#i miss coexisting with you please come back

[nightdiary]

relationship firsts with txt

word count: 4.2k genre: fluff, established relationship, mildly suggestive (at the end but nothing mature) author's note: had so much fun writing this one, hope it's just as fun to read! kind of went on a tangent with some of these but ... scratches head ... more for you to read! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated ^o^ enjoy 🤍

✧ yeonjun - sharing a bed

you’d like to bet that between you and yeonjun, your boyfriend was the braver one of you two. braver here being used loosely of course, and more in the context of yeonjun being absolutely unabashed in his affections and moves on you. shameless, to be more precise.

after all, he’d been the one to initiate your relationship. he’d also been the one to initiate your first kiss. organize your first date. say the unforgettable three words first. the whole nine yards, really.

“junnie, please,” you insist, threading your fingers through his and pulling him closer. “it’s awful outside, and my bed’s right here. my warm, soft, comfortablebed with your favorite person in it.”

“are you sure? really, don’t feel like you have to offer just to be nice,” he mumbles. his words are soft against the onslaught of rain outside, and you almost miss the timid edge to his voice.

he’s nervous, you realize with a start. your invitation appears to have thrown him off-guard, and it dawns on you that this is the first time you’d be sleeping in a bed together.

as if answering for you, the stormy sky outside splits open with another series of crackling lightning. flinching, yeonjun hugs his windbreaker tighter around himself, and you resist the urge to call him out for being stubborn. you’d spent the last half hour convincing him to stay the night, and after driving his excuses into dead ends, he had no option but to stay with his beloved partner instead of venturing out into the downpour.

tragic, right?

yeonjun and nervous aren’t exactly two things you’d put together. they can coexist, but not necessarily belong to one another. that being said, the strange predicament you found yourself in at the moment was making you worry.

“i promise,” you say, leaning in to peck him on the bridge of his nose. “now go shower. i love you, but you’re not coming into my bed with your outside clothes.”

as a freshly-cleaned yeonjun steps into your bedroom a half hour later, you try not to let your wandering eyes dip below his exposed clavicle. clearing your throat, you busy yourself with changing into your pajamas and slipping into your side of the bed, where you pretend to find interest in the miscellaneous belongings you’d strewn about your bedside table. now you’re feeling nervous.

yeonjun shyly perches himself on the edge of your bed, picking at a stray thread on your comforter. the image is so unlike the yeonjun you know, any semblance of your confident and shameless boyfriend now seemingly having been washed away. he’s replaced by a charmingly bashful version that you’ve only seen a handful of times before, primarily at the very beginning of your relationship.

it’s weird, and yet strangely endearing.

“there's room up here as well, y’know,” you prompt, snorting when yeonjun looks up at you like a deer caught in headlights. patting the space next to you, you pull back the blanket and smooth over the sheets, humming absentmindedly.

you hear movement a second later, looking up to find your boyfriend crawling up by your side and awkwardly shuffling under the covers. he lays on his side, peering up at you through his lashes and patiently waiting for you to join him. you take that as your cue to turn your bedside lamp off, plunging the room into semi-darkness.

you’ve just barely begun to make out the edges of yeonjun’s face when he shuffles closer, looping his arms around your waist and closing the distance between you two. his cold feet brush yours, and when you yelp in response, you’re met with a series of giggles that tell you there’s nothing to worry about.

“hi,” you say.

“hi,” yeonjun parrots, “you’re comfy.”

humming, you bring your hand up to massage the area where his neck meets his shoulders. almost instantly, you feel him relax even further into your embrace, dropping his face into your chest with a barely-discernable whine. got him, you think.

“does this mean i can sleep over more often?” it’s hard to hear him from where he’s mumbling against your shirt, but you’ve learned to decipher his sleepy murmurs.

“depends, are you going to get shy like this every time?”

yeonjun’s answer is muffled yet again, and you’re unsure if he was saying something or just whining again. tapping on his neck, you feel him draw back to look up at you, smoothing your thumb down the side of his cheekbone fondly.

“m’sorry, it’s just that i’m not used to you initiating things like this,” he says. his hand finds purchase along your hip and he rubs his thumb in comforting circles. “makes me feel nervous but in a good way. it’s nice to see you comfortable while doing these things.”

“so you’re saying i need to step my flirt game up,” you tease.

“whatever you’re comfortable with,” he’s quick to say, and you feel the fondness practically warm you inside out. no matter what he’s doing, yeonjun will always be gentle and considerate.

“well, looks like you’re in luck,” you decide, pinching his red cheek (gently). “cause i’m starting to take a liking to this shy side of you.”

✧ soobin - moving in together

out of all the things that could have gone wrong, you wonder why it had to be this.

“the moving company got their date mixed up,” soobin groans. he tosses his phone onto the only piece of furniture you two had managed to bring up yourselves– a rickety desk chair from ikea– and you snort as the sound reverberates around the empty room. “they thought we scheduled them for tomorrow. the guy sounded really sorry though, and offered a discount for the inconvenience.”

rubbing at your temple, you try to ignore the way your exhaustion grows tenfold at the news. “i’m too tired to be upset right now,” you admit. the only thing on your mind at the moment was rest. and food.

ever since soobin brought up the idea a year into your relationship, it’s been a big decision in the making. truthfully, it had always been at the back of your mind; the intimacy of sharing a living space with your partner. you knew you wanted to take this step with soobin and knew that it would require months of planning and arranging for it to be realized, but you were prepared to overcome whatever came your way.

finding an affordable place that wasn’t a considerable distance from both of your workplaces was challenging enough, but when you finally decided on a few candidates, another series of obstacles were presented. landlords had complicated requirements, especially for couples who weren’t married yet, and that left you with even fewer options than you’d first anticipated. add a pet into the equation, and you could count your choices on one hand.

(soobin had jokingly suggested you two get married to avoid one of the issues, but more and more often you found yourself wishing he meant it.)

the place you’d found was quite short of perfect, but it was lovely and fitting in its own regard. it had enough space for both of you and your baby (odi), and it was located in a neighborhood that allowed you to easily access family, the workplace, and a recreational area. soobin was going to live there with you, and that was enough to get you to overlook the less-than-perfect parts.

sitting down, you thank the universe that the place was at least clean when you arrived. you rest your back against the wall and close your eyes, listening as soobin cycles through another round of phone calls in the hallway.

you don’t realize you’ve drifted off until soobin gently wakes you up by patting your head. groaning and stretching, you almost fall over from excitement when you realize that the room smells like food. not just any food, but your favorite noodles.

the room’s still disappointingly empty and the sky outside is getting dark fast, but soobin’s looking at you with a dimpled smile and holding up a bag of takeout from your dearest restaurant like a trophy. you can write today off as a good day.

despite the fact that you still have no chairs or a table to eat on, you and soobin arrange yourselves and the few belongings you’d brought into a formation that allows you to eat comfortably on the floor of the apartment. you didn’t exactly dream of eating takeout on the floor of your empty place on move-in day, but hey, things have a way of working themselves out.

“this would be a good place for that shelf you liked at ikea,” soobin mumbles between chews, pointing his chopsticks in the direction of the wall adjacent to you.

nodding, you set your box of noodles down and gesture to the area by the grand window. “right? i was thinking odi’s cage can go here. and we can put up some curtains to make sure he doesn’t get too warm.”

something in your chest lets up. rolling your neck, you ignore the painful creak in your back and blink through your tired haze to admire your boyfriend. soobin, who had tirelessly pushed through today and made sure things worked out the best they could. soobin, who made sure you felt comfortable and accommodated throughout the whole process, especially when things got physically demanding. soobin, who loves you endlessly and got you your favorite meal after a long day.

“i’m really happy we’re doing this,” soobin whispers earnestly. his eyes dart around the empty room before settling on your hands where they’re cradled in your lap. “even if not everything goes our way, i’m glad i’m going through everything with you.”

“we’ll work this out too,” you promise, and it feels hopeful on your tongue. reaching out to encircle soobin’s free hand in your own, you squeeze it reassuringly. and when he smiles back, you start to believe yourself.

✧ beomgyu - meeting his family

there’s an element of truth to the saying karma is a bitch.

partially, you are at fault. but the instigator at fault here really, are those stupid romance movies you’d watched with beomgyu.

an important thing to note: neither you nor beomgyu are fans of romance movies. if anything, you two are able to bond over your mutual dislike of the genre, no matter which forms you choose to consume it in. that being said, your decision to binge-watch and extensively criticize them was coming back to kick you in the ass. hard.

“i promise my parents don’t bite,” beomgyu had said, in a light-hearted attempt to reassure you. “my brother might, but i’ll bite him back.”

you weren’t able to formulate a response back without screaming, so you gave beomgyu what you hoped was your best convincing smile. five minutes later, you found yourself at the threshold of his childhood home, stepping into it with quivering hands and a smile so shaky you feared it’d turn into a frown the second you relaxed.

here’s the thing. you’d always found it silly when couples met the parents in movies. you’d told your boyfriend that it was overexaggerated. cringy. unrealistic. sitting through the scenes made your skin physically crawl, especially when the characters purposefully got themselves into situations that evoked the strongest sense of second-hand embarrassment you’d ever gotten.

however, the worst part, inarguably, was the parents. without fail, every time, they were handpicked to be teeming with the most awful traits known to man. you understood it was purely for entertainment purposes, but god did it drive you up the wall.

tldr: you and beomgyu think romance movies are silly. you in particular think the meeting the parents scenes are the worst.

almost ironically, here you are, a solid five months into your relationship with beomgyu, meeting his parents.

they’re warm and inviting and the complete opposite of what your self-sabotaging brain had expected. his mother hugs you like you’ve known each other for years, smiling at you with a gentleness that makes your heart feel all funny. his father’s equally excited to meet you, eagerly ushering you into the house and bumbling about a much-needed tour (and a whole bunch of other things, but you’re still panicking and barely picking up anything else).

beomgyu remains at your side the entire time, hand securely held in his own as you shuffle after his father through the different rooms. you even get the pleasure of seeing beomgyu’s childhood room, which still retains a semblance of his younger self, encapsulated by the copious amounts of band posters and colorful figurines lining his shelves.

you’re joined by his older brother at dinner, who graciously introduces himself as beomgyu’s worst enemy and promises to show you blackmail-worthy material later. the meal itself is just as lovely, and you find yourself sheepishly reaching out for seconds and thirds when his parents encourage you to. the dishes spanning from one end of the table to the other are deliciously colorful and vary in taste and texture, and the thought of the family preparing for you in such a way has your heart clenching.

“this is freaking me out,” you tell beomgyu once the two of you retire to the guest room for the night. “why do they like me? why hasn’t one of them made fun of me for what i’m majoring in? are they going to hit me with it over breakfast tomorrow? because i’d rather not, i was really looking forward to those blueberry pancakes that your mom mentioned and–”

“babe,” he cuts you off, though not unkindly. his hands worm themselves around your waist, drawing you into a much-needed embrace.

letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you rest your forehead against his shoulder and allow yourself a moment of vulnerability.

“i wasn’t just saying things when i told you they’d love you,” he murmurs. you feel him beginning to gently sway you side to side, and you let yourself become boneless in his hold. “you’re perfect for me, and i’m perfect for you. it’s not hard for them to tell.”

nodding, you try to even out your breathing to match his. after a few minutes of silent rocking, your boyfriend pulls back to look at you head-on, and your heart leaps into your throat at the sheer fondness in his expression. even in the darkness, his eyes gleam with adoration and you find yourself overwhelmed with love yet again.

“thank you,” you say earnestly. you hope beomgyu understands how much this means to you.

the next morning, you’re finally able to indulge in a choi family breakfast (featuring their infamous blueberry pancakes and breakfast tarts). the table isn’t filled with hostile comments regarding the ins and outs of who you are, but rather genuine inquiries into your field of specialty and interests. beomgyu and his family listen attentively, responding in their own unique ways and furthering the conversation with interesting bits about themselves.

you feel beomgyu’s eyes following you throughout the entire morning, straying only once his attention’s called for by his parents. you spend most of your time at the table, exchanging embarrassing stories with his brother, and before you know it, it’s already noon.

you and beomgyu are tasked with washing the dishes while the rest of the family head up to get dressed for the afternoon activity that your boyfriend had suggested. for the most part, it’s slow and quiet, just like the rest of the morning. you’re bringing over the mugs when it happens– beomgyu moves in and readily corners you against the counter, grinning mischievously when you go red all over.

“i’m starting to regret bringing you here,” he whispers, and you feel yourself freeze as the sound of footsteps approaches the kitchen. “i can’t even get you to myself…”

“here’s that photo of him with his underwear on his head,” you immediately recognize his brother’s voice, and you rush to set the mugs down in the sink before you drop them.

beomgyu whirls around with a glare so harsh you worry he’ll start wrinkling at 30, and promptly tries to rip the photograph out of his sibling’s hand. the kitchen’s soon filled with yells, and if you had no concept of who was fighting in the room, you’d think it were two toddlers.

you know it’s no use picking a side, so you use the distraction as an opportunity to slip out the back door and greet your favorite family member– toto.

✧ taehyun - saying “i love you”

there’s something on your mind.

you can’t pinpoint exactly when it started following you, but ever since you’d first taken notice of it, it hasn’t left.

it’s present in the little things; when taehyun’s mittened hand seeks yours out blindly, when his eyes follow you through crowds fondly, when the scent of his cologne fills the empty gaps of your life with familiarity, when his mouth wraps around the syllables of your name with care.

it’s everywhere even when he’s nowhere to be found; he’s the tiger lilies at the florist boutique on your block’s corner, he’s in the rhythm of the pop songs you hear at the grocery store, he’s the stuffed otter you hug to sleep on difficult nights.

it’s abstract and yet it isn’t. by all standards, it isn’t tangible. and yet you know you feel it when taehyun weaves his fingers tenderly through yours; you know you see it when taehyun’s eyes meet yours and the edges curl like crescent moons; you know it’s part of you when you feel warm and electric all over at the prospect of telling him.

you’re in love with taehyun, and you’re going to tell him tonight.

“there’s something on your mind,” he says, and the grin on his face tells you he already knows.

shrugging, you look back down at your phone, situated precariously in your lap. the bright numbers on your screen read 11:54 PM. six minutes to midnight.

“you don’t have to tell me what it is,” taehyun continues. “but you know you can tell me anything. right?”

“right,” you confirm, voice soft. looking over at the neighboring rooftop, you notice a group of teenagers beginning to spill out into the night air. “of course. i know that.”

five minutes to midnight. the december air is brittle with snow as it blankets seoul, coloring the dazzling landscape a muted white. taehyun’s coat sits snugly around your shoulders, warm and familiar, encasing you like an unspoken promise. even as your breath curls into the night in gray tufts, you can’t feel a semblance of cold.

four minutes to midnight. scuffing the edge of your shoe against the ground, you tuck your phone into your pocket and stand up. taehyun’s eyes follow you, but you’re too afraid to look back. you pace over to the railing and lean against it, breathing in deeply to steady yourself. your ribs ache with anticipation, your fingertips buzz, and your throat feels tight.

three minutes to midnight. somewhere in the distance, a loud shout rings out. the teenage company on the next roof over begins to light their sparklers, giggling buoyantly at the flares that spring up.

two minutes. your breaths begin to thin out, each stretching just a millisecond reach less than the other. your mind is reeling, positively overwhelmed with how much there is to say, but the diminishing seconds keep growing and you’ve got no time.

one minute. from inside, you can hear the tv program’s commentator begin to count down the seconds. stepping back from the railing, you look up at the sky. it’s dark and empty, void of any stars that should be there.

“i have something to tell you too,” taehyun whispers.

you blink the world back into focus. taehyun’s to your right, looking at you with the words ready on his lips. seoul is loud and brilliant, but you can only see him.

taehyun’s hand finds your own, and you don’t have to think. you love him.

“and i love you,” taehyun responds.

you don’t realize you’ve said it out loud until the birds in your chest spring free. the world around you erupts into a colorful blast of fluorescent yellows and reds and blues, deafening as the fireworks fill the sky with vivid spirals. your ears are ringing and you feel out of breath and your throat aches, like you’d just screamed away every last second into january.

“i love you, i love you, i love you!” your shouts are drowned out by the whistle and crackle of the ceremony unfolding above you, but taehyun can hear you and that’s all that matters.

the cotton of his mittens envelopes the sides of your face and he brings your lips to his own with a toothy grin. he’s warm and smells like evergreen pine, tastes like the cider you had earlier, and you love him.

✧ kai - first kiss

“i’m not making this a big deal,” kai pouts. his eyes flit across your face, and his brows furrow when he picks up on the nervous twitch of your lip. “i’m not, right?”

“you’re totally making this a big deal,” despite the fact that you feel like your heart’s about to beat out of your chest, you giggle.

perhaps, in retrospect, you shouldn’t have told your boyfriend about your inexperience surrounding kissing. though it was a conversation you knew kai would handle with utmost consideration, you felt jittery and nervous all the same.

the secret’s involuntarily revealed a few weeks into your relationship when kai tries to kiss you at the end of a date. in an anxious fit, you’d freaked out and backed away, but not for the same reason that your boyfriend initially suspected. after copious reassurances and promises, you’d told him the real cause behind your panic: lack of experience.

if anything, kai took your confession in stride. he’d hugged you instead and promised to talk about the matter later, when you two weren’t trembling outside of your apartment at midnight.

the talk in question was currently being held on the floor of your living room. the two of you are curled up by the foot of the couch, facing each other with varying degrees of red on your faces. there’s a show playing in the background, but you’d stopped paying attention a long time ago.

you’d told kai that you didn’t want to make it a whole thing, and that he didn’t need to feel obligated to do anything out of the ordinary for you. a kiss was a kiss, and whether it happened in the mundanity of your home or at the top of a ferris wheel, it only mattered to you who it was with.

you just wanted to get it over with, for both your and your boyfriend’s sake.

kai looks at you with something so tender in his eyes you feel your breath catch in your throat. as the last of your laughter dies out and the silence returns, you try not to think about how much you want to throw caution to the wind and press up against him.

“i’m going to do it now,” he announces, and you try not to burst into another fit of laughter. 

the ghost of his hand brushes by your nape, cradling the back of your head and thumbing at your skin soothingly. you hadn’t even noticed that you’d gone warm all over, and the contrast of his cold fingers against your neck makes you shiver. kai’s eyes meet yours questioningly, and when you give him an affirmative nod, he leans into your space with purpose.

it’s short and chaste and achingly sweet, but above all, more than you could’ve asked for. the pressure against your lips is unfamiliar but not unpleasant, and you find yourself melting right into the feeling. but it’s gone before your mind can catch up, leaving you suspended mid-air with a rushing heart, yearning for more.

kai draws back from the kiss with a nervous exhale, though he hovers in your orbit with a giddy smile, watching for your reaction. his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are chasing your lips like he wants to dive right back in, and you’re sure you’re in a very similar predicament. pressing your palm against your cheek in an attempt to soothe your burning skin, you shyly look up at him through your lashes.

“how was it?” he asks, the question spilling out between the two of you like a secret. there’s a vulnerable undertone to it that immediately has you sitting up and smiling reassuringly.

“hmm, i don’t know,” you say teasingly, with an embarrassingly breathless quality to your words. you reach out to brace your arms around his neck, toying with the soft tufts of hair you find. “you’re going to have to do it again, i wasn’t really paying attention.”

kai’s eyes grow the tiniest bit wide, but then his lips pull into an uncharacteristically smug grin as he moves to lean in again. “yeah? well since you insist…”

[teyamsatan]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ xx - ᴇᴅɢɪɴɢ

pairing: neteyam x omaticaya!reader (part of monster in me)

➽ a/n: omg besties i've been working so hard on the 1 i have been neglecting the prompts, but i HAD to come back to day 20 with a neteyam/vi drabble. i know a lot of you have missed them and so i hope you enjoy getting a glimpse into what they've been up to, and no worries, there'll be more ;) x

➽ words: >700 words

➽ warnings: it goes without saying, but all of these works (kinktober-related) are smut and therefore minors should NOT interact with them. other warnings include: tiny little degradation, tiny bit of praise, tiny bit of brat-taming

➽ taglist (x) ➽ kinktober masterlist (x)

“F-uck!” Your cries were loud, uninhibited, and wild, just like you. He loved that. As much as he tried to deny it for himself, as much as he’d fight anyone saying he’s enjoyed the years of hatred and war that plagued you both, in reality, he lived for the fights, and the teasing, for the touches and glances that were thrown in disdain but lingered for longer than they ever needed to, for all of it. He still dreams about it, fingering you behind your tent, the look on your face as he brought you so near to your orgasm, how tightly your tail was wrapped around his thigh, desperately pulling him closer, even as every fibre of your being was most likely urging him away. He still sees it in front of his eyes - your face, flushed and tantalising as your lips were wrapped around his cock, sucking him off so well he felt his whole soul was being exorcised… how much he wanted to hate it, how much he couldn’t, not when it was what he loved about you the most anyway. You were his match. His twin flame. The only woman that could both break him and put him back together. The only woman who yearned to be broken just the same. His little slut, the Omaticayan fucked-up princess who loved to be fucked. 

So all things considering, it terrified him - losing it, the spark, the heat between you, when you rekindled what seemed to be cold and broken for so long. He was scared that things would change, and get boring and routinised. There was so much trust between you now, so much love, so much you shared, and he was happy about it, so happy… but he wanted to keep the way he felt about you then, how your being made his skin catch fire and his uncontrollable urges rise to the surface, fresh in his mind.

“Such a filthy mouth. But you should have thought about the consequences before being a brat all day, Vi. Now I guess I just have to fuck it out of you, huh?” 

He always kept his promise. Every day, you were a brat, and every night, he made sure you paid for it, and you loved it - loved it all, loved to wake up marked and bruised, in love bites and canine stings, with his cum in you, on you. You didn’t love it right now, though, as he denied you your third orgasm, so desperate for release you were sobbing face down on the mat, pleading for at least one, just one. Only one. He was so deep in you, one hand gripping painfully at your raised ass, the other holding your arms behind your back, you could feel him everywhere - in your belly, in your lungs, in your throat. His thrusts were animalistic and unbridled, a desperation for him to own you, to claim you, to love you in the way you knew you needed to be loved. 

“Please, Neteyam. Fuck! I ne-ed to come!” The tears were spilling down your forehead, whines getting more pronounced with each plunge into your needy, wet cunt. So close. You were so close. You knew you couldn’t handle being edged once more, the desire almost bordering on pain. Fortunately, he always knew how to thread that line - thin and treacherous, he was a master at knowing how to balance on it, how to push you just to the spot in which they blissfully coexisted, until you were shaking and transcendent, the feeling more intense and satisfying than you ever even thought possible. 

“Beg. Beg to come on my cock, Txepvi. Let me see you put that pretty mouth to good use before I fuck it tonight.”

“Agh, please! Please, please, I need it so badly, please!” 

You feel him twitch inside of you at your words, balls heavy slapping against your folds, itching to spill their load in you, loving to hear you, see your body entirely bent to his will, loving to know the trust was earned in time, and will never be broken, for as long as he lived. 

“Such a good girl. Come for me, Vi. I want to hear you.” 

He didn’t have to tell you twice, and as always, you were grateful for him, and the way he knew how to treat your body better than you ever could, because when you came, it was so good, you couldn’t wait to be a brat again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, for the rest of your days. 

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[imagine-that-100]

When We Are Together

Description: You and Matty are having a lazy day at home after a long time away, and when you both start cooking dinner, Matty finds himself surprised and extremely lucky to call you his. 

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Pure fluff

A/N: This was just a quick one I wanted to write because I’ve missed writing a purely fluffy Matty. Thank you to @kennedy-brooke​ for brainstorming with me for this one. Really hope you enjoy the short fic (I know, somehow managed to restrain my word count lol), and thank you a million for reading x

| Masterlist |

“No, don’t get up.” Matty begs as you try and get yourself out of bed.

It’s truly difficult not to chuckle at his plea, “Please stay in bed a bit longer.” because the both of you have been cuddled together for hours.

Watching endless shit British TV with him feels like home after being on tour in America for so long. When he asked you to come with him, you felt like you were intruding but with his endless insisting you finally gave in.

Being on the road with him was really fun, and you’re such good friends with the other boys at this point they kept you giggling just as much as Matty does. But there is something entirely different about your dynamic when you’re alone together in your own home.

If time does go by where neither of you see each other, you’re certainly one of those couples who are always on the phone, never leaving the other alone. Whether it’s texting or FaceTiming, you’ve rarely been out of contact with each other since you first got together.

Both of you are well aware how insufferably cute you can be when you are together. Neither of you care about your displays of affection for one another because how in love you are and always have been pretty much since day one.

It’s been so nice being back home, and the way you’ve both barely left each other's side is a tell-tale of your relationship. After being together for so long, the way you now just coexist with each other really makes the both of you inseparable.

Which is how you’ve got into the predicament you’re currently in. With no plans for the day, you’ve just lazed about together, and you’re both too clingy for your own good. But you need something to eat.

“Matty, we need food.” You try to turn towards him from the spooning position you’ve been in for the last hour or so and when you point out, “And if we don’t start now, we’ll never get round to it.”

“Do we really need to make tea?” Matty pouts, keeping you a little tighter in his arms.

Feeling that makes you smile, but you have to whine, “We have to eat Matty.”

Neither of you have moved out of bed for a good few hours, and you’re getting hungry, and you know Matty must be too. He’s never not munching on sweets or a bag of crisps, you know him too well by now, he’ll get his weirdly energetic type of hangry if you wait much longer.

“Can’t we just order something?” He mumbles against your head as he kisses the back of it a few times.

“We did that last night,” You remind him, “We can’t do it again.”

Mumbling again, Matty questions, “Who says?”

“Me.” You giggle a little, and this time when you attempt to get up you actually succeed.

Matty lets out a loud sigh of disapproval and you can’t help but chuckle as you look down at him.

“Come on, come help me?” You offer him your hand, and of course, your boyfriend takes it.  

Never could he say no to you. Not when you asked him out, and not once since.

Both of you end up cooking together, and it’s always fun. Both of you knowing what the other one wants or needs is like a little super power you share, and the smiles you send each other as you do your jobs is just as heart-warming.

Music is on low in the background and every little thing just seems perfect. You’re both still a little tired so there isn't that much talking, but neither of you need to.

You share the odd kiss now and again when you both want one and at one point you go to reach for something that's near him and Matty takes that as an invitation to make you dance with him. And you’re really not one to complain as you playfully slow dancing in the kitchen to the song that’s on as the food simmers on the hob, and the sweet kisses you receive in return makes getting up and out of bed worth it.

Before long, you have other little things that the both of you need to finish doing for your final meal of the day, so you get back to it. You have a little giggle when you offer for Matty to try some of the sauce you’ve made and he almost spills what you offer him down himself as he’s taking the spoon off you, and your boyfriend can’t get enough of your laugh.

When everything is almost done, you want to make things a little special so as Matty is busy by the hob, you walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist.

“Are you okay to finish up and I’ll set the table?” You ask your boyfriend before you kiss the back of his head.

You don’t care that his curls tickle your face, you just love the way kissing him makes you feel. Even if it is just a sweet and innocent one to the back of his head.

Matty nods, “Yeah, course.”

You quietly say, “Thank you.” before you kiss the back of his neck this time before you wonder off.

“It’s okay.” Your boyfriend can’t help but smile, loving the random kisses you place on him.

And his smile stays on his lips as he finishes cooking and starts dishing everything up. He loves the way he can hear you humming along to what he knows is the tune of your new favourite song that’s been stuck in your head for days now.

He loves how when you got out of bed and immediately put his jumper on and how perfect you look in it. And how adorable you look in his clothes as you make food together and slow dance.

And even though you moved in so long ago now, he is so happy he gets to share a home with you. All of these feelings make Matty’s chest feel tight and his heart melt all at the same time.

Matty plates up your food how he knows you like first, and after he does his own, he starts to walk them through. He gently shouts a little warning so when he’s accidently turning the corner to get to the table you don’t run into each other, but when he walks around, he stops in his tracks seeing you and what you’ve done.

He can’t get the shocked smile off his face when he asks, “What's all this?”

You’ve set the table all pretty for the two of you. Candles and flowers in the centre of it, the scented candles that you love littered on the ground around it, and you’ve really gone all out to make this meal special.

Matty puts the plates down after slowly moving closer to the table, almost like he’s scared to disturb the perfection you’ve created. But once they are down, he looks at you with the softest eyes and steps closer to you, waiting for your response.

“I'm really proud of you.” You smile, slowly stepping towards him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders and you love the way his arms automatically wrap around your waist, hugging you towards him.

And you’re truthful in what you said about him. You are beyond proud of him.

He won another prestigious music award last week and you couldn’t be prouder. He works so hard and his songs are so beautiful, and you love him so much that your heart constantly aches for him. Even when he’s right here in front of you looking all emotional that you’ve set the table up with a few flowers and candles.

He shakes his head a little almost as if he wasn’t going to accept your words. But you raise your eyebrows and softly say again, “I’m so so proud of you.”

Your boyfriend smiles but sighs a little and you know he’s trying to think of a way to tell you that you didn’t have to go to any lengths for him. And you know you don’t, but you really wanted to. And you know deep down he loves the praise, even if he is trying to shake it off now.

“Can you take the compliment please?” You ask him with a grin finding its way to your lips. “You deserve everything that you’ve been given, and I’m so proud of you… Always have been.”

“Thank you.” Matty accepts his fate, and he’s silent for a few seconds as he memorises your features again even though he’s done it thousands of times over at this point.

He can’t help but whisper in a little disbelief to himself, “How did I get so lucky?”

“You make really good music.” You grin.

And despite Matty laughing for a second at that, he shakes his head and corrects, “You know I meant with you.”

All you can do is smile and think about how lucky the both of you are. To have been together for all these years is something you’re so thankful for and the way you feel when you're in his arms is something you wish you could bottle up and keep close.

Everything feels better when you’re with each other. And Matty really doesn’t know how he’s lucky enough to call you his, but every day he’s grateful for the blessing. And today is no different.

“I love you so much, you know?” Matty whispers like it's a secret he can never keep because he tells you at least twenty times a day.

And he loves that your smile is anyways as big every time he tells you. He will never tire of hearing, “I love you more.”

Your boyfriend just grins and shakes his head, saying, “Not possible.” before he kisses you sweetly once more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[scary-grace]

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 11) -- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

Chapter 11

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. You’ve had various types of feelings about it since you figured out the details, but none of it quite compares to the sheer annoyance you feel when you wake up in the middle of the night to find Tomura dragging you off the couch. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up.” Tomura’s hand comes down over your mouth. “There’s a ghost out there.”

“Are you sure it’s a ghost?” you hiss around his hand. “What if it’s a conjurer.”

“Ghost.” Tomura shakes his head, then frowns. “Two ghosts. No. I don’t know.”

You try to stand up for a look and Tomura yanks you back. “Stay down. They can’t know you’re here.”

“My car is in the driveway,” you point out, exasperated. “They know someone’s here. And if they really are a ghost, why would they –”

Tomura dematerializes partially, going almost transparent. You’ve seen him do that before, when he’s trying to push his influence past the boundaries of the neighborhood or intensify its effects, and from out in the street you hear someone cough, then retch, then cough again. It sounds awful, but the sound is getting louder. Whoever it is, they’re coming closer. It has to be a conjurer. There’s no way another ghost would keep dragging themselves forward knowing Tomura’s waiting for them. If it’s a conjurer, not a ghost – Aizawa’s words flash through your head. “Stay here,” you tell Tomura. “I’ll handle this.”

“What?” Tomura lunges for you, but he can’t materialize fast enough. You get to the front of the house before he can grab you and peer out the window.

There are two people on the sidewalk. One of them is a woman, tall and dark-haired, dressed in the kind of clothes you can’t imagine wearing, let alone going outside in. She’s dragging someone with her, a man with blueish-purple hair. A man who looks sort of familiar, although you can’t place him. A man who’s definitely unconscious. The woman pushes open your front gate, steps over the threshold, and promptly dry-heaves into the dead grass. Tomura’s intensified his influence, so toxic that it’s even making you dizzy, but the woman keeps dragging herself forward, pulling the unconscious man after her.

She doubles over again, retches again, and calls out in a voice that trembles and cracks, barely loud enough to hear. “Help us,” she begs. “Help us, please –”

“Get out,” Tomura hisses, his voice reverberating through the house and into the yard, but something twinges in the back of your mind as you study the unconscious man. You open the door. “Don’t –”

Tomura grabs for you again, misses again, and you step out onto the front porch. The woman in the yard looks up at you. Her eyes are wide in the porch light and she’s blinking hard, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Her eyes are watering, or it looks like they should be. She’s blinking, but there are no tears coming down her face. The air ripples around her strangely, and suddenly you understand what she is, why she’s so affected by Tomura’s aura, why her eyes only work halfway. She’s a ghost. Not a former one. An unbound one.

The person she’s dragging is a ghost, too – or is he? The longer you look at him, the more familiar he gets, and the more obvious it becomes that something’s wrong. “I know him,” Tomura says suddenly. “He was here –”

The name clicks into place in your head. “Shirakumo,” you say, and the man stirs, groans. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” the unbound ghost says. She looks past you, focused on Tomura. “Please let us in.”

Tomura’s never let even a former ghost into the house. There’s no way he’ll let in a live one, especially not like this. But he’s not looking at her. He’s looking at Shirakumo, then at you, and then at Shirakumo again. Then back to you. “It’s our house,” he says, almost hesitantly. This is the wrong time for you to get butterflies, but it happens anyway. You’re really stupid. You nod, and Tomura faces the unbound ghost again. “If you try anything, I’ll kill you. You can drag him up here on your own.”

Tomura, in spite of everything, is still an asshole. You hurry down the steps barefoot to help the ghost carry Shirakumo, and when you touch him, you recoil in shock. Some parts of Shirakumo’s body are hot, so burning hot that you can feel them through his shirt. Other parts of him are so cold that it’s like sticking your hand in a bowl of dry ice, colder by far than what Tomura projects. Shirakumo’s not a ghost. He wasn’t a ghost when you met him. But touching him now feels like walking over your own grave.

Tomura helps to a certain extent, if only by propping the door open with his foot and holding Phantom so she won’t run away. He levels a question at the unbound ghost as the two of you carry Shirakumo up the stairs. “Why did you come here?”

“He told me about this place,” she says. She’s starting to have trouble holding her form. You can tell by the way her voice wavers, the way Shirakumo’s full weight falls on you for a split second. “It was the only place we could hide.”

“Hide from what?” you ask. The unbound ghost looks helplessly at you. “Where did you come here from?”

She says the name of a city. You see her mouth move, but the name goes in one ear and out the other without sticking in your thoughts. You have to ask her to say it again, and then the weight of what she’s saying crashes down on you. It’s a good thing you’ve finally made it to the living room and dropped Shirakumo on the couch. If you hadn’t, you’d have dropped him on the floor in horror.

You try to hide it, but Tomura notices. How long has Tomura known you this well? He issues a few threats to the other ghost about what will happen if she touches you or Phantom, then comes over to you. “What?”

“It’s –” You don’t know how to explain. You didn’t explain what you and Aizawa were looking for when you went back to the office “A ghost went missing in the city she just said. A conjurer was in that city, too. He could have had something to do with this.”

“I don’t know what this is.” Tomura makes a sharp, frustrated gesture. “He’s alive. You’re human and even you can see that. You can’t see the ghost. If you could you’d never have touched him. Fuck!”

The lights flicker. “Calm down,” you plead. You hold out your hands for Tomura’s and he gives them to you. “What do you mean? There’s another ghost?”

“It’s – attached to him. Part of him but not. It’s –” Tomura wavers for a moment, his materialization failing. His shoulders heave like he’s about to throw up. “It hurts.”

“Garaki did this.” The unbound ghost is mostly dematerialized now, down to nothing but a pair of eyes and a mouth and a voice. It’s unsettling to look at. “His conjurer. I don’t know how. We barely got away.”

On your couch, Shirakumo stirs. Shirakumo, or the ghost that’s apparently attached to him. When he speaks, you can hear two voices in one. “Kill me.”

“No,” you say reflexively. You can’t have a dead body on your couch, and you need more information. You need to know what happened. You need to know why. “I’m going to call Aizawa.”

Aizawa’s going to kick your ass for calling him this late. You pick up the phone and call him anyway, and he picks up on the fifth ring in the worst mood you’ve ever encountered him in. “This had better be important.”

“I found the ghost who went missing,” you say. Aizawa swears. “One ghost, and one person who’s – they’re alive, but there’s a ghost attached to them –”

“Where are they?” Aizawa demands, but it only takes him a second to figure out why you’re the one calling him. “They’re in your house?”

“Uh – yes.” You glance at Tomura. Tomura is scowling. “They said the person who did this – it was Garaki.”

You’re expecting some kind of response from Aizawa. Instead there’s a scuffle on his end of the line, and you hear Hizashi’s voice, faintly. “Shou, I’m not fucking around. Give me the goddamn phone.” A moment later, you hear his voice loud and clear. “Put your ghost on. Right now.”

You hand the phone off to Tomura in a hurry, desperate to get away from Hizashi’s voice. Tomura takes the phone and lifts it to his ear. “What do you want? I –”

You can’t hear Hizashi’s voice anymore, even when you come closer, and Tomura isn’t speaking out loud in response. They’re talking, though. You don’t know how, but they are. When you put your hand on Tomura’s shoulder, you feel tension that shouldn’t be there. The physical contact is a mistake. Tomura’s free hand snakes out, wraps around your waist, and pulls you tightly in against his side. A moment later he hangs up the phone.

“What happened?” you ask. Tomura’s jaw is clenched so tightly that tendons are standing out in his neck. “Tomura –”

“They’re coming here,” Tomura says through gritted teeth. “All four of them.”

“They’re all coming here?” you ask, shocked. “Why?”

“It’s their fault.” Tomura throws a venomous glance back into the living room. “That conjurer is hunting them. He’ll follow them here. He’ll pass Aizawa’s house before he gets here.”

“So? He’s not –” You remember your conversation with Aizawa earlier, the picture you found of the conjurer, the fact that Aizawa kept it. “He’s Hizashi’s conjurer, too.”

Tomura nods once. “They’re coming here to hide,” he says. The lights flicker again. “I can’t be here. My body. I have to make a shield.”

“Did Hizashi tell you to do that?” You’re going to have words for Hizashi when he gets here. “Garaki’s not even your conjurer. Why are you –”

“It’s our stupid neighborhood,” Tomura snaps. Your jaw drops. “Don’t look at me like that. I have to go.”

“Wait,” you say, struggling to speak around the shock. Tomura stops mid-dematerialization, and you step close to him, wrap your arms around a body that’s barely there enough to embrace, press a kiss to a mouth that’s less than a whisper against your own. You sound insane even to yourself when you speak. “Be careful.”

He vanishes without a word, and you kick yourself. Be careful? Garaki’s not his conjurer, and even if he was, Tomura’s still a ghost – an unbelievably powerful ghost, powerful enough to cast an aura over the entire neighborhood. There’s nothing for Tomura to be careful of. Tomura’s going to be fine. That’s more than you can say of any of the unexpected guests you’ll be hosting this evening.

Aizawa and the others will be here soon. In the meantime, you turn to the last spot you saw the unbound ghost. “What should I call you?”

“My customers call me Midnight.” That explains her outfit when she’s materialized, at least. “My friends call me Nemuri.”

“Nemuri,” you say. You nod at Shirakumo on the couch – Shirakumo, and whatever ghost he’s fused to, are unconscious again. “Which one is he?”

“A little of both.” Her eyes are bright blue. They appear briefly, aimed at Shirakumo, then vanish. “The ghost he’s bound to was the same.”

Phantom’s been sniffing Shirakumo’s hand where it dangles over the edge of the couch, but suddenly she jumps up and runs to the front door. Aizawa and the others must be here. You check out the front window to make sure and find them negotiating the path to your front steps, Aizawa dragging Hizashi and Shinsou carrying Eri. You feel the air inside the house ripple as they approach. “What happened?”

“Your ghost has intensified his aura. It’s making them ill.” Aizawa dumps Hizashi into the porch swing, then turns to lift Eri out of Shinsou’s arms. “Can’t you feel it?”

You can’t feel anything – just unease that gets worse when you see the same emotion on Aizawa’s face. Aizawa sits down on the front steps, and so does Shinsou, and something occurs to you. “Did Tomura say you couldn’t come in?”

“Hizashi gave that impression, right before he threw up.”

Tomura, as always, is an asshole. “It defeats the purpose of hiding if you’re out in plain sight on the porch,” you say. “Come in.”

Aizawa hands Eri back to Shinsou, and you help him haul Hizashi off the porch swing and into the house. “Nice place you’ve got here,” Hizashi mumbles. “Aside from the ghost. Dammit –”

He retches, but nothing comes up. Eri, meanwhile, is quiet and wide-eyed. “It’s nicer in here,” she says. “It feels safe.”

“That would be the aura,” you say awkwardly. Your house doesn’t really have a lot of entertainment value for little kids. “Um –”

“It’s not the aura. The aura’s hideous,” Hizashi mutters. “The aura’s not in here. Not many houses have a happy ghost in them.”

You’re really not sure how you’re supposed to take that. “I don’t think Tomura feels –”

Six months ago you could have ended the sentence there. I don’t think Tomura feels. He reacts to sensations. He has things he wants and things he doesn’t. He’s territorial and possessive and easily pissed off, but feelings? Tomura doesn’t have those. Not for anyone. Not for you.

An awkward silence falls. “No, he does,” Eri says blithely, oblivious to how deeply you’re cringing. “Everything is bad out there, but it’s happy in here because he is.”

You decide you’re not going to think about that right now. You look to Aizawa. “You need to take a look at this. Something’s really wrong with this person.”

Aizawa follows you to the living room, but so does Hizashi, and when they see Shirakumo, both of them curse. Hizashi hurries forward, then stops as a full-body shiver runs through him. “God, Nem – back off! I’m trying to help!”

They know each other. While Hizashi tries to untangle himself from Nemuri, Aizawa examines Shirakumo, his expression darkening by the second. “The ghost attached to him is trying to drain him of energy and escape, but because it’s attached to him, it’s experiencing the pain of the siphoning simultaneously. If it could be convinced to stop –”

“The ghost? Nem says she’s been trying.” Hizashi is still grimacing, but he’s not throwing up on your floor, so you decide to call it a win. “It won’t listen. And I wouldn’t have, if that had been me. If I’d been forced to embody myself, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Forced embodiment? Is that what this is?” You look at Shirakumo, then back at Hizashi. “Why would Garaki want that?”

“The ghost is still a ghost. It’s still got powers,” Hizashi says. “And now it’s got a guaranteed source of energy, and a semi-permanent anchor to the human world.”

So Garaki turned Shirakumo into a living battery for the ghost who went missing. “Combine that with the pain and rage this situation will inspire in the ghost, and you’ve got the recipe for a rampage,” Hizashi continues. He reaches out and puts his hand on Shirakumo’s forehead. “At least, that’s what’s supposed to happen.”

Nemuri’s voice emanates from the corner of the room. “What do you mean?”

“Our friend’s never wanted to hurt anyone in his entire existence,” Hizashi says. “I don’t know Shirakumo, but they must be similar, because they’re in agreement: They don’t want to hurt anyone. They’d rather die.”

“They want to die,” you correct. Nobody’s dying in your house. “What do we do?”

The silence that falls is panic-inducing, especially when Shirakumo stirs again, groans again. Eri comes over and takes his hand, and Hizashi’s hand remains on his forehead. They’re trying to calm the ghost, and there’s only one ghost whose moods you can alter. You back away from the couch and retreat into the kitchen. Shinsou and Aizawa follow you. Shinsou switches on the sink, followed by the garbage disposal, and turns to Aizawa. “Dad, what do we do?”

Aizawa switches off the garbage disposal and turns off the water. Then he’s quiet for a little while. “Our options are limited,” he says finally. “I doubt Nemuri made significant efforts to cover her tracks, and the ghost fused with Shirakumo was likely unable to do so at all. If we proceed under the assumption that our location’s been compromised and Garaki is on his way, the question turns to how we can defend ourselves.”

“You have that gun,” you point out. “What was it you said? It takes a lot of ghostly power to stop a bullet?”

“It takes a lot of ghostly power to fuse a ghost to a human being,” Aizawa says. “We have no idea how that process works, or how quickly Garaki can accomplish it. That means none of us are free from risk in facing him. Even Tomura –”

“If Garaki was Dad’s conjurer, Dad’s probably his upper limit as far as power goes,” Shinsou breaks in. “Tomura’s way above that. Besides, Tomura is another conjurer’s ghost. Would he really mess with somebody else’s ghost?”

“Tomura can’t influence the living world outside the property line,” you remind Shinsou. Then you look at Aizawa. “And didn’t you say that no conjurer on the planet is dumb enough to come in here? If you want Tomura to deal with the conjurer, you have to get the conjurer past the fence.”

“Maybe we lure him,” Shinsou muses. “Use Dabi as bait or something. Get him to follow Dabi down to this end of the road and then shove him into the yard.”

The mention of Dabi’s name sets off an alarm bell. “We have to warn Keigo. He should be over here, too.”

“That’s another problem. We can’t stay hidden here forever,” Aizawa says. “Tomura will lose patience, and even if he doesn’t, our absences will be noted. It’s in this conjurer’s best interest to make us wait.”

“No, it isn’t.”

The voice is Tomura’s, disembodied and raspy and rough – and tired. He sounds tired. “The longer he waits, the more time we have to plan. The more time me and that other ghost have to store up power. If he waits, he loses.” It’s quiet for a second. “He’ll be here by tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s what I’d do.” Hizashi’s voice, just as disembodied as Tomura’s, floats in from the living room. “Send the search team and Atsuhiro out, like we’ve been doing. Send the kids to school. Go to work.”

That last is to you. Hizashi addresses his husband next. “Shou, you can take the day off. Go get some invasive plants. We need batteries for Nemuri and Tomura – and Dabi.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Dabi’s remaining powers are unpredictable.”

“If we can’t predict them, neither can Garaki.” Hizashi’s quiet for a second. “He’s like any other ghost. He doesn’t like the idea of anyone taking what’s his.”

Hizashi’s words take a second to sink in. In the panic over Garaki’s impending arrival, you forgot why Garaki’s coming here in the first place. Two of his ghosts are in this neighborhood, two ghosts who shirked their duty. Garaki’s coming to punish them. And the fastest way to punish them is to take away the people they embodied themselves for. It’s not Dabi and Hizashi who are in danger. It’s Keigo and Aizawa – and because Hizashi has a family, Shinsou and Eri, too.

“Are you sure we should act like things are normal?” you ask. “We can’t protect Shinsou and Eri if they’re away from the neighborhood, and we don’t know how closely Garaki’s watching us.”

“He doesn’t know to look for them,” Aizawa says. “What Hizashi did is – unusual. Embodied ghosts don’t typically like to share their humans, even with their children. It’s not something Garaki will think to check.”

“Then you should stay home,” you say to Aizawa. His eyes flash. “You and Keigo. The rest of the team can go out and I’ll take off work to buy the batteries. My boss will understand.”

Mr. Yagi is probably going to tell you that you shouldn’t go out, either, but you’ve got the bracelets, and nobody’s looking for you. You make your way back into the living room, over to Hizashi and Eri. Shinsou and Aizawa follow you in. “It’s late,” you say. “Shinsou, Eri, you both can sleep up in my room. Aizawa, Hizashi, you can have the floor. I’ve got extra blankets and everything. I think it’s probably best if Shirakumo stays on the couch.”

“I’ll stay up with him. Someone needs to keep him calm,” Hizashi says. “I’ll try to find out what happened, too. All right?”

He’s not asking you. He’s asking Aizawa. Aizawa looks unhappy, but he nods. He brushes past you, kisses Hizashi’s forehead, and turns back for the children. He scoops Eri up and puts a hand on Shinsou’s shoulder before looking to you. “Lead the way.”

The only person who’s ever been up to the top floor since you moved in is you. You show everyone where the upstairs bathroom is, switch out the heavy blanket on the bed for one that you and Tomura weren’t hooking up on, and drag an ancient sleeping bag out of hiding for Aizawa to use. Then you stand there awkwardly, trying to think if there’s anything else you need to take care of as a host. “Um, Tomura sometimes comes in here at night, but I don’t think he will if I’m not up here. He’ll stay out of the bathroom, too. If you hear anything weird it’s probably just Phantom. She has a crate to sleep in, but she might be a little more active tonight.”

“Can she sleep on the bed?” Shinsou asks.

“No,” Aizawa says before you can answer. “Your sister is allergic, and so am I. We’d prefer to sleep with the door shut.”

“No problem.” You head for the door.

“But this is your bed,” Eri says around a yawn. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“I probably won’t,” you say. “I have some things to take care of.”

You have to let the rest of the neighborhood know what’s happening, communicate the plan, and convince them to follow it, starting with Keigo. Aizawa can probably guess that. “Wake me if you need help.”

You nod and switch off the light. Then you step into the hallway and shut the door behind you.

The house always feels alive, but right now it feels chaotic. There are two live ghosts, two former ghosts, and one ghost-human abomination inside it, and the clashing energies are making your head hurt. You push through it long enough to retrieve your laptop and sit down at the kitchen table. You leave the lid of it shut. The first thing you need to do is give Keigo a wakeup call.

But as you’re unlocking your phone, you see something scribbled on the back of your hand. It takes you a second to remember what it is, but once you remember, you set your phone aside and open up your laptop to search Garaki’s forwarding address. It’s a fancy hotel in a city an hour or so north of yours. You need to confirm if he’s still there. The trick you used before should work just fine. You check the reporter’s name again, block your number, and call the hotel. When the reception desk picks up, you give them the reporter’s name and ask for Dr. Garaki.

“I’m afraid you just missed him. The doctor checked out this morning,” the receptionist says. Your heart sinks. “My apologies. What did you say your name was?”

You repeat your borrowed name – and your borrowed cover story. “Did he leave a forwarding address? There’s been an update to the story I wrote and my boss wants me to get a comment.”

“Let me see.” The receptionist’s fingernails click audibly against the keys. “Yes, he did. It’s –”

You write the entire address, but your fingers go numb after you’ve written the city name. It’s here. Garaki’s at a fancy hotel in your city, which means Tomura’s right, and Hizashi’s right, too. He knows where you are. He’ll be here soon. He’ll be here tomorrow.

You thank the receptionist for her help, hang up the phone, and lean back in your chair, feeling sick to your stomach. Garaki’s here. You have his exact location. You could call the hotel right now and get his room number, and then you could borrow Aizawa’s gun and go solve this yourself. It would be easy. You’d wear your bracelets, so he wouldn’t see you coming, and you’d blow his head off the instant he opened the door. All the ghostly power in the world won’t save him if he’s caught by surprise. You could do all that if you want to go to prison for the rest of your life.

You push the thought away. You need to strategize, and you can’t do it alone. As much as you hate to do it, you pick up your computer and your phone and make your way into the living room to join Hizashi.

He doesn’t look up. “I heard you on the phone. Did you get something?”

“I know where Garaki is.” That gets Hizashi’s attention, and you turn your laptop around to show him. “I can’t think of how we’d get him without someone going to prison.”

Nemuri’s voice emanates from the chair you were planning to sit in. “I could go.”

“His power level’s too high. In a straight fight he’d win,” Hizashi says. Nemuri emits a scathing noise. “He’s already gotten one of my friends, Nem. I don’t have a lot of friends. I don’t want to lose another one.”

“Tomura’s plan could still work,” you say. “Somebody could lure him out of there, out of sight, and we could take care of it.”

“Something’s already luring him out of there. Us. Tomorrow night.” Hizashi says. “This is our territory. He thinks he’s coming here to retrieve Shirakumo and punish me and Dabi. He’s not going to be ready for Nem, and he’s sure as hell not going to be ready for Tomura. Even if Tomura can’t leave the property, he can project his aura, and if he focuses it on one person, it’ll slow them down significantly.”

“Wouldn’t he have to decloak the whole neighborhood?”

“Only for a split second. That’s all we’ll need,” Hizashi says. He pitches his voice to carry. “You can do that, right, Crusty?”

Whatever Tomura says in response, he doesn’t say it out loud. Hizashi grimaces. “We’re all set on that front,” he announces to everybody who wasn’t in on the conversation, which is just you and Phantom. “In other news, I found out what happened with our friend and this guy. He calmed down enough to tell me, and it’s – not good.”

“Spit it out,” Nemuri says, and you nod in agreement. “Can it be fixed?”

“If it can, we’re not the ones to do it,” Hizashi says heavily. Nemuri’s despair floods the room. “It seems like Garaki’s found a way to temporarily bind ghosts – something that allows him to capture and contain them while he finds and contains a host. From there, he has to draw the host’s life-force out enough for the ghost to latch onto it. I can’t tell if it’s the fastest way or the only way, but whatever way it is, he does it through torture.”

“Until the host loses their will to live,” you realize, and Hizashi nods. “That’s when he ties the ghost to them. Like binding a ghost to a house.”

“Right. Except a ghost bound to a house can destroy it and escape,” Hizashi says. “As far as I can tell, this type of binding leads the ghost to view the human host as an extension of themselves. Killing the human is the same as killing themselves, and ghosts, uh – we don’t do that.”

“You don’t or you can’t?”

“Both,” Nemuri says. “We can’t destroy our own essences, and even if we could, what purpose would there be in it? We aren’t like humans. What makes humans kill themselves, anyway? Do you know?”

She’s asking Hizashi – Hizashi, who looks weirdly disquieted. “Don’t look at me. Ask the human.”

“Ask Google,” you say. “I’m not an expert on human stuff just because I’m human.”

Nemuri either doesn’t know what Google is or doesn’t care. “Why do humans kill themselves?’

There are two ghosts staring at you now, and distantly, you can feel Tomura’s eyes on you. “Um,” you start. “So, there are a lot of reasons why. Usually it’s multiple reasons at once, I think. Sometimes it’s after something bad has happened to us – something traumatic, or something we feel really guilty about. Or someone we love leaving us or dying. Sometimes it’s smaller stuff that builds up over time, like having depression or alcohol or things like that. Or being really lonely for a long time.”

As you’re talking it, it occurs to you that everything you’ve said has something in common. You can’t tell if it’s a brand-new realization or some long-ago memory of psych 101 crawling to the surface, but you say it anyway. “There are lots of reasons why a human might kill themselves. But people who do that – they do it because they think things are going to be like that forever, that nothing’s ever going to change. And they decide they can’t take it anymore.”

You sounded way too authoritative when you said that. You qualify it in a hurry. “I think.”

The ghosts, both present and former, sit with that for a second. “But some things can’t be changed,” Nemuri says, puzzled. “A human who dies is gone forever. Humans die every day and the rest of you don’t kill yourselves over it.”

“You’re right. We can’t change death. But how we feel about it can change,” you explain. “We can grieve. And we can move on. So thinking about the person we’ve lost will hurt less.”

“Ghosts can’t change,” Hizashi says quietly. He glances up at the ceiling, probably looking for the room where Aizawa’s sleeping. “I won’t be here long after he’s gone.”

“Don’t say that,” you say without thinking. “For all you know, you’ll go first.”

It’s dead silent for a moment. Then Hizashi bursts into quiet but somehow still raucous laughter. “Serves me right for being dramatic. Now I get how you handle him.”

You wouldn’t say Tomura was dramatic, exactly. Moody would probably be more accurate, and like you’ve summoned him on a thought, he materializes right in front of you. You’ve been sitting on the floor, laptop balanced in your lap, and he sets it aside to make room for himself. He doesn’t seem to care that you’re in full view of everybody, or that Hizashi is staring unabashedly at the two of you, his jaw practically on the floor. “What about the shield?” you ask faintly.

Tomura’s busy getting situated in your lap. He’s fully materialized, his face pressed into the curve of your neck. “I can do that and this at the same time.”

“He can,” Nemuri says after a moment. “It feels just as it did before. Most of us aren’t able to utilize our powers in the psychic plane and maintain control of our energy usage at the same time.”

“Our little misanthrope is quite impressive. We’re very proud,” Hizashi says, only partially sarcastically. He makes eye contact with you. “Have you updated the others on the plan yet? Maybe save the cuddling until after your work is done.”

You’re conscious of how tightly Tomura is holding onto you, and simultaneously, how brittle his grip feels. You reach out to close the lid of your laptop and pick up your phone instead. “I can do that and this at the same time.”

Hizashi and Nemuri have probably been hanging out among humans long enough to know that seeing a man sitting in a woman’s lap is weird, but thankfully they both keep quiet. Nemuri’s presence drifts away, heading out to the front porch, and Hizashi focuses back in on Shirakumo. You wait until they’re both occupied before you turn your attention to Tomura officially. “Are you okay?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m doing what I’d do if none of them were here.”

“If you were doing that, you’d be staring at me from the corner of the room.” Your bed, with you, at night, is a boundary Tomura’s never tried to breach while embodied. You’re not sure why. “What is it?”

Tomura shakes his head. More of his weight falls against you, and you scoot back a few inches, leaning against the wall to prop yourself up. Tomura’s hair brushes against your cheek, and you bring the hand that’s not holding your phone up and begin to work it through the tangles. It’s not something you do often. Usually when Tomura’s materialized this close to you, he’s after a hookup, and he usually dematerializes fast after the two of you are done. You can count on one hand the number of times he’s been like this, and two of them happened today.

Maybe he’s just tired. Ghosts might not be able to sleep, but you’ve never seen or heard anybody claim that they can’t get tired. “I’m going to call the others and update them,” you say to him, and he nods. “Stay here as long as you want.”

Tomura doesn’t respond this time, just settles against you, heavy and cold. You keep combing your fingers through his hair and call Keigo first. He doesn’t pick up on the first call, so you call back again, already feeling awful about the news you’re going to give him. After you call him, you’ll call Spinner next, then Jin – and then you’ll work your way through the other numbers, until everybody in the neighborhood and Mr. Yagi outside of it know what’s going to happen tomorrow. Thinking about it scares you, even if it’s not your ghost the conjurer is after. It would scare you more if Tomura wasn’t here.

Maybe that’s why this is happening. Maybe he knows you’re scared, or maybe he’s scared, too. You try to be careful about things that reveal your feelings, but you turn your head and kiss his temple, letting your mouth linger there for longer than really necessary. A lot longer. You don’t pull away until Keigo picks up your call. He sounds sleepy, and like he’s in a mood. “This had better be good.”

“Keigo. Hi.” Your stomach clenches with anxiety, and you focus as best you can on the texture of Tomura’s hair as it slides through your fingers. It grounds you, somehow, the same way as his weight in your lap does. “Sorry to wake you. It’s about Garaki.”

[youhideastar]

Fit for Purpose Deleted Scenes II: Alternate Version, Second Half

Yesterday I posted the first batch of deleted scenes from Fit for Purpose: the first half of a backstory chapter that I ultimately deep-sixed as a distraction. For more explanation, please read that first-half post! Today I'm sharing the second half of that backstory chapter. Again, I'm going to try to keep my commentary on the scenes to a minimum so as not to make this post longer. Other deleted scenes posts are linked in the masterpost. I hope you enjoy!

We pick up during the Sunshot Campaign, with a scene that I've always found perplexing in canon - WWX promising to let LWJ help him with the demonic cultivation. It's not clear in canon whether he ever actually does that. Here, I decided he would.

On another rooftop in the moonlight, eyes dark and urgent, Lan Zhan says, “Wei Ying. You are trying to snatch grain from a roaring fire.”

Because without that grain, I’ll starve, thinks Wei Wuxian. For a moment, he imagines telling Lan Zhan about his core. It’s a wild thought, quickly smothered.

“Wei Ying. Let me help.”

Wei Wuxian knows what he should do: call him “Lan Wangji” again. Smile like a knife. Shove him away.

But the end of the war is coming, and Wei Wuxian knows he’s unlikely to survive it. A few months doesn’t seem like too long a time to pretend that he can be fixed—that what he’s missing is something Lan Zhan can give him.

He says yes. Lets Lan Zhan play pretty songs for him. Spiritually, they do nothing for him.

But the lie makes Lan Zhan feel better.

They’re at war. Lan Zhan could be hurt or killed at any time. Wei Wuxian doesn’t want the last thing he said to him to be cruel. That’s all.

*

In the end, they win. He wins.

The other sects make the omega Meng Yao—Jin Guangyao, now—the hero. What he did, they understand. One short, sharp thrust.

It makes A-Cheng and Lan Zhan angry on Wei Wuxian’s behalf; for his part, Wei Wuxian couldn’t care less. He did what he needed to do. He fulfilled his purpose. He didn’t do it for the glory.

They go back to Lotus Pier.

A-Cheng and Jiejie want everything to go back to the way it used to be. They treat him like Yunmeng Jiang’s head disciple.

So he tries to act like it.

But there’s a hole inside of him. And so, there are things he can’t do. Things he can’t give, because he gave them already, and there’s no getting them back.

He can’t teach sword cultivation—can’t even draw his sword. And no one wants to hear about his talismans; the ones he writes in blood. The ones that draw evil in, rather than repelling it. Any of a half-dozen others would be a better head disciple than he would.

There’s only one part of his job he can really do anymore. And even that is… harder than it used to be. They want to touch and be touched, but his skin still crawls with the touch of the dead. And he doesn’t want to put his mouth on them. He never wants human flesh in his mouth again.

He’d thought he’d be dead for this part.

He was supposed to be dead for this part.

Maybe he is.

A-Cheng lays into him for failing in his duty. For not giving enough. Wei Wuxian places his hand over his incision scar and keeps his silence. He knows it’s true. No matter how much he gives, it could never be enough.

That previous scene is probably the one that hurt the most to cut. I really liked it. But DAMN did it bring down the vibe of the fic. It's so bleak in tone that it really could not coexist with the cute banter in the Jingshi.

Next is my first crack at the Baifeng Mountain scene.

Come to Gusu with me, he says. Let me play for you, let me help you, he says. I am the one who knows you, he says. Better than you know yourself.

For a moment, he imagines it. Going to Gusu with Lan Zhan. Letting Lan Zhan take care of him, letting Lan Zhan imprison him—he can’t tell anymore what it is that Lan Zhan wants to do with him, but he’s not sure he cares. At least he’d be with Lan Zhan. At least Lan Zhan understands that he’s changed. At least Lan Zhan isn’t expecting him to pretend he’s still the laughing boy on the rooftop.

Ah, but it’s a selfish, selfish thought.

Yu-furen saw it in him all along.

For him to cling to Lan Zhan—brilliant, perfect, unparalleled Lan Zhan, who has never needed or wanted anything from Wei Wuxian, not even his body—is just another symptom of his weakness.

No. Wei Wuxian knows what he is. What he is meant for. He is meant to be of use. That is what he was made for. That is why he was saved from starvation on the streets – so he could be of use. To Jiang Cheng, and to Jiejie.

He ignores the voice murmuring in his head, But what use are you to them, really? Except as a mascot, and a whore.

But that didn't really address what I consider the main point of the Baifeng Mountain sequence in this AU, and an incredibly overlooked moment in canon, imo: Jin-furen's assertion that people are starting to believe that WWX and JYL are sexually involved. To me, this is THE turning point of this arc for WWX. The only way he'd ever leave Lotus Pier is if he thought it was better for JC and JYL if he did. I think by this point in canon, he's long ago decided JC would be better off with a different head disciple, but JYL is keeping him hanging on. He doesn't feel like he's failing her. Until this moment, when Jin-furen supplies him with a reason to believe that his presence is hurting JYL, too. At that point, he feels he has to leave. I think if he hadn't found Wen Qing in the street, he might have just wandered out of Lanling and noped out of the whole cultivation world at that point.

None of Yu-furen’s lectures or Jiang-shushu’s stories or A-Cheng’s threats taught him what to do when the very people he’s supposed to live for are better off without him.

He’s a useless head disciple to Yunmeng Jiang Sect. Everything he does makes A-Cheng angry. Whenever Jiejie sees him, she looks worried. Even Lan Zhan—according to Lan Xichen—is working himself to the bone in a futile quest to purify Wei Wuxian’s nonexistent core and bring him back to the sword path.

Then, on Baifeng Mountain, he learns that it’s so much worse than he thought.

“You shouldn’t be alone with him, A-Li,” Jin-furen says firmly.

Jiejie flinches. “A-Xian is my didi. There’s nothing improper—”

“With your mother gone, there is no one who will tell you what you need to hear,” Jin-furen interrupts. When she looks at Jiejie, her face is kind; the look she flicks at Wei Wuxian is like a knife. “But I will. A-Li, didi or no, people are talking. An unmarried omega who turned down an advantageous match to a powerful alpha to stay with her brother…”

“Yes,” Jiejie says, cheeks pale. “My brother, Jin-furen. Will you tell me to stay away from A-Cheng, too?”

Jin-furen waves her fan. “Of course not. That’s different. A-Li.” She barely bothers to drop her voice when she says, “You know what betas do. You know what they’re for.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what Jiejie says to that. He doesn’t stay to find out. And he doesn’t plan to come back.

If he drinks himself to death, it’ll reflect poorly on Yunmeng Jiang. But if he flashes enough gold in the right parts of Lanling City, he thinks he can probably get himself knifed pretty easily, and bleed out fast enough that no one will wonder why his core didn’t save him.

Then A-Cheng can find a better head disciple, and Jiejie’s reputation will be safe.

And Lan Zhan—

Well. Lan Zhan will be fine. He won’t have to try to save Wei Wuxian anymore. Once the first shock is past, it’ll probably be a relief.

*

But in Lanling City, Wei Wuxian doesn’t find a knife in the dark.

He finds a woman in a red cloak, starving and bruised, searching for her beloved brother.

And some part of him that he thought was dead roars back to life, like a new-fed flame.

He remembers standing side-by-side with Lan Zhan, remembers the vows they made. He can’t be a good brother or a good beta. He can’t be head disciple, or cultivate the sword path.

But he can stand with justice. He can defend the weak. He can live with a clear conscience.

For the first time since his body was shattered against the death-soaked earth of the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian feels alive.

*

Lan Zhan doesn’t see it that way. Lan Zhan, sheltered under his pretty umbrella, tries to call Wei Wuxian back to the path of orthodoxy.

But Wei Wuxian has just walked away from a valley of corpses. He has seen what the path of orthodoxy is paved with. His hands are shaking. Behind him are those few he managed to save – cold, dirty, half-drowned, frightened, sick. He cannot walk away from them. He cannot believe Lan Zhan would ask him to.

PISSED-OFF AND INCREDULOUS. “We promised we would devote our lives to fighting the wicked and defending the weak!” he shouts, while the thunder rolls. His eyes sting as rain drips down his face. “You tell me, Lan Zhan: who is strong, and who is weak? Who is right, and who is wrong?”

Lan Zhan has no answer.

It rises in Wei Wuxian, then: the same smooth-polished calm that came upon him in the Xuanwu Cave, when he thought the moment had come for him to die for A-Cheng. A quiet but powerful peace.

Yes. He could die here. Now. Not knifed in an alley by some thief, trying to slip unnoticed from a world where he was no longer needed, but in battle against the mighty Hanguang-jun, defending the innocent. That would be worthy. That would be right.

As he raises Chenqing between them, Wei Wuxian can feel himself smiling. His belly churns with joy and sorrow, fear and anticipation.

“If there has to be a fight,” he says, very steady, “then let me fight to the death with you. If I have to die, then let it be at the hands of Hanguang-jun. It would be no injustice.”

But in the end, Lan Zhan steps away.

So Wei Wuxian rides forward. To Yiling, where Jiang-shushu rescued him all those years ago. To Yiling, where he dragged his body back from broken death.

He’s been reborn in Yiling twice. Maybe he can do it one more time. He can only try.

Here is an alternate version of WWX's decision to go with Wen Qing. I'm ultimately not sure which one I like better.

It would be monstrous of him to follow her. To turn his back on his family. His purpose.

You live for them. Die for them, if you have to. Don’t you dare keep anything for yourself that could go to them.

A perversion; a rebellion against nature, from which there could be no return and no redemption.

He thinks about the prisoners shuffled out in chains before the targets. Thinks about the screaming of the women, at Nightless City, as the blood ran from under the doors. Of the old men shot down from behind by golden arrows as they fled on the road, sobbing.

*

Three.

Two.

*

He swore, once, to live with a clean conscience.

He should never have made that vow—his conscience, like the rest of him, belonged to Yunmeng Jiang. It was not his to dispose of.

But he did. He did make that promise.

And even though it makes him ungrateful, and unfilial—even though he knows there will be no coming back from this—he finds he can’t break it.

This one thing, in the end, is his.

Either way, we pick up with this bit covering WWX's second stay in the Burial Mounds. Honestly, this is mostly me getting high on my own worldbuilding.

In the Burial Mounds, every moment reminds him of his time in hell. Resentful energy courses through his veins. His stomach growls with hunger. He wakes every morning with the knowledge that he has turned his back on the whole reason for his existence; that he is an ungrateful, unfilial disgrace.

And still, it is easier to breathe here than it was in Lotus Pier.

The things the Wen refugees need from him are things he can actually give: protection, and they don’t care that he uses methods other than the sword; labor, and for the first time since Wen Qing cut him open, he is not the weakest of the group; and money.

Most prostitutes are claimed omegas; safe enough, since a person can only be claimed once, but clients complain about the smell of a foreign claim, vinegary-sharp and off-putting.

A beta, then, can command a high price – even a skinny, dirty one, who can only ply his trade in alleys and teahouses, rather than silk-sheeted brothel beds.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t mind it. After all, it’s not like it’s so different.

This is what he was made for. People have always told him that. It’s just that, now, they give him money when they say it.

Then there's the "LWJ visits Yiling" section, which made it into the finished fic. We pick up with:

After Lan Zhan leaves, Wei Wuxian doesn’t expect to see anyone from his old life ever again, unless it’s at swordpoint.

But he’s always been loved too well – loved more than he deserves.

“Jiejie,” he whispers, eyes full of tears, as she stands before him resplendent in red.

“I wanted you to see me in my wedding clothes,” she says gently. “Do you like them?”

“You look magnificent,” he tells her, throat tight.

It’s almost more than he can bear, to sit around a table with Jiejie and A-Cheng eating pork rib and lotus root soup, being asked—at A-Cheng’s urging, how?—to give a courtesy name to Jiejie’s firstborn. He thought this was gone for good, and now, it’s—

It isn’t like he never left. It doesn’t feel that way. Wen Ning is waiting outside; the rest of the Wens up on the mountain; his stomach is growling despite the soup, because it’s all he’s eaten all day; black curls of resentful energy fill the ugly hole where his core used to be.

But it feels like, maybe, he could find a new way of belonging. Like, maybe, he could have both: be true to his family and his sect and be true to the vow he made with Lan Zhan.

*

He’s so stupid. He never learns.

And every time he falls into the delusion, people die.

*

But when he gets Lan Zhan’s invitation to Jin Rulan’s 100-days celebration, it seems like a sign from the heavens. Confirmation. He can have both, and the proof is right here, in his nephew’s name written in Lan Zhan’s perfect calligraphy.

He works in a frenzy on his gift for the baby. Night and day, applying new protections, refining those that are already there. Every mo, yao, gui and guai he can think of will be repelled. Curses, too – every curse he ever learned about, and some he invented himself.

This is how he’ll make up for it – how he’ll pay the Jiangs back for what he owes them. Every disappointment, every time he wasn’t there for Jiang Cheng or Jiejie when they needed him, will be made right. He pours his time, his ingenuity, his expertise, and his literal blood into these beads.

They’re not fine jade or lustrous gold. Probably a kid raised as the heir to Lanling Jin won’t want to wear it. But Jiejie can make him, when he’s little. And when he’s older, he can carry it with him in a bag or in his sleeve – that will be enough. Wei Wuxian takes care to make the protections strong enough for that. He doesn’t want to overlook anything. It has to be perfect. This is his chance.

You do anything your jie needs, Yu-furen’s voice echoes, every time Wei Wuxian’s eyes start to close under the weight of his exhaustion. And her children, someday.

I will, Yu-furen, he promises silently, rubbing his eyes and returning to his work. I swear it. I will.

*

And then, there is the ambush.

The box falls from his sleeve.

Jin Zixun closes his hand and—

Wei Wuxian doesn’t completely remember what happens after that.

The dust that used to be lotus-seed beads, pouring from Jin Zixun’s fist like sand through an hourglass – he remembers that very well. It replays in his mind, again and again.

But afterward. That’s when he loses the thread. Loses control.

Loses—

*

Jin Zixuan.

Wen Qing and Wen Ning.

A-Yuan.

Wen-popo. Fourth Uncle. All of the Wens he fought so hard and gave so much to save.

Lan Zhan – his enemy now.

Jiejie, widowed and grieving. Jiejie, wounded. Then—

*

“Jiejie!”

*

There’s no point, after that.

Lan Zhan takes his hand, holds on, won’t let go when Wei Wuxian tells him to. He looks at Wei Wuxian like he sees something worth saving.

But then A-Cheng is there; Wei Wuxian smiles. Good. This is how it should be. His life is A-Cheng’s to take. It always has been.

Everything happens very quickly, then.

And then there’s nothing at all.

Okay, that's all very depressing... future deleted scenes posts won't be so bleak, I promise! Stay tuned for tomorrow's installment.

[leeknowspinkytoe]

BELIEVE

“Are you thirsty?” Changbin asks, brushing his hands off of his knees and standing up. 

I nod, avoiding his hard eyes.

“Yeah, um thanks.” He pressed his lips together and saunters away awkwardly

He leaves into the kitchen and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I look at my watch. I’ve already been here for half an hour. I lean back on the couch and wait for him to come back into the living room. 

When he walks back in, he’s holding two glasses of water and has a concentrated look on his face. He hands me a cup and sits his own into his round coffee table. 

I take a drink out of mine, then sit mine down as well. We sit there for some amount of time before he speaks up. 

“I really wanted to just apologize. I know that I don’t deserve to see her, but,” he pauses and takes a breath in, “I think she should get to know her father. Even if her parents don’t necessarily get along.” 

I roll my eyes, “you made your choice six years ago, Changbin, you didn’t want to know her then, so why now?” I ask, tapping my foot off of the floor.

“I feel terrible. And it’s not to go unmentioned that I missed you as well, even if we are just friends or just coexisting, I missed your presence.” He looks away from me, looking anywhere other than the little bubble that my person occupies.

I pick up my water glass, “you’re just saying that.” 

“I’m not.” He says finally looking back to my eyes, bouncing from one to the other.

“You are. You left me and her, why would you care now? I loved you so much and you left me. Do you know how I felt?” I set my glass down on the table and scoot forward leaning closer to him, his face flushes red and he avoids eye contact, “I felt unworthy of anything! If I wasn’t enough for the kindest, and most pure hearted man that I’ve ever met, who am I good for? And what’s worse? Is that I still love you. And I can’t stop myself from loving you no matter how much I despise you.” 

At this point, we are basically touching noses, I can feel his breath and I notice his breath hitch. 

“You love me?” He asks, his eyes darting all over my face looking for any sign that I’m lying. 

I let a tear slip and nod, “I do, but I hate you for leaving me to raise a child by myself.” 

“Y/N….” He whispers before placing a gentle hand in my hair. Despite everything inside of me telling me to push him off, I lean into him, he grabs my arm and pulls me into a long, tight hug. My eyes start stinging and my brain goes foggy. I push off of him and look at his eyes. He looks at me, still holding me close, before letting his eyes involuntarily dart to my lips, before going back up to my eyes. I pull back and pick up my water and take a long draw of it. 

He leans forward and takes the cup, gently placing it on the table, never breaking eye contact before leaning close enough to my face that I could feel his breath. His lips are less than a centimetre from mine, he pauses looking for any sign of distaste from me, before looking down and gently pressing his lips on mine. 

I hate to admit that I liked it. 

He pulls back to look at me, I stare for a second before sticking my hand in his hair and smashing my lips onto his. I needed this. Something about the way that our lips moved perfectly together, and the way that out hands knew where to be to give each other butterflies. I knew that I wanted him still, I never stopped.

He pulls away to look at me before chuckling, “can we please try and make up?” Our faces are still so close, he looks all over my face, smiling gently. He pushes some hair behind my ear and runs his hand through it. I wrap my arms around his neck and drag him back into a hug. I manage to push out a small yes. He laughs a bit before standing up and spinning me around in a circle. He sits be down and looks at me with the biggest grin on his face. He leans and kissed me. When he pulls back his smile makes me giggle. He hugs me tightly, once more, “I won’t screw up this time, I promise you.” 

“I believe you.”

[starlight-writer]

Divorce

Warnings: none, pure angst, no happy ending, talk of depression, panic attacks

Gn! reader Masterlist

Steven

He swears he hears his heart shatter

He can feel his soul die and his breathing stop

Divorce? You want a divorce?

Why? Did he do something wrong? Did he miss too many dates? Was he talking too much? Did he get too annoying? Was his cologne too strong?

Tell him, please, tell him what he did wrong, he'll fix it! He promises to fix it!

Or do you... Do you not love him anymore?

Steven would not stop talking, rambling about what he must've done wrong, his apology, and how he can make it up to you

"Just please... Please don't leave."

He'll try to get you to talk with him, explain why you want a divorce and how he can prevent that outcome as much as possible

But there's nothing he can do to change your mind

You're done

And you leave

And Steven swears, swears by all of Egypt's gods and goddesses, that he died in that moment

He doesn't move for a while

He doesn't breathe for a while

Then suddenly, he's gasping as collapsing on the floor, clutching his chest and sobbing

He cries so hard and for so long, he passes out on the floor

He doesn't have the energy to go into work, he doesn't even have the energy to move his hand

He stays in his flat for days, never leaving unless Jake take over to make sure he doesn't lose his job

Jake's the only one that can continue working and existing as a person after your divorce

While Jake tries to make sure the body stays healthy and alive, Steven doesn't talk or acknowledge anyone

Eventually, he starts blaming Marc for driving you away

"It was the stupid pigeon and the sneaking out at night and coming home covered in blood! It was your fault, you scared them away! I hate you!"

Eventually, Steven realizes that while Marc may be at fault for a few things, it was ultimately his own fault you left

He realizes he must've driven you away, somehow

He can remember times where you seemed less interested in his ramblings and blames those specific moments

He refuses to talk or even think about his interests now, too pained, too angry, too heartbroken to think he deserve anything but pain and heartbreak

It takes a good few months, maybe even a year, for Steven to start regularly fronting again

It takes so much energy and effort, but he's stopped feeling pain

He's stopped feeling

He doesn't correct Donna when she says his name wrong, he doesn't give any snarky come backs when she teases him about being late, he doesn't say anything

Donna makes the mistake of commenting on the disappearance of Steven's ring one day and all hell breaks loose

Let's just say, after the exchange, Steven isn't allowed back in the museum for... a while

It takes months for Steven to coexist with other people and it takes him years to be able to feel again

But he's never the same

He doesn't smile anymore

Marc

"What?"

Any anger, any annoyance, any frustration he felt during your argument is gone

Unbridled fear is the only thing he can feel and it hurts

It tightens his throat, makes it hard to breathe, to think, to see

He has to physically shake his head to be able to think

"Are you serious?"

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Ok."

Unlike Steven and Jake he didn't beg you to stay

He wanted to, god he wanted to

He wanted to get on his hands and knees and beg for you to stay

He would if you asked

He would do anything you asked

But that's besides the point

He wouldn't beg you to stay unless you asked, and you didn't

He wouldn't beg because he wants you happy and if you're not happy with him then...

He should let you go

Right?

He silently watches you pack your things, occasionally helping, but otherwise he's just standing there

He doesn't say anything, which isn't a problem, you don't either

He signs the divorce papers without any argument and he goes home like normal

It doesn't officially hit Marc that this is real for a while

A couple weeks at least

It's when he's making dinner and goes into your office to tell you it's ready when he realizes

Your stuff isn't there

You aren't there

And he collapses

He lays in your office sobbing

All night

Dinner is easily forgotten and left to get cold

Dishes are left in the sink to attract flies

Laundry is left to mildew in the washer

Mail is left to overflow

He doesn't move to do anything

He can't

He feels like a failure

He ruined your marriage somehow, he's sure of it

And he ruined the only happiness he, Steven, and Jake had

He doesn't front for a while, leaving Jake to pick up the pieces of himself and his life

On the rare chance he does, he only does it to be Moon Knight

He regresses into a violent, unfeeling vigilante and he doesn't care

Steven doesn't care enough to stop him either

Jake eventually yells at him for endangering the body, his, and Steven's life and that kind of kick Marc into gear

He starts taking better care of the body, purely for Steven

But he doesn't do anything more than the bare minimum

He can't

He's lost without you

He feels like an asteroid in the darkest spot in space and he doesn't think he'll ever find a way out

Jake

He laughs

He laughs

"Very funny, cariño, you're just upset I forgot to buy you flowers."

He doesn't believe you until your scream and/or crying at him that you 'can't handle it anymore and want a divorce'

He gets very quiet, very still, very fast

He doesn't say a word

But then you're moving to the bedroom with a suitcase and he cries

Instantly, he's running after you, asking a million and one questions

Jake doesn't consider himself someone who would beg for anything

Not for food, not for help, not for his life

Nothing

But in that moment, he got on his hands and knees and begged and wept for you

"Mi amor, mi corazón, mi luz, mi vida, mi amor, mi ángel, please, tell me what I did wrong, yell at me, hit me, but please, please don't leave me. Don't leave us. What would Steven do without you? Marc? You can hate me for however long you want, but please don't leave!"

He's never been with someone for so long, he's never been with someone period

He loves you so deeply and strongly, it controls his every action

Every time you put something in a box or suitcase, he takes it out and puts it right back 'where it belongs'

It causes you to leave to give Jake time to cool off

But all it does is make him grow more restless

What if you leave your stuff to haunt him?

Is that your plan?

To torture him for the rest of his life?

To make him regret every choice he's ever made?

By leaving your stuff behind, are you making sure he never forgets what he did?

Of course, eventually you do come back

With a moving crew

And Jake has to bite his cheek to stop from yelling at the random people taking away your stuff from it's home

It's rightful home

He spends every second of the move making comments, insulting the moving crew in hopes they would get fed up and leave

It didn't work

And to make things worse, you didn't talk to him at all

If you did, it was only to tell him you would be sending him the divorce papers soon

That made him walk away

He didn't want to talk about it, think about it, nothing

He outright refuses to sign the papers when they arrive

It takes you coming over to talk to him that he blows up, practically screaming at you that 'this is wrong, you should be with him, he can make you happy, he can be better'

You still tell him to sign and in a fit of rage, he does

He instantly regrets it as soon as you're gone

As soon as you walk away, it's like his breath is being taken right from his lungs

It's like you're taking it as you walk away

Along with his heart

He slowly falls to the floor, his eyes clouded with tears

And he cries

And cries

And cries

He throws himself into helping Steven and Marc, never giving himself time to think too long on anything but work

Eat breakfast, clean, go to work, eat lunch, go home, clean, eat dinner, sleep, repeat

It's when Steven starts fronting again that Jake finally starts to think

About you, about your marriage, about everything

And he finally goes through the 5 stages of grief

Well, the two stages of grief

He grows to hate you

That's what he tell Marc and Steven, at least

Every time they think about calling you or walking by your apartment in hopes of seeing you, he takes over

"They're a terrible, horrible person."

"They were just using us."

"They don't deserve to see us."

"I protected you, they didn't do shit."

"I will fix you."

"I will keep you safe."

He plays off his hate for you, your existence

But in actuality, he hates what you did to him

He hates that you tore down his walls and made a home in his heart

He hates that you made him care about anyone other than Marc and Steven

He hates that you made him feel safe and wanted

He hates that you did all of that just to leave

But he could never hate you

He still loves you more than anything

And as much as he wants to go crawling to your door and beg you to come back, he can't

You hurt Steven and Marc too and that's something he can't forgive

He's spent his entire existence taking care of them and he'll be damned if he stops now to chase his feelings

Jake goes back to hiding his feelings, prioritizing Steven and Marc over himself

He gets the body up, eats, showers, and goes to work

He makes sure Steven doesn't lose his job, he makes sure Marc doesn't die while fighting

He goes back to the shadows of the head space, only taking over when needed

And he's so unhappy

He's so sad

He's so broken

You broke him, just like you broke Steven and Marc

And he'll never forget it

( beta reader note : OUCHIE. :((( )

[thepinkproof]

REIGN OF TERROR

chapter ten the finale

You were born for him, he just knows it and you’re the only one who can cure him.

Warnings: yandere behavior, suicidal attempts and talks, violence, eventual smut, DEATH, reader is not mentally stable, slight cursing, misogyny

Taglist: @silversparkles11 @mwitsmejk @outro-kook kook @bishuthot @kooliv @syunchl @lauritakamaki @ash07128 @darkuni23 @era-genius @doublebunv @etsuko-99 @bbl32 @hoseoks7swrld @sweetbtsfoever @bxbyyyjocelyn @crazy-eight17 @mageprincess7 @devilsbooksworld @breadgeniedope @cara-18 @yourtmblrgirlfriend @sleepy-time-dreamy @angelarin @faerikitty @iloverubberduckiez-blog

A/N: it may not be the ending wanted but feel free to interpret however u want it to end in your head, but this is my ending

Series Masterlist

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

In Jungkook's head everything was perfect. He was cured of his sickness, his brother Jin was nowhere to be found, he was finally King of all Vampires, he had finally killed his enemy Namjoon and most importantly, he finally had you.

Everything seemed complete with you. You were like a trophy to him from a higher being. His reward for being such a powerful, smart man. A prize for all the horrific things his enemies did to him; killing his mother, cursing him with a sickness.

So that night after his victory he took his beloved Y/n to the bedroom and made love to her. You didn't protest to it. To his surprise, you kissed him back and took your clothes off for him. He knew his angel loved him.

But there was something wrong, and it annoyed the hell out of him.

You didn't moan. You didn't orgasm for him. You only answered him with an "ok", "yes" or a "no" even before you two had sex, for weeks in fact. You were stoic to him and he hated it.

When he would yell at you and have a tantrum for your lack of emotions you would smirk. It pissed him off and he would punish you but you never screamed or showed any emotion of pain.

And he knew why. The Middlemist Red was no longer in his possession. Imagine his anger when he found out that bitch Alana took the last of it. He had no idea what she did with it or where the girl was.

He would never admit it but deep inside he was scared that she would come back for revenge. If she did he wanted you by his side to show her what she couldn't have. He wanted you happy actually. He tried many things to please you; taking you outside, to the libary, showering you with lavish gifts.

But you had no emotions and he hated it. He missed when you would beg for his attention, wait patiently in his room and do anything to please him.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Miriam has never been happier. Her and Jimin was on cloud-9, glued sided to side. She was finally Chancellor of her people. Most importantly, she had an alliance with the vampire king Jungkook.

During the weeks since the incident at the Chancellor's house, Jungkook and Miriam had made plans to coexist. Alana was blamed for the attack and even though humans hated Jungkook, they were too scared to question his rule.

As for Miriam, most of her people trusted her. Of course they were some who didn't, but they feared war more.

However, things didn't seem perfect. Miriam couldn't explain it. But she felt like what she was doing was wrong.

"Y/n what are you doing here? I was suppose to meet with Jungkook?" Miriam asked the small girl who looked healthier, yet unhappy.

"Jungkook thinks it would be good practice for us to meet for I can acquire more knowledge on politics." Y/n explained.

Miriam lifted her eyebrow. "It's good that he is allowing you freedom. Jimin told me be was quite protective of you." Miriam chuckled.

"Everyone is scared of him just like they were doing the Reign of Terror now. I am safe, I suppose."

Miriam and Y/n then discussed what was originally planned for the next 20 minutes. Miriam was surprised at how intelligent Y/n was. If she wasn't taken for most of her life she could've grown to be a stellar figure in society.

She felt sorry for Y/n. She seemed lonley and emotionless. Jimin had said she had a beautiful smile and that she was friendly. Yet Miriam saw none of this at the moment.

"Y/n, do you want to eat lunch together? That is if it's okay with Jungkook?" Miriam suggested.

Y/n snickered. "Why would I ask Jungkook if I have no desire to eat with you Miriam. You're not my friend, I don't know or trust you." She snapped.

Miriam was quite shock at her reaction. She was civil earlier. "Eating lunch together do not come with a friendship or trust Y/n. That grows with time." She tried to smile to ease the tension.

"I know what you are Miriam. You're not like me, Jimin or even Namjoon, am I right? Yet you are naive like all of them." Y/n revealed.

Miriam was surprised for a second that Y/n knew her secret. But it was no shock that Y/n was observant and smart.

"So this hostility is because I'm not a human or vampire?"

"No, it's because you trust Jungkook." Y/n sighed.

Miriam chuckled. "If you know my secret than you know that's not true Y/n."

Y/n looked at Miriam seeing if she was being transparent.

"I just want peace for all beings and my way of achieving it is calculated without fault." Miriam assured Y/n.

There was alot more to Miriam then what reached the eye, Y/n caught on that to that quickly.

So they did eat lunch together. But Y/n was no longer that girl desperate for human interaction. They weren't friends but they had a common goal.

And Y/n didn't need to trust Miriam, but only trusted her will for her cause.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/n smiled as Jungkook entered the room. He halted in his footsteps for a second. He haven't seen you fully smile in months. He didn't want to be naive but he was happy to see you happy.

It felt like a dream for the most beautiful woman he's ever seen to be only his, to only smile at him, to only sleep beside him.

He smiled even more when he saw the beautiful dinner you had prepared in the balcony, decorated with flowers and candle lights.

"What is the meaning of all this my love?" Jungkook questioned.

Your change in behavior has been too vast.

"It's an apology, for the way I've been behaving lately. I had fell under the depths of depression but you never gave up on me. I beg of you to accept my apology." Y/n pleaded on her knees.

Jungkook didn't care if the apology was fake. You on his knees for him was too pleasant of a sight to deny.

Y/n watched as he smirked at her. "Get up baby and tell me what you prepared. Then maybe I will consider your apology."

Y/n listened as she stood up from the balcony floor.

"Cacio e pepe with a lightly cooked steak for you can drink the blood. I also prepared you a bloody mary, I heard it was your favorite alcoholic beverage."

"It looks delightful, love. Where did you learn to cook?" He asked as he sat down and began to ate.

"I've read lots of books with recipes." She answered as Jungkook nodded. "Can I eat with you?" She asked politely.

Jungkook eyes widened at her submissiveness. "Yes you may." Y/n began to slowly eat but her eyes stayed on Jungkook.

"How was your meeting with Miriam?" Jungkook asked.

"It was ok I suppose. I learned some things but I do not like Miriam." Y/n frown.

Jungkook chuckled. "She won't be here for long Y/n. Vampires are meant to rule over humans. As soon as I get what I want from her she'll perish. Just be patient my love." Jungkook said as he took a huge sip of his wine. He watched as Y/n eyes widened as she watched his every movement intently.

"I don't care for vampires or humans so her death will mean nothing to me." Y/n stated.

Jungkook eyebrows raised. "Do you care for me?"

Y/n looked at him directly in the eyes . "Yes." She answered almost as if she was ashamed.

Jungkook snickered. He knew her so well. He could predict her every move. She was an evil and stupid girl with an innocent, beautiful face.

He finished his glass as he stared at her eyes the whole time.

"I see the smile you're holding in. You think you won because I just consumed a glass full with the Middlemist Red." He revealed.

Her eyes widened in shock finding out that Jungkook knew. Y/n didn't trust him at all. Alana gave her the Middlemist Red for a reason so she meant to use it correctly. He should be dead by now.

"Every since that bitch Alana tried to steal everything from me, I've been learning ways to be immune to toxins. I know I have your blood in your system and the flower can make me weak. But I am a vampire with no weaknesses. Remember that next time stupid girl." He seethed.

Jungkook watched as Y/n began to shake in fear. Her plump lips frowning and her eyes began to get watery.

But her lips began to form a smile as she let out a loud, thrilling laugh that surprised Jungkook.

"I'm stupid? You just consumed the last of the Middlemist red meaning there's no more that exists. You can't hurt me anymore." She revealed.

This was the Y/n that Jungkook knew was always buried beneath the pure layers. She had a dark side but Jungkook still knew he was smarter.

"Make no mistake baby. I am the most powerful man on this planet. There is nobody who is immune to my power, including you. You were born to serve and love me. I can find ways to make you obey without hurting you." He grinned.

Y/n glared at him unimpressed. "You are correct. You are the most powerful man on planet, but let's not forget the woman who best you, Alana. How naive you are to think your power is beyond every being? I am sure I can even defeat you."

"So this is about Alana? Do you favor women now and think she is going to come here and save you? Nobody cares or loves you but me. Everyone else just wants to use you for your blood." He insulted

"Maybe you're right. But you're no different Jungkook. Everyone uses you for your power, nobody actually cares for you. Where was your father when Alana wounded you in battle? Your brother hates you. His wife only desires you for your power. Where was she when Alana took that away from you? The only person that was there was Taehyung, and we both know why. He knows eventually you would regain strength and he wanted to be on the right side. People only love you for your power, take that away and you are nothing."

Jungkook couldn't lie. Her words stung. She read him easily. Jungkook always had a fear of loneliness, of being unloved. It's why he was obsessed with Y/n. He felt her love could make up for all the fake love that was around him.

When he was sick, it was almost if nobody loved him. Nobody worshipped him anymore. His people didn't fear him. All the attention moved on to Jin. The only care he received was pity looks by nurses.

That's why he requested to be frozen. He couldn't stand being weak. He thought the only way people could love him was by being scared of him. He wouldn't mind sleeping for infinity until he regained power.

But he would never admit this.

"I am a perfect Y/n, why wouldn't people love me? People celebrated when I became King again. Stop with your lies. Deep down you know you love me too angel. I've given you everything."

"And I can take everything away from you." She said finally raising her voice.

Jungkook let out fits of laughter. "You? You can't do shit to me Y/n. I own you! There's nobody who can end me, including that bitch Alana."

Jungkook watched as Y/n seemed uninfected by his words.

"Is that so?" A new voice appeared.

Jungkook watched unimpressed as Miriam entered the balcony.

He chuckled. "Oh I see. Do you two women think you can end me? I'm scared of no human, especially you Miriam! I can kill you and your boyfriend in seconds."

Miriam glared at him with no fear. "Try it." She challenged.

Jungkook smirked and began to vamp speed towards her but he was frozen in spot. Miriam held her hand out as his body dropped to his knees. He started to scream in pain as an invisible force started to hurt every fiber of his body.

He didn't understand what was going on. He never felt this much pain in his life. He realized now that she wasn't human. For once, Jungkook was scared.

"Y-You're a witch!" He gulped.

"Yes, and I won't allow you to hurt any being on this planet anymore."

"I've killed a witch before and I can kill you!" He roared trying his best to get up from the ground but failed.

"That witch was my mother which is why I can never trust you! I've put a spell on you. For every-time you think of hurting, killing or even threatening someone your body will fall ill, and if you even purposely hurt someone you will die. And don't try to work around it. Witches exists to maintain balance but if I find you trying to work around the spell I will kill you!" She revealed.

Jungkook couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was weak. How dare she do this to him? He had to kill her.

He then began to cough in extreme pain.

The spell worked.

Miriam grinned and began to walk away from the weak man and his vindictive lover.

Jungkook looked at Y/n a way he never looked at her, with pleading eyes. He felt betrayed and hurt.

"How could you do this to me? I love you. All I ever did was protect you!" He screamed.

"Maybe deep down you did. But you're still a power hungry and awful person. You manipulated and hurt me so it's time you pay the consequences." She calmly explained.

"Give me your blood Y/n, please! It could heal me." He pleaded.

"That wouldn't work Jungkook. Can't you see, you're not sick. You finally get a chance to develop pure and good qualities." She said sincerely.

"I- I can't be like this Y/n. You're going to leave now that I can't intimidate you. Please stay with me. I need you."

Y/n sighed. She moved her body towards Jungkook. "For the first time in my life I have a choice and I chose to stay with you. Believe it or not, if it wasn't for you I would've been stuck in that basement for years. I don't owe you a thing but I admire you in some strange way. I like the way you want to love me. So it will be my choice to stay with you, but make no mistake I can leave too."

Jungkook was surprised. It was the only good news he heard today. She loved him in some way, he knew it. But he hated what she did. She betrayed him.

Control, is what they both desired. Too bad they couldn't have it together like Jungkook wanted.

Y/n wanted to be in control of her own life. Jungkook wanted control in everything in his life.

She's not so sure why she stayed with Jungkook. In a way, she hated him. But she hated being alone more. Jungkook was the only one who really loved her even if his love was selfish and controlling.

She could now change that, she had control over him.

Jungkook felt he had loss and won. The Kingship is what he's been fighting for long before he lost Y/N. He loved killing, if he didn't have that power, how could he ever be king?

The thought of not being able to end or threaten a life enraged him. He had no way to get ever accomplishing his goals.

Sure he loved Y/n, but it was a reason he was always so harsh and demanding against her.

She had darkness.

And he was convinced discipline would get rid of it.

But now, all he had was her.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was a victorious day for Miriam. Jungkook was no longer a threat. Namjoon and Scarlett was dead. Nobody was standing in her way. She could handle any vampire who defy her rule, as well as humans.

She was the perfect ruler built for balance. She would make sure everyone would be safe.

She felt Jimin's arms wrapped around her from behind as she looked out the window of the castle.

"I know you were loyal to him." She said referring to Jungkook.

Jimin chuckled and left a kiss on her cheek. "I'm only loyal to you, my love, and I've never been prouder."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

6 years later

Everything was perfect.

So how could everything go so wrong?

Jungkook and Y/n were happy. Jungkook never felt this way of happiness.

The first two years were difficult. He became sick from the amount of times he thought about murder. But the more time he spent with Y/n the less he thought about it.

She was happy and it made him happy. He made her happy and that was enough for him at the moment.

But the urge never went away, the urge to kill the people that would give her flirtatious stares, the urge to kill the men who laughed at him for looking weak, the urge to kill Miriam.

So he convinced Y/n to move away to a quiet village that wasn't a victim off gossip and judgement.

Y/n loved being in control of their relationship. In a way it was her revenge for his months of mistreatment. But eventually she didn't care about control. She just enjoyed being with him. She saw sides of him that she never witness before.

As for the wellbeing of everyone, Miriam was the perfect ruler. She protected the humans from getting killed from vampires, only requesting that they donated blood. The vampires despised Miriam at first until they figured out she was a witch. Every rebellion was met with death until the vampires realised she wasn't to be messed with. They respected her and listened to her every command.

Everyone was happy, until that day.

Jimin fell to his knees, arms wrapped around the dead body as he let out loud sobs. He heard her footsteps but he didn't care. His everything was taken from him.

"I received your message Jimin." Y/n said in a quiet voice surprised at the scene before her. It almost left her speechless.

"What happened to her, what happened to Miriam?" She don't know why she was afraid to ask. Afraid to ask who is capable of killing the most powerful witch alive.

"This is your fault. You're the one who convinced her to go against Jungkook. You're the one who allowed her to drink your blood. Everything was perfect until you!" Jimin screamed at her.

Y/n was confused. How was she the blame for this?

Her.

It couldn't be.

"Now Jimin, that's not nice is it?"

That voice. She hadn't heard her voice in years but she knew who it was.

Y/n turned around to look at the girl she once called her friend. She looked different. Her hair color made her look mature, she wore tighter clothing but it was her eyes, they were filled with pain and anger.

"It's not easy to kill a witch but thanks to your blood I managed." Alana chuckled.

Y/n was speechless. She could only stare in the vampire's eyes. How did she get to this point? Alana always was a girl who hid her pain but she wasn't hiding now.

"What's your dealing Alana? Why did you kill Miriam? Why are you here?!!" Y/n asked in frustration. 

Alana looked at Y/n with eyes she never seen before, pure hatred.

"How about we start from the beginning?" She offered. She walked over to the table ignoring Jimin crying figure and Miriam's lifeless body. She sat down at the table crossing her legs. "Don't be shy, sit my lady."

Y/n hesitantly sat down, she didn't really have much of a choice. She knew she could kill Alana easily, she was the one who made her this powerful. She didn't need a stake to kill a vampire. But yet, she was curious.

Alana gave Y/n an mischievous smile. "It all started before you arrived. I was an strong advocate for vampire supremacy. I was so focused, and then you came. Pure eyes, innocent mind, beautiful face I fell in love with you. For once, I had sympathies on someone who wasn't my kind. You felt like peace and I hated that Jungkook tried to ruin you and use you for your personal gain."

Y/n could tell Alana was holding back tears, even though she couldn't quite look at Alana in the eyes.

"I tried to convince myself I defeated Jungkook because of his family line but it was for you. I let you kill Yoongi! I even left for you because I thought you would kill him and come back to me. Even if you didn't kill him I hoped that you would look for me? You didn't! Didn't you?” She asked yelling the last part.

Y/n finally looked at her in the eyes. She sighed, she caused all this. "I didn't. I had told you at that time I didn't know what love is. I did feel something for you, I missed you. But I felt an unnerving amount of betrayal from you." Y/n admitted.

"From me!? Jungkook he lied and manipulated you. I was expecting you to leave him! But you stuck by him, for years. And to make it even worst, you let Miriam rule! I rather see Jungkook rule than that witch who loves humans. It was my family who was suppose to rule over everyone. Atleast Jungkook understood that vampires are better than those worthless creatures. You ruined everything! You ruined me! I hate you." She screamed tears coming out her eyes. 

Y/n looked at her emotionless which pissed Alana further all. "You told me that day you were giving me a choice, and I made my choice. If you would’ve dread the consequences you shouldn’t of gave me an option. I didn’t ruin you Alana. You would’ve been dead in seconds during the rebellion without my blood in your veins.”

Alana shook her head as tears continued to fall. “Why did you curse me? Why did I have to love you? You’re a curse put on this earth my lady. I have to end you.”

Alana eyes began to turn red as she begin to run towards Y/n but she suddenly fell on the floor next to Miriam’s dead body.

Y/n looked up to see Jungkook holding Alana’s bloody heart in his hand.

Her eyes widened.

“Jungkook! You killed. You’re going to die! Why did you do that?” She shrieked.

“Miriam is dead. The spell broke.”Jimin raspy voice croaked from all the crying. He didn’t bother to look up, his eyes still on Miriam’s body.

Why did he do that?

Did he not know beforehand that the spell was broken? Did he kill Alana to save Y/n not caring for the consequences? Not caring he would die for her?

Or did he know that the spell was broken and killed her simply because he hated the girl and he had been waiting for years to see her dead?

Did he do it because she was the only alive person on earth that was in the way of his kingship?

Did any of that matter to him anymore?

His true intentions…. he would never tell a soul. Because he had just earned the kingship.

He was finally the most powerful being on the planet next to his powerful, beautiful woman Y/n.

It was almost like everything had worked in his favor with time. He was always a patient man, he was willing to wait 20 years for the kingship.

He saw it in Y/n’s eyes. She realized it too. Nobody could stop him anymore. She didn’t want to stop him. And Jungkook wouldn’t let anyone take her away from him, his angel, his destiny.

Because Jungkook did change.

If a king already have everything he ever wanted was there need for terror?

[cherryrainn]

Hey! I have no idea if this is the right place to ask for story requests but I have a little idea in mind for your once-ler oneshots! Basically the reader (fem) is dorm mate with Onceler and they've been enemies for a while. One night they both go to the same party and end up having to play truth or dare. So basically just a enemies to lover smut with fem!reader- Thank you!

━━ ✧ 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; onceler (greedler) + reader

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ; ohhh my godddd i love this idea

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; none just explicit sexual content

you and onceler had been sharing a dorm room for a while, and it was far from peaceful coexistence. your personalities clashed at every turn, leading to heated arguments and petty conflicts that often spilled into the shared space. the tension between you two was palpable, and the walls of your room were a constant witness to your mutual disdain.

"could you please not leave your nasty socks all over the floor, onceler?" you sighed, picking up a stray sock that had landed dangerously close to your meticulously arranged desk.

onceler, sitting on his unmade bed, looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "oh, come on, it's just one sock. what's the big deal, miss neat freak?"

you clenched your teeth, trying to keep your composure. "it's not just one sock; it's the principle of the matter. we agreed to keep this room tidy, remember?"

onceler rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. "fine, fine. i'll pick it up, okay? you're such a buzzkill."

as he begrudgingly retrieved the sock, you couldn't help but mutter under your breath, "at least i'm not a tornado of mess."

onceler heard you and shot back, "huh? you wanna say that to my face?"

a tense silence hung in the air for a moment before you retorted, "i said, at least i'm not a tornado of mess! your stuff is everywhere, and it's driving me crazy."

despite your ongoing feud, both you and onceler found yourselves at the same party one evening. you had been dragged along by your friends, and onceler had a group of friends at the same event. unwillingly, you ended up in the same circle when someone suggested playing a game of truth or dare.

as the night progressed, the group decided to play a game of truth or dare, and it wasn't long before your turn came up. a mischievous grin appeared on one of your friend's faces as they looked at both of you. "i dare you two to go sit in that room together for ten minutes. let's see if you can survive without tearing each other apart."

reluctantly, you and onceler agreed to the dare, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on you as you entered the small, dimly lit room. the door closed behind you, and you stood there in awkward silence, unable to look each other in the eye.

"ten minutes, huh?" onceler muttered, his arms crossed.

"yeah, ten minutes," you replied. "guess we should just try and not kill each other for the next ten minutes."

onceler scoffed. "you make it sound so easy."

"oh, i'm sorry, i forgot how insufferable you are," you retorted.

"what was that?"

"i said, i'm sorry, i forgot how-"

but you couldn't finish your sentence, as onceler's lips suddenly crashed into yours, the force of the impact sending you staggering back until your body collided with the wall. he was pressed up against you, his hands gripping your waist, his lips hungrily devouring yours.

as soon as your brain had registered what was happening, you gave in, allowing your own lips to move in sync with his. the kiss was sloppy and intense, and it felt like time had slowed down around you.

as the kiss continued, the tension between you two seemed to build up more and more, until it finally burst into an all-consuming passion. his hands roamed your body, pulling you closer to him as he deepened the kiss. your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at it in a desperate attempt to bring him even closer.

the need to feel each other's bodies intensified, and it wasn't long before he pulled your shirt off, revealing your bare skin underneath. he wasted no time, his hands cupping your breasts as his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses on your soft skin. you moaned, your head leaning back as he explored your body, his hands running down your curves and making you shiver.

the two of you were lost in a world of lust and desire, letting go of any pretense and giving in to your urges. his hands moved down to your pants, pulling them down and exposing your panties. he wasted no time, pulling them off and exposing your dripping core.

you could feel his erection straining against his pants, and you could barely contain your excitement. he took a step back, admiring your body before removing his clothes. his hard cock sprang free, and you couldn't help but gasp at the sight of it. he stepped closer, pressing his body against yours, his dick brushing against your inner thigh.

you shuddered, feeling his hot breath against your ear as he whispered, "i hate you so much."

his lips captured yours in another searing kiss as he guided his cock to your entrance, teasing you with the tip. you moaned, feeling him push his cock deeper into your pussy. he began thrusting, his cock filling you up completely.

you felt yourself lose control, the pleasure building up inside you as he fucked you hard and fast. you wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him deeper inside you.

he groaned, his hips bucking as he felt your walls clenching around his cock. he gripped your waist, his pace increasing as he pounded into you.

"i hate you too," you gasped, feeling his cock hitting your g-spot. the pleasure was overwhelming, and you knew you weren't going to last long.

you clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he fucked you harder and faster, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. your orgasm hit you hard, waves of pleasure crashing through your body. you cried out his name, your back arching as your pussy spasmed around his cock.

he couldn't hold back anymore, the pleasure overwhelming him as he spilled his load inside you, his cock twitching and throbbing as he filled you up. you could feel his cum coating your insides, the warmth spreading through your body.

he collapsed against you, his cock still buried inside you as you both caught your breath. the reality of what had just happened began to set in, and you were unsure how to react.

onceler pulled away, his gaze meeting yours. "wow," he murmured, still breathing heavily.

"wow is right," you replied, a sense of satisfaction washing over you.

a silence lingered between the two of you for a moment, neither sure of what to say next. finally, onceler spoke up, a smirk on his face. "i guess this means we're even."

"even?" you questioned.

"well, we both got off, so i'd say that makes us even."

you couldn't help but laugh at his remark, the tension between you two seeming to melt away. perhaps there was something more to your relationship than you thought.

you were about to ask him what he meant when a loud banging came from the other side of the door. "okay, you two! that's ten minutes!"

onceler sighed, getting off of you and putting his clothes back on. you did the same, and the two of you walked out of the room, greeted by a group of smug faces.

"so," one of your friends began, a knowing grin on her face, "how was it?" they asked, looking at how messy the two of you looked.

you felt your face heat up, not wanting to answer. onceler spoke up, however, his signature smirk back on his face. "let's just say that i think we've finally figured out a way to get along."

[tabletofruination]

Expedition Log: Casseroya Lake Day One (pt. 2)

[pt. 1, pt. 2 (you are here)]

((cw: mild body horror description, trypophobia adjacent?? no pictures but being trypophobic myself, i am keeping the description minimal. but it is there.))

"--And there we go! Thanks for helping me get set up again, Green. Couldn't have done it without you!"

"Please. Don't flatter me when all I did was make sure that your recording didn't get frozen."

When the camera comes back on again, and the sunlight seems to filter only mildly through the trees as the night seems to draw near. Juliana's voice still has a rasp to it, weirdly, but...it's probably fine.

"But hi everyone! As you can see the sun's going down, but we've finally made it to the other part of the lake--say hello to Socarrat Trail! Isn't this place just gorgeous?!"

"Indeed, it is." Green speaks up easily, and though there's still that strange oddity to their voice, there is a warmth that one can pick up on. "A trail that seems to be in an eternal autumn, as if cradled by the snow of the mountain and the relative humidity and warmth of the sea...truly, a lovely place."

Juliana seems to laugh a bit at that, though it doesn't seem to be rude despite the almost bristled reply it gets from Green. "What are you tittering at, child--"

"No, no! I'm not laughing at you, I promise." Juliana's tone maintains it's brightness, and she seems to smile gently at the camera as it seems to be plucked off of it's Rotostick. "It's just...you really do get enthusiastic about stuff like this, and it's nice to see. That's what I think! You've always appreciated nature's beauty, huh?"

"...Hmph." Green doesn't seem entirely convinced, but they at least let it go. "But yes. I suppose you are correct."

"See? And there's nothing wrong with that! This place is beautiful no matter the time of day, and it just seems like the perfect place to lie down and take a nap..." Juliana seems to stretch her limbs a bit as she works on getting her Rotostick back into her bag, as Green assumedly holds the phone. Green does, however, respond with a small tut.

"Let's not get carried away, Miss Juliana. We still have research to do, and we should make haste. The energy I sense...it's stronger, here. I believe we're on the right track."

"Oh, yeah?!" Juliana's eyes seem to light up, the night finally taking hold as they start to walk down the trail. "Well, come on! What are we doing lollygagging?!"

"I should be asking you that..."

Green seems to sigh as the two of them walk down the path, Green seeming to pan out to the areas surrounding them, Juliana seeming to talk as they do.

"--And it's just so lush in this area in particular, it's almost like it was made for the Pokemon here! I mean, you can't go, like, five steps without seeing some kind of bug type--be it the Heracross around here, the Forretress on the water and in the trees..."

"Mmm. It's practically a paradise for them. I can certainly see why they and the grass types of this area seem to coexist in harmony."

"Oh, that's right! They pretty much like, never go after each other too, right?" Juliana turns around as the camera focuses back on her, and Green seems to make a small confirming noise.

"Indeed, at least from what we have seen. Why would they? This place has all of the sap every bug type could want, and enough nutrients for grass types to be at ease. Even the Sudowoodo are able to be nourished...it is as if nature is in perfect harmo..."

The two seem to pause as Green's camera focuses on something in a relative distance, Green walking ahead as it does. A bright green glow comes into view as they walk down a small offshoot trail, and...

"Woah...Green, is this what you were feeli--"

Juliana's words cut off suddenly, and Green seems to pause for a moment, before seeming to focus the camera on the Spidops for a mere moment--the Pokemon's eyes seem to widen for a moment as something happens, the camera's focus seeming to miss it, and when words are spoken again, something feels...weird.

Very, very weird and deeply off, as something speaks up, but it doesn't feel like a human voice.

"Stand aside."

The Spidops seems to flee at the utterance of those words, and in an instant, all is normal as the two of them walk forward again.

"...This is what I was feeling, for the record." Green speaks up again, clearing their throat seemingly again.

"What is the energy coming off of this...it feels so weird, it's..."

"Place your hand upon it."

"On...this thing? Are you sure?"

"Yes. It won't harm you, I promise. Take off your glove and touch it."

Juliana's hand comes into view as she pauses a bit. Seemingly hesitant and her hand still gloved for a moment before it goes out of view, and when it comes back in...

The camera doesn't focus on it for long, but one can make out an odd...green-ness to her hand. Green and gray, and almost inhuman feeling, with a faint look at what one might be able to see as an almost plant-like something--

"...It feels...verdant. Like all of nature has come together to put it's energy into this. Do you feel it too, Green?"

"Indeed, I do. And I can feel an earthiness behind it as well...this seal is man-made, but seems to be pure, harnessed nature. Made as a wall, of sorts, to keep something within."

Juliana seems to pause a bit, her tone going uncertain.

"...Whatever's behind here, it's...it must be hurting then, right?"

Green seems to pause a bit, as if considering. "...I cannot say I know for sure. But I cannot deny the possibility that whatever is behind here could very well be suffering."

"...I see."

There's a soft sympathy in Juliana's tone as she considers that, pausing a bit before Green speaks up.

"We should turn in for the night. Let us end this off here."

[little-svt]

Gender-Neutral|Chinese term “Bāobèi”(baby/darling)

Wc: 804

Taglist: @pastel-princess-please @sweetiehyuka

One of these nights…

It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to land on the sofa in front of the television with your favorite movie playing late on evenings like this. But after so many weeks apart, his tour seemingly never ending, it was especially nice. All the hours added up of late-night FaceTiming could never replace the little touches, the tranquil silences, simply the comfort of one another.

Seated one the floor in front of Minghao, his black, plaid-pajama covered legs on either side of you, you found yourself leaning against his steady hand as he aimed the hot air from the blow dryer away from your delicate face. Drying and smoothing over each lock carefully, a smile twitched at his lips, fondly watching you nod off at the comfortable heat in between trying to engage with your favorite characters.

Though it was more for convenience; having you bathe with him when you regressed, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish in the bonding, the quiet coexisting, or even your jovial chattering as the two of you got ready for bed.

Gently fluffing and stroking your fluffy, dried hair with his long fingers, he finally finished, unplugging the hair dryer and winding up the cord.

“Come here, sweet pea.”, a soft smile spread on his face as he set it aside, slipping his hands underneath your arms to pull you up into his lap. After readjusting your nightie, Hao sighed contently, smile never leaving his soft brown eyes, as he brought your head to his shoulder so you could rest comfortably while finishing your movie. Snuggling against him, curled up in the warmth of his arms, his soothing scent filled your nose, willing you to sink further against him until your eyes became heavy with the weight of sleep luring you away. They fluttered shut once, twice then closed as you drifted off to the hushed sound of his breathing, the movie still playing colorfully on the screen.

It didn’t take long for him to notice your cute, breathy snores practically right in his ear. Chuckling soundlessly, he tilted his head to look at you, bringing his hand up to stroke your cheek, light as a feather, as he admired his darling angel so peaceful in his embrace. Noting that he’d sit there for just a few more minutes, just to hold you close before he’d lift you in his arms to tuck you in for the night, he tilted his wrist to check the time [just past Eleven p.m.] before resuming one of his favorite activities.

Humming he rested his hand on your cheek, his eyes drifting over your features, settling on the curl of your lashes before moving to your nose then your cutely parted lips letting out slow and deep breaths. Just as he lifted his hand to let you rest until the movie was finished, you mumbled a little “lub you, Bàba.”, and melted his heart.

It took just about everything in him not to squeeze you tightly and gush his love for you. Eyes barely opening, you sleepily summoned a quizzical look making him giggle and question what kind of amusing face he must’ve been making.

“Did I wake you, Bāobèi??”, Hao twinkled, your sleepy expressions so precious to him. Brushing any stray hairs from your face, he wondered to himself why he was feeling so sentimental for seemingly no reason at all.

“Nuh-uh”, you mumbled, eyes fighting to stay open as you gave your head a little shake, even though he most likely had.

“Go back to sleep, my baby. Bàba will carry you to bed.”, he kissed your nose with a giggle, knowing you’d probably dozed off again before he’d even finished his sentence. Lifting you easily in his arms he made the short trip down the hall, careful not to wake you until he was able to help you slip under the covers. Taking his usual place next you, he propped himself up on his side, not wanting to miss a single moment with you and quite thankful you weren’t sensitive to the bedside light.

That same unknown tune came to his mind and passed through his lips as a soft hum as he stroked your head, pondering how he’d ever gotten so lucky. Eventually, maybe hesitantly, he decided he’d always have tomorrow. Rolling over, he turned off the lamp and fit himself against the curve of your body, two pieces of a puzzle so familiar, safe, complete. Once his arms cozily found their home around you again and his hand slipped into yours, you wrapped your hand tightly around his fingers in your sleep as if he’d disappear again. Chuckling into your hair, he kissed against your head and rocked you slowly, letting sleep lull him away with you.

🧸 End Note: simp Hao?? 👀 sigh. I’ve recently become quite soft for this man. Please let me know what you think and if you’d like to be added to the Taglist for this blog! 🐸🤍 ~ 🐶🐰🍓

🧸Masterlist🧸

[wanderlustqueen-writes]

Alice, I always love to see your writing in my dashboard, so for Drunk Drabbles, Vol. 2, I challenge you to 4: Please come back.

Have fun!

Send me a number and I'll write you a drabble - Part 2! Number 4: Please, come back Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Hange Zoë Warnings: SFW. Angst. Additional tags: They/Them pronouns for Hange Zoë Wordcount: 1,1k

The chirping of the birds grew clearer as his mind drifted away from sleep, the rustling of the wind caressing the trees near the window soon joining the morning symphony. Gentle rays of sunlight streamed through the glass and lazily landed on his face, making him see orange through his eyelids.

Levi took a deep breath, bracing himself for the hell that awaited him once he opened his eyes.

But the air that filled his lungs brought in a different scent, one he recognized from his past, from the many mornings he’d woken up next to them. A musky, oily thing he couldn’t, in a million years, mistake for something else. He breathed in again, this time welcoming the aroma he loved so much. His nose nuzzled forward, searching for the messy hair that should be there, eager to feel some of the ends that always stuck out prickling at his skin. He wasn’t disappointed.

His hand fumbled the mattress before him, cautiously, as if to not dissipate the illusion that he was experiencing right now, and his heart skipped a beat when his palm was met by soft, tangible skin. He groped it, marveling at the feeling of the muscles relaxing beneath his touch, the familiar curve of their waist, and the way the sleeping body moved slightly back, trying to adjust itself closer to his, out of pure habit. 

He couldn’t afford to be cautious anymore. Not when every single inch of his body ached and screamed for Hange, every second away from them, pure torture. So he held them, tighter than ever, bringing himself forward so that he was touching them in every way possible. In a perfect world, he would merge into them, the remaining halves of the wings of freedom together forever, but for now, he would make do with having the front of his body completely touching their back, from the hair drowning his face to the calves pushing against his instep. 

For a while, he just lay there, marveling at the feeling of being able to wake up next to the person he cared about the most in the world. When so many good people, deserving of happiness, were wronged by fate, he managed to get the best ending he could hope for. How? How did he get so lucky??

But he wasn’t a lucky guy, was he? History had proven that time after time. Was it all to compensate for his happy ending? Maybe destiny worked like a scale, it could only give happiness if it gave the same measure of sadness.

Don’t think too much about it. A voice, no, an instinct in his mind warned him.

If he got his happy ending, why did this uneventful morning feel so magical to him?

DON’T think about it.

So he let it go, and focused again on the feeling of having Hange in his arms. He was more confident now, so, for the first time, he let his eyelids flutter open.

His eyes were blessed by the sight of Hange’s sleeping form. The silky pajamas moved up and down, following the tranquil rhythm of their breathing. The sun projected over the fair skin, bathing with its light all the marks and scars Levi knew by heart. He’d seen the same scene many times in the past, in the mornings after they came back from an expedition. When grief and relief coexisted in their hearts. He loved watching Hange sleeping, so quiet and peaceful as if they lived in a completely different world, without Titans, without conflicts, poverty, or segregation. The world he knew they were fighting to build. He loved and missed that sight so much. Missed? Why? 

Don’t go there.

Levi remembered how, on those mornings, he had that strange urge to speak. He was never one to talk much, always communicated better through his actions, but lying next to Hange, he struggled to keep the words inside. We don’t have time for this now. He said told himself every time. When this is all over, I’ll say it.

“Hange” Levi whispered against their ear, laying a soft kiss over the shell.

“Yeah?” They answered with a drowsy voice, hands sliding down to Levi’s, to hug him closer. 

“I love you. Let’s live together”

Hange’s body shook as they laughed lightly, and the low rhythmic sound made Levi’s soul fly free. 

“We already live together, dumbass,” they said, playfully. There was a pause, a deep breath, and then their voice came back, serious and heartfelt “I love you too.”

Stubborn tears started prickling his eyes, fighting their way out. How was it possible to feel relief and anguish at the same time? It was good to let out the words that he’d imprisoned for so long. It felt like breathing after holding his breath for too long. But this feeling soon faded in comparison to the way his heart shrunk, crushed by the weight of regret. Regret over what? 

Don’t think about it. 

Being too late?

Stop thinking about it!

Was he? Too late? 

STOP

The ship had sailed?

DON’T!

The plane took off?

*click*

The wave of sorrow that crashed over Levi was so violent he almost threw up. Disordered images of the kids bawling inside of the aircraft attacked him from all sides, like vultures biting off the pieces of his fantasy, their cries bleeding into his ears. It was hard to breathe, the air in his room suddenly thin.

Hange Zoë, 14th commander of the Survey Corps, fulfilled their duty and died a heroic death in battle. They sacrificed themselves for the survival of their comrades. They fought for peace and died to save the world. 

Each of these words cut through Levi’s heart as he mentally repeated them. It was the only way he could cope whenever he had one of these dreams. If he didn’t face reality head-on, it would just become harder and harder. These fantasies weren’t meant to last forever.

Levi liked to think of the dreams as presents from Hange. Like they came down from where they were watching him, to give him a glimpse of what life could have been, or will be, eventually. It was a nice thought, and the pain was part of the deal. The scale of destiny, you can only get happiness if… 

Maybe all miracles come with a price. Maybe Hange was paying for it too, wherever they were. The least he could do was show his gratitude.

“Kuso Megane,” Levi whispered, reluctant eyes glimpsing at the empty mattress before him “thanks for stopping by.” His breath faltered, as hesitant words left his lips “If you’re watching, please, come back.”  _________________________________________ Thank you so much @sixpennydame <3 I love seeing you on my dash as well, and I had loads of fun writing this fic (I don't usually venture into angst, so it was a nice experience ^^)

[erin-draws-things]

CAN YOU TELL ME MLRE ABT YOUR HORROR AU PLEASE PLASE OLEASE

..also sorry abt bein really excited but I reallyyy just wanna know

Ofc I can!

The au for this is called “Cannibal Island”, the time it takes place for the expedition crew is roughly 1995 to 1999 because during that duration is when they all met up to plan out this expedition, to get in more members for Lizbert crew, get out all the plans, get the money needed to pay this whole thing off, and finally arrive at the island which would be 1997. Mostly the history of both the island of Snaxtooth and Brokentooth are both different and correlate to their shared parts of history, and that’s what Lizbert was mostly there for, to finally get the story correct about both of the islands and how they coexisted with one another.

During their expedition of both Snaxtooth and Brokentooth, they experience things such as paranormal activity from both islands, unexplained appearances of non-grumpus anthropomorphic creatures, and discovering missing grumpuses that have come to the island over the many years. There’s one thing they mostly choose to keep an eye out for and it is those of the expedition crew that fall randomly ill since in the history of Cannibal Island/Snaxtooth Island there was data analysis from a missing explorer on the island that reported (or wrote in a journal about the ill) grumpus who were fine one day then randomly appeared physically sick the next had a brain eating parasite from a bugsnax they ate which was sick itself, the parasite eats away at their brain until they started to eventually go rouge and let their primal instincts talk for them, the sick grumpus would hunt down anything or anyone that moved. In the journal it was also said that this weird parasite couldn’t be removed through surgery or any other methods that the explorer tested on those who had this parasite, the only way to kill the parasite was to kill the host. Triffany was the one who found the journal and handed it to Lizbert which the two made it out and open that this island was definitely a hazard and finally realized why everyone wouldn’t rarely come back alive, and those who did had constructed interviews that ended up being taken away from the public eye so no information could get out.

In short, the island is dangerous due to the deadly brain eating parasite which they call it “Cannibals Disease” and the weird amount of paranormal activity that takes place on the island

[scary-grace]

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 10) -- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

Chapter 10

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. As summer ends and the neighborhood kids go back to school, it begins to feel like there’s something wrong with the neighborhood, too. Keigo and the others haven’t found Dabi’s conjurer yet, and with school back in session and two of the former ghosts in the neighborhood going to and from the same place five days a week, the likelihood that the conjurer will find the neighborhood before he’s found and killed feels higher than it should be. You’re worried about that, distantly. If Garaki comes here, it won’t be you he’s after.

You and Aizawa are monitoring any mention or recurrence of any of the aliases Tomura’s conjurer has gone by, but there’s no sign of him. It also seems to have been a long time since he summoned and bound a ghost. You got sick of running messages back and forth between Aizawa and Mr. Yagi, so you finally introduced them, and through a mix of Aizawa’s contacts, Mr. Yagi’s contacts, and former and current ghosts Hizashi knows, you were able to determine that nobody’s created a new haunt in at least a decade. “I don’t understand,” you said. “Did it go out of style or something?”

“It became too dangerous, most likely.” Aizawa turned to his copy of the map and began marking through former haunts, until the entire map was marked in red. “All of these were destroyed by Mr. Yagi and his master. Any conjurer summoning a ghost in this country over the past hundred years was taking a significant risk.  Why would they do that when they could just leave?”

“Would they just leave?” You looked to Mr. Yagi.

“It’s possible,” Mr. Yagi allowed. “My master and I did our job well. Even if we missed one.”

“There was nothing to miss. In spite of his overall unpleasantness, Tomura has yet to truly harm anyone,” Aizawa said. Mr. Yagi glanced meaningfully at you. “That doesn’t count.”

You weren’t pleased with the characterization, but it wasn’t worth disputing. Regardless of what anyone in the neighborhood thinks about your relationship with Tomura, they’re at least pleased that it makes him easier to deal with and marginally more interested in helping the neighborhood defend itself. Tomura, meanwhile, notices less and less of what’s going on outside the property line. Most of his focus – all of his focus, really – is on you.

As far as you can tell, he stays incorporeal most of the day, conserving energy so he can materialize fully once you’re home. What happens when you’re home varies. Sometimes he follows you, marking your every move, asking questions about everything nothing, questions that lead and questions whose answers you can’t imagine he cares about. Sometimes he tries to help you with whatever you’re doing, because the sooner you’re done with it, the sooner you can focus all your attention on him. And sometimes he’s not interested in waiting for anything at all. Sometimes he follows you up to your room and pounces on you before you’re even finished changing out of your work clothes.

Today is one of those days, and Tomura’s gotten strategic. You wore a dress to work, with tights underneath because you’re paranoid about clothing malfunctions, and he doesn’t grab you until after you’ve taken them off. Then he pulls you away from your closet, pushes you down on the bed, and pushes your legs apart. This, or things like this, have happened enough that you can sort of keep your wits about you. “Tomura, the door –”

It shuts, keeping Phantom out. The two of you learned that lesson the hard way. Tomura pushed you down in the middle of the bed, but now he pulls you to the end of it, until your legs are dangling over the edge. They’re unsupported for only a second before he props them on his shoulders. It’s embarrassing that you’re so slow on the uptake, but when you figure it out, you sit partway up in shock, staring as Tomura grins up at you from between your legs. “What are you doing?” you ask weakly.

“What does it look like?” Tomura looks way too pleased with himself in the split second before his head disappears under your dress.

He’ll stop if you tell him to. Sometimes you do, and he always complains, but he never refuses. Your head is spinning, and you make one last effort to slow things down. “I can’t reach you from up here.”

His voice is muffled. “Wait your turn,” he says, and a moment later you feel an almost-experimental lap of his tongue against your clit. “I had to wait all day.”

The idea of a human man waiting all day for you to come home so he can throw you on the bed and eat you out is absolutely ridiculous. But Tomura’s a ghost, not a human. You’re not even sure where he got the idea of eating somebody out in the first place. “Have you –” you stutter as he licks again, slower and with more pressure than before. “Have you been watching porn?”

“What’s porn?” Tomura sounds thoroughly uninterested, which is a good thing for you. You don’t want to explain – well, at the moment you’re not good for explaining much of anything. Tomura’s hair tickles against the insides of your thighs, and his hands press eagerly into your hips. Your stomach lurches. “Stop moving. Why are you trying to –”

“The marks.” Your heart is hammering, your body torn between the impulse to lie back and spread your legs wider and the impulse to get up and run. “People will see them. They’ll see them and they’ll know –”

“I don’t care if people know.”

“I do. My friends – my boss –” It gets worse the longer you think about it. “I don’t want them to know what we do.”

Part of you wonders if you’re being ridiculous. You’re an adult, and if you were with a human boyfriend, everyone would assume you were having sex with him. Then again, if you were having sex with a human, you wouldn’t wind up with ghost handprints on your hips that your boss is going to see through your clothes. And Tomura’s not your boyfriend. “I only leave marks when I want to,” Tomura says. He emerges from under your dress, his hair messy and his mouth wet. “You have enough already. Nobody’s going to get confused.”

“So you won’t leave them here?” you ask, and Tomura shakes his head. “Oh. Um, thanks.”

He disappears under your dress again, and you lie back on the bed. The impulse to spread your legs wider is still there, and when Tomura runs his tongue over the length of your entrance before closing his lips around your clit, you give in without a fight. The house is alive around you, humming with electricity and creaking slightly in the early-autumn wind. It’s quiet in your room other than your own harsh, unsteady breathing and the increasingly obscene sounds emanating from under your skirt.

Tomura’s never done this before, so he doesn’t have any bad habits, and based on the direction his explorations take, he’s well on his way to developing good ones. Your entire body feels like it’s being tied in knots, knots that get tighter with every swipe of his tongue. You’re trying not to move, to arch your back or buck your hips. You’re worried that if he has to try too hard to hold you down, he’ll forget about his promise not to leave marks. But in your efforts to stay still, you completely forget about staying quiet.

At first it’s just quiet, desperate sounds leaving your mouth – little gasps, split up here and there with moans when he sucks on your clit or gives your entrance a long, slow lick that makes you wish for something, anything inside you. You could ask Tomura to finger you, and the thought sits fully formed on the tip of your tongue, only to disintegrate when he pushes your legs a little further apart and licks inside of you. The rush of heat that sweeps through you is almost overwhelming. “Tomura –”

“What?” He stops, which was absolutely not what you wanted to happen. You unclench one hand from the blankets on the bed to hit yourself in the forehead. “Am I doing it wrong or something?”

“N-no,” you stammer. You’ve gone from having to convince Tomura that his technique could use some work to having him ask on his own, which is really great for any time except now. “I just, um – no. You’re good. Really good. That’s why I said your name.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say, wondering why his voice sounds like that. “I don’t want you to stop. Tomura, please don’t –”

You break off in a gasp. Tomura was never the most methodical about this, but he’s thrown himself back into it with an absurd amount of enthusiasm. You feel like you might pass out. It’s hard to think, but you don’t want him to stop again, so you talk, struggling to breathe. “You’re so good at this,” you manage to say. “You’re doing so well. I don’t want you to stop. Tomura, please – ah –”

His grip on your hips tightens. You think you hear him whine. But his lips close around your clit again, teasing you with his tongue, and you lose the ability to focus on anything else. Unclenching your hands from the sheets feels impossible, so you bite your lip instead, managing to restrict the sounds you make as you come to a few desperate moans. In the past you’ve had to tell Tomura to stop or push him away to avoid getting overstimulated, but this time he lets you go in a hurry, emerging from under your dress and scrambling up onto the bed. His mouth and chin are wet and there’s an almost frantic look in his eyes.

“Tomura,” you say, puzzled and breathless. “Are you okay?”

“Tell me again.” Tomura’s mouth presses against yours, and you taste yourself on his lips. He speaks without pulling away. “I did it right. Tell me –”

Now you get it. “You were perfect,” you say, and Tomura presses himself against you, grinding against your thigh. “You did such a good job. You made me feel so good, Tomura. Nobody’s ever made me feel like you do.”

It’s not empty flattery, as much as you might wish it was. You sit up, rolling Tomura from his side to his back and undoing his pants. His cock springs free, and like always, you’re surprised at how big he is – but the few seconds you take to stare is too long for Tomura to wait. His hips thrust uselessly upwards, seeking your hands, and you oblige in a hurry, stroking idly while you look him over. His face is red, the color extending down his neck and beneath his shirt, and his blue-grey hair is glued to his neck and forehead with sweat. He has longer eyelashes than you thought he did. His eyes are dilated to the point where you’re shocked he can see. You’re sure you look like a mess right now. There’s no way you look anything close to this.

“You’re pretty,” you say without thinking. Tomura’s mouth falls open and a moan escapes him. His hips jerk frantically against your hands as you continue to stroke his cock, as you slide one hand between his legs to fondle him. “You’re so pretty, Tomura. And you make such pretty sounds, too. Listening to you the first time you touched yourself turned me on so bad. I kept imagining what you must have looked like – all sweaty and desperate and so, so pretty –”

Dirty talk never used to be your thing, and this barely counts, but the effect it has on Tomura is mesmerizing. He’s squirming on the bed, worse than you were by a long shot, his hands grasping the sheets or yanking at his shirt. You see his hand rise to scratch at his neck and you stop fondling him to pull it away. “You look even better than I imagined,” you say, holding his hand even as his grip tightens almost to the point of pain. “You look so pretty like this. And the way you sound – there’s nobody in the world who sounds as pretty as you do. You did so well for me just now. Are you close?”

The sound he makes in response is somewhere between a gasp and a sob, and you think, like you always do, that the two of you need to work out how to come at the same time. Touching him invariably winds you up again, and he’s too impatient to let you touch him first. “You’re so good, Tomura,” you say. You can feel the tension in his body increasing, the movements of his hips growing sharp and uneven, and you drag his hand to your mouth, speaking through his fingers. “You’re perfect.”

You usually try to contain the mess he makes with your mouth, but you’re slow this time, too busy watching him fight to hold onto his physical form in the face of an orgasm. Most of his cum winds up on your dress, although some of it ends up on your face. You can live with that, so long as you don’t have to change the sheets on the bed,

You wipe your face with your sleeve and lick your lips, working off a vague sense that it would be rude to wipe your mouth. Guys who want you to swallow get offended by stuff like that. “What does it taste like?” Tomura asks in that raspy, breathless voice that always winds you up.

“It doesn’t taste like anything.” You’re almost eternally grateful for that.

“What do you taste like?”

You cringe a little bit. “Not everything tastes like something else.”

There’s a pattern to things now. Tomura usually dematerializes for a while after the two of you are done, and you do whatever you need to do – showering, to start with – until he comes back. Then you negotiate about the rest of the night, Tomura wanting more, you reminding him that there aren’t unlimited supplies of life-force and doing more today imperils his chances for tomorrow. Most of the time you win. If the pattern is followed, he should be dematerializing right around now. You get up.

Or try to. Tomura grabs you and pulls you back. “Where are you going?”

“The same place I always go.” You try to peel yourself out of his arms, but it doesn’t work. “What? You’re not going to let me go?”

“No. You won’t let me go with you.”

“You don’t need to clean up,” you remind him. “You’ll be fine as soon as you dematerialize and come back.”

“I don’t want to.” One of Tomura’s legs hooks over your hip to hold you in place, another one of those weird things he does that reminds you he’s got no idea how straight guys are supposed to behave. “Don’t leave.”

You don’t want to deal with this right now. You need time alone after you and Tomura hook up to get your head screwed on straight, to remind yourself that this is insane and not normal, to keep it all in perspective. But your track record for getting away from Tomura when he wants to hold onto you is not good, and he’s never acted like this before. You let him pull you back onto the bed. At first he curls himself around you, almost like the two of you are spooning, but then he changes his mind, pushing and pulling at you until you realize that he’s after a complete switch in positions. “If you wanted to be the little spoon, you could just ask.”

“What’s the little spoon?”

“The person in the position you are right now.” You adjust your arm around his waist and press against him from behind. “This is called spooning.”

“Why?”

“Because it looks the way spoons look if you line them up properly in the drawer instead of just throwing them in.” You’re guilty of the latter, but in your defense, you’re usually in a hurry. Tomura makes a skeptical sound. “I’ll show you later.”

He’s cold, but you’re still overheated, and holding him like this helps you cool down. It would help you settle your mind if you weren’t still confused about why this is happening. You could ask Tomura, but when it comes to talking about how he feels, he’s a typical guy. It’s about the only thing about him that’s typical. Tomura doesn’t know what he’s supposed to want, and you have a feeling that he wouldn’t care even if he knew. He wants the things he wants, and while he’s not great at communicating them, you usually figure out where he’s going with it eventually.

It’s quiet for a while, and Tomura’s the one to break the silence. “Did you mean what you said?”

You don’t pretend you don’t understand what he means. “I meant it,” you say. You’re not an expert in praise kinks, but you’re pretty sure it doesn’t work if the praise is false. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

Something odd happens to Tomura then – he shivers, or his embodied form fails for a moment, and you instinctively tighten your grip on him. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re pretty, too,” Tomura says instead of answering. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving,” you say. You need to shower, but you can shower later. You adjust your arms around Tomura again and close your eyes.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but you were up late last night and early this morning, and this afternoon’s hookup wore you out more than expected. You don’t sleep for long, but Tomura’s gone when you wake up. You’re curled up around the space where he used to be. You wonder how long it was before he left, and why it’s okay for him to leave you when you’re not supposed to leave him. You hate how lonely it makes you feel.

But you shake it off, like you do any time you start feeling that way about a ghost that can’t understand human feelings, and proceed with the rest of the night. And the rest of the night goes exactly like it usually does. You shower, start the laundry, start making dinner – and Tomura shadows you, angling for a second hookup. He’s getting strategic about that, too.

“You like it when I use my mouth,” he says. “Better than my fingers.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” You focus on the food you’re trying to cook, reminding yourself firmly that you’re hungry, not horny. You turn the question around on him. “Which do you prefer? Handjobs or blowjobs?”

“Handjobs,” Tomura says without hesitating. You blink. “You still use your mouth a little bit. And you can talk.”

“The talking really does it for you,” you muse, even though winding Tomura up is the last thing you should be doing if you want to eat dinner any time soon. “Interesting.”

“It’s not interesting. I like your voice.”

That’s not what you expected him to say. You set down your knife so you won’t amputate your fingers and focus on him. He’s looking away, scowling. “You talked to me. I couldn’t figure out how to talk back at first, so I listened. I like your voice.”

“I like yours, too,” you say. Then you think about drowning yourself in the sink and ask a question before Tomura can get too smug about it. “How soon did you talk to me after you figured it out?”

“As soon as I figured it out.” Tomura won’t look at you. “I messed it up the first time and you ran away.”

“You got angry. I didn’t know what you’d do.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt you. Or Phantom.” Phantom’s been poking around by Tomura’s feet, pretending she’s not hoping he’ll drop some food. Sure enough, he steals a piece of the carrot you just sliced and drops it on the floor for her. “I helped you before. You knew that.”

“I didn’t know what you’d do when you got angry.” You don’t want to have this conversation again. “I still don’t know.”

“But you’re not scared of me.”

“I’m not scared of you.” You startle as Tomura’s arms loop around your waist, as his chin notches over your shoulder. “You figured out how to talk just so you could talk to me?”

“I needed to learn anyway,” Tomura says. There’s a pause. “Yeah, I did. So what?”

“Nothing,” you say. Tomura thinks you’re pretty. Tomura taught himself how to materialize and talk so he could talk to you. It’s a good thing he can’t see your face right now. You’re finding it hard not to smile.

Your phone rings from the living room, and you go to investigate it. It’s Aizawa, so you pick up. “What?”

“One of the unbound ghosts has gone missing,” Aizawa says. “When was the last time you ran the search for Garaki?”

“Last week,” you say. You run the search every week. “Do you want me to run it again tomorrow?”

“Tonight,” Aizawa says. “I’m coming with you.”

“No,” you protest. “I can’t go in after hours. Mr. Yagi –”

“Call him and ask.” Aizawa hangs up the phone.

“Asshole,” you mutter, and you go ahead and call Mr. Yagi. He picks up on the second ring. “Sir, Aizawa’s worried about something and he wants me to check the database again tonight.”

“Of course,” Mr. Yagi says at once. You grit your teeth. “Update me on what you find, if you find anything. Izuku’s working on generating a map for all the conjurers on the list.”

“And Aizawa wants to come with me,” you add. “That’s not policy, is it?”

“Technically, the database is public record,” Mr. Yagi reminds you. “Just make sure no one spots you.”

“Yes, sir,” you say. You hope he can’t tell that you were hoping he’d say no.

Tomura follows you as you change into your street clothes, clearly unhappy. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the office. I won’t be long.” You stick your head out the front door and realize that it’s gotten colder since the sun went down. You find a hoodie and pull it on. “Aizawa’s just being paranoid.”

“He’s outside,” Tomura says. You don’t question how he knows that. “You didn’t eat yet.”

“I’ll eat when I get back,” you say. You lift your bracelets out of the bowl where you keep your keys and slide them on, then tuck your keys into your pocket before turning to Tomura. He’s either pouting or sulking. “Don’t do that. I’ll be home soon.”

Tomura’s frown deepens and he dematerializes, which annoys you. It’s not like you wanted this to happen. “I was going to give you a kiss goodbye, but since you’re going to be like this –”

“I’m not.” Tomura materializes again, right in front of you, and pushes you back against the wall for a kiss. You feel an odd tingling where his hands touch you and get the sneaking suspicion that he’s marking you again, but it’s only on your shoulders, and it’s not like Aizawa will be able to see it. Tomura draws away. “Go.”

You leave, your head spinning a little bit, and find Aizawa standing just outside the fence. There’s a suspicious-looking bag slung over his shoulder. “We’re not breaking in,” you say.

Aizawa ignores you. He gets into the passenger seat of your car as soon as you unlock it, and the two of you drive out of your neighborhood in complete silence. You’re not pleased with this, and the bad vibes Aizawa’s giving off prove that Tomura’s moods aren’t the only ones that can affect other people. You don’t speak until you’re halfway there. “So what’s up with this ghost who went missing?”

“They haunted an apartment building that came down fifteen years ago. They’ve stayed in the vicinity of their old haunt,” Aizawa says. “We sent Keigo and the others to speak to them, to see if they’d seen or heard anything. There was no sign of them anywhere in the city.”

“Which means – what?” you ask. Aizawa doesn’t answer, and it pisses you off. “They could have just left.”

“A ghost like that doesn’t just leave.”

“Maybe they decided to,” you argue. “Or they could have embodied themselves. There are a lot of things that could have happened that aren’t ‘they got snatched by a conjurer’. Can ghosts even be killed?”

Mr. Yagi said they could, but he also didn’t tell you how. “They can,” Aizawa says shortly. “If they clash with a being of greater power – another ghost, or a conjurer – their spirit can be blasted apart and scattered. Each shred retains some small piece of consciousness, but there are so many that there’s no way to piece them back together.”

“Conjurers can do that?”

“They threaten it when binding unwilling ghosts,” Aizawa says. “Eri and Magne both report receiving that threat, although it’s doubtful that Chisaki could have carried it out, given how easily Hizashi defeated him.”

You never appreciate a reminder of how strong Hizashi is. It makes it harder not to be scared of him. “The worst a conjurer can do to a human is kill them,” Aizawa continues. “The worst that can be done to a ghost condemns them to eternal torment. Most ghosts are hesitant to confront a conjurer, and the fear remains even once they’re embodied permanently. We were surprised that Tomura was able to convince Atsuhiro.”

You were surprised, too. But you’ve got something else on your mind. “So it’s just a power game. They clash and the strongest one wins,” you clarify, and Aizawa nods. “What if they’re equally powerful?”

“Then it comes down to a test of will,” Aizawa says. “The stronger-willed of the two will win, and in ghost-conjurer conflicts, the conjurer is the stronger one.”

“Why?”

“They’re human,” Aizawa says simply. “Humans don’t want to die.”

It’s quiet again in the car. You make the turn into the courthouse parking lot and choose a spot that’s hard to see on the security cameras. Aizawa speaks again as you’re turning off the engine. “If you’re worried about Tomura, don’t. There’s no conjurer on the planet stupid enough to cross your property line.”

“I’m not worried about Tomura,” you say. You’re lying. “What’s in the bag?”

Aizawa unzips it, revealing – “A gun?” you squeak. “There are metal detectors. You can’t bring that in!”

“The metal detectors are on the way into the courthouse, not the public defenders’ office.” Aizawa zips up the bag again. “Conjurers are still human. It takes a lot of ghostly power to stop a bullet.”

You were already unhappy about this whole thing. Now it’s worse. You pull up your hood and get out of the car. “Just keep it hidden. Mr. Yagi told us not to be seen.”

The two of you sneak across the parking lot, keeping to the shadows. If anybody spots you, you look suspicious as hell. You unlock the door to the office, lock it again behind Aizawa and yourself, and sneak through the halls until you reach your cubicle. “I’m just running the Garaki search again,” you warn. “Then I’m out.”

“Fine.” Aizawa leans against the wall behind you, scanning the office.

He’s acting like he thinks someone’s in here, hunting the two of you. It’s making you uneasy. You ignore it as best you can and focus on the search, cross-referencing both identities and coming up with the same points of connection as always. Then, because you got dragged out here and you might as well be thorough, you focus on the city Aizawa’s worried about and run a library search for public records-adjacent documents – the kind of things that are publicly available, but aren’t considered national government property. When you run the wider search, something pops up that didn’t before; a business license, for a clinic in the same city. You draw Aizawa’s attention to it and he pulls out his phone to search. Meanwhile, you keep looking. You find a record of property taxes on the location of the clinic, paid by check. There’s a scan of the checks attached, with the same name over and over again – Garaki Kyudai.

Aizawa swears. “He’s not listed as one of the staff – he’s listed as the clinic’s founder. It’s been there for decades. Long enough to have summoned that ghost.”

“Why would he kill his own ghost? I thought they avoided killing conduits.” There’s a newspaper article, a recent one. You try to open it, hit a paywall, and start looking for a way around it. “Have you heard from Keigo and the others since they said they couldn’t find the ghost?”

“No.” When you glance back at Aizawa, he’s got his phone to his ear.

You get around the paywall and start reading. The article’s about the sale of historic old house in the city, one that’s been in the same family – the Ujiko family, fuck – for over a hundred years. It went on the market last week, by order of the last descendent of the Ujiko family, and – “Aizawa, I’ve got a picture of him!”

“Print it,” Aizawa orders. You do, in color, and meanwhile, whoever Aizawa’s trying to call picks up the phone. “Keigo, where are you?”

You can hear Keigo loud and clear, even though he’s not on speaker. “We’re on our way home. Can you give us a ride back from the station? It was supposed to be Jin’s mom’s turn, but it got kind of late.”

Aizawa glances at you. “Sure, but somebody has to sit in the back,” you say. You hop up to retrieve the article from the printer and come back. “Ask him if there was any sign of ghostly power in the city. Specifically in the neighborhoods. Um –”

You scan the article, pass the name to Aizawa, and wait. “No,” Atsuhiro says into the phone. “We found nothing, not even traces. Why do you ask?”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll meet you at the train station.” Aizawa hangs up the phone and turns to you. “Garaki was there, now he isn’t, and a ghost is gone. We need to figure out where he went.”

“I’ll see if there’s a forwarding address.” You find the name of the realtor involved with selling the house, pick up your work phone, and make a call. It’s after hours, but a realtor selling a house this fancy might pick up.

Aizawa is tapping his foot, clearly impatient, while the phone rings twice, then picks up. You leap into the conversation first. “Hello, this is –” you check the article for the reporter’s name and borrow it as an alias. “I made an error in the article I wrote about the house and misquoted the doctor. Would you happen to know where I could get ahold of him to correct it?”

Realtors are a lot more gullible than you thought they were. You find a pen but not a piece of paper and end up scribbling the address on the back of your hand. It doesn’t look familiar, which is a good thing. “It’s not here.”

“We need to keep it that way. He’ll have to be lured even further away.” Aizawa slides the printed-out article into his bag. “For now, we need to retrieve the others.”

The two of you sneak back out to your car. You drive to the train station, sticking to the speed limit like your life depends on it, while Aizawa peruses the newspaper article for more details. “Garaki is older than we thought. At least old enough to have summoned Tomura – but he would have summoned Tomura before Dabi. It doesn’t make sense unless he lost a significant amount of power in the interim, which wouldn’t have happened if he was using Tomura as a conduit.”

“I don’t think it was him,” you say.

“The evidence is more compelling the other way,” Aizawa agrees, “but we can’t rule anything out.”

“If we can’t rule anything out, then we need to think about whether he’s Hizashi’s conjurer,” you say. You see Aizawa’s shoulders stiffen. “If he’s two hundred and fifty years old, he’s old enough to have summoned Hizashi, too – and since Hizashi wanted to escape the world between, he wouldn’t have had to try too hard.”

“Hizashi said no.”

“Hizashi said he doesn’t remember,” you correct. “If Garaki was his conjurer, too –”

“It’s immaterial.” Aizawa cuts you off. “If Garaki finds us, we’re all in danger. We’re almost to the train station, and we don’t have any solid conclusions. We shouldn’t tell the others until we’re sure.”

You don’t like this secret-keeping thing. “But you’re going to tell Hizashi.”

“And you plan to tell Tomura,” Aizawa retorts. You would if Tomura cared about this at all. “What happens in our respective households stays there. But there’s no reason to throw the entire neighborhood into a panic with news that Dabi’s conjurer is on the move.”

“Fine,” you say. “But we can’t sit on this for long. Two days and we’ll tell everyone what we know. Whatever we know.”

“Fine,” Aizawa says. He’s silent for the rest of the drive, until you pull into the train station parking lot and he sandbags you with this: “Keigo and I would be grateful if you encouraged Tomura to keep a lid on his – feelings. Dabi has next to no self-control, and Hizashi’s self-control, while impressive, is not up to this task. Some restraint on his part, or yours, would be appreciated.”

It takes you a second to interpret that one, and once you do, your face goes up in flames. Tomura’s apparently so horny that he’s making the two other non-asexual ghosts horny enough that their partners are asking you for help. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I, um – I’ll see what I can do.”

Aizawa leans his seat back and closes his eyes. “Good.”

The silence in the car after that is extremely awkward, and you’re grateful when Jin, Keigo, Spinner, and Atsuhiro all pile into the car. Rather than one person sitting in the back, all four of them squeeze into the backseat, with Keigo sprawled out across the other three’s laps. Spinner wants to tell you about the day’s events, Atsuhiro wants to sleep, and Jin wants to go to McDonald’s. Jin is the loudest one. You pull into the drive-through.

As much as you’re tempted by the fast food, you have food at home, and you’ve sort of lost your appetite. Fear over the threat of the conjurers, discomfort at the idea of withholding information from the rest of the neighborhood, and the sheer cringe of being told to make your ghost less horny will do that to you. It’s a relief to drop everyone off at their respective houses, Aizawa in particular, and pull into your own driveway.

The first thing you notice when you open the front door is the smell. It smells like food cooking, and it doesn’t smell burnt. Did Tomura let somebody else in the house to cook something? He must have, and the evidence gets stronger when you hear footsteps through house towards you. But when you look up, there’s no one there except Tomura, and Phantom trotting at his side. “Take your bracelets off. You’re supposed to take them off when you get to the neighborhood.”

You know that. You just forgot, because you were busy trying to convince Jin to let you stop the car before he got out. You slide them off your wrists and drop them into the bowl with your keys. “Did you let someone in the house?”

“Why would I let somebody in the house?” Tomura looks annoyed that you’d even consider it. “You had to leave before you were done cooking, so I finished it.”

“You – what?” You’ve heard terrible things about ghost cooking from everybody whose ghost gave it a shot. Even the embodied ones aren’t very good at it. “How?”

“I’ve seen you make it. I did what you do.” Tomura catches your wrist, fingers closing around the same spot where the bracelet was and pulling you along. “Come on.”

You were making soup before you left. It’s kind of hard to mess up soup, but then again, you’ve heard stories from Shinsou about Hizashi managing to mess up instant noodles. The kitchen looks sort of like a bomb went off in it, but none of the ingredients scattered around look wrong for the soup you usually make. When you peer into the pot on the stove, nothing strikes you as immediately wrong. “Are you going to try it?” Tomura asks impatiently. You pick up a spoon and dip it in. “Well?”

Your ghost can cook. Somehow you got the only ghost in the neighborhood that can cook – or at least the only ghost who can copy what their human did exactly enough that there’s little difference in taste. You retrieve a bowl and a ladle and fill it up, then switch off the burner and put a lid on the pot to trap the heat in. Tomura follows you as you head for the kitchen table. “I did it right,” he says. You nod. Your mouth is too full to talk. “I know how to make other things, too.”

You’re not sure you trust him with anything more complicated yet, or maybe at all. “Maybe we can work on it together. It’s probably boring for you to just stand there and watch me.”

“Watching you isn’t boring.”

That’s not what you were expecting him to say. “Oh.”

It’s quiet for a little while. Phantom comes to nap at your feet and you keep eating your soup, thanking your lucky stars that you skipped the fast food tonight. “I wish I could taste things,” Tomura says out of nowhere. You eat another spoonful of soup, burning your tongue in favor of displaying your shock. “I’d be better at it if I could.”

“Not necessarily. I can taste things and the things I cook still aren’t very good sometimes.” You’ve heard Aizawa theorize that the fact that former ghosts have tastebuds is what gets them into trouble with cooking – they judge taste by the strength of the flavor, and they can’t distinguish between flavors that are good and flavors that are bad. You focus on Tomura. “This is really good, though. Thank you.”

Tomura looks pleased with himself. “I know.”

You eat a second helping of the soup and put the rest away for lunch tomorrow, and then, even though it’s later than usual, you decide you want to watch something before you go to bed. It’s less that you want to watch something and more that you want to hang out with Tomura a little longer, but there’s no way you’re telling him that. The two of you settle onto your usual couch cushions, and Phantom hops up into her spot on the middle one, getting comfortable. You pass the remote off to Tomura. “I don’t care what we see. You pick.”

Tomura gives you a skeptical look. “You hate what I pick.”

You hated it when you thought it was giving him ideas. There’s no point now that it turns out he can get ideas all on his own. “Not tonight I don’t.”

Tomura’s always a bit like a kid in a candy store when he gets ahold of the remote. You watch the light flicker across his face as he scrolls through show after show and finally settles on the last thing you were expecting him to choose. “You don’t want to watch that,” you say.

“It says it’s a disaster movie. I like those.”

He does. One time you made the mistake of watching Twister and then had to spend the rest of the night explaining how tornadoes work – and then showing him videos on YouTube when he realized you didn’t know what you were talking about. “This isn’t that kind of disaster movie.”

“The ship sinks, doesn’t it?” Tomura doesn’t wait for your answer before he presses play on Titanic.

The two of you get through the opening of the movie in the usual fashion. Tomura keeps asking you questions, missing part of the movie while you answer, and then asking more questions about what he missed. It takes him a little bit to grasp the framing device. Ghosts don’t have the same sense of time as people do, and you have to explain why the same character is being played by two different actors a few times before he gets it. And then he’s confused, confused to the point where he makes you pause the movie. “Why is this happening? When is the ship going to sink?”

“We can fast-forward to that part,” you say, probably a little too eagerly. “Do you want to do that?”

“I want to know why this is happening.” Tomura gestures at the screen. “Do you know? Or is this like the tornadoes again?”

He’s never going to let you forget about that. You sigh. “All this stuff is happening because the filmmakers want the people watching the movie to care about the characters. To understand what they want and want it, too.”

“Why?”

“So it matters to you when the ship sinks with all these people on it.”

“How many people are on it?”

“Uh – around two thousand.”

“Two thousand?” Tomura looks floored, probably because he’s never seen a group of people larger than forty or fifty. “How many of them die?”

You probably know a little too much about this shipwreck for comfort. You were kind of a weird kid. “About fifteen hundred of them. Give or take a few.”

“How do they die?”

You should have known Tomura was going to fixate on the body count. “Let’s just fast-forward to that part.”

You’ve been fast-forwarding for about two seconds when Tomura stops you. “Go back.”

“Why?” you ask. Tomura gives you that dumbest-person-ever look. You hate that look. “Why do you want to watch all the boring stuff?”

“To see if they can make me care about it.” Tomura settles back onto his couch cushion, looking smug. “I bet they can’t.”

Now you get it. He’s decided it’s a game and he wants to win. You rewind back, resigning yourself to a whole lot of explaining over the next hour and a half.

But you don’t have to explain quite as much as you thought you were going to. Some of the things you thought Tomura would fixate on are nonevents, because he was summoned and bound to the house in the same era as Titanic sank. He’s not confused by the lack of phones or the weirdly elaborate clothes – when you look at the clothes he materializes in, the shirt and pants are similar in style to what some of the characters wear in the movie. After extracting some assurances from you that the movie’s going to go into lots of detail about how the ship sinks, Tomura starts asking other questions, usually about the characters. And sometimes he doesn’t have questions. He has opinions.

“That one is stupid. I don’t like him,” he says of one character. You ask him why. “She’s scared of him. I can tell. He gets in her space when she doesn’t want him to and he grabs her and pulls her around. You had to tell me that stuff, but he’s a human. He should know already.”

“He does know,” you say. “He wants her to be scared of him.”

Tomura looks like the thought’s never crossed his mind, which is ridiculous, given that he’s a ghost who was summoned specifically to haunt and terrorize people. “Aren’t they supposed to get married?”

“Yeah.” You unpause the movie and up the volume. The last thing you want is for Tomura to start asking questions about marriage.

You were worried Tomura was going to have a bunch of questions about the love story, but he keeps mostly quiet on that front, which is a relief for you. He also doesn’t spend a bunch of time talking about how stupid it is, which is less of a relief. Most of his annoyance is focused on the characters for caring about the diamond necklace that keeps getting passed around, because it’s a rock and it’s stupid that humans care about rocks that much. The only question he asks about the love story serves as yet another reminder that ghosts don’t understand humans very well. “Why do they treat that one that way?”

“Because he’s poor and they’re not,” you say. “They think you should marry your own kind.”

“They’re both humans. That’s the same kind,” Tomura says. “Humans are humans. It’s stupid.”

“Humans divide ourselves up by all kinds of stupid things,” you say. When you think about it, it’s a really long, really pointless list. “We kill each other over a lot of that stuff, too. Or we have in the past. People say this stuff is old-fashioned, but a lot of them still feel this way. They don’t say it like that, though. They’d say those two don’t have enough in common. Their life experiences are too different. That kind of thing.”

“Humans are stupid,” Tomura says. He looks weirdly unnerved. “The ship had better sink soon.”

The scene changes and you breathe a sigh of relief. “Yep. Right now.”

The disaster portion of the movie clearly lives up to Tomura’s expectations. He shuts up for the most part, focused on the screen. You have to admit that the movie does a good job of laying things out: Ship sinking, ship sinking fast, not enough lifeboats, water too cold, et cetera. You don’t have to explain anything at all. You’ve seen this one enough times that you don’t feel guilty zoning out, but you don’t realize you’ve fallen asleep until Tomura starts shaking your shoulder. “Why are they staying behind?”

You squint at the screen. “Women and children first.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really know,” you say. The rationale behind that was never clear to you, and if you can’t figure it out, there’s no way you’re going to try to explain it to Tomura. You don’t want a repeat of the tornado thing. “This is basically the only shipwreck in history where they did that, though. On most wrecks men took all the boats and the women and children drowned.”

“You’re a woman.”

“Yep.” You remember imagining how you’d escape from Titanic as a kid, then running the same thought experiment as an adult and realizing that you probably wouldn’t. “Anyway, I don’t know why they did it like that instead of the other way.”

“It’s stupid,” Tomura says. You flop over the arm of the couch and decide to forget about it.

You must be really tired, because you fall back asleep in spite of the noise from the movie. The next thing you wake up to is Phantom crawling onto your lap – or Phantom, still mostly asleep, being dropped onto your lap by Tomura. At first you’re confused, but then you feel the cushions shift as Tomura settles into the spot Phantom was in before. He’s moving quietly, trying not to wake you up, but you wake up anyway. “What –”

“Nothing. Shut up.”

You roll your eyes, and catch a glimpse of the screen in the process. The ship’s vanished. “The good part’s done. Want me to turn it off?”

“No,” Tomura says. Phantom makes herself comfortable in your lap. “Go back to sleep.”

He’s acting strangely. You pretend to go back to sleep, keeping your breathing even and your eyes mostly shut, alternating between watching the screen and watching Tomura on the cushion next to you. He’s still focused in spite of the fact that the ship’s already sunk. He usually gets focused at some point when he’s watching a movie, but this time, his expression’s different than the usual interest. He looks unhappy, but if he’s unhappy, why wouldn’t he let you turn it off? Why is he studying the screen like his existence depends on the outcome of this barely-a-disaster move? You let him think you’re asleep through most of the wrap-up, and take your time waking up when he starts shaking your shoulder again. “What does this mean?”

It’s the last scene. “Her ditching the necklace?”

“No. This stuff. Why is she on the boat again? It sank. And she’s not old anymore either. This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Oh,” you say. Suddenly you understand why he’s confused. “I guess it wouldn’t make sense to you. Ghosts don’t die.”

Aizawa told you they do, but he also called it eternal torment, not death, so you’re going to go ahead and assume that dead for ghosts and dead for humans are two separate concepts. Tomura looks pissed. “She’s dead?”

“She’s a hundred and one. Humans aren’t supposed to live that long.” You were faking sleep too convincingly, and now you’re actually tired. You smother a yawn. “This part – she’s dead. She died in her sleep. This is her meeting everybody again in the afterlife.”

“Is that what happens?”

You’re way too tired for this. “We don’t know. People don’t,” you say. You have a feeling ghosts might, but if Tomura knew, he wouldn’t be asking this question. “Some people think it’s like falling asleep. You’re just gone, forever. Other people think it’s like in the movie – when you die, you see everybody you love who died before you, and you’re all together forever. But like I said, we don’t know. And I don’t think about it too much. It’s probably the sleep thing, anyway. The other way would be too nice.”

You’re rambling. “Does that make any sense?”

Tomura dematerializes. That makes twice in one night. “Okay. Good talk.”

You switch off the movie before the theme song can really kick in and weigh your options. You could boot Phantom off your lap and head upstairs for the night, or you could twist around and fall asleep on the couch. You choose door number two, stopping just long enough to pull your phone out of your pocket and set an alarm. You got a text from Aizawa about two seconds ago, too: When I asked you to address the situation, I didn’t mean to do it like this.

You don’t know what ‘like this’ means, and you’re too tired to care. You set your phone screen-down on the coffee table and go to sleep.

[scorchieart]

AAAAAAHHHHH I'm so excited! I love the prompts so much!! I hope these aren't taken but can you do Yves & Chevalier/ prompt 1 / angst / 1st pov Yves? A story where Yves has to stand up to Chevalier but he's so scared, but he does it anyway. I'm typing this so fast in case it's gone. Thank you writer!!!💕💕

Characters: Yves Kloss & Chevalier Michel

POV: 1st person (Yves) Genre: Angst

Prompt #1: "What are you waiting for?" "That, I cannot say."

Wordcount: 1047

A/N: This was my reaction when I read the request: 🤩😲😢 Yes, I am aware I went over my own imposed wordcount limit, but shhhhhh....Angst and adventure tied in the poll, so strap your boots for next time!

He will arrive at twilight — the man whose reputation preceded him, yet I only understand fragments. The man who held his quarry captive with silken threads bound by mystique and promises. The man whose name alone evoked despair. Like a pestilence. Like a curse. Like me.

I run my thumbs across the braided handle of the basket in my lap to keep my hands occupied, but my tapping heel ruins all hope of maintaining covertness. The sound ricochets off the crumbling soot-stained walls like crows accosting one another, and though it’s slowly driving me insane, I don’t stop. At the very least, I feel a little less alone.

Aside from my horse, I truly am alone here. I arrived mid-afternoon to scope out the place, though I was ill-prepared for the actual size. The way Clavis described it, the castle ruins were a broken shell of supposed former glory. A motley of derelict pillars and archways encircling rotting rooms picked clean of treasures and life. Yet I could still spot its majestic ramparts on my approach, saluting me as the dying sun pressed me forward.

Clavis said we would meet in the throne room, and even though I could tell where it was the moment I stepped inside, the first room to the right, I saved it for last. I wanted to make sure we would not be interrupted, yes, but more so I was curious to learn of a people who coexisted on a land undivided by borders. My search yielded naught; those bandits left no decrepit corner unsullied.

Sunset blares deceptive crimson through the glassless windows as I wrap my riding cloak more tightly around myself. We are not yet in the thralls of winter. Could I even survive in the land beyond the ruins? I hear my horse whinnying sadly, and I open my basket, produce the sack of sugar cubes, and cross to the exit, still swaddling the cloak around my body. A fresh set of apologies wets my freezing lips as I round the corner to the castle entrance, but both the “sorry”s and my legs stop short when two horses come into view over the threshold. 

I release the cloak and reach for my saber, but I already know it’s too late. The twisted solace I find in the moment is the icy tip on my nape is familiar.

“What are you waiting for?” Chevalier’s voice and his sword release a new chill down my spine that paralyzes me so firmly the sugar sack slips out my grasp. 

“Th-that… I cannot say,” I whisper, my racing heart doing nothing to bring back my senses. I can’t turn to face him, but it doesn’t take a genius to tell he’s not pleased.

“You cannot by choice or coercion?” he growls, pushing the sword harder against my neck, but I know he hasn’t broken skin; I would have felt the warmth of blood.

“Did Clavis tell you?” I ask. Somehow, the thought of Clavis watching, turncoat smirk and all, brings me a sickening sense of comfort. It would mean I’m not alone with Chevalier.

“He didn’t need to,” says Chevalier, maintaining the same pressure on my neck. “You are more aloof than usual, barely speaking at mealtimes and retiring earlier in the evenings. Not a single tea party was held this past week, and you were almost always absent from the kitchens. Sure enough, your horse was missing in the morning.”

I swallow my breath, and it lands in my stomach like a hunk of lead. “You have been watching me?”

“Don’t act so surprised. The movements of every person entering and exiting the palace are under my purview. Especially those who wish not to be seen. Ah —” He lowers his sword, but I am no less tense as he passes me into the throne room. He reappears with the basket, inspecting the contents like he’s just got his hands on a limited edition book series.

“A worthy effort. Though poisons will not suffice on him,” he says, holding a gingersnap biscuit to the horizon.

“They’re not poisoned!” I blurt out, swiping the basket and hugging it to my chest. “You can eat that one to check.”

“Then you do not deny they are meant for someone else?” he says, tossing the cookie at me. I take my time catching and replacing it in the basket to avert my eyes. 

“I will not contradict you, Prince Chevalier,” I say, pretending to rearrange fudge squares, “but this is a matter beyond your purview. Kindly leave.”

“You are aware you speak with the leader of Rhodolite’s foreign affairs faction while standing on the border with our greatest adversary?” His voice is level and without malice, yet my toes still curl reflexively.

“Yes,” I say.

“Then I ask once more, and pray I do not repeat a third time,” he steps directly in front of me. “What are you waiting for?”

I bite my lip to stop my jaw from trembling. My eyes sting with the woes I’ve locked away for decades. The ones Clavis weaseled out of me when he discovered my correspondence last week. The ones I will not compromise even for the Brutal Beast.

I inhale deeply, raise my head, and glare back at Chevalier. “For you to leave… please,” I hastily add on.

He regards me in silence, like a hunter watching a dying animal, contemplating whether it would be kinder to end my misery than watch me suffer.

“He cannot give you what you seek. He was a child himself when she came to Rhodolite,” he says morosely.

I grip the basket so tightly splinters dig into my palms. “Even still, I must know what he can tell me. It is more than you or your books ever could.”

He breaks eye contact first, opening the basket and picking a gingersnap. “I’d like to know, too,” he says, biting down brusquely. He then retrieves the fallen sugar sack and walks off, and I catch my breath as warmth refills my senses.

“What are you waiting for?” he calls to me from the dilapidated doorway. His blade gleams under the rising moon as he produces it once more, and it is only then that I notice the navy tinge of evening has enveloped us all. What he says next makes me immensely relieved I am not alone.

“He is here.”

Mark my words, the day when I properly write Gilbert into a fic is approaching. It's just not today.

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[prpfs]

🌟 FANDOM: Stranger Things

// THE PLOT // imagine supernatural and mythical creatures you hear about in stories, and see in film, actually existed all over the world. beings like vampires, werewolves, witches, fairies, mermaids, and more everywhere you turn. you'd imagine some wouldn't get along with their differences and stereotypes humans have forced them to fit into for thousands of years.

now imagine a small town that didn't believe in those stereotypes. a town where all different kinds of beings coexist and try their best to find understanding. some wouldn't believe in such a city, with the way the world is today.



out in bigger cities it's a fight just to survive, most humans not accepting of other kinds. but if you haven't heard of it, then you've never been to hawkins. the town thrived on their diversity, the way everyone tried their best to get along and understand the others. working together to build a great community and stick together with a world around them that vowed to hate each other. martin brenner saw sight of that, and as a scientist with a curious mind on how he could take advantage of the abilities some of these creatures had -- decided to set a reward. calling any hunters to come to this town and capture creatures he could do studies on. it wasn't his fault he was born unlucky, and he believes anyone should have the right to have the advantage in this world. as of now, friends and family are disappearing without a trace -- and the citizens of hawkins are starting to grow worried something more could be going on. they're not sure what, but they've now started to watch their backs.



this is the end is a supernatural/mythical creature stranger things au where all the characters are different species. it's set in modern time and revolves around the older teens now navigating life as young adults. whether they've found the town for solace, or have been there their whole life. while as well, trying their best to not be a statistic as another creature to go missing from the town. can they figure out the reasonings behind this? or will their small population only grow smaller?

// MORE INFO // we have pre-selected creatures and have created bios for the open characters, this can be changed upon request. for the other roles you will get to decide on the creature, and we will create the bio for you. -tupper box is mandatory (if you're unfamiliar I can teach you!) -members are allowed to play as many characters as they can handle -hunters are npc's unless you would prefer to play your character as one -only accepting the older teens. (fc changes are accepted per admin approval) -OC's are allowed, but need to be run by the admins first. -if interested, please one or both admins on discord! djoekeery and youreonyourownkid. (with the period)

// ORIGINAL CHARACTERS // [TAKEN] chrissy, robin [OPEN] steve, eddie, billy, jonathan, argyle, gareth, vickie, heather, nancy [OTHER CHARACTERS] tommy, carol, jason, barb, eden, etc.

discord: djoekeery/youreonyourownkid.