Kiego walks away as well, and you’re sure you’re about to be kicked out now that they’ve had their way with you. A part of you is angered, but a larger part is still processing what just happened, savoring the earth-shattering orgasm the pair blessed you with. 

You look for your discarded clothing, trying to compose yourself so you’re able to get out of their way as quickly as possible. Kiego walks back into the common area, wet rag in hand. He doesn’t speak until he pushes you into the couch, rubbing the clean towel over your face softly.

“So, you’re coming to our concert next week, right?” 

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

Tags:

@mindninjax @rat-suki @bakatenshii @yukiimanic @theygottheircages @lookslikeleese

DM me if you’d like to be tagged!

[dramioneasks]

Hello! Do you know of any fics where Hermione forms a plan of her own and goes after things she wants? She knows she's not going to get any support from adults or other people in her life. Only Draco gives her unconditional support. Something along the lines of Lady of the Lake and Clean/Marked. Thanks!

Kill Me Twice - rebel vale - M, 46 chapters - Draco finds himself on the wrong side of the Dark Lady but who is this mysterious Dark Witch and why does she hate Draco so much? Story begins after HPB not Deathly Hallows compliant. Out of Canon alternative plot and ending. Opening is quite violent but this is atypical of the rest of the story.

A Veela Tale By: Bunnyhops - M, 18 chapters - He turns 21 tomorrow. He’s worried. He will come of age and it will start. His father told him what to expect, but still… fear of the unknown. He would soon know what his fate held.

Thorns & Snakes - Elle_m2 - M, WIP  - In the wake of their fourth year at Hogwarts, the Tri Wizards Tournament chooses Harry Potter as a champion, and life changes irrevocably for two members of the Golden Trio as Hermione finally sees her opportunity. A change of House, an hidden identity revealed, a secret powerful soul bond discovered, and Old Rituals awakening…What would have happened to the Wizarding World if Hermione Granger wasn’t who everyone thought she was?

From the Other Side by Shananigans10 - M, 34 chapters -  Hermione’s safe at Grimmauld Place until a changing Order makes her question everything she’s ever been told about the, so called, darkest wizard of their time. Dark!Hermione(somewhat), OOC Characters, Non-con, Anti!Harry(somewhat), Anti!Ron, Anti!Order, EWE?, Only compatible up to GoF. Powerful!Hermione, Powerful!Draco, Torture, Angst

Queen of Swords by ravenslight - M, 44 chapters, Words: 170,264 - Hermione Granger is the weapon they never intended to create. And she will bow down to no one. / Voldemort wins AU. Slowburn Dramione.

Shattered Trust - Betrayal By: cleotheo - M, 10 chapters - A mindless threat from Voldemort during a fight with Harry leads the Order down a dark path which will shatter lives, ruin friendships and tear families apart. Among those most affected by their rash actions are Harry’s best friend, Hermione Granger and her secret boyfriend, Draco Malfoy. Part one of a four part story. (Part 2: Shattered Trust - Separation | Part 3: Shattered Trust - Reunited | Part 4: Shattered Trust - Victory)

- Lisa

[florenceandthemachine]

hear your heartbeat

happy birthday to the incomparable @elisela!!! just for you, please enjoy a good fake-dating au with plenty of idiotic and family members abound.

12.5k - on Ao3

—————

“I’m telling you, Scotty. New York has been good to me. Maybe we should just renounce California and stay here for the summer.”

“Don’t joke about that, dude.”

Stiles laughed as he shouldered his phone, taking in the city air as he strolled along the streets of Manhattan.

Needless to say, Manhattan was far from home—while the city certainly was his vibe, Stiles was no stranger to tamping down the champagne tastes that clashed with his tapwater budget. The little shitbox apartment he got through NYU’s housing program was almost a thirty minute train ride from school, but Stiles figured that when he was more or less trapped on campus for nearly fifty hours a week, he could justify spending his breaks wandering the streets of Manhattan and really taking in the city.

On today’s agenda, Stiles was looking forward to wandering around a farmers market that literally stretched on for city blocks. There were fruits and vegetables literally as far as the eye could see, spices and roots and mysterious tubers of all shapes and size, but Stiles didn’t give a flying fuck about the food—his real interest were the vendors and the shoppers.

He had learned early on that open air markets like this were perfect meeting grounds for mythical beasts of all shapes and sizes, so, what better palace for him to do some… field work, so to speak?

There were nymphs who had full bouquets of beautiful flowers that lived suspiciously long in their vases as long as you complimented the blooms on a regular basis. Dryads who sold the most delicious fruit he had ever tasted, even if they charged six bucks for a pear.

Stiles had learned early on to avoid the fae—basically, any stand that sold crystal or metalcraft. His first time at the market, he had somehow wound up spending nearly four hundred dollars on quartz; the moment the money had left his hand, the stall had all but vanished in front of him.

“The people are good here. They’re fast. Blunt. Sarcastic. My kind of people.”

“Uh huh.”

Scott liked to call their whole situation lucky.

When Stiles applied to NYU’s doctorate program, he expected rounds and rounds of interviews, lists of deadlines he needed to memorize, and some less-than-subtle digs at his proposed field of study (which was fair, honestly—he knew that criminology and mythology rarely mixed).

What he didn’t expect was Scott, though, the bro of all bros. When Stiles told him he was applying to NYU, Scott had cheered him on, helped him prepare, and then immediately applied to different veterinary positions through the state.

(Scott was golden, obviously—he had years of training, letters of recommendation from everyone he had ever met, and him being a werewolf basically made him the animal whisperer.)

At the end of the day, Stiles got to pursue his passion thanks to a hodgepodge of grants at NYU, and Scott was awarded a fellowship in veterinary medicine through the Bronx Zoo. What kind of weird twist of luck would let the best friends wind up together across the country like that?

So, yeah, Scott called it luck.

Stiles called it karmic retribution for their supremely fucked-up years at Beacon Hills High, but even he could admit that ‘luck’ sounded nicer... and if Stiles was being honest, ‘luck’ was definitely the best way to classify his meeting Derek Hale.

Derek Hale was smart, he was sarcastic, and he could go toe-to-toe with Stiles over completely obscure things for literal hours. He was a first-year professor at NYU, who had the tiny office right next to the broom closet Stiles had managed to shove PHD desk into, and he was probably the only other person in the program that took mythology seriously (meaning he was the only person who didn’t make Stiles want to put his head through the wall).

He was also hot as fuck, but that was beside the point. Stiles had a little bit of a massive crush, but that was also beside the point.

They had built up a fast friendship based on a series of arguments about the Necronomicon, of all things, and Stiles loved the thought of being friends with someone who didn’t know him as the weird kid in high school who knew way too much about ritual sacrifice and circumcision.

He had evened out a lot through undergrad. He was still awkward, sure, but he was awkward with a refillable prescription for Adderall and some sort of brain-to-mouth filter.

(Honestly, the fact that Stiles had managed to avoid making a single joke about the werewolf who was stuck teaching Mythology 101 really did speak volumes to his newfound maturity.)

Speaking of Derek, though…

“Stiles! Hey, Stiles!”

Stiles almost jumped a foot in the air as he heard his name called, doing a spectacular near-drop-mid-air-catch of his phone as he regained his footing, turning on the spot to see a taller woman with jet black hair waving him over.

She was… okay, she was gorgeous—dark hair, smooth skin, someone who looked like she just stepped out of one of the windows on Fifth Avenue—but Stiles was decently distracted, because standing beside her was Derek Hale, the object of his extremely private affection for the past few months. Who, for whatever reason, was standing there looking like he wanted the sidewalk to open up and swallow him whole.

“Scotty, I’ll see you tonight, yeah? I gotta go.”

Stiles pocketed his phone as he cautiously made his way over to the pair—trio, he corrected, because there was another woman with them, looking incredibly more invested in the conversation now that another party was joining them.

He hiked his canvas a bit higher up as he smiled, trying to remember where he had seen the two before… students, maybe, but if that were the case, they would know Derek, not Stiles. They weren’t faculty members, he was sure of that. Donors to the program, maybe?

Well, if they were donors, Stiles sincerely hoped that Derek would have tried harder to wear literally any expression other than his current ‘bitter and miserable’.

And if they were donors, why were they so fucking happy to see him?

“I’m Laura. This is Cora.”

The taller of the two women extended her hand confidently as Stiles got within arms reach, and he instinctively reached out to take it, Cora following suit. “Derek has told us all about you. I have to say, I figured there was at least a ten percent chance you were made up, but… here you are!”

“Here I am!” Stiles was officially lost, but he kept his smile up, cheeks pinking up a little bit as he turned back to Derek. “You’ve been talking about me?” he asked, his voice on the line between flattered and teasing, nudging Derek playfully as he tilted his head.

“Stiles, I—“

“Of course he has! Derek’s a private guy, sure, but you can’t be surprised he told us about his new—“

“Laura—”

“Lord, Derek, calm down. You already had your big bisexual awakening, I’m allowed to be excited to meet your first boyfriend.” Laura shot back, her glare rivaling Derek’s absolute best ‘listen to teacher’ look, and Stiles could see the muscle in his jaw start to twitch. He probably would have done something, but… he was basically short circuiting, brain trying to keep up with whatever the fuck Laura had said, because Derek now had his arm around Stiles’ waist.

Derek had a big bisexual awakening?

And a boyfriend, apparently?

How had Stiles missed that??

“Stiles, these are my sisters, Laura and Cora Hale.”

Okay, great, they were Derek’s sisters. Stiles didn’t even know that Derek had sisters, which was a little sad if he thought about it.

Thankfully, he didn’t have long to think about it, because Derek—

“This is Stiles, my… my boyfriend. Now stop bombarding him. Give him half a fucking second before you go a thousand miles an hour.”

Oh—oh God. Stiles was the boyfriend.

He had seriously missed something, then—he didn’t think he had confessed his feelings for Derek anytime recently, or he probably would have died from embarrassment. Scott was really good at hiding his phone when he was drinking, which ruled that entire scenario out. Stiles could be forgetful at times, sure, but he thought he would remember if he had managed to score himself a boyfriend.

He looked up at Derek, trying to ignore the sudden burn of contact where their bodies were pressed together, but his brain was extremely focused the moment that he caught the look on Derek’s face, there and gone in a flash. He felt the hand squeeze at his waist, and the message was clear enough.

Please.

Ah, well. Stiles was always good at bullshitting, and this was no exception.

“No, no, Der, it’s fine! It’s good to meet you both, sorry, I wasn’t even expecting to see Derek until… uh, later, let alone meet anyone new,” Stiles said, his voice 100% betraying his nerves as it picked up an octave.

Laura’s voice was much more evenly toned, even if it was a little teasing. “Oh? You two have big plans tonight? We aren’t interrupting anything, are we?” she said with a grin, giving the distinct impression that even if they were interrupting, she and her sister wouldn’t be leaving until they were good and ready. Stiles felt his mind kick into overdrive, waving the question aside.

“Oh, nothing like that. We were going to meet up with my friend Scott for dinner, introducing the boyfriend to the best friend, you know how it is,” he continued, hoping his little chuckle wasn’t too terribly fake as he reached up to pat the lapels of Derek’s jacket, letting his fingers linger a little too long on Derek’s chest as he nodded.

He hoped that she knew how it was. Hell, Stiles didn’t even know how it was. He hadn’t exactly been rolling in romance since moving across the country.

“Well, if you say so,” Laura mused, raising a perfect brow, head tilted to the side. “You look like you’re about to pass out, Stiles. You alright?”

And, okay, Stiles knew enough to know what that meant. It meant that her super-sonic ears could hear his heart trying to break through his ribs with a staccato beat, typically a tell-tale sign that someone was lying, but… maybe he could work that to his advantage. He swallowed, voice a little tight as he laughed, waving the concern away.

“Sorry, I just wasn't… planning on meeting the family today,” Stiles said, probably the most truthful thing he had ever said. “Usually I’d try to prepare a little more, you know, make sure I’m wearing something nice and avoid putting my entire foot in my mouth. Maybe just a toe or two,” he said, relaxing minutely as Cora snorted from her position near Laura’s elbow.

Okay, so self depreciation was a good way to avoid suspicion with all the Hales. Got it.

“Well, if you both have plans, I’ll make this quick,” Laura said, her voice deceptively charming as she sidled up next to Stiles, though he certainly wasn’t going to complain about the way Derek’s hand tightened around his waist. “The semester is up soon, what are your plans this summer? Never mind, move them back. We’re having a family reunion the week after finals, and everyone is dying to meet baby brother Derek’s new boo after all the stories he’s told.”

…stories?

He looked up to Derek again, who was now blushing up to the tips of his ears, which—okay, cute—but which told him absolutely nothing and offered him exactly zero defense.

“Actually, I already have a flight booked as soon as my spring contract is up. Heading back to Beacon Hills for a few days, and—“

“Wait, did Derek already invite you?” Laura asked, her expression pleasantly surprised, and Stiles was speechless for a half second before Derek stepped in.

“No, I didn’t invite him because I’m not even going, Laura. Besides, he has his own plans with his own family,” he said, and Stiles blinked as he tried to keep up. “And what do you mean, they’re excited to meet him? I was very clear that the further I can keep him away from you and Mom, the better.”

Laura only rose a brow as she turned back to Cora, who took a beat before looking up from her phone, her expression halfway guilty as she clutched the device. “I uh—I may have just sent a picture of you two to the family group chat.”

Stiles choked on a laugh as Derek gasped—actually gasped—and pulled his phone from his pocket, making the mistake of releasing Stiles’ shoulder to unlock the device, looking absolutely scandalized as he glared at Cora.

It wasn’t long before Stiles had a similar look on his face, though, as Laura took advantage of his free arm, linking her own with his as she started to walk. “Alright, Stiles, here’s the deal.”

“Cora, you little—hey! Laura, get back here with my boyfriend!”

“Calm down little brother, the adults are talking.”

“He’s younger than I am!”

“So, Stiles, like I was saying,” Laura started, oblivious or ignorant to the way Stiles' mind had absolutely reeled when Derek had called him his boyfriend for the second time. “Derek hasn’t been home for more than a day visit since he moved out to this dump, and no one has raised a stink about it in years. This year, though, is… important,” she started, and Stiles nodded idly as he mentally ran through the calendar in his head.

The semester was over in just over a week, with finals crammed into three days after that, and then—oh, the full moon.

No, Stiles corrected himself, the blue moon. The first blue moon in May in probably… thirty years, if he had to guess. He nodded up to Laura as that clicked into place, a flicker of curiosity crossing over her face as she continued talking.

“We won’t take up that much of your time—it’s only like two events, I promise, and I also promise Derek will personally take care of whatever flight changes you have to make so you can still get some time with your family. After all, it’s not your fault my bonehead brother tried to exclude you until now.”

“I’m not a bonehead!” Derek said, his tone of voice just exasperated enough that Stiles sighed, carefully extracting himself from Laura’s grasp as they slowed to a stop near the curb of Fifth Avenue, the noise from the farmers market blending in with the sound of traffic as he turned back to Derek.

“Alright, hang on, hold up,” Stiles started, his tone firm enough to stop the three wolves in their tracks, Derek and Laura wearing matching expressions of surprise as they stopped in their tracks—even Cora was peeking over her phone, clearly interested, and Stiles couldn’t blame them. It had probably been a long time since either of them had been stopped by a human.

“Laura, Derek is not a bonehead. He’s smart, and he’s sweet, and he’s very kind, and it’s okay that he’s a little more private. Yeah, he’s also a stubborn asshole, but… well, that’s one of the reasons I like him so much,” Stiles said, the first genuine smile in the entire conversation gracing his face as he looked at Derek again. “But you know your brother. Did you really think that catching him off guard across the country in person was going to be the best way to convince him to visit?”

He was fine taking their silence as an answer, honestly.

“Now, Derek, that being said, I… if you are comfortable with it, I can rearrange my plans and come down with you. If you’re not comfortable with that, that’s okay too. Meeting the family—at least, the rest of the family—is a very big step,” he continued, his words very pointed.

(Yes, Derek, meeting the family would be a very big step for someone you weren’t even dating, please pick up on the subliminal messaging here.)

“But even if you’re not comfortable with me being there, I think you should still go down. I’ll get to spend plenty of time with my dad, you shouldn’t have to be all alone up here while I’m gone.”

Moving to smooth over the lapels on Derek’s jacket again, Stiles only barely tampered down a noise of surprise as Derek intercepted his hands, pleasantly shocked by how easily Derek’s warm, smooth fingers slipped between his own lanky digits.

Stiles felt his cheeks pinks up as he cleared his throat, doing his best to act normal, because he was… well, he wasn’t lying. He had absolutely thought about Derek being alone here in New York while Stiles was gone, but that was more in the sense that Stiles would miss him.

He just didn’t know that Derek might be missing some family, too.

Besides, he may not have known that much about the intricacies of a normal, family pack, but Stiles knew enough to know that a big event like this would probably be good for Derek, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Even if Derek was going to reject his offer and go down alone.

…because Derek was going to reject him.

Derek was going to reject him, right?

Stiles had been fairly sure of that when he offered, but judging by the way Derek couldn’t meet his eyes after something as simple as holding hands, Stiles might have just fucked himself over. Derek opened and closed his mouth twice before he finally let out a huff of air and looked up, doing a remarkably good impression of a guilty animal as he looked at Stiles.

“…you’re sure you don’t mind?”

Fuck.

“Derek, I wouldn’t have offered if I minded,” Stiles said, and that much was at least true—but before he could say anything else, Laura was squealing in his ear, wrapping both of them up in a hug so tight Stiles almost had to remind her that he was human, but he was able to breathe again as the car next to the curb chirped.

“Thank God, Stiles, thank you for getting through to him! Oh, Nana is gonna flip out when she hears who’s coming—Derek, you know you’ve always been her favorite—Stiles, do you have any dietary restrictions? Derek, send me his number, and—no, Cora, you are not driving us back to the airport, move your ass—“

Stiles looked up to Derek, his expression somewhere between bemused and fearful as Laura rambled on, but… well, the apologetic look that Derek had on his face wasn’t much reassurance.

“—and Stiles, you’re going to love Beacon Hills. Bye boys! See you in two weeks!”

Stiles was left, partially shellshocked as Derek’s hand slipped from his own, the need for the facade no longer essential as the shiny silver rental car pulled into traffic.

“… Derek, since when the fuck are you from Beacon Hills?”

—————

“Scotty, stop laughing, this isn’t funny.”

“Dude, are you kidding me? This is hilarious.”

Stiles groaned as he shoved another slice of pizza into his mouth, ignoring the burning sensation that spread across his tongue as he tried to pack as much melted cheese as he could into one bite.

Scott’s apartment had been their go-to for the entire time he and Stiles had been in the city—not because it was huge and glamorous, not by any means, but Scott’s shoebox had a door between the bathroom and the living room, and therefore it was the best place for bro-time by default.

Stiles had loudly complained about the entire situation when he and Derek showed up on Scott’s stoop, firmly planting himself in his favorite of Scott’s chairs—the ‘old man’ recliner next to Scott’s little television, the game on screen forgotten as he recalled their harrowed tale.

“Stiles, if you weren’t comfortable with it, why even… okay, no, don’t you dare answer me until you swallow,” Derek snapped, and Stiles rolled his eyes as he swallowed a few times, sticking his tongue out at Derek once his mouth was empty.

“Good. Thank you for pretending to be an adult. Now, why did you even offer if it wasn’t something you were comfortable with.”

Because it was supposed to just be a gesture, Derek. Because I didn’t realize you would take it as a serious offer, Derek. Because you were supposed to say no, Derek.

… because I didn’t want you to be alone, Derek.

Honestly, as surprised as Stiles was that Derek took him up on his poorly-timed moment of goodness, he was even more surprised that after Laura drove off, when he numbly asked if Derek wanted to come over to Scott’s for some pizza, Derek actually said yes.

Derek Hale was being social. Alert the media.

(Well… maybe ‘social’ was stretching it a bit—Stiles didn’t know if it was a territory thing or what, but Derek had turned hilariously, awkwardly stiff the moment he stepped inside Scott’s apartment.)

“I offered because I’m nice, dick, but don’t even think that you can turn this on me. Derek, they knew my name. They knew what I looked like. And yeah, I mean, I’m a complete catch and all—oh fuck off, Scotty—but what in the actual, literal fuck?”

Stiles didn’t think it was possible, but somehow Derek got even more tense, shoulders tightening up toward his ears as he looked down. It took a moment before he answered, but Stiles knew by then that Derek usually had to… wind himself up to talk about some things.

“My mother lives on the opposite end of the country, and even then, she still managed to set up twenty four blind dates for me last year. Twenty four, Stiles. That’s basically one every other week. Do you have any idea how much small talk that is? And how much I hate small talk?”

Yes, Stiles thought, to both of those questions. He would never admit this out loud, of course, but thinking about one of the most intensely private people that he knew stuck at some shitty little coffee shop trying to chat with some random female on behalf of his mother was hilarious to a degree he couldn’t fathom.

It definitely wasn’t a redirection of his own… personal feelings that may or may not be directed at Derek. Not at all. Nope.

“So, around the time the spring semester started, when my mother let slide that she had passed along my number to yet another perfectly eligible barista, or something, I panicked and told her I had a boyfriend. And then she asked for a photo, and the most recent one on my phone was that selfie you sent miming your own death in the stacks, so…”

“Oh fuck, Derek,” Stiles started, downing the last of his beer. “Your big bisexual awakening wasn’t just you trying to get out of your mom setting you up on dates, right?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, ass,” Derek said, rolling his eyes as he shook his head. “The two events were completely separate.”

Stiles laughed at the thought, but even then, his mind was reeling. If this wasn’t a recent discovery, how in the fuck did Stiles miss that for so long?

“Well, you’re lucky Scotty and I had a flight booked anyway. I won’t let you face them alone, not when you have a picture perfect boyfriend to show off now—what role should I take on? Doting, love struck fool? Rebel without a care? Some sad forlorn loser who… okay, no, that one is too close to home.”

Scott stood up and laughed as Derek glared at Stiles again, but it didn’t take a genius to see the tiny smile on his face, or the way his shoulders eased as he leaned back into the couch.

“Alright, this is getting too intense a conversation while the game is on. Want another beer, Stiles? You, Derek?”

Stiles made a vaguely affirming noise as he wove his hand in Scott’s direction, eyes drawn back to Derek yet again as the other wolf politely declined, his own attention affixed to the television as the game picked back up.

Derek was… not a particularly expressive person, Stiles knew, and part of that was because Derek had what Stiles affectionately called ‘resting grumpy face’; at least, he did privately, because the one time he said it out loud Derek had thrown the Encyclopaedia of Demomorgons at his head.

So, to the outsider looking in, Derek might have just seemed uninterested in the game; but Stiles had been watching Derek work for the better part of a semester, and he knew perfectly well how to tell when Derek’s resting grumpy face formed an actual frown. Which it did. Because apparently, the Mets had personally offended him.

“I’m sorry, are you seriously glaring at the Mets? While they’re winning?”

Derek leveled Stiles with the most unimpressed glare he could as Scott laughed from his kitchen, walking back into the living room with two beers. “God, I hope he was. It would be nice to have someone with taste in the apartment for once.”

“Scotty!” Stiles gasped, clutching his heart as Scott handed him a beer, extending the claw on his thumb to pop the top off before he handed the bottle over. “The Mets are a treasure, okay? If God lived in New York, she’d be a Mets fan. I have suffered much for my Mets in my lifetime, and they—woah, Derek, you okay?”

Stiles’ charming cliches would have to wait, because when he looked over to Derek, his humor dropped immediately. Derek had gone white as a sheet, jaw slack as he stared at the beer in Stiles’ hand.

He stared back and forth between Scott and Derek, trying to figure what the hell had just happened; it wasn’t until he watched Scott pop the top off of his own beer, looking between the two of them, did Stiles put two and two together.

“Derek, you… you had to know that Scott was a were, right? Like, you had to. He—Scotty doesn’t do subtle.”

“Me?! Stiles, you called me a wet dog for like a month after I fell into the Hudson.”

Derek let out a sort of choked noise as he shut his mouth, coming back into himself as a bit of pink dusted his pale cheeks, hands moving in front of his face. “Of—of course I knew, but—you knew?!”

“Dude, I’m studying mythical lore and criminology. I’m the one who taught this furry fucker how to control himself. Of course I knew, I... oh my god. You didn’t know that I knew—uh, that I know.”

Matching looks of realization dawned on Scott and Stiles’ face as Stiles stood up, putting the beer down on the coffee table. He moved next to Derek as he sat down on the couch, keeping his movement slow, reaching out to pat Derek’s leg like he was a frail old lady.

“Derek, I know.”

After what felt like an age and a half, Derek melted into the couch, a huge sigh leaving his lips as all the tension in his body bled out like a string had been cut, burying his head in his hands.

“We’ve had arguments about wolves in pop culture. I’ve offered to help you out with your coursework every full moon for, like, the entire semester. Dude, you had to know that I knew, there’s no way I didn’t—Derek!” Stiles felt his giddy laughter bubble over as Derek shot him a red-eyed glare through his fingers, his scowl somehow less intimidating now that everything was out in the open.

Okay, Derek wasn’t just a wolf, he was an alpha. That was… interesting.

“God, you two really are perfect fake boyfriends. Two halves of a whole idiot. Derek, are you sure you don’t want a beer? Or maybe something stronger, if you have to deal with Stiles?” Scott said easily, laughing as Stiles immediately protested, though the way Stiles eased himself next to Derek wasn’t exactly subtle, either.

—————

Scott may have been joking, but by the time finals had come and gone, Stiles had accepted the fact that he would have to forgo booze and opt for a mainline of caffeine to keep up with Derek. How one person remained so meticulously organized, Stiles would never know—but in the amount of time it took for Stiles to wrap up his grant work for the semester, Derek had given four exams, proctored three more, cleaned out his office, and shared the updated flight itinerary with Stiles.

“Wait, wait, hang on,” Stiles had said, tripping over an empty box in his tiny office as Derek handed him his updated boarding pass. “Why do we have to change our flights? Scott and I are already booked, you can probably just join us, right?”

Derek rose a perfectly sculpted brow as he tapped the ticket again, shaking his head. “Hey, I promised you’d spend as few days as possible with my family, and I intend to keep that promise. The sooner we get in, the sooner we start that clock, the sooner you get to spend the rest your time with your dad.”

Stiles blinked as he looked down to the itinerary, eyes scanning over the earlier time—and it was non-stop too. That would be a bit killer on the legs, but Stiles could handle that, maybe he could take some time to sleep or pester Derek for...

“Uh, Derek... this ticket is for first class.”

“I know, Stiles, I booked it.”

“Dude, there’s a reason Scott and I booked an economy ticket with a layover in Bismarck. There’s no way I can pay you back for this.”

If looks could kill, Stiles would be... maybe not dead, but at least set on fire. Derek sighed, as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders as he rolled his eyes.

“You’re not paying me back, dumbass. You’re already doing a ton for me with this little... charade, the least I can do is make sure your frail human body—“

“Hey!”

”—is comfortable in a lie flat seat.”

“Look, I appreciate that, but I’m not leaving Scott alone on his flight in coach just because of our... fake... whatever.”

Stiles’ voice trailed off in curiosity as Derek sighed, his cheeks pink as he pulled the paper out of Stiles’ hand, pointing to the second half of the sheet—where MCCALL, SCOTT had been printed in big, bold letters, that Stiles had completely ignored.

“... you got Scott a ticket too?”

“Of course I did. He’s your best friend, I wasn’t going to ask you to leave him behind just for me. Besides, who do you think I got your information from to book the flight?” Derek said dryly, as though his deadpan delivery could cancel out the ruddy color to his cheeks, or the way that Stiles’ stomach flip flopped when the reality of that sunk in.

It was nice that Derek acknowledged the importance of their friendship, in the way that tugged at the little space right beneath his sternum, but something about the way Derek so quickly dismissed himself was... concerning.

Stiles couldn’t help but play that little bit of their conversation over in his head as he packed, as he hopped on the train, as he met up with Scott and Derek in security.

Scott, bless his heart, was absolutely elated—his excitement was almost tangible as they dropped off luggage, walked through security, and stood around at the boarding gate. Derek had to smack the both of them to get them to stand up when first class was called to board, and Stiles idly wondered if Derek regretted associating himself with them when he and Scott managed to trip in sync as they went down the jetway.

Derek and Stiles were seated together, of course, and once Stiles got over the novelty of not having a middle seat on a plane, he liked to imagine he fit right in—easing back into the seat, enjoying the comfort of the little blanket he had been given, grinning at the flight attendant as she checked in with them.

(Scott was one row ahead and across the aisle, close enough that Stiles could lean forward and smack him if he wanted to... but the moment Stiles saw his seat mate, a pretty woman with dark hair and impeccable eyeliner, he knew his best bro would be on a different planet for the entirety of the flight.)

His grin slipped a little bit, though, as he thought back to the conversation surrounding the tickets, and he looked up to Derek as he settled in a bit further.

“So, we never went over what role I should be taking on.”

“Stiles, just be yourself. You’re funny enough, and you generally mean well, they’ll love who you are.”

Yeah… who he was. Well, who he was was someone who was going to be dangerously invested in a fake relationship that would probably end terribly for him, so that was fun. He sighed as he settled into the seat, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he debated on where to go from here.

No time like a non stop plane ride to have a potentially awkward conversation, right?

“Dude, we’re friends, right?”

“We’re fake boyfriends, don’t call me dude.”

Derek’s tone was teasing as he flipped through his SkyMall, a small smile on his face, and Stiles felt a little bit of the tension ease out of his shoulders as he buckled in.

“First of all, I have called many boyfriends ‘dude’ before,” Stiles started, ignoring Derek’s snort of laughter, “and I’m being serious. We... we are friends, right?”

Be it his words or his awkward energy, Derek looked up, surprise on his face as he closed the magazine and stowed it away as the plane bumped down the taxiway.

“Of course we are, Stiles. You’re like... the only person I talk to at work outside of teaching, that’s light years ahead of most of New York as a whole.”

“I mean, I’m glad to hear, I just...” Stiles chewed on his lip as he turned in his seat, weirdly soothed by the roar of the engines as the takeoff roll started. “You know about my dad, and about my school, and about Scott, and those are basically the three important things in my life,” he started, letting out a sigh as Derek just stared at him blankly.

“It’s fine that you’re a private person, I can respect that... seriously, I may not understand it, but I can respect it,” Stiles said, grinning as Derek shot him a look, lowering his voice again as he leaned over the divider between them. “But I didn’t know that you were from my hometown, too. Or that you had sisters, let alone other family. I should have asked, I guess, but... you know you can talk to me about things, yeah? Even after all this is over, you’ll always be Derek to me. Not just another Hale.”

Stiles’ was smiling as he gently bumped Derek’s shoulder with his own, watching the way different emotions warred over his face, biting back on the urge to babble on so he could give Derek the time he needed to respond.

“We’re... we are friends, Stiles. We are.” Derek insisted, looking down to his linked hands as the plane continued to rise. “Sometimes, I just... I’m not great about talking about myself.”

For a while, Stiles thought that was all he was going to get, and honestly, he was fine with it—it wasn’t until the fasten seatbelt sign chimed off and the flight attendants passed out little bottles of water that Derek spoke again, his voice low as he cleared his throat.

“My family is huge. Like, big enough that we need spreadsheets and flowcharts to organize family events like this. I know they love me, and I love them too, of course I do, but I made some really, really stupid decisions when I was younger… I know they forgave me for it, but...”

Derek sighed, taking a deep breath as he ran his hands through his hair.

“Sometimes it’s hard to be around them and still be okay with myself, you know?”

No, Stiles didn’t know. He only had his dad and Scott growing up, but he nodded his head encouragingly as he took a sip of his water.

“I actually have four siblings. Mark is the oldest, and then Taylor, and I’m right between Laura and Cora. They’re betas, like my dad; my mom and I are both alphas, her mom, too…” Derek continued, and Stiles smiled as he settled into his seat.

By the time the flight landed, Stiles’ head was full to the brim with Hale family trivia, names, faces, teasing stories, and the warmth that had danced across Stiles’ chest for the past year or so had bloomed into a full-on fire.

Would it lead to his downfall? Probably.

But when he saw how Derek smiled when he remembered Mark’s graduating medical school, or heard the pride in his voice when he talked about Laura’s charity work, and the genuine joy he got to see when he heard another story about Derek’s childhood… well, that was all more than worth it.

—————

“I think you should kiss me.”

Stiles had to stop himself from laughing at the look that Derek shot him, doing his best to keep his body language casual as he leaned against the gas pump at a tiny station outside of Beacon Hills, though he knew his heart was going at about a million miles a minute.

“I—you—what?”

“Derek, I’m an affectionate dude, in case you couldn’t tell from all the hand holding. And if you’re going to freak out if I kiss your cheek, then you should freak out now, not when we’re in front of your family.”

Stiles knew full well his heart betrayed his confidence, but seeing Derek’s ears go pink as he dumped the armful of snacks Stiles had asked for into the back seat was a welcome sight—it was always nice to know that Derek’s cool and controlled exterior could be ruffled up once in a while.

Somewhere between the rental kiosk and the gas station, Stiles had decided that he was going to go all in on this. His little crush was already stuck right in the back of his throat and would be unlikely to dislodge any time soon, so he figured that indulging himself in the fake relationship Derek had set up for him… well, it wouldn’t do any good, but it was unlikely to make things worse for him than it already was.

It was a little weird being alone with Derek—Stiles didn’t realize it until now, but between meeting Derek’s sisters and meeting the rest of their family, this was the first time they had been alone together. They had other staff members at school, or strangers around the city, or Scott (who had politely declined a ride back to Beacon Hills with Derek and Stiles, choosing instead to split an Uber with his pretty new friend, Kira).

“You know, as far as first kisses go, usually they’re a little more romantic than just a demand. You’re supposed to woo me, Stiles,” Derek said, his sarcastic tone betrayed by his shy little smile as he pulled the nozzle out of his tank, closing the gas cap as Stiles gasped in mock offense.

“Hey, I said you should kiss me, not the other way around. Why should I have to be the one to woo?” Stiles started, sliding into the passenger’s seat as Derek followed suit. “After all, this relationship wouldn’t have even happened without your instigation, so why should I… uh… Der?”

Stiles’ voice trailed off as Derek’s hand sunk into the soft crook at the juncture of his neck, effectively cutting off his entire train of thought as Derek’s thumb pressed against the hollow of his jaw.

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“O-Okay.”

For a minute, all Stiles could think of were those cheesy old rom-coms, where fireworks would go off, or bells would chime, but kissing Derek was nothing like that. It was the comfort of wrapping yourself in an electric blanket, instead of the shock of jumping into a frozen pond; the familiar buzz of goosebumps over his skin over a bolt of lightning. He felt a surprised little noise leave his chest as Derek’s tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue flicking out instinctively to drag along Derek’s bottom lip, hands coming up to rest against the wolves chest.

Stiles could feel his heart beating through every inch of his skin as the kiss broke, struggling to remind himself how to breathe as he opened his eyes again, his nose brushing against Derek’s as he let out a little huff of a laugh.

“Was that enough woo for you?” Derek asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, and Stiles smiled as he nodded his head, savoring the way that neither of them moved back. Derek’s hand was warm against the crook of his jaw, his own palm flat against Derek's chest, and it was natural, it was so nice, it was—

Fake. It was all fake.

Stiles sighed, closing his eyes as he gently leaned in and pressed their foreheads together, that mantra playing through his head as he pulled himself back. He buckled himself in easily as he took in a deep breath, his goofy grin still in place as he looked back up to Derek.

“See? Now you can honestly tell your mom we had our first kiss at a gas station and that it was magical and I totally rocked your world.”

“Is that what happened, though? I mean, if you wanted me to kiss you so badly, you should have just asked,” Derek said, the sarcasm thick in his voice as he started the car, and Stiles laughed as they pulled out of the lot, his hand finding Derek’s easily once again.

Their silence remained comfortable as they left the city skyline behind and basically blew through Beacon Hills, the trees inching closer to the road as they wound through the preserve.

Finishing off a bag of M&M’s, Stiles cleared his throat as he crumpled up the wrapper and chucked it in the back seat, sucking a little bit of melted chocolate off of his thumb. “So. Is this regular introducing-the-boyfriend-to-the-family nerves I’m looking at here, or is this introducing-the-fake-boyfriend-to-the-family nerves? You don’t have any weirdos in your family, do you? An ex-felon auntie? A cousin who doesn’t quite get personal space?”

Stiles grinned as Derek laughed, oddly comforted by the sound as Derek shook his head. “Nothing exciting. A weird uncle, I guess. Lots of cousins, you should basically abandon any idea of personal space as soon as we walk in, and plenty of human family, too—so you won’t be alone in that. As far as felons go, well… none of us have been caught?”

“Hey, game recognizes game, it doesn’t count if you don’t get caught. And I can work with a weird uncle.” Stiles laughed at the sheepish look that Derek shot his way, his fingers still happily wrapped up in Derek’s warm hands. He could almost feel it when they crossed over onto the Hale land, the huge, white house as much of a giveaway as the shrieks of joy that even Stiles could hear from the property.

“They’re gonna love you, you know?” Derek’s voice was soft as he pulled the rental into a long row of cars, nearly lining the road leading up to the house, and Stiles felt the snarky remark die on his tongue as Derek caught his eye, his expression somewhere between grateful and wistful as he turned the car off.

“Maybe, but…” Stiles sighed as he popped his door open, chewing over his next words carefully. “But if they do, it’s because they already love you.”

He took it as a personal victory when Derek turned away, his ears pink again, and Stiles couldn’t help but grin as he followed the werewolf up the path to his family home.

The Hale House was probably as huge and impressive as the Hale family itself from the outside, and Stiles did his best not to gape like a fool as Derek opened the door for him, his hand finding the small of Stiles’ back as they stepped into the house. Polished floors, huge, high windows, a grand staircase that was the definition of grand, and—

“Derek!”

—and another unfairly attractive Hale moving forward to greet them. Tall, broad, dark hair with just a splash of salt around the temples and the goatee, shining a million watt smile on Derek and Stiles as he wiped his hands on his probably-uncomfortably-tight jeans.

Jesus, was everyone in this family gorgeous? Stiles was going to get a complex.

He looked up as the stranger and Derek briefly hugged, watching the halfway-subtle way they scented one another, Mark’s head buried in Derek’s neck for a half moment before they pulled away. If Stiles strained his ear, he could have heard something along the lines of ‘be nice’ as Derek pulled back; if the situation weren’t so funny, Stiles probably would have blushed.

“Don’t listen to him, I’m always nice. I’m Mark, and you…” Mark started, his million watt smile back in place as his eyes dragged over Stiles’ body, “... you must be Stiles.” Stiles snorted as Mark pulled him into an easy hug, catching Stiles just a little off-guard as he was wrapped in another pair of arms.

Apparently Derek’s family was an affectionate bunch. Stiles didn’t know if it was a wolf thing or a Hale thing, but either way, it was good to know.

“Mark, uh, Seattle, right? You’re the surgeon?” Stiles asked, clearing his throat as the hug carried on just a bit too long, regaining some footing in the introduction as he pulled back. “Derek’s told me a lot about you.”

That was… mostly true, Derek had told him enough about Mark to thoroughly embarrass the older male, and Mark looked like he expected nothing less as he laughed, holding Stiles’ shoulders as he stood at arms length. “Yeah, I’m sure he did, but it’s probably all garbage. After all, how can you really describe a wonder like me in words, huh?”

He actually winked, and Stiles honestly couldn’t believe that this dude was for real.

“Der, nice job with this one. He’s cute. Kid, is my brother treating you well? Cause, you know, if Hale is your taste, you can do much better than—”

”Mark—“

“Oh, lighten up Der-bear, there isn’t enough Botox in the world to get rid of those scowl lines. It was a joke. Now come on, everyone’s out back.”

Stiles laughed again as Mark put Derek in an easy headlock, ruffling up his hair as he led them outside, immediately filing ‘Der-bear’ away for future use as they stepped out into the backyard.

The backyard, which was absolutely filled with Hales.

He felt his heart do a funny little lurch as he was hit with the sheer family of it all—all dark haired, all gorgeous, and for just a moment, he wanted to smack Derek upside the head. There were probably generations of Hales here; Derek had all this family, this built in support group, and he was just going to spend the summer holed up in New York?

“Alright, Siles, we’re gonna keep you in with the main family and keep you away from the cousins,” Mark started, artfully ignoring the way Derek was swatting at him. “Uncle Peter all but insisted that Mom come pick him up, so you’ll get to avoid them until later tonight, but who you really want to watch out for is—“

“Is that my grandbaby?!”

Mark stiffened as Derek perked up, and Stiles couldn’t help but snicker as a bony hand shot up, grabbing Mark by the scruff of his neck, pulling him off of Derek with a flourish that would probably seem overly dramatic if Stiles didn’t know just how much werewolf strength was packed behind it.

“Derek!”

“Hi, Nana.”

Stiles couldn’t keep the smile off of his face as Derek leaned in to wrap his arms around the older woman—she was a good foot shorter than he was, her movements loud, with light skinned with the same tell-tale black hair that the rest of the family had. What caught Stiles’ eye, though, was the way Derek scented her—it was the same way Mark scented him, a familial nudge that Stiles read easily as a sign of deference.

Whoever this Nana was, she was clearly the woman in charge here.

“You know, we’re all technically her grandbabies,” Mark started as he reappeared at Stiles’ shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck, his childish pout painfully obvious as he pointed his words. “But you wouldn’t know it with the blatant favoritism she shows for Derek!”

“Mark, don’t be such a baby,” Nana Hale said as she pulled back from Derek’s hug, patting his cheek affectionately. She raised a brow in a spectacularly unimpressed fashion as she turned to look at her eldest grandson, sighing in mock disappointment. “Not that I thought a career based off of liposuction and face lifts would have brought you some maturity.”

“That’s—I don’t just do—Nana!”

“Now, who do we have here? Derek, are you going to introduce me to your special friend?”

Ignoring Mark’s protests easily as she turned her attention, Stiles felt his heart pick up again, his eyes flicking to Derek as he beamed; Stiles wasn’t sure if he was happy to see Mark get smacked down, or if he was happy to introduce Stiles, but Stiles would have literally killed a man to see Derek smile that brightly on a regular basis.

“Nana, this is my boyfriend, Stiles Stilinski. Stiles, this is my grandmother, Ger—“

“Nana Hale will do just fine, thank you very much,” she interrupted, pulling a face that made Stiles grin—he could absolutely relate to someone who would rather set their birth name on fire than own up to it. “Now, come here, let me get a look at you.”

Stiles stepped forward and hesitated a half moment, not sure if he should try one last time for a handshake or wait for her to initiate a hug, but before he could make up his mind she had her hands clasped on his elbows, a grip like iron stopping him in his tracks.

“Scrawny little thing, aren’t you? We’ll take care of that, don’t you worry. It’s good to meet you, sweetheart, let’s get you some food.”

“It’s good to meet you too—and some food sounds great,” Stiles said with a laugh, ignoring the fact that he was still full of junk food as Nana Hale all but preened beside him. Her grip was gentle but unyielding as she dragged him to a table that was piled with food, giving a half wave to Laura and Cora, who were stationed beside a punch bowl the size of a fish tank as he kept himself a half step behind Nana.

Stiles wasn’t dumb, okay? He knew how to make nice with wolves, and more importantly, he knew how to be subtle.

(He didn’t like it, but he knew how to do it.)

“Uncle Derek! Get Uncle Derek!!”

Thankfully, the moment was over in a flash as Stiles heard a familiar name called out in a high pitched squeal, looking back out to the yard where a hoard of kids had just caught sight (or scent?) of Derek, immediately abandoning the rough-and-tumble games they seemed to be wrapped up in to run toward Derek as fast as their little legs could carry them.

Derek immediately tensed, a manic grin on his face as he prepared to run, body twitching as he caught himself before taking off. He sent a look Stiles’ way that was somehow both apologetic and asking remission, and Stiles sighed as he smiled.

“You better run, Uncle Derek. They’re gonna get you,” Stiles said mock-seriously, only barely keeping a straight face as Derek instead ran straight to the kids, making all sorts of comedic noises as they mobbed his legs.

Fuck, he was cute.

Stiles’ attention was pulled off of Derek as he felt eyes on him, subtly scanning the yard before he made eye contact with another adult in the family, who was very shirtless, and very sweaty, and very much walking toward them with a bright smile on his face.

Okay, Stiles was definitely getting a complex.

“You must be Stiles!” he exclaimed once he was closer to their little group, and Stiles had never been as thankful for a child as he was for the tiny body perched on top of the other males shoulders, because he was just about at his ‘hugging gorgeous people’ limit. He was still sweating, for fucks sake, but Stiles supposed that even a wolf got tired out when they had eight kids hanging from their body until Uncle Derek stepped in.

“I am, and…” Stiles was about to assume this was the firefighter sibling, but as soon as he opened his mouth, the kid on top of his shoulders smiled, and Stiles was absolutely smitten. “And who is this little guy?”

The distraction was apparently a welcome one, because shirtless dude’s smile grew even wider, reaching up to pat the kid on a mop of curly hair before he lifted him up and over, holding him at chest level. “This is Isaac. Isaac, can you say hi to Stiles? He’s your uncle Derek’s special friend.”

Stiles literally felt his heart melt as Isaac gave a shy little wave, looking up at him with big blue eyes. He couldn’t have been older than three or four, and Stiles smiled and waved back as Isaac was set down on the ground.

“You wanna go play with Uncle D?” Any hint of shyness was forgotten the moment the question was asked, taking off toward Derek as fast as his little legs could carry him, which… wasn’t very fast, but was very, very cute.

“They all yours?” Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked over to Derek, who now had at least six kids hanging off of him. He smiled as the other male shivered, shaking his head quickly.

“God no, just the three. Erica and Boyd, and Isaac too, now that the adoption has been finalized. Those kids basically run the joint, Derek included—as long as you don’t mind the occasional toddler mobbing, you’ll fit in just fine.”

“Thanks, random shirtless man, I really hope so.”

Stiles grinned as Laura choked on a mouthful of punch, the weirdness of the situation apparently just now visible to her as she sputtered, punching her brother in the arm. “Oh god, Taylor, what is wrong with you! Go put on a shirt, you can’t just—you didn’t even introduce yourself, I swear—Stiles is a guest, you weirdo!”

They kept bickering back and forth as Taylor pulled an undershirt on over his head, the whining turning into background noise as he poured himself a glass of punch. He knew perfectly well what Laura was trying to say—Stiles is a human—and he was pretty sure he was mostly flattered by everyone trying so hard, but any coherent thought left his head as he took a bite of the ribs, watching Nana Hale grin out of the corner of his eyes as he groaned in delight.

“God, they really do have Derek wrapped around their pudgy fingers,” Cora mused, and Stiles nodded his head, swallowing. It was honestly hilarious to watch Derek try to manage all those kids by himself; they seemed determined to pile themselves onto his head and shoulders, and he could almost see Derek sweat, trying to make sure he didn’t drop anyone as Isaac managed to wriggle his way into Derek’s grip.

He tilted his head in consideration, taking a sip of his drink before he spoke up.

“Yeah, he always did strike me as that kind of Alpha.”

He couldn’t help but savor the way the conversation ground to a halt around him, Laura and Taylor both sucking in a deep breath as Mark shattered the glass he was holding. There probably was a better way to acknowledge that he was in on the secret, but as funny as it was watching Derek’s siblings tiptoe around the fact, he figured it was best to rip the bandaid off in one go.

Even if it meant he had the attention of the Hales closest to him in one second, flat, Nana’s burning red from where she stood with a plate piled high with food.

He probably should have been nervous, but as he looked back at Derek, he could tell it was the right choice—Derek was all smiles, waiting only a beat before he popped his fangs and playfully snapped at one of his little nieces, the air soon full of squealing laughter once again.

Keeping his gaze even, Stiles smiled in thanks as he took the plate of food Nana offered to him, watching as her eyes melted back into their darker, human color. She was staring at him like he was a particularly complex puzzle, and she wasn’t alone—Cora looked hilariously outraged that she didn’t realize sooner, and even Mark was looking over him with renewed interest as his hand healed.

“I knew you were a smart boy. He told you?”

Nana’s question was accusing, but not unkind, and Stiles shrugged it off easily as he popped a chip into his mouth.

“He didn’t have to. My best friend was bitten when we were both fifteen. He didn’t have… anything, no alpha, no pack, just me and my mad Googling skills, and we’ve had plenty of supernatural run-ins over the years. Derek didn’t tell me because he didn’t have to tell me—I’m not anything special, but I’d like to think I can spot a non-human from at least fifty feet. Maybe more on a good day.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong.”

Stiles jumped as he heard Derek’s voice from behind him, and it truly was a credit to his poise and sophistication that he only blushed a little as Derek’s arm snaked around his waist. His body was warm, far warmer than it had been ten minutes ago, and Derek’s breath came a little heavy as he kissed the back of Stiles’ head.

“You are definitely something special.”

“You—you absolute cheeseball, what is wrong with you—” Stiles managed to get out as he shoved at Derek’s shoulder, his entire face burning red as Laura and Cora both gagged. Any residual awkwardness melted away as Nana’s sharp laugh cut through the air, the sound putting him back at ease as he leaned back into Derek’s warmth.

Somewhere between the fortieth round of storytelling and the gathering moving back into the house, Stiles needed a breather. Derek’s family was huge, and loud, and honestly, Stiles loved it—but it wasn’t long before he felt an itch beneath his skin, his fingers buzzing against his thigh, the muscles in his jaw a little too tight.

Stiles had expected Derek to be pretty popular in the family—what he didn’t expect, though, was that he would be anything more than an introduction and the same polite questions that everyone gave the new boyfriend.

“Wait, no fucking way did the two of you take down a Kanima, Stiles, I’m calling bullshit right now—“

Derek’s siblings were great, but they were also the worst; the minute they found out that Stiles had his own supernatural background, they were pestering him for stories, demanding his opinion of things, getting more and more exasperated with his entire life the more he shared.

Stiles knew that his life was crazy, okay? He didn’t need the constant reminders or the slack-jawed shocked expressions to reinforce that fact.

“Jesus, we didn’t even know that there were any wendigos in the state, and you knew an entire family of them?”

The only stories he flat out refused to talk about were the… issues he had had with hunters through high school—this was a party, after all, and he didn’t want to be the one to bring the vibe down by talking about the one time an assassin held a gun to his head to try and draw Scott out.

Fun times.

“What do you mean, you just know a banshee? And set her up with a hellhound? Dude, who are you?!”

Kissing Derek had, oddly enough, only exasperated the situation. In less than a day, they had gotten better at trading little affections back and forth; but instead of helping Stiles calm down, they only increased that thrumming nerves that bounced around at the base of his skull.

Which sucked, honestly, because kissing Derek was… really, really nice.

Stiles waited until another cousin who’s name he would never remember caught Derek up in a conversation about another tradition he couldn’t follow before he squeezed Derek’s hand, taking the opportunity to stand up from his spot on the couch and slip away.

The Hale House was huge, and outside was no exception; Stiles soon found himself on the porch, a huge wraparound wooden structure with built-in benches that let you enjoy the kind of view that made Stiles remember why he loved home so much. He treated himself to a few pictures of the sunset over Beacon Canyon before he flopped himself down on a bench, rubbing at his neck.

“Stiles? Everything alright?”

He had half expected Derek to follow him out after a few moments—but to his surprise, it was Nana Hale that sat beside him, her cheeks still pink with laughter as she tucked a jet black flyaway behind an ear.

“Is—oh, no, it’s great! Just wanted to, uh, snap a few pictures of the view.”

Another half truth—he was full to bursting with those lately.

“I know that our family can be… a little overwhelming,” she said, her tone even as she rose a brow, keeping her gaze forward as her fingers drummed a pattern into her knee.

Stiles hummed in agreement, his own smile a touch more genuine as he looked over to her. “Maybe, but that’s not a bad thing. When I was growing up, I spent so much time wondering what it would be like, to have siblings, and cousins, and… well, it might be a lot, but it’s a lot of love, too. I’m really glad Derek has that kind of support.”

Nana’s fingers stilled against her knee as she turned to face Stiles, and for the first time, Stiles was really able to get a good look at her properly. He could understand why she was the matriarch of the family, and how she had kept that title so long; even if he hadn’t witnessed her taking Mark down less than four hours ago, there was a whole other kind of strength that she was showing here, radiating off of her in waves.

“He does. But he doesn’t just have us for love and support... or was I reading the way you look at him wrong?” Her tone was teasing as she rose her brow, and Stiles felt his cheeks pink up spectacularly as he coughed, his eyes flashing back to the window for only a moment before Nana patted his knee.

“Don’t worry, the house is completely soundproof. Those nosy little pups can’t hear a word we say. Now tell me, how long have you been in love with my grandson?”

Now fully, beautifully red, Stiles groaned as he hid his face in his hands, Nana’s laughter ringing strong and clear as she stood up and walked toward the railing. “Oh don’t be so dramatic, I have no intention of spoiling that surprise until you’re ready to really woo him with it. And you’d better woo him! You know as well as I do that he deserves the romancing.”

Her tone softened as she chuckled, trailing off with a sigh and a sort of wistful smile as she shook her head. “New York has been good to him. You have, too, I think. California was… a rough part in his life.”

Something in the way she phrased it got the investigative side of his brain thrumming, his curiosity piqued as he remembered what Derek said on the plane.

‘I know they forgave me, but… sometimes it’s hard to be around them and still be okay with myself, you know?’

The nosy part of him wanted to pry, to dig a little more, but his eyes flicked back to the window again, where Derek and all four of his siblings were doing a terrible job at acting like they weren't trying to stare him down.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

Apparently, that was the right answer—Nana’s face softened again as she smiled, nodding her head, beckoning Stiles into standing up. She put her hand in the crook of his elbow easily, steering them back toward the house in a way that allowed no room for compromise.

“You are going to be good for my Der-bear, I know it.”

“Oh, I mean, I hope so. Derek deserves that, and I definitely—“

“Just let him be good for you, too.”

She reached up and patted Stiles cheek as he stared at her, dumbfounded, automatically opening the door for her as she walked back into the house. His expression was mirrored in the matching expressions of slack-jawed shock from all five Hale siblings, all staring at Stiles as Nana started in on another family story that would be sure to embarrass Mark, or Laura, or anyone who wasn’t Derek.

He meant what he said, of course. Derek deserved someone who would be good for him.

Somehow, that was the problem here.

—————

“Stiles, you reek of nerves. All I can smell is nerves and bell peppers. It’s not a good smell. Are you going to tell me what you’re freaking out about, or what?”

Stiles jolted as Derek called him out so effortlessly, pulled out of the trance he had fallen into as he watched Derek work, pushing around some of the barbecue from the night prior with some fresh chopped veggies into a delightful spur of the moment stir fry.

Derek was also as dressed down as Stiles had ever seen him, in a light grey henley and a dark pair of jeans, and that was even more delightful than the stir fry.

“Wait, you—that’s just something you can do? Oh god, your entire family must have known how nervous I was yesterday, did they—“

“Stiles. Breathe.”

Right. Breathing. He could do that.

…. maybe.

The truth was, Stiles could honestly say that he was having a great time back in Beacon Hills.

Derek and his family were great, no lie, and fake relationship aside, the researcher in him was absolutely thriving seeing how a huge, well-established pack worked with one another. They were literally a well oiled machine, the personification of the old ‘it takes a village’ metaphor, and the only thing that amazed Stiles more than how well they worked together was how well they adapted to Stiles being there.

Of course, he thought a big part of that came from having the Alphas on his side—not just Derek, but Nana too.

(“I can’t believe she hugged you,” Laura had hissed after yet another glass of infused punch. “When she met my last boyfriend, she threw him off the porch.”

“Well, Stiles is a fragile little human,” Taylor had snorted, ignoring the way Stiles smacked his arm, “and Hank was a major, prolapsed asshole.”

“Well yeah, but that’s not the point!”)

As great as Derek and his family was though, getting to come home and surprise his dad early… well, there was no place on the planet he would rather be than wrapped in a signature Stilinski hug, the kind of hug where you held on just a little longer than you needed to so you can pretend you definitely weren’t crying.

He got to watch a game with his dad, he got to sleep in his old, lumpy-ass childhood bed, he got to make breakfast in his mom’s kitchen.

So yeah. Great time.

Or at least, it had been, until a text rolled through after he kissed his dad goodbye that morning.

der-bear: Do you want to come over for lunch? Nana has everyone out of the house, Mom and Uncle Peter showed up this morning and he’s already driving everyone crazy.

sent: sure man. want me to bring anything? :)

der-bear: Don’t worry about it. Besides, I figure we should talk before the bonfire anyway.

And just like that, something brought around a cloud to rain on Stiles’ parade.

“Is it about tonight?” Derek asked, and if Stiles’ hadn’t been so laser focused on his cooking technique (his arms, okay, he was staring at Derek’s arms) he probably would have missed the way Derek hesitated when he asked, like he was afraid of the answer.

He picked himself up off of the barstool at the island in their gigantic kitchen, leaning against the counter closer to Derek, reaching in to pluck a chunk of onion out of the pan, skillfully avoiding the swat from Derek’s wooden spoon. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you… You know we’re looking forward to having you with us, right?” Derek asked, spooning some of the food onto two separate plates, using his claws to rip two fresh chunks of bread off of a loaf. “But if you don’t… I mean, I just don’t want you to feel like you have to be there if you don’t want to.”

Stiles frowned as he accepted one of the plates, pulling the smaller chunk of bread off of one of Derek’s claws, mulling his next words over. “As long as you want me there I’ll be there,” Stiles said slowly, because there really was no way to politely say that Stiles would rather throw himself into the sun before his mythical lore studying ass missed out on observing pack activity on a blue moon.

“Why would you think I didn’t want you there?” Derek asked, looking like he was offended at the very notion, sliding a fork to Stiles as he sat down at the countertop, that offended look only growing as Stiles snorted.

“I dunno, I thought you might have changed your mind about it. Dude, you sent me a ‘we should talk’ text. I’m no expert, but I know that nothing good follows a ‘we should talk’ text,” Stiles said around a mouth full of bread, but any degree of playful levity he had gone for was sapped out of his voice the moment he saw Derek look back down at his plate.

“That, uh. I do think we should talk, but not about that. Stiles, I...”

Ah, fuck. Derek’s ears were pink again, and for once, Stiles thought that was a bad thing.

Stiles did his best not to panic as he thought through things, wondering what he had fucked up, because he just knew he had fucked up a little something. Maybe he had come on a little too strong last night, maybe he had gotten too comfortable with his crush, maybe—

“I was thinking that maybe… we shouldn’t be faking this anymore.”

—or maybe, he had fucked up a whole lot of everything.

Stiles felt his heart sink through his shoes as he swallowed his bread, his appetite suddenly gone. He brushed his hands on his jeans, giving a few short nods, swallowing again as he pushed back from the table a little bit. He thought for a moment that he should argue against it, but Derek had a sad puppy expression splashed across his face, and Stiles wasn’t strong against that on a good day.

“Oh.”

He could feel Derek’s eyes tracking him as he started to move, standing up and starting an easy track around the kitchen, flexing his fingers before he rubbed his palm with his thumbs, an old habit he had thought he had kicked back when he graduated from Berkeley.

“I think, uh, maybe you should wait until you’re back in New York to tell your family?” Stiles started, missing the tiny smile on Derek’s face before it melted into a look of confusion. “You should tell them I broke up with you, not the other way around, I don’t mind being the bad guy,” he added, staring down at his hands.

“Wait, Stiles—“

“No, seriously, it’s fine,” Stiles interrupted, putting a smile back on his face, because he knew this was going to be coming at some point. Derek had made up their entire relationship, and Stiles had worked hard to remember that the reality of it was… that it wasn’t reality. He was the one with the inconvenient crush, he was the one who had gotten stupid. This was all on him, and taking the high road to bow out gracefully would be too.

Or, at least, it should have been. But Derek had abandoned his seat as well, halfway following Stiles in his trail around the kitchen, putting his arm out against a countertop to stop Stiles at a turn.

“I said I wanted to stop faking, Stiles.”

Hell, when had Derek gotten so close to him? Stiles blinked as he backed up against the counter, Derek’s arms closing him in, and suddenly he was getting an up close and personal look at Derek’s lips, and his eyes, and the way the blush was going back up his ears, and—

...why was Derek blushing?

“I never said anything about wanting you to leave.”

But why would Stiles be staying if… oh. Oh.

Realization dawned on Stiles’ face as Derek blushed and looked down, moving his hands a little bit closer against the counter, and Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine as he felt Derek’s thumb settle right along his hip. He had to clear his throat before he could speak, swallowing down the hope that was threatening to bubble over, chewing on his lip as he put one hand on Derek’s chest, the other gently tipping his head back to look him in the eye.

“Dude, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, you gotta spell it out, I’ve had a crush on you for like forever and if I’m mis-reading this—”

“I told you. I’m your boyfriend, don’t call me dude.”

Stiles laughed again, elation making him feel light and giddy, finally breaking eye contact with Derek as he felt his own blush burn through the back of his neck.

“Stay, Stiles. You belong here. With me.”

Rather than even try to form a coherent response, Stiles dropped one of his hands, cheeks still a ruddy color as he looped a finger into one of the belt loops on Derek’s designer jeans, pulling him just that much closer.

“Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Oh, thank God—"

—————

Yeah, Stiles thought hours later, still feeling the warmth of Derek’s smile against his lips as howls sounded off around the Hale House, moonlight swirling around him from the vantage point he had on the porch.

This was exactly where he belonged.

[writing-frenzy]

Airplane gets Ghosted~

Brain: :D

Me: Oh no, what did you do.

Brain: Let’s make another Airplane Harem~

Me. 🥺 why are you like this?!

Note: Inspired by A Crowd of Evil Spirits Lines Up to Confess to Me; pretty funny horror unlimited flow story, with some good scares that leave ya at the edge of your seat. (I really love the Protagonist, so good and pure and I headcannon as Aro-Ace~) So anyways, for those who don’t know, in the novel, the Protagonist Gu Wuji is a genuinely good person, an aspiring actor on hard times who suddenly gets pulled into this horror survival game. Here is the thing; while for others this is a truly cursed and terrible thing, for the protag this is just a regular day, just with some people who need some help; he will help Ghosts just as much as he would help a human.

Ghost: *being Scary*

Gu Wuji: Oh no, let me help you? *smiles*

Ghost: *either a blushing mess, happy to be helped, or can feel how strong this human is and is the one scared instead*

So yeah, here this man goes, bewitching everyone he meets, especially terrifying Ghosts who want him to die so they can stay together forever 🙃 Lucky he is so charming, and that with every Instance cleared, he can get points to get items and information/hints from the store.

And then I though about Airplane being in this position and I just grinned.

So, to preface this, I’m going to go on how I think Airplane has been raised in this AU.

Basically, since our favorite writer was young, Airplane was pretty much raised by ghosts. With two increasingly furious and arguing parents who couldn’t care less about him, they don’t notice at all how weird their kid is, not wanting to be reminded of old memories. So thus start’s Airplane’s growing up more comfortable with the headless car-crash victim who helps him know when his bullies are around then actual living people who only seem to try and tear each other apart more then most dead ever want to. Not to say he hasn’t met some mean dead too, but all they seem to care about is just scaring him off so they can be alone. Which, fair.

Just... Airplane is still Airplane, but for him, normal is dealing with the Ghostly Neighbor who will at least hear him out most of the time, especially since most Living people are assholes.

(Also, Airplane will have some of the strength that Gu Wuji is known for, but he mostly just has a really good head for intelligence, logistics, plots, and strategy... Let’s just say Airplane has seen and been through some shit in his younger years.) 

I am also being a gremlin and making Shen Jiu and Yue Qi be the friends Airplane makes in middle school, Shen Jiu being superstitious as fuck and Yue Qi going along with it, even as he because more WTF the longer they are friends with Airplane and fully realize ‘Shit, ghost are fucking real, nope, nope, nope.’ It is a beautiful, disaster of a trio and their friendship is eternal... (even if Shen Jiu will never forgive/hold over Yue Qi for leaving him with the ghost in the fucking burned down Mansion, even if Airplane fixed it; apparently it had something to do with their previous incarnations?)

So yeah, these guys are released out into the world, where Airplane writes really good, if bloody dramas, asking his Ghost Friends if he can use some of their stories and them either not caring or excited as they give him the go ahead. (The Police have some questions...)

Sure, he writes some bad porn on the side, but with some of his Ghost friends able to beta read for him, Airplane is able to stay a float nice and easy, if still anxious every time he has to pay the rent because human interaction is so hard when you’re dealing with the living. (Don’t have to worry about meeting someone’s eyes if they’re gouged out after all)

And then we get to the Instances :) (Now, besides the first one that does happen First, these others could happen with one or two between them.)

First Instance(Novice): The Traitor’s Secret~

The fresh new Players, with some older ones here, is part of a Merchant Caravan that they just have to ensure gets from point A to point B, and just live. Simple mission as this is a Novice Instance for innocents pulled in. And it would have even remained a simple one, only having to deal with the wondering dead that are manageable, as they have plenty of supplies to ration and work with, if one of the Older Players wasn’t here with ulterior motives.

See, this ‘Senior’ managed to buy information that there is a great item that can be obtained; the thing is, one must betray their comrades in order to get it, with the first betrayal making the difficulty rise from the Novice to Intermediate immediately, as this as awakened a terrible Boss.

It probably would have gone smoothly (maybe....) but here is the thing.

As it turns out, ‘Senior’ didn’t buy enough information; after The First Betrayal, the Boss Ghost will sneakily become a part of the Party, acting much like a helpful NPC when really he is a trap; if the Betrayer betrays him, it is game over.

But the game is different this time; No one expects Airplane, who has the ability and instincts of a cockroach who was completely willing to hug a Ghost’s (well, NPC’s) thighs

Cue Shang Qinghua who is very confused, because after he sneakily becomes part of the group, this human has decided to cling to him of all people, the Creepy/Grumpy NPC, and not his fellow group members... 

Airplane grows on SQH like a fugus, makes amazingly funny commentary, and even tells some interesting stories. On Airplane’s part, Shang Qinghua feels not only like the strongest guy here, but also the most reliably competent...

 Not to mention he feels comfortable to be around, which is weird since Airplane doesn’t usually feel to comfortable with the living~ (ha ha ha, maybe because he’s a NPC? Though he still freezes with those guys too...) 

As it is, because ‘Senior’ needs to betray everyone, he tries to get Airplane, who, again, is still a very, very morally ambiguous guy, sees this guy trying to kill him, and simply pushes them instead into a throng of the undead.

Airplane: Ah, sorry for the terrible sight Senior brother, but he was trying to kill us? Are you alright? Do you want a massage?

Shang Qinghua is incredulous, but becomes more charmed as time passes.

(Remembers, how his martial brothers, people who he had lived and worked beside all his life, so easily sold him out, trying to kill him only for him to suffer a fate worse then death. It was only so much time was passed, after having to spy and betray those who betrayed him before he finally had the release of death; but even then, his resentment was too strong, even the blood sealed onto his jade hairpin filled with resentment.)

It is this item he gives to Airplane, blushing as he does as he says if the other ever needs help, to just use the pin and it won’t lead him wrong.

When Airplane leaves the instance, he gets a system notice about the points he got, increased because of the Instance’s sudden level increase, as well as information on the item he received from Shang Qinghua 

Shang Qinghua’ Hairpin: A Hairpin with deadly secrets, belong to A Spy with a vast network of information, be able to uncover hidden secrets with ease and learn anything you wish of with loyal shades at your command,

 Level One: Summon two shades to gather information. (Each level up gets you another shade to do your bidding)

(He only has the information from level one, but once he levels it up, this is what else it can do)

Level 3: Your shades can now help you escape dicey situations

Level 5: Able to uncover the deadly poison hidden in the hollow of it, this deadly substance can poison Living and Dead both

Level: 7: Able to use the Hairpin like a deadly knife, the resentment enriching the wood to be harder and sharper then ever before.

(Past Level Seven, must full on stab someone in a vital place to discover this ability: Able to release one ensured fatal attack from the Hairpin; after that, it will continue to drop to a fifty-fity chance and before renewing each Instance.)

Level 10: be able to summon Shang Qinghua, the deadly competent Spy to your side to aid you; note, he will only help as much as he likes you and you are only truly safe from him for an Hour before he gets free range to do whatever he wants.

So yeah. this is Airplane’s first instance~ It was so terrifying, having to be around so many people and freaky monsters, but he thinks he made a friend? He hopes?

(He certainly gets one heck of an admirer.)(¬‿¬)

Second Instance(Novice): The Healer’s Broken Heart

So, next Instance, Airplane finds himself in an ancient, fantasy hospital with a group half novices and novices who at least survived two or three games after this. The challenge this time is two pair up into teams of two or threes and try and treat as many ‘patients’ in the hospital as one can. First, they have to collect all the medicine they need, prepare the Nursing rooms, and then, of course, treat at least five patients each, or face death for failing. 

See, the patients are sorta, kinda, Undead they need to treat as if they were living, so they Have to do things like bandaging sliced throats, sew back on sliced limbs, and drain puss and other gross gory things to give nightmares. Not to mention that they have to follow regular rules like in most hospitals, so no running in the hall, no loud sounds, things like that when their are Ghosts everywhere. (As long as someone doesn’t break the rules, the Ghosts won’t notice you.)

 As Airplane is a nervous wreck around people, and with this being a bad day for his anxiety, no one but one guy is willing to partner up with him, this gentle, sweet guy called Mu Fan, who’s amazing chill affects Airplane’s own chill and helps him feel a little better about the situation.

Ha~ Mu Fan is so nice and even knows so much about all the medicines and what to do here! He’s even helpful and nice when Airplane was about to have an anxiety attack, following what Airplane warned him about not touching him, but if he could, maybe hum if he could?

Of course Airplane can’t just let the other carry him the entire way! Mu Fan is just too nice and really helped him back there, so he wants to pay back at least a little. So, being this disaster that he is, instead of thanking Mu Fan and asking him if their is anyways to pay him back, Airplane uses his Hairpin instead to see if he could help the other out.

He gets an... interesting reaction...

Apparently, Mu Fan is actually Mu Qingfang, a Boss Ghost (tho Airplane only knows the other is a ghost) of this area, who can be activated in some ways; examples, if the Players try and hurt the Patients, if Players try and kill each other in cold blood, or try and steal Medicine. Mu Qingfang’s most sincere wish is to free his patients from this cycle of pain, hopefully be free from it for good.

This is the information that Airplane gets, what Mu Qingfang has been trying to discover for years with no luck.

Airplane: QAQ Mu Qingfang is truly too good, too pure for this world, wanting to help the other ghost past on and be out of pain.

On Mu Qingfang’s part, he saw this poor, distressed man and the doctor instincts in him went on fire as he did his best to help the other with their heart demons. But he was really, extremely impressed by them with how they treated his patients, taking care of their wounds like it was nothing, joking with the decapitated head as he sewed it back on, getting a breathless laugh from the woman as she cried happy tears from it. The doctor went really gooey though with how Airplane spellbound his audience of twins who needed to be separated after their parent had sown them together, the two young (very creepy as fuck) children begging for more, distracting from the pain of having to reattach their arms in the right places one more.

(Tries not to cry when this disaster of a Man says he has to do something first before he leaves after he finishes the five patients, only to bring a true gift back as he does. Mu Qingfang has nearly given up on his poor patients ever being free from this constant cycle of pain, their Bandit Killers, for such a small, evil group, never brought to justice only for Airplane to catch them all, bringing them to the hospital so that all their grievances can be aired out and payed back once and for all. It took a bit, and Airplane accidently raised the Level of the Instance himself this time doing it, but he got all the baddies round up and incapacitated as he did.)

Mu Qingfang is ever so grateful, even as Airplane offers to help the man finish up here before he leaves, the last doctor’s visit these ghost will ever need to have. He blesses Airplane with a powerful healing ability, along with a Doctor’s kit that is full of useful supplies, refilling ever day if needed.)

So, Airplane is back in his space, cleaning his hands and body because that was still gross (but not the worse thing he has dealt with) with new points and some good prizes once more, even if he isn’t sure why the level went up all of a sudden? The Bandits honestly weren’t that hard to trick and sabotage?

Mu Qingfang’s Medical Bag

Basically, like the Hairpin, full of goodies that can do more and more OP things the higher the Level it goes (and yes, has a secret poison function as well; Now Shang Qinghua can refill the Hairpin if he ever need to :D And yes, Mu Qingfang can be summoned with an Item in the bag once he gets to Level Ten..

Same with the Healing ability, it just gets more OP the higher the level, tho it doesn’t have a summoning ability, but will let you heal others as much as you want at Level Ten

So thus, this is Airplane’s second Ghost ‘Friend’~ (〃￣︶￣)人(￣︶￣〃)

Instance Three (Intermediate): Guards of The Icy Village

So, Airplane is confident in himself, seeing as he’s managed Instances that go from Novice to Intermediate all the time, thinks ‘why not try an Intermediate, since my Novice experience will probably turn out like that anyways? (the fact that all the choices he has left are either Intermediate or Hard does not matter!) 

Looking through his choices, he see a Limited Event One, with a Special Link to it; not knowing what this means but being effected by the Limited deal, he picks it.

(What this means is that there will be an Event in this Instance that will literally only be open this one time and can not be done ever again; Special Link Means that this Event will and can effect in even Higher Level Instances in the Future, depending on how Many +’s are in the title of it.)

This Event has a Max Number of +’s :)

So, he picks his choice and finds himself in this beautiful Icy wonderland with a group of other people. Everyone has to be set into teams here, guarding the snow village from evil spirits and monsters that would prey on it for five days and five nights. And because I want to, Airplane has been teamed up with Gongyi Xiao, Qin Wanrong, Qin Wanyue, and Qiu Haitang. As long as they protect their part of the Village, they will be able to pass the Instance and everything will be swell

(Is this me indulging in having some badass girls, and letting these characters not only get some damn scene time, but be able to be happy and live? Yes, yes it is, because let me explore these guys in this traumatic AU where they have to do all they can to live, and still be able to trust to have each other’s backs dang it) 

So, the Huan Hua High Schooler group have already been through two instances at this point, Airplane has been through a lot, and Qiu Haitang has had one game that turned from easy to hard in a minute that she survived with luck and her wits (and gave her a crap ton of points and a need for survival classes she took asap before her next game). Airplane, because he doesn’t trust the fact that they’ll be okay if other parts of the Village they’re in are invaded, sends his spirits and some nifty golems he got from the shop to help patrol everywhere. 

Because come on, if one place gets breached, of course the rest will be vulnerable! He’s played the Empire Building, Fortress Making games to prove it!

(Everyone nods, because this actually makes so much sense, how could they have ignored such an obvious trap! Intermediate Instances are no joke!)

Cue really scary as fuck ice monsters and evil spirits. Things are going good, Airplane and co are making it through, with Airplane discovering and making obsolete yet another trap unknowingly because he’s making sure everything is rationed(and using some points to actually buy some fooof) and checking in with villagers all over; because they are literally in charge of protecting and managing all these people, and with everything around here with the blizzard and seize, they have to make sure there is enough food and supplies for everyone. 

(That this prevents making evil spirits and monster from rising with the Village is a big thing actually, because some of them are made from the dead.)

So then, the forth day comes; it starts out nice, no more harsh snows, people are coming out of their houses now, Airplane is nearly tearing his hair out from stress and too many people, but he can make do. (has had to make do with worse really)

And then he hears some of the Villagers are about to riot, planning to go at something with stones and pitchforks. Panicking, thinking these NPCs that he has to protect are trying to go outside their weight class, Airplane gets the others in his team and other teams who are useful to hopefully get the weak peasant class NPC out of danger as he goes about handling the problem himself, only to stop and start at the literal child bleeding in from of him.

For a moment, Airplane blanks... (Sure, he knows, from experience, that Children Ghosts are in fact some of the most, if not the most deadly ghost out there... And yet... for all the pranks and cruelty they played, they were always the ones who understood Airplane’s loneliness the most, being the most truthful and blunt and just honest with him...)

So, when Airplane sees this light blue demon child with horns and nasty claws, tear stains on his still baby fat cheeks even as they scowl and bare fangs, fear and anger in their eyes as they tremble before him, Airplane does not kill the child or run them out of the village.

It takes some coaxing, and it’s mostly hunger on the child’s part that wins in the end, but with the last of Airplane’s Jerky being torn through, he is able to treat the kid with his kit in his tent, even get them some cold soup to eat before they sleep.

Airplane has enough time to possibly panic over the fact ‘Wait, if there is a child there must be a parent’ before said Child’s Father appears in the Village the next morning, KO’ing two teams before almost killing his own before Airplane shakily presents them their well treated and contented child... 

who doesn’t let go, until their parent raises an eyebrow, makes an amused huff, and easily grabs their child, even if it leaves Airplane with some nasty scratches and one less lucky charm necklace.

(The Future Mobei-Jun, still Mo Bolin, nearly cries, but stubbornly bites his lip as he does, glaring at anything and everyone around him, especially his parent and the warm person he has to leave here. He wants to keep them! They saved him when their was no gain for it, and even used much needed supplies to treat him, which Mo Bolin knows are important and guarded fiercely! They told interesting stories and had good food! He doesn’t want to leave them.)

Mo Bolin’s Father is very amused, and gives Shang Qinghua an ice power(shield) and a Teleporting Token.

So, when Shang Qinghua gets back from this instance, he gets some friend requests, a bunch of points for the best possible ending ever achieved in a game, and info about his new things.

he’ll only be able to make Shields and Barriers with his new Ice Ability, with the strength and number he can make increasing with each level.

With the Token, it allows him to teleport a limited range and places he either sees or has been. It can’t be leveled, but apparently, if he fulfills some sort of condition, it can be upgraded.

So, those are ideas I have for some of the Instances. Things not mentioned:

Time with the Instances is weird; Time still always moves forward, but it can easily skip around... So the next time Airplane accidently gets into a high Nightmare Grade Instance, He might see a fully grown Mo Bolin, now Mobei-Jun~ 

Another example of Time being weird with the Instances; Airplane obviously met Shang Qinghua first, but Shang Qinghua had been Betrayed and sold out to Mobei-Jun, the same Mobei-Jun that Airplane saved as a child :D

(Yes, Airplane will summon Shang Qinghua in an Instance with Mobei-Jun, and it will be gloriously awkward, even as Shang Qinghua is smug, because he can still see Airplane anytime the other wishes to summon him)

(This will probably lead to Mobei-Jun upgrading Airplane’s Token, making it to where it’s range is even greater now, and can summon him if Airplane wishes it.)

I am still on the fence of making Shen Yuan either a Ghost and part of the Harem, or a player who is bros with Airplane.

There is an Instance in their Real Life, where Qiu Haitang, Shen Jiu, Yue Qi, along with Airplane go along one hell of a Blast from the Past as they find out terrible secrets, things get resolved, there is much crying to be had, and everyone agrees to never mention the Instance ever again or so help them Shen Jiu will make them forget.

(Shen Jiu likes having a sister. Qiu Haitang likes having a brother she actually likes.)

Liu Qingge is a disaster; is he a player, is he a Ghost, is he a monster? Who knows, Airplane doesn’t. (I’m going to say he is a fellow player~ he just likes messing with Airplane.)

And thus, here is this AU~ Hope you guys like it~ EDIT: Noticed this was weird to read, so I added spaces: hope this helps.

[ttttaehyungie]

sincerely, but no longer yours | chapter 2

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sincerely, but no longer yours | ex!kim namjoon x reader

☘  genre | angst, exes au

☘  summary | It started as a coping mechanism as getting the words out provided a form of catharsis. But now you can’t stop writing these love letters, even with the knowledge that they’ll never get sent. After all, who writes love letters to their ex?

☘  word count | 5.6k

☘  rating | PG-13

☘  warnings | none

☘  a/n | ngl this update is coming later than i intended 🙈🙈 life has been pretty demanding on me lately butttt here we go!! chapter 2 😌 as always, thank you all you lovelies for reading, and let me know what you think 💕

The blare of the alarm pierces straight through the pleasantry of slumber and has you fumbling blindly for your phone. It’s right there on the bedside table. You refuse to open your eyes to the morning light that streams into your apartment. Finally, your searching hand finds the coolness of the device that's vibrating away angrily where it sits. Within a few attempts, swiping with your eyes still stubbornly closed, you get it to shut up. Rolling over, you snuggle further down under the covers, basking in the cozy warmth.

Beep. Beep.

Of course the moment of peace is not meant to last. The five-minute snooze duration on your alarm provides but a temporary respite. You groan.

But you kick the covers off, letting the cold morning air be what shocks you into alertness. Remaining in bed is really tempting, sure.

Thank god you love your job enough to overcome the daily inertia of getting up.

You shiver a little as your bare feet hit the chilly floor. Pulling the oversized shirt that is your staple sleepwear closer to you in an attempt to retain some body heat, the thought of purchasing a fluffy robe is beginning to look less and less impulsive and more and more justifiable as a necessity. With the lack of said fluffy robe, you rush to the bathroom in search of the comfort that's found in standing under the warm spray of the shower.

Your daily morning shower always gets you sufficiently awake, or enough for you to at least be in the right state of mind to make your cup of coffee that will wake you up entirely. The coffee machine had been a splurge at the time of purchase. But it’s established itself well enough within your morning routine to be considered an investment at this point. Sipping your coffee- with cream and no sugar- in between your daily make-up routine has your insides all toasty and warm.

The hot beverage exponentially increases in importance on rainy mornings like these. It’s nothing too drastic, just a light drizzle. But it makes the concrete jungle that you live in feel extra cold, and in more ways than just in temperature. The lack of lush greenery and the stiff silence of the people rushing about to get on with their hectic daily lives often leaves the city atmosphere feeling gray and dreary.

But you can’t complain.

Not when you’re one of the exceptional cases that gets to do what you truly love. In fact, being surrounded by the robotic throngs that drag themselves to the towering skyscrapers that house these big fancy corporations of blah only makes you even more aware that what you have is something coveted.

Working as a museum curator definitely wasn’t your childhood dream. But your college days had awakened the deep passion for art history that had laid dormant in you for years.

And now, here you are. Living in the big city and working for a prestigious museum. Who would have imagined that small-town you would have achieved all of this?

You absolutely love it. This little space in the world you’ve carved out is yours. You’re chasing after your own dream and living out your passion.

Maybe that’s one thing you should be thankful for from the breakup. Being thrust into singleness had left you helplessly untethered at first what with the abrupt upheaval of all the plans you’d initially laid out.

But perhaps it was what you needed. You needed to be an individual. You needed to know what that individuality meant. And your self-exploration, free from just chasing his shadow, brought you to discover your interest in curatorial work.

Which, in turn, brought you to the city.

The very same city that the breakup had happened in.

The fates truly have a sense of humor, pulling you back to the place which was once the site of heartbreak and tragedy, but is now the launchpad for your ambitions and self-actualization.

Or, much more plausibly, it was not the fates but a matter of practicality and statistics. It’s a big city, housing multiple big-name museums. It’s only natural that the city would become the base for you to build up your career once you completed your post-grad studies.

Once upon a time, when things were still a little too raw, you’d sworn off this place entirely. The city was simply too filled with memories, both good and bad, of him.

But that line of thought simply couldn’t hold up for too long. After all, by that same logic, your own hometown would have had to be boycotted as well.

Through your extended reverie, your hands- well-seasoned to the movements they execute daily- had finished your simple make-up routine. One final spritz of setting spray, and you release your now damp hair from where it sat bundled in the towel atop your head. As you absentmindedly blow dry your hair, your thoughts wander off on their own once again.

Your decision to move out to the city was one that was made in full knowledge that Namjoon was still here. This city is not affectionately termed the city of dreams for nothing. As an aspiring writer and a boy with a city soul, it was the most natural progression of events that he chose to remain in the city after graduating from college. Living in the city made it convenient for him to meet up with his editor and publishing company.

Or so you’ve heard from Hoseok. It’s been years since your break up and neither of you have reached out to close that awkward distance that rifted between you. Anyway, when you were moving out here, you figured that in a city as big as this with such a dense population, there’s little chance that you’ll actually bump into him.

Okay. You apologize to whatever deity it is out there for your earlier dismissal of the fates. Now that you think about it, they truly exist, and boy do they have a sense of humor.

Who would think that even in a city as large as yours, you’d still manage to run into him? And not just once, but a number of times now.

The first time, it was in a diner just two streets down from the museum that you had planned to go to for lunch. That is, until you spotted him through the window, chatting with a companion, his tanned skin and dimpled smile the same as always. Suffice to say, your lunch plans changed.

Then on a quiet afternoon in the museum, your little workplace trio had slipped out together for a coffee break under Yeri’s insistence. Apparently, the new cafe down the road served an oat milk latte that was to die for, or at least good enough to drag you and Soo-eun out for.

Turns out the cafe’s reputation had reached Namjoon’s ears too, because there he was, seated by the window with a mess of papers filled with his scrawly handwriting. The choice of seating was so… Joon. He’d always justified his fascination with people-watching by claiming it to be an essential part of his creative process.

Thankfully, this creative process seemed to be going well for him and took his full attention, allowing you to slip into the cafe unnoticed. A true feat, really, considering how animated Yeri gets when she’s chatty. With your oat milk latte in hand- also this damn drink better be so good it brings you to your knees on the first sip given the things you’ve had to endure to obtain it- you’re ready to make your swift escape from this risky situation.

As Soo-eun pushes the door open, you steal a leftwards glance. Your heart stills for a second. A pair of familiar, striking eyes is trained on you, and they widen just a fraction upon being caught. You can feel your own features making their own reflex reaction as the shock runs electric through you.

The awkward eye contact is forcibly broken as you follow after your friends, refusing to acknowledge the moment the two of you just shared. That was all it was- a moment- but it felt like time came to a standstill the moment your eyes met.

This freezing of time seems to be recurrent in your run-ins with Namjoon. The next time you see him is when you’re riding the subway home. Your pubescent years had seen Namjoon shooting up in height. You can’t forget the countless times he’d had to stoop down for you so you could press a chaste goodbye kiss to his cheek. What an inconvenience it’d been.

But what a convenience it is in this scenario. His head, though bent over a book, towers over the rush hour crowd squeezed into the carriage. With his height, you’d spotted his presence within mere seconds of him boarding the train.

The shock that had jolted through you had you dropping your eye gaze and ducking your head, letting your hair fall as a shield to conceal you. And it was a pretty effective one, as your surreptitious monitoring revealed that he was none the wiser to your presence.

However your next challenge comes when it’s your stop next and he’s standing right by the exit. As the train pulls into the station, you pray hard that he returns to his book and remains sufficiently engrossed in it for you to make your escape. Keeping your gaze on the ground, you worm your way around the crowd, mumbling out ‘pardon me’s.

Perhaps that was your downfall, was what alerted him to your presence. You’re stepping out of the carriage and so close to sweet, sweet relief.

But something brushes your arm just as you’re passing by him- a hand maybe? Your breath catches. Time halts. You steel your nerves. Ignore it. Just keep walking.

As the whirring of the blow dryer switches off, so does your unrestrained recalling come to an end. Downing the last of your coffee- now barely warm- you bring it to the kitchen to wash away the dredges the same way you wash away the thoughts of Namjoon.

"One more week, everyone!" Yeri cheers, as she turns her chair, swapping her cushy flats out for some black heels. That can only mean one thing- she’s headed for a night out.

"Have fun, Yeri," you say.

"Fun? What is that? At this point in our timeline, all I know is the hustle, babe."

You glance meaningfully at her shoes.

"Happy hour drinks with one of our patrons so I can secure the loan on this piece that you listed as absolutely essential," she explains in response to your pointed look.

"Ok, ok. Go work your magic."

She smirks. "That’s right, trust me to be your resident miracle worker."

"Just make sure it comes on time, please. The exhibition spatial plotting on this one looks intense," Soo-eun pipes up quietly.

"Hey, where’s the vote of confidence in our heavenly trio?" Yeri says.

"I mean, we’re good at what we do, but exhibition design never gets any less stressful."

"Don’t worry, Soo-eun, we’ll deliver an excellent exhibition as per usual," you say, instilling in them the confidence that you genuinely feel when working with this team. "With Yeri’s charisma in securing the loans on the pieces we need, coupled with your eye in exhibition design, it’ll be great as per usual."

Ever since that first exhibition you’d all been thrown together for, the synergy between the three of you was undeniable, both to yourselves and to your other coworkers who were mere witnesses of it.

"And not forgetting your taste in selection of pieces too, ____. See, there’s the vote of confidence I was looking for," Yeri says. She applies a fresh coat of her merlot red lipstick and inspects her appearance in her compact mirror. Deeming herself presentable, she gets up from her desk, handbag casually and stylishly slung on her forearm. "Ok, I’m off. TGIF, everyone! Don’t stay too late working on those descriptions, ____."

You hum in response, your eyes glued to said descriptions that were only half-written at this point. Maybe a weekend working overtime is in order.

"Oh! Don’t forget, we’ve got brunch with Dong-In tomorrow. He really enjoyed your company the last time," Yeri says, as if she read your mind. There goes your overtime plans for the weekend that you were mentally pencilling in.

"Right. You make sure that you don’t get too wasted and miss brunch tomorrow."

"Hey, it’s a strictly professional drinking session tonight."

"Mmhm, but I’m sure you’ll find a group of friends for drinks after the meeting. When have you ever missed a night out on the town on a Friday?"

"Touche."

You smirk when she concedes. You love Yeri with all your being, but she’s a party girl at heart and you know her well. "Text me when you’re up tomorrow."

"Will do, babe. I’ve really got to run now or I’ll be late and lose you your art piece."

"All the best, Yeri!" Soo-eun calls after her.

"Thanks, and all the best, Yeri!" you echo.

Sinking back in the plush of your desk chair, you return to the write-ups and sigh.

"Just one more week, ____. Like you said, we’ve got this," Soo-eun encourages.

The next day begins much like the previous, with you fumbling for your alarm in your sleep-addled state and groaning when the five minute snooze duration passes way quicker than what five minutes feels like.

You go through your usual morning routine- shower, coffee, make-up, hair- but can afford to chill out with nowhere to rush to. Weekend mornings are to be savored for their unhurried pace. Getting up is a pain, but you relish the quiet, unbroken serenity of the mornings enough to haul yourself out of bed, even if you don’t have work to head out for.

To be frank, you’re enjoying the peacefulness of your morning so immensely that when 10am rolls around and there’s still no sign from Yeri that she’s awake- you’ve done your due diligence, you’ve dropped her at least five texts and multiple calls to check if she’s alive- the temptation to just ditch your brunch plans grows harder to fight.

Well technically, it’s Yeri’s brunch plans… So if she doesn’t wake up for them then it’s not really your fault, is it?

Dialling her number one last time brings you to her voicemail- Hey, it’s Yeri! If you’re hearing this, it either means I’m busy, asleep, or ignoring you. Just leave your message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Unless I’m ignoring you, in which case, … *beep*- and you smile as you find your scapegoat.

[10.07am] ____: hey dong in, mornnn, i don’t think yeri’s awake

[10.07am] ____: soooo i don’t think she’ll be making it to brunch at this rate

[10.08am] ____: should we take a rain check on this?

Your phone buzzes a little while later.

[10.11am] Dong-In: oh damn, ok then.

[10.13am] Dong-In: catch you another time?

You know that you should feel bad, but you can’t help the joy that washes through you at the prospect of being able to just stay home. Homebody tendencies die hard. Being conscious not to sound too happy, you type a reply quickly, letting Dong-In know you’ll check with Yeri when she’s free next.

The sudden freeing up of your day has you giddy with excitement. With your hair up in a bun and hitting play on your favorite Broadway musicals spotify playlist, you set about tidying your apartment as you sing to yourself. The mess in your apartment has been steadily accumulating in your neglect as a result of the busy schedules at work. But it’s gotten to a point where even you can’t stand it. And more importantly, Hoseok, with his particularity on cleanliness, is coming to visit next week.

When your apartment’s sufficiently clean, you make breakfast with whatever leftovers you can muster from your depleting food supplies. Consuming your pathetically pulled together breakfast omelette that consists of the last egg in the fridge and an overripe, almost-mush tomato cements the next item on your agenda. It’s time to go grocery shopping.

You’re midway to the grocery store when your phone buzzes in your pocket in quick succession as if provoked.

[12.18pm] Yeri: BINCH did you not go to brunch??

[12.18pm] Yeri: duDE

[12.18pm] Yeri: !!!!!!!!

[12.18pm] Yeri: ____ i s2g

[12.18pm] ____: well good morning to you too

[12.19pm] ____: you were dead to the world

[12.19pm] ____: i called you at least eight times and dropped you multiple texts

[12.19pm] ____: why are you coming at me this way huh

[12.19pm] ____: anyway i told dong in to postpone

[12.19pm] Yeri: ok oK too much shouting for this hungover bij

[12.19pm] ____: yeri it’s all over text…

[12.20pm] Yeri: typing in caps makes it shout in my head alrite

Yeri’s drama queen antics are truly one of a kind. It has you rolling your eyes, but you smile. Well now that she’s awake, you figured lunch and a hangout could substitute for your cancelled brunch plans. And of course, hungover Yeri is always in need of tender loving care. Your grocery shopping plans can always wait.

[12.20pm] ____: anyway your personal postmates is on its way to you so ‘hungover bij’ had better be grateful

[12.20pm] ____: see you in 20

[12.20pm] Yeri: ok i take it all back I LOVE YOU YOU’RE THE BEST

You get to Yeri’s place and it’s unexpected but not surprising that Soo-eun’s the one who opens the door to let you in. It makes sense, a weekend hangout would simply be incomplete without her. Plus, the task of nursing your hungover friend is not something to be taken on alone.

"Soo-eun!" You wrap an arm around her in greeting, which she returns.

"Hey, ____," she responds. "Yeri’s in the shower but she should be out soon."

"How bad is it?" you ask, releasing her and heading to the kitchen.

Soo-eun trails after you. "It’s been worse. And food will make her hangover better."

"It’s a good thing you’re here. We need your voice of reason to mediate the dumbass squabbles hungover Yeri and my impatient ass will undoubtedly get into."

Soo-eun simply laughs at your antics, shaking her head. She's well-accustomed to her role as peacemaker by now.

Another voice rings through the kitchen area where you stand with Soo-eun. "Wow, the disrespect! Breaking and entering into my house to gossip about me?"

Yeri enters, her usual bouncy ringlets now hang limp and wet, creating a damp spot over her chest where it sticks to her oversized t-shirt. In contrast to her usual self, hungover Yeri forgoes style for comfort.

"Case in point," you say. Before Yeri can bite back a response, you interject with a raise of the takeout bag in your hand.

"Hmph. I will forgive you this time. But only because you come bearing peace offerings."

"Only because you think with your stomach, you mean."

"Okay my hungover brain doesn’t want to argue anymore. Just want food."

With that, the three of you are crashing on the couch while Yeri takes liberal bites of her burger. The fries get split amongst you, picked at sporadically between your playful gossiping.

The upcoming exhibition- that's opening in a week, wow, where did all that time go?- is a pretty big one, and the three of you have been slogging it out for months now. At this stage of the project, having a weekend to kick back and relax has become a true rarity. It makes you treasure the time together even more.

But in that vengeful manner that time seems to get when you're enjoying yourselves, the afternoon slips by when it feels like it's barely even begun. Outside the looming windows of Yeri’s loft apartment, the sun is beginning to set. The tv is playing but it’s the equivalent of a murmur, just ambient noise as the three of you soak in the coziness of physical closeness.

None of you wants to shatter the quiet calm that has settled in like a blanket over you, but someone has to. And that someone is you.

You lift your head from where it rests on Soo-eun’s shoulder. Your light jostling causes Yeri to lift her head from where it lays on your lap.

You sigh. "I’ve procrastinated grocery shopping for the entire day. And the fridge isn't getting any fuller the longer I stay."

Yeri whines and plops her head back down onto your lap, pressing down forcefully to keep you from getting up.

"Or we could all go to the store together," Soo-eun says. Yeri's head pops up at the suggestion.

"Idea! Let's go!" she says, scrambling up from her reclined position across the couch. "You brought me Arby’s, it’s only fair I do groceries with you."

You turn to Soo-eun, but she’s replying before you can even ask. "I suggested it, of course I’m ok with it."

"Fine," you huff, but they both know it’s feigned annoyance. All three of you are as clingy to each other as the next is. "You can come along. But we’re only buying the necessities. Only. Necessities."

Your basket is full of non-necessities thrown in by Yeri. You really should have made a shopping list.

While Yeri is busy perusing the next aisle, Soo-eun removes the bags of chips Yeri had thrown in (because ‘this is a necessity! You never have any snacks when we crash at your place, I’m just thinking ahead for our future hangouts!’) and places them back on the shelf it came from. You smile at her gratefully.

Yeri returns with another armful of snacks.

"Yeri," you groan. "I came for fresh produce, not this. I already had an overripe tomato for breakfast. I’m not up for eating junk food as sustenance for the rest of the week."

"Well you could have had a nice fresh meal if you didn’t skip out on brunch. Poor Dong-In, I can’t believe you cancelled brunch with him."

"Hm," you say, walking ahead down the grocery aisle, "if you feel so bad for Dong-In, maybe you shouldn’t have overslept on us then."

Yeri chases after you to dump the snacks in your basket. "You could have just gone without me. He’s a nice guy, y’know."

"No way, that would be too awkward. What would we even talk about? We’re so different."

"You’ve only met him twice. Who knows? Maybe he belts out Broadway songs in the shower just like you and you can finally find the Phantom to your… Opera."

Walking just behind the two of you, Soo-eun’s laughter, though hastily masked by a cough, could be heard.

"It’s Christine. And if you’d watched the musical, you would know not to wish Phantom on anyone," you say.

"Whatever! I’m just saying, it takes more than two meetings to know someone. Give him a chance, ____."

"Wait." You freeze mid-step. You turn to Yeri. "Are you trying to set me up with Dong-In?!"

Yeri’s eyes roll in exaggerated exasperation. When she’s done, she folds her arms and her body language sends a loud and clear, "Duh."

You frantically pull your phone out from where it sits in the pocket of your jeans. Swiping quickly to read your text conversations with Dong-In in the light of this new information, you’re absolutely mortified by your lack of awareness and worried if you’ve come off as brash in your ignorance.

"Does he know? Am I the only one who’s unaware?!"

This time, it’s Soo-eun that pitches in. "Even as a third party, it was pretty obvious Yeri was trying to matchmake you two. So… sorry, ____, but it’s just you."

You sputter.

"It’s alright. Your obliviousness is part of your charm," Yeri says.

"And," Soo-eun cuts in before you can retort, "you have no obligation to feel anything for Dong-In. So if you’re not interested in him that way, you just aren’t."

Yeri huffs, but agrees. "She’s right. But- now that you’re finally aware- give him a chance alright?"

As it turns out, you never get to give Dong-In that chance. With the exhibition launching in less than a week, it's a crazy sprint to the finish-line, and your days are simply too packed to think about anything other than preparing for the exhibition.

The exhibition itself has a short lifespan- it'll be open to the public for a relatively short period of six months.

But accompanying it is a series of open lectures meant for public education of the arts. Yeri, who is simply amazing at patron relations, managed to rope in guest lecturers for the next few months. But the museum thought it would be an excellent idea to have one of their own resident curators to helm the first of the series of lectures.

And it was an excellent idea. Just not for the curator who had to take it on. And that curator would be you.

Sitting in the first row of seats in the auditorium, you try your best to refrain from looking back. You can hear the buzz of the audience behind you as they stream in. It sounds like a sizable amount of people. Looking back would only spook you out further, so you focus your attention on the index cards in your hands, running through your main points again and again.

You take a deep breath in, and heave it out in an attempt to release the anxiety built up in your chest. A warm hand gently pries your right hand’s nervous grip off your index cards.

"____," Soo-eun says. She's smiling assuredly at you when you look up at her. "You'll be great."

From your left, Yeri gives your shoulder a light shove. "Yeah. You've got this, girl!"

"We've seen the amount of effort you've put into this. It'll pay off," Soo-eun says.

Their words breathe a deep sense of confidence in you. After all, they're the ones who had to bear with your stress and they're the witnesses to consecutive late nights you've pulled in the office to get your script and slides done. This particular iteration of the script was a product of not just your work, but their benevolence and hard work too at editing and proofreading.

Squeezing Soo-eun's hand in yours in a bid to get rid of the jitters, you nod at them.

"We've got this," you say.

The clock hits time and you walk on stage, focusing on keeping one foot in front of the other and focusing on not- oh god forbid- tripping over your heels. The nerves are still present as you take your place at the podium, but you ignore the way your hands tremble ever so slightly.

You greet the audience, capturing their attention, and begin your presentation. And as you begin talking about your subject matter- the topic you've spent months researching and studying- the nerves melt away and your passion begins to take center-stage in your mind instead.

You're so immersed in the topic that you're just going and going, and soon enough you've reached the end of your script and the ‘Q&A’ slide is up on screen. Applause fills the auditorium, and you smile, genuinely pleased that people seem to have enjoyed your presentation. In the corner of your eye, you see Yeri cheering, and Soo-eun shoots you two thumbs-up.

"Thank you." You bow slightly. "I'll open the time up to the floor. If anyone has any questions, you may feel free to ask them now."

You scan across the auditorium, looking out for questions, when-

Time freezes in that way it always seems to whenever your eyes meet. Seated somewhere in one of the middle aisles but off to the right of the auditorium, long limbs crossed one over the other in his black slacks, Namjoon's eyes are wide as yours catch on him as if encountering a snag.

Oh. My. God. What is he doing here?

Peeling your eyes off him, you skim across the room again. Thankfully, a few hands are raised now and you take their questions, offering yourself a means of escape. But your attention is split and it takes intentional effort as you forcibly will yourself to look at anything but him.

"Okay, I'm afraid that's all the questions we have time for. But I'll be around with some of the other curators for a couple more minutes if anyone has any other questions about the exhibition," you say, gesturing to Yeri and Soo-eun, who wave at the public.

As the audience disperses, you walk off stage, hoping he'll just quietly leave.

No such luck, apparently. From your peripheral vision, you see him coming over as a few other members of the public come up to you to thank you for your lecture.

"Hey," he says, and the familiarity of his warm tone hits you like a punch in the gut, "um, you did a really good job today."

As if your break up hadn't happened the way it did, as if the numerous awkward encounters hadn't taken place, as if it didn't hurt you right now just seeing his face properly after all these years, you put up a front. You smile at him diplomatically.

"Thanks," you say. Your tone is kept even, professional. "How did you find it?"

"It was great, really. I've come to a couple of the museum's exhibitions, but this is the first lecture I've attended."

"Yeah, it's a new thing we decided to introduce for this particular exhibition."

"It's great, yeah. Gives more depth and insight to the art pieces and really makes the whole thing come alive when you see it from the curator's perspective."

You nod. "Nice. That was our intention."

"Anyway," he pauses and runs a hand through his hair self-consciously, "how have you been? It's been a long time."

You bite back the scathing remark that sits on the tip of your tongue. It's almost too enticing to finally let him have it after the years of torment he'd caused you after your break up. The torment that still lives in you, muted under layers of numbness that you've buried it under. Did he even feel the pain in the same measure that you did?

"I'm good." You're tempted to leave it at that. But there's just something in his eyes, something... like a plea? that makes it impossible for you to be cold to him the way your past self imagined you would be. "I've been living in the city for a couple of years now. I'm working in the museum as a curator, as you can see, and yeah, life has been good for me."

Before you can stop yourself, you find yourself reciprocating his question. Ultimately, you can't deny your burning curiosity at what he's been up to. "What about you? How have things been for you?"

"I finally got published a few years back," he says, and you nod as if this is new information to you. Truth is, on your summer break back home that year, your eavesdropping ways had brought the news to you as you heard Hoseok congratulating him on his breakthrough. He laughs lightly. "My life has kind of just revolved around writing, getting inspiration from different sources to write, then writing more. If it sounds really mundane, it's because it is."

"No way." You shake your head. "You're living your dream, Namjoon. Wasn't it always your ambition to be a published author?"

You regret it almost immediately, bringing up the past. Anything to do with the past is dangerous territory. Hell, having a conversation with him that's more than just polite small talk about cursory topics devoid of personal details and emotions (i.e. a conversation like this one) is dangerous territory.

He murmurs something, and you’re certain you mishear him. "You remember."

"Pardon?"

"No, I was agreeing with you. Yeah, it is."

In the background, your slides click off, and it pulls you out of your conversation with Namjoon.

"I think I've gotta go," you say, pointing to the podium where Soo-eun collects your belongings. "My friends are waiting for me."

"Oh!" Namjoon says, turning to look at where you're pointing. "Yeah, don't wanna hold you up any longer. Thanks for your time today."

He turns to go, and you can't help the nagging discomfort at the way things are left hanging between the two of you.

"Hey!" you call. He turns back. "Do you want to do dinner? Hoseok is coming out for the weekend, so do you want to hang out, the three of us? We're going to the diner two streets down from here."

Funny. Didn’t you avoid this diner to avoid Namjoon the last time? Again, it seems the fates truly have a sense of humor.

Namjoon's eyebrows raise in surprise, but it's momentary and quickly replaced as his features soften into a grateful smile. His dimples appear and you hate how, even after all these years, it still has the power to wring your heart out.

"That sounds really nice, actually," he says.

"Is seven ok for you?"

"Seven’s good. I'll see you and Hoseok then."

"See you," you say and he nods. This time, he turns to go for real.

As you watch his retreating figure, you wonder if you really made the right choice, opening the door for him to re-enter your life after all these years.

[jasontoddiefor]

Medical trauma time travel AU, what’s that thought on the younglings 👀

Wouldn’t you like to know? Read on AO3 too if you like!

Anakin had paled the closer they had come to Coruscant. The moment the planet had been withing sights, he’d looked ready to either bolt or launch a full-on attack on al the horrors he had dreamed of. Nowadays, most of Anakin’s reactions could be systematically sorted to fight-or-flight, all the curiosity that used to follow with his brashness was gone. As much as it had frustrated Obi-Wan, he missed it now. Those times had been easier, didn’t involve a Sith actually being in charge of the Republic. Obi-Wan thoroughly regretted discarding Dooku’s words years ago. Had he listened, been more open to the idea of another Jedi Master betraying all their values, perhaps it all wouldn’t have come as far as Anakin’s terror-filled nights suggested.

“Ready?” Obi-Wan asked as their shuttle landed in one of the smallest hanger bays. They hadn’t announced their arrival loudly on purpose and were, by all means, sneaking in from the back entrance.

Anakin didn’t even turn to look at him. He just stood straight as if he were in a military debriefing, his hands firmly clasped behind his back.

“Yes.”

Ahsoka exchanged a look with Obi-Wan. She wasn’t his Padawan, but she had quickly picked up on their silent communication to send him a look that perfectly expressed her disbelief and the suggestion that perhaps they should stay on the ship just a little while longer, give Anakin some time to get used to being on-planet before they rushed into the temple.

But then the door opened and Anakin, seemingly unaware of what had transpired beneath his nose, marched out like he was strolling through a battlefield, his army behind him and the enemy in front. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan followed him quickly, Ahsoka to his left and Obi-Wan on his right. They swiftly crossed the hanger and made their way to the lifts. The one here wasn’t used particularly often, it was a little out of the way considering the temple’s layout.

“We’re meeting with the Council tomorrow,” Obi-Wan said, simply to make conversation. The air surrounding him felt heavy, like a blanket of stones on his shoulders. “More Council members will be on-planet then and don’t have to be excluded due to long-range communication.”

They had decided that the delicate information Anakin was carrying mustn’t be intercepted by anybody. No matter how secure their lines were, there was always the chance a clever slicer could figure out how to tap into them. Their debriefing would exclude all members who weren’t present in person, but perhaps it was also for the best that they were a smaller group. That way there would be fewer people asking questions and demanding explanations.

Anakin made no sign that he had heard Obi-Wan. He looked distracted, his blue eyes dark and focusing on nothing in particular, just staring at the empty halls. Obi-Wan was glad they had arrived in the early morning when most inhabitants of the temple were busy studying and doing their daily duties instead of rushing through the many passages.

“We’re going to our quarters then?” Ahsoka asked. “The kitchen will be empty, want me to grab something?”

“A light meal would be beneficial,” Obi-Wan mused. His eyes darted to Anakin. He still showed no reaction. His expression was frustratingly unreadable and he had buried his presence deep in the Force. All the instances where he had been unable to keep his face neutral since his awakening flashed before Obi-Wan’s mind he couldn’t correlate that man with the one in front of him.

Anakin had hinted that he hadn’t been in the temple since the creation of the Sith Empire, though he hadn’t been particularly clear on it, nor how the Jedi had been driven out of it.

There were no survivors, he had said and left it at that.

The thought made him sick. It must have been a bloodbath. All their old, the sick, the younglings- Obi-Wan let the thought go. He couldn’t afford to pursue it.

“You and Skyguy will be alright?” Ahsoka asked hesitantly.

“Yes, Padawan,” Obi-Wan replied. “We’ll start cleaning up, see if we can unearth Anakin’s bed from his latest project.”

“And get my room set up?” Ahsoka teased.

Obi-Wan pulled a face. Right. They keep meaning to clean up the room that had turned into Anakin’s greenhouse/workstation and Obi-Wan’s storage to make space for Ahsoka, but they still hadn’t. It was rare all three of them actually needed to be in their rooms at the same time, shuffling around the beds and sofa had become a little too commonplace.

“Why not?” Obi-Wan said. “Might as well use the evening.”

They turned around the corner, getting closer to the place where their rooms were hosted.

“-can’t catch me!”

“Sors, wait!”

Faster than they had any right to be, two younglings ran down the hallway they were just going to turn into. The children saw the trio too late and before they could stop on the slippery ground, crashed right into them.

“Wah!” The blond human boy fell to the ground in front of them while his green Twi’lek companion managed to catch herself on Ahsoka’s robes.

“You should be more careful,” Ahsoka said as the girl let go of her.

Blushing brightly the child, only an Initiate going by her lack of braid, bowed. “Sorry! We’re running an errand for Master Terrak. Sors, c’mon, get up.”

“Y-yeah, uh, sorry!” The boy stuttered and hurried to his feet. His eyes were wide with admiration and darted between the three of them as if he couldn’t decide who to focus on the longest. He too bowed and then, in a more moderate pace, walked past them together with his friend. After only a few glances thrown over their shoulders, the two were back to running, certainly about to cause another accident.

“Good to know the temple is as lively as always,” Obi-Wan sighed. “Let’s continue.”

But Anakin didn’t move. He stood frozen as solid as a block of ice, entirely void in the Force. Obi-Wan could still see him, but if not for that, he wouldn’t believe his Padawan was actually there.

“Anakin?”

Obi-Wan held out his hand, giving Anakin the time to see that he was approaching him, but Anakin still didn’t move.

“Anakin, can you hear me?”

But Anakin still didn’t react at all.

“Master?” Ahsoka tried but her attempt yielded the same results.

The two of them exchanged a look. Anakin had gone still like this before, they had worked out how to deal with it as well, but they hadn’t expected it to happen here, removed from the front. It wasn’t far to their rooms from here, and finding a safe place for the eventual escalation while they were in the middle of the temple was unlikely.

“Go ahead,” Obi-Wan told Ahsoka. “Make sure nobody else is there.”

She nodded and, after shooting Anakin another worried look, rushed off into the direction of their quarters.

“Right,” Obi-Wan muttered.  He tried to project as much calmness and peace as he could as he took Anakin’s hand and began guiding him down the corridor.

He started talking about whatever came to his mind, eventually settling on recounting history lessons on how and when the temple was built, stories Anakin had heard countless times since he had come to the temple. His Padawan had said that he appreciated white noise of any kind, just reminders that he wasn’t alone here and that it was no elaborate hallucination and so Obi-Wan stumbled through stories. Anakin tended to remove himself from others nowadays, but no matter how much he closed himself off from everybody, it was written all over his every gesture that he hated being left alone. His Padawan had become a walking contradiction right in front of Obi-Wan’s eyes and he hadn’t been there to witness the change, only the aftermath.

They turned into another corridor and Anakin was still staring at shades Obi-Wan couldn’t see. At the very end of the hallway, Ahsoka was already waiting for them. When Obi-Wan ushered Anakin into their quarters, she closed the door behind them. Obi-Wan guided Anakin towards their sofa and like a doll whose strings had been cut, Anakin followed him and sat down on the light pillows. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Obi-Wan registered that Ahsoka must have used the couple minutes of her headstart to also clean up their living room a little, pack away the small and breakable things, not that there weren’t still plenty of objects Anakin could break apart when he lashed out.

Obi-Wan would prefer it if it were a question of if and not when, but that wasn’t going to be the case. He should have forced Anakin to wait another month, they could have forwarded potential intel on the war effort over the comms without needed to check in with the Council. Obi-Wan could have gone on his own and told them about Sidious. There were countless ways they could have avoided this reaction, but perhaps they would have only delayed it.

“Ahsoka-“

“I’ll keep the room standing,” she said quickly. “You get him out of his head.”

Obi-Wan let out a slow breath and took Anakin’s metallic hand in his as well, then he closed his eyes. He was fairly sure that if an actual mind healer saw this, they’d try to tear him off Anakin and their rather brute solution to helping him.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, speaking his presence into existence not just in the real world, but also in the Force.

It used to be so easy to connect with Anakin. He had to give barely the softest of nudges to his shields and not even a second later Anakin was taking up much more space in Obi-Wan’s mind than it was strictly speaking polite to. It made them better partners, on and off the battlefield. Knowing what the other was up to a split second before anybody else was a huge advantage. They fought well together, achieving synchronicity like no other.

But that too had been of a time before the horrible revelations of the future that awaited them. Now any of such actions didn’t even seem to register as anything on Anakin’s radar. His shields were stronger than the foundations of the very temple they lived in. Anakin reacted to violent force quicker than to any gentle persuasion, had become numb to the latter, but Obi-Wan wouldn’t ever hurt his Padawan intentionally. He couldn’t, even if he had Anakin’s permission to do as needed for the mission.

He only ever talked about what needed to be done, how he could be utilized in the best way, never about actions they couldn’t allow themselves to suffer from.

Come back, Anakin. I’m not hurting you. You’re safe.

It took a while until Anakin started to track the happiness Obi-Wan attempted to show him. His thoughts reminded Obi-Wan of a caged beast, shown kindness for the first time and not recognizing the shape of it.

We’re home, Obi-Wan tried again and only then Anakin began to slowly open the iron doors he had shut himself behind.

Obi-Wan?

Obi-Wan let out a relieved sigh and began to smile, strained but joyful. He reached out a little further, deeper into Anakin’s space. He knew what would come now, braced himself for the impact, but that hardly did anything to lessen the hurt of the assault that followed.

Anakin lashed out, violently. Not with his ‘saber, he had given that to Obi-Wan before they had boarded the shuttle even, but with his mind. It felt like being pressed in-between two burning suns, slowly crushing him beneath their gravity. Flames licked at his bones and he was pulled under the crashing waves of exploding stars.

Jedi didn’t shield like this, they protected themselves with calm, peace and stability. Obi-Wan knew that those emotions only had a place down in the very core of Anakin’s mind where he disappeared to when he wasn’t careful. Before that lingered centuries of torment.

Still, Obi-Wan endured until he could finally get a hold on Anakin. As slow as he had been in reaching out, the faster he was with taking Anakin with him. He pulled Anakin out of his nightmare, catching glimpses of fire and screams, voices he couldn’t place.

And then, finally, there was silence and balance holding itself together with duct tape and safety pins. Obi-Wan felt as Anakin fell forwards, his head coming to rest on Obi-Wan’s collarbone. His breathing was shallow, forced and counted, following a steady rhythm and pattern that was too artificial to be subconscious.

“Master?” Ahsoka spoke up softly, addressing the both of them, even though Obi-Wan was the only one who was really in shape to answer her.

“Everything alright,” Obi-Wan retorted and slowly opened his eyes. Their living room was, as predicted, a bit of a mess.

Back on their ships there wasn’t much for Anakin to tear out of the walls and throw to the air, but here there was plenty. Obi-Wan was pleased to see that all their shelves and cupboards were still standing and nothing important had gotten damaged. Ahsoka’s control had grown considerably since he had first met her. He was incredibly proud of how far she had come.

“Well done keeping our quarters intact,” he told her.

Ahsoka pulled a face, her eyes darting to the broken glass on the ground, the datapads and mechanical pieces lying around, the destroyed plants and pots – it looked like a hurricane had rushed through their home, shattering everything it could get its hands on.

“Anakin, is he-“

“Alright,” Obi-Wan finished for her. “He’s alright.”

Anakin didn’t let go of Obi-Wan’s hands or made any sign of moving, so Obi-Wan let him be. He was present again in the Force, trying to reorientate himself as if he had woken miles away from the place he was supposed to be.

“What happened?” Ahsoka asked.

“I don’t-“ Master Skywalker, there are too many of them! “-know. I’m not sure.”

The images in his mind, the leftovers from Anakin’s memories, were disorientating at best, horrible confusing at worst. He had thought he had seen the temple burning, but the memory hadn’t been clear. It was like trying to look through deep fog, beyond knowing that something was out there, you had no idea what was going on. The only thing Obi-Wan was now certain of now was that they needed somebody who had actual practice in the mind arts and could guide Anakin properly. Of course, that also meant that they had to be someone Anakin was willing to give access to his shields and he strongly doubted that there was a viable candidate.

“I’m sorry.”

Anakin’s voice pulled Obi-Wan out of his thoughts. His grip on Obi-Wan’s hands tightened. He didn’t lift his head, kept his face hidden. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

“Everything will be alright. We’re going to fix it.”

Obi-Wan had learned better than to make impossible promises, but this wasn’t one. He would ensure that their future wouldn’t end as horrible as the one Anakin had lived through. There simply wasn’t any other option.

“The children,” Anakin started again. “All of them- they walked into the creche, to the babies and toddlers-“

Anakin’s voice began to rise again.

“It won’t happen here,” Obi-Wan pressed. “We won’t let it.”

He wanted to know what exactly they had to prevent, but for now his assurances appeared to be enough as Anakin relaxed in his arms. Obi-Wan felt drained. He was glad they had pushed the meeting to tomorrow, he doubted he’d be able to sit through that now, never mind Anakin’s own mental state. Perhaps they could even reschedule the briefing once more. Tomorrow would come way too soon.

“Let’s just stay here for a while,” Obi-Wan said. “We can clean up another time.”

Ahsoka grimaced the chaos around them with disdain. “Yeah, right. Dibs on your bed tonight.”

“Whatever you want dear,” Obi-Wan replied. “I think you deserve a good night’s-“

Obi-Wan was interrupted by loud banging against their front door.

“Kenobi!” Somebody shouted intensely. “Is everything alright!? Open up!”

What could anybody possibly want now that warranted such a reaction? Couldn’t they be left alone in the temple for even five minutes-

Obi-Wan cursed under his breath. He’d been so stupid. Back on the ship, there usually weren’t any more Jedi than them, they hadn’t needed to watch out for anybody catching backlash in the Force. Now back in the temple, there were thousands who could feel the Force. Anakin’s breakdown definitely hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Ahsoka-“

“On it,” the Padawan replied and swiftly got up to reassure the worried parties at their front door that nobody was getting tortured in their rooms.

[zarathelonewolf]

WARNING! ANOTHER KNY AU PILOT! THE STORY OF THE CHARACTERS MAY CHANGE, BUT THIS IS THE MOST STABLE VERSION I HAVE WRITTEN SO FAR!

KNY/DEMON SLAYER AU

STONE STORM

PART 1/ MASAKO

Chapter 1 - Victory... but at what cost?

No victory without suffering.

J. R. R. Tolkien

Ryue the Demon Slayer only had one daughter, and a sweet wife, ready to welcome him every rare time he came back home after some missions.

For those of his profession, seeing relatives and friends again after a fight was always cherishable: it wasn't always that a Demon Slayer managed to create a family, and for those that did manage, the reunions were charged with emotion and significance; another Slayer had the chance to see his loved ones once more, often at the price of their colleagues lives...

A risk they all willingly took, nevertheless.

Ryu couldn't avoid thinking, in front of the colossal black and blue demon, that he'd never see his family again.

He had hunted the beast relentlessly with his companions, his best friends Hari and Sakura, and after a week they had finally managed to take it out of its hiding place... They had then attacked it, to bring justice to the one hundred people it had eaten.

Now, Hari and Sakura layed on the ground, their body maimed and bloody; Haru wasn't breathing anymore, and Sakura may not have been able to make it alive... Ryu was the only one still standing, but he could barely do so and he'd soon collapse to the ground like his comrades. His left arm was so torn apart that it was about to detach, and his right leg was in a similar situation; however, Ryu kept going through it all: he'd never waver until the demon had finally fallen before him... even if he knew that killing the demon wasn't a guarantee he'd survive the night.

The kakushi had been informed to stick around in the sight of a huge battle and to follow their kasugai crows after the battle had ended to tend to their wounds.

Even with that in mind, Ryu was convinced that not even the kakushi would be able to save him, and that he'd never see his daughter Masako and his wife Yua again.

The thought of leaving them alone tore his heart apart, but when he jumped one last time for the fatal hit, other than swallowing saliva and blood, he suppressed his tears.

After a devastating silence and a something that had felt like an eternity, the creature's had had fallen on the ground with a soft thud. Another eternity went by until the demon fully disintegrated in reddish and black dust.

Ryu didn't feel his body crumble on the ground, nor did he hear Haru's and Sakura's crows (Ryu's had died in the battle) fly away and call the kakushi with urgency. He almost didn't realize that he had fallen close to Sakura, that his friend had used her last amount of strength to lightly touch his shoulder and whisper that they had done oh so well, and that everything would have been fine.

Incredibly frail hopes that faded away just like her, a few minutes later, when she had exhaled her last breath...leaving a lonely, dying Ryu, his sight becoming more and more heavy and muddy as time went on.

It wasn't just his strength getting away, but the stream of tears that he was no longer able to contain.

🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸

The kakushi had climbed the mountain as fast as they could, and they had arrived just in time to give Ryu a chance at survival.

They had observed the situation, and after assessing that there was no coming back for Haru and Sakura, they had wrapped both in a white blanket, while some others had concentrated on bringing Ryu some place where they could have healed him properly.

He didn't remember much of all those procedures, he just had extremely fragmented memories of them: among those, there were the figments of the pink dawning sky seen by heavy, half-open eyelids... the wobbly sprint towards the nearest Demon Slayer clinic to save his life... the touch of the doctors and the surgeons... a sharp and painful tug close to the left side of his head, and another one near his right leg... agitated voices, opaque faces... bandages hugging his body...

But, more than everything, he'd always recall with great precision those words, that to his suffering mind had seemed like impossible and absurd:

-He'll live.

🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸

By the time five days had passed from his arrival at the clinic, while his mind surely hadn't been in the best place he had surely become a lot more lucid.

Those had been exhausting nights, full of nightmares filled with the desperate faces of Haru and Sakura, the last screech of his crow, the taste of his blood and the demon's hellish stench. There were also terrible visions of his family being slaughtered by another demon, all because he'd been dead to prevent it.

He had, at times, awakened in the middle of the night screaming and shaking in his hospital bed in a feverish state... It had been very worried, the surgeons had said.

Now, after that hellish beginning, they were standing around his bed, and with the greatest amount of tact and quiet sorrow they had explained the whole situation: he had been saved, but...

It was at that moment that he had finally felt, for real, the sensation of emptiness where his left arm and right leg should have been, almost as if...

Almost as if they hadn't been there anymore...?

What?

He had lost two limbs, the doctors had said, his friends and his kasugai crow.

Ryu had listened, stony as a statue, while a new reality had started to cement itself in his life.

His friends... were truly gone? For good?

His kasugai crow, his faithful messenger... He had already realized it, but hearing it now...

They had defeated the demon... but at what cost?

A question he had asked himself countless times even while he endeavored in the rehabilitation exercises and tried getting used to his wooden peg leg, even when the answer was evident: like it happened so very often against demons, he had gained little and lost a lot; now, of the trio he had formed with his friends when they had passed the Selection together, only he was left.

All that remained of them were their kasugai crows, who stared at Ryu as he faced with his head high every challenge posed by his new condition.

Every time that he felt his self-esteem drown in a puddle of shame and sadness because of the new crushing reality he was experiencing, every time he felt like he wanted to tear apart the blankets and scream at whatever spirit or God was listening about the misery he hadn't deserved, insulting the world... Every single time, the crows had let themselves be caressed and hugged instead, with small noises of grief and understanding: they had lost valiant comrades too, and it was weighing over them just as much.

That was how he had spent his days at the clinic, not to speak of the nights, which were spent with worse nightmares for a long time.

His mind had started processing everything, in the meanwhile, and it had slowly risen back up.

But the question was still relevant: they had won, but at what cost?

🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸

[someobscurereference]

So, I think we know your feelings about the Awakening Trio, but what’re your thoughts on the reincarnation trio? (Asugi, Caeldori, and Rhajat)

Love ‘em? Hate ‘em? Love the concept, hate the execution? Hate the concept but enjoy the execution?

Fun fact, I tried making a roleswap AU once where Gaius, Cordelia, and Tharja were the ones who go to Fates while Laslow, Selena, and Odin are the reincarnations, but that idea fell apart quickly for a few reasons…

Oh, yeah, those guys! I think I'm mostly neutral? I don't really think about them that much, really. I really like the Awakening Trio because they're not just units who look like their Awakening counterparts; they're literally the same people, and their character growth carries over. The art shift can also be chalked up to time passing and them aging. I think that's really cool. But with the Reincarnation Trio, there's not any character development carrying over. It's just their faces and some general personality traits.

I thought Gaius and Cordelia were fun characters in Awakening, but I didn't feel like the fact they were Gaius and Cordelia were necessary to their characters in Fates the way it was integral to the Awakening Trio's interactions with others in Fates. Asugi not wanting to be a ninja and Caeldori working hard to take after Subaki's image of perfection are both neat traits, but I don't feel like them looking like Gaius and Cordelia added anything to that. There could have been original characters with those personality traits, and it would have been neat. (For Rhajat, her looking like Tharja is more tied into her character than Caeldori or Asugi's characters in that it's implied Rhajat is a reincarnation of Tharja or connected to Tharja more strongly in some way, but I'm not very interested in her obsession with Corrin/thinking they're soulmates, so that's not very appealing either. Hayato could have had a gloomy magic-user without her being Tharja 2.0 and more could have been done with that.)

tl;dr I'm neutral! I don't dislike them, but I do feel there was potential to have more original characters in their places rather than plopping in some popular characters from the last game and not changing much with them. I don't particularly think about them otherwise.

[princesslocket]

🌺Nosaichi Madoka Magica AU 2

Okay! Here’s the second AU version I had briefly mentioned in this post. I hope you all enjoy! This AU takes place several years after Ichihoshi’s family had been in a car accident… ((Btw this AU version mentions a suicide attempt so if you're uncomfortablewith that then don't read this. There will be a warning right before you get to it but still!!! - This is a Madoka Magica AU after all so some dark topics are bound to make their way into it))

It was on a freezing winter’s evening when Ichihoshi stumbled upon Kyubey. He had just said his good-bye’s to Froy and Yurika when he had encountered the freezing incubator on a sidewalk. The incubator had been shivering pretty badly and had looked to have thin layer of frost lining its body. So Ichihoshi did the only thing he could think of- bring it home! He’d bundled it up into the inner most layer of his jacket and hurried home as fast as he could. He’d later regret the decision of saving the incubators life…

After warming up, Kyubey would then offer to grant Ichihoshi a wish of his choosing. And of course Ichihoshi is all but ready to jump at the offer, but ultimately stops himself to instead think it over. (His first wishful thought is to resurrected his deceased family members but seeing as he doesn’t want to risk playing with the life of…deceased people… he drops the thought and instead asks Kyubey to simply live with him). For the next days that follow, Ichihoshi does his best to keep the incubator a secret from his friends, thinking that by doing so he’d be doing them a favor, A favor for what exactly? A favor for himself… Since he had moved into his apartment he’d been forced to live on his own in an empty home pretty much everyday but having Kyubey around meant that he had someone to be with outside of school. And if Froy and Yurika found out about Kyubey than the incubator might consider leaving him to be with his friends instead. Fortunately, when Froy and Yurika eventually do find out about Kyubey they remain practically unfazed because guess what? They had been granted a wish by the incubator months ago and were secretly fighting witches when Ichihoshi wasn’t around! The group later talk about they’re encounters with Kyubey and their wishes. Ichihoshi informs his friends about his wish making dilemma and they each give him advice. Froy is more lenient and tells Ichihoshi to just wish for something that would benefit him and him alone while Yurika tells him to yes, wish for himself, but to be careful; that he should make a wish he won’t regret having made years later. And after some more talking the magical duo ask Ichihoshi to join them on their witch hunts- just so he can see if having a wish granted is really worth becoming a magical boy.

Several days pass by before a transfer student by the name of Nosaka Yuuma enters Ichihoshi’s life. The transfer student, like Froy and Yurika, is a magical boy who fights witches. However, he doesn’t get along with the magical friend duo and winds up fighting with them more often than not. Just about every time he fights, he keeps an eye on Ichihoshi, which both Froy and Yurika pick up on rather quickly. At some point the magical duo stop letting Ichihoshi join them in the labyrinths because they’re afraid Nosaka might hurt him in some way. Although he stays out of the labyrinths, Ichihoshi is still watched by Nosaka even after the witches are defeated. Thankfully nothing bad ever happens to him but after some time Nosaka starts to confront him at school, telling him to keep his wishes to himself and to stay away from Kyubey but since Kyubey lives with him he can’t exactly get rid of the incubator so Ichihoshi ignores the warnings and keeps Kyubey at a respectable distance instead just to please Nosaka. (He really doesn’t think Nosaka is a bad guy. Whenever they do talk Nosaka’s gaze always softens into somethign close to fondsness that nearly makes Ichihoshi want to run and hide his blushing face). 

Within the next couple of days a subtle change starts to take a hold of the friend group. Yurika and Froy become more distant with each other after a fight in a witches labyrinth, resulting in Froy to instead become super clingy with Ichihoshi- This makes is something Ichihoshi finds worrisome due to how Froy starts treating him soon after the clinginess starts to escalate into something more possessive- Ichihoshi gets so worried that one night he asks Froy to accompany him on a walk around town to talk. They end up talking about school for about an hour before Froy blatantly cuts Ichihoshi off to confesses his feelings, something that catches Ichihoshi by surprise. And even though Ichihoshi likes Froy, he doesn’t like him romantically, so he tries to kindly let Froy down as best as he can but when that backfires the two part ways for the night… Ichihoshi would later find out through a text from Yurika that Froy had transformed into a witch. And since Ichihoshi belives this sudden transformatoin to be his fault, he hurries off with Kyubey in search of Froy. Out of pure coincidence he ends up wandering into Froy’s labyrinth to find Yurika already fighting their friend. And because Ichihoshi didn’t want either of his friends getting hurt he risked his life by running between the two to try and stop them. Thankfully, a third magic user had just joined the fight, Nosaka, and was able to save him before anything could happen, but because of this, both Froy and Yurika ended up having to reaim their attacks and accidently dealt finishing blows to one another…Before Ichihoshi can get a chance to ask Kyubey to grant him his wish, two other magical boys rush in to attack the incubator.  At this point Ichihoshi has passed out due to everything overwhelming him in the moment. And because of this Nosaka is left with no other choice han to bring him home. 

When Ichihoshi awakens later that night he’s greeted by Nosaka and the two boys, named Tatsuya and Hiroto. The three then explain their reasoning for attacking Kyubey and even though Ichihoshi really wants to believe that Kyubey could potentially be bad, he can’t bring himself say or do anything bad to the incubator. So instead of arguing with the trio he leaves Nosaka’s home with tears in his eyes – Back at his own home he talks to Kyubey, asking for answers, which he more or less gets and then shuts himself in his room for the remainder of the night. The following days go by in a blur. With his friends gone, Ichihoshi no longer has anyone to talk to or confind in. He avoids Kyubey because of the answers he’d recived about what it truly meant to be a magical boy and because the incubator refuses to give him any kind of emotional support. So what does Ichihoshi do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And what does Kyubey do? He leaves in pursuit of finding other more capable magical boys/girls. With Kyubey gone, Ichihoshi tries to return back to his old lifestyle but ends up falling into a depression instead…

((This next paragraph contains a suicide attempt. So if you’re uncomfortable with reading it please feel free to skip over to the next paragraph))

On the night Ichihoshi decides to end it all is the same night Nosaka wound up saving him yet again. He’d gone on a walk intending to clear his mind of anything magical boy or witch related but when he came across some “Missing” signs of both Froy and Yurika, he snapped. What was the point in going on with his life if he didn’t have anyone there for him anymore? So he returned to his apartment complex, wrote a letter, and made his way to the rooftop of the building- Just as he readied himself to take the plunge Nosaka quickly pulled him away from the edge of the building. From there the two had a very long talk filled with anger, regret, tears, etc. Ichihoshi let everyhting out that had been plaguing his mind for the past few days while Nosaka listened and did his best to comfort Ichihoshi as best as he could. When the two were in a cleat enough headspace Nosaka asked if Ichihoshi would be okay with learning about his true reasoning for following him all this time. When Ichihoshi agreed, Nosaka revealed his(their) past and how he’d been time traveling over and over again just to keep him safe. During the explanation images of their past lives began to resurface in Ichihoshi’s mind, helping him to remember everything Nosaka had done for him up to that point. And just before Ichihoshi can say anything, they’re interrupted by Tatsuya and Hiroto who inform Nosaka of the witch, Walpurgis Night’s, sudden appearance. 

The three magical boys leave Ichihoshi with the promise to come back but what none of them know is that while had seen everything Nosaka had done in thier past lives, he had also seen seen a future where they all end up dying in the battle with Walpurgis Night, so what does he do? Follows them of course! And it’s a good and bad thing because by the time he makes it to the scene, both Tatsuya and Hiroto are down while Nosaka is left chipping away at Walpurgis Night. At some point Walpurgis Night takes a notice of Ichihoshi and moves to attack him, but Nosaka catches this as well and just barely manages to protect Ichihoshi from a powerful attack. And since he used such intense magic to shield Ichihoshi, Nosaka is left laying on the battle field with his soul gem quickly corrupting into a grief seed. He allows a few tears fall, accepting his fate, thinking that this is it. That after he turns into a witch he won’t be able to go back in time to fix anything anymore. And just as he’s about to let the pain of the grief seed overtake him, Ichihoshi shows up to clean him up. Ichihoshi thanks Nosaka for trying so hard to protect him throughout each life they had met in. He thanks him for anything and everything he can think of in that moment before moving away to offer a hand out to Kyubey. Nosaka then has to watch in absolute horror and dismay as Ichihoshi finally gets his wish granted by Kyubey –

-When Nosaka wakes up the next day he finds himself wearing a blue colored jacket. Memories of his last encounter with Ichihoshi flow through his mind and he allows himself to cry into the jacket. 

Ichihoshi was no longer apart of their world.

And that's all folks! Hope you enjoyed this darker Madoka Magica AU version! If you're interested in seeing Nosaka & Ichihoshi’s magical boy outfits; here's a link to those! I'll link everyone else's magical boy/girl outfits later sometimes later! But for now I hope you enjoy the one's that are already posted 🌺

[wingsofkpop]

Hiraeth — I.II: Curosity Killed the Cat

pairing(s):  Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre:  Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, Angst, slight Fluff, eventual Smut

warning(s): Mature language, descriptions of death and murder, mentions of blood, mentions of traumatic experiences, mention of reader having an anxiety attack, etc.

word count: 6,6k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

“Jihyo, please just—OW!” Pain shoots like electricity through your limbs as your hip catches the railing of the stairwell while your ankle rolls dangerously along the edge of the top step. You cling to your roommate’s shoulders, trying to find balance in the midst of her steel-like grip to avoid inevitably breaking a bone… or your entire body.  

“Shit. Sorry, (Y/N).” Jihyo murmurs apologetically, hoisting your arm higher around her shoulders. You bite back a frustrated retort and instead, find the patience to allow your support to haul you toward your shared apartment’s door. There’s honestly no need for Jihyo’s help in scaling the stairways, seeing as somehow, after the incident in the alleyway, you were completely unscathed, but she insisted. And when Jihyo puts her mind to something, there’s no pulling her out. 

Jihyo kicks open the door after unlocking it, and tugs you forward with a proud grin, “Home sweet home. All in one piece.” 

“The bruise on my hips says otherwise,” You groan, breathing a sigh of relief when you finally escape her hold. “I think I’m more hurt than I was in the actual hospital.” 

“Hush, child.” Jihyo drags the warm jacket from your shoulders before bending down to undo the laces of your boots. You sigh, but make no complaint about her fussing—you’d only receive another long lecture anyway. After another minute or two, Jihyo finishes sliding off your boots and guides you into the living room. Your eyes meet the sight of Sana nestled inside the giant, olive beanbag cushion, and two unfamiliar girls settled on the sofa beside her. 

“Look who’s home!” Jihyo calls cheerfully, turning the three sets of eyes away from the Pretty Little Liars rerun playing on the TV screen and in your direction. In the blink of an eye, Sana leaps from her seat and throws herself against your body. You almost lose your balance from the force of impact, but manage to return her hug without fault. 

“I was so worried when Mark called us,” Sana’s arms tighten around your waist. “Don’t scare me like that again, okay?” 

“I’ll try,” You rub her back, “I’m okay, Sana.” 

“You should sit down, (Y/N).” You pull from your friend’s embrace to nod at Jihyo, accepting the spot on the sofa where one of the girls had given up for your benefit. You shoot her a grateful smile, receiving a shy one in return. 

“Oh, that’s right! (Y/N), Jihyo, this is Mina, and Momo—” Sana points to each girl with their respected names, “the friends from my high school in Japan I was telling you guys about. They’re visiting for a few weeks.” 

“Welcome to Moon Dye,” Jihyo nods politely. “Sorry about all this chaos right off the bat. (Y/N), here, managed to land herself in the hospital last night.”

“It’s a long story.” You chuckle, your cheeks growing hot at both Mina and Momo’s concerned stares. “But I’m perfectly fine. Good as new.” 

“What even happened, (Y/N)?” Sana asks curiously while lowering onto the arm of the couch beside you. You open your mouth to answer, but Jihyo’s voice emerges instead: 

“(Y/N)’s already had a rough enough night as it is. Let’s not put her on the spot.” Again, you try to protest your good health, but the girls had already moved to a new subject by the time you open your mouth. 

To be honest, you still don’t believe the story that you fell in that dark alley, hit your head and knocked yourself out—the one that everyone is shoving down your throat. Even Mark didn’t believe you when you tried to explain the details you remember from last night. His words were similar to the very ones that Jinyoung had said: ‘You hit your head, (Y/N). Your memory is probably all sorts of fucked up.’ 

But he’s wrong. Jinyoung is wrong. Everyone else is wrong. You know you were attacked, and maybe you don’t know what it was, but someone—something tried to kill you. And it was pretty damn close… but that just begs another question: How the hell did you survive and come out with not even a scratch? 

“—was just so sudden. I just couldn’t believe it when I heard the news.” You return to reality just in time to see Jihyo shake her head, a pained expression written across her round face. “I mean, how does something like that just happen? You know?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Four pairs of eyes turn at your voice as Sana answers, “Im Nayeon was found dead in Eclipse Cemetery. My mom said she was killed by an animal.” You heard Mark mention Nayeon’s name a few times in past conversations, but had never spoken to the woman herself. She works in a tiny shop in Poison Square, Moon Dye Bay’s most infamous shopping complex, reading tarot cards and giving fortunes—she worked there, that is. Still, Mark and Nayeon were friends, so he must have known. Is that why he broke down at the hospital? But why wouldn’t he tell you? 

Your eyebrows furrow, “An animal? How is that possible?” 

“What goes around, comes around.” You perk up as one of Sana’s friends, Momo, you believe, speaks up for the first time. She returns your glance with a blank stare, which sends a violent chill up your spine, “It happens to the best of us.” 

“How can you say that?” You scoff, “A girl is dead—” 

“I’m so sorry,” The other friend, the one who relinquished her seat, Mina steps in this time, “My sister can be a little intense sometimes. She didn’t mean it in a condescending way.” 

“You’re sisters?” 

Mina shrugs, “Fostered, actually. We’ve kind of just… stuck together.” 

You nod, “I get it. I was a foster kid too.” Mina nods too, but doesn’t say anything in response. As she’s turning back to the surrounding trio, your eyes catch sight of a shiny, gold necklace tucked into the collar of her shirt. You can’t see the charm on the end, but just by the chain, it looked ancient. Probably a family heirloom of some sorts. 

Your mind returns back to Nayeon before wandering to your own attacker. At the connection, your blood runs cold. Is it possible that whatever monster that attempted to take your life had succeeded in ensnaring Nayeon’s instead? It may explain the reluctance toward your true story, and the attacker’s animal-like behavior… but what of your miraculous recovery? And what does Jinyoung have to do with any of this? 

Something is going on in Moon Dye Bye… and you’re going to find out what. 

“By the way, Momo, I love your tattoo.” You barely catch Jihyo’s comment as you rise from the sofa and begin to make your way toward your bedroom. You hadn’t gotten much sleep at the hospital, partly because of Mark, and partly because you just couldn’t find the will to close your eyes. To be honest, you don’t even know if you’ll be able to catch sleep in your own bed any better. Too lost in your own exhaustion, you don’t catch Sana’s laugh just as you’re shutting your bedroom door: 

“Momo doesn’t have a tattoo, Ji! Are you sure you’re not the one who hit her head!?” 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

The fogginess of his dreamworld fades as Mark gradually begins to awaken from his slumber. He parts his eyelids, only to immediately shut them with an annoyed hiss as a ray of sunlight stabs into his sensitive pupils. To escape the day’s wrath, he rolls to his opposite side and away from the lone window, reminding himself to invest in a set of curtains in the near future. 

Mark forces his upper body upward on the sofa. He groans, the movement placing a strain on his back, and lifts his arms over his head to alleviate the knots of his muscles. With a sigh, Mark wipes the remnants of a poor night’s sleep from his face before glancing back to the window. Judging by the brightness of the sun, he must have slept through the entire morning and early afternoon. 

Mark sighs again, recalling the gruesome nightmares that plagued his slumber: Nayeon’s loud screams stabbing into his soul as an unfamiliar shadow drove a large knife into her immobile body over and over again until he could feel her blood splattering all across his skin. Then, in the midst of his terror, Nayeon’s face would shift to yours… and he could do nothing but watch as the monster stole the life from your eyes… 

He pushes the thought away, suddenly nauseous, and rises from the sofa, heading toward the small kitchenette in the corner to start up a pot of coffee. As he passes the window, Mark notices a couple figures congregating around an array of chipped, ancient headstones. At first, Mark believes them to be the forensic cleaners finishing up the removal of the crime scene, but he catches the sight of the back of Youngjae’s head… and someone he definitely does not want to see. 

“God fucking damnit—” He curses to himself, abandoning his coffee and stomping outside with the beginnings of a sneer pulling across his face. At the call of his name, both Youngjae and his companion turn to face Mark just as he reaches their meeting place, “What the hell is he doing here!?” 

“I’m sorry, hyung… I thought it’d be better if I didn’t tell you about this…” Mark glares at the younger who seems to shudder beneath its intensity. Youngjae looks down guiltily, before silently mumbling something to himself. 

“Don’t be upset with him,” At the voice, Mark shifts his angry gaze to the vampire. “I came on my own accord. I want to make a proposition.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding, right? Why would we ever want to make a deal with you?” 

“Because I can help you find out who killed your seer.” Jinyoung replies coolly, reaching inside the pocket of his casual, navy blazer to pull out a pocket-sized, leather-bound book with cream colored pages. He offers it to Mark, “This is an old journal that belonged to a powerful witch who was a descendant in a long line of Pagan Witchcraft. It contains thousands of ancient scriptures and symbols dating back to the first century.” 

Mark snatches the book and immediately begins to flip through it. None of the text encrypted along the pages are anything he’d ever seen before, likely being written in a different language. He allows the cover to shut and passes it to Youngjae before narrowing his eyes at Jinyoung, “How did you know we were looking for an old symbol?”  

“I have contacts at the morgue, so I paid her body a visit myself.” Mark bites back a frustrated slur and wills himself to let the vampire finish, “In all the centuries I’ve been alive, I have only seen a symbol like that once—in dark magic.” The loathing Mark feels for Jinyoung completely vanishes at the mention of the dark arts, shifting back into the nausea from before. “I believe whoever killed your seer drew power from something, be it a spell or an object, in order to gain enough strength to overpower her, which means—” 

“Whatever doing this is supernatural.” Youngjae finishes with a grimace, “They must have used dark magic to strip her of her powers before she was killed. I couldn’t trace any magic use from her body.” 

“She’s not the first.” Again, Jinyoung retracts a set of papers from his jacket and hands them to Mark, “I’ve traced hundreds of unexplained deaths in dozens of towns. Each witch had that same symbol carved into their chest.” 

“They’re specifically targeting covens— ” Mark breathes, glancing over the provided documents, “Slaughtering them and… fucking hell.” 

Jinyoung nods, “You and your people need to be careful. Whoever is doing this will try to kill again.” Mark hesitates for a moment before mindlessly closing his hand into a fist, crushing the papers in his grasp. He resumes his glare at the vampire. 

“What’s in it for you? Why are you helping us?” 

Jinyoung’s eyes soften, “This town has already seen enough death. I don’t wish for it to see anymore.” 

Jinyoung’s response delivers a harsh punch to Mark’s gut, leaving him almost breathless. Unwanted memories rush into his head like a parasite—the guilt he had pushed down so long ago beginning to eat away at his soul. Too lost inside his own head, Mark remains silent as Jinyoung and Youngjae exchange a couple final words, before the former gestures toward the book in the younger’s hands.

“I have places to be, but let me know if you manage to find the symbol. I’ll see if I can find more information about the murdered covens.” The vampire offers a nod of farewell and turns to leave, but surprising himself, Mark snaps from his headspace and calls out:

“Jinyoung…!” 

Jinyoung halts to peer over his shoulder, “Yes?” Mark hesitates again, somewhere in between what seems to be long-harbored resentment and mental exhaustion. His eyes glance toward the gravel pathway meters away where Nayeon’s corpse had laid only hours ago, until his mind shifts to thoughts about you: The warmth of your arms… The genuine promise of your voice… The gleam of your eyes… All of his anger immediately dissipates. 

He nods, “I don’t want anyone else to die either.” Jinyoung merely blinks in response before continuing his journey toward the exit of the cemetery. Mark watches his silhouette fade into the glare of the afternoon sun with the documents still tightly grasped in his palms. Only once the vampire is out of sight does he release a sigh and face his younger companion: 

“Call Minho, Jisung and Lia, and get them all here.” Mark combs a hand through his hair with a huff, “No one leaves my sight until we catch this fucker and put them so far underground, they won’t be able to climb back up from Hell.” 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

Splashes of water splatter across your ankles and wet the bottom of your jeans as you sprint through a massive array of puddles. Although it does little to protect your body from the pouring rain, you tug your jacket tighter around your shoulders. The one evening you choose to take a spur-of-the-moment book run to escape your overdramatic and overbearing roommates, it has to be raining cats and dogs. Luckily, the town’s only bookstore is not too far from your apartment. 

You manage to reach the shop just as the wind begins to pick up and hurriedly push past the door. A sigh falls past your lips, briefly pausing to relish the warm, rain-free atmosphere before receding further into the store. Ever since you moved to Moon Dye, the Bookshop of Lullabies has become one of few places you frequent often. It’s a quaint, little place stuffed from top to bottom with texts of all kinds, and barely enough space for a single person to squeeze through the aisles. If you travel deep enough through the maze of shelves, there’s a tiny nook complete with a window seat and throw cushions softer than a bed of silk—you like to spend a lot of your time cuddled up there with a nice book.  

“Look who finally decided to show up and cure my boredom. Good thing—I was just thinking about chewing my arm off.” Unsurprised, you turn to find a familiar face behind the cashier counter. One that, like the store itself, you have seen quite often. 

You first met Bambam through Mark—the two were friends in high school—at a dinner event his mother, the mayor of Moon Dye, held for his birthday. Aside from the occasional rich kid personality quirks, you’ve found Bambam to be quite a humble and reliable person, especially in providing you discounted books and helpful tips for living in town. 

“Hello to you too, Bam.” You smile. “How are things?” 

Bambam shrugs, “Slow day, and the rain really doesn’t help. Anyway, what are you looking for today? Maybe an edgy dystopian with way too much backstory? Or a sickeningly sweet love story where the simp dies? ” 

“I'll honestly take anything you deem acceptable at this point.” 

“You’re giving me way too much trust there, babygirl.” He chuckles, pilfering through a nearby box of books in order to gratify your request. “Mark told me you had a pretty rough spill last night. You okay?” 

“To be completely honest—not really.” You traipse over to the counter and lay your bag across its surface. Bambam moves aside some books to make room before offering a nearby stool for you to sit, “I just, I’m still confused on what happened.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Everybody says I fell and hit my head, but I don’t think that’s what happened—no—” You shake your head, “I know that’s not what happened, but it’s like everyone is just, I don’t know… hiding something.” Through the corner of your eye, you notice how Bambam’s shoulders tense at your comment, but brush it off as an odd tick. “But I guess what I don’t understand is why they’d want to… I mean, Mark would never keep something that important from me…” Once again, the clerk’s body fidgets uncomfortably—this time, furthering the suspicion brewing in your gut.

Your eyes narrow, “Bam… Do you know something that I don’t?” 

He seems to hesitate, running a hand through his tousled ivory-dyed tresses before peering toward the door, as if expecting someone else to enter. You open your mouth to pry, but Bambam’s answer beats you to it, “There’s a lot of things I know that you don’t…” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean—?” 

“It means that this town has secrets…” The abrupt change in his tone increases the uneasiness in your stomach, temporarily changing your frustrated mood to one of fear. A violent shiver crawls down your spine at his next words, “...secrets that can get you killed.”

“What secrets?” Your annoyance returns at his ambiguous response, “What does this have to do with what happened to me last night?” 

“Well, you were attacked, weren’t you?” 

Your blood turns cold. “How the fuck do you know that?” 

“I told you, I know a lot of things.” He releases a sigh before bending down to disappear behind the wood of the counter. He returns only seconds later with a seemingly old, leather-bound book clutched in both hands. You watch, wide-eyed like a fish, as he slides the object toward you. 

“This journal belonged to my great-, great-, great-grandmother, the first ever mayor of Moon Dye Bay.” Bambam begins, watching closely as you cautiously grab the text as if it would turn to dust in your grasp. “It contains private information about the town you won’t find anywhere else.” 

“And you’re just giving it to me?” 

“I’m pointing you in the right direction.” He states matter-of-factly, “If you live in this town, you should know what you’re up against.” 

“Why can’t you just tell me?” 

“Because if anyone were to find out, it would be dangerous for the both of us.” 

“But why—?”

“Please just trust me on this, (Y/N).”  You can do nothing but stare at Bambam, your thoughts too much of a jumbled, chaotic mess to come up with another reply. You want to insist—you want to insist over and over again until the clerk eventually spills—but you know it’s hopeless. There are few moments where Bambam is ever this serious, so whatever mess you managed to get yourself into—it’s crucial. 

You finally nod after another eon of silence and tuck the old journal inside your bag, “How much?”

“Consider it a six-month late welcome-to-town gift.” Bambam’s poor attempt at humor does little to lift your spirits, but you still scrounge up a weak smile and an even weaker thank you. As you make your way toward the exit, you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your head, and for once in a lifetime, you can’t wait to head out into the pouring rain. Just as you’re pushing through the door, Bambam calls out: 

“Hey, babygirl?”  

You turn with a sigh, “What is it, Bam?” 

“Just be careful, okay?” He murmurs heavily, “Those monsters that used to hide under our beds when we were kids, well… They grew up too.” You don’t bother to answer, send the clerk a parting nod and take off into the blurriness outside the bookstore. Your lungs welcome the damp air, attempting to soothe the racing of your heart with each breath. Even though you’re all wrapped up in your coat, your hands still tremble.

If what Bambam said is true, and this town is hiding something, and you eventually do find out what that something is, then how badly will it change your life? You moved to Moon Dye Bay to escape the traumas of your past… not to create new demons that will haunt your mind day and night. It’s been so long since you’ve felt what it feels like to belong somewhere, but then… Do you really want a place full of darkness, secrets and lies as a home? 

You quickly dash across the street, barely avoiding an approaching car driving way over the given speed limit. The rain only makes the atmosphere more ominous, both obscuring your vision and deafening your ears. Images from last night pop into your head which fuels the hurriedness of your pace. You can’t seem to control your breathing, or the anxiety swallowing your form. 

What if that monster was following you as you think? Is he aching to finish the job he failed to last night, and take your life as his prize? What if there’s no miracle there to save you this time? What if you die in a wet, dark alleyway where nothing but the rats can—?  

“(Y/N)? Are you alright?” You hadn’t realized somewhere in your rush you’d paused to rest against the building, awakening from your panicked trance at the warm voice that invades your ears like honey. You quickly compose yourself, shove your now vibrating hands in the pocket of your coat, and turn to face the familiar face with a confused expression. 

“Jinyoung? Are you following me?” 

“Where would you get an idea like that?” Jinyoung hurriedly pulls you underneath the awning of a shop and out of the rain. “I just left the police station and saw you out here by yourself. You seem… stressed.” 

“Aside from wet socks, I’m alright.” You shake your head, “Why were you at the police station?” 

“I had some business to take care of,” He answers, obviously not desiring to provide any more details to satiate your curiosity. “Anyway, what brings you out in this weather?” 

“Honestly, I just needed to escape from my crazy, overbearing roommates.” You shake the rain from your hair with a chuckle, “Just left the bookstore actually.” 

“I didn’t take you for the bookworm type.” 

“What? Just because I don’t exude the ‘shy, silent, glasses-wearing’ stereotype?” 

Jinyoung chuckles at your comeback, the sound gritty and amused, before placing a hand over his chest, “My apologies. I didn’t mean to offend you.” 

“Well, choose your words more carefully then.” 

He nods with a smile, “I’ll definitely do that.” The raindrops pelting against the top of the awning creates a comfortable rhythm as you and Jinyoung fall into a heavy silence. Jinyoung continues to wear his tight, close-lipped smile while you continue to stare, not knowing whether to comment on his odd talent in appearing out of nowhere or reminisce in the storminess of his brown irises. You choose neither, and opt to end the conversation where it is: 

“It was really nice to see you again, but I should get back before the weather turns into a full-blown hurricane.” 

“That would probably be best,” Jinyoung steps aside, allowing you the room to pass by, and hums, “It’s always a pleasure, (Y/N).” You shoot him a grateful smile before launching back into the raging of the storm, immediately missing his uniquely charming aura and caramel-like gaze. Just from the interaction with Jinyoung, both your mind and body feel much more relaxed and in a way… almost safe. 

Too deep in your own thoughts, you fail to catch the second shadow that slinks out of a nearby alleyway and behind Jinyoung’s broad body.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

“Have you lost your goddamn mind!?” Mark pinches the bridge of his nose at the high-pitched wail of the fuming, dark-haired witch, suddenly craving a drink to take the edge off of his nerves. Maybe they have some leftover grey goose in the cupboard— “You must have, cause you just made a deal with the fucking devil!” 

“Can you at least try not to yell?” From the center of a nearby ring of burning candles and sage on the floor, Lia sighs in annoyance, “I’m pretty sure the entire town can hear you at this point.” 

“Shut up!” Minho hisses at the female, before replacing his laser-like glare back on Mark. “I mean, you do understand how utterly stupid this entire thing is, right!? Things suddenly turn to shit and you run to those bloodsucking bastards for help!?” 

“He gave us a book, Minho. It’s not like I signed our souls away.” 

He scoffs, “You might as well have! Didn’t it ever occur to you that the Primes just want an opportunity to pick us off like flies? I mean, how do we know they weren’t the ones that killed Nayeon?”

“Youngjae’s tracking spell would have picked up their trail.” Mark sluggishly walks toward the stove, retrieving the whistling kettle before its volume reaches that of a shrill scream. He sighs and generously refills his coffee cup, “And you know very well that if they wanted us dead, we would have been in the ground months ago.” 

“You’re not listening to me!” Mark takes a sip of the steaming stimulant, the liquid doing nothing to ease the pounding of his head as Minho continues to rant, “We are all going to end up dead! We should have run them out of town when we had the opportunity in the first place—” 

“Oh my fucking god! Can you shut your mouth for a goddamn second!?” Lia’s anger sends chaos throughout the mausoleum. Jisung barely avoids a barrage of books spilling from their shelves while Youngjae ducks in time for a potted plant to fly over his head and shatter against the wall. Lia storms across the room, a trail of hot flames following her steps, and pokes a single finger into Minho’s chest with a sneer, “Nayeon-unnie is dead, okay!? And there is a psycho out there right now with their eyes on another witch in this room!? Mark is doing the best he can so it’s not your moronic ass that’s next on the hit list!” 

Minho remains silent, visibly surprised by the younger witch’s outburst. For a moment, Mark notices a spark of guilt behind his eyes before they shift to their usual cold exterior. 

“I don’t want anyone else to die, okay? But making a truce with one of the oldest vampires in existence is not a good plan—” 

“Well, it’s the only plan we have right now.” Mark sighs, “I do what’s best for my people—to keep you safe.” 

Minho stares coldly at Mark, “Yeah, just like you kept Jackson safe. Right?” 

Stunned by the witch’s sudden question, Mark is both physically and mentally unable to respond. He simply stares back at Minho with his jaw practically dropped to the floor. Minho shamelessly meets his eyes, as if finding joy out of Mark’s shock. 

“Hey, guys…” The brief moment of tension breaks at Youngjae’s call, who all this time, had been stationed behind the lectern flipping through the journal Jinyoung had gifted only hours ago. Mark feels the many cups of coffee sitting in his stomach churn at the absolute terror spread along Youngjae’s face. Though at his next words, Mark almost believes his entire insides turn inside-out,  “I found the symbol that was on Nayeon’s body…

“It means ‘Hunter’.” 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

Jinyoung watches your silhouette recede into the blur of the rain with a smile. His mind reels back to your conversation, and how prettily your eyes shimmered in the mist. If it were any other person, Jinyoung wouldn’t care much for the spitfire-type of attitude, but with you… He actually enjoys your ferocious nature. It showcases your livelihood—and mortal strength. 

Jinyoung had planned to keep his word to Mark and steer clear, but he couldn’t help himself. Not when he spotted you standing in the midst of the storm. Something inside him is drawn to you, almost like a moth to a flame. It excites him, but startles him all the same. Never before has Jinyoung felt such a magnetic pull to another person—certainly not a human woman. Though, the rational voice in the back of his head still believes some part of you is not all that mortal… 

A wave of chill dampens the cheeriness of his mood, pulling a sigh of annoyance from his lips. He doesn’t have to turn around to feel the stealthy presence behind him. With one last glance toward the direction in which you vanished, and another huff, Jinyoung tugs on the lapels of his blazer and speaks: 

“Following me again, hyung?” 

A deep-set chuckle carries into Jinyoung’s ears, “In all our centuries together, I’ve never quite succeeded in getting anything past you… huh, Jinyoungie?” Jinyoung turns to face his brother, immediately growing more annoyed at his usual, nonchalant stance complete with lazily crossed arms, tilted head and a devious smirk along his lips. “Though, if I knew any better, I’d believe you’re not exactly thrilled to see me?” 

“Well, do you know any better?” 

Jaebeom laughs, “You’re still upset with me. What else is new.” 

“Forgive me if I’m not jumping through the roof because of your erratic behavior.” Jinyoung shoots his brother a glare before shoving his right hand in the respected pocket of his jeans. “Nine bodies all drained of blood, hyung. Do you not understand the concept of remaining inconspicuous?” 

“What can I say? I was rather famished last night.” 

Jinyoung stares at Jaebeom with a blank expression, “Does human life mean that little to you? Truly?” 

Jaebeom releases a heavy sigh, pushes off the brick wall in which he was leaning against, and takes a couple steps forward until he and Jinyoung are only inches from sharing oxygen. He provides his younger brother another smirk and shrugs, “There was a time we used to share the same perspective, brother. And if I remember correctly, you were much, much worse than I am.” 

“That is in the past.” 

“Ah. Of course.” Jaebeom retracts a silver-coated lighter from the pocket of his black, shredded jeans. Jinyoung watches the older play with the tool, repeatedly striking the light over and over again as he continues, “So… Are you going to tell your dear brother about the lovely girl that’s caught your eye?” 

Jinyoung’s patience immediately gives out at your mention. His features pull into a sneer, glaring at the amusement spreading along Jaebeom’s face. 

“Leave it alone.” 

“You do like her then?” Jaebeom’s smirk widens to a grin, “Wow. I’d never thought I’d live to see the day Park Jinyoung falls for a human.” Jinyoung tries to keep his self-control intact as Jaebeom proceeds to laugh, lifting the flame of the lighter up to the level of his eyes—malice visibly flickering in the light of his irises. “She must be very, very special…” 

Jinyoung growls, “I said, leave it alone. I’m not playing your games now, hyung.” 

“I only want to know what sweet (Y/N) has done to gain my little brother’s attention. Maybe it’s her spunk? Or her beautiful face? Or just maybe, the delectable taste of her delicious blo—” In the blink of an eye, Jinyoung has Jaebeom pressed against the same wall he was leaning against only moments before with an arm at his throat. Jinyoung can actually see his own rage in the reflection of Jaebeom’s black eyes. 

“You will stay away from her.” Jinyoung murmurs dangerously, relishing proudly in Jaebeom’s stunned expression. “Do not push me on this. Or I will push back.” Jinyoung releases his hold on his brother, pausing to straighten out the wrinkles of his blazer. Jaebeom continues to stare at the younger with bewilderment, unable to say anything in response. 

An annoyed breath leaves Jinyoung’s lips as he peers down at his watch, “I’m late. We will discuss this when I return back to the manor.” He shoots Jaebeom a pointed glance, “Please refrain from getting yourself into any more trouble. If you even can.” Without as much as a goodbye, Jinyoung brushes past Jaebeom and into the rain that’s coming down even heavier. He tries not to think about the paranoia and fear budding in his gut and instead focus the soaked path ahead, but even his own mind betrays him. 

Jinyoung knows Jaebeom. He’s known him for almost a millennium. He knows that if he makes one wrong move, Jaebeom won’t hesitate to retaliate against him—retaliate by using you. Jinyoung shakes his head with a sigh, savoring the chill of the rain against his body. If it comes down to it, he won’t hesitate to to protect you from his brother in any way he has to… 

He should have kept his word, and stayed away. 

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

“You sure you don’t need anything else? Water? Another blanket? Some ramen?” You roll your eyes at your roommate’s barrage of questions, unable to help the soft smile that lifts to your lips. As smothering and irritating as Jihyo’s overprotectiveness can be, it’s nice to have someone looking out for your well being—even though she can be a helicopter mom sometimes. 

“It’s not like I’m paralyzed, Ji.” You reach forward to take her hand into your own, “I’m okay.” 

Jihyo squeezes your fingers, “I just… worry about you, you know? You’ve been through a lot.” Though she doesn’t specify, you know for a fact that she isn’t talking about the hospital visit. Your heart aches for as long you allow it to, before pushing the unwanted feelings away. You playfully nudge her shoulder with a chuckle. 

“You worry about everything. Now seriously, clear out.” Jihyo follows your lead to your bedroom door, staying still to allow you to check up on her hair and makeup. When you deem her appearance to be nothing less than perfect, you nod, “Sana won’t let either of us hear the end of it if at least one of us doesn’t go clubbing with her, Momo and Mina.” 

“What will you do, tonight?” 

“I have some stuff to finish for the university. Or I’ll just binge-watch some Sex and the City.” Jihyo accepts your answer, lifting her arms to bring your body into a short, tight hug. When she pulls away, you send her a wink, “Try not to get too trashed, alright? I really don’t want to be picking your drunk ass up at three in the morning.” 

“No promises,” She hums. “Thanks, (Y/N).” 

“Go have fun, gorgeous.” You give Jihyo a thumbs up as she steps from your bedroom. No sooner does Sana pounce on your roommate, and in a matter of seconds, drags her toward the exit with Mina and Momo not far behind. You wait through the girlish giggles and chatter until the slam of the front door carries from the front hallway—you’re finally alone. 

You quickly shut your door, making sure to turn the lock, and hop over to the tiny desk you somehow squeezed in the corner. When you moved in with Sana and Jihyo, they had to convert a storage closet into a bedroom since the apartment only came with one small master, now Sana’s space, and an even smaller office, where Jihyo resides. So your room is basically a shoebox with a single window and enough room for a bed, clothing chest, and a desk and bookshelf set. Even so, you’ve managed to spruce the place up with frilly rugs, decorative succulents and some cheap fairy lights, 

After yanking the curtains above your bed closed and double-checking the door, you retract the journal Bambam had given you from where you hid it earlier underneath your pillow. The leather is shockingly cool against your palm, almost searing into your flesh. Whether it’s the nerves or the excitement that’s making your pulse beat like a racehorse, you’re not so sure. But to be honest, it doesn’t matter to you… not as much as the truth that awaits. You settle back into your desk chair and open to the first page. 

There’s a name scrawled on the inside of the cover in a handwritten font you’ve only seen in historical documents and creative poetry projects. You recognize Bambam’s last name, Bhuwakul. The next page holds a diary entry in the same handwriting, dating back to 1770. Not desiring to wait any longer, you begin to read the entry: 

Day 1 — I have been traveling day and night for many months. My long journey has been filled with hardship, starvation and exhaustion. But my efforts have finally paid off. On a night when the moon was full and bright, I stumbled across a small village only miles from the edge of the sea. The townspeople welcomed me and my brother into their borders. Fed us. Clothed us. And even offered us a home to where we could reside as long as we wished. I believe we will stay here in Moon Dye Bay. For good. 

You flip through the rest of the pages, delving into the story of Bambam’s great-, great-, great-grandmother and her new life on the bay—how she bettered the town and its inhabitants, soon earning her title as the first ever mayor. You find yourself immersed in the personal account of her life, relating to her worries, wants, and wishes. Somewhere in the story, you completely forgot about Bambam’s warning… until you reach an entry that makes your skin crawl: 

Day 196 — There’s a murderer in town. We’ve lost eleven of our people. Three men. Seven women. And one child. I believe this person, no—this monster enjoys it. This monster enjoys draining the blood from their victims like rum, and tearing open their throats like a child opens a gift. This monster enjoys hearing them scream for mercy—watching the fear in their eyes blossom like flowers. But mostly, I believe this monster enjoys the hunt. I spoke to the Wang faction the other night, and some of the ladies said they felt as if they are being watched at night, when they are alone—as if the monster is lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right chance to kill. 

The passage reminds you heavily of what happened last night. Your attacker had done everything in which Bhuwakul described, even the part about tearing your throat open. You don’t bother to acknowledge the spinning of your head and instead, mindlessly flip through the journal. Your lack of attention no longer allows you to fully read the entries, only skim—until you reach another that catches your eye:   

Day 209 — It’s unlike anything I could ever imagine… This pain—this grief… My brother is dead and it’s because of those murderers… Because of those demons… We’ve all been blinded by their charms… but no more… I will expose them to the villagers for what they truly are… so no one else can be victimized by their deceit… 

You almost faint as you read the next sentence that follows: 

—Park Jinyoung and Im Jaebeom are vampires. And they’re coming to kill me next.

[dat-town]

week 2: holidays/vacation

Characters: non-idol!Yoongi & OC

Setting: soulmate au

Words: 0.8k

Writen for @kpopmoodboardnet‘s summer event, paired up with @phoenixtsukino who will be making the moodboards for these little blurbs. [moodboard link]

The sea in Kota Kinabalu had waves of azure and the sand was gold under the blazing Sun but Yoongi had never been one for outside programs. He liked to stay in his studio apartment in downtown Seoul, sitting by the piano, elegant long fingers playing sad chords on the black and white keys. It was his friends who didn’t like to see him only within the four walls, so they basically dragged him with them to this holiday. It would do him some good, get tan and get inspiration maybe, they had said, but so far Yoongi only got annoyed because of the whiny kid that sat next to him on the plane. Using the excuse of being too hot outside and being tired from the flight no matter how short it was, the boy decided to crash at their hotel room until dinner.

“Ah sorry,” someone apologized in a gentle feminine voice after bumping into him on the corridor and Yoongi was actually too nonchalant to care.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled, looking up from his phone, catching the doe eyes of a short girl. Then for a moment, he just stopped and stared at her because her pink looks were surely something unique. Their pastel colours reminded him of the prettiest sunsets by the Banpo bridge but her soft smile was enough to make his heart feel frail for that tiny moment.

Then the girl left as quickly as she came and Yoongi looked after her until she turned at the corner. Oddly enough, he felt as if he had met hear before… as if his soul had known hers. But soulmates, gosh! That was such a ridiculous concept! Just because the ever so romantic Namjoon claimed that it was destiny that he had found his significant other who claimed that their hair colour changed to the similar shade of blonde after meeting, he didn’t have to believed in such a thing. So he brushed away even the idea of it and followed the day through as if nothing had happened.

Throughout the rest of the day, he still acted sulky but less and less so because not only the Malaysian scenery was gorgeous but the food was amazing as well and as long as he could work on his songs in the hotel room, he didn’t mind the younger ones fooling around. But oh he was oh so naive because instead of sleeping until noon, he was very much rudely awaken at the crack of dawn, giggly boys lifting his lithe body and despite his warnings and yellings, they carried him all the way to the outside pool only to drop him into the water.

“I’ll end you all!” Yoongi gritted through his teeth, snorting as water came out of his nose and the others’ laughter only sounded louder. But his shock only grew when he saw his own reflection. Or more precisely, his pink locks instead of the usual walnut brown. “And which one of you idiots dyed my hair while I was asleep?”

At this point, he wouldn't have been surprised. His friends were crazy and he was a deep sleeper. So he wasn’t in a too good mood when he climbed out of the pool, totally wet, pastel pink hair in front of his eyes like a wet dog’s fur.

“What? It wasn’t you? We didn’t do it,” Jungkook blinked at him confused, but no matter how innocent their youngest looked, fuming Yoongi didn’t buy this act. His hair couldn’t just magically change-

Oh.

Of course, Namjoon had to realize at the very same moment as well.

“Oh my god, Yoongi hyung! Did you meet your soulmate?” he hollered followed by Hoseok’s iconic excited  shriek.

Suddenly everyone wanted to know whether he had met anyone with pink hair and whether he felt anything special. The youngest trio even formed a squad in order to find the lady no matter how much Yoongi tried to stop them. He had never liked the idea of being destined with someone because he didn’t like the idea of universe choosing instead of him. Having a soulmate didn’t mean he was obligated to like that person after all. He tried to convince all his friends to stop fussing about his non-existent love life for the rest of the trip and enjoy themselves instead but of course, they couldn’t forget it.

And apparently, neither could he.

Because when during one of their dinner, he heart familiar piano chords playing from closeby with a perfect mixture of elegance and delicacy, his head snapped towards the pianist immediately, jaw going slack when he saw that pretty shade of pink and déja vu smile on the girl playing. His heart did a flip.

(And no, his friends wouldn’t let him live this down ever: that their spontaneous trip helped him meet his soulmate.)