#except it makes Mic happy

[sassypantsjaxon]

This tiny panel of these grown ass men should not give me as much serotonin as it does

[nannerism]

Currently, the one main thing that drives me to work on my AU is the ability to make fun TikTok edits with the clips I record! (And seeing the output, I suppose!)

On another note, my first post on TikTok regarding my project got 10k likes! That's the first time that's happened in a long time ... (Do I get used to it again? What lies in store for this AU regarding popularity?)

^ wow wow!!!!

[alastor-simp]

Alastor X Reader - Dressing Up As Him

"Hum hum hum~♫" Alastor was walking around the hotel lobby, humming a tune to himself as his eyes scanned all of the inhabitants at the hotel. Charlie and Vaggie were putting up more banners and decor in the lobby, Nifty was sweeping, and Husk and Angel Dust were at the bar. Alastor kept looking around to spot you, but he had no luck. Heading over to the bar, he leaned over the counter, smiling his signature grin. "Ah, Husker my good friend! Having a good day?" Alastor said, as he gazed at the grumpy cat, wiping a glass with a towel. "F*** off." said Husk, as he glared at Alastor, not wanting to deal with him. "Hey smiles~ Looking sexy as always." said Angel Dust, as he leaned back slightly on the bar stool, winking at Alastor. "Please refrain from flirting with me Angel.” Alastor said, extending his mic towards Angel, trying to move him away. "Ah your no fun." said Angel as he pushed Alastor's mic away from, and crossed his arms, placing them on the bar stand. "Anywho! Have any of you seen y/n? I didn't happen to see them in the lobby." Husk just shrugged his shoulders, as he didn't really know where you were, but he also answered quickly as he just wanted Alastor to leave. Angel dust was nice enough to answer as he told Alastor that he had heard you, rummaging around your room along with music playing in the background. He was gonna bother you, wondering what was happening, but he decided not to, and left you alone. "Thank you Angel! I will go find them now!” said Alastor as he walked away from the bar, missing the wave from Angel and the middle-finger from Husk.

Heading towards your room, Alastor was hoping that you were alright. Before, Alastor didn't really care much about you when he first met you as he though of you as another simpleton staying at the hotel, but after talking and hanging out with you a few times, he slowly started to care about you as he found you to be a rather sweet soul that wasn't common to see in Hell, with the exception of Charlie. Of course, he would hide that from the others as he had a reputation to uphold as being "the radio demon", so the less the people knew he had a kind heart, the better. Arriving at your door, Alastor knocked a significant beat, calling out your name, hoping for an answer. He could hear what sounded like electric swing playing in your room, but no response from you. He wanted to barge in, but he thought that would be rude so he continued to knock until you answered.

Standing in front of the mirror, you were eyeing yourself to make sure everything was set in place, and your outfit was fitted perfectly to yourself. You were wearing a striped red coat on top of a red dress shirt with a black bow tie that matched with the dress pants and black shoes, along with the outfit, you had on a red wig with a deer ear headband on top of it. Yes, you were wearing Alastors exact outfit. You really loved Alastors look, and you actually wanted to cosplay as him, but you would never tell Alastor that, as you didn't want to weird him out if he had caught you wearing his outfit, thinking you were some type of creep. You did remember that Alastor was very close to the overlord, Rosie, who owned the big emporium, so you had confided with her if she could help with your cosplay idea. Rosie was very surprised, but found your efforts cute and she actually was able to connect you with the tailor that designed a lot of Alastors clothing. It took a while, but you were able to get the whole outfit from the tailor, and you couldn't be more excited and happy to try it out. You had everything fitted to a T, but the only thing missing was the microphone, but you could think of an idea for that later. Staring at your reflection, you stretched your mouth into a wide smile, trying to match Alastor. The smile looked great, but holding that smile all day was going to be very difficult as your cheeks started to ache. Sighing, you turned away from the mirror and headed towards the radio to turn the music down. As the music died down, the thumping beat from the door, alerted your prescence: "Yes, who is it?", you called out. "Hello, Its me, darling. Are you well? I noticed you were not with the others in the lobby, so I decided to pay you a visit!” Oh No! Alastor was here, in front of your room. You couldn't bear for him to see you, wearing his outfit. "Um, I'm okay. Just tiding a bit, don't worry." You lied, as you were hoping Al would head back to the lobby. "Ah, I see! Well you wouldn't mind if I come inside, do you? I would very much like to have a nice chat.", Alastor said, as he continued to stand at the door on the other side. Oh Satan, he was not planning on leaving. Panicking, you run towards the door, unlocking it, to signify to Al it was open, before running towards your bathroom, closing the door.

Entering inside Y/N room, Al looked around your room, but didn't spot you anywhere. "Darling? Where are you?," Alastor called out, as he made his way further into your room, standing with his hands behind his back. "I'm in the bathroom, Al. Just washing up a bit. You can sit on the bed and we can chat from here." He had heard you call out. Arching his eyebrow, Alastor found it a bit strange, but he didn't question anything further, and made his way over to the bed, and sat down. As he gazed around the room, Alastor happened to spot something on the floor. As he gazed closer, he recognized it was a bow tie that was similar to his. Reaching out and picking it up, he eyed it and questioned to himself why this was in your room. "Darling?" "Yes, Al?," you said behind the door. "I found a bow tie that is similar to mine in your room. Do you know why this is here?"

Panicking, you looked down and saw that the bow tie was no longer on your shirt. "Sh**!", you whispered to yourself, as you tried to come up with another lie to tell Alastor. "M-maybe you left it here by accident." you said, mad at yourself that you stuttered. "I would happen to remember losing something like this the last time I visited you." Alastor said, as he kept eyeing the bow tie, turning it around to eye it. You stood on the other side of the door, realizing that he didn't buy it. "T-hen umm-", you froze, stuck on what to say next. Alastor noticed your change in tone, getting up from the couch and making his way towards the bathroom door. "Darling~, is there something you are not telling me perhaps?", Alastor said, smirking to himself, as he stood in front of the bathroom door. "N-no.", you said, as you heard voice more clearly now. "Then why do I sense such nervousness in your voice?", he said, as he continued to stand in front of the door, inching closer to hear you. "I-I." Stuttering, you couldn't think of another thing to say as Alastor figured out you were acting odd. "Darling~, What are you hiding? Come on out.," Al sang behind the door, as his smile got wider, enjoying the situation you were in. "OKAY! ok. I'll come out, but could you back away from the door a bit and also close your eyes please?", you said, letting Al know you were ready to come out. Al raised an eyebrow that you wanted him to close his eyes, but he said nothing, as he walk backwards, and shut his eyes.

Opening the door, you saw Alastor standing in the middle of your room, hands folded behind his back, eyes shut, and his signature grin on his face. Standing a few feet from him, you told him to open his eyes, while you cast your eyes down to the ground. Alastor opened his eyes, and he was put back for a second as he saw you dressed to the nines in what look to be his clothes. Everything you were wearing was matching him, and the only thing that was missing was his mic staff and the bow tie, that he was holding in his hand. Looking up, you noticed Al's face was stunned, but he was still smiling. "Before you say anything, just know that I'm wearing this for cosplay reasons. I'm not a freak and these were custom-made for me, they are not from your room, I swear." you blabbed all of this out, twiddling with your fingers, and looking back down towards the floor. Silence filled the room, after you were done talking. You were afraid to look back at Al, as you were expecting to see radio dials in his eyes.

"HAHAHAHAHA! My my, how dapper you look, darling!” Alastor laughed out, along with his mic that started playing a laugh track. Looking back at him, you weren't expecting a reaction like this from him. "Y-your not upset?" you questioned Al, as you continued to twiddle your fingers. "Upset? Why no, darling! Is that why you were hiding from me? Cause you figured I would be upset?" said Alastor, as he tilted his head at you. "Well, I didn't want to disturb you if you saw me wearing your outfit." "Well, I must admit I was surprised, but I am not upset. But I do have to ask, why are you dressed up like me?", he said, as he approached you, red glowing eyes staring at you, and his award winning smile on his face. Sighing, you explained to Alastor that you really enjoyed his look and outfit, so you wanted to cosplay as him. Alastor smiled softly at you, and hooked his finger under your chin, raising your head to look at him. "You are quite adorable aren't you, my dear." he said, as he then let your chin go, and began tying the bow tie back onto you, finishing it quickly and taking a step back. "There we go, dear! All set! Now we just need a smile! Come on dear, smile!" Alastor said, as he leaned closer towards your face, smiling wide. Blushing, you looked away for a second before giving Al a smile as big as his. "Perfect! I must say you make a good me!” Alastor said, as he placed his hand on your head, giving it a rub. "Thanks Al." you said, as you blushed and looked down again. "Now, since you want to be like me, we could engage in some carnage in the city! Imagine, the radio demon and his doppelgänger causing mayhem to the denizens of the Pride ring! Quite a premise!" said Alastor, extending his hand out like he was giving a performance in a play. "Um, sorry, but no thanks. I know we are in hell and all, but I'm still not use to all the violence and carnage yet." You said, as you looked at Alastor shyly. "Aw, don't be such a wet blanket , my dear." Alastor said, as he looked at you again, still smiling, but his ears were dropped down, signifying that he was a little sad. "Sorry , Alastor. Maybe we could do something else instead, like head to a cafe or go to one of Mimzy's shows?", you said. "Hmmm. Fair enough." Alastor said, as his ears perked up after he heard you say that. Hooking your arm in his, he pulled you next to him, as he raised his fingers up, ready to use his powers to teleport: "Lets go, my dear! I feel like this is going to be very entertaining!”

[the-kr8tor]

In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane.

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)

Navigation

Hobie's Masterlist

The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.

He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.

The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.

The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.

He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.

The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”

The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.

“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”

Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.

“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”

Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.

The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.

“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”

The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.

“Fuck you, Hobart!”

He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.

The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”

Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.

“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.

He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.

“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”

The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.

“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.

Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.

“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.

“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”

“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.

Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”

—

The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.

“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”

—

Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.

Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. “Who the fuck are you guys?”

You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.

“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”

A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’

You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”

The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.

“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”

He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.

“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.

“Good times.” He chuckles.

—

“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.

“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.

—

“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”

The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.

“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.

“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.

Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.

“Good for you, finally saved up then?”

Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.

“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”

“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”

Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”

Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.

“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”

He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”

You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”

He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.

Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.

Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”

—

You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.

Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.

“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”

Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.

“Who's giving you a bad time?”

You audibly groan. “No one.”

He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”

Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.

He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.

With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”

Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”

You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”

He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.

“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”

Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.

“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”

“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”

“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”

You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.

“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.

“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.

“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”

Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”

“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.

“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”

You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.

“Because they turned into a bat?”

He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.

“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”

He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.

Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”

The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.

—

Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.

He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.

“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.

—

The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.

In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.

The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.

“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”

The camera shuts off abruptly.

—

The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.

He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.

With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.

His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.

Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.

“What's the watermelon saying?”

“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.

Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”

Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”

“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.

“Augh, they're still following you?”

“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.

“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”

“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.

“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”

“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”

You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”

Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”

The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.

You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.

He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.

—

Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.

“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”

He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”

“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”

Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.

“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.

“Because it attracts—!”

You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.

“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.

“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.

“What are you a Pokémon?!”

Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.

The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.

“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.

Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.

Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”

Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.

You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”

“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.

It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.

Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.

The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.

But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.

“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.

The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.

He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.

“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.

Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.

“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”

Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.

“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.

You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”

Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”

The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.

—

The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.

You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.

The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.

“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.

“It was for your great great uncle—”

“Ew!”

“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”

“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”

He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.

“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”

“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.

“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”

“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.

“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”

“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.

“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.

“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.

You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”

“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.

“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”

“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”

Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”

He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”

“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.

“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”

That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”

You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”

“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”

“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”

Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.

“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”

“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”

“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.

His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.

“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”

With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.

Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.

You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.

He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.

“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.

He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.

Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.

Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.

Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.

It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.

He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.

Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.

You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.

Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.

“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.

You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.

“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”

You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.

“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”

“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.

“Lookin' forward to it.”

Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.

“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.

They all nod frantically.

With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.

—

You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.

“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.

“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.

“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”

Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”

Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.

“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.

“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.

“Uh—”

Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.

“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”

You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.

Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”

“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

A/N: Thank you for reading! And happy 1k! 🎉

[teacasket]

omg

genre: fluff au: gamer au, streamer au warnings: none word count: 0.6k   pairing: gn!reader x lee felix song: omg by new jeans

THEY KEEP ON ASKING ME, “WHO IS HE?”

Chat won’t stop asking, despite how many times you try to steer the topic at hand to something else. Their opinions on your current Animal Crossing build? Ignored. If you should crochet a cardigan or bucket hat for your cat? Little to no responses. Lavender latte or milk tea for Drink of the Day? Lavender latte wins, but Chat immediately goes back to your hidden boyfriend.

This is what you get for forgetting to mute your mic. You had a whole phone call about dinner before realizing your mistake, and now everyone knows that wholesome, cozy Twitch streamer lightberry swears like a sailor when discussing pork katsu and calls a special someone “baby.” It’s been clipped already, you just know. At least you didn’t put him on speaker.

“‘100 subs if you tell us his name?’” you read. You'll indulge them because indulging Chat makes for good content. “I’ll tell you literally anything else.”

If you told them his name, you would end up trending on Twitter.

“‘Is he also a gamer?’ Yeah. Mostly League, Genshin, Apex. He’s been trying to get into Valorant. Now, 100 subs, please.”

Felix, otherwise known as LixInABox, is a gamer and streaming personality who has nearly a million subs on Twitch. He has a partner, an elusive figure exclusively referred to as “My Partner.” There are rumors that My Partner (MP) doesn’t actually exist and that they’re a cover for his singleness.

“‘20 subs if you tell us his rank?’ Sure. He's pretty high in everything. I can’t ever duo with him, except in Genshin.”

When he started streaming, he was primarily known for his League of Legends skills. Low Masters on a good day, Diamond 3 on the bad ones.

“‘Show us a picture.’ You know what, I’ll do that for free.”

Chat is not happy when you pull up a photo of Marshal from Animal Crossing. To be fair, he does resemble Felix a little.

While they continue to pester you about his identity, you continue terraforming your butterfly-shaped lake. When Marshal walks by with a sandwich, you make sure to point him out.

“There’s my boyfriend,” you say as you glance at the chat, which is scrolling by so quickly, your eyes can barely keep up.

IT’S LIX

MP MP MP MP

LIXBERRY

You’ve got a ship name already? How did they figure it out? Did Felix reach a million subs? He joked that he would reveal who MP was once he hit a million, and you sort of gave him the green light, but surely he would tell you beforehand? You sit motionless at your chair and try to come up with a solution that doesn’t involve straight up lying.

LIXBERRY LIXBERRY

MP IS REAL

HE’S LIVE

It doesn’t matter what you do. By doing nothing, you’ve confirmed it, so you go back to how it all started—you call Felix, live on stream. You leave your mic unmuted intentionally this time.

“Hey, what did you do?” are your first words. You have his stream up as well, so you see the blush on his face. “You’re live on mine, by the way.”

“I didn’t do anything! They figured it out! I mentioned that I was gonna have pork katsu for dinner, and like five minutes later, they connected it back to you. What did you do?”

“I forgot to mute during our call,” you admit. “And I also gave them hints in exchange for subs, but I didn’t think they were anything obvious.”

He looks at his chat and laughs. “You basically told them what I’m famous for. And a picture of Marshal? No wonder.”

“My bad. See you at dinner?”

He smiles, and you can’t help but do the same. “Yeah. Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby.”

Chat explodes. You and Felix will never live this down, but it feels better than you thought. And you really don’t want to admit it, but lixberry is really, really cute.

HE’S THE ONE THAT’S LIVING IN MY SYSTEM, BABY.

[sashaforthewin]

[on Ao3] Rated M, sex mention, Steddie

ATM Boy

The song started as a joke. Eddie wrote it to see Steve's reaction. 

It had a catchy tune and the lyrics began as a love song of sorts. Steve sat on the couch in Gareth's garage tapping his foot along to the heavy beat and smiling at Eddie as he sang. Until he got to the chorus, of course. 

"He's my ATM boy, my ATM boooooooyyyyy"

Steve rolled his eyes, assuming this was some dumb jab at his being rich. He was upper middle class, at best.

"I can tell he loves me / I can tell he's true / cause when we're in bed there's a thing that he lets me doooOOO!"

Steve was already frowning as soon as Eddie mentioned them in bed but Eddie kept singing, holding eye contact the whole time.

"He let's me go ass to mouth, ass to-"

"EDDIE! EDWARD J MUNSON, ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

The song cut off as various members of the band, Eddie most of all, lost their collective shit at Steve's reaction, laughing at his outburst.

Steve strode over to where Eddie was cackling into the mic, hands on hips, and when Eddie didn't stop, Steve just smacked the mic to the floor.

"Hey, that's expensive!"

"Then you better make sure not to sing about our sex life with the rest of your band present after you buy a replacement, huh?"

Everyone except Eddie agreed that Eddie had sort of deserved it and should replace the mic. Steve forgave him fairly quickly, though, since it was just some harmless joking among friends that would laugh it off. 

That was, until the gig. 

Corroded Coffin got booked to open for the metal band Devastator that were out of Indy. They had three times the fan base of Corroded Coffin, so probably upwards of twenty people were at the show. Sure, those people were also local musicians that were friends of the main band, but a fan is a fan, shut up.

Since the gig was at a shitty dive bar in the city, the kids couldn't come; but Robin, Jonathan, and Argyle decided to come along, as well as Murray, for some reason. Nancy had flat out said she didn't want to have to ride all that way to stand in a smoky bar and hear music she hated, so nobody tried to talk her into it.

Steve was up front in one of Eddie's home-made Corroded Coffin tee shirts. He was still wearing his light wash jeans and a pair of bright orange earplugs, though, so he didn't entirely fit in, but he wasn't as out of place as he thought he would be. There was a guy in a yellow disco suit in the crowd, after all. 

The gang were having a great time. Murray along with yellow disco suit dude were both at the center of the moshpit, slamming and being slammed, Jonathan and Argyle stood around Steve, helping block the worst of the crowd while Steve's hearing was muffled and he wasn't paying attention to anything but his boyfriend, and Robin was alternating hanging with Steve and going to hang against the wall where it was safest. 

Eddie and the boys seemed so happy and were doing great, aside from a few minor difficulties. One of Eddie's strings broke during their second song, but the guitarist from Devastator was quick to loan Eddie his own guitar for the rest of the set. 

The  rest of the Corroded Coffin set was going smoothly after the guitar swap. The crowd was really into the music, and Eddie looked like a natural up there. He introduced the band members and thanked the audience and Devastator for having them, and then announced that this next song would be their last. 

As the opening notes rang out, Eddie risked a glance at Steve and cringed. He was furious and Eddie would definitely be sleeping on the couch tonight. 

But the thing was, the song ATM Boy really was very catchy. It was daring, it was sexual, it was devious and queer, but above all, it was a bit of an earworm. The audience went nuts for it, they were screaming when the chorus hit and by the final chorus, a bunch of people were singing along. It went over better than they ever even thought it would. 

Which made it all the worse that Steve continued to stare at Eddie as if he had been betrayed in the worst possible way. He just stood there. Eddie had to force himself to concentrate on the crowd, not on Steve. As soon as the set was done, Corroded Coffin grabbed their shit and made way for Devastator while the party surrounded Steve and tried to pretend they hadn't just heard a very intimate fact about their friend, discussing the crowd energy and how good the boys had done and literally anything that wasn't the elephant in the room. Steve did not participate in the conversation at all, he was quietly seething. 

He refused to talk to or be touched by Eddie the entire rest of the night, making sure to put his arm around Robin so that only their party would know he was the so-called ATM boy. The ride home was awkward and a bit tense, but the fight was saved until they were at home, alone in Steve's house. Steve pulled off his Corroded Coffin shirt and threw it at Eddie's face before storming off up the stairs. 

"Baby, I'm sorry! Baby, come on, it was funny!"

"You asshole, you just told all our friends and Murray that I let you… that I… it was a one time thing! Do not think I am ever letting you do that again after you did this!"

"Yeah, that's fair. But baby, it's just shock value! And it's a surprisingly catchy tune, I don't know why it came out that way but it did! I swear I wrote it to make you laugh, but the guys all wanted to play it at the show. I voted not to but was overruled! Come on, please forgive me. Baby? Please? Baby?"

"Ugh... Fine, okay, fine. I forgive you for humiliating me in front of our friends. At least the kids weren't there and only about thirty people heard it. I guess. And now it's over and I won't see most of those people ever again. So, I guess, yeah, it's kinda funny."

"You know I love you and I respect you so much. I'd let you go ATM on me as an apology."

Steve just huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, but he allowed Eddie to kiss him and wrap him in a hug. He was just glad this was the end of it.

Months went by and Steve had nearly forgotten about the whole thing. 

Until Eddie and the Coffin boys recorded their first demo. It wasn't anything professional, it was recorded in a large truckstop bathroom with decent acoustics and it was recorded with a portable cassette recorder, but it was recorded nonetheless. 

They had made a bunch of copies, sent them off to a few radio stations, and sold a bunch to indie record stores, handed them out to friends and sold them at their weekly gig. In the second week, a few new people showed up specifically to buy their tape because they had heard their friend's copy.

Eddie was so excited for the growing buzz that he wasn't thinking when he popped the tape into Steve's stereo to celebrate. He had been very careful to only play Steve Side B, never Side A, up until now. 

As soon as ATM Boy came on, Steve slammed on the brakes so hard Eddie nearly broke his face on the dashboard. When he saw Steve's expression, Eddie thought maybe breaking his face would've been preferable. 

Eddie slept on the couch for a week after that, but Steve eventually forgave him. 

Steve had nearly gone back to a completely normal life free of mortifying embarrassment, having convinced himself only subculture dwelling weirdos had heard the song.

But then a local radio station played ATM Boy. Not just once, they put it into their evening rotation. And then another station farther away picked it up. And then another. And then things spiraled from there. 

The only saving grace was that the radio had censored it. The lyrics were now "he lets me go ah- - t'mouth" though Steve suspected people probably still got the gist of it from the rest of the song. 

Corroded Coffin got signed to a record label and they recorded their first album in an actual studio. On the studio release, it was decided for the lyrics to become "he lets me go A T M" even though "to mouth" did not strictly speaking need censoring, it flowed better. 

ATM Boy, meanwhile, was starting to spread. It reached the billboard Top 100 list and started climbing. The band started touring for real, not just road trips to Indy and Chicago. They started selling out mid-sized venues and meeting other bands and forming friendships with fellow creatives. 

Eddie was finally the rock star he had dreamed of. 

And Steve was struggling to be supportive while also wishing he was invisible and unknown to anyone. He was living in constant fear of being found out. Not just because he wasn’t publicly out, but because Steve did not want to be known as the ATM boy and he felt even being seen in Eddie’s presence would damn him. 

At first he refused to tour with Eddie and the band, but after not seeing his boyfriend for months, Steve was both lonely and worried Eddie would cheat or leave him for someone else. It took Eddie a while to notice how badly Steve was handling everything but once he did, he hired Steve as his hairdresser so that he would be able to drag Steve around and have an on-the-books excuse for his constant presence. He groveled and doted on Steve and tried everything in his power to atone for the embarrassment, paranoia, and distress he had caused the man he loved.

There were many rocky years but they managed to stay together through it all. Caring for Steve and focusing on him was actually what helped Eddie avoid the pitfalls of fame that so many bands fell victim to. Who has time to do drugs when they have so many beautiful moles to kiss and a gorgeous toned back to massage?

And on a talk show, nearly forty years after the song ATM Boy was written, Eddie Munson told the audience about his wonderful husband and about the real ATM boy.

“It wasn't my husband, just some other guy I slept with.” 

Unfortunately, two minutes later in the interview he off-handedly mentioned Steve is the only guy he's ever slept with or dated.

[taevbears]

To Be Loved - 01

Here's where she meets prince charming.

⤑ pairing: namjoon x reader ⤑ genre: hybrid au, romance, hurt/comfort ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 5.2k ⤑ warnings: DEPICTIONS OF READER IN A TOXIC RELATIONSHIP (i.e, manipulation, domestic/verbal abuse, threats, degradation, violence toward reader), bullying toward reader, the "gaston" character is a straight-up asshole lmao, hyrbids are treated as second-class humans, description of bodily harm, sexual harassments, minor violence, based off 2013 namjoon in this chapter lol. please be mindful of the warnings!!⤑ note: happy birthday, namjoon!! while i was taking a break from magic shop, i've been working on a couple other projects and i finally finished one. it's truly a coincidence that i completed this story today lol. this story is loosely based off beauty & the beast but with hybrids.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 (End)

It was a dark and stormy night.

Flickering fluorescent lights. The heat of the jeering crowd. Grey concrete in the old warehouse. Speakers reverberating a deep bass that fills the room. Thunder is drowned out as two amateur rappers spit lines on the small stage, eliciting reactions from the audience before them.

One of the contestant’s attention drifts to the crowd until he makes eye contact with you. It seems like he was looking for you. The moment you raise your hand to offer a tiny, half-hearted wave, the corners of his lips tug to a haughty smirk. Then, with the microphone to his lips, he puffs out his chest, turns back to his opponent, and begins rapping.

You’re less than impressed when he finishes his turn and is declared the winner of the round.

To be fair, however, this isn’t your scene. It’s too loud. Too rowdy.

If it were up to you, you’d be at home. Safe and cozy in your warm bed, curled up to a good book or movie. Initially, you didn’t even want to come, complaining that the weather is awful, the venue is too small, the floors are sticky, and that there are too many people.

But he insisted that you come tonight. For him.

One of his friends has her arm linked with yours, anchoring you to her. Her eyes are bright with excitement as she screams in your ear, “Fighting! Kangdae!”

The one you’re all here to see stands on the stage, relishing in the audience’s attention. There’s a smug look on his face when he meets your gaze, as if checking to see if you’re just as impressed with his performance as the rest of the audience is.

Politely, you clap your hands, not quite sure what the etiquette for these types of things are.

The host continues to rile up the crowd, daring any of the other contestants to step forward and challenge Kangdae.

No one does.

Except for one.

Silence follows as a lanky, tall contestant comes onstage. One that no one has heard from yet. Sunglasses cover his eyes, but you can make out some of his predominant features: his full lips, the deep dimples in his shy smile, his tanned skin.

“Okay, kid,” the host says, intrigued. “Show us what you got.”

The kid is handed a mic. Kangdae looks him up and down and scoffs.

The difference between the two is telling. 

Kangdae lives for the attention, wildly gesturing and getting into his opponent’s face. He encourages the crowd to cheer him on like that. Their hoots and hollering pumps the adrenaline in his veins as he verbally attacks the guy ballsy enough to challenge him.

His opponent, to your surprise, stands quietly as he’s thrown insult after insult. Then, when it’s his turn, the room falls in awe. His flow makes him sound professional, even though he sounds quite young. You’re impressed with his wordplay, how he keeps up with the rhythm, how he delivers the lines.

He’s by far your favorite of all the ones you’ve heard tonight.

There’s a clear winner after the boy with sunglasses is done, though rather than shove his victory at his opponent’s face, he holds out his hand to Kangdae and offers a dimpled smile.

Rap Monster.

That’s what they call him.

And as Kangdae bitterly shakes his hand, stunned at the turn of events, you’re beginning to see why they call him that.

In your small, provincial town, Kangdae has it all. He’s a handsome young man, athletic and popular. His family is well-off; so much so that he can indulge in expensive clothing brands, own the newest models and gadgets, and party every weekend at some bougie club or resort. Guys look up to him. Girls are in love with him. He lives off the attention and praise from his big circle of friends.

And yet, for whatever shallow reason, he seems fixated on you.

Unlike Kangdae, you hate being in the spotlight. It makes you shy. It makes you feel nervous. You tend to keep to yourself because of that, reading books or watching animal videos on your phone. You feel like you hardly have any friends in the town.

Then, one day, seemingly out of nowhere, Kangdae declares he wants you to be his girl.

And suddenly, you’re on everybody’s radar.

Why would someone so brilliant and outgoing even be interested in a boring and quiet person like you? 

That’s a question even you often wonder.

Finding the answers to that, however, becomes unwarranted.

People start to talk to you. People you’ve never spoken to before suddenly act friendly toward you. People who’ve never spared you a glance suddenly want to know all your dirty secrets. People who don’t even know you begin to spread rumors.

“The whole town already knows you’re my girl,” Kangdae tells you one day, while you’re sitting on the steps of your house, eyes red from tears of a recent bullying incident. He doesn’t seem to care about that though. In fact, you’re certain he’s even laughed about it at your expense. “Why don’t we just make it official? You’re not dating anyone, are you?”

“Are you even attracted to me?” you ask him seriously.

He shrugs. “Yeah, you’re hot. I heard quiet girls can get quite freaky too.”

“No way,” you cut in, repulsed by his insinuation. You stand on your feet, turning to go inside. “I’ll never–”

Before you could open the door, you’re suddenly shoved against it. Kangdae towers over you, anger burning in his eyes. He’s never been rejected. He always gets his way. 

It’s something you learn the hard way.

“Then I’ll make sure your life continues to be a living hell,” he threatens before he releases you.

More than before, unwanted attention is thrown at you. As soon as you enter the classroom, people stare and sneer. You hear them whisper about you in the hallways. You’re confronted in small groups. Accusations that you think you’re too good to be dating someone like Kangdae. How there must be something wrong with you.

In the eyes of many, Kangdae is perfect. Objectively handsome. Popular among his peers. Comes from money. All the guys you know want to be him. All the girls you know want to be with him. What makes a nobody like you think that you can do better?

You hardly had any friends in the town, but not once have you ever felt this isolated. You’ve never felt this singled-out. It feels like the whole world is against you.

You can’t take it.

“Kangdae,” you call out to him, stopping as he’s about to head to the field. He’s dressed in his sports uniform, about to go into a match against another school. “One date.”

A Cheshire smile spreads across his face. “I knew you wouldn’t resist, babe.”

You try not to cringe when he plants a wet kiss on your cheek.

Maybe you’re naïve. But maybe that’s why Kangdae is after you.

You’re quiet, soft-spoken, and incredibly shy. You don’t have a lot of friends, and you haven’t had a serious relationship before him. You don’t know anything about what love really is. Yet, despite what an odd loner you are, you’re a beautiful girl. Innocent and loyal to a fault. An easy target for Kangdae to walk all over. 

With his hand around your waist, you feel like an accessory. Before you ever considered dating him, he already declared you as his girlfriend, telling even strangers that he passed by that you would one day be his.

“Right from the moment I saw you, I think I fell in love,” he admits on your first date, taking you to a nice, upscale restaurant. It’s different from anything you’ve experienced in your small town. The menu items are so expensive, it doesn't list pricing, and each course that is presented at your table is like a work of art.

What’s most interesting about this restaurant, however, isn’t just the food. But the staff.

Gorgeous women in white blouses and black skirts that show off their voluptuous curves and long legs. Poking at the back of the skirts are tails. And on their heads are pairs of animal ears. Some of them have stripes or spots on their skin, some have nails as sharp as claws, and some have unique eyes like cats and reptiles. 

Hybrids.

Neither human, nor animal. But something in-between.

In your town, coming across them is rare but not unheard of. They usually dwell in the cities, where sanctuaries housing them are. Some are adopted into families or are hired to do difficult and dirty work with an employer willing to work with them. But most aren’t as lucky, and are treated as sub-human. Worse than how some people care for their beloved cat or dog.

“What makes you say that?” you ask Kangdae as a bunny hybrid brings out the next course. She, like the other hybrids, is quite beautiful.

“Because you’re gorgeous,” he simply states as he sips on some liquor. Then, suddenly, he smacks the hybrid’s ass. “Hey, isn’t my girlfriend gorgeous?”

“Kangdae!” 

“Yes, sir,” the hybrid quickly answers before practically running away from the table. You feel awful, but Kangdae cackles as if it’s the most entertaining thing he’s seen all evening.

“Babe, don’t be mad. She’s just a hybrid.”

One date turns into another. He showers you with expensive gifts, and takes you out to luxurious places. Sometimes, it’s nice. You never imagined you’d be leaning against the railing of a yacht, feeling the salt air against your skin as the boat cruises through deep blue waters. Or fine dining at rooftop restaurants in the big cities with a breathtaking view of the skylines.

You find yourself watching underground rap contests, and witnessing the skill and poetry of a particular contestant that caught your attention once. A tall boy with a thick pair of sunglasses and a dimpled smile.

Other times, it can feel overwhelming. Like you’re undeserving all the things that he bombards you with, and you owe it to him for one more date. One more party he wants you to come with him too. One more ‘this is the last time’ before he asks you again.

He introduces you to his friends, showing you off to them despite how out of place you feel among them. He texts and calls you all the time, wanting to know where you are and who you’re with, and letting you know that he’s thinking about you in persistent, long messages. He posts about you on his social media, calling you his girl, as engagements of likes, views, and comments fill underneath it.

People tell you all the time that you’re lucky though.

Of all the girls he could’ve been with, he picked you. Someone handsome, rich, and popular fell in love at first sight with a boring, quiet, lonely girl like you.

And maybe that’s why you stay. Who else would love you if not him?

Next week, you find yourself in the same, abandoned warehouse. Another night, another show. Another chance for Kangdae to redeem himself.

One thing about him is that he hates to lose. His pride just wouldn’t allow it.

Yet, once again, he doesn’t stand a chance.

This time, Rap Monster seems to be the crowd favorite. Everyone cheers for him once he steps onstage, wearing the same dark sunglasses over his eyes. He seems a bit more confident as he raps, his flow and rhythm even better than last week.

You feel like a fan as you and your group stand close to the stage. Although you’re supposed to be there for Kangdae, you can’t help but cheer his opponent on. Your heart jumps when you see Rap Monster catch your eye and give you a dimpled smile, bowing like a prince when he ends his round.

A shift can be felt once it’s Kangdae’s turn with the mic. People in your group and some of the audience make some noise, but the majority of strangers in the crowd are merely nodding along or quietly listening. 

Until the first heckle comes. Followed by someone else yelling at him to get off the stage.

Mean laughter fills the room, and you almost feel bad for Kangdae.

Had it not been for what he does next.

Gasps and exclamations of shock are followed when he suddenly punches Rap Monster.

“Hey, no! You can’t do that shit!” the host yells as the security guards make haste to handle the situation. They pull Kangdae away, trying to de-escalate, but it’s too late. The crowd gets riled up, shouting and egging him on. Two men have to hold Kangdae down, but he’s strong. He nearly manages to break free and get to Rap Monster’s face a couple times. Rap Monster’s sunglasses are knocked off, and he’s holding his face with one hand, covering an eye.

Because when he opens the other one… it looks strange.

It doesn’t look human.

A couple people up front scream in terror as they point at him. “A monster!”

“He’s one of them!” another shouts in disgust. “He’s a hybrid!”

Suddenly, the room seems to quiet down as they all look at him, stunned, horrified, disgusted. You could see him trying to hide his face as the host snaps at him, “This event is for humans only!”

The sunglasses have fallen near you, and without thinking, you quickly grab them and climb onto the stage. You don’t know what’s gotten over you. You hate attention. You hate being in the spotlight. You’re often shy and insecure, and always stay in your lane.

But you have to help.

“Here,” you tell him gently, pushing the broken sunglasses toward his hand. Up this close, you feel so small standing next to him. “You should get out of here.” 

He nods his head and takes them from you, seeming grateful and a little scared. His eyes look reptilian like a serpent, but they’re pretty. You feel like you can’t forget them.

In the innermost area of the iris, near his slightly vertical pupil, is a hint of warm brown, but the rest is a mix of deep blue and purple. The color of indigo. 

“Get away from her, you beast,” Kangdae commands, but Rap Monster is already walking away from the stage. Away from you.

Somehow, the rain outside seems to pour harder as he leaves.

It’s been years since that night.

Kangdae seemed over it, wanting to chase his fifteen minutes of fame elsewhere. And while you were interested in one of the rappers, you aren’t keen enough to keep going back. It isn’t like that Rap Monster would be welcomed at the future showings anyway.

However, you start listening to hip-hop music more than other genres these days. Secretly hoping that, if you’re to meet him again, maybe the two of you could talk about some of the artists you like. Books that you’ve read, movies you’ve seen.

But you haven’t seen him since.

You end up working for Kangdae’s family. In such a small, provincial town, there isn’t much of an option. His family seems to own and have connections to everything.

To the point where even your family tells you how lucky you are. Kangdae is a catch. Marrying him would guarantee a well-off life with someone objectively handsome, who thinks you’re the most beautiful woman in town, who you’d be out of your mind to leave or break things off with.

Although your father and your siblings mean well, you could only nod in defeat. You can’t bear to tell them how miserable you are with Kangdae.

The same man who tells you you’re the one for him, but flirts with other women in front of you. Who gets angry over little things and takes it out on you, screaming at your face, throwing things that nearly hit you, punching holes in walls and doors, or leaving you confused and worried for days without a word until he finally decides to come back. He’d shower you with expensive gifts and affection to make up for it, but his sweeter side never stays long before the cycle repeats.

And you can’t seem to find your way out of it.

The constant pressure to be with Kangdae has you wishing you could just disappear from the town.  To run away from it all and never go back.

But you’re a coward, and you don’t know where else to go. Everyone in town likes Kangdae, and even your family wouldn’t believe what a monster he really is.

In the apartment you share with him, it’s dark and empty. Empty bottles of soju and beer are on the coffee table, dirty dishes are in the sink for you to clean, there’s still a gaping hole in the pantry from an argument a couple weeks ago that hasn’t been fixed. But Kangdae’s shoes aren’t by the door, and you don’t imagine he’d be back anytime soon.

With a quiet, defeated sigh, you take off your shoes and your coat, place your purse down, and begin cleaning up the mess. You go through the motions of it, exhausted from work, from having more to do once you get home, and as you gather the bottles, you see that he’s placed some on top of a book.

A fairy tale story about a far-off place, daring sword fights, and a prince in disguise.

It’s your favorite. The local librarian gave it to you as a gift, and Kangdae is using it as a coaster. And one of the half-empty bottles has spilled over, soaking through the pages.

Angry, you drop the bag on the ground, letting the bottles clatter against each other, and pick up the book, trying to salvage the ruined cover. But rings of liquid stain the front, and the pages are wrinkled from the liquid, blurring the texts so they’re unreadable.

Even before, the book is already a bit worn-out when it was gifted to you, but it still makes you want to cry. Kangdae doesn’t seem to care about you at all anymore.

How much longer are you going to put up with this? Shouldn’t you deserve your own happiness? Shouldn’t you deserve to be loved? 

You have to leave him. You don’t know when. You don’t know how. But you have to. 

That much you know.

Your plans are foiled by a single question.

“Will you marry me?”

Horror strikes your face. Down on one knee before you is Kangdae with a beautiful diamond ring. You could feel every person in the room staring at you, waiting for an answer. All his friends, your family, and even random strangers at the venue are gathered unexpectedly and witnessing his proposal. Wide smiles and excited looks surround you, as if they already know you’ll say yes.

Do you want to say yes?

Are you going to tell him no? In front of all these people?

“Kangdae, I—” you start to say, your voice trembling. You could feel the pressure weighed upon you, setting you close to a panic.

Your boyfriend doesn’t notice how uncomfortable you are. He’s busy flashing a bright, charming smile at the anticipating crowd for his big moment. His smile starts to falter when you take too long to respond.

Behind the smile, you could almost sense it. The heat of his anger.

You have to say something. You have to decide.

You have to tell him no.

“I…” you begin again. Your gaze catches Kangdae’s family, and how they nod their head, encouraging you to continue. Your voice is very soft and almost defeated when you say, “Okay.”

“Yes? You’re saying yes?” Kangdae exclaims loudly as the people around cheer and clap. You even see some girls start to burst into tears. Girls you know Kangdae frequently talk to. Your family seems relieved, worried that you’d reject him, that you’d shame and humiliate them with your refusal.

But it’s when you look at Kangdae’s family where your blood runs cold. They whisper to each other and nod, gauging the reaction of those witnessing the proposal. It feels like they’re in a business merger, and it occurs to you that maybe, to them, it is one.

You feel numb as Kangdae pulls you into a kiss and a tight embrace.

You’re engaged now.

And it makes you want to throw up.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Kangdae whines, trying to pull you closer to him. “Why are you upset? We’re engaged now!”

“Is it because you want to marry me? Or because your family made you?”

He scoffs. “What are you saying?”

It’s been years since the two of you have been together. Years of you being compliant, years of you arguing behind closed doors, of you silently suffering and hoping that things will get better. That, perhaps, one day you could convince yourself that he’ll change his ways. That he'll love you.

Perhaps in front of your family and friends, the two of you act like a happy couple.

You’re the girlfriend he brags about. Arm candy that he can show off because you’re the prettiest girl in town. Someone that his parents approve of, and often question when he’ll pop the question to you. A question, you suspect, puts his inheritance on the line if he hadn’t proposed so soon.

“Kangdae, do you even love me?”

Kangdae laughs. It’s a dark, biting chuckle that makes your skin crawl. “For a pretty girl, you sure say a lot of stupid shit. What kind of fucking question is that?”

Your mouth snaps shut. Until he snaps at you to answer him. “Kangdae, I…”

“Didn’t I propose to you? What more do you want, huh?”

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t you realize how lucky you are to be with a guy like me? I spent so much money on you! I buy you nice things. I take you to beautiful places. I’ve helped you get a job at my parents’ company. I’ve bought you a home. And this is how you repay me?”

“Kangdae, please, just hear me out,” you plead, but the guilt and fear are already eating at you. It’s true that he’s provided you with so much. Are you being foolish? Ungrateful?

“Don’t forget, stupid bitch,” he threatens, his voice low as he grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks with his grip. “You will be my wife. You’re nothing without me. I will make your life a living hell. If you think this is the worst, then you’ve seen nothing yet.”

He storms out. 

And as the door slams shut, you slowly sink to the floor, trembling as his words of a very bleak future run through your head. Crying in misery and frustration that you, once again, couldn’t stand up for yourself. That you still feel too scared to just leave him and all you know behind. That his anger and selfishness will continue to wear you down.

That, soon, you’ll be married to a monster.

It’s after a long day at work when you see Kangdae again. However, he isn’t alone.

“What’s going on? What is this?”

You frown at the sight before you. Kangdae is on the couch, and kneeling by his feet and wrapped in a ribbon is a young man.

No, a hybrid. A bunny hybrid.

He’s very muscular, with bruises and scratches covering his golden skin. His hair is dark, matching the long, black ears on his head. And his eyes are big, round, and full of fear as he stares back at you.

“Don’t you like him? Watched him in a fight last night. He’s pretty tough for a bunny, but lost in the final round. His owner was pissed! Nearly knocked him out himself!” Kangdae cackles with laughter, seeming to have found it amusing. "But babe, remember our first date? Remember those hybrid servers you kept staring at?”

“Yes,” you reply with a frown, not really sure what he’s getting at. What do they have to do with the bunny hybrid currently in your living room?

“I convinced the owner to let me borrow his hybrid for the night. As an apology gift,” he states with a proud smile. “Had to fork up a lot of money, but the guy wasn’t too pleased about his prized fighter losing the match anyway.”

“I-I’m not… he’s…” You’re at a loss of words. How could he explain this to you so casually?

“I wanted to make it up to you, babe. Girls dig shit like this, right? Owner kept bragging on and on about how obedient he is and how much stamina he has.” Kangdae can see you’re not into the idea and comes up to you, touching your arm. “I don’t mind. I’d love to watch. Hell, I might even invite the girls over to give him a try.”

“Stop. You’re disgusting.”

How could he think you’d be okay with this? How could anyone?

Hybrids often get treated like pets, but they’re still human. 

“Ungrateful cunt. Can't you see I’m trying to do something nice for you?!” Kangdae roars, and you feel the sting on your face before it registers what happened. He just slapped you.

You’re still in shock and a bit of pain as he grabs his car keys and a jacket. You cradle your cheek as you numbly ask, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going for a drink. Don’t wait up for me.” He slams the door on his way out. You blink back the tears as a deafening silence follows the roar of his engine, the squeals of his tires as he takes off.

Is this all your fault again? Are you being ungrateful?

No, no. Kangdae is the one taking things too far. And you’re so fed up with it.

You've always been afraid to speak up for yourself. You’ve always been a coward, and wanted to play things safe. You’ve always let him walk all over you. You could never save yourself from such a miserable situation.

You’re so preoccupied with your thoughts, you almost forgot you aren’t alone. The sound of rustling catches your attention, and you see the bunny hybrid trying to unravel himself from the ribbon binding him.

“I can help you,” you offer, and he flinches at your voice. You soften your tone and try again. “Would you let me? I promise, I won’t hurt you.”

He thinks about it for a moment, glancing at you with suspicion and weariness. But he nods his head. Despite how bruised up he is, he probably figures he could overpower you if you really intended to harm him.

The two of you are silent as you untie the long ribbon from his wrists and slip it off his torso. But being this close to him also gives you a good view on all the cuts and sores he received from the fight.

Your heart sinks for him. Not only is it highly illegal, but this one is a prey. They’re not supposed to fight in the first place.

“Wait here,” you tell him once he’s free from the bondage. He rubs his wrist, but continues to sit on the floor. Nothing is really stopping him from leaving on his own, so you hurry to find a first-aid kit.

When you return to the living room, the bunny hybrid is still there. He hasn’t moved an inch from his spot. He eyes the little box in your hands, seeming to recognize it.

“I think this should help with some of your wounds. Is it okay if I help you with this too?”

This time, he nods his head more eagerly.

Again, a silence falls between you two. But it isn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it’s been a while since you’ve been in the presence of someone else and the silence felt natural. Every now and then, you’d give him a head’s up about the sting of a topical spray or ask him if the bandage you’re wrapping around him is too tight. And he watches you the whole time, nodding and shaking his head when prompted, seeming used to this. You wonder how often he has to treat his own wounds after being thrown in battle.

The silence is cut when his stomach growls loudly. He looks incredibly embarrassed as you offer a small smile. “I have some food in the fridge if you’re hungry. Let me just finish doing this.”

It doesn’t take too much time at all to treat his wounds and wrap fresh bandages on his injuries. You’ve only encountered hybrids a couple times, so you’re not entirely sure what he’d like to eat. You assume fruits and vegetables, but would that be enough?

You start to pull them out and you’re startled when you see the hybrid standing over your shoulder. You see him eyeing a jar of kimchi and take that out as well.

“Does kimchi fried rice sound good to you?” you ask him, and he nods his head more excitedly. His eyes look brighter too, as if you guessed exactly what he’s craving.

Endeared, you begin to get to work. You pull out the leftover rice, sauces, and the ingredients needed to cook it. The hybrid watches as you chop the vegetables and first cook out the onions before adding in the other vegetables and rice. In another pan, you fry a couple eggs to serve over the rice, and sprinkle some toppings of sesame seeds, nori, and sliced green onion. You ransack your fridge for some side dishes you could pair it with, serving some yellow pickled radishes, pickled cucumbers, and seaweed salad in small bowls.

The hybrid watches with big, round eyes and a jittering leg as you set the food before him. You tell him to eat and you barely take a bite of your own dish before he picks up his bowl and devours it like he hasn’t eaten in days. His brows are furrowed and he starts huffing, but he’s quick to grab the side dish closest to him and cleans that as well.

“Is it good?” you ask him tentatively. 

He gives a brief nod, mouth too full to answer, and fills his bowl with seconds.

“I’m glad. I would’ve made more if I had known you’d be this hungry,” you tell him, heart full just seeing him eat well.

You can’t help but feel sorry for him. You can’t imagine what he’s been through, and you don’t want him to be sent back to his owner. You don’t want him to be put in another dangerous and exploiting situation.

“I’m sorry about him. That guy that was here earlier,” you begin. You’ve barely eaten, but you push your share toward him. “He’s not a nice person.”

The bowl he takes from you covers his face, but his ears twitch toward you. They show that he’s listening to you.

“Your owner isn’t a nice person either, huh?”

The hybrid freezes at the mention of his owner. He lowers the bowl a little and he looks terrified. For the first time, he speaks to you. His word is barely a whisper. “Don’t…”

This time, your eyes widen. “What?”

“Please…” he begs, putting the bowl down. Grains of rice stick around his mouth as he looks at you with pleading eyes. “Please don’t let me go back to him. Please help me.”

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist | Next

[fluff-n-cookies]

Hey, love! I’m new to this, so sorry if I’m doing this wrong :) You can call me Moon btw. I love your writing and appreciate how it’s all platonic!!!! I was wondering if you could do Aizawa (and maybe Mic or whoever else you want) with an introverted teen he took in asking to braid his hair, and getting lost in thought and humming while listening to him complain about work or something. It’s fine if not <3333

Hi Moon! It's nice to meet you! I am so so so so sorry for replying so late. I was feeling burnt out and just really needed a break. I hope you understand. I was also hoping I could use this prompt for other characters so if you’ll give me permission I’d love to use your idea again for different characters. :)

Aizawa never liked coming home. He never liked the blinding white light bulbs that came with his crappy apartment and was too lazy to change, he didn’t like the smell of coffee and dirty dishes he felt were too overwhelming to do. He used to only have the energy to eat some soggy cereal and pass out on the couch before getting up to do hero work in the morning, or 2 am, or come home at 11 pm but that didn’t matter, it was just the same thing every day. 

But now, he had you. Being the sole survivor of a strange house fire at 1 am and having no memories whatsoever and having been considered shy and introverted. You were one with no guidance, no past and a future unknown and uncharted. And while you had been proven to have the intelligence of a child your age and then some, you had little to no knowledge of much else. You were a young girl in need of love and protection. (at least to him.)

So he took you in, begrudgingly, at first, but he soon felt a sense of comfort in your presence, a sense of happiness even. 

He even decided to pick up a parenting book or two, and found some mommy bloggers as well. I mean, what else is a man to do except try and be a good parent to a child he loves ever so dearly?

He learned he needed to make food for said child, instead of living off take out and what he can find at the convenience store next door. Children also need to live in a clean environment, so that is what he did, he tries to at least do the dishes and laundry regularly now. 

Guess he needs to listen too, because he often finds himself listening to your rants about school and homework, as well as the rants of your hobbies, about what you did today, how you felt today, so many things. And I guess, just a hunch, that his life was finally falling into rhythm. 

But it remained mostly the same.

Tonight was no different.

It goes;come home, take off shoes and coat, check if you’re awake, make some ramen (and some for you too if you are awake.) complain, go to bed. 

So here he is, tiptoeing to your room at the end of the hallway, careful not to wake you if you are asleep. Only to find that you are, in fact, awake. The warm light bulbs he installed in your room peaked through the crack in the door you had left for the cat to come at the ungodly hours of the night. You could also see the various trinkets and hobbies you had picked up over your 4 years of living together and made your room the heart of the whole apartment. Lively and bright. And there you were, hunched over your desk watching a video on your computer, fiddling with a piece of origami paper, attentively following the instructions from the video to try and make an origami frog. 

It took about 10 seconds to recognize he was there, smiling, happily at your antics. You smiled a little, but that smile made it all worth it to do what he does, be a hero and a single parent both at the same time, a smile that could light up even the darkest of nights. You did a little run too, you ran a little run to get to him but still tried to be light on your feet so as not to bother the neighbors.

Always so considerate. He thought. 

It was a regular routine really, for him to get you from your room and make some ramen, but as you two sat on the couch, TV was buzzing with the latest new stories (who needs a dining room table? Just use the couch! Why waste the space? It is the perfect space for your plants so for your plants it will be!) Something different happened today. 

For in the smallest little voice, he heard you squeak out,

 “c-can I braid your hair.” a slight tremble in your voice 

Now that was a surprise,

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m sorry, I meant it as in can I do your hair, I’m sorry I shou-”

“Sure.” he replied nonchalantly.

“What?” 

“You can braid my hair. Go on, the hair ties are in the bathroom.”

“Oh.” there was a pause. “Okay.”

Here he was, out in the dead of night at 12 in the morning, a young girl braiding his black locks of hair while he complained about PresentMic’s antics while eating convenience store ramen. For once in his life he felt at peace, as the world slowed down he felt himself slowly understanding. Understanding that it may be over, the repetitive nights of the never ending loneliness. It’s over.

And it starts here, with you, with tonight where you braid his hair and listen to him rant about the outside world. But here it’s safe, in this crappy apartment with the cool light bulbs and the distant stench of dirty dishes and the coffee he had this morning. It's okay. Life is okay.

Maybe he wasn’t doomed to have the same routine every day over and over again.

[singstaircase]

Walking into your dagger for the very last time– Pedri

summary: At seven, Pedri wondered if soulmates truly exist. He didn't expect to find his in seven years through the virtual world. Or in which Pedri meets someone in a video game lobby and shenanigan ensues

Contains: fluff, little bit of angst, not a happy ending, mentions of feeling lonely, the pandemic, injuries

this ended up being more Pedri centric then I imagined. Obviously some stuff are made up because I don't know Pedri. Enjoy!!!

Pedri is thirteen years old the first time he gets into an argument with his manager, and it feels like the worst thing in the world.

Football is everything to him, so why can't the coach understand? Why can't his coach see that?

He would've been fine if it was just another league game – hell, he would've accepted not playing or even losing, if it was just another league game. But it was Copa de Campeones final! His sole chance of being in Europe.

So what if he accidentally injured himself while making a tackle? So what if the medical team thinks he should rest?

So fucking what? At thirteen, football is his lifeline. Why can't his manager just understand? 

***

So, Pedri does what any teen forced to sit out and watch his team lose a final would do; lock himself in his bedroom and play one video game he would not play in any other circumstance. CS:GO (Counter-Strike: Global Offense) with strangers from God knows where.

Pedri knows he'll regret staying up this late but he doesn't care. That's for future Pedri to worry about. His focus now is on shooting strangers in the virtual world and he'd be lying if he says he isn't enjoying this.

***

It's past midnight and he waits in the lobby, pondering.

Thinking if his coach was serious about not playing him anymore and about so much more which doesn't help at all to ease his sudden spike in nervousness about the future and what it holds.

Someone with the gamer tag [Username] joins to complete the lobby. Pedri's certain he'll forget about them tomorrow, like everyone else.

***

Pedri has a natural talent for many things; football, disappointing his manager and as of now– playing CSGO; he realizes that as the game progresses.

Except for one round, where he lets his mind wander somewhere else and nearly ruins it for everyone. Fortunately for him, his saviour comes in the form of one stranger from who-knows-where, one who Pedri was sure he'd forget about.

Pedri likes them immediately. Unknowingly. Subconsciously. He feels an immediate connection with his mystery saviour for some strange reason. 

"Thanks for saving my ass out there [Username]," he blurts out with haste, ready to log off. 

And the reply comes a voice, a little clipped and barely audible to anyone else but clear as bells to Pedri's ears.

"You're welcome," before the mic goes silent again. Those to simple words would go on to shatter every single plan Pedri never made about his life trajectory and throw them into the gutter.

He doesn't know it yet but this'll be simultaneously the best and most painful thing that would ever happened to him.

Pedri ends up saving the gamer tag of his saviour stranger and reaches out whenever he needs someone to play with or fill the lobby.

Or that is what he tells himself.

Sometimes he invites them when he has a bad game or another argument with his manager. At times just because. And to Pedri's surprise, the stranger responds to his 'pleas' almost every time.

A part of him is happy that they don't ignore him. Yet, another part underneath the surface is also scared that one day, this stranger he's growing fond of, will leave him without saying goodbye and he'll be left to his own again.

Deep inside him there's a creature that won't show up in x-rays, one that is always trying to protect Pedri's soul.

One that has been urging him to finally properly talk to this stranger, make a deeper connection. Something that will stay forever. Perhaps a friendship that will transcend lifetimes. Maybe something even more…?

And today he finally surrenders to those thoughts in his mind.

Today his manager told him he won't be playing for a while. The worst that could happen at this point in his life, happened. He has nothing to lose now and he's never been more sure of it.

Today, with the news that he'd be sidelined, Pedri finally acts on his long-held impulse. 

***

Pedri does it. He actually does it, uncertain if it's the correct decision. He sends the message, heart pounding, and anxiously waits for a reply.

Or not. He doesn't know. Maybe they finally got fed up with him. Maybe they don't care enough to reply.

A small sound emits from the computer, signifying a new message.

⊙ [Sir González] Wanna be friends

⊙ [Username] Sure, why not?

At fourteen years old, Pedri wonders, for the very first time, if it's possible to be friends with someone living thousands of miles away.

The thing about friendship is… sometimes you don't know when it started.

Pedri can't pinpoint when he and his stranger became friends.

If you were to ask Pedri when and how he formed this connection, he won't answer. Because he can't, he doesn't have answers to those questions.

But Pedri knows this is a friendship, he has a friend, be it in the virtual realm. He looks forward to talking to them through messages, cherishes playing with them everyday.

The possibility of gaining a friend through the screen isn't something Pedri ever considered, but he isn't going to complain.

One afternoon after training, he finds himself with a long list of notifications from his online friend. His stranger friend soon makes a habit of sharing their every passing thought to him.

He was taken aback the first time, but just like eagerly waiting for them each day after school or training, Pedri soon makes reading them an integral part of his life.

Sometimes fifty messages at once wait for him, sometimes ten with varying amounts of exclamation and capslock.

By June, he realizes his days without those messages feel incomplete. It has become a tradition for him to lock himself in his bedroom and seek comfort from those messages.

There's no denying this strangter is Pedri's best friend in the whole universe. He yearns to know more and more about them; what they like, where they live, do they see him the same way he does?

However, he can't quite answer their questions the same way, with the same enthusiasm.

Pedri is afraid; afraid they might judge him, or worse, ignore him if they learn more about him. They seem to understand that and he's grateful. But at some point, the stranger friend becomes cautious and quiet. 

⊙ [Username] today was fun. Same time tomorrow?

⊙ [Sir González] yeah. I will message you if I have time.

⊙ [Username] Sure, no problem. By the way, what do you do half of the day lol

⊙ [Sir González] I... I can't answer that. I am so sorry.

The moment those green dots turn gray, a sudden expected pain takes over Pedri's entire body. The reply comes after a painful five minutes of silence from the other side.

⊙ [Username] I understand. Talk you later then.

Today might be the day they reach their wits' end, he fears. And in impulse, he makes a significant decision.

Parting away from this could mean a goodbye, one that he's not willing to say. Not yet. Never.

⊙ [Sir González] Pedri.

⊙ [Username] ???

⊙ [Sir González] My name, it's Pedri. You can call me Pedri if you want.

This is the most vulnerable Pedri has ever been in his fourteen years of life and he can only pray that his friend doesn't leave and now. 

⊙ [Username] Pedri. Perfectly suits you. Well Pedri, talk to you soon then. And my name is (Name). You call me that if you want :)

Later that night

2018

Things were going well, too well– he should've recognized that as the first warning of what was about to come.

He was becoming closer than ever with (Name), he was in his coach's good graces again and best of all– he was actually starting matches and doing well.

It just had to happen now.

***

The x-ray results came back worse than he had feared.

To be honest, he doesn't understand much of it but one look at the doctors, their pitiful look and guilty expression, said everything left unsaid.

He isn't a doctor but even he knows he words 'Hamstring', 'Ligament', 'ACL', and 'Torn' being in the same sentence can never mean anything good.

***

His phone flooded with notifications, finds Pedri in his room amidst distant noise.

Maybe it's his mother shouting at him not to slam doors like that, or perhaps it's the nagging creature inside that only knows how to make everything worse.

A single notification comes through, chiming, and illuminating the dark room as he's about to switch it to silent and throw it on the floor.

***

If it was anyone else, Pedri would just ignore and most definitely not talk to them for a long while. The last thing he needs now is pity. Pitying won't convince La liga clubs to sign him.

But he knows (Name) doesn't mean pity, they are just concerned. They radiate care, not fake sympathy. 

He copies the number. He writes the number.  He presses 'Call'.

Heart thumping, Pedri anxiously awaits a voice from the other side. "What the fuck am I doing," he sighs, running a hand through his hair. But just as he's about to put the phone down,

"Pedri?" He hears someone say faintly.

"Hey, (Name)." The name comes out like a prayer from his mouth.

"Hi," they say like a sigh, like a burden had just been lifted from them.

"So..um I have no idea how to comfort you because I don't have friends who play professional football," the nervous laughter on the other side is melodic and that is the moment Pedri learns even laughter can be a powerful weapon.

"But I just want to say it's going to get better, okay? I know this might seem like the end of the world now but it gets worse before it gets better."

There is a slight delay for a moment. "Wait no that sounded too depressing," mutters (Name). "Ignore me please. I have no idea what I'm saying."

Pedri smiles, even though he knows (Name) can't see him. "I get what you meant, don't worry. Thank you. It means more than you realize." The smile in his voice very clear, even to someone a thousand miles away. 

"Pedri?" He hums in response, barely audible. 

"I am here for you. Always."

Biting his lips, Pedri contemplates on adding the next bit. And in the next breath he says, "Love you (Name)."

His statement is met with silence. He waits and nothing comes. That feels worse than being told he sounded embarrassing.

"Oh," (Name) says, sounding cautious and confused. Pedri feels the singe of embarrassment. He starts to laugh nervously, ready to make excuse.

In the next moment, however, all the air in his lung rushed out in one breath. 

"Love you too Pedri," (Name) says. "Talk to you tomorrow, hm?" His heart skips.

"Yeah, talk to you tomorrow," he mumbles. 

Closing his eyes, Pedri holds dearly onto those four words, letting them settle in his heart, knowing he has found something truly precious in the most unexpected of places.

***

The same night, Pedri receives confirmation from the club– it's not as bad as they feared; a grade two hamstring tear. He'll only be out for four to eight weeks.

On that very same night, Pedri learns Las Palmas will sign him in July no matter what, and Pepe Mel, the coach, is willing to promote him to the first team, even at just sixteen.

That night, He dreams of the champions league, of being in Berlin and celebrating with a faceless companion.

2019

Pedri is sixteen the first time he contemplates quitting football to do something meaningful in life.

It's been a month since he signed for Las Palmas, two months since he started a game and four months since he last won a game.

The preseason game that he did started, shattered his confidence, leaving him questioning his place in football. And the persistent, nagging creature inside him is now whispering louder than ever, urging him to consider a different path.

Maybe he should quit football altogether. He is still young, there's still time to turn his life around, get a degree and a normal job in the future. Live a normal, ordinary life like most of the people of the world. 

"Pedri watch out!"

He jumps at the sudden voice, almost falling down from his chair. He blinks to register what's on his screen, seeing the avatar of (Name) crouching in front of him.

"Pedri?" The concern in (Name)'s voice makes Pedri sit up.

He sinks back to his chair. Yet, again, he let his mind wander into the depths of self-doubt and ruin the amusement for everyone. He's convinced he has a knack for turning every moment sour.

"Sorry I zoned out," he mumbles. The groan in everyone else's voice confirms his self-loathing. 

"I think that's enough for Pedri and I today. How about–" The voice of (Name) goes on on the other side gently.

Pedri can't comprehend the words being spoken but the sharp focus on their voice does wonder to soothe his racing heart.

It sounds harmonious, and soul soothing. 

"Bye guys!" (Name) calls out at the end, their voice fading as others start to leave, bringing his focus on his screen again.

It's just (Name) and Pedri now, once again. A familiar comfort. 

"You did very well today, Pedri," (Name) says, wholeheartedly. The sincere praise washes over Pedri, filling him with an electric rush.

The sensation in his chest resembles a cold rush. It's as if their voice is a gust of arctic wind sweeping through his heart, leaving behind a trail of shivers that dance along his spine.

Watching the green dots turn gray, Pedri's room seems to glow with the echoes of (Name)'s words through his phone. 

(Name) 💘 Hey How did your training go?

Pedri 🌟 Shit but is it surprising anymore?

(Name) 💘 :(

Pedri 🌟 I am thinking about quitting football and doing something meaningful for once. I mean I am still young so....

(Name) 💘 WHAT THE FUCK DON'T SAY THAT. Football is meaningful because it means something to you!

Pedri 🌟 I don't know anymore (Name)...

(Name) 💘 Tell me do you feel happy when you play football?

Pedri 🌟 The happiest.

(Name) 💘 Then don't about that. It's not going to be easy, no good thing comes easily. But You are such a great player at sixteen already, just imagine how great you could be when you are 21?! But that won't happen if you quit now. It's not going to be easy but I know you can do it Pedri. You will make it, I just know it.

Pedri 🌟 No one has told me I'll make it except my parents.

(Name) 💘 I'd be upset if you were parents weren't supportive. Pedri, you will play in the Champions League, you will win trophies and you will make it. All you have to do is have hope and you'll be 50% there, work for it and you'll be 100% there.

Pedri 🌟 You think so?

(Name) 💘 I know so.

Pedri 🌟 I will dedicate my first goal in champions league to you. I promise.

(Name) 💘 That's the spirit! And I'll hold onto that promise, González. Even if things go shit, I will be here for you, Pedri. Always :).

Pedri is sixteen the last time he entertains the idea of quitting football to do something meaningful. In the gentle guidance of (Name)'s words, he finds the meaning he was searching for all along.

September, 2019

As he put the phone down, a warmth spread through Pedri's chest, and he couldn't help but wonder, Is this what it feels like to be truly cherished?

November, 2019

It felt as if his own eyes were betraying him. But it is the truth, Pedri will meet (Name) soon. The thought of playing right before (Name), finally being in their presence, fills him with an unexplainable euphoria.

This is not going to be one of his dreams anymore, this will be his reality in due time.

He is going to meet (Name) soon. And he can't wait.

March, 2020

Sometimes there comes moments in your life when you can just sense something is about to go wrong.

That day when Pedri woke up, he could tell something was about to go wrong. He had that sinking feeling. And turning his TV on, he knew why.

The Spanish borders are set to be closed for the next 15 days but given the state of the world, it's almost certain to be extended.

It is the right decision, Pedri has no doubt about that. But that doesn't stop the feelings of disappointment in him.

In his heart, Pedri holds tight onto the belief that everything will be alright; he has to have faith that their paths are destined to cross.

He has to.

December, 2021

This is not how it was supposed to go.

One minute, (Name) was happily engrossed in their work, content with the news of Pedri's goal. And in the next moment, all they hear is silence.

Then chaos.

Words like 'down', 'heavy tackle', 'unconscious' are being thrown around in relation to Pedri. (Name)'s heart drops.

Rushing to the room, they barely catch sight of Pedri being taken away in a stretcher on the TV screen.

(Name) 💘

Pedri are you okay?? Are you hurt? God that's such a stupid question. Please let me know how you are. I love you.

It seems silly to expect Pedri to reply. After all, he was just taken away in a stretcher, of course he won't answer right away.

But (Name) can't stop themselves from calling him. In the voice message after the dial tone, they leave a message; praying and just praying Pedri will be alright.

***

An hour later, notifications from their phone catches (Name)'s attention. It's from Pedri.

Or rather, from his number. 

Pedri 🌟 Hello. I am Ansu Fati, Pedri's friend. You must (Name).

(Name) 💘 Oh. Hello.

Pedri 🌟

So you are Pedri's friend from the other side.

(Name) 💘 I guess?

Pedri 🌟 Well (Name), Pedri's currently going through some medical procedures, don't worry though. He is in good hands. He'll be back soon, (Name)

(Name) can only have hope that Ansu's words would proven to be true.

***

Rest of the day is spent restlessly scrolling and refreshing every and any social media they have, hoping for something, anything regarding Pedri.

For now it's all the same news being repeated by everyone; a player violently tackled Pedri, causing him to lose his balance and hit his head on the goal post. The medical team soon intervened and he was taken to hospital for further checkups.

(Name)'s heart beats restlessly. Is Pedri alright? It looked like a nasty hit and from what they've been reading, he was bleeding too.

Was he hurting too much? Was he in too much pain? God, why did this have to happen to him or anyone? Is he–

The ringing of the phone breaks (Name)'s chain of thought. Seeing the caller, they swiftly answer, not wasting a single moment.

"Hello? Pedri, are you okay?" Those words, breathlessly, comes out of them but the voice that returns on the other end isn't the one (Name) was hoping for.

"Um..hello, I am Ansu Fati. You are (Name), right? It's a pleasure to finally talk to you. Pedri has talked a lot about you."

Their chest tightens. The disappointment and sadness that they feel at it not being Pedri is unmatched. But (Name) has to stay strong now, if not for themselves then for Pedri.

"Uh, yes. Nice to talk to you too, Ansu. Pedri has told me a lot about you too, but I wish we were talking in better circumstances."

"Me too," Ansu says sadly. "I actually called you to let you know that Pedri is awake now. Since you've been so worried about him I wanted to ask, do you want to talk to him?"

(Name) instantly perks up at the news. They nod their head rapidly, before realizing that Ansu can't see them.

"Yes!" The feeling of embarrassment comes a moment later. Clearing their throat, (Name) says, "I mean, yes of course. I would love to talk to Pedri."

"I am sure Pedri would absolutely love to talk to you right now."

Heart thumping, (Name) spins the little marbles in a plastic container, waiting to hear from Pedri.

(Name) feels relieved to know Pedri has someone as thoughtful and kind as Ansu in his life.

***

Saying those words, Ansu hands the phone over to an eager Pedri who wastes no time in taking the call.

Faintly from the otherside, he hears (Name) asking Pedri about his health, in the same breath that Pedri asks them the same question. 

The gentleness in Pedri's voice while talking to (Name) brings a smile on Ansu's face.

This is the purest form of love he has seen and deciding not to disturb them, he leaves the room as quietly as possible, leaving Pedri and his friend to themselves.

***

When Ansu comes back later to check on Pedri, the sight he finds warms his heart.

Pedri is on his side, snoring softly with his phone by his side. The call to (Name) is still ongoing and Ansu can hear soft snores from the other side too.

Smiling to himself, he quietly removes the phone from Pedri's side and ends the call. Sending a quick message to a worrying Gavi and Araujo, he leaves the room smiling widely. 

Ansu is glad Pedri has someone as caring and loving as (Name) in his life.

***

In the weeks following,  Ansu, Pedri and (Name) fall into a routine.

Every night, Pedri and (Name) would have their daily calling sessions that continue until late, where both fell asleep while talking to each other. And every night, without fail, Ansu ends the call and leaves with a bright smile.

During the day, Ansu would message (Name), giving them updates about Pedri.

At first (Name) hesitated to call him. Their bestfriend is a famous footballer, so they shouldn't feel hesitant to make the call.

Especially since they feel like they basically know Ansu based on how much Pedri has talked about him. And after one call with him, all the hesitancy and dobuts were lifted. Pedri was right, Ansu Fati is really a sweet soul.

Neither know exactly when they started to enjoy talking to each other, but one afternoon, while talking and laughing about something that didn't necessarily have anything to do with Pedri, (Name) knew they had found another friend in Ansu Fati in this chaos.

February, 2022

Pedri 🌟 Hello! 👋

(Name) 💘 Oh hello. Sorry, I am out so I can't watch you play right now :(. But I thought you said you won't be online till 9? Xavi benched you?

Pedri 🌟 Oh yeah.

(Name) 💘 I am home now! I can finally watch you 😌

Pedri 🌟 DON'T.

(Name) 💘 ?? Pedri.... I just saw you get tackled on TV. Live.

Pedri 🌟 Funny thing you see....

(Name) 💘 Ah I see. This must mean you are one of Pedri's friends. So are you Gavi or Ferran?

Pedri 🌟 Ferran.

(Name) 💘 That makes you Gavi then. Hello Gavi. Nice to talk to you. Pedri has talked about you lot.

Pedri 🌟 Really?

(Name) 💘 mhm. You are the passenger princess!

Pedri 🌟 The....what?

(Name) 💘 Passenger princess. Someone who prefers being passenger. You don't know how many times I had to listen him rant about this 😩.

Pedri 🌟 😃

(Name) 💘 He's also talked about how great of a player and friend you are.

Pedri 🌟 He's talked a lot about you too!

(Name) 💘 He has?

Pedri 🌟 Hm. Shit, Pedri's seen me.

(Name) 💘 Oh no. Talk to you soon hopefully if you are found alive!

Pedri 🌟 Did you bother you? I swear to god this guy....

(Name) 💘 Pedri! I only watched the last 15 minutes but you were great! And did not. Gavi was quite lovely, actually.

Pedri 🌟 🥰. Are you sure? I can do something about it if it made you uncomfortable.

(Name) 💘 Oh my god Pedri, no don't do it. I appreciate it but he didn't do anything. Don't worry.

Pedri 🌟 If you say so. Shit i have to go now. Talk to you later love you ❤💙

(Name) 💘 Score more for me Love you too <3

April, 2022

Soon, Pedri will get to meet the person who made football special for him. He only has to wait till June. Only the months of April, May and June stand between Pedri and (Name).

June, 2022

A smile lit up (Name)'s face as they toss their phone onto the bed.

Tomorrow Pedri will be here, they will finally meet each other. Tomorrow is going to be the best day ever, (Name)'s certain.

But as is often the case, not everything goes in the way we envision.

June, 2022

Betrayal. 

That's all (Name) could hear and feel.

Is this what it feels to be lied to, to feel betrayed? 

(Name) blinks back the tears forming, taking a deep breath, and dialling Pedri's number for maybe the last time

Ending what they have is the right thing to do now, even if it hurts them both.

[luvkuvi]

20 – all too well !

What's so good about him ?!

Scaramouche x reader smau series

synopsis — Your ex boyfriend kuni is in a band called 5wirl and they're pretty well known considering him and his bandmates are still in college but you still hated his guts on how he ended things with you back then in highschool the day before graduation. So whats the best course of action in this situation? make a hate account of him of course. 

prev || masterlist || next

You didn't know how to feel. You felt like a thousand emotions just hit you the moment you saw those gorgeous violet eyes and indigo locks...you remember it all too well.

The moment the curtains opened and the fans started screaming you were just staring at him with a bag of emotions. Why did he have to attend now? Why did you attend now? 

You knew he saw you too the moment he widened his eyes while staring in your direction. As his lips parted like he wanted to say something he averted his gaze and started playing his guitar. 

He's still skilled as ever — you found yourself not knowing how to react. Are you angry? Sad? relieved..? but no matter how you felt you couldn't stop staring at him as he played his guitar. The same guitar he played to you — singing corny love songs he composed for you. 

Memories fill your head as the next song plays except you don't know if it's sad or happy memories as the band in front of you started playing a familiar tune. 

"fuck…" you muttered under your breath as Scaramouche headed to the mic singing a song he composed for you before you two fell apart. As he looked into the crowd of screaming fangirls his eyes were on you and you couldn't help but notice how his hair grew longer like he didn't cut it, how he still wears alt clothing with purple hues, how he got more piercings. 

You felt like a shell the whole song and didn't even notice tears streaming down your face. Everything felt overwhelming as the cheers got louder after his performance. The curtain started to close and you wanted to leave but you could still see his eyes on you, he reached out his hand to you and—

the curtain closes

Notes: hehe more angsty narration :D

Taglist!(closed): @sakiimeo @sagegreenthinks @evsolostheuniverse @ozzierenato @mechanicalbeat1  @bananasquash @admiringfish @yuraasia @wolfe02 @msameikanevaeh @yukiipc @magica-ren @r0ttenhearts @vvyeislazzy @yuumaofc @klanxii   @darthvada @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @yoyo-yui @deluluangel   @katsumikumo @thenightsflower   @lazy-sanns @sukunasrealgf @4thnocturne @danhenglovebot @sketcheeee   @fumichannorakuen @featuredtofu   @mine-lu @karma-gisa @amyena @onmywaytoteyvat @fujimoribaby @eliqusgenma   @buubbbbly   @reekapeeka @elernity @323jelly @kunikissr @miko1ly @feverish-dove @zuunotsane @pomeiu @yxcade @kascar-chronicle @supercoolusernameomg @otomegame-oneshots @cookieofwishes @swivy123 (bold usernames means i couldn't tag you :<) 1/2

[vennilavee]

red card

pairing: barou shoei x reader

summary: italy is one of the most romantic places in the world. unfortunately, it hasn't quite felt like that in some time.

warnings: BLLK MANGA SPOILERS !!!

word count: 3k

a/n: happy valentine's day!! just a fun miscommunication fic to be my first bllk fic...im running away

“Working with him is such a pain, like, who takes interviews only at 4:35 AM? Who does he think he is, anyway?” 

“Well… he is the highest goalscorer in the entire league right now,” Mari counters, “I think that warrants that he can make some demands-”

“Oh, you’re just like the rest of them, aren’t you?” you roll your eyes playfully, shoving your colleague and friend’s shoulder.

“Whatever,” she shrugs, “Better start packing, considering your flight is in…seven hours.”

In the last few years, you’ve been to Turin, Italy almost too many times to count. Sometimes for your job, and sometimes for…other reasons. Though in the last six months, it’s been mainly for work, no thanks to your stupidly talented striker boyfriend who just coincidentally happens to play for the Ubers.

You wouldn’t trade your sports journalist job for anything else, but with the combination of his always hectic schedule and your growing responsibilities as a senior journalist, it’s been next to impossible to spend any extra time together.

Other than squeezing in an interview at 4:30 AM just so you have an extra twenty minutes with him before training starts.

You scoff as you try to conceal the fatigue under your eyes with concealer. You’d love to go to Rome, Florence or Venice, or anywhere really, with your boyfriend. But he’s stubborn and rigid in his routines. You’re not ungrateful to be with your handsome, protective boyfriend with a dry humor that only very few appreciate. You just want a little more.

So you’ve been to all of those places, and then some, by yourself or with your coworkers or friends. Pretty much everyone except for him.

You’re trying to be understanding. He’s a globally known soccer player and gets recognized everywhere and anywhere he goes. All he wants is a day off, a day to relax and spend time and the offseason with you. Is it awful that you want a little more?

The relationship itself isn’t terribly new or terribly old. Maybe the distance makes it feel newer than it is.  But you’ve known each other since childhood, both of your families being friends and both of you running around the soccer circuit since a young age. His days in blue lock coincided with your days of playing soccer for your high school. That man with the red streaks in his hair has been in your life for nearly as long as you’ve been in it, and you don’t want to change anything about that.

You sigh and shrug your coat on, mentally preparing yourself to ignore Barou Shouei’s attempts at kissing you before you take the mic.

“Hello, Barou-san,” you say stiffly, pushing your hand out for him to shake, “It’s nice to see you before the sun has risen.” The vein in his forehead throbs at your indifference and you grin, letting the facade melt. It’s been two months since you’ve seen him. You suppose you can wait a little longer to fight with him.

“You didn’t text me when you landed,” he says, “Or when you got here-”

“I landed an hour and a half ago and came here straight from the airport,” you roll your eyes, “Someone only takes interviews at this ungodly hour and I don’t want any special treatment.”

“If I want to give you special treatment, then I will,” Barou says, pulling you in by your forearm and wrapping you in a bone-crushing hug. You inhale deeply, immediately feeling sleepy as his warmth embraces you.

“Don’t make it sound like such a threat,” you mumble, pressing your cheek into his shoulder. Your fingers thread through his longer hair, resting at the nape of his neck. He must not yet have applied his cologne, because he smells fresh.

“Wanna take this interview in bed?” you joke, pulling away from him just an inch.

“How unprofessional of you,” he says dryly, “I’ll have to inform your superiors.”

You roll your eyes again, grinning when he pulls you in for a proper kiss. His touch makes you weak in the knees, makes you yearn for him even though he’s in your arms. For just a few short days. 

Your heart aches inadvertently.

“I got you tickets for today’s training and tomorrow’s game. I know you don’t need them,” Shouei says, sticking them in your coat pocket, “Let’s get this over with so we can go.”

He squeezes your arm, dark eyes lingering with unspoken and heavy words as he takes your hand in his towards the stadium.

Interviewing with you is always easy, despite having interviewed with you one-on-one only a handful of times. It’s the start of a new season at Ubers (and his third year with the club), and he’s eager to win the league this time. Last season, they came so close.

Barou Shouei did not become the Ubers’ number thirteen  just to come only this far.

He’d gone back home to Japan after the loss last season for a week and stayed with you. Each time he leaves you, it gets harder and harder. But despite his loss, you were promoted to being a senior sports journalist. He was so proud of you, eager to see where your career would take you.

It seemed like the tables had turned and you were the one now traveling more than him. 

But you both make it work, right? With phone calls while you both are in opposing time zones, red eye flights just to see each other for a few hours… You try to go to Italy to see him whenever you can. Even with your increased responsibilities, his schedule is far more rigid than yours.

You’re so in demand now that it’s hard to keep up with two extremely busy schedules. Still- you’re here with your bright eyes and teasing smile, and he doesn’t want to lose a single second not looking at you.

It doesn’t feel like work when it’s with you. Even with the questions about game stats, Snuffy’s leadership, his future at the Ubers and the Ubers future in the league, it never feels like an actual interview. He used to hate giving these interviews until his coach told him he had to. What was the point of it? He’s not the captain, why does he have to deal with the press and the stupid questions?

Until his first interview was with you. 

Even now, when he knows that there is a mountain to climb over with you, it still feels the way it always does. Like a conversation. You’re focused on him, cracking jokes, and Shouei has always liked when your full attention is centered on him after all.

The last time you were in Turin, you didn’t exactly leave on a bright, hopeful note with respect to your relationship. In fact, you left in tears and had changed your flight timing at the last minute so that Shouei purposely wouldn’t be able to see you off. You didn’t want to see him just to fight once again. 

It left a sour taste in your mouth and despite that things are “normal” now, you still feel the fragility of your relationship. It rests in your hands like a delicate bird.

In the last two months, neither of you had brought up the dreaded fight. It’s not the first time this topic has arisen, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. Your excuse for ignoring the issue was that you wanted to talk to him about it in person. His excuse was that if you had a problem then you’d bring it up on your own.

Your harsh words ring clearly in your head:

“Why is it so wrong to just want a little more? You live in Italy- I don’t think I’m asking for too much to go to Rome o-or Florence or Venice or literally anywhere for a few days during your offseason-”

“I can’t just go, everyone else trains during the off-season! How am I supposed to be the best striker if I’m going on vacation with you-”

“Oh, well, don’t sound so disgusted over the prospect of taking a few days off with me-”

“Come on, I didn’t mean that and you know it.”

“Do I? Do I know it? To me, it looks like you don’t want to spend any time with me outside of when it’s convenient for you. We get what? Maybe a few weekends a season? Are you good with a few weekends a season? And when you’re not playing, you don’t want to go anywhere with me. Am I your girlfriend or your sidechick, Shouei?”

“That’s not fair-”

“No, I’ll tell you what’s not fair. You want me to be happy with breadcrumbs.”

“You knew what you were getting into!”

“That’s such a cop-out and you know it!” 

Shouei looks at you with hardly any emotion on his face, save for the downturn of his lips. You close your eyes shut to calm yourself down so that you don’t say something you regret. He wants to reach for you, to comfort you even though he’s the one who made you cry. But his feet stay planted and he watches you crumple.

“Don’t cry,” he all but begs you, finally gathering you in his arms, “We’ll figure it out. Just… don’t cry-”

“I don’t know how to not be upset with you, with this,” you mumble tearfully as he rubs your back.

“I know,” Shouei says, curling a hand around your cheek, “I know.”

“Hey,” you mumble, with heated cheeks, “Happy game day, I guess.” You thrust a bouquet of fresh red roses that you picked up from your favorite floral vendor around the corner from the training grounds.

“What a loser,” Shouei says fondly, putting you in a light affectionate headlock, “You’re gonna make me late for warm-up.”

“Well, I’m such a big fan of Dortmund that this was my plan all along,” you reply, “If I can distract you, then they have a better chance of winning, don’t they?”

“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes, turning you in his arms to greet you properly.

“Heard Isagi’s out for blood and redemption today,” you murmur as his lips press against the column of your throat.

His ears perk up and he’s torn between questioning you about Isagi or ignoring Isagi’s name coming out of your lips.In the end, the striker in him wins. Just like you knew it would.

“That’s insider information,” you protest when he grumbles.

“What’s the point of having a journalist girlfriend if I get no secrets out of it,” Shouei glares at you, shoving your shoulder gently.

“The point is that you get this,” you take his hand and press it against your chest, “This,” you press his hand against your crotch, “And this,” finally, you press his hand against your ass. “And my charming, stellar personality.”

“Stop seducing me, you temptress,” he scoffs, pushing away your lingering lips.

“Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t want to ruin your gameday ritual,” you reply, “I’ll see you later, honey. Have a good game.”

You turn on your heel to leave the locker room, but not before smacking his ass and giving him a kiss good luck.

This field, and every other field in the world, is close enough to home to you as your own barely furnished apartment in Tokyo is. Fresh grass, clean white lines and adrenaline swirls in the air as you stand in front of the camera, getting ready for the half-time program.

One of your favorite moments in front of the camera is when Julian Loki nearly bowled you over in pursuit of an overhead ball. He’d given you a quick side hug with a smug grin after the game, but ever since then, you’ve maintained a safe distance from the border of the field. The last thing you need is to cause a scene when you’re not even one of the twenty-two players on the field.

You’re wearing one of Shouei’s jersey under your emerald green blazer and you find it extraordinarily difficult to not turn your head to search for him as he walks off the pitch and into the tunnel for halftime. The Ubers are down by one goal and you can envision how tense his shoulders are while he mouths off at his defense for doing a “fucking awful job”.

It’s rare that you’ve ever gone down in the tunnel to see him while you’re on the clock. Chewing on your bottom lip, you debate on it. Should you, shouldn’t you… It’s not about you, is it? His frustration on the field? Even he could admit that he wasn’t playing at his best today.

If he was feeling unsettled about the lingering aftermath of the fight, he had every opportunity to open his stupid mouth anyway. How often are you supposed to have the same fight anyway? 

Oh, who are you lying to? In every universe, you want to have this fight with him. Because it’s him.

It’s just a rough patch.

You hope he can telepathically hear your words of encouragement from inside the tunnel.

[divide]

In the end, you don’t approach the tunnel but the Ubers end up winning the game in a comeback that has you and the entire stadium on your toes. Of course Shouei scored the equalizer and the winning goal with an insane fake out and a strike with incredible power, in true dramatic fashion.

You’re prepping in your tent to begin the post-game interviews with the captains of each team. Your heart is still racing from the last minute winning goal, seeing the strike sailing through the air behind your eyelids.

As Marc Snuffy walks into the tent with his chest heaving in exhilaration and a big grin, he’s roughly shoved to the side by none other than Barou Shouei. Before you can tell your cameraman to stop recording or before you can berate Shouei for nearly taking down your entire tent with his massive body, or for shoving his captain to the side like a sack of potatoes-

He crowds your personal space, giant hands cupping your cheeks and his thumbs rubbing your skin. His dark eyes dilate as he takes you in- his angel on the field in his jersey, his lucky number thirteen. You gasp in surprise as he presses his lips to yours cheekily, daring you to deepen the kiss.

You can vaguely hear his teammates hollering in the background, seeing their ever so serious striker kiss his mysterious, private girlfriend.

“Hey, I’ll see you at home, alright?” Shouei offers you a rare, small smile as he rubs your chin with his thumb.

All you can do is nod with a sheepish smile while your cameraman stares at you, stunned.

And when you watch the interview again, you flush at the reflection of your lovesick eyes and his yearning embrace.

Nerves oddly seize you as you approach Shouei’s luxurious apartment building. It’s about four times bigger than the size of your own. It reflects his soccer player status and salary, you suppose. He’s been here for just as long as he’s been playing with the Ubers but he seemed to only care about decorating it in the last year or so. Ever since you’ve been around.

He’d told you he’d see you at home. Implying that this was your home, too. In truth, it's not your home at all, but the notion still makes you feel funny. Like butterflies fluttering in your belly, as if you can’t believe he still wants to be with you. He never makes you feel like you’re too much, even when you doubt yourself.

You didn’t mean to make yourself almost cry as you approach his unit with hesitant steps.

Shouei yanks the door open nearly off its hinges exactly one second after you text him announcing your arrival. He immediately pulls you inside, takes your coat and your bag and ushers you out of your shoes. Then, he kisses you in greeting.

It’s different from the kiss he laid upon you at the field. It’s softer, more docile.

“I bet your dm’s are flooded after that stunt you pulled today,” you mumble against his lips, peering up at him while he scoffs.

“Yeah, my agent is getting paid her worth today. At least one of us is private on social media,” Shouei says, sighing into your embrace as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“I guess I’m happy to be your mystery girl until the day comes.”

Shouei stares at you long and hard, his lips in an imperceptible line. Your heart pounds in your ears as he stares straight through you with darkened nearly red eyes, reaching into the layers and layers that you attempt to hide away from him. It’s not like you to be quiet and demure around him but you’re on unsteady ground. The words don’t come out of your mouth, wilting in your throat like dried up sunflowers.

But you look over his shoulder briefly, peering into the open space that leads into the kitchen and the dining room only to see two lit candlesticks and a bouquet of your favorite flowers at the center of his dinner table. A romantic burgundy glow illuminates the room along as the purple and orange streaks from the sunset filter in through the windows.

The question is written all over your face as you struggle not to let your bottom lip quiver. You’re usually the one who’s adept at words, but here you are unable to formulate a single one. 

“Stop crying,” he says gruffly, already wiping at your cheeks. You sniffle and laugh wetly as you hide your face from him.

“We both live in this insane world. I don’t want it to pull us apart like it has for so many others. And we can’t give up our careers but I can’t give up on you either,” you admit, feeling a weight lift off your chest.

“I know,” Shouei says simply, “We left on a shitty note last time, and I’m not heartless you know. At least, not for you.”

He grins wolfishly at you when you chuckle. He remains quiet for a beat, rubbing his thumbs into the nape of your neck soothingly until your sniffles lessen. Fidgeting with the collar of your sweater, Shouei hesitates.

“Uh,” he begins, “I got this rental in Venice, in June. It’s still a few months out, but you know…”

“You really want to go? With me?”

“No, I want to go with Isagi,” Shouei says flatly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “If you’re asking if I want to go with you then I’ve done something wrong here.”

“At least you finally admit it,” you shove his shoulder. It’s a beautiful rental, with big windows and a great view of the city and the water. You’re already thinking about the gondola rides, the nighttime walks, the music. All of it with Shouei.

“And you made dinner and set the table,” you pinch his cheeks (he grimaces), “You are a romantic, after all…”

“Don’t make such a big deal about it, loser,” he scoffs. He kisses you gently as he wraps himself tightly around you. You sigh into his lips happily, already feeling lighter than when you landed in Turin not even seventy-two hours ago.

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply with a sparkling smile. 

Shouei makes a vow to himself to never make you cry in Italy ever again. Twice in two trips was more than enough.

[emmyrosee]

I'M HERE TO BUG YOU!!!!!!!

I'm having a rare kenma thought and I'm passing the mic over to you bc you just always get kenma down so well and I think you can answer this question I've been plagued with better than I could.

do you think when you're playing against each other in those two player games (like golf with friends or something) he tries to distract you so you mess up or whatever and he can take the lead?????

like he would totally do that right??? and on stream maybe he's a bit more tame with his distractions, cause he knows his viewers would totally call him out for messing with you cause they always take your side over his lmao

(imo suna would also 100% do this, as would mattsun, but kenma obviously fits this best, my mind immediately went to him)

You never bother me >:( take it back

AYOOOOOO KENMA BEING A MENACE TO HIS PARTNER WHILE THEY PKAY GAMES IS MY LITERAL DREAM

because i know kenma is super humble. he just strikes me as the kind of guy to be so kind and donate everything and so selfless :(

except when it comes to co-op or two player games.

in minecraft, he blows up your bed with dynamite.

in golf with friends, he sneezes when you set up to putt.

in Ultimate Chicken Horse, he puts the portal IMMEDIATELY in front of you.

and of course, when you’re playing Mario Party, he pokes your sides when you’re about to finish a mini game, making you come in second or lower >:(

all because he’s a sore loser, even to the one he loves the most. He’s gotta be slick however, because he knows you’ll rat him SQUARE out with his twitch audience and they’ll ABSOLUTELY believe you (because it’s. like it’s true.) but sometimes, you tell them he did something anyways, sheerly to turn his audience against him for a few minutes

“guysss, see what I mean!” you pout, even though Kenma was no where near you, or looking at his phone, or just far enough away where you’re full of it. “look what he always does to me!”

“I’m not doing anything, I’m just hanging out!” he whines, laughing shrouding the pout he wants to let out. “quit getting me in trouble, they already like you more than me anyways!”

kickingathandtakinnamths YOURE MAKING THEM UPSET

lickinglinkstoes *throws tomatoes*

thisguyamirite kodzuken mean, confirmed?

kuroosassscheek I can vouch, kodzuken sux >:3

his chat fills with support for you as his audience turns against him for the next 12 minutes.

but that’s okay. he’s more than happy to make you bad at games 🩷

[greenhappyseed]

MHA 428 reactions

Bless Iida for enforcing the rules and protecting his classmates from unwanted attention.

Bless Aizawa for protecting his class from media attention (there’s something so “normal and yet not” seeing him squabble with Mic in the staff room).

Interesting that Shinso thinks Bakugo would love an adoring crowd and that they’d love him back. That’s never really been Bakugo’s vibe, but then again Shinso doesn’t know him that well. It’s easy to forget that Shinso hasn’t been there with 1A during most of Bakugo’s big moments.

It’s a small panel, but seeing the boys get praised by the new first-years while the girls quietly keep to themselves says A LOT. Something something emotional labor. Especially because Ochako’s fight was powerful, bloody, and hugely consequential for helping the heroes win. But no cameras mean her work was basically invisible to those who weren’t there.

The construction site feels like a Team Up Mission. Fatgum & Jeanist = the blonde duo I need right now. The first-years joining is cute too. Like of course they should be able to help out as human beings, even if they don’t use their quirks.

Is Izuku wearing an old costume with his red high tops? Is that why he looks so awkward?

Bakugo having a, um, heart to heart with Edgeshot is nice. Will Edgeshot get his old body back? Maybe not. But did he win and survive? Yes. Can he still be a hero and help the restoration effort? Also yes. That’s pretty rad.

Tsu and Izuku are the only ones who notice Ochako is masking her distress. And Izuku is the only one who is also dealing with the death of the villain he wanted to save (except for maybe Aizawa & Mic, but then again Kurogiri was already dead before the series started).

If Ochako’s whole thing is “who saves the heroes,” then yeah, someone needs to save her right now.

Cue sweet Izuku using his OFA embers to get to Ochako quickly. …Is he going to stop her from falling down the way she helped him on the first day of school?

I suspect people are freaking out over the IzuOcha setup, but honestly if the next chapter has Izuku and Ochako talking openly about the feelings in their hearts, and they end up holding hands and watching the city lights together before Izuku brings her back to UA in a mirror of her making UA a safe place for him, I’d be quite happy. They’re both in pain and need friends who understand.

[the-kr8tor]

In Pursuit of Blood: Vampire or Cowboy?

A/N: just something silly that spawned in @pleaktale and I's dms lol enjoy!

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Synopsis: the camera crew finds something amiss.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW blood mention, Vampire! Hobie, Hobat 🦇, Vampire AU, mockumentary AU, set in the WWDITS universe, FLUFF

In Pursuit of Blood/vampire! Hobie Masterlist

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The camera enters Hobie's familiar abode. Red velvet curtains that drape along ceilings and windows greet the camera crew. There's a noticeable lack of dust and spiderwebs around the place, books properly shelved, and no evidence of blood on the now spick and span floors. There's even a fancy lavender scented candle sitting on the newly polished grand piano that's placed inside the interview room that was formerly known as the living room; or as you humorously called it when you moved in— the ‘undead room’.

Even with the mansion clean of any grime since the last time the crew visited, there's a lack of you or Hobie lingering around the vast corridors. The flame on the candle flickers, the producer expects Hobie to jump out at them any second now with his fangs out to scare them. After a beat, there's still no trace of a vampire telling them to fuck off.

There's a sigh behind the camera, the lenses zoom in and out of the opened supply closet that was left open where buckets of murky water sits. Used cloths are hanging from the shelves, jugs of soap and bleach sit half empty next to the dusty fabric. The entire place is like a ghost town where the occupants hurriedly left their dinner on the table, but this time they're cleaning supplies. The crew is left scratching their heads, not even a sound can be heard except for their footsteps against wood, and wires dragging across the floor. The camera whips around the quiet place, paintings upon paintings are the only sign of life left hanging on the walls.

The camera enters Hobie's record room where portraits and things full of sentimental value from your ancestors lie. There's no one in the room, not even a lone spider is left on the ceiling. A whispered “where the fuck are they?” Can be heard from the boom mic guy. The front doors were left unlocked for the crew to enter so that means that you and Hobie were expecting them.

The crew continued on, they passed by the front gates and the porch when they first entered so that means you weren't there doing your afternoon stretching. And with the sun still up, Hobie cannot be caught outside lest he crumples into dust. So there's only one place they need to check, Hobie's mysterious bedroom. The crew hasn't stepped foot in the room just yet, or even seen it for that matter. There was just no need for them to enter, until now. If he's missing, he could be sleeping inside his coffin, and where Hobie is, you'd be there.

Sure enough, when they climbed up the stairs and into the long hallway, the crew sees ripped packages scattered on the floor. Plastic packaging and boxes from an online shop are left like bread crumbs that lead towards the bedroom door that's left ajar.

Every person on the crew quietly makes their way to the door, an almost impossible feat considering there's seven of them lagging behind the main camera. The hallway grows dimmer, as they walk, the light left inside the room acts as a lighthouse to the stalking documentary crew. The cameraman is the first person who made it in front of the door, he kneels down silently despite the heavy camera on his shoulder. He turns the lenses inside the ajar door, peeking inside. With an adjustment of his lens, he zeroes in on your giddy face, grin wide and happy, hands occupied with what looks like a bat doll in front of you.

“So. Fucking. Cute!” You squeal, fists shaking from the adorable sight. You sit on a comfortable chair with Hobie's desk in front of you, already taking hundreds of pictures with your phone.

While you were too occupied with your dress up bat, the camera zooms in on the toy bat. Meanwhile, the other crew members peek overhead, trying not to make a peep whilst they look for Hobie inside the room. His coffin is wide open, red plush velvet lining around the strong oak resting place. The producer is sure that she saw a polaroid of you tucked inside the velvet, and an extra pink pillow with a matching blanket inside. Her thoughts are interrupted by Jared the cameraman, who's currently tugging at her sleeves. She follows where the camera points, failing to see anything except for the unmoving bat, she taps her tablet awake to see what the camera sees more clearly.

She almost gasps at the sight. The camera has fully zoomed in on the bat’s face where a dozen or so piercings lie, the same piercings a certain vampire has. The said bat/vampire has a cowboy hat on, complete with a tiny feather decorating it. Instead of Hobie's black leather vest, a brown fringed vest has replaced it. There's even a gun belt around his tiny waist that has a very miniscule gun that glints in the yellow lamp of his desk.

Bat Hobie's eyes just stare at you, slowly blinking, nose twitching but not from annoyance. The crew can see that he's staying still for you, something they've never thought was possible in their six months of filming him and you. The camera lenses zoom out, showing the vast costumes on the floor next to the desk. There's the classic vampire cloak that's laying on a red chiffon dress, (oh Jared would kill to see bat Hobie in that) a chef hat next to dozens of plastic toy shoes that they're not sure would even fit a bat’s feet. But of course they're proven wrong when you carefully lift up bat Hobie's foot to place the cutest (most accurate) cowboy boots on each of his tiny feet.

You squeal again, Hobie puffs up his chest, posing for the camera. “Hell yeah! Just like that and you're on the cover of Vogue, Hobie!” They can all tell that the cowboy outfit is his favourite from the way he poses.

There's more unopened packages next to you, but you're still not satisfied with his look. In between your fingers, you hold a gilded sheriff badge. The crew watches as Hobie rejects the badge with a screech. He bares his fangs, for a moment, the crew is afraid that he'd bite you, forgetting that he's not an actual bat but an actual vampire that could drain you of your blood within a minute. You're not phased about it, not one bit. The pout on your lips and your puppy dog eyes can be seen from the camera. Hobie shakes his tiny head, large floppy ears swaying around as he moves.

You sigh, relenting. Hobie waddles his way towards your hand, taking it in his claws gently, and then he does what the crew would never expect from the most powerful vampire they've ever known. Hobie leans into your palm, giving you a little kitten lick across the pad of your finger. And then you do the unexpected, even in the entire crew's wildest dreams they could never think of it; based on how you, a vampire hunter from a renowned vampire hunting family could interact with a vampire you were tasked to kill three years ago. You lean down to kiss his fluffy cheek, he even has his eyes closed the entire time, savouring your affection yet chaste kiss. Chuckling, you're still not satisfied, you peck him once again to his delight. Hobie makes a purring sound from the kiss, the crew is sure that they cannot air whatever they're seeing.

“Aww, okay, no badge.” You shift in your seat, talking softly at bat Hobie. Ducking down towards the boxes to take a plastic horse, Hobie now has the perfect view of the peeping camera crew.

His stare freezes them in place, they don't know if he's embarrassed by the whole ordeal they caught him in, or Hobie's trying to intimidate him with a look. Either way, the camera crew is petrified.

“Horsey?” You ask, still oblivious to the danger that lies behind Hobie's red beady eyes. “Or no horsey?” You poke his fluffy side, sweetly calling his name. “You okay? What's wrong? We can stop if you're not having fun anymore.” The crew can barely recognize how sweet you're talking to him. Especially just last week you threw a knife at his head because he watched an episode without you.

Hobie flicks his eyes away from the crew, they sigh audibly, feeling their blood rush through their veins once again. They've seen what true fear was like, and you don't envy them when you turn around towards the sound.

“You guys are early. Again.” You nonchalantly say. “We're not done yet. Do you guys mind closing the door?” The crew is still frozen behind the door, some are gasping for air, some are just flat out terrified.

A puff of black smoke appears, and Hobie in all his glory, comes into view behind the fog like a theater curtain opening for him. He's in his regular clothes, but for some reason, the cowboy costume you've put on him also grew with him. The fringe vest fits perfectly on him, the spurs on his cowboy boots shine in the yellow lamp as he sits on the desk, one leg up on the table as you continue to sit in front of him while you're taking more photos of him.

“I don't understand the logic but holy shit this is the hottest thing ever.” You gasp, the shutters of your phone camera clicking relentlessly. Hobie glances at you, face hidden behind the brim of his hat, shadows covering his face. You smile at him, eyes roaming over him, fingers tugging at the hem of his vest. “Goddamn.” You sigh.

“Later, love. I need to get rid of pests.” He says with a nudge of his boot on your leg, there's tenderness hidden underneath it. But his eyes tell the opposite, with a flick of his hat, the crew has the perfect view of his eyes. The pupils of his wine red eyes move about, shaking in anger. “Get out.”

There's a gust of wind as he quickly moves to the door, crouching down, eye to eye with the camera, he stares at the lenses until the glass cracks. With a glance towards their terrified faces, they all run away for their lives. As if Hobie would actually kill them, especially if he can just tell them to delete the footage. Worst case scenario, he can delete the memory from their minds. It will be like dragging a file towards the trash bin icon but instead of a file it's their brains. They'll just get a headache for a few days, even so, he doesn't want to do that. Maybe he can reason with them by telling them (in front of their camera) a story during his time in the 1920s. Or maybe just pay for the lenses he broke.

As the entire crew runs, the mics capture your muffled yet loud laughter behind the door when Hobie slams the door shut.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[kandlewick]

i'll dry the villain's tears pt.2

you get reincarnated into a role that became the breaking point of the villain's story and you, be it an unwillingness to cause them harm or a desire to survive, must work hard to make sure they grow into a better (or at least safer) person.

all entries are meant to be read as platonic. all are meant to be taken place in the TWST universe accurate to the game.

It was a very strange feeling, being immortal. Within the blink of your eyes, decades had past and you still didn't know why you were brought to this desert world and why you were granted a second chance at life. Your memory is broken and fading, yesterdays felt like years and years felt like yesterdays. Very few things mattered enough anymore for you to remember. All you can piece together is the distant, far off memory of waking up from what felt like a long nap and falling into the arms of a man clothed in rags.

He's dead now. Has been for a long time.

But now, you serve his family - his descendants. The shackles that once bound you were broken off centuries ago but... Something was telling you to stay, to wait. You were needed here. You didn't know how long you would have to wait but nothing could pull you from your course. Nothing.

It wasn't until the birth of Kalim Al-Asim that you remembered. Everything came rushing back, flooding your mind's eyes with visions of blot and tears as the palace erupted into cheers and praises, everyone around you eager to celebrate the good news. The birth of this child would surely be a blessing to everyone around him.

Except..

for Jamil Viper.

You had to find him.

For the first few months, you practically tore up the palace, ignoring the cries and complaints of the servants and guests in your pursuits, claiming you mad behind their hidden mouths and jeering tongues.

"Why are they searching so hard for a servant boy?"

"Our blessed and loved Kalim Al-Asim has been born! Why wouldn't they want to shower him in their blessings?"

"Surely this dijinn has gone mad with age!"

You ignored the servants and their trite giggling over meaningless chores. Your cause was greater then their own.

It wasn't until several months later that you found him. In the arms of his mother and father, you found the child that would curse the name of his brother in near everything but blood and nearly wept in pity. You clutched your fist, ignoring the whispers and the gawking of the palace servants and guards as you knelt down and pressed your lips to the child's palm, smiling as the innocent child giggled at you. It knew nothing of the future it would've been granted if they didn't have a friend like you.

"Don't worry, child, your life will be a happy one."

"Watch where you're swinging that thing! You nearly smacked the intern's head clean off!!"

Was that why you were seeing stars?

You stumbled for a second, nearly dragging a boom mic down with you as your legs tried to catch your near dead weight. The man carrying the wooden beam didn't even apologize as he carried on with what he was doing. In fact, nobody really seemed to care after they knew you weren't knocked out cold on the floor, knowing they just dodged a lengthy worker's comp.

"Yeah... thanks guys. Really feeling the teamwork," you grumbled, blinking past the tears. Where were you anyways?

Wait, that was strange. Why couldn't you remember anything? You remembered important details like what car you owned, where you lived, how to drive a car, but your past, your name, everything was gone like a balloon just popped between your ears.

"Ugh, maybe I do need to get myself that worker's compensation," You grumbled, rubbing your palm against your forehead, "Everything's coming out all topsy-turvy..."

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a loud smack against your back, nearly sending you reeling back into the boom mic's loving arms. "Hey, intern! The star needs something to wake him up, go get a drink from the cafe downstairs. You know what he likes, right?"

You spluttered as the burly man, obviously your boss, shoved a credit card into your hand and walked off back on set, not even giving you the chance to open your mouth to respond. You bit back a scowl, choosing instead to pocket the card and noiselessly stomp out of the recording studio, silently cursing your luck.

It continued all the to the cafe where you realized, hey, you really don't remember what ''the star'' liked in caffeinated beverages. The barista, equally as tired as you, watched in workplace related misery as you fumbled for ideas.

"Uh... hey," You tried reading their name tag, "Mim? What's the most popular drink you got here? I'll have one of those?"

"One java-chipped cappuccino coming right up~"

You pulled out one of the chairs at a table and sat yourself down while you waited and tried to piece together what exactly had happened to you. You were an intern, you could recall, barely scraping by in the big city with dreams of being film crew. You had graduated college with high grades, nothing to sniff at, but you had chosen to intern at this particular business for some reason. You pinched your brows but the more you thought about it, the more annoyed you got. The sound of your name being called was just the wake up call you needed.

The barista handed your drink before centering their gaze to your chest. You followed their gaze and found their eyes linked with the nametag laced around your neck as you ran the credit card to pay.

"Wow," they tapped their nail against the counter, "You're working with the Vil Schoenheit? That must be pretty crazy."

You let out a loud squawk in shock as memories came flooding back, accidentally sending the coffee half way across the counter and on to the floor, the foam and drink dripping all over the freshly wiped down tile. Your arm remained high in the air as you both looked at the mess you had made.

"I'll... um... can you hand me some napkins?"

[andsjun]

sucking off fat cawk gyuvin while he’s gaming

(Idk much abt pc games sawrry)

You were needy, wanting to have your boyfriend all for you so when you called and he invited you to his house you were more than happy. Except he wasn’t to interested in this moment, seated in front of his stupid computer not giving you the attention you deserve.

“Wait a little more doll. I just need to finish this game, Matt would kill me if I don’t” he says, eyes focused on the computer ignoring the way you are already waiting for him in his bed.

When you sit in his lap, a little annoyed of his attitude he does nothing but putting a hand on your waist to move you a little and points his mic, letting you know it was on.

Since he is being so mean with you decide to solve the problem with your own hands (or mouth actually) Sliding between his legs, you make space under his desk and look at him with longing eyes, rubbing your cheek on his thighs.

“What? No, please” he said, knowing your intentions.

You could heard his friends asking what was he talking about as you unzip his pants and free his semi hard cock. You giggle when you realize that he is half hard even if you didn’t touched him.

Some kitten licks are enough to have him all hard and big, just how you like it. Gyuvin throws his head when you take almost all his dick, covering with you hands the parts your mouth can reach.

He can fell how he goes crazy as your tongue curls in the tip of his cock. He doesn’t realize it but his hips are going up, trying to get more of you.

“Fuck it, bye guys” he says as he ends the call and abruptly removes his headphones.

You can feel how his hands go to the sides of you head and pushes you far into his cock. Your nose colliding with his pelvis.

“You asked for this, doll” he says while fucking your face