#even if i have to spend resources to keep that bitch alive

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

generally, I try to avoid spoilers, but I had to know if befriending the owlbear cub was possible and it is and I'm so fricking happy. this is gonna be so fun on my ranger playthrough

[pricegouge]

my memory is so bad so if u’ve done this before just ignore but bear!price taking care of bunny on her period by snacks cuddles & orgasms :] & the sight & taste of her blood on him just makes him go a bit feral. sorry if it’s too weird😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Forgetful fighters unite 👊🏻

Sorry this took so long! Weirdly busy and then it turned out I actually needed this treatment too so uhh… hopefully it's not too late to bring you comfort, but at least it's a long one?

There actually is some of this in the actual fic (ch. 7? I think? Idk, I also forgot.) That being said, let's get you some fruit, bitch.

CW for period sex & oral. Tampon stays in for some of the foreplay, sorry. Pussy slapping, rough sex, breeding kink, light primal play, spit kink, mild dub con, and a spoiler for the main story if you haven't read it yet.

I think this'll have to be pretty early on in their relationship just because I like when Bunny's not used to being spoiled okay bye hope you enjoy :)

You're pretty sure he takes it personally, as if each cycle that passes is a mark against his abilities as both a man and a bear. John had yet to admit it but you knew he wanted to breed you, and every month marked by the arrival of your period meant he'd failed (you weren't even letting him try yet, really); worse, he'd let his mate suffer through another week of ill-designed resource waste.

He told you once he can smell it on you days before it actually started. It was weird, sure, but hard to complain when it always triggered some sort of pseudo-sympathetic response in him. He'd get grouchy because he was ridiculous, but never with you. Instead he spends the days leading up to your period doing some sort of nesting ritual comprised of overstuffing his cabinets with more pads, tampons, and snacks than you'd ever be able to use up in a single cycle. And towels. You're pretty certain no one has ever just happened to own this many towels.

"Maybe we should go back to pretending you don't know what my uterus is up to?" You'd teased him once while helping to unload his latest haul. You couldn't imagine him feeling obliged to buy you super plus overnight pads, an industrial sized bottle of midol, and what seemed to be an entire production run of your favorite Ben & Jerry's flavor was anyway to keep the romance alive after all. 

But John had looked so dejected at your suggestion. "Why? Did I forget something?" 

"Freezer space?" You'd laughed, shaking a bulk box of potato skins at him.

But it was no laughing matter the next day when you felt like you could've eaten him out of house and home if not for how thoroughly he'd prepared. You haven't teased him about it since, too scared to ruin a good thing. 

That doesn't mean you've gotten used to all the ways he likes to spoil you this time of month, though.

John's always so good at taking care of you, it's kind of unfair. You never plan on leaving him but it's times like this - when you've been airheaded and confused all day, snapping at coworkers for no good reason and apologizing minutes later when you realize you were the problem all along; when you let yourself back into his apartment and curl up to rot on the couch, too tired to even make yourself dinner while you wait on John to wrap up at the bar only for him to stumble through the door hours later with a hot to go container of garbage nachos and a paper bag tucked under his arm full of pads and tampons and more snacks than you'd ever be able to eat in your life -.

It's times like this when you realize if you ever do leave him, you'll be totally fucked.

"Is that what's wrong with me today?" you ask, pointing your toe at the haul he's currently unloading onto the counter.

He sniffs the air pointedly just because he knows it'll make you scrunch up your nose in distaste. "Tomorrow morning, I'd say."

You groan as you sit up, preparing yourself for the trek to the kitchen to get sustenance, but John brings you the nachos before you can get much further than the edge of the couch. "Thanks," you mumble as he places them in front of you, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead. 

Or at least he pretends to. When he lingers, mouth moving against your skin, you know he's checking your temp. "You're welcome, honey. How you feeling?"

"Fine. Just tired and kinda airheaded."

"Poor bunny."

You hum in agreement but it turns to pleasure as you open the nachos up and get hit in the face with the smell of pulled pork and melty cheese. It's still hot which means it was the last thing the kitchen made before cleaning, probably kept in the oven even after it had been shut off to help keep it fresh while he ran to the store. Sometimes it makes you want to cry how thoughtful he is, but you ask him if he'd like to share instead. John shakes his head, eyeing the jalapenos warily. You snag one off the top and eat it plain just to show off. It's fresh and crunchy, none of that pickled shit. Delicious. "You still gonna kiss me later?"

Laughing quietly, John pulls you in for a quick, whiskery kiss. "Gonna take more than some greenery to stop me there."

***

Your cramps wake you up earlier than God the next morning. Despite it being only three in the morning, John's awake when you crawl back in bed, holding his arms wide for you to slide between. He could sleep through an earthquake, maybe even a robbery; but he always stirred awake if you left the bed for more than five minutes. 

"Need me, bunny?" 

You do, but you can't admit it yet. "Can you be big spoon?" You ask instead, knowing full well that wasn't quite what he meant.

He knew you knew it too, cocky bastard. Voice too thick to be properly chuffed, he still sounded quite pleased with himself when he rolled you over with a thick, "Of course, honey." 

John always runs at a temperature you're fairly certain should've gotten him admitted to a long term care unit by now, but in the dead of night, when he's all sleep soft and blanket warm, his skin is positively sweltering. He uses it to his advantage now, sealing himself against your achy back and reaching around you to cup what he can of your lower belly in his wide palm, letting you dictate how much pressure he uses. 

"Thanks," you grumble when he gets it just right, and you feel the bristle of his mustache when he smiles against the nape of your neck.

"Whatever you need, sweetheart." 

Whether you admit it or not, he means. 

He's patient enough to wait until you start wiggling in pain. He's not always. Sometimes the pressure of his hands turns groping, or his length grows against your back when he plants his nose to the hollow behind your ear, samples your scent with each breath. He'll tell you you smell good if you're lucky, some variation of 'delicious' if you're not. And now, while his actions are patient, his words aren't. "Smell good enough to eat, bunny."

Heat climbs up your throat, flames your cheeks. The problem is, he means it, and you're never sure what to do with that information.

"Wanna sleep, John," you breathe, lying. He drops it for the night anyway, letting you rest as peacefully as you are able with his body pressed up against your own.

***

He's lazy with you all morning, sitting you between his thick thighs and letting you lean against his chest as he sprawls across the couch. Officially, you're watching a movie together, but John does not seem at all engrossed in it; too busy running his hands up your thighs, middle finger following the seam of your bottoms far too high. It's embarrassing, your paranoia telling you you're leaking, growing damp under his palm. You know that's what he wants, though; wants you soaked, has never been too particular about the details of it.

Well, that's not entirely fair. John loves when you're soaked in blood. 

"Never been one to turn my nose up at a nice juicy rabbit," he'd told you once, and something about his tone made it clear he didn't mean turning you down over something as trivial as blood.

"Should I be worried you're gonna eat me some day?" You'd asked, laugh slightly nervous. 

"Oh, bunny," he'd leered, "I'm gonna eat you now."

It drove him crazy. Made him so hungry for you there were days you wouldn't even get cramps because he wouldn't leave you alone long enough for them to develop. Today wouldn't be one of those days - couldn't be, because he had to work later -, but the way he's actually bothering to take his time, building up your pleasure before he even technically gets his hands on you, you know he's planning on leaving you unwound for hours.

He doesn't bother slipping beneath the hem of your loose bottoms when he does finally give up pretenses, rubbing you through the thin material with the flat of his fingers. You know your concerns were valid when he groans. 

"So wet for me, sweetheart." His hand comes away streaked slightly red, and you only squawk a little when he licks it clean. 

This time he gets his fingers under your hem, eager as they explore your folds, seeking the font at the center of you. He grunts as if in disappointment when he feels the string of your tampon, but then laughs meanly, a low rumble in his chest which spills from him like springtime melt off over the gravel of a dry creek bed.

"Got you this wet even with this thing in, did I?" 

"That's not how it -." 

"No?" His free hand pulls your waist band down to your thighs. He shows you the mess he's made, sticky cum stringing between his fingers where it doesn't quite mix perfectly with the blood that stains his fingers. "What's this, then? Hm?" You feel like you might spontaneously combust when he licks his fingers again, groaning. "Tastes like cum to me." 

"John," you whine, tummy fluttering in a way you're not sure you're completely on board with. 

"You love it," he asserts anyway, and you're in no position to argue when his spit soaked fingers find your clit again.

He never fills you with anything more than you already have, makes you whine your dissatisfaction into the crook of his neck. You cum anyway, pussy throbbing the kind of womb-deep pain that comes easiest this time of month. He slaps you there, after, the sharp jolts making you clenching down hard enough to have your cervix aching deliciously.

When he deems you've had enough time to recover, John orders you bed.

"Gotta…" you point illustratively at the bathroom and he nods once in understanding. 

"Don't bother cleaning up though, only gonna make more of a mess." 

"You're a dog," you tell him, and then very much do clean yourself up, because it's a very heavy flow day and no one needs all that. 

He's still in his sweats when you return to him, lounging across a towel-covered bed. He pouts when he sees you've cleaned up, but is easily soothed with kisses when he pulls you into his lap. You don't bother commenting on his sweats after he leans back and slides you up his belly, encouraging you to grind against the thick thatch of hair there. It's soft, doesn't provide enough friction to do anything other than make you leak all over him. John does not seem sympathetic, too engrossed in the way his hair darkens under your ministrations, gleaming wetly in the sunlight streaming through the window. When his thumb finds your clit, he's rough about it. He holds you in place with his free hand wrapped around to the small of your back, only letting you move enough to keep you rocking against him. He doesn't build up to it, just instantly starts in with the kind of tight, firm circles that make you buck in overstimulation, moaning when you find you have nowhere to go.

"Christ, listen to her." Embarrassment floods you when you realize he's not talking about the pathetic noises falling from your mouth. It's like he's commenting on some particularly nice weather when he continues, "Nothing better than the sound of a bloody, wet cunt."

You cum with a sharp cry when he switches his thumb out for a mean press of two knuckles against you, and it's like he hardly even notices, eyes still latched on where you stain his skin. He doesn't let you ride it out either, drawing his hand away the second he feels your pussy flutter over his belly, clenching around nothing. You watch him lick his fingers clean as he tips you over onto the bed. He doesn't take his eyes from your core when he follows, kneeling between your feet before lowering himself to his belly. 

He looks starved. Looks more bear than man, honestly.

"If you lick your chops I swear I'm kicking you out of bed." 

A single huff of laughter blows across your mons, cool where it meets your soaked skin. John does in fact lick his chops, an aborted little joke he's too focused to fully sell. It makes you squirm, the way he looks at you - a butterfly pinned before it's fully died. Part of you hates how much you love this, still feels dirty whenever you see him bloody down to his chest. Despite his eagerness, there's always a nagging thought at the back of your mind which wonders if he's putting on a show for you, if he feels like he owes you this because it's the best way to make you feel better. The fucking was one thing - half driven insane the way he is each month by the fact you're still not full of his cubs, you suppose the fucking makes sense. Still, there's no way he wants this, surely.

But John never looks more bear-like than he does in these moments, half starved and rabid as he stares down at you like his latest kill, and you know there is simply no faking how much he wants you. 

"Pretty little cunt doesn't know what's good for her, bunny." John's voice is thick and dark as the blood that paints his lips. "Won't take my seed, keeps wasting all your energy on this bloody little cycle." He tuts, hands spreading your thighs so he can better fit between them. "Have to try harder, won't we?" 

He doesn't give you a chance to respond, licking along the crease of your thigh and groaning at the salty mix of sweat and spend. It's all so hot, slick. The rough texture of his tongue barely even noticeable through the juices that coat it when he licks fat stripes across the whole of you. He's sloppy, huffing and groaning into you each time he finds some new reserve of slick hidden within your folds. Usually, John likes to get you sighing in pleasure before he gets his fingers on you like this, but he isn't patient enough today, it seems. After licking you clean, he moves onto your clit and gives it some sweet little kisses that smack horribly, his fingers finding your entrance and drawing out more blood and slick which he doesn't hesitate to lick up as well. 

"Taste so fucking good, bunny," he growls; or at least, you think he does. Hard to be sure, the way he speaks directly to your pussy. When he does draw back to be sure you hear him, his beard is matted and soaked, his eyes wine dark. "Wanna split you open bunny."

You're not sure he means on his cock, but that's what you get anyway. 

John doesn't bother rubbing your slick over him, just pushes his waistband under his balls and lines himself up, sinking to his root with a heavy groan; his head bowed forward like he doesn't have the energy left to support it. It aches but you're powerless to do anything but take it, loving the way he notches against the very end of you, cervix so sore and sensitive he puts you on the knife edge of pain and pleasure without even trying. Your hands grapple up his thick forearms and he finally seems to notice your presence underneath him, lowering himself enough he can lick into your mouth. His mustache is soaked where it presses against you, smell strong enough to flip your tummy a bit. 

John notices. He chuckles, not giving you an inch to breathe. "Rabbits don't like blood, do they?" 

You shake your head, hypocrisy burning your throat at the way you enjoy him eating you out despite the blood when you can't stomach the same. 

"That's right, need your bear to take care of you like this, don't you?" His hips draw back in one smooth motion, accentuate his words when they snap back in.

"Yes, please," you stutter. Worked up and teased as you are, you know you won't last long. 

"Don't worry, bunny. I'll take care of you." He pushes himself back up so he looms over you, forearms flexing under your fingertips. He shakes one of your hands loose, bears his hips into you to support his weight as he brings one hand up to your jaw, fingers staining as he tilts your face just so, hinging your mouth open. "I'll fuck you just like you need, but you're gonna let me use that mouth however I want."

Even his spit is blood stained and pink as he dangles a string of it into your mouth. You whine at the taste when it coats your tongue, rust and salt. Somehow more metallic than even the smell of it. 

A predator sensing weakness, John snarls at your whine, shoves all four of his coated fingers into your mouth while his thumb strokes your jaw, too heavy to be soothing. "Suck," he orders, voice barely human. You wonder how close his other form is to the surface, if the fingers in your mouth will change shape if you can't appease him. Assure him you're his adamantly enough. The thought makes you clench on his cock, sucking the wide breadth of his fingers messily.

"Good rabbit," he growls. He adjusts your hips against his own, sinks impossibly deeper. He barely bothers to pull out when he fucks you, thatch of hair over his cock grinding against your clit as he rocks into you. When he speaks again, you're not certain you're supposed to hear.

"Drive me fucking crazy, bunny. Walking around smelling like my next fucking meal." His hips slap into you, pace increasing but depth never changing. 

You whine around the fingers in your mouth, hands scrambling over his chest, down his belly. You remember how full he'd been after Phil, the way his skin had been drawn so taut. His words should scare you, probably, but his teeth are none too sharp when he sinks them into the fat of your breast. 

"Shit, John," you hiss and he releases your flesh with a slobbery sound.

"Gonna fill you with my cub so I can drink from these too," he promises. You just nod dumbly, the thought of him feeding from you in any way he wanted doing things for you you never thought it would. "Get you full of my cub so you can stop. Fucking. Bleeding all the time," his hips accentuate his words and you groan, fingers finding your clit until he rips his hand from your mouth and slaps you away. Spit soaked, he rubs your clit deliciously, only getting more assertive when your hips fall open for him like a flower in bloom. 

"Dangerous thing, bunny. Blood in the water. He leans over, weight pinning you when he takes your earlobe into his mouth with bloody force. "Tasty little thing, too. Gonna eat you right up," he snarls.

Your orgasm pulls his from him, the two of you moaning into each other's mouths between wet, sloppy licks. It's hard to mind the taste when your whole body is pulsing deliciously, a flood of blood and cum flowing from you when John pulls out. It feels like he's taken a whole day off your period when you see how much of a mess he's made. 

He knows how your head can throb briefly, after coming with his cock lodged in your cervix. John lays you across the pillows while he starts cleaning up, bringing a wet washcloth out to wipe the worst of the mess from you. When you're ready, he joins you in the shower, lathering you both up until the water runs clear. 

"Feeling better, honey?" he asks, nose buried in the crook of your neck. Innocent and sweet, like he didn't just threaten to impregnate and eat you by turns. 

"For now." You're still rubbing soap into his hairy belly absently, so you grope the soft flesh there and laugh when he jolts. "You're not gonna eat me, are you?"

You feel his huff of laughter. He begins to shake his head and then thinks better of it, standing to his full height so he can tower over you when he says, "Depends on how soon you let me put a baby in you."

Next>>

[ddejavvu]

ohh i have SUCH a controversial jennifer jareau opinion. and this is probably gonna be more like an essay. i wish i could say i was sorry.

everyone always says theyre anti jj slander, which is fine ofc, but just weird bc i NEVER see anyone slandering her. in my 3 years in the fandom, ive seen it happen maybe 5 times total, which sucks because she deserves so. much. more. hate.

(spoilers for *that* jeid plotline, as well as some other things)

in season 7, spencer tells her that she has mean girl vibes and she replies "i was a nice girl, especially to guys like you" which ALWAYS pissed me off because she literally just confirmed what he said? and everyone acts like it was a funny joke. she said that shit with her whole chest and meant it, and it wouldnt be *that* big of a deal if it was the only time. but shes consistently mean to him throughout the show, ignoring him, walking away, etc. spencer isnt even the only one shes like this to. and she just has a sense of superiority, idk how to describe it. just by the way she talks and interacts with those around her, you can tell. (while we're on that note, she also ignores her privileged a LOT. maybe not all the time, but theres been multiple times where she acts like she went through hell to get where she is. other than her sister passing, she had it completely easy. in terms of resources, opportunities, etc., she was basically born with a golden spoon in her mouth.)

in s14 when she confesses to spencer that shes always been in love with him, it just makes my blood boil. obviously he had been over her a long time (imo), but that was something she should've kept to herself bc it just brought alllll those feelings back to the surface. not to mention that hes the godfather of her children, and shes married, and will probably (definitely) doesnt know how she feels. thats literally emotional cheating on her part, even though reid didnt reciprocate it, it was still wrong of her to be that close to him without will knowing how she really felt.

there are other things i dont like abt her too, but those are the main things and im trying to keep this as short as possible. but i literally cant stand her, shes by far my least favorite character, and everyone acts like shes an angel sent from heaven, when really shes just a privileged bitch.

i like JJ a lot (i want her to be my mom </3) but i do agree with several of your points - she's definitely not the worst character, each and every character has a list of flaws that we could make, so this by no means makes her the worst, but it does make me angry <3

i just rewatched that 'mean girl' episode!! she doesn't even hesitate before saying 'guys like you', which, you're totally right, means he was right, and she was definitely a mean girl in high school. or even if she didn't say any of it out loud, she was still silently judging 'guys like him' and in high school you can always tells who's silently judging you. they're teenagers. they're not silent about it. the nasty looks they give you?? oh man. but i do think that the blame for ignoring spencer needs to be placed on all of the team members, because they do it all the time too, it's not just her. she has some pretty bad moments with him, but it's definitely something they all do and she shouldn't take the full blame

lmao don't talk about jeid. the writers actually deserve the death penalty for that, god it was so nasty and weird. i know that it was something she confessed in the heat of the moment, like she wasn't sure she was gonna make it out alive and didn't wanna die without saying it but ??? WHY WOULD YOU PUT IT ON HIM TO DIE THREE SECONDS AFTER FINDING OUT ??? like great it's off your chest but now he's gonna spend the (very short) rest of his life thinking about it?? AND THEN THEY DIDN'T EVEN DIE LMFAO SO HE WAS JUST STUCK WITH THAT !! and yeah!! will!! what about will!! or her kids!! it was so... writers i'm watching you...

one scene of hers that really pissed me off was in reid's kidnapping two-parter in s2 (the hankel incident) where she was almost attacked by those rabid (?) dogs and she shot them and she's obviously shaken up and she tries finding reid and realizes what happened and she feels so much guilt for splitting up with him - which was not her fault, she didn't know and should not be held responsible for what happened to him - that she started trying to make other people mad at her?? she cornered derek who was grieving and stressed at the loss of his best friend and they're both sleep deprived and she says something like 'admit it, you hate me, you think it's my fault' AND I???? GIRL. he is being so nice to you?? he was literally like oh honey if you need time off i know you're really shaken up and we can take care of this and and and AND SHE WAS LIKE oH yeah suRe just admit it i'm the worSt everybody hATEs mE- I WAS... this is not about you. go get therapy for the dog attack that you just almost suffered?? do not stand around a crime scene and pester the victim's best friend and delay the investigation because you're feeling guilty. go talk to someone about it. take a few days off. again, i totally get that she was shaken up and hopped up on adrenaline, but everyone told her to go get some rest and she was like no i think i will make myself the problem instead <3

all of that being said i still love her </3 i was not kidding when i say that i wish she was my mom holy shit i would have loved to grow up as her kid but she definitely has her flaws just like the rest of the BAU, and logical, critical breakdowns of a characters flaws aren't slandering, they're analysis, so i think everybody needs to stop shitting on people who criticize or analyze their faves lmao

send me your unpopular fandom opinions

[kexing]

Hi, MJ, just saw your notes about being neurodivergent and mental health and trying, and i just wanted to add to that. I’m not autistic but I’ve been dealing with depression and anxiety since i was a teen and only just recently found out, in my early 40s, that what i thought my whole adult life was just me being LAZY and UNMOTIVATED and GENERALLY BAD AT ADULTING is probably me having executive dysfunction. I mean, i’m still a procrastinator at heart, but when i can’t bring myself to do THE THING even though i know i HAVE TO DO THE THING and every moment i spend NOT DOING THE THING fills me with anxiety? That’s my brain fucking me over.

I’m a public servant and my department has been very big on mental health since COVID and mandatory telework. But the message is always the same : you gotta eat well, sleep well and exercise. Like it’s that easy, like self-care doesn’t take a huge amount of effort when your brain doesn’t want to cooperate. Doing anything is hard for me because i have zero motivation and i can’t relate at all to things like Being Disciplined and Feeling Accomplished. Even things i enjoy! I’m behind on series i want to watch because i just can’t bring myself to press play and sit there and watch. So i rewatch the same series over and over again.

So my self-care is doing my best and trying not to compare myself to others. I get my work done on time (even if sometimes i have to get up earlier because i wasn’t productive the day before), i shower at least twice a week, i eat a vegetable a day. I pay my bills and my taxes. I vote. I’m not a danger to myself and/or to others. I’m alive. I’m alive. So if it takes me a week to unload the dishwasher and to load it up again with the week’s worth of dirty dishes, if i never fold my laundry, if i buy soup instead of cooking for myself, who the fuck cares?

Neurotypicals don’t get it, they don’t understand why we can’t just DO THE THING (like my dad, who loves me very much, but does not understand why i can’t just ‘cheer myself up’ when i ‘feel sad’). They don’t understand that in order to implement the tools (clean eating! sleep! exercise!) that might help us cope we need to have the motivation and the energy and the resources (therapy is fucking expensive!) to even try to make the effort. ‘It’s not that hard’ YES IT FUCKING IS.

So i just wanted to say, i see you, i understand your struggles, they are valid and so are you. I hope the people around you appreciate you and your efforts. I hope YOU appreciate you. Because you rock. Sending you lots of love. 💖

hello friend!!! i feel you. i suffer of severe executive dysfunction and honestly it just keeps getting worse which consequently makes me even more anxious 😩😩

exactly!!! eating well, sleeping well and exercising can definitely help you improve but when your brain simply refuses to do those tasks, it’s hell. and honestly, people who don’t live in a constant fight against their own brains have NO idea how it is. only the ones who know the struggle know what it takes to do the most basic things.

beloved :( i understand your struggles. i know i’m just a stranger running a silly little blog on tumblr dot com but i really do understand. i can motivate myself with fiction sometimes but real life? it’s just not for me and some days i feel so lost and yet so overwhelmed by how lost i feel, that it sends me into deep depressive episodes. i mean, i’m not clinically diagnosed with depression and anxiety but fuck if i haven’t struggled with those bitches my entire life.

(i have been thinking of getting a diagnosis and i thought about asking my dad for some financial help and you know what my mom said to me, “don’t even bother, he thinks you’re faking it”. i mean, not surprised at all but still a little disappointed.)

and you’re doing great!!! read this very carefully: YOU ARE DOING FUCKING AWESOME!!! you’re taking care of yourself and doing things at your own pace and you’re alive and not harming others. that’s just so so so much!!! and i’m proud of you for moving forward despite all the hardships!!!!

oh parents. they might love us but they rarely understand us. and that’s okay i guess. but don’t let that get to you. only YOU know what your brain can and can’t do. it is also NOT your fault that you have limitations, okay?? everyone does!!! we just happen to have more. but you’re not unlovable or a terrible person!!

you’re soooo right!! therapy and diagnoses are ridiculously expensive. at the end of the day, we’re usually alone carrying this massive invisible weight. and nobody can see how hard we try and how much it takes from us!!! sometimes being alive hurts and staying alive is the best we can do but we are still here!! despite everything that nobody gives us credit for. we are still here!!! i still need to work on my self love and acceptance but i don’t take it lightly how much i try to do things and i do appreciate the fact that i’m alive.

thank you SO much for reading my tags, for reaching out and sharing your experiences with me. you are incredible and i wholeheartedly mean this!

i tend to feel very lonely because most people around me don’t really understand me. it’s such an alienating feeling, sometimes it’s like i’m drowning in it. but i also know i’m not the only one who feels like this and your message does comfort me in that way.

so thank you SOOOOO much!!!! sending you lots and lots and lots of love right back!!!! and that you’re able to feel it across the distance between us and have a great week!!!!! ❤️💙

[thebittercorvus]

Content warning: Death. Decay.

His best friend died two weeks ago. He saw it happen.

And he almost convinced himself, that he was having a nightmare.

"--y, and so I went to human resources to complain about Kassandra being a hostile, insufferable creep again but they said I needed to, hear me out, fucking walk it off, and isn't it a bitch that--"

Because you see, it was sudden.

Not that death gives you a warning in writing two weeks prior, stuck in your door like an eviction notice for delayed payments or whatever bullshit the landlord is on about now. Actually scratch that, he's not sure if that'd make things better or worse.

He's not sure if he would've liked to know his friend was going to die. But, saying goodbye one night after making plans to spend sunday watching a series they've been meaning to watch the entire year, just to see him slumped over his desk and without a pulse next morning...

You see, nobody tells you just how heavy ashes can be. Nobody tells you either that in the crematorium, those ovens rarely ever get deep cleaned. He's not sure whose ashes were mixed in that tiny urn he just knew it wasn't just his friend but some strangers' ashes too because there was no space in the local cemetery and who has money for the private cemetery two hours away from the city anyways.

His ashes rested in the river. Lucas dreamed of seeing the world, and that's the closes thing he could get him on a half-a-cent budget.

When he was alive, Lucas was stressed, overworked and underpaid, like most adults his age were. He had a lot on his plate, in the metaphorical sense only, because he hadn't been eating too well. The last time they saw each other, he was complaining about a weird pain in his arm, and a headache that wouldn't go away. Lucas always had a lot on his plate.

The funeral was two weeks ago. He was there. He was the one who scattered the ashes and he has alone for it. He managed to contact a relative who would identify the body, but they didn't stay long after it and they surely didn't want anything to do with funeral arrangements.

Lucas had been dead and gone for two weeks and he was about to write it off as the worst living, walking nightmare he's had in his entire thirty years.

Except, his friend clocked in the exact same hour as every day.

"Yo', Michael, are you listening to me?"

Even though he himself found him without a pulse, slumped over that tiny desk inside that cramped office.

Even though he vividly recalls having to deal with everything Lucas left behind on his own.

He didn't even had the time to process it all.

Yet there he was, walking around as if nothing had happened, looking exhausted yet still with a smile on his face, saying that he'd rest when dead like a cosmic joke at the expense of his sanity... Michael convinced himself that surely, the funeral, those endless days, everything, as unlikely as that might sound, was a horrible dream.

Even though he was the only one there to scatter the ashes.

"No, it's fine, I was listening to you," he said, feeling like he was going to cry all of a sudden. Like he didn't woke up one day to his friend being gone. It had been a nightmare. Surely it was a nightmare. A long, vivid one. "I'm-- I'm glad to see you."

Luke gave him a puzzled look. Most people would. It was a weird choice of words.

"Thank... you? I'm glad too?" he goes, rather awkwardly. "Man, are you alright?"

"Me?"

"Yeah? You look like you just saw a ghost."

He blinked the tears away, and if Lucas noticed something off, he was kind enough to let him be. He usually was.

"Hey, you-- remember that one project that's been keeping you awake at night?" He asks. If it was a nightmare, then Lucas was still working overtime to meet the project deadlines.

If it was all a dream then, on that day, two weeks ago, he last saw Lucas disappear inside his office to dream of never seeing him walk out alive again.

"Remember? Man, I couldn't forget about it if I lobotomized myself," he replies, rubbing his palms against his eyes. "C'mon now I have five minutes while the project manager reviews the damn thing and I'm trying to tell you how Kassandra is going to be the death of me--"

"Let's get out of here," he says all of a sudden.

Lucas stares at him like he's gone mad.

And maybe he did.

"Mike, dude, are you alright?"

"If I say no, will you come with me?"

"What? Seriously man, you're scaring me. Is everything alright? Did your... did your dad call or something?" he whispers the last part. "You need like. A interbrontion?"

"Stop trying to make interbrontion a thing, it's not gonna happen," he says out of pure reflex. "I'm fine," he lies, "I just... Y'know, you never know when shit's gonna happen. The project will still be there tomorrow. But, today? Today we might just see the cutest dog, and it might not be there tomorrow. Let's just see a movie. Walk downtown 'till three in the morning. Punch a nazi in the face. Let's be like, teens again, walking around the city."

"Dude, we grew up in suburbia."

"I'm not hearing a no!"

"... Man, I don't know, Johnson's been on my ass about finishing this damn thing," Lucas replies, a bit unsure about the whole thing. "What about I drop by your place after I finish this? I have a coupon for chinese takeaway that hasn't expired yet..." A non expired coupon from this man? Unbelievable. "I think." Hah, there it is.

"Y'know, never have I seen Johnson leave a second after four o'clock, while you pull all-nighters eight days a week," he insists, crossing his arms across his chest. In his dream, Johnson denied him paid leave in order to take care of his friend's fucking funeral. He's still pissed about it, and it's also a thing real-Johnson would do. "If he's got a problem he can go ahead and try and fire you."

"You know I can't really afford to be unemployed right now... And I mean, we're all pretty replaceable in life in general--"

"Not to me," he interrupts. "You're. Definitely not replaceable. Not to me."

Man that dream got me fucked up, alright.

"... Seriously man, are you alright?"

... But it had been so real.

***

It took some convincing and a little bit of crying, but in the end he convinced Lucas to leave. He doesn't usually cry, only when in the middle of a mental breakdown or right after eating a really, really good soup, none of which he's had in a while. Maybe they should eat soup, he's sure he can get away with shoplifting two cans of soup still. Who's gonna catch him, the soup police?

So they go see a movie. The tickets are unnecesarily expensive-- for a man that just shoplifted soup-- and the popcorn tastes like cardboard and the movie itself sucks so much they end up dubbing it over with an immensely funnier version in whispers.

They uh, got kicked out of the theater for that one. Even though the place was near empty on accounts of it being a monday.

After that he insists on walking, even though the place he lives is on the other side of town, and Lucas agrees because he's a saint of a man that worries too much for his neurotic friend to say no. They do see plenty of cute dogs willing to get their ears scratched, and plenty of equally cute cats who were not so willing to get their ears scratched.

And it was... Nice.

Maybe that dream was trying to tell him something. Like, appreciate more the friends you've got. Specially the ones that try and make words like interbrontion happen.

"Mike, whatever it is... You know I'm not going anywhere, right? You know that. You have to know that," Lucas insists, after they reach the dead-end alley where the narrow steps of his apartment complex is located.

Michael shrugs. "Dunno. You can't take things for granted."

"Whatever it is, you can tell me, y'know?"

"It's alright, it was..." A very vivid nightmare? In which you died of a heart attack and I was left alone to take care of everything, but it's okay now because you're most definitely not dead. I'm sure someone on the human resources department would've noticed a dead man walking, they don't want to have to pay more people than they absolutely are obligated to. "Uh, my dad did call," he lies instead. "He um, wanted me to lend him some money again." Yeah no way in hell I'm explaining that one.

He sees his friends face go red in a blink.

"THAT MOTHERFUCKER!" He shouts. "I KNEW IT! That ASSHOLE! That's it! I'm getting a fucking plane ticket to Bumfuck No-fucking-where to set his motherfucking SUV on FIRE! Give me his number he's going to hear of me again."

Have you ever had prophetic dreams?

"C'mon now relax, he didn't even say anything--"

"I'm going to murder that backstabbing miserable attempt of a man, I don't give a shit if he calls me the wrong thing he's going to fucking meet Lucas and my fists will meet his fucking sad pathetic fac--"

Or perhaps, a dream so, so likely that when it ends up occurring in real life, you can't help the deja-vú.

Perhaps that had been death, sticking the eviction notice to the wrong door.

"Lucas?" He begins, seeing him get paler by the second. It's only now that he notices, the way his breath comes in short. Like he just ran a marathon, even though they were walking just fine a few minutes ago. They were just talking a second ago. "Lucas!"

"No, no, I just need to-- need to sit down, fuck--"

It happens in slow motion.

It happens in a split of a second.

It happens slowly, suddenly, all at once.

"No, no, nonononononono, wake up, wake up!" he cries once his friend collapses. He never learnt how to properly reanimate anybody. He doesn't know how to do chest compressions, nor has the strenght to keep a heart beating. He's regretting not learning it. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

Through blurred eyes he sees his friend take a breath and then, it stops. His head is spinning.

This can't be real. This can't be real. This can't be-

***

"--Really, and so I went to human resources to complain about Kassandra being a hostile, insufferable creep again but they said I needed to, hear me out, fucking walk it off, and isn't it a bitch that--"

He startled awake, suddenly back inside his cubicle while everyone else worked. Lucas had walked in, in the middle of a short break while his project was being reviewed.

He's fairly certain, he just had lived through this morning for the third time.

"What day is it?" He asks abruptly, because this just can't be.

Lucas stops mid-sentence, and looks at him, extremely confused. "... Uh, monday?"

There's no way.

"But it can't be monday," he says, getting up immediately. Nobody in the entire floor seem to even care about the sudden raise of his voice. Now that he thinks about it, last time nobody even gave a fuck that they walked out. Usually he can't even go to the bathroom more than twice or some manager somehow finds out.

"Well, it oftentimes comes riiiight after a sunday, unless I missed the latest update," Lucas replies with an easygoing smile. "Are you alright?"

No. "Yes?" Definitely maybe. "I just. I need to see something."

He starts running then, and takes notice of just how nobody seems to give a crap about it. Usually they're sligthly more attentive to the world around their cubicles, at least just enough to catch some gossip, like Michael from the third floor making a run to the fire exit like a madman.

And then he's outside, and the world stares back. The kiosk in the corner has newspapers, and they're all dated to a monday. The news channel reads monday. The vietnamese restaurant across the street has a special offer for mondays and the coffee shop right besides it has a handmade chalk sign that reads "Marvelous Mondays!"

And he's seen enough movies to know exactly what's wrong.

"-ke, MIKE!" He finally hears the shouting coming from behind him. "THERE YOU ARE YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT! WHAT IN THE ACTUAL--"

"We're repeating the day of your death, and you're going to die today at around eleven of a heart attack," he says quickly, because he hasn't learned enough from those movies. He hates them, as a matter of fact.

"... Hey did you read my search history or something to prank me, that's not cool dude," he replies instead. "But thanks for reminding me I have to update my passwords."

"Coolio69420 has been your password since we were fucking twelve anyways-- wait a minute, search history?" Lucas at the very least has the decency to look away. "YOU KNOW YOU'RE HAVING SYMPTOMS YOU IDIOT!"

"Yeah, well, I don't have hospital money."

"And I don't have funeral money!" He goes off, angry and relieved, and grabs him by the arm to drag him to the nearest emergency room. "C'mon! We're splitting the bill, I'm taking out a loan, whatever!"

"Dude this is not a dinner--"

"I don't give a shit if I go bankrupt, I'm not seeing you die for the third time!"

And he's not entirely sure how or why, but Lucas, stubborn asshole he's always been, agrees to it.

***

They save him, although it was a close call, and he gets to have a headache about the bill on the way home with his very much alive friend walking besides him.

"That was scary, you say you kept having dreams about me dying?" Lucas asks in between sips of water. "That's horror story levels of creepy."

"Yeah, well, but it worked and now you're alive."

"And you're bankrupt."

"But you're alive," he insists, like nothing else could matter in the world. Nothing does, as a matter of fact.

"... Dude that's kinda gay."

He punches him in the arm. Ligthly. "Friends don't let friends die of prophetized heart failures!"

"That's a brand new sentence," Lucas laughs.

The light at the crosswalk turns green. It's a bit of a long way home but for the life of him, he can't remember where he parked his bike and he's fairly certain he left his wallet in his desk. He wants to have faith but he know of an asshole or two that will undoubtelly just take whatever little money he's got left.

"Hey, you said the dreams were super realistic, right?" He hears Lucas ask besides him. They're still crossing. It feels like the crosswalk was...

Weirdly infinite.

"Yeah, why?"

He hears Lucas stop besides him. Which is weird, in the middle of a busy crosswalk, with cars and people around them. Usually the city is extremely noisy.

When he looks back, Lucas simply is standing. Somehow, he's in the middle of the street, while he's on the other sidewalk waiting.

"Lucas?"

"Say, Mike," he hears him say, like a whisper from somewhere beyond. "You'd know, if this were a dream, right?"

For a moment, it feels as if the world stills for a second.

Then he blinks, and it's over. There's music coming out of a cornershop, and a group of girls are trying to record a dance video in front of a flower shop. The cars are honking impatiently at the stoplights that are taking way too long to turn green again.

Michael smiles at him, extending his hand so his friend will just hurry up and meet him on the other side.

"I'm sure I would've noticed by now," he replies.

Lucas lets out a sigh, relaxing visibly, and continues walking.

The light turns green.

***

"--She doesn't need to hide behind religion to be a phobic piece of shit, really, and so I went to human resources to complain about Kassandra being a hostile, insufferable creep again but they said I needed to, hear me out, fucking walk it off, and isn't it a bitch that--"

He gets up so fast, the chair falls to the ground. The sound echoes in the otherwise silent office, and nobody even looks up from their computers to ask him to kindly shut the hell up.

"It's monday," he says, stricken by horror.

"... Yeah?" Lucas replies, looking more and more concerned by the second. "Mike?"

This can't be, he thinks desperately, making a run to the stairs. The elevator's been broken since the last week and only now they're trying to fix it. Many people has complained about accesibility issues, and the only thing the company offered was a work from home option for them while the elevator was being repaired. There were notices everywhere that the repairs would be done on monday and when he walks by it, sure there are they working on it.

But he doesn't dwell in there.

Instead he runs to the fifth floor, to an office he's got a key of even though he absolutely should not, but does anyways because Lucas more often than not forgets about his, and walks by a couple of people that should, by all means, wonder what the hell is some dude from the third floor doing in there uninvited.

He was so happy about seeing his friend again, that he didn't notice just how... irresponsive the rest of the world became.

The door is jammed. It usually is, that's not a big revelation. They've complained a lot to get it fixed and yet the best they could give Lucas was some oil to mantain it himself. He's since then told everyone that it was a fire hazard and the department simply told him to work with his door open if it bothered him that much. He's been meaning to buy a new lock himself for months now.

Then his friend died, and it didn't matter that much anymore.

And when the door finally opens...

"No, no, this can't be, I just saw you. You were-- you were just talking with me, you're fine!"

Just to find a decaying corpse, slumped over a desk.

"Wake up!" He cries, even though there's maggots eating off his flesh and flies everywhere. It's impressive nobody had issued a complaint for the smell. "Wake up! Wake up!"

"Lucas?"

And then he turns around. And sees...

Himself.

From two weeks ago, when he first found him. In that dream... Or, what he thought had been one anyways.

"Hey, I've told you not to sleep in here how many times now?" He hears himself saying, like in that first dream. He steps aside, and sees a spitting image of himself, another Michael, walk closer to a corpse that now looks fresh instead of decaying. Almost alive. "C'mon now, I brought you breakfast. Lucas. Hey, Lucas!"

It all plays out exactly like the first time.

"Dude stop this, it's not funny," he hears his own voice waver again. He sees himself walk closer. Closer. And put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

He sees again, the body fall off and roll over.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

"HELP!" He hears himself say, for what feels like the millionth time now. "SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

"Have you learned your lesson yet?"

The world around him disappears, as soon as he turns around.

There's only himself and the fresh corpse of his friend and, across the void, something that looks like Lucas, walks like Lucas, know things only Lucas would know.

But isn't. His. Friend.

"Who are you?" He asks. "Why are you doing this to me!?"

It smiles at him. The smile resembles his friend too, but only on surface level. There's a glimpse of red in its eyes, that he never noticed before.

"I recall you saying, as you scattered his ashes on that smelly river, that you'd trade your soul just to have him back for a day," the thing says. "Perhaps you should be careful when you speak with a dead man's ashes on your hands, who knows what wicked things are listening."

"Take me back to my world," he cries, kneeling still next to his dead friend. Just like he remembered him. "I can't see-- I don't want to keep having to see him die. This is not what I meant. I wanted him alive again, not-- not having to see him die every day for the rest of eternity!"

"See, that's why you usually word your wishes more carefully my man," the thing says, reappearing by his side.

Up close, it doesn't look nothing like Lucas. Just like a walking corpse, wearing the skin of a man he knew like the back of his hand.

"I don't want this wish," Michael repeats. "I-- I have pets, that I need to take care of, my tortoise. I need to go back."

"Sorry, no refunds," the wicked thing says, smiling with far too many teeth.

"Then I want to change my wish."

"Aw, but I don't think I can do that you see, it's a soul we're speaking of. Valuable things. I sell them, I know what I'm telling you," it says. "But go ahead, let's see what can I do for you."

Michael swallows dry.

He had to try, at the very least.

"My place for his," he says, and the thing's eyes seem to shine brigther. "I-- I will take his place. Just. One last day is what I'm asking you. Let him live, and take me instead."

The thing smiles. It's almost kind, so much that for a moment, he convinces himself it's his friend smiling to him again.

"Did he ever knew?" It asks him.

"... What?"

"Oh, nevermind, I don't think you're even aware of it yourself," it says, getting up and walking away. "A shame. Anyways."

"Wait!"

"One day is all you're getting my dear, pathetic friend," he hears the thing say. "Others have traded their souls for money and youth. Wisdom. Power."

"I just..." he begins, unable to explain himself to the thing across him. It smiles back, knowingly. "I didn't even got to say goodbye."

"Oh, don't you worry," it says, and the world begins to fade in front of his eyes.

"You better wake up, it'll be late for work."

***

He's not entirely sure yet why he left himself be convinced by Michael to just leave work early and go walk around, but he still did it and the thirty messages on his phone from Johnson are there to remind him it's not always the best idea to let Michael have his way all the time.

Should've told him no. But by god, that dog we saw on the way home was so cute.

He was just looking at the picture the dog owner took of the two of them-- a very kind lady that really tried her best to give her number to Mike, just to have the endearingly, annoyingly oblivious man talk about the dog nonstop for ten minutes. He was also adamant that the two of them appeared in the picture with the dog, even though Lucas' never liked pictures.

But these turned out alright. He might just misuse the office supplies to print them.

"I completely forgot to tell you yesterday, you were in such a hurry, remember Kassandra right?" he says, walking inside the office Mike works in, just to find his cubicle empty. "Huh."

"He didn't arrive today," he heard Hera say, the person working just opposide of Mike's desk. "No notice, no anything."

"That's weird, I saw him yesterday," Lucas says, and they just shrug.

"Hangover?" Hera asks.

"He's on recovery," Lucas shoots back, almost offended.

"Sorry, had no clue. He never talks about his personal life," they say. "Try to call him, but I've been trying all morning and it just rings."

"That's 'cause he keeps his phone on silence," he mutters to himself, but still grabs his phone to give it a try.

He sees the contact. It reads that last time he was online was just this morning.

The last message he received from him was just a short goodnight, after Lucas sent him the dog pictures.

... He can't seem to shake off the bad feeling.

And, almost on cue, his phone starts ringing.

"Should've tried to find you sooner, I knew he would reply to you," Hera says, a bit teasing. "I mean I also pick up when my friends call me--"

"It's not him," he says, afraid, reading the name on the caller id.

They look up at last.

"It's his landlord."

***

He couldn't get there fast enough.

They found him on the bathroom floor.

"This has to be a joke," he says, looking at the body hidden under a white sheet. "You-- I saw you yesterday. Get up man, this isn't funny."

"Sir, we need a family member or a spouse to identify the body," he hears someone say.

"Well there's only me, is that not good enough?" He snaps back.

"Are you a spouse?"

"No."

"Sibling? Cousin?"

"He's the boyfriend," he hears the old landlord say.

"We're just friends," Lucas insists.

The man in front of him gives him a look.

"Listen, it might be easier to handle the paperwork if you say you're the boyfriend," he explains. "Not that it will be any easy. Are you sure there are no living relatives? We couldn't get a hold of anybody."

He remembers an old white man with his unkept beard and red hat and unnecesarily enormous SUV and the belt he would always carry around like a whip and use as such more often than not.

"There's nobody but me," he replies, resolute.

The man doesn't look convinced, but doesn't press either. "Alright then. I'll give you a form, make sure to explain you're the boyfriend--"

"We're not--!"

"--'cause if you don't young man, the hospital will just keep his body for research, and I don't know 'bout your or his beliefs but unless he specifically asked for it to be this way, that's not a way to go."

Then he's left in an empty room, with a nervous tortoise walking around and a form to fill.

He saw Mike, just the day before.

"For fucks sake."

He needs a walk.

***

There's way too many people by the river for him to yell. He joked often, that if he were to day, Mike should just scatter his ashes there and see where the wind takes him. He's always wanted to see the world, but never had the money for anything more than a trip to the bay two hours away every other summer.

He took Shelly with him, because now the tortoise would have to live with him and his cat. Mike would do the same if something were to happen to him.

His friend is dead.

His friend is... dead.

"God dammit," he whispers, and sits just behind the railing, trying not to cry and failing to do so.

He's not sure how long it took or just how many people walked by. He can't be the only person in this god forsaken city who just got the worst news of his entire life.

... He didn't even got to say goodbye.

"Life's cruel, ain't it?" He hears someone besides him say.

When he looks up, a woman is smoking besides him. She looks at the river, and blows out the smoke. A gust of wind takes it away.

"Want one?" She offers.

"I hate that brand," Lucas replies.

"More for me then."

He keeps sobbing for a while longer, while the woman goes through her entire pack. And then, opens a new one.

"What would you do, just for a chance to see a loved one, just one more time?" He asks after a moment.

"Don't got one of those," she replies. "But I'd do just about anything to scratch my dog's ears one last time."

"What happened to them?"

"Got ran over by a car."

"Sorry," he says.

"'s fine."

There's more silence after that.

"Right now, I'd just sell my soul," he mutters. The woman stares. "If such things exist."

"Oh, they do. I've heard they're expensive, even," she says.

"Expensive enough to bring a man back to life?" He jokes.

She grins at him.

And, maybe it was just a car passing by, an illusion created by the traffic and his own exhausted mind.

He could've sworn, her eyes just flashed red.

"I'm sure I can work out a deal for you, dear Lucas."

Your friend always said “I’ll rest when I’m dead,” so much that it became his catchphrase. He says it again today when he came into work, going about his daily routine. This normally wouldn’t be concerning, if not for the fact that you attended his funeral two weeks ago.

[casspurrjoybell-22]

Master - Chapter 1a

*Warning - Adult Content*   

I let my eyes open, tired with the faint slumber I'd allowed myself for a few months. 

If I fell any deeper, I'd miss a couple of decades.

Not that it mattered but I preferred to keep myself aware. 

It'd be a bitch to wake up and find myself chained down with little humans pricking at me, again.

That was probably the one fear which all vampires shared, falling too deep into a slumber, only waking to find you'd missed a couple of centuries. 

Time was the most valuable resource for vampires. 

Extending it for as long as possible was all that really mattered. 

I didn't really care. 

I was stuck on this earth whether I liked it or not. 

I didn't even have the luxury of falling that deep into slumber.

I wish I had the luxury. 

I'd never wake up.

I didn't bother trying to convince myself to get out of bed. 

There was nothing waiting for me out there. 

I had no duties, no tasks to complete, no one to hunt - I already killed those I needed to. 

There was nothing to do. 

So instead of doing something so useless as leaving my bed, I rolled over and picked up my phone.

Vampires were without a doubt, the most 'normal' species in the supernatural world. 

We didn't chant weird spells or turn into beasts during the night, spend our lives haunting others or pursuing a disturbing deep connection with nature. 

Out of all the various species that'd spawned over the generations, vampires were the closest thing to humans. 

Probably because the majority of us were desperate to be human again.

I couldn't relate to that want, that incessant need to be something I once was like the rest of my kind did.

I didn't remember what it felt like and naturally didn't crave it. It helped that I naturally despised the unknown, I had no cravings to explore that side of life or pretend to encompass it. 

Only the foolish pursued such fantasies, the foolish and the hopeless.

The only reason I was involved in this new world's creation known as social media, was to keep myself up to date with the world. 

I couldn't expect to survive in it if I didn't understand it. 

So I spend a good set of hours familiarizing myself with the world I'd awoken to. 

New presidents, more death, more chaos - no surprise there. 

Then I stumbled upon this thing called 'memes'. 

Turns out memes are the humans' greatest invention since porn. 

I pull the sheets from my body, deciding a bath wouldn't be so bad but quickly develop a frown when I place my feet down in a thin layer of dust. 

My eyes dart around the space to find all furnishing coated in a similar layer that represented the world that had continued to move one without me. 

I itch at my brain, trying to remember the last time I gave this place a good cleaning but that seemed to be an inaccessible time frame.

I hate cleaning more than I hate breathing. 

Accepting the cold of the cracking tiles, I make my way across the fractured flooring into the large bathroom which was just as dusty, with cobwebs creeping from corners. 

I already hated this bathroom for being entirely black, now I just hated it more for being dirty. 

It should've been white.

I take my time rinsing the bath, cleaning it thoroughly before filling the large tub with cold water. 

I strip myself of my worn clothes before letting myself sink in. 

Releasing a strained sigh as my ancient veins sizzle momentarily from the crisp touch of the water. 

Though I hated to admit it, any way to feel alive, even for a nanosecond, was worth it.

I may not truly be dead but it sure as hell felt like it.

After scrubbing myself clean, I climb out of the tub and dry quickly before dressing myself in only a pair of loose, grey sweatpants.

After letting myself soak in the wintry chill of my own thoughts, I clean myself up and slip off the first pair of pants I find. 

With that, I leave my bedroom and make my way through my vacant castle. 

It was just as dusty and just as dirty as the room I inhabited. 

I was the only one who lived in this fortress and didn't have a single servant to clean it for me. 

I, unlike all vampires, hated the concept of servants and slaves.

Any vamps who had even a shrivel of power immediately surrounded themselves with as many slaves and servants as they possibly could. 

Slaves who they beat, overworked and fucked when they wished.

‘It was fucking atrocious.’

I refused to own anyone, refused to indulge in the disgusting practice. 

I'd experienced what it felt like to be in chains, to have no control over your actions and to be treated as nothing more but a scrap of shit. 

I wouldn't condemn anyone to that fate, never. 

I'd never force someone to spend their entire life doing my bidding. 

It repulsed me to alter someone's life so much. 

So I lived my life alone. 

In a fragile state of peace which was the best, I could achieve.

Like it always had, it took a good ten minutes of walking before I even approached the stairs which lead to the basement. 

Of course, I could get here much faster if I wanted to but it made the minutes of these long days multiply and I truly adored anything which made the time go faster.

Despite this, I release a tired sigh, eyes lazily staring down into the darkest part of my abode. 

Taking one step at a time, I trudge down the never ending spiraling staircase until I myself am consumed by the darkness itself.

I ignore the forgotten slave cells and haunted torture chambers, which remained untouched as they'd always been and head straight for the enormous cooler in the back. 

Lifting the top, I stare down at the seemingly endless encasement of blood bags, pleased to find that Wequie had kept things rolling.

After years and years of hunting for my meals, I'd grown tired of feeding on humans. 

It was tiring and boring, it always ended the same way anyway, took the fun straight out of it. 

Instead, I consumed my blood in the least vile way. 

Blood bags. 

Their packaging had changed over the centuries, the most revolting being the actual head of the carrier. 

It'd be sliced from the neck and everything inside cleared out only to be refilled with the owner's blood.

That was a phase of my species that I did not enjoy.

I grab an O-Negative as an effort to spice things up, I hadn't had this one in a while so why not live on the wild side. 

I take a few more to last the day before making my way back to my room.

The gleam of sunshine invades my vision, slowing my haste steps in surprise. 

The small flicker of sunlight brushes my skin and took the breath from my lips. 

I hadn't seen sunshine in years and I almost missed it feeling it against my skin now. 

I stop myself and take a tentative step back, my eyes closing to soak in the little brush of the sun.

I approach the glass wall which I had assumed to be entirely covered by vegetation but apparently wasn't quite. 

I walk a bit closer until my eyes are a few inches from the small hole created by the gap of rapacious vines that covered the entire castle, revealing a small glimpse of what lay outside the castle.

It was dark, like always. 

But there were little shrieks of sunlight which rained down from above to help my natural eyesight revealing the acres and acres of forest which somehow found a way of growing despite the fact that I was several feet underground. 

I'd always chalked it up as an effect of the witch who inhabited these lands before me. 

I challenge myself to think of the last time I went outside, outside the castle or into the sun. 

Decades at this point, I had a slightly, useful supplier for my blood and anything which interested me. 

I hadn't felt the sun in years and I hadn't seen my overgrown land for even longer. 

The fact disturbed a part of me.

Brushing off the odd feeling, I continue my familiar path back to my bedroom. 

It took just as long but I didn't mind much with the taste of blood on my tongue and a faint feeling of the sun still on my skin. 

My feet stop me when I find my door slightly open. 

My fangs immediately descend as I step inside. 

I always close the doors behind me. 

Always.

I enter the room with movements gentler than a wandering spirit, shutting the door behind me to trap myself inside with my intruder. 

Prey got skittish in closed spaced which made it all the more exciting. 

With my sensitive ears on alert and my fangs completely elongated, I step further into the room. 

It'd been a while since I had my last kill. 

‘This could be fun.’

[alyjojo]

The Person On Your Mind in June 🥂 2023 - Scorpio

Whole of their energy towards Scorpio: Death

Feelings: The Tower rev

Intentions: Ace of Cups rev

Actions: 9 Wands

It’s not what you want to hear 😕 They’re definitely done, and there are 4 Sagittarius cards here, I felt that energy deeply, before even shuffling. This isn’t the most sensitive & emotionally feely kind of person, which ultimately is at least slightly more on your level, being water. Sag is a typically lighthearted, philosophical, wayyy laid back, not super serious, fun & casual kind of an energy. Scorpio is typically a brooding, very serious, darker sort of funny, instigative of reactions, motive digging, reading the subtext in a room kind of energy. Sag is like what is subtext, I said what I said. Rude or not, don’t care. So while signs next to each other DO often get along well, there are also major differences. Sag energy seems to best describe them. If they’re not, it’s just showing how they act.

I’m definitely seeing this person get involved initially, keeping it casual and leaving it in 2 Swords energy like “we’ll see”. Some kind of conflict occurred where they saw 5 Swords from you, which can be scathing communication, insults, mind games, instigative behavior or trying to prove a point, that kinda thing. They saw this from you and immediately turned the other way, abandoning the connection altogether, possibly ghosting as well, because Death is clarified by 7 Swords, avoiding you 💯 They feel they dodged a bullet they saw coming.

They intend on this being a missed opportunity or unrequited, your side does show more interest than theirs, and they do seem to know they’re liable to hurt you. They intend to break up, or end this, if they haven’t already. Their actions match, they know whatever they say is going to hurt you, because I do get a feeling they’ve tried to think of how best to word things. But in their mind, and vibe, they’re just flat out done.

Messages:

Their side:

- I just want to be alone.

- Going in different directions.

Your side:

- You make me feel ALIVE! ☀️

- I don’t want anyone else.

Possible signs:

Scorpio, Aquarius & Sagittarius

If you’re dealing with:

5 Cups, Strength, & King of Cups rev is your own energy from a sad and disappointed perspective. It could be because of this person, or any of these people & situations. It seems like you’re going through a very difficult time right now with your people and I’m sending you a lot of love 💗 You’re trying so hard to keep hold of your emotions, trying (unsuccessfully) to hold them in, so they don’t release everywhere…like giant biblical levels of emotional flood waters. But that shows just how deeply you’re disappointed, and focused on what you don’t have, what’s ended, or has been lost. So, I’m going to point out the most *positive* people here, so you can spend more time around those that lift you up. Sending you big hugs, I’m sorry you’re feeling this way.

Aries - a person in charge that you think is kind of a dick, could play mind games or be narcissistic with some power they have or feel they have over you…definitely avoid this one 💯

Taurus - could be a friend - a good one, someone you gossip with at work/in a group

Gemini - heartbroken by whatever has happened between you & still carrying that weight with them

Cancer - obsessed with you and will stop at nothing to get you, even lying and telling you whatever you want to hear, be careful 😬

Leo - doesn’t understand what the hold up is, wants to celebrate or reunite with you

Virgo - could be literally moving, relocating, moving from one situation to another successfully, overcoming something and feeling good about it

Libra - a boss bitch that makes decent money, has a decent job, and is very generous with their resources, or you both are together

Scorpio - either planning to take the relationship to the next level, or apologizing because they love you, a very good relationship

Sagittarius - not speaking & doesn’t want to

Capricorn - a missed opportunity for romance, clarifying has some of this reading’s energy, could be this person, it’s not a mutual thing it’s just them

Aquarius - defensive over this person in the reading probably, if you’re giving that person another chance, they seem to love you in a tough love or “fk that bitch” sort of way…but supportive 😆

Pisces - cut you off because you’re too slow and they’re better than that, or switch it

[fandomvariousness]

Pairing: Levi x reader

Warnings: mild angst, violence, swearing, smut: slight dacryphilia, choking, slight masochism, slight dumbification, power play, unprotected sex

Summary: you’re an untruly scout in Levi’s squad and he let’s you know exactly how he feels when he pays you a visit during your punishment task

Word count: 3.6k

All hell broke loose if it was one of the worse days.

Your hot-headed disposition was a challenge to deal with in the first place, but if you felt a tad annoyed that day… Let’s just say punishments were as natural to you as breathing air.

It took slightest things to piss off Captain Levi – an irritated glance after he scolded you, a quiet remark you’d use to talk back and he, of course, would hear it. Simply put – you were disobedient. Yet even then you were an indispensable soldier – resourceful, intelligent, and absolutely fearless. Much like a wildfire – once you blaze, it’s hard to put you out.

Even so, Captain Levi eventually chose you to be a part of his new squad. Yes, he never encountered such an erratic human being that’s basically impossible to control, the traits that go against his every bullet point in describing a proper soldier, but he knew he would be an absolute fool if he’d go that massive potential of yours go to waste.

Countless times he wanted to kick you off the squad for being an unbearable brat, yet he didn’t. Often, you yourself wondered why.

✃

The squad has been on a minor expedition outside the walls for training purposes, so all of you were headed to the nearest cottage safe house.

After a tiring day of training, when the sun was setting down, you were all sitting outside, enjoying the last remnants of warmth in the air. Captain was sauntering inside the cottage, probably inspecting each crack and crevice after you all spend the first half of the day cleaning it.

It would be such a nice evening if Eren and Mikasa would argue a bit quieter. In fact, Mikasa was calmly saying something to Eren, while the latter, being basically as hot-headed as you, was arguing against her every word.

It pissed you off when they were like that, because it’s obvious Mikasa would do anything for Eren. Either he is so daft and doesn’t get it, or he doesn’t care. You never admitted to yourself that you’re jealous that Eren has someone who cares for him, while you have no one. Not even your family which was once very big – you had lots of cousins, aunts and uncles. Now, only you remain.

“Oi,” you exclaimed. “could you just tone it down a bit?”

Eren’s fiery gaze snapped towards you in a second. “Stay out of this!”

Now, you knew it’s none of your business, but you hated being talked to like that, much less ordered. You stood up in a swift motion from where you were leaning against a bench and turned your body to face Eren.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve no interest in what you’re crying about, Jaeger, but you’re not even listening to Mikasa, that much is obvious.”

Others were starting to pay attention too – they knew that when the two of you started bickering, often it’d turn into something more… interesting.

“You know what else is obvious?” he asked, his voice challenging. “That you act all brave and fearless, but in reality you’re just a restless child acting as if she lost her dummy!”

You felt that familiar tickling feeling of your temper rising, firing you up until you eventually lose yourself and act upon instincts that keep you alive and going.

You chuckled curtly. “Me? You’re calling me a child?”

Tauntingly, you’ve stepped closer to him. Eren knew that it’s not smart to wind you up like that, you’re still friends, good friends – it just so happened that you’re both in a bad mood today.

“At least I can wipe my own ass without Mikasa’s help.” you finished your sentence just before Eren grabbed a fistful of your collar and roughly pulled you flush against him, both of your impulsive auras conflicting with each other.

You growled as you pushed him away in a swift, forceful motion, earning a murderous glare from him.

It took so little to get you angry. Even though you pushed him away, that unruly part of yours stepped close to him again as you dug your forefinger in his chest in a threatening manner.

“Don’t touch me, you, whiny bitch,” you spat out, your voice dripping with venom – you were already blazing, and there was no going back.

Eren slapped your hand away. “Who you’re calling a whiny bitch? I wasn’t the one who cried into the pillow for two weeks after driving Reiner and Bertholdt away!”

Now, you can be reckless, wild, fiery… But Eren can be cruel.

The reason you were so devastated after finding out your two best friends were your mortal enemies was because with them you felt like you’ve had family again – both of them reminded you of your older brothers. You shared your feelings with Eren in confidence, and he just blurted it out in front of everyone.

“Fuck it,” you thought as you launched a punch at his face with a primal scream.

By now the others knew not to interfere in your fights, not even Mikasa. God knows they tried, and it made it even worse.

Eren fell to the ground with a hard thud before you quickly straddled him and lifted up your bent hand to launch another punch at his bloody nose.

The bastard was quick to react nevertheless as he met your fist with his palm and squeezed it, slapping you off of him with his free hand in a swift motion. The second your own body collided with the grass you were already scrambling with your hands and feet to get up.

As you turned to Eren with the intention to ram him to the ground again, he was already on his legs as well. The others were still shouting for you two to break it up, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before Captain Levi shows up.

Not thinking straight, you did exactly what you wanted, you launched yourself at him and picked him like a flower stem, both of you flying to the ground again, followed by a sickening thump.

Your vision was getting blurry from all the rage and adrenaline as you lifted up your fist, charged with savage energy, ready to collide with Eren’s already battered face, yet it never happened. It never happened because someone else was gripping your wrist so hard, almost stopping the blood flow.

You snapped your head back to see murderous look in Captain’s gray eyes.

Still gripping your wrist, he jerked you back like a rag doll, painfully sending you to the ground, away from Eren.

It fell so quiet you could hear the clouds passing.

Levi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I will kill both of you.”

“Right,” he continued. “when everyone’s going to sleep after this long, tiring day, you brats are going to sweep this house clean again. I don’t care how long it takes you. Eren takes right wing, Y/N takes left.”

He glared daggers at the two of you before going back to the cottage, just like that. It was actually worse when he didn’t say much – means he’s absolutely sick of you.

Still breathing heavily, you stood up, leaning on your knees with your palms for support.

“Shit, guys,” Jean muttered. “Shall we say our goodbyes now, or...?”

“Jean.” Mikasa snapped, shutting him up.

You glared at Eren who glared right back at you, although his eyes were already void of the rage that was previously residing in them.

You looked away without a word and made your way towards the cottage, wanting to wipe all the dirt and soot away.

✃

You stared at your distraught face in the mirror. Distraught by the fight you had with Eren, and by the fact that you got on Captain’s nerves again. How longer can you go on like this before he finally kicks you out?

You wiped your wet face with a towel as you heard someone come into the bathroom. Mikasa’s frame showed up in the mirror.

“Mikasa,” you spoke without hesitation as you turned around. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

Mikasa shook her head sheepishly. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. You’re the most caring person I know and I used that to shame Eren, although there’s no shame in caring for your loved ones.”

Mikasa blushed as she set her eyes to the ground. “Everyone’s going to sleep already – you better hurry.”

“Right,” you sighed, feeling the jitters of anticipation.

You quit the bathroom and made your way to the cleaning cupboard to grab all sorts of supplies. At least the Captain was nowhere to be seen – you couldn’t bear his condemning gaze now. Not when you secretly always yearn for his approval.

You can’t help but stare at him a second longer than you should, or think about him when you shouldn’t. The fact that he hasn’t kicked you off of his squad gives you some material for thinking that maybe he simply doesn’t want to. There’s just something about him that makes you tense everytime you’re around him – not the dread everyone feels, but something else entirely, something that makes your stomach tingle.

You just finished cleaning all the dishes after dinner and was now sweeping the floor that was still clean after your cleaning tasks earlier in the day. That was the point of the punishment, you figured – clean the surroundings that are already clean, only to frustrate you.

You were kind of spacing out, the flashbacks of the fight with Eren coming back, rekindling the violent blaze within you. Everything was suddenly in your head again, pushing you to the edge. You closed your eyes and exhaled through your nose as you stopped momentarily, letting go of the broom and trying to forget how Eren just blurted out about your sorrows, how Captain glared at you, how everyone got to witness you getting unhinged again.

Hot flashes hit your body as you blew the stray ringlet of hair from your forehead, leaning on the dining table with your palms, desperately trying to calm down.

“Who told you to stop?”

Oh no… Really not the time.

You needed a few more seconds to stop the shivers as you opened your eyes and straightened your frame, facing Captain Levi, who was leaning against the counter.

It was precisely those few extra seconds that displeased him.

“Tsk,” he spat out as he straightened his frame. “Not only you’re deranged, but lazy too.”

You faced him with as blank a face as you could possibly muster, yet all your feelings were bubbling up, threatening to spill out with a little more provocation. You never wanted to rip off someone’s head so bad, until now.

You didn’t realize you’d squeezed your eyes shut until they suddenly opened with the sound of hard crash – Levi had purposely smashed a ceramic cup to the ground, shattering it to pieces.

You set your mad eyes on him, disbelief written all over you.

“Clean it.” he ordered. “Or are you going to disobey me again?”

You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you sure it was bleeding, breathing heavily, restraining yourself like never before in order not to pounce on him.

Instead, you repeatedly bit your lower lip as you felt your eyes watering. It’s better to cry yourself stupid before him than to actually hit him – then everything would definitely be over.

He stepped closer to you, your clothes almost brushing together, as he looked down on you with clear disgust, and… satisfaction?

You were so angry. He tried to demean you just now, and you were under immense pressure to actually pick those pieces up. You knew you had to, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

You gulped. “You’re abusing your power.”

“No,” he closed in on you, making you step backwards until the back of your thighs hit the table. “I’m establishing my power, since you clearly don’t recognize it.”

He leaned his palms on the table just like you did moments ago, trapping you. Your heart was palpitating against your ribcage, yet for reasons entirely different than rage.

All of those glances and pushes and punishments now made sense – that was the only way he could think of to interact with you with no suspicion from others. He’d often chide you for the stupidest things, just so he’d have the chance to have a conversation with you, no matter how fleeting or unimportant.

Deep down you always knew it, and that’s why you’re continued being such a burden. Just so that he’d look at you and punish you again, scream at you, or kick the shit out of you again.

The atmosphere in the room has changed radically. You felt like walking on a string, about to fall off as his face was hovering just above yours, torturing you with anticipation.

“You wanted to beat the shit out of me just now, didn’t you?” he quizzed while slowly tracing your features with his stony gaze. Instead of answering, you gulped.

He grabbed your face harshly, puckering up your lips in the process. “Speak.”

“Yes.” you admitted before his hand slid down to lightly hang at the base of your neck, igniting whole another fire within you.

“Yes what?” he asked, adding pressure to his hand.

“Yes, Captain.”

At this rate, you’re going to burn out.

He chuckled quietly through his nose and stood up straight. “Go on, then. I’m ordering you to slap me.”

It was as if you just turned into a statue – that’s how shocked you were. “W-What?” you asked sheepishly.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

You stared at him, trying to see him and his intentions through. Obviously, things were finally getting spicy, but your defense mechanism still rang some alarm bells – is he trying to trick you into something? Are you really going to bitch-slap the humanity’s strongest?

You felt your palms starting to tingle as he stared right into your eyes, challenging you to do it.

And you’re gonna do it, alright.

Something just snapped inside you, as it always does before you do something stupid or something you’re going to regret. You charged your palm with strength before sending it flying across his cheek with all your might. You whimpered as your skin came in contact with his, setting your palm on fire from such a harsh stroke.

And then it dawned on you – you really did bitch-slap him. He even stumbled one step backwards, his head ominously turned to the side, crow-black hair shielding his eyes from your vision, what absolutely terrified you.

He straightened his frame as he wiped a droplet of blood from his lip with the tip of his thumb.

You gasped audibly, making him look at you.

That’s it, you thought, he has a perfect reason to kill you now, and you were stupid enough to fall for it. You closed your eyes and awaited whatever’s to come, and it did come.

His lips came crashing on yours, both of you stumbling backwards, moving the table a bit. He immediately yanked you to sit on the wooden surface, positioning himself between your thighs as you held onto him for dear life.

He devoured you with hungry, open-mouthed kisses before you bit his lower lip, drawing blood once more.

One of his hands that were digging into your hips came in contact with your neck, squeezing it hard and pushing you away so he could see your hazy face.

“Savage.” he muttered after a few moments of taking you in, making your mouth stretch out into a lazy smile.

He pushed himself to you further, making your back hit the table as he attached his lips just below your neck, where jaw transitions to neck, coaxing a mewl out of you. He coaxed another when he rutted his hips against yours, making you aware of the growing tent in his pants.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, eyes closed as he sucked and bit little marks all over your neck. Hiding them is going to be a problem.

You took his face in your hands and kissed him deeply, rolling your hips against his in a tantalizing motion, whimpering at how his hardness brushes against where you need him the most, feeling him exhale into your mouth as his mind was equally clouded.

It felt like everything was finally coming to be exactly as it should, like you’d finally be released from your misery, like the intentions behind each of your actions would finally be clear, without any misunderstandings.

You were both impatient. No time for thorough build up, you just wanted to feel him inside you, just as he wanted to fill you up.

He drew back a bit, restrained by your legs snaking his waist as he rested his forehead against yours, panting heavily. “I’d really like to fuck you now.”

The fact that after all the crazy shit you’ve been through today he’d still ask for consent made you give it all to him. “Only if you do it so hard I can’t walk for days.”

You felt his dick twitch. “Easy.”

You yelped as he flipped you around, fumbling with the hem of your pants as he pushed them down to your knees, along with your underwear. You shivered as cool air hit your slick folds, and once again when you heard Levi fumbling with his own belt.

You wiggled your hips against him, impatient, almost crying out – you needed him that bad. His palm came flying against your behind, making you yelp loudly, gripping the edge of the table as you’re all sprawled out on top of it.

You whimpered again as you felt him brush the tip of his dick teasingly against your entrance. “Please, Captain…”

“So impatient,” he muttered silently before ramming into you without any warning.

Your nails dug into the wooden edge as you cried out into the air, holding on for dear life as he slammed you, table legs creaking underneath you rhythmically.

Levi had a perfect view of you as he rutted against you – the way your ass bounced flush against his hip, your arm muscles straining as you gripped the edge of the table harder and harder, the way the strands of your hair flew up and down with each motion, and how helplessly you squealed each time his tip hit your cervix – all of that sent him insane, unable to stop the silent whimpers that came out from his own mouth.

He had to restrain himself from going too fast – that’s how eager he was to finally sprawl you under him, after all this time you drove him out of his mind with your unstable behavior, hatred-driven glances and disobedience.

“Yes, yes, love it,” you wailed incoherently.

“Of course you do,” he huffed just before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head backwards, stars spilling out of your head.

The way his dick breached you was literally driving you crazy – it was like a perfect fit, slipping soundly against your walls and hitting all the right spots at exactly the right time. Your cunt clenched around him on its own, making him groan at your artfulness. His fingers dug into the plush of your backside, thrusting into you without any mercy.

The coil in your stomach was getting tighter and tighter, your brain short-circuiting each time you heard Levi groan, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin ringing against the walls.

“Oh, God,” you cried out as your bliss was rapidly closing in on you.

“No,” Levi countered as he pressed his back flush against yours, brushing his lips against your ear. “just me.”

His head hung down, burying itself in the crook of your neck as he finally spilt his seed inside of you with a low groan that sent you to your own release. You cried out as he panted heavily against your skin, your body slumping on the table completely.

You had to muster up the remaining grain of your strength when Levi stood up and pulled his pants on so you could to the same with your own. Your breathing was still erratic as you fumbled with the pair of strings in the hem of your pants, trying to tie them. Levi approached you and lightly swatted your trembling hands away, tying them for you.

You were lost in his gray eyes by now, not even knowing what to say at first, but this silence that ensued was kind of comforting, both of you assessing the situation.

He chuckled suddenly. “Why did you beat the shit out of Jaeger in the first place?”

You smiled awkwardly as you shook your head curtly, gluing your eyes to the ground. “Doesn’t matter. Stupid thing, really.”

“Alright.” he said, his voice low, as usual. “You can tell me all about it next time.”

His words made you look at him again, eyebrows slightly lifted, eyes full of sudden anticipation.

Next time?

You were kind of scared at the thought of getting together with Captain again, but you felt excited way more.

“Oh, and like I said,” he paused before leaving the room completely. “clean it.”

You remembered the shattered cup and this time failed to refrain a smirk that creeped upon your lips.

“Yes, Captain.”

He left after that, but you swear you saw a ghost of a smile on those harsh lips.

[lucifers-favorite-pen]

How The Obey Me Brothers Would Do in a “The Forest” AU

Fandom: Obey me

Pairings: None

Warnings: Swearing, idiocy, mild gore

The Forest was just released for the new Oculus headset, and Levi could NOT pass up this opportunity. However, it’s just his luck he got his hands on a cursed copy of the game, and ended up sucking the House of Lamentation into the game! Here’s how our favorite boys faired in the universe of “The Forest”

Lucifer:

Is pissed.

Bitches about it heavily

Is irritated that he has to find and wrangle a digital son now as well as his siblings. 

Would definitely help everyone else build a little shelter before nightfall, but would be grumbling about how much work he has to do at home and how far behind this would put him. 

Doesn’t let MC lift a finger and is 100% a mother hen the whole time. 

Seems inconvenienced by the whole cannibal thing, until he realizes magic doesn’t exist here and he has to use his melee fighting skills to kill them. Skills that are a little rusty...

Teams up with Beel to be the camp dads and take care of everyone

Super paranoid about the stability of the walls and the house at the beginning

Dies from eating a poisonous berry. He didn’t know he could be affected by poison in this game.

Over all, does his best to keep everyone alive, and feels really bad when someone dies. 

No longer feels bad when he learns that the worst thing that happens is you lose all your stuff and you respawn. 

A solid 7/10 job. Probably dies a few times due to someone else being an idiot, but is a pretty good survivalist when push comes to shove. 

Mammon:

Is also pissed

He was in the middle of counting the grimm from his latest modeling gig when he was sucked into the game.

Bitches and moans with/at Lucifer, but tries to build and maintain a shelter.

Who’s Timmy?

I don’t think crows exist in the game, but seagulls do and they all land on his fingers and he makes friends with them.

Is very upset when one of his brothers kills a bird for food or to simply carry around its head as a trophy. 

Sees cannibals and tries to trade with them with the grimm he has in his pockets.

Dies on sight.

Now when he sees or hears cannibals he screams and cowers behind MC 

When they go away or the screaming stops, he stands up straight and dusts off his jacket “Psh, I wasn’t afraid! I was trying to comfort you from behind! YOU were the one afraid”

After a while in the game, he gets his shit together and honestly kinda kills it. 

This is the avatar of greed, you know he is going to gather and horde so many valuable resources and then guard them with his life. 

“Mammon I’m hurt please stop hissing at me and let me have the medicine bottle”

*hiss* “You can have ONE pill and ONE pill only”

Over all, the definition of “They had us in the first half ngl”

8/10 for managing the group’s food and resource stores so well and only dying a fuck ton of times. 

Levi

...oops?

Feels quite guilty, but is also secretly pumped to immerse himself in the game.

Was extremely skilled at this game IRL and tries to explain how it works to everyone else, but they’re all so pissed and no one’s listening.

“That’s fine, who would want to listen to a yucky otaku like me anyway!” 

Magic doesn’t exist here, but that doesn’t stop Levi from yeeting himself into the ocean and turning into a giant sea monster while his brothers complete the game. 

They don’t want his help? They don’t want to know that the cannibals can’t swim and that they’ll be safer if they build a boat and live in a boathouse on the water? Fine. Then Perish <3

That goes for Timmy too, fuck that kid. 

Doesn’t want MC to suffer tho, so he’ll kill a few sharks and throw them up over the wall with his tail. (I’m assuming that if the game is released for Oculus Rift that they will get their shit together and also make sharks edible)

Is having a grand time taking over the ocean. 

Will sometimes go to shore to visit MC. Everyone is confused as to where he has been and how he is thriving. He just smiles and jumps back in the water.

10/10 strats. Never once dies. Tells everyone what they were doing wrong and how they could have had it easier when they beat the game and are back IRL out of spite.

Satan

Angy

Is throwing things in their spots while building the shelter, but is still helping

Spawns in with the book he was reading in his hand.

That book is eventually stolen from his grasp in the night and used as kindling for the fire.

Lucifer explains that if he didn’t steal his book they all would have died. 

Satan does not give a fuck

“Use the kid’s stupid fucking drawings you dipshit!”

“I can’t they’re story items!”

Goes on a rampage and kills so many deer, effectively feeding the group for a week.  

Sees the cannibals for the first time and thinks “same” 

Pretty good fighter and pretty resourceful when it comes to making armor and weapons. 

Outfits MC with the all of his prototypes and tells them to go run at a tree

“How do you feel, MC?”

“Like I ran at a tree with a deer skin on my chest”

“Interesting”

Very upset at the whole no magic thing, but will work with it.

Over all, 7/10 job. Dies a couple times from cannibals and the other monsters, but makes it to the end.

Asmo

Oh dear. 

Oh dear this sweet summer child. 

“Why are we looking for this child when he’s so ugly?”

Is distraught and so very upset this is happening to him. Cries variations of “woe is me” for the first five hours of game play

Does not help build a shelter

Does not help gather food and resources

Does not help period. Only whines. 

Sees cannibals sprinting and jumping towards the shelter and pushes Lucifer in front of him

“Take him! I’m too pretty to die!”

“HEY!”

What follows after the first three days is a slow decent into madness. 

Ends up butt ass naked for the majority of the game because the clothes he spawned in with were ripped to shreds and “No animal skin clothing in this world is good enough to adorn my perfect body”

Starts speaking to the animals and becomes friends with all of them like a Disney Princess. 

The animals come to his aid when he lets out a specific shriek that calls them to his side.

Spends his time weaving flower crowns for MC, his brothers, and his animal friends. 

Everyone knows he’s snapped when Beel brings back the dead body of a cannibal and Asmo dips his dirty little finger into an open wound and wipes the blood on his lips. 

“I just love this shade! Don’t you?” 

5/10 job. Dies multiple times from trying to befriend hostile animals, but also has an army of woodland creatures at his disposal by the end of the game.

Beel

Bro you know this mans is about to make this game his bitch

Spawns in with a cheeseburger.

Eats the cheeseburger.

“I have a son?”

“I HAVE A SON :D”

“Where is my son?”

Honestly the thought of Beel in this game is so sexy like I’m simping so hard rn 

Grab your water skins and buckle up bc it’s about to get thirsty up in here y’all

A shirt? Beel doesn’t know what those are anymore

He crafts one of those shoulder harnesses out of hide and bone and sticks a bone shiv thing on the forearm 

Don’t mess with this demon when his dinner and his family is on the line.

Is not afraid of anything except the death of his loved ones.

Cannibals? Nah, dinner.

Other monsters? Nah, dinner. 

Full shirtless lumberjack mode with Lucifer, and later Mammon, when cutting down trees in the forest. MC is drooling. 

Definitely makes a game out of how many trees they can all chop down before giving up.

Plays knuckle bones with Belphie and MC using real knuckle bones. 

Doesn’t want to share his food with the others but will if they didn’t get anything to eat that day. 

Chef Beel. That’s it that’s the post. 

10/10 job. Only dies once throwing his body over Belphie’s sleeping one to save him. 

Get’s annoyed when he finds out Belphie was fake sleeping

Very sexy. Would watch. 

Belphie

Nah dude no thanks 

Alexa play “Wake Me Up When September Ends”

Alexa play “Billie Jean”

“And the kid is not my son”

Get’s so fucking pissed when he finds out he can’t sleep without everyone else deciding to sleep too so he just lays down with his eyes closed and hopes for the best.

Doesn’t help with anything unless someone asks him to

Even then he’ll roll his eyes like brat and slowly do it

An actual sloth

No like he clings to MC and Beel like a sleepy sloth 100% of the time

He can’t find any cows and is sad so he settles for the local deer instead. 

Fake sleeps through most of the whole thing, paying monster and cannibals alike absolutely no mind. Beel will take care of it.

Freaks the fuck out when Beel dies on top of him and goes into a rage and kills everything in sight. 

Very sweet reunion when he realizes that they just respawn.

No longer pays death any mind and continues fake sleeping. 

0/10. Virtually useless. 

Masterpost

[quidfree]

prompt: tdbk in a post-apocalyptic setting (HEHEH)

self-servicing AND a helping hand to a friend in need, we love a good strat

this got incredibly out of hand but i hope you enjoy!!

--

it’s been two months and five days since he last saw someone that katsuki lays eyes on him. two months and five days, and yes, he is fucking keeping score, why wouldn’t he be?

two months and five days is long. two months and five days is long enough that he’s taken up the habit of muttering to himself to fill the air, because dead silence makes him paranoid, always expecting sudden interruption, and he chooses to ignore the fact that muttering to himself is a quirk he might have picked up elsewhere. jesus. if deku, scrawny and asthmatic and perennially, psychotically self-sacrificing, is somehow still alive, he thinks he might be glad to see him again, just out of sheer disbelief.

there’s other people he’d be glad to see. perfect timing, for the zombie apocalypse to erupt right when he’d been on a summer internship in tokyo. to think the old crone had been bitching about it before he’d left- don’t get mugged on the underground, all that shit. like he was some hare-brained tourist. like people didn’t expect him to mug them. whatever. he thinks his parents are safer, out in a smaller city, than anyone has been in tokyo, tells himself it’s not blind hope that makes him explain the radio silence away. it’s statistics, and the geography of the outbreak, and the memory of his mother beating a would-be pickpocket over the head with her shoe until he passed out.

six months ago he’d first walked into his cramped rental flat in tokyo, barely the space to unroll his mat. six days later the pandemic had begun. slowly, first, confusingly, two weeks of shadowing jeanist to court and back while the news got increasingly weirder, and then by the third things took a turn for the fucked, and his parents were calling frantically telling him to come home stat, but by then it was too late. tokyo’s the new york of japan- in sci-fi movies it’s always struck first. the city was on lockdown before he could so much as book a flight out.

that was five months ago. by four and a half his phone carrier service had gone dead.

he doesn’t like to linger on anything, but he especially doesn’t like to linger on what happened between the start and the middle of it, the slow descent from incomprehending disbelief into hell on earth. he doesn’t throw the term around- not one for flowery prose. for the first while there’d been something almost rewarding to it, the whole survival strategy, him and the interns and lawyers at jeanist’s office taking scope of their resources and planning their ways out. now it’s been two months and five days since he’s run into anyone alive, he fails to see the bright side.

the media called them the infected, or the walkers, or some other dumb shit, but everyone knows they’re zombies. it’s some kind of chemical weapon- americans, if you ask him- that’s mutated them, but they’re zombies by anyone’s definition. lumbering, decaying, dead, very keen on extending the invitation. the first time he’d seen one up close- whatever. he’d killed it. he’s killed so many by now he’s lost count, and that’s not an exaggeration. these days he’s not so big on those.

the office had been overrun, in the end. some of the other interns, panicking. bitten. dead. jeanist had held them off while katsuki dragged hysterical staffers out of the window, and the last he’s seen of the man he was catching his unflappable gaze as the doors burst open and jeanist slammed the window shut.

they’d scattered. maybe he would have stayed on, tried the group thing out of a sense of responsibility alone, but there were too many subgroups for him to rotate around. he’d split off, eventually, cut his losses. sometimes he catches someone he recognises walking the streets, wonders when and how and what. he’s still never seen jeanist. he thinks probably he offed himself.

if it ever comes to it that’s what he’s doing. he has a gun ready for it. one bullet. in the apartment he’d stayed in for a while, some forensic doctor’s place, he’d studied the angle that worked best. straight through the temples, angled down.

then there had been that thing with the league. he doesn’t want to think about that, but he does, constantly, because that’s how he knows. two months and five days. the last person he spoke to was that fucking girl.

like zombies weren’t enough- criminals who fancy themselves cultists roam the streets in packs. it’s like every shitty blockbuster movie he’s never bothered to see packed into one.

two months. five days. there’s no way of communicating with the outside world. after he’d shaken off the league he’d had jack shit on him- lost his bag in the initial fight, and his apartment was a lost cause. in the end he’d made his way back to the firm, but that had been a literal dead end too. he’d managed to retrieve, of all things, his phone, skirting the streets around the firm, probably dropped in their original escape. it’s functionally useless but he’s managed to charge it once or twice, stare at old photos and texts that fail to send. he has nothing else of his own except the clothes he’d worn that last day with jeanist.

he’s remade his belongings, obviously. he’s competent, as it turns out, in apocalypses. somehow it doesn’t surprise him. he works out a routine. when he’d first found a hole to burrow himself in post-league he’d spent days just picking up patterns- when, who, from where, how. once he was entirely sure he’d gotten it down to a science he’d risked it back out, mapping the area out incrementally, one rotation at a time. two months and five days in he has it down to an art instead.

he moved regularly for the first month post-league, avoiding anywhere that seemed inhabited by zombies and people alike. can’t trust anyone, and besides it’s way too much of a liability having other people around to get themselves bitten. he can look after himself, but he’s not signing up for charity work. by the second month he’d found his current address, the top floor of a mid-rise apartment complex in meguro city. apartment complexes are risky, but this one’s door locks are still functional, and once he’d cleared out the ground floor and made the rounds to check for stragglers he’d wagered it about as secure as it could get. the stairs are a bitch, but the zombies don’t like them either, preferring to straggle in lobbies, and for another thing the height is convenient. the roof’s close by for a way out, and it gives him a good view of the surroundings.

the apartment itself is nothing special. residential. he picked the cleanest one, which also meant the one half-moved out in a hurry. he pretends like he thinks the owners got out but he spotted a suitcase with their name abandoned in the elevator. the guy was a teacher at the university. the woman was in sales. it’s decent for a tokyo flat, two bedrooms, a bathroom, good kitchen, nice living area. the fridge had been full of expired goods, but the shelves had some cans in them- soup, rice, beans. pots and pans. he’s been working through the floors of the place one room at a time taking inventory, lugging the useful shit back up. nothing beyond the strictly practical- he takes food, medecine, clothes, someone’s watch once, binoculars. he’s not making a home for himself, just stocking up. he sleeps with his bag on his back, the essentials locked and loaded. the gun was an apartment find too.

his biggest problem is transport. he recognised this early on, because so could anyone with half a brain. tokyo’s teeming with public transports overrun by the undead, cars abandoned on the streets, but the actual streets are packed day in and day out. whatever movie said zombies hate the sun was full of shit, because as far as he can tell the only time they actually react to the weather is when it rains. all night and day they’re shuffling in tireless motions around the city, gaining numbers. there’s a rhythm to it, sure- they’re more sluggish at night- but it’s an incessant flow. he can’t drive a car, has found no convenient manual stored nearby, and google went and croaked on him when the electricity did, so there’s no way he can just take advantage of a lull and jump in. by the time he’s figured out how to get any given vehicle to start he’ll be surrounded. even if he could find a way in, there’s no way out- driving through streets packed with zombies is a doomed exercise, especially given that half of the cars in the city are busted or low on fuel.

his current plan involves boats. he’s not sure if zombies can swim yet, but they don’t like the rain so he’s betting no, and even if they do they’d fare no better than a human at climbing a boat from the waters below it. if he can make it to tokyo bay somehow- at least off the coast there’ll be room to manoeuvre. but he needs to figure out the basics of ship-operating first, and also to relocate his supplies nearer to the bay somehow. if he ends up on the open seas he’ll need the food to last him the journey.

so he’s been doing this. rounds, collecting shit. taking inventory. scoping the streets out. he spends the nights planning, the early mornings reading. there’s no power in the building. it’s freezing. six months since his internship, winter rolling in. if he gets to tokyo bay the waters will be frigid, but the sea doesn’t freeze over.

his biggest concern at the moment is hypothermia, if he’s being honest. he’s collected every fucking duvet in the building, it feels like, but there’s only so much he can bury himself under. he’d be warmer if he didn’t insist on bathing in melted snow, but he went so long without washing in autumn that he fucking refuses to waste the opportunity. he smells like some ridiculous apple berry blast bullshit because he’s cycling through shampoos, but sometimes he thinks he’s only sane when he’s brushing his teeth in the mornings so he’s not about to let up on the hygiene.

three and a half months ago he was meant to be back at school. he has no idea what’s happened to his classmates. most of them were home for the summer. he thinks yaoyorozu was abroad. lucky her. kirishima was the last he heard from, all suppressed terror, and even now it makes him feel sick to think about it, because he knows full well the asshole was scared for him. sometimes he thinks about what it would have been like facing this shit as a group, but he never dwells on it. he’s better off alone.

he’s cold. he’s tired. he needs to get to the nearest library, because no one in the building has shit about boats. he doesn’t want to leave the building yet, but he needs a book. can’t go into this shit blind, not without knowing what he’ll need once he gets there. and besides he needs to stay sharp on the streets- get back into the swing of it, literally. one month since he moved in and he’s barely seen a zombie in the rotting flesh. the doors have been holding up, and he’s far up enough that none of the regulars outside can smell him, decide to unionize and break the door down.

he’s had an assortment of weapons, since the start of this. most effective was the gun, also a heavy chair once. his trusty hockey stick had snapped on his way into the building, a month ago, leaving him to fend the last three tenants off with goldfish bowls and doors to the neck. he’s found a sturdy baseball bat since that he’s claimed as new weapon of choice, though never used. he takes this, when he goes. the bat, the backpack that never leaves his back, the longest coat he can find in his collection. not the heaviest, despite the biting cold, because that restrains movement, but the longest, to minimize contact. hat and gloves for the same reason. balaklava just for the cold.

the apartment is empty as he winds his way down, footsteps loud, and it’s dusk- just late enough that the zombies are slower, though not late enough that it really makes a difference. it’s be too dark if it were; he’s trying to save flashlights for real emergencies.

the setagaya library is the only actual library near him, as the maps inform him, but too far to risk. in the address book he finds a local bookshop three blocks away, and it’s there that he heads, already cold to the bone as he grits his teeth and locks the complex door assiduously behind him. there are zombies just across the street beginning to moan in his direction. he ignores them, breaking into a jog.

maybe because their blood doesn’t flow to their brains, maybe because their muscles are deteriorating: zombies aren’t incredibly fast or incredibly intelligent. what they are is resilient, and single-minded. but outrun them and outsmart them he can, and so he does- runs the paths he’s memorized, sticks to corners and shadows and scales ladders and crosses rooftops and just about manages to get to the street in question without even having to swing his bat.

once he gets there, though, he gets swinging. the bookshop is in an unfortunate position, and there’s an entire group parked in front of it. he lets them spot him first, so they break off in his direction, then climbs onto the overturned truck they’ve shifted to and springs back down into the doorframe of the bookshop, kicking the door in before they can register his itinerary. he slams it shut just before a greying hand scratches at it in outrage, heart pounding a steady tattoo, then glances around rapidly. no sign of life, but that means nothing.

there is, then, an unmistakable jingling sound from the very back corner of the room, behind rows and rows of antique-looking books. keys, or metal on metal. movement.

company, katsuki thinks, between anticipation and trepidation. his bat sits comfortably in his hands as he raises it.

jingling, closer, and he moves in on instinct, breathing feeling loud as he brushes past the anthropology section. he can just about see around the corner when a sudden sixth sense makes him whip around, bat swinging down heavily, and just in the nick of time- wood connects with metal, hard, knocking him back a pace as his teeth snap together from the impact, but he’s swinging again in self-defense just as there’s a sharp intake of breath and his brain catches up- red, white, painfully familiar. the bat makes an aborted spasm.

“bakugou,” shouto todoroki says, in disbelieving tones, crowbar lowered but not dropped. katsuki gapes.

“am i fucking hallucinating?”

the crowbar lowers further.

it is him, unmistakably. maybe with someone else he would have hesitated longer, but todoroki's hard not to single out. his red-white hair is tousled, long behind his ears like he's absently tucked it and forgotten about it, and he's grimy, smells sour and dusty, but it's him. katsuki's own hands stay gripped around the bat, their gazes playing some odd symmetrical game as they catalogue each other for the same exact thing- looking for bite-marks. todoroki's less covered than katsuki is, but there's blood on him, old, dried. too old for recent bites, anyways. inconclusive.

"what are you doing in-" todoroki starts, maybe having concluded that there's no way to assess his status with the layers he has on, but then his frown twists. "oh. your internship?"

which answers katsuki's own question, sort of, because now that he thinks of it enji was on that high-profile murder case in the high court. still- still, his brain is stuck on the incongruity of it, shouto todoroki in the apparently living flesh, and it's been two months and five days. he just keeps staring.

"i came for a book," is what leaves his lips, eventually, rough, and his voice sounds hoarse with disuse. it jars him into action, moving past todoroki on auto-pilot, because somehow he can't quite register his presence, doesn't know where to begin. he wasn't factoring this into his day.

it's dark inside, books hard to discern, so he gets his flashlight out, hits it against a shelf so it alights. there's a section on travel near the back. nautical travels of the eastern seas. useless. a map book of the japanese seas- maybe. he mechanically slides it into his bag. his fingers feel rigid. he's still cold. what the fuck is shouto todoroki doing holed up in a bookstore? where is his father? how long has he been here? what is he doing, alive, talking, walking, in the apocalypse, ambling into katsuki's routine with a crowbar in hand?

he can't see or hear him at all. now he's back here he can tell the ringing was rigged up- tiny trap-wires set around the store, what looks like fishing wire with bells attached. smart. of course it is. he's losing his mind. where has the bastard gone? is he even here? it's fucking freezing in the bookstore. where does he sleep? he hadn't looked starving. actually he hadn't looked anything- just blank as usual, barring the surprise. fuck! he's been staring at the same book for a good thirty seconds without registering the title.

beginner's guide to boating. miraculous. he nearly breaks todoroki's kneecaps when he sees his legs appear silently next to him.

"fuck! don't sneak up on me, you asshole!"

"boats," todoroki says. "that's your plan?"

it makes him flare hot with something like rage, because he doesn't fucking want input on it, doesn't want to be told odds, and it has him on his feet, slamming todoroki back into the opposite bookshelf within seconds.

"mind your own damn business!"

todoroki seems mildly startled at best, shifting a little so a book isn't digging into his neck, and for a moment katsuki is distracted by the scalding warmth of him under his arm. he doesn't know when he last came into contact with a living body. it's disorienting. he thinks probably it was the senior partner who fell down the stairs, minutes before the zombies swarmed the lobby, pulse skittering frantically with fear.

he drops todoroki, steps back. two months five days. maybe he's gone a little crazy.

whatever! whatever. he's fully functioning, he has his book, he's leaving. he's going to be off-schedule at this rate, times gone muddy with distraction. even without touching him he feels like there's residue warmth on his palm, making the rest of him shiver by contrast. if the zombies could have just gotten properly active in summer...

he's halfway to the door when he remembers- again- todoroki is actually there, watching him inscrutably from the bookshelf, swaying a little on his feet. despite himself he turns to stare back. he doesn't know what to- this wasn't in the plan, he doesn't know. he's going anyways.

it's because he's staring-cum-glaring at todoroki that he sees his eyes widen, and then he's leaping forwards on instinct as the window in the door shatters, decaying arm bursting through as loud moaning suddenly fills the dead silence.

"shit!"

"it's because there's two of us," todoroki reasons, in a tone like he's annoyed with himself for not realising this, which would make katsuki feel marginally better about his own stupid lack of thought if he wasn't so pissed. he'd counted on the zombies losing interest on his presence once he was out of sight, but the smell of two live humans in close proximity would obviously keep some of them near.

"is there another way out of this place?"

"back entrance, but it leads into a dead-end alley," todoroki retorts, suddenly functioning, eyeing the creaking door as thumping intensifies from the other side. "there's a way to scale onto the drain-pipe above but it wasn't made to take two people's weight."

"shit," katsuki curses, feelingly. "where's the drain-pipe lead?"

"roof. i don't know if either of us could scale it fast enough for the other to follow before they get there."

katsuki looks at him, crouched calmly stacking something or other into a loose duffel bag, rusty crowbar by his feet, then looks back to the groaning door. his gut tightens with a sort of pissed off fatalism.

"how long 'd it take you to get to the roof? five minutes?"

"i could do it in three, maybe less," todoroki estimates. "it's slower with the frost."

three minutes. katsuki hoists the bat higher, takes a step then two back from the door.

"fine. go. i'll follow."

"bakugou-"

"it's the most logical fucking plan of action," katsuki snaps, eyes still on the door, adrenaline spiking. "if you get up there before i get outside i can make it to the drainpipe before anyone nabs me. i can hold them off for three fucking minutes. and you're the one who knows the way up. you go."

"i know," todoroki says, which makes katsuki glance back at him, finds his face set with nothing but fixed determination. "i was going to say to give me your bag. it'll make it easier to climb."

there's something about this that makes katsuki's head briefly thud with something like a pounding headache, lungs gone tight, but he refocuses, blinks away the dizzy spell. the last fucking thing he wants is to give the bag away, but unless the plan goes as hoped he's dead anyways, so there's no point in arguing.

he shrugs his backpack off, slides the gun out, shoves it into his back pocket. todoroki fastens the straps around his shoulders without comment, then turns and runs, not wasting any time. it makes something in him-

the door breaks in.

there's five of them at least, the ones from before. the first one goes down with a direct hit to the head, skull caving in with a crunching sound, but he has to retreat immediately, make them spread out of their pack formation as he zig-zags back through the rows of books. they're slower than humans but not slow, breaking into a fast paced shuffle after him; he turns a sharp corner, doubles back as fast as he can to catch a second one from behind. crack, snap. the one in front lunges back before he can swing again, sending him running back; he jumps onto the seller's counter, dodging an arm, then brings the bat down full-force onto the zombie's neck. three. there's another one nearing the broken door, the other two circling back to the front at the commotion. he jumps over the counter, ducking under an arm, knocks into the nearest bookshelf with all of his weight, sending it sprawling towards the door, books flying and frame landing awkwardly across the doorframe. it doesn't block entry, but it befuddles the would-be incomers.

there's an arm grabbing his shoulder; he dodges a gaping mouth, bat spinning to hit at the rotting jaw, once, twice, bones splintering decisively on the second hit, but the last straggler is on him and the others are crawling in through the door. he runs, down to the back of the store, nearly trips over todoroki's traps himself as he goes, miraculously jumps clean of them as his pursuers stumble. it gives him the seconds to jump up to the back portion of the shop, grab a nearby chair and throw it at the advancing huddle, knocking them back a step, then turn sharply into a row, sprinting down to the back of the room where the emergency exit sign hangs half-broken. it's closed, likely behind todoroki, but he slams through it before any of the zombies near, staggers at the sharp gust of cold air that hits once he's out. the sun is nearly set, casting a red haze over the alley, and there's a pack of six zombies right beneath the glinting drainpipe, still trailing after todoroki's scent, moaning around the corner signalling backup. fuck.

there's a loud scraping from above, then todoroki's head appears over the edge of the roof, something grey and unwieldy in his hands; a satellite dish comes falling down, catching speed as it goes. it hits the pack dead-centre, crushing two of the zombies into pieces on impact, others reeling backwards in confusion, and he doesn't have the time to question his odds four-on-one. he runs in while they're still dazed, beats one into the wall, head splattering, turns and swings into the second as it zeroes in on him, head collapsing inward and drenching him in blood. the other two are too close to hit; he twists, jumps back, curses, eyes the alley entry where others have scented blood. fucking- no, two on one, god, he's not dying two on one, not after the bullshit he's been through. he kicks heavily into the one's chest, just missing the hand trying to nab his ankle, which sends it knocking into the other, and like that they're just aligned enough that he yells and slams the bat through the first one's head, in three rapid blows, hitting the one behind it on the third as bits of skull go flying. it's not enough to take it out; he hits again, manic, and it gets him on the second go. then he's scrambling to the drain pipe, mindful of the others closing in, shoves his bat down the back of his shirt and under his waistband before he throws himself at the drainpipe.

"brace against the wall," todoroki calls, almost in the moment he does so, hands slip-sliding on the damp pipe as his boots hit concrete; there are arms nearing, outstretched, but he bunches his stomach and drags himself up, feet first then arms, side of his arm scraping heavily against the wall as he moves almost horizontally upwards, fingers clenched around metal. the fucking gloves are no help; he pauses, braced and shaking with tension, to rip his gloves off with his teeth, one hand then the next, dropping to the floor below as his bare palms hit the freezing metal.

he's so cold it hurts, but he's halfway up the wall. methodically he moves. one foot. other foot. one hand. other hand. stomach muscles, straining, arms pulling. up a fraction. then another. then another.

"wait," todoroki says, closer than he feels, and he glances up for the first time, finds him an arm and a half's length away. "you'll slide at the top."

"then what the fuck do you suggest i do?" katsuki bites, half a yell, too strained to scream. todoroki leans, heavy, arms outstretched.

"do one more. then take my hand."

katsuki wishes he could spit on him. todoroki's expression has gone tight like he knows what he's thinking, like he's not sure katsuki won't let himself fall all the way down rather than put himself into the uncalloused hands of shouto todoroki.

the pipe creaks. katsuki moves up, ignores the way his blood boils, eyes the outstretched hands. he can hear todoroki breathing, hot against the cold air.

"drop me and i'll turn you."

he braces. one hand leaves the pipe, and for a godawful moment he's grasping at nothing. their hands connect, rearrange themselves; todoroki has a death-like grip on his wrist. his foot slides. the second hand is thrown rather than extended, and todoroki's eyes flash alarmingly as their fingers brush and miss, but he doesn't fall, hangs there by an arm for a heartbeat, jolt like he's dislocated his shoulder before his boot catches something and he shoves upwards, todoroki grabbing hold of his hand and yanking full-body at him.

katsuki falls over the top of the roof in disjointed movements, the both of them half-hitting each other as momentum carries them down, lands with an elbow in todoroki's stomach and a hit of tile to the jaw.

his head spins; he shoves up immediately, falls back down when his arms protest, adrenaline pounding hysterically. his limbs are shaking with belated exertion. todoroki is still holding his wrists, punishingly tight, his breaths heavy nearby. his body is still hot beneath him.

he scrabbles backwards, onto his knees, todoroki dropping his hands and dragging himself up to his elbows. for a moment they stare at each other, panting loudly.

he wants to yell at him but the words don't come. two months, five days. it's not even todoroki's fault, really. he was living there unperturbed. there's a flush of exertion over his cheeks now, and maybe he's just gone crazy what with the constant thinking about unbeating hearts but he feels a little obsessively interested in the visible flow of blood beneath his skin, wants him pink all over if that'll prove him living a minute longer.

he shakes himself, exhales in a burst.

"are you all right?" todoroki asks, and up close katsuki realises his voice is hoarser too. in the shop he'd been too dumbstruck to register it, but it's there beneath his normal cadence, a scratchy undertone. he hasn't spoken in a while either. something about it-

all right, he'd asked. unbitten, he means. katsuki shakes his head.

"we need to get going."

he hadn't meant the 'we', but he thinks at some point when todoroki's fingers dug into his arm hard enough to pierce flesh the message had gotten under his skin too. they're not fucking splitting up now. of course they're not. this isn't model un or a baseball match; it doesn't matter that the guy drives him insane. and this is todoroki, too- excruciatingly hyper-competent at every challenge life throws at him. if there's anyone less likely to rely on katsuki for the next however-long until one of them is forced to shoot the other, he hasn't met them.

"where?"

"my place. 's not far. how d'you get down from here?"

"the next building over has a fire-escape."

"fine. let's go then."

todoroki hands him back his backpack. he hits his bat against the wall to shake some bits of bone and flesh off, eyes unfocused on the task. he thinks desensitisation is the word. it's maybe the third or fourth time he's fought them off without registering anything about them once. usually he gets stuck on some detail or other, schoolgirl shirt or smile wrinkles. freckles. proof of life. there's that movie he watched once with kirishima and the rest of them, some kind of sci-fic thing, and at the end when the monsters come the dad shoots his whole family dead to spare them. turns out it's the military instead, come to rescue them. kirishima had cried.

questions pile up in his throat. he forces them down.

they jump from the rooftop to the next with relative ease, the gap narrow, his foot just catching on the edge before he rights himself. the fire escape is solid where the drain pipe wasn't. he wonders how in the fuck todoroki ended up here, in some old bookstore.

he's gotten good at scaling shit. he thinks in another life he'd have made a top-grade gymnast, or a superhero. when he'd broken out of the league's hold he'd made a spiderman worthy leap onto a clothes-line.

they make it back to the apartment as the sun vanishes, late, and because they're late his perfect scheduling is off, leaves them facing a pack of easily a dozen zombies swarming around the doors. there's another way in through the side, but it requires forcing a door open that he doesn't have keys for, and that means an entry-risk.

"i'll clear a way to the door," he says, hoisting his bat higher. "you keep them off my back."

todoroki follows his gaze, nods.

they advance in the dark, close together, and it's bizarre having someone breathing down his neck after so long, makes him on edge, expecting a bite that never comes. when the first zombie starts turning their way he breaks into a run, brings the bat down fast and heavy so it connects with a sick thud, flashlight clicking to life where he holds it between his teeth. it blinds one zombie long enough that he gets it too, and then it's chaos, flashlight swinging drunkenly as he batters this way and that, fighting off the clawing arms with irate kicks and loud swearing. if there's one thing he fucking loathes about the apocalypse it's how touchy-feely everyone is, all endlessly grasping hands and drooling maws straining for a piece of him. it makes his skin crawl, which makes him see red, which makes him go through fights like this, all furious movement, too keyed up to feel afraid. he never goes into a fight expecting to lose.

behind him, around him, wet crunching and moans track todoroki closing the pack; in off-beat synchronisation they move their way through the group, dropping bodies as they go. he's by the door before he knows it, light catching the heavy glass, switches the bat to one hand as he drags out the keys. the first time he'd gotten in the door had been open; his luckiest find since was the functioning key, sealing him out of harm's way. he's efficient with it, no fumbling, has it in and open in the time todoroki exhales sort of shortly as their backs connect. bakugou yanks the key out in the same movement he grabs blindly at todoroki's collar with his bat-holding hand, hooking a finger to swing him through the door and diving after him to slam the door shut on a wrist, bone snapping and the hand falling limply to the floor as they put their weight on the door for as long as it takes him to lock it again.

todoroki's crowbar is sopping red, guts in his hair; he casts a look around, doesn't even ask if katsuki thinks the door will hold, if katsuki has thought of their scent luring zombies in. most people would have.

he has, obviously. thought of it. that's why he lives on the top floor. the scent doesn't linger. doesn't matter if there's two of them up there. the door holds for as long as the stragglers press up against it, but as soon as they're out of sight the zombies will drift again.

they make their way up the stairs. he's warmer now, purely from the exercise. heat rises. another reason he lives at the top. doesn't feel like it when he's freezing his ass off at night, but he knows his science.

they make it to the top floor in silence, and he pushes his door open (unlocked, this one, because by the point anyone reaches him up here he'll be long gone), goes for the camping lamp on the floor, trudges along with it in hand. remembers his houseguest.

"kitchen's there. there's a bathroom. two rooms. living room. no power or running water but i have some water in the bathtub if you want to wash."

"it's nice," todoroki says, and the worst thing is he sounds like he means it, almost politely. it makes katsuki stop dead to look at him, struck again by how unreal it all feels, but it almost feels reassuringly normal, staring at todoroki in disbelief. in the bad lighting he looks otherworldly, even despite the filth and zombie gunk he's covered in, all half-lit and angelic like something out of a hazy dream.

"i can't fucking believe it's actually you, half 'n half."

it escapes him unthinkingly, but it's true, and besides that it has the unforeseen consequence of making todoroki's composure fracture, shoulders rising and falling on a mute laugh, exhausted wryness in the tilt of his head. for a split second his gaze is dizzyingly and uncharacteristically frank, almost intimate.

"the feeling is mutual."

if the moment stretches he might do something wholly deranged; he rolls his aching shoulder, gestures to the bathroom.

"you go first. you reek."

todoroki says his thanks to his back as he retreats.

he returns to routine. strips, despite how fucking cold he is, wraps his shoulder tight enough that it hurts, rubs alcohol onto the more worrying cuts and scrapes. drags some bedding to the second room, then drags himself to the kitchen, shivering, mentally redoing his maths, then pulling out his notebook to jot down the edited stock. pauses, hesitates. in the margin under the date he writes: found half 'n half. it's not a diary, but he feels like he should make note.

todoroki appears silently in the doorframe, wrapped in a towel and scrubbed red, and there's something reassuring about how clean he looks, balanced out by how disturbing it is to see him so casually bare. he's barely glanced up at him that he drops the towel.

"the fuck-"

todoroki just turns in a neat 360, then wraps himself back up. katsuki snaps his jaw shut, ears burning but head clear. no bites. right. the previous times- whatever. reluctantly he stands and turns. when todoroki eyes his boxers he glares.

"you don't think you would have noticed if i got bitten on the dick today?"

he's not entirely sure todoroki won't fight him on it, but he concedes after a moment's assessing stare, shifts from foot to foot.

"you can have some of my shit to wear," katsuki says, pointing to the wardrobe he's requisitioned. "some of it's too big. should fit."

todoroki just nods, follows suit.

he wonders, as he scrubs himself down with a bucketful of water, teeth chattering and bath-tub still half full, if todoroki was always so goddamn quiet or if he's traumatised or some shit. the guy was always the annoying silent type, but he doesn't remember him this monosyllabic. habit, probably. what does he know.

he dresses, layers up, shoves his dirty clothes with todoroki's in the basket. when it fills he'll dunk the whole lot into a tub of his used water, but until there's that many dirty clothes he leaves them out.

todoroki is sat on the couch wrapped in blankets and wearing someone's dad's heavy knitwear, illuminated by (of all things) a gas lamp that katsuki had found but never managed to light. so the asshole has matches.

"you hungry?" katsuki asks, really only to make him speak. todoroki nods, counter-productively, but he's talking next.

"don't waste your food on me."

"shut up, asshole," katsuki mutters, on instinct, fatigue setting into him. jesus. the martyrs he's surrounded with. "you can make the next grocery run."

todoroki only looks at him longly, but he follows him into the kitchen, eats the cold soup without complaint. he likes cold food, katsuki thinks, then stops at the thought. he has no idea how he knows it. it feels like a memory from a different life. he likes cold food. like that matters.

it's not very late, though it's pitch black out. he goes to bed early these days to make the most of the sunlight. he's not sure what to do with todoroki, though rationally that's not his concern.

he can't find it in himself to ask the obvious questions. it's partly because he doesn't want to hear the answers and partly because he doesn't want to have to give his own. it's not like they were fucking bosom buddies before this all went down- he's past hating the guy, despite how unbearable he finds him, would call them something adjacent to friends under duress, but it's not like they make a point of hanging out outside of class. and todoroki's a terrible conversationalist, always.

even so. two months, five days. he wants to talk, if only for the pleasure of getting to call him a superior bastard, if only to know that he's still the same confounding weirdo whose face he wears. it's not even the words, really- he wants to hear a pulse beat near him, to catch alert eyes on his, to watch his chest rise and fall. alive.

he can't believe the asshole stripped naked like that. pale flesh all over, but not that diseased grey tint, just regular winter cold, like the inside of a peach. bruises and scratches littering his limbs. nasty half-healed scar like someone had tried to gut him with a knife.

his lips are peeling when he licks them. he found vaseline in someone's drawer but he uses it sparingly. whenever he goes outside his lips crack to the point of blood. against the glow of the stove he can see only half of his new flatmate where he sits surveying his newly clean crowbar.

"what's in the duffel?"

he'd have bristled more at the invasion, pragmatic though it is, but todoroki only shifts obligingly to raise it to his lap.

"medical kit- bandages, aspirin, tweezers, needle and thread. three water bottles. instant noodles. biscuits. matchbox. a city map. a change of shoes. a space blanket. my wallet. wire. rope. an alarm clock. a mechanic's manual." he pauses, feels around, drags out a glass bottle. "this."

it's vodka, of all the things. katsuki half wants to laugh.

"you drink now?"

"kept me warm," todoroki shrugs. which is, maybe, all there is to it. maybe not.

"i'll run you through inventory in the morning," katsuki says, if reluctantly. best todoroki knows what they have on hand, despite how little he feels like letting him into his notebook. it's not like he's deku, writing down his little feelings all over it, but it feels revealing anyways, for todoroki to know what he's been tracking.

there's nothing else for them to talk about without heading into dangerous territory. todoroki packs his things back into the bag, careful, and katsuki is sick of his own weird emotional breakdown, doesn't know where this sudden needy cloying bullshit is even coming from.

two months five days, his brain says, chipper, and then offers to rewind the days preceding that. he hisses through his teeth before he remembers he has company.

"i'm going to bed. 's fuck all to do without wasting light. stay high up if you want to go exploring."

todoroki has gone back to muteness, because he only nods as katsuki glowers at nothing in particular and makes his way back to his room, unhappy at the sight of his diminished bedding. it's not like he's actually able to use the whole apartment's bedding anyways- too unwieldy, too heavy, whatever- but the three duvets and two quilts had been working well enough to insulate him against the chill, and with two sacrificed he's resigned to a night of tossing and turning.

fuck his life. he thinks maybe the reason he's been having these fits of weirdness across the days is just fatigue. between the nightmares and the cold and the actual zombie break-ins over the past six months he doesn't think he's managed a single night's good sleep beyond the times he's blacked out. he feels untethered, at times both more and less emotional than he's used to being.

no surprise that having a real life human being around- and one that he knows at that- is making him almost ill with conflicting urges. part of him wants to lock todoroki out in a cold sweat and never lay eyes on him again. part of him wants to cut him open and grab at his beating heart just to confirm he's not alone. the rest of him lies there wondering what the fuck is wrong with his brain.

he lies there for maybe an hour trying to get to sleep, but his mind has kicked into overdrive in the way that it does every goddamn night nowadays, replaying scenes he didn't even notice in the moment. one of the zombies by the bookstore had barely reached his shoulder. when he'd washed his bat there had been bits of an eye clinging to the base.

he's too busy being cold and annoyed and possibly hysterical to notice the soft footfall until it's close, jerking up on instinct to brandish his bat, but he can tell by the moonlight filtering in slivers through his blinds that it's todoroki, if the lack of shuffling hadn't given it away.

"what the hell is wrong with you?"

"i didn't mean to startle you," todoroki says. monotone, but in an off way, almost dreamy, like he's asleep. it makes katsuki's skin prickle with foreboding; he stares at the little he can see of his face, alert now.

"then what do you want?"

"you sound cold," todoroki says. still in the doorframe, unmoving. he wishes there was more light.

"it's the middle of winter, jackass, of course i'm cold. can you fuck off?"

"my father is dead," todoroki says, completely unprompted, voice not changing in timbre in the slightest, and it makes katsuki's heart jump before he sits fully upright, trying harder to make his face out.

enji todoroki, gone. he guesses he'd known that on some level, for todoroki to be roaming around like a ghost, but it doesn't compute. jesus. maybe todoroki's actually fucking lost it since. he imagines two months and five days tracking back to losing his father, feels that gut-punch of paralysis in his stomach.

he's so caught on processing it that he doesn't even register todoroki is climbing into the bed before he's halfway under the sheets.

"what the fuck are you doing?" his voice half-breaks on it, rising in sheer disbelief as he jerks violently back, because seriously- there's insane and there's insane, and he's starting to suspect todoroki is so out of it he'd snap his neck in his sleep.

todoroki has the audacity to shush him, distracted, and it takes katsuki actually grabbing him hard by the shoulder, braced to hit at the slightest flicker of intent, to stop him in his tracks.

"hey, asshole, i'm talking to you! are you out of your goddamn mind?"

where he's stopped now todoroki's one eye catches the moonlight, big and dark and eerie. he blinks slowly like he's coming out of a trance.

"oh, i-" he pauses. his pulse is sluggish under katsuki's hands, skin fire-hot. feverish, maybe. shit. feverish, very possibly. he'd had no layers in that shitty bookshop. "sorry."

he says it like he's not sure he means it. katsuki doesn't let up with his grip.

"how long you been sick, icyhot?"

"sick," todoroki repeats, processing it. his gaze sharpens. "days. i think maybe- what day is it?"

"wednesday. thirteenth."

"six days, then," todoroki says, quiet. their gazes catch, more consciously now. "i'm fine. the adrenaline helped."

"sit still," katsuki warns, and then pulls up quickly, shrugs his backpack off, digs out the medical kit. he has a decent stock of medicine in the apartment, enough that he only hesitates a beat before pulling out the advil bottle, unscrewing the cap to fill it. he knows the dosage by heart. "drink."

he nearly drops the whole bottle when todoroki just obediently sticks his mouth to the rim of the cap instead of taking it himself, hot breath fanning over his fingers as he drinks. it makes his own pulse go skittering with discomfort when he fills it a second time, brandishes it back. the cap is sticky and wet when he screws it back on; todoroki is still half-sitting where he told him to when he's done his bag up and slid it back onto his back.

"why'd you tell me about your dad just then?" katsuki asks, despite himself, if only to fill the silence.

"did i?" todoroki asks, on an exhale, visible eye swivelling to him. "i don't know. i was thinking about the cold, i think. he wasn't cold in the end."

he resists the urge to check his temperature. probably it got worse once he tried to go to sleep, all the residue adrenaline gone. it can't have been peaking all day, or they'd have never made it out in the first place. and it's not from a bite. just a fever. he's medicated. he'll sleep it off.

"i'm not crazy," todoroki informs him, suddenly cool, not so hazy. "just sick. i could hear you tossing and turning. that's why i came."

"why're you in my bed?" katsuki shoots back, on the edge of combative, not really. maybe he's a little relieved. he's a lot pissed off, even though he knows todoroki probably genuinely didn't realise what a state he was in the last week, might have actually been trying to make sense of his fluctuating mood himself. no shit he'd been so weird when they first ran into each other.

"i'm not sure," todoroki admits. "it seemed important at the time."

this makes him want to laugh, though he doesn't. the cracked-open raw part of him that still smarts loudly whenever he thinks of jeanist thinks he missed him somehow.

"glad we solved that mystery. get out now."

todoroki makes to move, stops when they're facing each other, blue eye white-pale on his. "actually i remember now, i think."

"i swear to god, half 'n half..."

"you're cold," todoroki repeats, factual, then back to floaty. "and i couldn't hear..."

he doesn't expect him to do what he does, which is why he doesn't stop him when he puts a too-hot palm directly over his heart, doesn't even pull back when he pushes, knocking him onto the bed.

"todoroki-"

"it's fine," todoroki says, scratchy, sweat-warm. he slides onto his own side in a heavy, graceless motion. face to face, half an arm between them, palm stuck to his chest. "it's fine."

it's the scratchiness that wins him over, or maybe the fever flush of him. todoroki may be fucked in the head but he's not, which is why he knows full well he's being insane by not shoving him out. it's just that on some extremely uncomfortable and deranged level he gets it, because he's been tracking his pulse like a shark since they first ran into each other. there's something less insane beneath it too, pragmatic acknowledgment that it is actually a great deal warmer when there's body heat to share, but he knows full well he'd have toughed it out, six months ago, sent him back to bed and spent the night half-awake in spiteful resignation.

it's six months later, though, and somewhere along the line he's been rewired wrong. he thinks it's not unlikely that he's just this desperate for a full night's sleep.

it doesn't really matter why, though. he lets him stay. in the morning if todoroki is back to himself he'll see right through whatever he says, and on balance he doesn't fucking care.

he's so fucking tired. two months and five days, six months and three. the last time someone touched him for more than a second without trying to kill him it was a crying intern, this bespectacled guy whose name he'd never bothered to learn choking on his own blood as he clutched katsuki's wrist for comfort. before that he thinks it was his mother, exchanging their usual routine of brusque ruffling before he got on the train. he hasn't cried since the start of this, but he feels like crying now, hot throbbing behind his eyes. he sucks in a breath, forces it down. time and place. he's said it like a mantra since the start, like there's ever going to be one.

todoroki is fast asleep, but his hand's still there. his fingers have curled into the wool.

two months and five days, he thinks again, remembering other hands, clutching his face, pinning his arms. that's changed now, he realises. still marks the date, but not the last time he's spoken to someone.

ten minutes, thirty seconds. he reaches to pull the covers higher over todoroki's shoulders, feels his stomach constrict when his hand brushes medicine-sticky lips in passing.

maybe todoroki can sail. that's a rich kid thing to do. he'll have to ask in the morning.

he falls asleep within fifteen minutes, forty seconds of todoroki, and doesn't wake until the sun rises.

[sometimesiwritebadly]

Life Saving Thoughts (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)

 Summary: You’re targeted by a serial killer who goes after soulmates. You and Spencer use your ability to read each other’s thoughts to save your life.

Part 1

Warnings: Violence against the reader, kidnapping, graphic descriptions of murders, typical criminal minds type stuff. Some language.

Notes: thank you to everyone that made part 1 so successful!! I decided to make a whole soulmate series!! This one is superrrr ansgty BUT the next one is going to be adorable as hell to make up for it

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist

You and Spencer were both on edge.

The case the BAU was currently on had been going for 6 days, and it felt like they weren’t anywhere closer to finding the killer. The unsub had been kidnapping young women, torturing them, then leaving their cut-out hearts on the doorsteps of their soulmates. The group had profiled that he’d be a 40-50 year old man, a narcissist, misogynist, and had probably gone through a nasty divorce with his own soulmate. There’d been 3 victims already, and if he stuck to his schedule, he’d take another woman by the end of the day.

You and Spencer have been together for nearly a year now, having gotten together once you joined the BAU. It’d been hard, learning how to deal with dating a coworker, constantly worrying about each other out in the field, and learning how to handle hearing each other’s thoughts all the time. The day you met, Spencer told you about how right after meeting, soulmate’s often couldn’t turn off the constant thoughts. He’d been right; the first few months of your relationship, you heard every thought that ran through Spencer’s head, and he heard all of yours. Eventually, you both learned how to control it, so you’d only speak into your partner’s head when you actually wanted to. 

You were especially grateful for this skill during this case, because you and Spencer couldn’t exactly act like soulmates right now. Knowing the unsub was going after soulmates, and he was likely to inject himself into the investigation, you and Spencer agreed to try and make sure no one knew who you were to each other. Hotch agreed when you’d told him; better to play it safe than sorry. Whenever either of you missed each other’s presence, the only solace you had was speaking into the other’s mind. Right now, that’s the only place your relationship could safely live.

Right now, both you and Spencer were trying to narrow down the geographical profile, desperate to figure out where he’d try and take the next victim from.

“Your ass looks great in that skirt.” The second Spencer’s thought entered your head, you turned around to give him a glare. He only smirked at you, before looking back at the map you’d put on the board. Back when you’d first started dating, Spencer had been shy about his love for you, but those days were long gone. If you hadn’t been keeping your relationship on the down-low right now, you’re sure he’d have given your ass a light slap as well.

“I’m gonna go get some coffee, you want something?” You asked aloud. It made you a little uncomfortable to be speaking out loud when it’s just the two of you. You and Spencer rarely talked when in private. 

“I’ll come with-” Your glare cut him off once again. Spencer had been trying to go everywhere with you, not wanting to leave you alone for a minute once he found out the nature of the case.

“Coworkers don’t follow each other everywhere, Spence. I’ll be fine, I promise.” You thought. 

Spencer only responded with a small nod, then spoke aloud, “Medium coffee, please. Extra sugar.” You already know his coffee order, of course, but you were surrounded by police officers walking around the station. You sent him one more reassuring thought as you walked away.

~~~

You were walking back to the local police station, two to-go cups of coffee in your hands, when you felt a presence behind you. You tried to subtly glance over your shoulder, and that’s when you saw him; you couldn’t see his face, but he was wearing a police uniform. Immediately, you reached out to Spencer, “Spence. Don’t freak out.”

“What? What’s wrong? Where are you?” Spencer replied immediately. You could feel all his anxiety, his regret for letting you out of your sight for a second.

“I’m being followed. I’m a few blocks from the station, I don’t think he knows I’m onto him yet. He’s an officer, but I didn’t get a look at his face-” Suddenly, you were hit over the head, and you were knocked out cold.

~~~

“Y/N. I don’t know if you can hear this...I don’t even know if you’re still alive. Please, if you’re listening. Give me anything. Any clue that’ll help us.”

Your head was killing you, but you faintly heard Spencer’s speaking as you woke up. You slowly took in your surroundings; it was a dark, dingy room. No windows, possibly a basement? You’re tied to a chair, and on a table next to you was a wide array of knives. You’d seen the M.E. reports, and you knew exactly how he’d use them. Assuming you’d only been knocked out for a few hours, the team had less than 48 hours to find you.

“Spence?” With your throbbing head - you’re definitely concussed - it hurt a little to send the message.

“Y/N!” You could feel Spencer’s relief flooding through him. Even though you knew he had so much to say to you, and you him, you tried to focus on getting him clues to find you.

“I’m in a basement, I think. I’m tied up, but I don’t think I’m injured. Except my head from when he knocked me out. How long have I been gone?”

“3 hours. We know who he is, and got a partial plate from a witness at the scene. We know who he is, we just don’t know where he took you.”

“Did Garcia try tracking his or my phone?”

“He left your phone at the scene, his is off. I’m so, so sorry, sweetie. Is there anything else you can see? Anything to help us?” 

You heard movement from upstairs. He’s definitely in the building, and you knew he’d be down here soon. You looked around more, for anything. Stretching your head around, you saw a map behind you - a virtual copy of the geographical profile you and Spencer had been working on at the station. This idiot had left it in the room with you, knowing that your soulmate is an FBI agent. The map marked where he’d taken each victim, and where he’d dumped the bodies. Turns out he had more victims than you’d known, because the map indicated 5 victims, not including yourself. With the additional victims, the pattern became obvious. If you connect all the dots of where the victim’s bodies were dumped, they made a heart on the map; you’re the final piece. 

Spencer was listening to your deductions as you made them, and he immediately updated his own map at the police station. They know where you are.

“We’re coming to get you now. You’re gonna be ok, I’ll be there soon.”

“Spence...if I’m his endgame...he’s not gonna go easy.”

“I know. I didn’t keep you safe earlier, but I swear on my life I’ll keep you safe now.”

The door to the basement suddenly flew open, and you snapped your head away from the map, not wanting to let on that you’d given Spencer all the resources he needed to get to you. The station couldn’t be more than 10 minutes from where you were now, less with a police siren. You just need to stay alive for the next 10 minutes.

“Talking to your little soulmate?” He said as he came down the stairs. You recognized him as one of the officers that’d been around the police station, working the case, but you couldn’t be bothered to remember his name. “How is Agent Reid?”

“Doctor.” You corrected him. Based on the glare he gave you, you probably shouldn’t have done that. His narcissism wouldn’t appreciate being corrected, especially by a woman. He stormed over to you, slapping you across the face.

“I wouldn’t talk back to me, bitch. Your death can either be very quick, or very, very slow.” Liar. You remembered the M.E. reports, which showed that he’d tortured all of the women for hours before killing them. He’s sadistic - even if you complied, he’d still torture you.

“How much longer?” You thought.

“4 minutes, 19 seconds. You’re going to be fine, please, stay strong for me Y/N.”

“Stop it!” The man’s voice stopped your short conversation with Spencer.

“Stop what?” You asked, weakly. 

“Talking to him! Soulmates, it’s a trick, it’s not real. Just because you can hear someone’s thoughts doesn’t mean you’ll live happily ever after.” He grabbed a knife from the table next to you, and began lightly dragging it across your skin, not yet drawing blood. You tried to move away from him, but the ropes were too tight. “People argue. Fall out of love. People die.” This time, he pressed harder against your thigh, cutting through your skirt and into your skin. You winced, but tried your best to not show the pain. He’s a sadist, he wants to see you in pain. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. 

“My so-called-soulmate is on a cruise with another man right now. I hear her thoughts, I know how she feels about him. I know what they’ve done to each other. How do you think that feels? Hearing the thoughts of the person you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with when they’re whoring around with another man?” He began dragging the knife down your thigh this time, causing a long, deep cut, all the way to your knee. “I think it feels a lot like being stabbed.” He took the knife from your thigh, before slamming it into your other. This time, you cried out in pain. He only laughed, leaving the knife in your thigh as you bled out.

“Spence…” You weren’t sure if it was the pain or the blood loss, but you were definitely going to pass out. You vaguely remember hearing a door slam, yelling, and a gunshot before you closed your eyes.

~~~

“Ow.” You opened your eyes slowly, only to close them again from the blinding light. You felt someone’s hand grab yours immediately.

“Y/N?” You heard Spencer say. This time, you opened your eyes fully, and saw his beautiful face smiling back at you.

“Hey.” You said, with a smile. He let out a relieved laugh, before leaning over you and giving you a long kiss. 

“I’m never leaving your side again.” He thought as he kissed you.

“That’s fine by me.”

~~~

tags: @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @la-vie-en-amour1

[coppermarigolds]

Been thinking lately about how masterfully Supermassive calls the player’s bluff when it comes to Emily. 

They spend the first few hours of the game clearly trying to make the player hate her as much as possible. She’s abrasive, brash, quick to anger, brimming with savagely cutting comments, and steamrolls over her mild-mannered boyfriend--all things guaranteed to make your standard White Gamer Bro froth with rage. How dare she not be flirty and fun and sexy like Jess, or calm and level-headed like Sam, or easily scared like Ashley?

I’ve watched probably dozens of Until Dawn LPs, and players’ initial reactions to Emily are as predictable as death and taxes: She’s the worst. I hate her. I’m going to get her killed. I can’t wait for her to die. What a bitch. 

But then Supermassive does two very interesting things. The first is that they make the player control Emily during one of the game’s most important, pivotal--and harrowing--sections. It’s Emily who discovers some of the most important clues that make the story start to fall into place. Her actions, discoveries, and resourcefulness propel the game into its second act. Watching LPs, it’s always interesting seeing players who openly wished for Emily’s death fighting to keep her alive as she’s chased by a monster.

But then a little further along in the game comes the second very telling choice by Supermassive: they give the player the option to just straight-up murder Emily. You can get any of the characters killed, of course, even the Mike the Standard Hero Archetype or Sam the Final Girl. But you have to either work for it a little, or unknowingly make choices (or mistakes) that lead to their deaths. Not so, Emily. The game straight-up hands you the scene and says, “You wanted her dead so bad? Here you go! Press a button and kill her!”

And in all the LPs I’ve watched, almost none of the players go through with it. Even people who absolutely hated her the whole time will almost always refuse to kill her. I don’t have any grandiose theories as to why. Maybe it’s just the completionist gamer instinct to get as many characters safely to the end as possible, even the ones they don’t like. Maybe it’s one thing to hope a character gets eaten by a monster or taken out by a serial killer, but it’s another when you the player are actually in control of pulling the trigger. Or maybe it’s that when push comes to shove, they realize that even not-so-nice people are still people. 

Anyway, I don’t know if Supermassive actually had all this in mind when they were writing the game, or if they included that scene specifically because they knew some people would probably want to kill Emily, but I like to think it’s the former. A little social experiment tucked inside a horror game.

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

Secret relationship/I called you at 2am because I needed you for Jurdan

Thank you for the prompt! You're awesome! Sorry for the late, I finished it a week ago but it's been stewing in my drafts for some reason. Part - 2

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 [𝟏]

Cardan wished he was home.

After his elder brother Balekin had been arrested, the mantle of Elfhame corporations fell onto Cardan's shoulders. He couldn't remember the last time he had done something for the sake of entertainment or even had a well-rested sleep.

Even though it was well past midnight, Cardan had a lifetime worth of paperwork to take care of, a thousand fires to put out before he could retire for the day. He wished Jude was here. His personal assistant had been marvelous at what she did. Had it not been for their secret relationship and the breakup that followed soon after, she'd have still been working here, everything would have been under control.

He breathed out loud, eyes skimming over the paperwork. It was no good dwelling on those miserable facts.

His phone rang.

Cardan ignored it, was about to switch it off entirely to get the work done when he saw the number that flashed on the screen. Jude.

Jude had called—

"Hello?" Cardan's voice sounded all wrong to his own ears, heart beating loud enough inside his chest, Jude might hear it herself.

He froze when he heard the sob on the other side, a broken sound. "Cardan."

"Jude? Are you alright?" The pause on the other side was long enough that Cardan left his office, car keys in one hand and waved towards on of the employees to inform he was leaving. "Where are you, Jude?"

"I am—I didn't—I am hurt. I didn't know who to call," she said, voice breaking.

Something ached inside Cardan's heart, all his thoughts directed towards the brunette who had walked away from him seven months ago. Seven months and he still loved her as much.

"Where are you, Jude?" he asked softly.

She went quiet again, then there was some shuffling around before she said, "I don't know—there's this bar here, real sketchy place downtown, I am bleeding but I can't-I can't call ambulance."

He cursed under his breath even as he slid into his car and revved the engine, every instinct on edge. If she was where he thought she was, Jude had gotten herself into some big trouble. She had told him about the bar downtown where she used to do underground fighting.

He couldn't call an ambulance for her. It would raise too many questions. Gods.

One hand on the steering wheel, Cardan dialled a familiar number, adding her to a conference call with him and Jude. It rang thrice before she picked up, her voice sleepy and uncertain. "Cardan?"

He had never been more relieved to hear someone's voice. "Lilliver? How fast can you get to my apartment?" Jude groaned on her side of the line and Cardan stepped on the gas, speeding up all while the image of Jude bleeding out in some dark alley haunted his mind.

Lilliver didn't bother with questions, had likely figured it out by Jude's groaning. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Then she hung up and it was him and Jude again. He had been waiting for a phone call from her from the day she had handed him her resignation letter but if this was the price of getting her back in his life, Cardan decided he'd rather not have her at all.

Jude's panicked sobs had morphed into heavy breathing by the time he reached her. She was slumped against the back wall of the bar, half naked with her cotton shirt staunching the blood from a wound in her abdomen. All coherent thoughts flew out of his head when he saw the amount of blood, the ashen look on her face.

Oh gods, this was bad—

"Cardan?" The voice was quiet but firm, spurring him into action.

He scooped her in his arms, careful not to put pressure on the bleeding wound and helped her into the backseat of his car. Jude looked at him, exhaustion weighing her eyelids down but managed to croak out a thank you.

He tried to calm his own breathing as he started the car. "Jude, what happened?"

"I was-I fought this dude a few days ago, beat him and won a good eight hundred bucks. He cornered me in the alley today—had a knife and everything," her voice wavered and he considered telling her to remain quiet instead but she seemed glad to be distracted from her pain. "Son of a bitch got me good, right in the stomach. He brought friends, cheating bastard."

Cardan was speechless but he tried to keep the conversation going, if only for her sake. "You told me you were done with all this. You promised, Jude."

"I needed the money after I quit my job." Because of you, he heard the unspoken words hanging in the air.

Jude squirmed when he helped her out again, scooping her up in his arms. He tried to be gentle as he could. This was his fault. All she had asked him was to spend time with her, be a good boyfriend and he had prioritized his company over her, had almost taken her for granted. If he hadn't screwed it up, she would have her job right now.

He could have married her.

Instead, here she was on the verge of death all because he was too selfish, too ambitious to treat her like she deserved. Cardan wished he could go back in time and fix that mistake of his life, wished he could turn back time, change what had happened.

She winced. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, not sure what he was apologising for.

"It's not your fault." But it was. It was his fault and he was going to fix it. His girlfriend or not, never again would she have to risk her life in order to earn money. Jude was stubborn, would never accept his help but he would find a way.

Besides, she had always been better at his job than he could ever hope to be.

The guards outside his house were already scrambling to open the doors, offering to carry his Jude over to a guest room. Cardan refused to let anyone near her, barking out commands at them for things they would need. "Is Liliver here?" He could have cried from relief when one of the guards nodded.

Fand was making her way towards him already. Among his security detail, Jude had managed to befriend the outspoken female who looked at him in concern. "What happened to her?"

He pushed past her, not in the mood to answer questions. Jude had lost too much blood already, he would have to do something about that and soon. Liliver rose from her seat in the living room, following the two of them to Cardan's bedroom where he lay her gently on the bed. "Do whatever you need, my resources are yours but you need to save her. I don't—please."

She grimaced at the sight of the passed out, still bleeding Jude and sprang into action. Cardan didn't know how long he stood there for, mind numbed as he followed every instruction his friend barked at him. Jude couldn't die, she couldn't get hurt, he needed her to live.

He'd accept her anger or her indifference or whatever punishment she saw fit for this. Cardan needed her to wake up, to know she was alive.

This was one punishment he won't accept. Not her. Never her.

He didn't sleep even after Liliver told him she had done all she could and Jude would probably come back to consciousness by the morning. I didn't know who else to call, she had told him. She would have never called him if she had a choice, likely felt like she had no other option.

Cardan stayed awake all night keeping an eye on her, his hand gripping hers as if she would disappear if he released his grip. She would hate him in the morning, would shout fowl words at him for as long as her voice would allow, would probably go red faced in the face and then go back to giving him the cold shoulder for the rest of his life. She would remind him of all he had lost, the chance he had wasted away. She would break his heart all over again and it would hurt.

And when she did, Cardan decided he would let her ruin everything he was.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

Tags:

@judexcardanxgreenbriar // @thesirenwashere // @nite0wl29 // @queenofgreenbriar // @jurdanhell // @mysweetvilllain //@clockworkgraystairs // @blog-lady-vi // @the-dark-swan //@storiesandschemes // @fangirltrash74 // @augustintodarkness // @queen-of-glass // @jurdan7 // @aesthetics-11 // @mijaldraws // @hades-flame // @sensitivehighlord

[cherryeol04]

Stray Kids Playing Minecraft~

A/n: I hope you all enjoy, and if you liked, please leave a like! 💖💖💖💖

Tags: @straysrachaa @lordseochangbin @channiesmixtape @starryseung​ @felixsanxchatbot @jisungsjheekies​ @mrbangchannie

Chan

- doesn't know almost anything about Minecraft the first time around but he plays with you to make you happy

- you have to baby him for a while

- BUT THEN!

- He goes and learns about the game in his free time

- and then he pleasantly surprises you now that you he doesn't suck anymore

- and most peculiar of all

- he got really interested in redstone

- boi can make some INVENTIONS

- His house is like, fully automated - farm and all

- it makes you jealous but also very proud

- a pretty big pacifist

- shears, veggies and bread is all he needs

- he still big soft baby but he smart baby now

- also, would totally run around with a pumpkin on his head if you could still wear them in the latest version

Lee Know

- would kill everything that moves

- would hoard all the meat and refuse to give you any

- deforestation at its finest

- king of surplus

- playing with him is actually playing by yourself cuz he goes off on his own

- builds himself a goddamn empire!

- and no one knows where it is

- if he catches you inside his house without permission: shoot first, ask questions never

- mobs fear him, not the other way around

- will give you items cuz you're a charity cause

- actually shares when you both go mining though

- but let's face it, he's just OP

- would try to get all the cats

- totally to chase away creepers

- not because he wants an army of them or anything

- gets annoyed that he has to constantly fish because the cats keep taking them but won't be tamed by him

- he totally did not search for mine shafts just for name tags to name his cats

- DO NOT HURT HIS CATS

- or he'd cancel you in-game and irl too

Changbin

- would be super excited to play Minecraft with his friends

- he would be the first on the server to scout out the land and get resources

- however, no one warned him about night fall

- and all the creepy, scary things that spawned

- changbin lives in the ground now

- he dug a hole at the base of the mountain to take refuge during the night and never looked back

- normal person? No way! He was a mole now!

- the best at mining and interior rock design

- he would only resurface to seek out food and animals

- it was Changbin who stole all the cows and sheep, so you couldn't find them for felix

- he would have three large pins just next to his mountain

- lots of cows, rainbow sheep and pigs with saddles

- " uh...so I found these pins of animals and like...no house?"

- "What?"

- "I think the magical Minecraft fairy spawned it into the world?"

- "It's super weird. But I'm gonna kill some cows for their leather"

- "DON'T YOU TOUCH MY COWS!"

- and to your shock, a secret door in the mountain opens and Changbin comes running out

- the door made courtesy of Chan

- "He's got a diamond sword already?!?"

- it's the last thing you scream as he kills you for being near his cows

- and after a round of feeding and breeding, he disappears back into his hole

Hyunjin

- would only be about building

- he would be the first one to have a diamond pickaxe just so he could mine cobblestone faster

- would also get efficiency V just so he could speed run through the mines

- would wander through different biomes for days to collect clay so he could make concrete

- and while you're busy actually playing the game, he would beg for you to pick flowers on your trip so he can dye the concrete different colors

- his first house would be a mansion

- but he would give up half way because he kept falling off the roof and dying

- would forget he is actually playing the game and would get scared when night falls and mobs start spawning in his unlit house

- not like you didn't tell him countless times to put down torches

- but he kept saying they ruined his aesthetic

- but now he keeps dying because mobs are literally waiting at his spawn point, killing him over and over and over again

- and he begs you to set the time to day and kill the mobs for him

- but you just laugh uncontrollably at him because karma really is a bitch

- but in the end, he ends up making an entire city, and invites the others to come and play on the server.

Jisung

- would be just like Chan

- a pure ass baby when it comes to playing minecraft, but super eager to play the game

- his first spawn would be in the middle of the night (because of server)

- and you would try to tell him to not leave the safety of spawn, but he just wouldn't listen

- "Listen, Y/n, I know what I'm doing! I'm a pro at this!"

- and he would run confidently into the night, like the actual idiot that he is

- he wouldn't get too far before he was attacked by all the mobs and got killed

- "Well that was just rude!"

- "Oh my god Jisung, I told you not to do it."

- "Well how was I supposed to know they were going to kill me?!"

- and you can only shake your head at his stupidity

- he would eventually wait until daytime, but unfortunately all of his items would be lost due to despawning

- it's not like either one of you were equipped to go and retrieve his items

- zombies sucked man! And skeletons are the worst!

- but with a new day comes a new adventure and you both head out to find a place to call home

- Jisung would run the entire way, even though he had no food to keep his hunger up

- he also wouldn't be paying attention to where he was going and would fall into a hole

- a very BIG hole

- 'J.One fell from a high place'

- "Really Jisung?"

- "I couldn't see it!"

- playing with Jisung would be a very challenging task, because he would never learn

- because by the time he had diamond armor and ready to fight the wither, he would have fallen from fifteen cliffs, twenty holes in caves and three ravines

- "Jisung if you die one more time I swear to god!"

- 'J.One fell from a high place'

- "That's it! I quit!"

Felix

- You would be so hyped to play with Felix

- You've seen him play other games, so you knew he'd be great at minecraft

- Getting the server had been his idea, the easiest way everyone could play together

- First day of spawn, Felix would already be listing off the things that you would need to accomplish

- wood, cobblestone, iron, seeds, sheep

- it was all just so overwhelming

- by the time you make your first complete set of wooden tools, felix would have iron tools already

- he'd been ten feet underground, digging for more resources while tasking you to find the animals for food, wool and feathers

- easier said then done

- and when he resurfaces and you don't have animals, he would simply sigh and go do it himself

- which would upset you because you would spend hours looking for just one god damn cow

- meanwhile, Felix would take five steps in one direction and come across hundreds of cows!!!

- WHERE DID ALL THESE COWS COME FROM?!?!?

- he'd travel the whole map just to find a jungle to get coco beans

- seriously though, how did he find the fucking jungle?

- it like doesn't exist

- except it does and Minho most likely lives there with all his cats

- Also, there's pandas!!!!!

- Felix would try and tame a panda, even though it's not possible

- When not trying to show off, Felix would be in his crappy little hut (cause hyunjin was still making the city), making cookies and cakes because why wouldn't he?

- at least he shares, unlike someone.....

- Felix would be absolutely unstoppable at the game, while you struggle to get to iron level armor (while trying to keep Jisung alive)

- Felix would have just a big ego

- it's okay though. One strike from Seungmin's sword and he'd be put back into his place

- Revenge is a dish best served Seungmin.

Seungmin

- the worst of the worst

- he would be the one to pretend to not know the game

- but really, he would be a minecraft expert

- read: troll

- every chance he would get, Seungmin would try to do something to ruin your day

- don't ever go mining with him. EVER!

- he would be the one to lead over a creeper to you in a ravine while you're trying to mine diamonds, right next to a lava pool

- the first one to explode wouldn't do any damage, thankfully

- "Don't you dare bring a creeper over here!"

- "I wouldn't."

- somehow, you wouldn't be convinced

- but you decided to trust him

- y/n clown

- you're just mining away at the diamond when a big explosion happens

- and you notice two things

- 1. the diamonds and the surrounding area were blown up

- 2. you were now in the pool of lava, dying

- meanwhile, Seungmin was running away, cackling like the evil little shit that he was

- the holy terror, that's what they would call him

- he would purposefully go out and fight creepers just to gather their gunpowder so he could make dynamite

- no one was safe from him

- except Minho

- because no one knew where he was

I.N.

- Jeongin would spend at least two days researching things for the game before actually playing

- he would want to have some knowledge before walking into hell that was the Stray Kids server

- it's okay though, because everyone loves Jeongin

- really, he wouldn't need to do a thing

- diamond armor, enchanted? check

- enchanted weapons? check

- his own cat and dog? double check

- everyone would do anything for this baby

- but Jeongin isn't one to mooch *coughJisungcough*

- even with all his presents, he would still start with the basics of punching a tree

- while others have found this skills in cooking, mining, falling into holes, redstone and building

- jeongin would be more interested in potions and enchanting

- YOU'RE A WIZARD INNIE!

- Jeongin would quickly master potion brewing

- even if it meant battling the scary blazes in the nether

- huh, so that's why Changbin was screaming so much

- he would be hired by Minho to make him potions of breathing so he could go claim an ocean monument

- Jeongin would only do it if he could help

- surprisingly Minho agrees and for the first time in 84 years, everyone gets to see Minho's character

[planetjisungie]

détester- l.dh

characters; slytherin! haechan x gryffindor! reader ft. gryffindor! mark (its just a given at this point) and slytherin! jisung

summary; enemies to lovers, you and donghyuck had always just hated eachother. you dont know when it started, or why it started but it was starting to get annoying.

an; i WILL finish my hogwarts series tonight we only have chenle left but now we have more fluff than actual crack because simon says is playing

congratulations you have reached gryffindor level you lucky prick

only the finest gryffindor

you are the embodiment of courage, literally if there was a ditch and someone fell down while everyone was too scared to help them, youd dive in before they could even say ‘dumbledore’

and you just so happen to be the younger sister of mark lee

the infamous mark lee,, that is

lucky prick part 2

but one thing made you seem not so lucky

your sworn enemy, lee donghyuck

or haechan as he liked to be called because apparently all evil villains needed a fake name

thats what you said anyway, he just liked the name haechan for its meaning

but he was also the emodiment of a slytherin, ambitious, cunning, resourceful and he was a pretty damn good leader

hence him being the captain of the quidditch team (no we are not going down the jisung route)

you didnt actually know when you started hating him, in your first year he had just decided to tie your poor, poor cat like a pig for roasting (he was in his second year already)

mr snuggles was traumatized

after that day it was small things to annoy you

like when he put hair dye in your conditioner bottle, resulting in your hair turning out a seafoam green colour

which you actually didnt mind so the joke was really on him, you pulled that shit off

or when he put spiders in your school shoes

that was unpleasant

and he also put a cockroach in your pocket, scaring your poor best friend who was terrified of the creatures

jisung was shaking, he hates cockroaches

to this day you still didnt know why he was a slytherin, but you guessed it was because he was a pureblood, very ambitious and resourceful but not so scary

but today was no exception

you walked towards the gryffindor table, robe billowing behind you as if you were walking in a movie

you were a lee sibling, you were both good at literally everything and deserved all the praise on earth

you fucking go girl, i stan

jisung sat at your table, the gryffindors appeared not to mind, especially as he was actually super nice

"y/n haechan told me to give you this"

ah there it was

the small hufflepuff girl handed you the letter before scurrying off back to her table

"y/n im scared"

jisung was already frightened of what that letter would hold

and you were a good friend, who knew no good would come from that letter

so you shoved it in your pocket, letting it crumple up before turning back to your breakfast

rip donghyuck

that was a fat L for our boy

he just wanted your attention

at first at least, he just wanted to be noticed by you so he pulled the cat stunt, making sure he didn’t actually harm the creature because he is still a decent human being and the grey furry animal did nothing to him

but now he had taken things too far

and he realised that after the stunt he pulled which resulted in you

yes, you, the brave, courageous gryffindor, crying

yeah he fucked up

he casted an illusion spell that infiltrated your sleep, creating nightmares with your deepest fears

and he regretted that

prank gone wrong *nearly killed her* (not clickbait)

you were still pissed at him for that

but that letter in your pocket was no ordinary letter

it was a confession letter, because he; yes him, the infamous slytherin, was too scared to talk to you about it in person

yet you literally just crushed his heart

which he kinda deserved to be fair

but jisung sent you a grateful smile and you went back to your conversation of which cereal brand was better

the answer is obviously lucky charms or frosted shreddies pengers mate

so our baby slytherin needed to find another way to get his feelings across because he was failing

and brother mark was: not happy

mark was a friend of haechan but despite his complaints every goddamn time that he needed to stop his stupid jokes that weren’t actually jokes, he didnt listen

maybe he shouldve listened

mark knows best

apart from jenos fic, mark was a real bitch but this is mark 2.0

mark really doesnt know best

anyways moving on

its time for innovative hyuck™️

so its back to the drawing room, sitting next to yuta (his head boy) to discuss the next plan of action

cutie yuta felt that haechan opening up to him about his feelings was the biggest achievement during his time at hogwarts

so right, the next plan

it was to leave flowers on your bed and then when you turned around to see who put them there (hypothetically) he would be there and he could make his outstanding apology

but of course, this isnt some fanfiction where everything goes right

who do you take me for?

so later that day he gathered his flowers, tying them in a cute dark green ribbon

staying with the slytherin theme

and he put them on your bed

they were some seriously nice flowers

you noticed them as soon as you walked in and your heart swelled

unfortunately that wasnt the only thing that swelled

you were allergic to pollen, and your eyes had puffed up slightly, itching a little and you had some sniffles

that was another L for hyuck

and he ran, he fucking booked it out of his little hiding spot back to his common room aka the dungeon

"YUTA I FAILED"

"how the fuck do you fail giving someone flowers hyuck?"

"shes fucking allergic"

so you never found out who gave you flowers

but

but you did keep them, despite your obvious physical irritation to them

they were pretty :(((

so you pressed them into a random notebook you found, because seriously you couldnt just chuck them out

unfortunately for hyuck, he was not so slick to mark who narrowed his eyes on the boy

he knew something was up

what kind of torture device was flowers ?? this was too soft

and so he found out that the same boy who had been making your life a little

how should i say

s p i c y

had a fat crush on you and was just a pouty baby who wanted your love and attention

cute

mark didnt know whether to support this?? like ?? he knew that underneath your front of disliking the long legged boy, you had some feelings, maybe small but they were there

you wouldve called it fondness

because

i promise youre not a sadist or masochist

but you would see him in class

he was very focused and had a beautiful smile

and laugh

he may come across a little... stand offish and arrogant at first but hes actually a kind soul

from how he made a mess in the grand hall but when he thought everyone was gone, he stayed behind to help clean it, having fun conversations with the staff (elves? who tf cleans the great hall??)

that goddamn melodious laughter constantly ringing in your head

shawtys like a melody in my head

but moving on

you noticed the pranks he pull decreased

and that was because he was spending time with yuta and mark, planning the perfect, foolproof (unfortunately not jeno this time) way to confess

and he sent you small smiles ?? what ??

this is so unlike the hyuck you knew

like he did a 180

i did a full 180 baby crazy

i said this was gonna be less crackish but when regular comes on and you hear jaehyuns queso line you cant not feel qUirKy

(bbq- bb—s mY DIAMONDS I DONT NEED NO LIGHT TO SHINE- jungwoo)

okay so the next plan

you loved quidditch too, mainly because your brother was the captain for the gryffindor team

so the plan was for you to attend the slytherin v gryffindor match and

mark somewhat willingly agreed to have a friendly match so that hyuck could show off his skills

this was an awful plan

because it was raining the day of the match

so you and jisung huddled together for warmth, shivering as you watched the match

and hyuck couldnt feel worse, he felt like you were now going to be sick because of him

damn, you really couldnt catch a break

the groan of pure frustration yuta let out was amusing at least

he was just as invested in this as haechan at this point

like he was germinating a seed??? he was fathering this relationship

so with another L, haechan felt super super bad

and this baby cooked for you

he got his best friend jaemin to teach him how to make chicken soup

because you were actually not a herbivore

(thats the category i put vegans and vegetarians in)

omnivore tings

so he carried his little pot of soup, his fingers kind of burning as it was piping hot

he legit walked right past a suffering jisung in the slytherin dorm, the pot of soup still in hand not even sparing a thought about taking pity on the poor kid and giving him some

so he walked to your dorm, being let in by mark who was being big bro™️ and looking after your sick ass

you looked dead

pale skin, eyes closed, lips tinted blue, your body was shivering but you felt fucking boiling

peak peak times

but haechan still thought you looked gorgeous

mark vacated the dorms, leaving to his lessons so hyuck could look after you

this wasnt a plan ?? but hyuck rolled with it

setting his lil pot down he sat in a seat next to you, staring at your asleep awake form with closed eyes

his eyes held so much love and adoration for you, you really are lucky

he took off his robe, just sitting there in his shirt, trousers and green tie and watching you sleep

you were actually awake, just vibing and breathing to stay alive

and he had a lot on his chest

"i know ive been a massive prick to you and im really sorry. i know you’re asleep right now but im too much of a coward to say this to your face. i really only just wanted your attention because i seem to have feelings for you and i am sincerely sorry for going about it the wrong way"

your ears were {}

wide open

boy were you listening and taking this all in

oh shit

realizashun xx

so you fluttered your eyes open gently, watching his face morph into an expression of pure terror from his previous one of literal love

*whipping noise*

"youre awake!" he squeaked out, eyes darting around the room to look at anything but you

which you couldnt help but smile at

shifting to the side in your bed slightly, you lifted the covers, lazily patting the now open space

"c’mere"

your voice was kind of croaky and hoarse

that made hyuck feel guilty

baby it wasn’t your fault

but he complied, kicking off his leather school shoes and sliding besides you, staying as far away from you as possible

not to offend you, his heart was just going a million miles a second and there was no way you wouldn’t be able to hear it

this boy was like blushy sausage face part 2

arrogant hyuck has left the chat

you pouted seeing him shuffle away from you, shuffling to move yourself closer instead

power move, he either had to cuddle with you or fall off the bed

"can we just forget what i said earlier?"

that made you frown

the fuck?

hell no

"hyuck wait-"

"no dont bring it up its embarrassing"

whiny baby is back

"hyuck i-"

"nope nope nope nope"

"LET ME SPEAK FOR FUCKS SAKE"

he had no choice but to listen

your voice sounded strained already and he didnt want to make you feel worse

"i have feelings for you too you big baby"

double take

you what now?

haechans mouth just kinda froze open

so you shut his jaw gently

cant let him get jaw ache

"wait what?"

his soul has returned

he felt elated, completely happy, dare i say like he was high on a drug and said drug was not THC it was your TLC (LMAO GET IT IM PROUD OF THAT)

and so thats how mark returned to your dorm room to see you and hyuck cuddled in your bed, your head laying on his chest as his chin rested on your head, nuzzling into your hair (which was still half seafoam green might i add)

hyuck wasnt awake to celebrate, so yumark had their own small celebration, counting this as their success

you only found out he had put the flowers on your bed about two months after you started dating

a month after that you read the letter he gave you

[ofwolvesandbutterflies]

not when i’m with you

executive order | ii

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x Reader ft. Johnny Seo

Genre: mature angst

Tags: arrangedmarriage!au, ceo!johnjae, bestboi!jaehyun

Warnings: infidelity, language, toxic relationships, mature content, mentions of abuse

day 24 of 30 days with NCT

Synopsis: in which you’re unhappy with one man, infatuated with another... and the one you’ve made peace with isn’t the one you should have. 

// this right here is the part where imma make you change your mind // (x)

--

[00:08]

“Let’s get you hom-” 

“No,” you interrupted, voice quivering with all the raw, suppressed emotion you had hidden away from Johnny, your parents, the entire world for so, so long. You knew Jaehyun meant well, but not a single molecule in your body wanted to be near anything even remotely related to your fiancé. “I don’t- I don’t want to go back there.” 

The word ‘home’ didn’t even cross your mind as thoughts of your sad, lonely apartment flashed through your head. At this point, you didn’t even have an emotionally stable relationship or feeling in which you could consider a ‘home’, much less a physical abode. Queasy were you, resting heavily against the cool metal of the bar counter and you all but whispered, “I… don’t want to be alone while he fucks another nameless bitch. Not again.”

Tears streamed shamelessly down your made-up cheeks and part of you knew you should have been embarrassed. You had never before considered yourself an emotional drunk. Then again, you had only ever gotten drunk by yourself. The shrill voice of your mother entered your brain. Emotion in public? Disgusting. You are my offspring, you are above that, and I don’t ever want to see that from you, understand?  

...

Never before had the young CEO of Jung Resources seen you so sad, so broken. Granted, it didn’t say much because though the two of you had been raised in the same circle of spoiled children, you always had some sort of cold facade up around others that hardly faltered unless you had ingested copious amounts of alcohol. In all honesty, had your father not arranged an agreement with Seo Enterprises, part of Jaehyun had grown up expecting to spend his whole life with you. And deep down, it hurt him to see you like this. 

So he stooped down until he was only mere centimetres from the tip of your reddened nose. With a few fingers, he brushed the tear-dampened hair from out of your face and behind your ear. Dejected, wide eyes gazed up at him through unshed tears. A faint smile graced his lips at your miserable state, a complete opposite from the raging inferno that burned in the pit of his stomach. Cupping your chin in his hands, he lifted your face, pressing a meaningful kiss to the tip of your nose. In that moment, nothing burned brighter than his hatred for your shitbag of a fiancé. You didn’t deserve this pain. Jaehyun pulled away. “Who said you were going to be alone tonight, sweetheart?”

...

Who said you were going to be alone tonight, sweetheart? Anything said in complete confidence could cut through your hazy mind. But, the moment your mind processed the simple question, his lips covered yours just as they fell open. 

You should have felt guilty. You should have felt terrible. Here you were, so goddamn close to cheating on your fiancé in a cheap bar on the outskirts of town… and yet you felt more alive than you had in years and all you could think was that Jaehyun tasted heavenly. Like a combination of the spearmint gum he always kept in stock and a Lindt 70% cocoa dark chocolate bar. You doubted you tasted any good with the aftertaste of beer in your mouth, but he didn’t seem to mind. He tugged you closer to his body, tilting his head to gain better access to your tongue. After a moment, he pulled away, deep dark eyes searching you… almost for permission?

For a split second, you thought critically about your options. You could… refuse the man so very willing to give you his everything, even when you were at your lowest point and go back to the penthouse unhappy, intoxicated, and alone… or you could give in to your starved desires and reduce yourself to the animalistic urges running wild, scrambling your brain just like they did your fiancé. One look at Jaehyun, the boy you had known since diapers, the man who would never mistreat you like Johnny, and your mind was made up. You crushed your lips to his with an aggressiveness you didn’t realize was housed within you, immediately feeling the smile work its way up to his lips. 

Within moments, Jaehyun slapped a ridiculously large bill on the counter of the ball, told the bartender to ‘keep the change’ and scooped you up into his arms, heart racing faster than his Tesla could accelerate. 

All you remembered from the car ride was a flurry of drunken touches and more than a few repressed moans filling the back of the limo. The two of you stumbled out of the car, one of your companion’s arms wrapped around your waist, holding your body secure against his. For once, you were glad the apartment was empty as Jaehyun wasted no time in stumbling blindly towards your vacant bedroom. 

You fell back into the plush comforters, his hands scaling up and down you body before carefully stripping you of the pretty dress you had carelessly thrown on. It wasn’t then that you heard the front door open. Rather, the squeal of the door sounded oh so conveniently the moment Jaehyun propped himself above you on his hands and knees, lowering himself down to eliminate the gap between you. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Jaehyun?” You didn’t think you had ever heard Johnny’s voice go so deep, so ominous, so dangerous before. Breathless, hot, and embarrassed, you knew you should have pushed yourself away from your fiancé’s rival… But all you could do was cower under Jaehyun’s shirtless body, swallowing the moans threatening to spill from your lips as he slowly, teasingly eased his fingers out of you. 

“What does it look like, Johnny boy?” Jaehyun sat back on his haunches, carding a careless hand through his tousled hair as he narrowed his eyes at the shocked figure standing in the doorway of your bedroom. A condescending, shit-eating grin spread over his lips and he pushed himself casually off the bed. You pulled the sheets up to cover your scantily clad body, despite the fact both of the men had now seen you with far less on. “I was keeping your fiancée company while you were out - how did she say it? Oh, right - fucking some other bitch.” 

Johnny sneered at the man standing between the two of you. “That right there-” he paused, shifting an accusatory finger from you to Jaehyun and back to you. “Whatever’s going on between me and Y/N… that’s none of your business, pretty boy. So, I’d love it if you would kindly get the fuck outta my apartment before I beat you into next week…” Johnny trailed off, tossing his shoes to the floor with more emotion you had ever seen from him. 

Jaehyun released a deep chuckle, not intimidated in the slightest. “Wow, I didn’t realize you knew her name, Mr. Seo.” 

--

to be continued... maybe