#he feels responsible for all the ghosts that suffer too

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 23 - "No, you won't understand, ever."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of experimentation, death, and torture as well as mentions of character death

A/N: Well… this turned out not like I originally wanted it to go. It was once again a self runner while writing. I also advise to have read Prompt 13 before, since this is kind of like a continuation of it.

Duke was worried. Danny hadn't been to school for a couple of days now. That was not a good sign. The library incident had only happened a week ago and Duke had made leaps in his friendship with Danny because of it. The other Meta had opened up to him, well sort of, there was still a lot Duke was aware that he didn't know. But that was beside the point. Point was Duke had now a valid friendship with Daniel 'Danny' Nightingale, one that allowed him to be very worried right now.

Which led to him asking their teachers to give Duke all the materials Danny had missed out on for the promise that he would bring this to Danny's home. This was also how Duke got Danny's address. Even with their budding and reinforced friendship, Danny had pretty much avoided telling or showing Duke where he lived.

This was his chance now. No he was not going to allow any of his siblings to install any sort of heavy surveillance in or around his friends apartment that would breach privacy rules, but he would allow Babs and Tim to keep an eye on any surveillance camera already in existence. It was nice knowing that his family had his back when it came to the safety of his meta friend, but as it was with his family, if not watched they would end up on the side of extreme measures a little too quickly.

Now he understood why they said not to tell Bruce about his friend's status yet. That would have made it worse. Not that his siblings sometimes also already tended to reach into that dangerous area between still okay and too far into paranoia.

Either way Duke was now standing before his friend's registered apartment, schoolwork in hand and ready to knock on the door only for his stomach to drop when he realized that the door was not locked and a gap wide open. It wasn't like Danny lived in Crime Alley but the area he lived in was still not that safe to just leave your door unlocked.

His worries doubled.

After the library incident, Danny had told him about his situation a little. He lived alone separated from his sister, his only family left, in Gotham. He was forced into hiding after a severe incident in his home town through which he lost his parents. Because these Guy's in White still kept their eyes on his friends and sister he couldn't even risk getting into contact with them. Leaving Danny completely alone.

Duke hated that, to think that because of his Meta powers Danny was forced into such an extreme situation. He had wanted to explain to Danny that there were rights in place to protect him but the other Meta had changed the topic too quickly for Duke to bring it up. Explaining just a little bit who these GIW, Guy's in White, were. Though for some reason he couldn't believe that that's what these people were really called, he didn't press further.

Danny was still not opening up to him completely about the entirety of his situation or who these GIW people really were but he had shared enough for Duke to give his family an incentive to look into these people. He knew they had found out some things about this group of people but Duke had yet to take a closer look into that file and the power point Tim had apparently prepared on that whole topic alone.

Either way the door was open and unlocked, Danny hadn't come to school for several days either now too and Duke was worried! Excuse him for only knocking once while shouting Danny's name before just stepping into the apartment when he did not get an immediate answer.

"Danny?!"

He shouted once more once inside and taking a couple steps in he stopped appropriately when he heard a weird squishy sound under his feet. Looking down he realized he stepped into what looked like green goop.

"What is…"

He looked at it closer and then noticed that the green goop was also glowing and spread around the floor in a way you find blood in horror movies. Duke swallowed and placed the schoolwork in hand on the hall table before carefully continuing his way into the apartment, following the green goop.

"Hey Danny? Say something if you are here?" Maybe Duke should have taken Dicks offer to get driven to this apartment, if there was an intruder in his friend's apartment then Duke would at least have some sort of backup. He looked around the place though and nothing indicated an intruder or that a struggle had happened here. So maybe the green goop was just that green goop. Maybe Danny just spilled one of his science projects?

But the moment he reached the main living area he threw all these hopeful thoughts out of the window.

"Danny!"

He rushed to his friend's side having found him sitting against his living room wall. A bigger green puddle of goop was on the ground before Danny and a lot of it appeared to be smeared on his hands and forearms. The shirt he was wearing was clearly ripped and in tears and there appeared to be a wound on Danny's leg, leaking a mix of green and red blood.

The other meta had his head resting on his knees not at all reacting to Duke's calls and light touches to the shoulder. "Danny, hey, Danny? Comeon, can you hear me?"

He started to look around, wondering if Danny had a medkit anywhere in his apartment. He was already fumbling to get his phone out when the other suddenly slapped it out of his hand, glowing green eyes glaring at Duke. "Don't call anyone."

"Okay, but then at least tell me where your medkit is." Duke cooperated, he could find another way to contact his siblings later, for now Danny's health took priority and Danny clearly did not want for duke to call anyone additionally to help.

"It will heal by tomorrow." The other meta stubbornly said but that didn't help Duke's worry.

"It might heal by than but it still hurts doesn't it? So where is-"

"Just let it go!" Danny hissed burying his face in his knees again and Duke sighed.

"Danny, please."

"No." Duke let out another sigh at his friends refusal, and here he thought his friendship with was making progress.

"Can you at least tell me what happened? You didn't come to school and I got worried that these Guy's-"

"They didn't catch me." Danny cut him off once again and Duke felt some of his worry replaced with relief, but there was still a lot left. Before he could voice his next question Danny continued to muttered something, barely loud enough for Duke to hear.

"They killed him." Danny sounded so defeated and his voice was shaking slightly. Duke instinctively reached out a hand. "They killed him, I barely managed to get his core out of there but once I got here it broke anyway. I thought they didn't have a facility here but they have, there were so many and I only got one of them out and yet he still died and…."

"Hey, hey, hey, slow down. Danny, what are you talking about?" Whatever relief Duke had previously felt it vanished in an instant when Danny had muttered the first three words. He could only image the worst of things and from the sounds of it there was something, a facility that did something to Metas like Danny.

"The GIW built an experimentation facility here. They are resuming their damned experiments here." Dukes eyes narrowed. Not for long, he thought, once his family knew where they were that place would be raised to the ground in no time.

"Danny, can you tell me where that place is?" Probably not the best of times to ask his friend this but Duke would make sure that someone was going to take care of that place and that all the Metas there were going to be saved.

"It's no use. You won't be able to do anything." Danny instead muttered and Duke tightened his hold on the others shoulder, trying to make it as comforting of a touch as possible.

"Danny there are Meta rights, laws that protect us. Please, give me the location and I will make sure that someone is going to take care of it." That someone being his family, that he could promise his friend.

Instead of the trust he hoped Danny would give him, the other slapped his hand away and glared at him heatedly. "No! That won't work!"

"I know its, scary and I understand that it's probably hard to trust-"

"It won't work! It never will for us! We are not protected by law!"

"Danny, you are protected by law! The Meta rights are there to pro-"

"I AM NOT A META!" Danny suddenly burst out springing to his feet and distancing himself from Duke, his eyes glowing a vivid green. "I am not a Meta. I am not protected by your damned law, nore are the others! They can hunt us, experiment on us, hurt us and no one will give a good damn about it because we don't count as sentient!"

The other was breathing heavily and Duke couldn't help but get up and reach out in worry once more. Everything Danny had said was still running though his head and he wasn't sure what to make of it, but what he was sure about was that his friend needed help.

"Danny, it's okay. How about you explain it to me? Why wouldn't the Meta rights protect you? What makes you so different? I am I will be able to understand once you explain it to me and then we-"

"No. No, you won't understand, ever." Once again Danny sounded so defeated that Duke really wanted to just grab his friend and hug him. But instead he watched his friend closely, noticing how he clutched at his left wrist, for the first time Duke noticed the Lichtenberg scarring that was running up the other's arms from his hand peeking out between the tears of Danny's shirt. "You won't understand what it means for the law to declare your existence as illegal, to be trapped in their facility, to only be a number to get experimented on, to only be a number among many, to not be seen as sentient, to-"

Duke didn't care anymore as he lunged forward pulling the other into a hug. Ever since the library incident he had known that Danny needed help. He had assumed Danny was a Meta in hiding but it seemed his friends situation was so much worse than he originally thought.

"I will help you, I promise. We will free the others and then get rid whatever law declares you as an illegal existence." He pulled back enough to force Danny to look at him, seeing how the other was staring at him with suspicion and distrust but also there was hope in the others now blue eyes. "Explain it all to me Danny, I promise, Meta or not, I will find a way to help you."

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining having spent the night with a lover who isn't in the 141, only to wake up the next morning and there's in intervention waiting for you in the rec room.

Like, at first you're just confused. But when Price opens his mouth to ask you about how you slept...you have a bit of a meltdown. Why does it matter? Why is everyone staring at you? What's going on?

Soap grabs the collar of your t-shirt and pulls it down so everyone can get a look at the dark hickies dotting your neck. You slap his hand away, tears in your eyes.

"So all of you can do whatever you want? Sneak bitches on base and fuck around at all the bars we pass through! But I'm not allowed to do anything with someone I actually like?!"

It hurts. It feels like you're being stripped bare in front of them.

Price sighs, his gaze softens. It's obvious he doesn't want to have this conversation but something you've done has given him no choice. Soap just stands a few feet away, chest puffed out, eyeing you with a strange annoyance. You know if you try to leave he'll stop you.

"You are...not in the same position as us." Price tries and winces. He's obviously not putting his thoughts into soft enough words, but he continues. "You are...it is our responsibility to keep you safe."

"Safe? You're trying to keep me safe?" Your voice is raised higher than you've ever raised it at Price. "Safe by what? Fighting off all the guys at the bars? Safe by spreading lies about me to all of the PMCs and the other Task Forces?"

Price just closed his eyes and set his jaw. He had to know about the subterfuge you'd been experiencing for well over a couple years now. Everyone in the room was guilty as charged.

"You're and asset. And you're also a liability." Ghost speaks up, eyes narrowed, stance way too relaxed against the metal folding chair he sits in. "Do you remember what happened to the 7th Division?"

Saliva pools in your mouth, a sudden queasiness filling your stomach. Yeah, of course you remembered. Their beloved medic had been kidnapped by a group of angry drug lords using a mercenary group as their muscle. The 7th Division had gone in guns blazing to get their member back and well...they'd been wiped out. And their star medic they'd sacrificed everything for? She'd been brainwashed and inducted into the very agency that stole her away.

KORTAC

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" You mutter. "Please tell me you're not."

"We can't have you fraternizing with anyone." Price states smoothly. "As our medic, you have a responsibility to us, your team. We can't have you getting caught up in something bigger."

"I understand what you're saying, but can't you see how ridiculous this is?" You try to reason. "I'm human, I have- god this is embarrassing. I h-have wants and...needs, just like you guys."

The silence is loud. You can't meet anyone's gaze. Price steps closer to you, swallowing hard. His next few words are spoken softly, conspiratorially.

"All of your needs will be taken care of. We will never let you suffer by yourself."

Price cocks his head to the men before you both. All of them straighten beneath his gaze. Price places a hand on the small of your back.

"Whatever it takes." He commands them. "I better not hear or see anything. Do I make myself clear?"

A trio of "yessirs" bounce off the white walls. Price just smiles and nods. He pats your back.

"There we go. You'll be fine." He sighs. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to talk to your guest."

Your eyes widen, your throat drops into your stomach.

"Wait!"

"We've got ye, Bonnie. You n' all yer needs."

Six hands are on you from several different angles. Their massive frames block out the fluorescent lights.

"Ah, where are you goin'?" Gaz chuckles, his arm wraps around your belly.

You try to run after Price but the rec room door is slammed shut and locked. You try to push the closest man away, but he just grins down at you.

[writersdrug]

OOOH bartender Simon when one of the regulars starts making comments about reader at the bar

Yes

Slight nsfw, someone makes derogatory marks about reader

Simon didn't understand why the man chose to be a regular at his bar. He never spoke much to the lad, Mitch, other than the occasional grunt and "'nother round?" Still, the bloke had been coming to his pub every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night like it was his religion - it very well might've been - spilling his guts over neat whiskey about his failing marriage, his estranged children, and his shitty job. Simon was surprised he managed to keep one, with how much he was drinking on a Sunday night.

"Don't ever get a wife, Simon." Mitch says, fidgeting his empty whiskey glass in his fingers. He'd already come in with a sour expression and droopy eyes - Simon wondered what the topic would be for tonight, but as usual, it steered towards his divorce waiting to happen.

"Already got one." He says, jerking his head to the liquor shelf. "Woodford."

Mitch laughs, letting Ghost take his empty glass and dunk it in the wash basin. "You got anyone waitin' for you after work?"

Ghost clicks his tongue, wiping the condensation off the bar top. "Rather not talk about my personal life 'ere."

"Bah - you need something young n' fresh." Mitch sighs, tapping his fingers against the wood. "Guy like you can't have something too committed, or else your work ethic will suffer."

Ghost grunts as his response. He reminds himself that Mitch was a customer, like everyone else, and he only has to tolerate his yapping for tonight - until next Friday.

Mitch turns his head to look at you, and Simon follows with his eyes: you're standing at a table, bantering with the couple seated there as you take their orders. Hair pulled back into that weird claw clip thingy Simon likes so much, posture relaxed as you leaned on one hip, a soft smile on your face as the couple takes their time placing their orders. He remembers how unfamiliar you were with it all in the beginning, and now it looks like you've been working here for the past ten years. Like you belong in his pub.

"How's she handling the job?" Mitch asks.

Simon shrugs. "Seems t' be managing just fine. Gets away with more shit than I should be allowin' 'er."

Mitch chuckles, looking back at you. "They always do when they look that good." He comments, making Ghost pause. "Price knew what he was doin' hiring her."

He feels his muscles tense subconsciously. "I hired 'er."

Mitch looks back at him, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "Simon, you ol' dog..." he begins, leaning his forearms onto the bartop. "Gotta keep the customers comin' somehow, eh?"

Ghost blinks. "I don't follow." He does; but he's giving Mitch a chance to redeem himself after his insinuation.

"C'mon, was it her face? What she wore to the interview? Did Johhny-boy see her and beg you to hire her?" He leans in towards Simon, who obliges and meets him halfway, just to hear what else the prick will say, so he knows how much damage he can justify.

"I'm telling you - the only reason she probably took the job was, well.." he raises and eyebrow.

Simon waits. "Hmm?"

"You know - three big guys like you lot - not to mention that old brewmaster assistant, Garrick, I know he frequents here... well, any desperate thing like her would be throwing themselves at the opportunity."

He's livid. "Wha' opportunity?"

"Gettin hit from all sides, if you catch my drift."

Ghost nods slowly, biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. He wants to punch a hole through Mitch's chest, but two patrons roughhoused in one week would make Price get on his case. He turns to the bar and grabs a whiskey glass.

"Aww, don't be like that..." Mitch says when he senses Ghost's anger. "I'm sorry. Listen - if you don't want to show her a good time, me and my buddy will. I'll leave my number and you'll give it to her for me?"

"Drink this, sober up, and go home Mitch." Ghost says, slapping the glass of clear liquid in front of the man. Mitch eyes him with a huff as he returns to washing the glasses in the bar sink.

"Fuckin' loser..." he mumbles, grabbing the glass and downing a large gulp - he immediately sputters, the drink spilling all over his front as he coughs and hacks violently. The entire floor looks over at the commotion, you included, standing by the POS and watching with a furrowed brow.

"Fuck- was that goddamn Everclear?!" He rasps.

"I think it's time y' head out, Mitch." Ghost says, leaning both of his hands against the bar. "Call your wife and kids. Stop comin' 'ere every week." He then leans in close, right in front of Mitch's face. "Cuz if I see you back at my bar again, I'm draggin' you out the back myself."

His eyes crinkle with a smile as he claps Mitch on the arm, making him jump from the impact. He quickly gets up off his seat and stumbles towards the front door, sparing one last bitter glance between you and Ghost, before he angrily shoves his way out.

Ghost sighs, putting the Everclear back on the shelf; you walk over right on cue. "What was that about? He ok?"

Simon shrugs, closing Mitch's tab on his POS and assigning an auto-gratuity. "Dunno. Maybe my advice finally got t' the bastard."

[gay-dorito-dust]

You may request A batboys reacting to the death of the reader

First time writing for Tim, so he’s probs ooc in this one.

Dick feels as though he’s failed you.

He tries to act like he was fine but he was far from it and everyone knew it as they stepped on eggshells with him during this time.

Dick would often find himself sat on the very rooftops where he’d take you on countless dates or just to star gaze and talk as though you were still with him.

It was his own way of comforting himself with your loss but that was never enough to stop the tears that fell from his eyes when he spotted a bright star he’s never seen before until now, and laughs humourlessly.

‘I see you’ve finally made your way amongst the stars huh sweetheart?’ He’d say as your star would twinkle in response, making him chuckle. ‘You’re so beautiful, the brightest of your kind.’ He adds sombrely as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand as he felt his heart sing out for you, only to receive nothing in return.

Reality was often disappointing but with you it was a fairy tale.

Waking up to you was a dream within itself and getting to do mundane things with you before heading off to work was something that could only exist in a daydream.

He knew Hayley misses you as badly as he does with how he’d hear the poor dog whine and whimper at the door, as if waiting for you to walk through it and tackle her with kisses and love like you always did, only to get nothing for hours.

‘I know, I miss them too.’ He says against Hayley’s fur as she whimpers and whines at the door. ‘I miss them so fucking much it hurts.’ He adds as he allows himself to mourn for you alongside his dog long into the night.

Jason blames himself for not being fast enough or strong enough to keep you protected and safe.

The apartment you once shared with him that only recently had started to feel like home to him now felt cold and haunted with the ghost of you, so much so to the point he avoids it at all cost.

Nothing felt right without you, everything felt wrong and unjustified that he became more ruthless then before on patrols just to let off some steam and would come back from them more beaten and bruised then normal.

He didn’t care, he couldn’t feel anything anymore with how numb he became after loosing you.

Dick and Roy would stop by to see how he was doing but each visit was the same with Jason refusing his older brother and best friend entry as he held one of your plushies tightly against his chest. He knows they mean well but he just couldn’t find it within himself to hear the same thing he’s heard from everyone else; It just felt disingenuous after a while and didn’t feel as though people truly understood the impact that you had on him throughout your time together.

Jason would become more destructive with himself and going headfirst into danger without a second thought and damns his teammates for dragging him out by the scruff of his neck as he fights and kicks out of their hold. He doesn’t want to be saved! He just wanted to be with you again, why couldn’t they see that?!

After loosing you Jason becomes more prone to angry outbursts and often lets them out on the wrong person but he couldn’t care less at this point, his favourite person was gone and he was left back where he was before you.

Lost and deeply afraid.

Tim would retreat from everyone and everything by cooping himself into his room, rarely to come out.

He’d rather rot in his bed and on his phone, looking through all the photos you’ve taken together and seeing just how happy you both were, all the while a pit in his stomach grew at the thought of all the plans you’ve made but would never get to do.

He hated how easily he gave you his heart and hated it even more at just how easy it was to loose you that he wishes that he could stop himself from meeting you for the first time, just so he could selfishly save himself from the best moments of his life and the inevitable heartbreak he’d soon suffer.

Tim would do anything in his power to get you back but knew that it just wasn’t possible.

He knew Jason was given life by the Lazarus pit but he wasn’t willing to subject you to that even if he was held at gunpoint. He’d rather you rest in peace than force you to live with the knowledge that you should technically be dead.

Tim would remain in his room, wondering about the what ifs and the what could’ve beens if you hadn’t died. Would someone have taken your place? Was your death an unchangeable fixed point in time that was meant to happen?

He would only be reunited with you in his dreams where he has saved you and you had gotten to live out the rest of your life happily, rather then left for dead in an alleyway not too far from the place where you were originally going to meet up for date night.

Damian dedicated his life to getting revenge.

He had lost the light in his life, so why should he think his adversaries should live when you weren’t even given the option?

There will be more bodies pilling up on the streets of Gotham at a faster rate than normal whenever Damian is on patrol, much to Bruce’s dismay.

His anger and grief was all consuming and that left little to no room for logic to make him stop and see what he was doing was no better than the thing that took you away.

Life was black and white for a long time for Damian and you were the colour.

You were the air he breathed and without you he was gasping.

He knew about the Lazarus pit in his grandfather’s possession and its mythical properties and how it gave Jason a second chance at life. However he was at a cross roads on using it for his own selfish gain, on one hand he could have you back and everything would be fine again, but on the other hand you wouldn’t be the version of you he fell in love with…

Damian didn’t know what to do. The grief, the anger, the sadness…it was all too much for him. He felt as though he apart of him was missing and he would never get it back, it just wasn’t possible.

Bruce feels as though nothing has changed since his parents death.

He may be older, faster, stronger and wiser but that didn’t mean nothing in the face of death, and your death only proved that to be true as he held you in his arms, holding you close to his chest as he quietly sobs into your cold neck.

Much like Tim, Bruce doesn’t take care of himself anymore and it was up to Alfred to make sure that he doesn’t keep over and die unexpectedly.

‘They wouldn’t want this for you sir.’ Alfred would say as Bruce slams his hands down on the surface of his desk. ‘And what would you know that they want for me Alfred, y/n’s dead and it’s my fault.’ He would bark and bare his teeth at the only father figure he had in his life, a father figure whom has seen this expression bore on the young master’s face more times then he could count, but it still hurt him to see Bruce in pain and heartbreak.

‘They would want you to take care of yourself, sleep proper hours, eat full meals, shower, reach out to anyone,’ Alfred began to walk towards Bruce and place a hand on his shoulder, where he could practically feel the unbridled anger and pain radiation through him that he kept under control. ‘They wouldn’t want you to wallow in pain alone, Gotham needs you.’

‘And I needed them.’ Bruce replied sharply, aggressively wiping his eyes with his hand as he looks over at a framed picture of you that he always kept nearby. ‘All I wanted was them.’ He adds softly this time as he looks at Alfred, lost and confused at what to do now that his anchor was gone. ‘I miss them so much Alfred.’

Alfred brings Bruce into his arms, much like he did when he lost his parents, when he lost Jason and now you, allowing him to burrow his face into the Butler’s shoulder and softly sob into the fabric. Alfred felt his heart break even more as he rubbed Bruce’s back in an attempt of bringing him comfort. ‘I know master Bruce, I know, but you’d be doing their memory a great disservice by destroying yourself.’ The older man started as he looked over at the framed picture of you and smiled soberly, you were a beacon to Bruce and Alfred wasn’t afraid to say that he viewed you as his in law with how happy you made Bruce and that was all Alfred could ever want for him.

Now that you were gone, Alfred couldn’t help but feel that the manor got just that little bit lonelier without you.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Ghostbuster. || kidnapper!Simon "Ghost" Riley

[ FIC MASTERLIST ] || [ CHAPTER 2 -> ]

Rating: M + Dark Fic + DDNE Words: 4.2k~ Pairing: Serial Killer!Reader x Serial Kidnapper!Ghost CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dark fic, serial killing, serial kidnapping, torture, body disposal, death, murder (purposeful), murder (accidental), mentions of rape? (neither Simon nor reader rapes anyone!!!!!), blood, knife/weapons, gross abandoned buildings, police verbage. tags: dark fic, serial killer AU, no smut (for now), OOC Simon, you/your pronouns, afab!reader, reader & simon terrorizing the city of Manchester, Manchester geography/accuracy?. a/n: fully inspired by the post below, by @moongreenlight ; also fully a gift for @superhero-landing

"This marks the 7th body found in the Greater Manchester area in the last 6 months."

It's dark outside. Eerily so. Probably because, although the moon is high in the sky, full and bright, plenty of clouds hide it from view. The weather forecast speaks of heavy rains for the next few weeks, but you got lucky... It's not currently raining. It leaves the night feeling weirdly still and quiet, the roads long empty after people retreated into their homes after work.

But not you. Never you.

You turn your head to peer at the old box TV in the room over your shoulder, your eyes narrowed in on the screen where the news anchor talks about the police investigation at hand.

"The victim, a 24-year-old university student, residing in Wythenshawe, had been reported missing last month, on the 18th, after having not come home after a nightout with friends."

The old shop is dark too, barely illuminated by a camping lantern you've brought inside when you first broke in. The air is stale, almost unbreathable from all the dust; the floor, and counters caked in a layer of dried particles, courtesy of the decades' long abandonment the shop has suffered, as well as the ceiling panels having come loose, knocking down concrete dust all over the shop.

Shaking your head, you carefully click your tongue in displeasure, while you clean the tool in your hand with a rag, keeping your eyes and ears still honed into the broadcast. "Poor thing." You comment to yourself.

Your head slumps forward to reach your arm, and you rub the underside of your nose with the back of your hand and forearm, sniffling a bit to clean some of the snot dribbling down your nostrils due to the overly dusty air.

"The Great Manchester Police HQ has issued a warning on the brutality of the recent string of murders and their commitment to find the people responsible. The Police Chief urges that anyone who might have any information to please come forth."

Sighing, you turn your head away again, as the news anchor drones on about the funeral for the young girl who was just found. You step away toward the array of tools displayed, for your convenience, on one of the old counters, laid neatly across a black tool roll bag and carefully set the knife atop it.

The shop smells. It's not entirely unpleasant, but you've gotten used to it either way. You're pretty sure if you weren't, it'd smell horrendous, like it did in the beginning. Stale, dusty air, old blood caked into the gashes and knife cuts on the wooden countertops, tools that were abandoned and grew colonies of bacteria after enough time went past, old vent systems that haven't been cleaned, meat display cases that didn't get disinfected before the butcher shop went out of business.

Tossing the rag aside, atop the butcher's block countertop, you run a finger over the wristband of your black cooking gloves, the latex feeling sticky and damp due to the fresh blood caked onto it. Turning on your heel, you return to the center of the room and look down at the body slumped on the chair before you.

"That guy is a fucking sicko, isn't he?" You complain and crouch before the man tied to the chair, raising his bruised and bloodied face by gripping him around the chin.

The man before you looks like the rest of them, balding and with a 5-o'clock shadow of a beard. He was greying as well, as most of them tend to be. Old, perverted bastards... He's slowly paling before your eyes, the blood slipping down his abdomen, soaking through his clothes and flowing onto the drain below his rickety chair.

"You know, you've gotta be a particularly... Nasty bastard to kill women that young... To bathe and redress them post-mortem..." You trail off. The man before you doesn't reply. He looks groggy and languid, blinking irregularly, and his chest heaving. Barely aware of anything as his life, much like his blood, drains from him.

It's almost poetic to watch his blood stain the white tile of the backroom of the shop, the walls lined with racks and hooks meant to, in the past, hang carcasses from... Almost like this old cooler room is finally fulfilling its role again, to cool and drain a dead body of its blood, all of it flowing down the incline toward the drain...

"I believe I saw in a few Criminal Minds episodes that those types that... clean them afterward feel 'regret' for what they did." You shake your head and kiss your teeth in annoyance.

"They feel regret after it's done, but not while they do it. 'es it mean they gain a conscience after the fact?" You ask him. "Monsters, the lot of them..." You chide and scoff, letting go of the man's face.

Then, you smirk as you notice his breathing get shallower, his head going a bit more limp, hanging low, his chin pressing over to his chest. Leaning forward, you bring your mouth close to his ear, your lips almost grazing his ear. "Don't worry, I won't clean you up once I'm done."

-

Sitting in your dark bedroom, you lounge back lazily on your desk chair, chewing some bubblegum and tapping away at your mouse before scrolling down a forum page.

The room, much like the rest of your flat is dark, only illuminated by the bright blue-toned light emanating from your computer screen, even in dark mode.

The best part of the internet age is the fact people share, comment and gossip about everything. It makes your research so much easier. Though, you suppose it's human nature... to be curious and gossipy. Social creatures and such.

Clicking on one of the posts on the subreddit r/ManchesterCrime, you skim through the post, where the OP is mentioning how they live nearby to the location where the new body was dumped: the southside of Manley Park.

Grabbing your pink fuzzy-top pen and a couple of highlighter markers, you get up from your desk chair and lean over your desk to the corkboard hanging behind it.

You take your writing materials to the printed map of the Greater Manchester area which you had pinned to the cork slab, tracing the information you have so far:

Resident of Wythenshawe.

Captured somewhere between The Three Pigeons and home.

Dumped in Manley Park.

You set down your pens and grab some pink wool string and a couple more pins, using them to rig up a new line to connect the dots over the map.

Taking a step back, you look up at the map and sighed, shaking your head, feeling anger flowing through your veins.

You have been trying to figure out the killer's area of operation for months... Trying to triangulate it, find a pattern...

But nothing.

No convergence point for the lines; no silly little connect-the-dots shape being formed; no secret message being shared... Or maybe there is and you just suck at reading it.

So far, all you have is 7 pieces of string of different colors... 7 victims. All over Manchester, with no overlay.

Just... 7 young girls taken for weeks at a time, killed and then dumped like rubbish.

Has he been taking them to different secondary locations all over the city before slaughtering them?

Has he been driving about, passing by schools and homes and banks and shops, on his way to the dump sites... with a body in his car?

Allegedly, they were all bathed and redressed, with no signs of sexual trauma or abuse, other than a stark loss of weight and some rope burn around the wrists and ankles...

But who really knows?

You are no PI or constable, just a sleuth. Whatever information you have, you got from the internet and from the news... You have no way to be sure of anything.

It angers you to imagine what he had been doing to those poor girls while keeping them to himself.

The poor, terrified girls... someone's sister, someone's daughter, someone's girlfriend, someone's friend... And he had been plucking them from their mundane, safe lives and murdering them?

Throwing yourself back down onto your chair, you stack your fingers together, elbows on the armrests, and swiveled side to side as you looked at the corkboard map.

You hate men like this.

Predators.

Taking and hurting and killing with no issue or hesitation... Sure, psychologists might allege that he feels regret and expresses it by caring for them after death... But you disagree with that interpretation.

You've never met a man who regrets hurting a woman.

-

It's almost funny how easy it was to play with a man's emotions.

They see a pretty face marred by running mascara and red, swollen tear-filled eyes, holding a thumb out for a ride on the side of the road, and they always stop.

From then on, you can just spin whatever sob story about needing a ride...

Men love to play the hero... and oh, how idiotic they are.

They always let you in, and within an hour you have a new warm body to tie up and toy with.

In a way, you are actually surprised by how long you've been able to get away with this for.

You're secretly thankful your murders have not been given any attention so far.

You suppose that's one thing you could thank that... killer for.

You hate how the internet had given him a name already:

The Ghost

because someone allegedly witnessed him dumping a body in Heaton Park, and then vanished into the shadows of the night like a spectre.

Don't they know what happens when they give these types killers nicknames?

How that embiggens and emboldens them?

Have they never watched a true crime show? Or even a fictional one?

But... regardless... as long as young women are being slaughtered by a maniacal monster of a man, and, therefore, kept in the eyes of the world... No one is going to notice the missing middle-aged men you'd been consistently murdering for the better part of 3 years.

Yet another way where men have the upper hand over women. Lady killers just don't get taken as seriously.

You think of that as you watch the body disappear under the water, the cinder blocks you had tied to his feet dragging him under.

You wait a few minutes after his bald head vanishes from view, making sure it doesn't re-emerge, your hands tucked into the pockets of your parka, dead leaves crushed under your hiking boots.

-

Another body; the 8th one.

This one got dumped much quicker.

A 26-year-old till clerk at a Tesco had been reported missing only 36 hours before her body got found.

The news spoke about the incident and the GMPHQ deemed it a separate occurrence. An accident. The girl had been a Type 1 diabetic and seemed to have had a fatal sugar crash.

But you know it has to have been 'The Ghost'.

You don't know why. But you can just tell.

And, for the first time, as you draw up the line over the map, to signal where she got picked up and where she got dumped... there's an overlay.

The pick-up site, somewhere between her job, and her home... and the dumpsite.. Alexandra Park, near Oldham. Both those locations were mere minutes away from where the second victim had been picked up months ago.

Has he gotten sloppy?

Has her sudden death thrown a wrench in his plans and caused him to panic and pick somewhere nearby?

Your eyebrows twitch and a smirk takes over your lips as you finally find something you can exploit.

"Got you, you fuckin' knob'ead." You say and can't help the proud chuckle that escapes your mouth.

-

Simon's pissed off.

He feels like shit after having gotten that girl killed on his watch.

Not that he hadn't gotten the other ones killed either, but this one had truly been an accident.

Between the stress and the fear, her blood sugar had dropped and Simon hadn't noticed before he left the house to pop to the shops and get them both some food.

And by the time he got back and made her dinner, she was just... gone.

It startled him.

Startled him more than when the other ones died.

While looking in her purse for a justification as to why she passed... like any medication he failed to give her, he found the insulin pen and the sugar monitor.

So now, here he is. Back on the street. Back on the prowl. With 8 accidental kills under his belt and a desperate need to fix his streak.

He drives aimlessly. It's a Saturday night and Simon was sure he was going to find some young, vulnerable girl wandering about and stumbling over her own feet, too drunk or high to even walk in a straight line without stumbling or having to lean on street lamps and walls for support.

He hates seeing girls in that state. Young, vulnerable, alone... Left to be preyed upon by some creep in the shadows... Their support systems having failed them...

What kind of friend leaves a drunk girl to find her way home alone when she can barely stand?

What kind of manager lets an employee walk home after dark?

What kind of parent, or sibling, lets a girl walk home from the bus terminal during a storm?

And then they wonder why girls get raped or murdered senselessly by dirty bastards in back alleys.

That only happens because no one protects these vulnerable girls.

They protect them as children, but not as adults? What kind of world does such a thing?

Probably the same world that misinterprets his actions as senseless killing.

He's not a killer.

He's... just very bad at taking care of the girls he... 'helps'...

He never means to hurt them. He's no monster. He just wants to protect them.

-

For once it's actually raining. Heavily so. The water has soaked through the slinky mini skirt and spaghetti strap top you're wearing, your heels are open-toed and slippery, and each step you take feels like you're about to fall face-first into the mud.

You've had your arm out-stretched and your thumb up for the better part of an hour, trying to flag down any car driving past, only to get no luck.

You're at your wits' end, and so so close to calling it a night and trying to stop baiting a driver into taking you in. It's that bad tonight. You can't seem to reel anything in.

The cold wind nips at the exposed skin on your arms and legs, and you know well you'll spend the next week in bed with the nastiest cold of your life.

A car zooms past you as you walk and show your thumb, only to groan and protest when it doesn't stop...

But it does slow down to a stop not far ahead of you, having turned on its blinkers after spotting your outstretched arm and thumb up.

Rushing over to it, you stumble a few times and trip and slip with your heels on the wet tar of the road, before you come up to the passenger side door.

Look in the window, you find a young-ish looking bloke behind the wheel, looking at you with concerned eyes and knitted brows. He leans over and pops the door open for you.

"Get in, get in!" He tells you urgently when he notices you shivering like a wet dog in the rain.

Climbing inside the car carefully, you close the door behind you, hearing how the rain and wind turn muffled once you do.

It's surprisingly clean inside, the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror smelling of pine. It's also warm, so warm, the heater running at max temp and making the car so much more cosy.

"Oh my God, thank you so much for stopping!" You whine, forcing yourself to sniffle and hiccup as tears pour down your face. They're fake ones, warranted by you watching a handful of soldier-coming-home videos on youtube and using some menthol-infused stick in your undereye.

"You alright, sweet'eart?" The man asks as he looks at you with worried eyes. "Are you all alone out here?" He asks and glances out of the window.

He's younger than most of the men you usually bait out, but he'll do. He's also... more handsome than most of them too. Long, prominent nose, a long jaw and chin, pouty pink lips, and the biggest brown eyes, not to mention a crew cut worth of blonde hair.

"Yeah..." You sniffle. "My boyfriend he... we were coming back from a birthday party and we... he... we were arguing and he tossed me out of the car and... and...!" You explain. The practiced lie slips through your teeth quickly. It's been used on about 7 of the 20 or so men you've wiped off the map, and you say it as if you truly believe it, which helps sell it.

You also stumble over your words, as if you're starting to choke up, to make sure you sound even more distraught. Men love when you're hyperventilating.

"Alright, it's alright-!" He tries to reassure you and sets a hand on your shoulder. "God, you're freezing. How long have you been out there?" He asks you, concerned.

"I- I don't know! An hour?" You answer with a whine, your lip quivering as more sobs rack your body.

Your eyes are sharp, though. You're noting his every movement. How he quickly pulls away from the backrest of his seat and shrugs off his coat and wraps it around your bare shoulders. "Here. It's alright. You're alright."

You continue softly sniffling, tucking your legs to the side toward the door, while hiding your face in your hand.

"Where can I take you?" The blond man asks gently as he glances at you and slowly leans closer, resting an arm on the steering wheel, the other on the centre console.

"I don't... I don't know..." You whine and sniffle. "I can't... I can't go home... I can't face him right now..." You trail off. "I can't believe he'd toss me out of the car like that...!"

"Well, I'm sorry to say, love, but he sounds like a right knob'ead." He says and carefully pats you on the shoulder. "How about I take you to the bus terminal? Or the station?"

"I don't know...!" You whimper. "He took my things with him... I can't even buy a ticket home to my mum..." You hiccup and try to clean the tears off the corner of your eyes.

He's handsome, he speaks calmly, hasn't tried to touch you longer than simply patting you for reassurance, and even gave you his jacket... You almost feel bad about doing this to him. Almost.

"Tell you wha'." The bloke says as he leans a bit closer, tilting his head to look at you in the eye. "I'll take you to the bus terminal and give you a couple more pounds so you can call your family or a friend to come get you, yeah?"

Sniffling, you shake your head. "No... you're already... doing so much! I can't... I can't even pay you back!" You add.

You really should earn an Oscar for this performance. The damsel in distress who's actually such a good girl that she doesn't want to impose on this man's money or take too much of his help.

"Don't worry about any of that." He tells you and waves his hand to dismiss the point, before leaning over and fixing the direction of the air vents on the dash, making sure they point at you to keep you warm. "You don't have to pay me back, alright?"

Nodding a bit, you try to stop crying and rub your eyes with your hands, causing an even bigger mess within your make-up, your fingers now also stained with mascara.

"Here. It's alright. No need to cry anymore." The driver says affectionately as he offers you a tissue from a pack, before he shifts in his seat and starts driving forward.

-

Simon watches you out of the corner of his eye as he drives. Poor little thing, all alone, abandoned by her boyfriend, left on the side of the road...

It's like the universe had handed you to him on a silver platter. He couldn't not take you in! And, this time, he's not going to let anything happen to you.

He's not risking it.

And so of course he's going to soothe you, to calm you down, you, the poor little thing, that got left on a side road by your awful boyfriend, like a stray cat no one wants to feed...

That's the thought in his head as he drives down the wet roads, the windshield wipers working overtime to beat the pouring rain that decided to attack the city of Manchester even more aggressively than usual.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye every few minutes, making sure to drive carefully and steadily, and trying to spot the look in your face as he does.

You still seem stressed, frazzled, worried. The tears haven't stopped despite your breathing having settled...

He wonders if you've had anything to drink. You're definitely not drunk, but the amount of tears... maybe tipsy?

Maybe you won't even need to be threatened. You'll just... let him take you into his house, gently guide you into the bathroom and let you wash off the mud and rain...

He'll give you clothes, and food, and let you watch tv with him... And he'll keep you warm and safe, like everyone in your life has failed to, that got you to the moment you were now in...

Alone.

Afraid.

Abandoned.

He wants to tell you not to worry, that he's here now... But he holds his tongue. You'll hear it later.

-

"You should've kept going forward instead of turning right..." You say aloud, forcing your voice to still sound soft and meek, as you look out of the window.

You've been driving for a while. You've kept your head low, enjoying the warmth coming from the A/C, which helps with the genuine cold wetness of the rain that settled on your skin and bones.

You're not stupid. You know the way to the bus terminal and to all the train stations in the area...

He's not taking you to either. In fact, you're pretty sure you've taken 3 rights in the last 5 minutes, and are, in short, going back the way you came.

"Sorry. It's easy to get turned around with this rain, I'll go back to the main road." He replies. His tone apologetic, and his brow scrunched in concern... But his eyes... his eyes are hard.

It sends a tingle down your spine. For once, you actually baited out a man that has nasty intentions with you.

Had he not tried to do that, you would've considered letting him live... But no, of course, he's actually a creep...

What a shame... He's actually kind of cute. In a blue collar sort of way.

It gives you some weird sense of satisfaction, the realization in the back of your mind that you might have succeeded... that you might have bated him out... The Ghost.

Your hand carefully slips into the left side of the waistband of your slinky skirt, the side closest to the door, so he can't see, your fingers already wrapping around the handle of your pistol.

Your eyes remain on the street, the road, keeping an eye out as he returns to the main road and goes back over the area he has just driven past. A closed down shop, the post office...

And you wait.

You wait patiently for the next time he tries to turn right and put you back on course toward the area you had triangulated for The Ghost to live in or work out of...

And he does. He does just that.

Within a minute, he turns right again...

And you don't hesitate.

Your fingers tighten around the pistol handle and you rip it off the confines of your skirt, your arm hurling itself toward him, steadily pressing the barrel to his temple...

Only for you to notice his arm moving sharply at the same time and, you're suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun as well.

His eyes are wide, his brown irises nearly invisible from how wide his pupils are blown and he stops the car suddenly with a hard brake that jostles you both forward.

Looking each other in the eye, over the top of both your pistols, you can't help but feel a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

The look of surprise, confusion and pure dread painted in his features, the way his brows knit together and furrow in displeasure, his lips already twisted into a scowl...

It's a sickly sweet pleasure, to spot the way that, just like the other ones, he's scared of your pistol... It's likely his first time... But an unfamiliar warmth forms in your tummy as you stare down his pistol too... It's also your first time...

"Well, well, well... Would you look at that?" You quip as a smirk takes over your lips. "Looks like I've busted myself a Ghost."

You don't miss the way his brows go from concerned and fearful to dropping low onto his eyelids, and his jaw clenches in disgust.

Got him.

[faerishv]

just thinking about Boothill while on a 8 hours car ride . . :3

So i was randomly thinking about the fact that, as we all know his whole body is made out of metal and overall cold and freezing material.

Now imagine sleeping with him, while it’s autumn / winter, and it’s freezing outside, heck you could turn into a cube of ice if you’d stand out there for more than 3 minutes; so of course you try to cover yourself up with as much blankets as possible, in your comfy bed, shared with your loving boyfriend boothill. . the thing is, he doesn’t suffer the cold, so he doesn’t use blankets, he doesn’t see the point in doing so and they just make him feel trapped and uncomfortable, so his whole body keeps on getting cold each minute.

As the clingy partner as he is, he wants to feel your body against his, cuddling up next to you, pressing long kiss against your shoulder. . how is he supposed to do that when you’re covered from head to toe ?? He slowly raises the blankets and slides himself in with you, making his way beside you, careful on not to wake you up. But as soon as his metallic hands touch your back, you swore you never jumped out of your bed so fast, shivers running up and down your whole body

“Boothill what the heck !? Why are you so damn cold !” you scream and look at him as if you’ve just seen a ghost. He whines in response after you got away from his grasp “darliiing. . come back to bed with me, i missed your warmth all night. .” a pout forms on his lips. “well, i did not miss your coldness, now go back to your side of the bed !” he gasps a little, in a too dramatic way “i didn’t think you could be so mean, to your own lover too. . !” “yeah yeah, whatever, i just wanna get some more sleep” you mumble as a yawn escapes your lips “well, we can continue on sleeping together against eachother” he’s trying to persuade you “no can do, mister, im not trying to freeze to death” you lay down, your back facing him. He lets out a long sigh before giving up, but he doesn’t move, he stares at your back a couple of minutes before falling asleep again, this time covered by the blankets.

The next thing you know, as soon as you wake up again, you find yourself on top of your boyfriend, his harms around your waist not letting you get away another time while still sleeping; but he’s not cold anymore, he’s oddly warm, but it’s nice. You make yourself more comfortable, head on his chest, before eventually you fall asleep, again.

he’s oh so pretty i can’t do this

[itostea]

better than me?

Gojo comes home to find you fangirling over a book character named Aaron Warner

warnings: uni! au, reader is called pretty girl, fluff, idiots in love, idk what this even is

Unread messages. One Five missed calls. No good morning or good night texts.

As of late, Satoru thinks you’ve been distant towards him–ghosting him while he was suffering on a trip his parents forced him to go to. It gets to the point where he thinks he did something to upset you and before he can drive himself mad with far-fetched possibilities, he thinks he should check up on you.

“Honey I’m back!” He bellows out, discarding his shoes to the side of his apartment that you practically live in now. His brows furrow at the lack of response, a bit disappointed at the fact that you could’ve been out. 

It’s only when he catches a whiff of your shampoo and perfume that he allows himself to grin. His place was already overtaken by your presence: the scent of vanilla, the sweaters you leave neatly folded on the couch whenever it got too hot, the extra toothbrush in his bathroom. He missed you. 

He rushes to the living room, his entrance dramatic as his words. “There you are! Why weren’t you there to greet me at the door? Do you not love me anymore?”

“Oh ‘Toru,” You mumbled absentmindedly and it only took him a while to catch sight of the book in your hands–considering the fact his eyes landed on your (his) hoodie you wore. “You’re back. How was your trip?” 

He frowns, his lips parting to release a sigh. “That’s it?”

His heart does something funny when you finally look up at him, tilting your head in genuine confusion. “Hm?”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Wait one sec let me finish this chapter first, Satoru.”

It’s ‘Toru, 'he wants to say but settles on walking to where you sit, his eyes landing on the stack of books on the table–most of which seem to be of the romance genre. There’s a colorful display of sticky tabs decorating the pages of the book and a pen you keep close to you. He leans down to squat, his fingers playing with the book tabs–his mind wandering to the time you mentioned reading to him. “I thought you were reading literature. Like Shakespeare or I don’t know! Not sappy books about love.”

“Sappy books about love is literature. And who reads Shakespeare for fun?”

“Like I would know,” he mutters, standing up to walk behind the couch where he can get a peek of the pages–an offended laugh escaping his lips the moment he sees what scene you were reading so seriously. He easily steals the book out of your hands, ignoring your protests. “So Aaron Warner huh?”

“I was reading that!”

“Baby I can’t believe you were ignoring my messages for this,” he clicks his tongue. “This is worse than catching you make out with another man.”

“Okay that’s a bit of a stretch and besides, you go on trips all the time. Also, who would I even make out with?”

“Aaron Warner!”

You roll your eyes. “Satoru, he’s literally words on paper.”

He narrows his eyes at you and for a moment, you think he’s going to stop. Yet, he continues to observe the stack of books on the table all over again. “So that’s what my money goes towards? Books about other men–”

“Hey! I bought these books with my own money!”

“Oh,” he huffs, suddenly looking insulted. “So you don’t spend my money?”

Your lips release an annoyed groan and you roll your eyes for the nth time–wondering how his mood was all over the place. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“Why do you need to read about Aaron Warner when you have me?” He says, climbing over the couch to sit next to you. You don’t object when he easily props you on his lap and discards the book to the side–his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Your heart clenches at the feeling of his hands gripping your hips as if it were second nature to him–how he looked at you like he had the world on his lap. 

You clear your throat, not able to resist the urge to tease him. “You know. I wish I had a strong, handsome man holding me right now.”

“What? Like Aaron Warner?”

“That’d be great actually–” Your words die on your lips as he begins his assault of kisses on your face–peppering them along your jaw and neck. Gojo can’t help but smile against your neck at the sound of your surprised laughter, his head coming up so he can flash you a boyish grin. 

“Still think he’s better than me sweetheart?”

“You’re jealous of literal words on paper!” You try to retort, your lips a bit swollen and your hair fairly all over the place. He can’t help but press another wet kiss to your cheek, laughing at your sound of disgust.

“So what if I’m jealous? My girl’s not paying attention to me squealing over–”

“I was not squealing–!”

“--Squealing over a book character,” he finishes, taking his hands off your hips to cross them.

You frown, heaving a sigh at the sight of him–a bit affected by the loss of warmth his hands provided. You open your arms, looking at him expectedly. “Fine. I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your messages or calls while you were on your trip, in your billion dollar vacation house by the way.”

He only huffs at your sarcasm but you don’t miss the way his lips twitch in amusement. “And?”

“And,” you roll your eyes again. “I’m sorry I said Aaron Warner was better than you. So you can please just hold me again?”

Your boyfriend watches you carefully, pretending to sulk at the sight of your teasing smile. You’re cold to the touch–your hands and feet always contrasting the warmth of his own. You still smell like yourself but he likes how he can catch a whiff of the body wash he uses on you. I miss you, is what his hug says. 

His arms easily flip you on your back as he presses his weight over you, his grin wide and lovesick. “You know what? I think I might read the book myself to see what’s so special about this Aaron guy.”

You laugh. “Are you being for real?”

“For real, real, pretty girl.”

Bonus:

It’s been a week since Satoru’s returned from his trip and you’re starting to think he likes the books a bit too much. And you’re still convinced he’s not over your petty argument about Aaron Warner–seeing as he rushes to you on a peaceful evening. 

“You wanna know something sweetheart?”

“What is it now ‘Toru,” you groan, having just woken up from your nap. 

“Aaron Warner’s only 5’9.”

“What about it?”

“I’m 6’3.”

“...” 

“...”

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

“Add that onto the list “Why Toru is better than Aaron Warner.”

[authorred]

Die With A Smile | Li Shen/Zayne x gn!Reader | Love and Deepspace

➺ Preface: After a particularly bad run-in with a wanderer, you're left essentially dying on site. You know this will not bode over well for a certain doctor-friend of yours, so you force yourself up and onwards. Both you and Zayne have to reconcile the fact that you almost died without seeing each other for almost a month.

➺ I know I already posted a song-fic for this song but goddammit I keep seeing edits for this shit on my fyp and I love this song so mf much that I can't myself ( I also have an unhealthy obsession with Zayne ).

Maybe I'll do a Sylus version??? However the hell I'll do that.

→ Song

Warning(s): Mentions of extensive wounds, blood

Oh god, Zayne is going to kill me.

Your skin is warm and sticky; a disconcerting feeling. What remains of your clothes is glued to your skin in blood and sweat, most of it yours. You don't know why, but for some reason, Wanderers love to dick with you as if you're a hot commodity. You were just trying to do your job as a Deepspace Hunter, which you succeeded at technically, but, now your injuries are catching up to you.

You're starting to feel lightheaded and stumbling on your feet. You don't know if you've broken any bones, but all you know is that every part of your body hurts and trying to blink takes all of your energy.

Goddammit, if Zayne sees me he's going to be so mad. Or sad. Or both. I didn't even text him today--I should've texted him.

You stumble from the remains of where the protocore field emerged. You can feel the warmth of your blood spilling down your leg and flooding your boots. It’s an absolutely unnerving sensation. You have to find a way to the hospital. You need to get help. You can’t die. Not like this. Not before you see Zayne.

~

You were going to kill him. No, not kill, perhaps that’s too far. But you were going to scold him, chastise him like a worried mother. Zayne has been pushing himself again, not taking breaks or sleeping for more than five hours. He’s been using the on-call rooms in Akso or sleeping in his office. He doesn’t know why he does this. Perhaps he’s stressed because you haven’t texted him in several days and he’s unknowing to your severe injuries. It’s a way to cope. Because if he didn’t, he’d go mad.

So why.

Why?

Why is he staring at several paramedics rolling you into the hospital, covered in blood and unconscious? Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Being reckless? Risking your life? Again?

He stands there, rooted to the linoleum, watching you be rolled into the OR for emergency surgery. He doesn’t know what’s wrong—eyeballing it he could tell you’re suffering from many lacerations. But what if there’s more? What if your heart is giving out?

It’s not until the hospital begins to settle again that he’s able to move. Swallowing thickly and moving like a ghost back to where he’s needed.

~

Hours pass—two hours, specifically. Zayne stands in your hospital room staring at your sleeping figure. Covered in bandages and bruises alike, his eyes are filled with trepidation belying fear and concern. The pain you must’ve went through to trek all the way to Akso Hospital—the amount of blood you lost. Too stubborn for your own good. He can’t linger, he has other duties to attend to. But he wants to—gods, he wants to.

Stepping up to the side of your bed, his hand reaches out. His fingertips brush against the palm of your hand, gently trailing them up your wrist and arm. Featherlight touches to prove you’re here, alive, breathing. His virescent eyes comb up and down your body. “How reckless,” he whispers. “And here I thought you were simply lost with no reception.”

No response, as he expected.

With a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, Zayne retracts his hand and places it back in his coat pocket. With one last lingering look, he turns and walks away from your hospital bed. He has work to finish, and you’re stabilized and alive. At least he’s assured in that regard. He can go on with the rest of his day without that aching, gnawing anxiety in his chest. It’s a relief, really.

~

When you wake up, you have no idea where you are at first. You’re completely disoriented and lost. You vaguely remember trying to navigate your way through a town on the outskirts of Linkon, and then after that, the memories are fuzzy.

You look to your side, your vision severely blurred. You can see a person sitting in the chair next to your bed, resting. You recognize the shape of their body immediately. “Zayne?” Comes your hoarse, weak voice. Even that’s enough to rouse him from his sleep—or maybe he wasn’t even fully asleep in the first place.

Zayne sits up straight when he sees you’re awake before standing. “Y/n,” he says, almost in surprise. “You’re awake. With the amount of sedatives in your body, you should still be asleep.”

“I can’t move my body,” you chuckle softly, but it sounds like a sad whimper instead. “Maybe that’s where they went. . .”

Zayne sighs at your attempt of jokes in your state. “Should I ask what happened this time?”

“I think you know.”

Zayne gazes down at you, his eyes slightly narrowed in worry. “You’re too reckless. Please, put some value on your life before we’re unable to fix you.”

“I know,” you reply softly. “But you don’t seem the best either. I can still see those dark circles even through my fucked up vision. You’ve been overworking again, haven’t you?”

Zayne shifts like a kid getting caught before looking away, “I take naps during the day so I can be productive at night. And I’ve been eating well and hydrating. Truly, it’s not that bad.”

“Those dark circles say otherwise.”

A moment passes before Zayne looks at you again. “You were too close this time,” he says. “Your life was in a precarious position. You’re lucky we had the personnel available.”

“I know,” you repeat. “I know. I—I’ll be honest, I didn’t think. . . I didn’t think I’d make it.”

Zayne’s expression drops suddenly, but he lets you talk.

“All I remember thinking is that I needed to get to a hospital, to get help, because if I didn’t, I’d regret it. Regret not texting you, seeing you. I wanted to see you one more time, at least.”

Zayne’s face twitches, and he resists the urge to reach out and touch you. You need space. Your body needs time to heal. “I see,” he replies softly. “Is that what gave you strength to crawl to the doors of the hospital?”

“Yes,” you nod softly. “At least, if I died here, I’d be near you. And that’s enough for me.”

Zayne doesn’t say anything immediately. “I would be. . . in pain if you died,” he says quietly, doing best to articulate his feelings without coming off as too much. “I would miss you greatly. Agonizingly.”

“Tomorrow is never promised,” you say, gazing at him with such affection and favor he feels lightheaded from holding your gaze. “But if I die—if I die next to you, with you. . . I wouldn’t change a thing. I would die happy and content. Knowing you’re there.”

Zayne swallows, his Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down under his black dress shirt. “I believe it would be best if we promised each other. . . to not push ourselves too far.”

You chuckle softly, “Maybe. But whatever the case, I’m just happy you’re here.”

You add, “And when the day comes I do die, I’ll gladly die with a smile if you’re with me.”

[haine-kleine]

i thought the ending couldn't be more disappointing and then this japanese tweet proved me wrong

because all of this is true. Ochako and Izuku will never forget Toga and Tenko and half of their epilogue was about this, however messily done. Ochako dedicated herself to creating better conditions for people like Toga, because she saw how badly Toga was suffering and despite failing to save her and give her a brighter future, she committed to building that future on her own, selflessly gifting it to others. Izuku had failed to save Tenko despite wanting to, and this weights on his conscience eight years later, and will continue to haunt him in the form of Shigaraki's ghost watching him, not letting him forget himself in the happy ending of joining his hero classmates and achieving his dream.

it's still messy and unfaithful as fuck, but at least these two endings still show that the consequences were there. the unfair deaths of the villains weren't simply swept under the rug and forgotten after a few sad talks about them.

and the thing these two cases share in common? Ochako and Izuku really didn't owe it to Toga and Shigaraki to save them. they didn't. they were hero kids thrown in the middle of the war these very villains waged on them. they both were younger than their respective villains, they both were hurt by these villains, they had no prior history with them, and having shared a few conversations was enough to make them emphasize with and humanize the villains. nothing that happened to Himiko and Tenko was inflicted on them by Ochako and Izuku, and yet just seeing that, hearing about that was enough to ignite sympathy in their hearts. because, you know, they are heroes. they are there to save people from suffering. and even when those people are the ones actively hurting them and their friends, they are mature enough to set that aside and attempt to save their human lives.

enter the star of the show, the only character in this story who despite having committed truly villainous acts, is allowed to go consequences free without a single care in the world. Enji. the person who had single-handedly fucked Touya up to the point his mental state was too messed up even for AFO to deal with. he had given life to this baby, and he was constantly made aware of how badly his attitude is affecting this child by Rei. and he couldn't be bothered to do anything for him, not even to look at him. the fire on Sekoto was 100% Enji's fault, not only because he couldn't be bothered to come visit his son on his day off when Touya had asked him to, but also because the number two hero on his day off was too slow to come to the forest near his house to save Touya from the fire or from All for One. this makes Touya being kept under AFO's care for the following 3 years Enji's responsibility, as he was the only one who could have saved Touya from AFO. even after Touya wakes up from his coma and immediately runs to his house as fast as he can, it's Enji's behaviour alone that makes him decide against making his presence known to the family for the following 7 years. this excuse of a father can't even mourn the death of a son he explicitly blames himself for in such way that won't make his entire existence feel meaningless to him.

and after Touya reveals himself to Enji personally as Dabi? he proves that he still hasn't changed at all and utterly fails to do anything about the situation while Shouto has to repeatedly remind him of it. not only was he procrastinating, the narrative was coddling him the entire time, with the support of other heroes and sidekicks, who despite being shown the truth about Enji, choose to ignore it. even the family he has been abusing for years, the family who was mourning Touya together, joins their efforts to support Enji.

Touya's only desires were to be seen and to be heard. both went unanswered, as after showing the world the unfiltered truth of the misery his father had caused to him, the world covered their earths and turned away. after showing himself to his family, they keep looking at Enji, not at him.

even at the very end, the end of the family's hell is more about Enji than about any other character. he is the only one allowed to talk about his feelings in depth, while the rest of them are reduced to barebone imitations of their previously established characters used as props for supporting Enji's character resolution (with the exception of Touya, who is physically unable to speak for longer than 5 minutes a day anymore. wow). even Natsuo cutting off Enji is less about the latter being a horrible excuse of a father and more about Enji's great stoicism accepting everything the family throws at him with a heroic face. Rei's character no longer makes sense because exactly a month ago her mental state and the trauma inflicted on her by this very man didn't allow her to face him at all. and now she is suddenly okay with becoming his caretaker? why is she taking her responsibility for Touya and not talking about Enji's responsibility at all? this was a man who had abused her so badly she had a psychotic episode. you don't just shrug off things like this. you don't sit in a psychiatric ward for ten years after that, waiting to be let out and jump on the first chance of making yourself useful for your abuser. you don't set aside the relationships with the children he had hurt and he had made you hurt to devote yourself fully to your damn abuser. someone take this poor woman out of this Stockholm syndrome relationship.

at this point Touya not being allowed to die is the worst offence, because the survival wasn't granted to him to heal. it was given to him for the singular purpose of making Endeavor look slightly less bad. Enji never even talks about failing to save Touya (and neither is Shouto allowed to). if you wanted to save him, then him being stuck immobile and isolated from the world with only months left to live is not 'the time Shouto gave us with him' it's a failure. he's not your damn pet, why is the narrative making him into one?

Touya had wanted to die. Shouto points this out, Touya himself talks about it. Enji was the one who didn't want him to die. he also didn't want to die himself. somehow, his desire is the only one that is fulfilled, while even Shouto's dream of eating soba with his older brother goes ignored.

and afterwards? Enji happily moves on from this with the new family he had found for himself, while Touya's childhood desire of his family looking at him is fulfilled in the most grotesque way possible. and the family's dream of having a home away from Endeavor? not a chance lmao

[stevieschrodinger]

There’s a quiet beeping noise. It’s very regular and kind of annoying; but then Eddie fucking hates the ticking of clocks. Finds them impossible to ignore once he’s heard it.

He shifts, and then almost immediately stops because fucking ow.

Ow. Well this is shit.

Eddie hums in agreement.

The mattress made a terrible creaky noise; like it’s plastic, and the air smells like disinfectant. Oh. Hospital. Which means holy shit, he’s alive.

Well, I sure as fuck wasn’t expecting this.

Eddie hums again, blinking open gummy eyes. It’s dark other than a rectangle of light on the popcorn tiled ceiling; shining through the door from the hallway. It’s a pretty average hospital room, except for the glaring anomaly that is Steve Harrington, snoring gently in an arm chair.

Holy shit, is that Harrington?

“Yeah-” Eddie starts to answer out loud, and then finally realizes that he’s answering someone. His voice is fucked and his mouth is dryer then Gandhi's sandals, but he still tries, “errr…who are you?”

Wait, you can hear me??

Eddie tries, really hard, to think loud thoughts, firstly because his throat is fucked and it hurts to talk, and secondly because he doesn’t actually want to wake Steve, yes?

Holy shit. It’s me. I mean. Hargrove. Billy Hargrove.

Well...fuck. I thought you were dead?

No. No, I just kind of got...absorbed. Like I was in the, you know, in that place with everything else.

The upside Down.

Whatever. But then Henry died. We all felt it when Henry died. And I was just kind of...loose.

You knew his name?

We all knew his name.

Which is not a terrifying thought like, at all. Especially not with how weighty the thought is when Hargrove delivers it. We all knew his name. Holy shit.

And then there was you and I saw my chance. I was so sure you were going to die, and I figured if I was in there, you’d take me out with you.

Oh. Well I was kind of assuming that I was dead, considering I now have the ghost of Billy Hargrove talking at me from in my own head.

Yeah. Death is a pretty solid explanation for me too. Think the afterlife could do better than this, though. Eddie can feel it when Hargrove yawns. Can feel that they’re both tired. Tries not to be vaguely offended that the inside of his head isn't good enough for Hargrove. Why is he here?

I dunno man, I mean, I was kind of with them at the end you know, I was part of the plan. Maybe he feels responsible or something.

Eddie can feel Hargrove turn that one over, what do you think he’s dreaming about?

Wet tee shirt competition, Eddie answers instantly and without thought, can feel Billy snort a laugh, can sense his amusement clearly.

Being Prom king? Sinking the winning ball?

Being asked to judge a wet tee shirt competition because he’s prom king?

Hargrove sniggers again, but then becomes thoughtful, you’re taking this really well. What if it’s like, permanent?

Eddie yawns, ask me again tomorrow. He's way too tired to deal with this.

It takes four days for Eddie to be able to actually stand alone long enough to take a piss in an actual bathroom, which is amazing. It's four days of having his life choices sometimes critiqued by Billy Hargrove, but it isn't the worst. At least they're on first name terms now, and Billy has been surprisingly sensitive when it comes to Eddie's recovery.

The first piss after the catheter came out was pretty fucking unpleasant, but not being alone for this stuff has actually been okay. Having Billy saying ow ow ow in the back of his head during that first piss had made it somehow more bearable. At least he's not suffering alone.

And he’s so done with pissing into those funny little bottle things and then enduring the mortification of handing it to someone.

You’re feeling pretty pleased with yourself over this.

“Yeah well, some of us enjoy pissing in private,” Eddie grumbles back.

When he turns to wash his hands, he squeals and nearly knocks everything off the counter. He then whimpers in pain, because he turned way too fast.

“Eddie? You okay?” Steve asks, knocking on the door.

“I’m fine. I’m fine man. Give me a minute,” Eddie looks over the bathroom. The empty bathroom. But no, no, he definitely saw- Eddie turns slowly back to the mirror, and there, leaning against the wall, “Billy?” Eddie breathes.

He looks over his shoulder again, just to make sure, but nope. He’s still definitely alone.

What?? Can you see me?

Billy moves, standing next to Eddie. He looks...good. Clean. Perfect. Blue jeans and a white polo with the collar popped a bit, gold chain around his neck. He looks exactly like Eddie remembers. “I thought you were like, inside my head?”

I am. I mean. I thought I was but...I can see me too.

Steve knocks, “Eddie? You talking to yourself man? You’re taking a while-”

“We should go, before he can untwist his panties, we can...check this again, later?”

Yeah. Yeah, later.

Part Two

[peachesofteal]

Oh my gosh imagine! Imagine Johnny wakes up first so naturally he goes to check on you and you’re just gone! So ofc he goes to wake up Ghost in a panic. And naturally they search the whole house before realizing that the front door is open and then they just lose it. Bc their omega isn’t just outside, she’s outside IN HEAT other alphas will jump at the chance to mate and breed what’s theirs. And poor you has no clue what’s happening. All you know is it’s hot and loud and everything is so scary and you just want Johnny & Simon to come back and take care of you and keep you safe. All you can do is sink down on your knees in the middle of the sidewalk & cry. Johnny & Simon are finally able to find you, less than a block away sobbing your poor hear out on the dirty ground and their hearts just break bc their poor sweet darling is like this. Simon just scoops you up and carries a whimpering, sobbing you back to the apartment, tucking you back into your nest and promising a hovering Johnny that they’ll discuss this with you when you wake back up.

(I’m sorry for how long this is your last post just really got me)

HEY hi hello this is 🤌 let us indulge. Takes place after this.

🩵

18+ / MDNI / dead disco omegaverse au / Mature themes

Johnny wakes instinctively.

There’s a buzzing in the back of his mind, a gnawing, biting sound that’s fissuring across his soft tissues and down into his cerebral cortex. It’s bothering him, dragging him further and further to consciousness.

Wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up-

“Johnny.” Of course, Simon has woken at the same time. They operate on the same circuit, same wave length, same state of being. It is no surprise that as soon as Johnny’s eyes are blinking open blearily, his partner’s, his mate’s, are doing the same.

They were so fucking tired. Not having slept in over twenty four hours, and then thrown for a loop when they got home to you, found you, suffering, terrified, in the beginning throes of your heat, hiding in the closet.

He tried not to think about what it all meant. He’s still trying.

His brain snaps to life just as Simon is sitting up, both of them groping in the dark. His hindbrain is screaming at him, urging up forward and up. Something is wrong, something is wrong, Omega, Omega-

“Darling?” Simon calls out to no answer. No sound of you breathing, or coming awake between them in the bed. No sound your whimpering, or the little soft moans that you had making in your sleep.

Your scent is still present, but not tangible. Not real.

The bed is cool in the middle. His fingers stretch across his, hoping to feel the curve of your body, the heat of your skin.

Simon’s already got the light on by the time he’s swinging his legs over the mattress.

Johnny’s heart plummets to his stomach.

You’re not in the room.

Where are you?

Simon strides over to the closet door and eases it open, crouching on his knees, brow furrowing.

You’re not there. Your scent is even older in the closet too, sour distress faded amongst clean linen.

“Si-“

“Be calm.” The other Alpha instructs, but how can he? You’re not here.

Where are you?

He bolts from the room with his mate hot on his heels. You’ll be in the kitchen, he decides. Possibly trying to eat, your mind forcing you towards nutrition in preparation for breeding. Or, you’ll be curled up on the couch, half asleep, trying to smother your noises or soothe your pain by yourself.

“Darling?” It echoes, with no response. He sniffs the air on instinct, just to confirm the worst. His fear.

You’re not in the flat.

“Fuck.” Simon growls, and Johnny turns, nearly pushing into him.

Simon stands rigid, staring at the end of the hall.

Where the front door is hanging wide open.

“No.” It’s the ghost of a whisper, denial clogging his throat. “No, no, no.” His entire body, his brain, roars.

He yells your name. Shouts it, while Simon storms back into the bedroom and nearly rips the bathroom door from its hinges to look for you.

“She could be anywhere.” Johnny is not stupid. He’s incredibly intelligent. His expertise highlights his strengths, his tactical awareness, his patience, his problem solving and critical thinking skills. He’s not some impatient, newly packed Alpha with the hindbrain of a peanut. Outside of a rut, he stays fairly in control.

Or at least, he usually is.

But right now, his instinct is hard to shove down. It’s pushing through his mouth, forming across his tongue in fearful, rage filled snarl.

His Omega, their Omega, is gone. You’re gone, and could be anywhere. You could be hurt. You could be in danger. another Alpha could have found you. Could be trying to mate you, breed you. Could be trying to take what is theirs. Could be hurting you.

You’re out there, alone. Without them.

Something desperate, something scared and worried, breaks from his mouth.

Simon’s operating within the same window. He’s practically vibrating, pheromones filling the flat with the off taste of distress.

“Get dressed.” Simon snaps, and Johnny follows him into the room, moving in lock step.

They track your scent for almost an hour before it becomes strong enough to get a lock on it. Everyone steps out of their way, shying off the sidewalk and casting curious glances towards them, but Simon stops for none of them.

He’s only focused on one thing.

Omega.

“Close.” Johnny murmurs, Simon jerks his head in confirmation. Your scent is getting more and more pungent, rotten stone fruit permeating through his skin like a sickness.

You’re scared. You’re confused, panicked.

He tries to think like you would, but if he’s being honest, he doesn’t understand you right now. He doesn’t understand anything, doesn’t know why you’ve been lying, doesn’t know what’s been happening in their own flat. He doesn’t know what drove you to leave in the middle of the night, during your heat, and it’s driving him a little insane.

Where are you? His heart weeps when he thinks about you, their little Omega, on the street somewhere. Scared. Alone.

We’re coming, darling.

It doesn’t take too much longer, after that first hour. The full strength of your scent hits them like a truck when they turn down a block, and then to their relief, and subsequent horror, they find you kneeling on the sidewalk, sobbing. Your body shaking, eyes wide with fear as an Alpha towers over you. They can smell everything, your slick, your sweat, the evidence of your too vulnerable state, and Simon wants to rip this intruder to pieces.

The knife finds his hand like it’s always belonged there. Like it was born there, like it’s an extension of his body.

“Alpha.” You sob openly, eyes glinting in recognition when you blink up at them, and his instincts scream, hindbrain urging him to slaughter this fool in front of them so that he can tuck you into his arms.

“Get the fuck away from her.” Johnny growls, and the other Alpha straightens, clearly sizing him up for a fight.

“Piss off. Found ‘er first.”

“Don’t think so.” Simon grits out, and it’s enough to give their opponent pause, his gaze darting back and forth between the two of them.

Simon lifts the knife. Just enough to catch his attention, just enough to convince him to turn tail and run.

Leave him. His scent is strong, kill him another day. Omega needs us.

Johnny’s already moving towards you as soon as the offending outsider splits, and Simon tucks the blade away. For another day.

You cry, your wailing shattering his heart, splintering across his hindbrain, forcing him down towards you.

“Darling.” They both crouch, and your hands reach, seeking, shivering in the night. “Shhh. It’s alright now, baby.” Simon’s body instinctively seeks yours, looking to provide you with safety, with comfort, to cease your crying while Johnny’s does the same, and they both press you between them, holding tight while you hyperventilate.

“Try to breathe, love. We’re here now, it’s okay.” Johnny rumbles, setting up a deep vibration from his chest, soothing harmonics radiating from his body. When you don’t calm, he looks to his mate in worry, still trying to calm you. “Alpha’s here, right here. We’re with you, darling.”

It’s clear, you’re not going to calm down out here. Your body is in fight or flight.

They need to get you back to the nest.

Johnny tugs you forward, maintaining full contact and tucking your face under his chin until Simon stands, when he bends forward and plucks you into his chest, tucking you away protectively while they trek back to the flat.

You cry, aloud, during the short trip. Sobbing into his neck, chest gasping for air while your hands try to hold onto Johnny at the same time. He tries to keep your face pressed to his gland, arms banded around your back, cradling your head to his neck. It hurts him, both of them, and Simon churns out soothing, calming pheromones in bucketloads, desperate to break through to you.

“Shhh, darling. Shhh.” He coos against your trembles, Johnny running ahead to unlock the door. They don’t even turn the lights on as they find their way into the bedroom, seeking the nest that you had previously abandoned.

When he puts you down and they pull away, you scream.

“Hey, we’re here. Everything’s alright, you’re safe now.” Johnny whispers, and then curls around you. You shiver, still reaching, and Simon molds himself along the other side, your body between them, sniffling and crying while you paw at their clothes. “She needs a bath.” Simon agrees, but he’s not sure if now is the time. Will you even let them bathe you?

“In the morning.” You need water, and food. It’s probably too late to even try to delay the rest of it, though he’s not sure either of them should be trying to fuck you in this state.

“What are we going to do?” Johnny worries aloud, voice teetering with anxiety. Simon knows that he’s scared, unraveling, only keeping himself at bay because you’re in his arms.

“In the morning, Johnny.” Simon reaches, stroking along the Alpha’s gland to soothe him, settle him.

He shifts, pushing off the pile to go to the kitchen and your scent spikes, noxious panic singing out into the room. You whimper, eyes peering through the dark at him, one hand clutching onto where Johnny has you pressed to his back, his mouth lapping over your gland, again and again, and the other, reaching for Simon.

“Alright, alright. I’m here, we’re here darling. We’ve got you.”

He folds your small fingers into his grip, sinking into the nest as he too, presses his lips to your neck to soothe you, strengthening your instincts until you’re softening, small whimpers purring in your chest.

[adventures-in-mangaland]

More Dead Boy Detectives Fic Recs

Since my last fic rec post got a great response and I've read some excellent fic in the meantime, here is a new list with more recs!

The Case of Richard Rowland by RB (BlueflowersandWings)

Charles' dad hires the Dead Boy Detectives to solve his murder. It's. Traumatic. The writing and characterisation are excellent and heartbreaking and the case is intriguing. I have many theories! Cw for domestic abuse, child abuse and homophobia.

we all have a hunger (series) by Anonymous

I couldn't choose! They're both so good! The first is from Crystal's PoV as she tries to figure out what happened to Niko. It also features some wonderful Crystal & Edwin bonding, an absolutely gut-wrenching speech from the latter and The Sandman cameos. The second in the series is an Edwin-centric (so angsty!) case fic featuring Accidental Child Acquisition, greek gods, the Cat King and a happy ending. Superlative writing in both.

Terrible, Horrible, No Good and Very Bad by hibye

Feelings realisation as Charles pines for Edwin and tries not to show it because he has to be sure he's in love. Terrific, very funny writing and Charles is a precious himbo. Excellent payoff too.

Oh, Lonely Bones, Have You Forgotten? by DontOffendTheBees

Charles and Edwin investigate a mystery at St Hilarion's and discover a gut-wrenching secret. Compelling and brilliantly written.

I'll let you go if you kiss me goodbye by shadowquill17

Idiots in Love meets Friends with Benefits and Misunderstandings. Edwin breaking his own heart for no reason is very accurate and Charles gets a cool queer mentor.

the spooky thing about penis ouija by skadii

College AU! Everyone's alive and Charles and Edwin have been besties since middle school. This is another Oblivious!Charles fic; he's like a well-meaning golden retriever trampling Monty in his clueless wake. Also, the gang perform a seance and Edwin is a ghost-sceptic, which is hilarious.

after the insects have laid their claim by lolotr

Charles finds out that Edwin's body was never found and will not let that stand. Has a kind of gothic romanticism I really love and a nice in-universe explanation for the "Charles and Edwin can only feel each other" trope.

The author has written lots of other great fic, including a very cute librarian!Edwin and single dad!Charles human AU with bonus Crystal/Niko.

A Form of Genius by Neous (Greyality)

Charles shows off for Edwin. Crystal Suffers. Idk, it's just cute.

the taste in your mouth by greenaerie

When Esther hurts Charles, Edwin decides to take up the Cat King on his original offer. Interesting exploration of dubious consent, shame and guilt. The author is fairly sympathetic to the Cat King, while also exploring Edwin's complicated feelings, including the impact of his upbringing, general repression and, yes, coercion on his first time. It's not exactly explicit, but take care if those are tough themes for you!

The Manuscript of Real People by paraph

Slow burn Boarding School AU where they're both alive and it's also the 70s. And they were roommates! I have been longing for a fic like this. All the jock/nerd romance tropes, complicated by discussions of bullying and Charles' (perceived) proximity to Edwin's bullies. Edwin is an orphaned scholarship student, so it's also a kind of role reversal and touches on themes of class and poverty. Minor cw for sexual harassment as the Cat King/Thomas is also there (sorry catwin fans).

When We Walk Together We Tend to Walk Alone by UneducatedAuthor

Charles meets Death and gets to say goodbye to his mum. A sweet concept and it's nice to see Death of the Endless getting some love!

Marriage is a Payne by Ace_of_Turtles

Arranged Marriage and Omegaverse AU featuring the boys agreeing to get married to spite/escape their awful parents. Not explicit and fairly light on the a/b/o details, in case that's a squick for anyone.

job officially jobbed by vernesatlas

Charles decides the answer to the handjob question requires a practical demonstration. Very funny and well written and the title is excellent. All the kudos.

Try, Try Again by Asidian

Alterative ending to episode four. After the Night Nurse, Edwin makes a second attempt to comfort Charles. Heartwarming and sad.

The Risk and Rewards of Communication by Opossum_Subatomic

Another alternative ending to episode four featuring Edwin coming clean about the Cat King. So well written. I feel like this is going to be a fandom classic.

take your chances (win or lose her) by ObsessedWithFandom

Charles decides to check in on his mum. Some very sweet established relationship fluff followed by discussions of domestic abuse and family feels. The ending opened up some amazing possibilities for future fics! Highly recommended.

The same author has also written the ghost of the past that you live in, which is an excellent in-depth exploration of Charles' bisexual awakening and trauma-related repression.

Anyway, I'm going to try to make this a regular thing, so please send me more recs!

[vampiretendencies]

a visceral feeling, that i can never leave behind

summary; jj crossed his heart, hoped to die that he wouldn’t get in another dust up; now he’s suffering.

authors notes; getting back into the groove of writing full length fics, still doing blurbs. but if you have a request either way, requests are open.

pairing; jj maybank x pogue!fem!reader (reader is almost always a pogue, unless i specify other wise)

warnings; angst to fluff, maybe suggestive if you take it that way

It was unusual to not hear from JJ.

Whether it be sullen facetime calls, hundreds of affectionate text messages, or not being able to pry your hands off of one another in person.

It was just unusual.

Which is why you are silently cursing yourself, sat parked outside the Chateau. The Twinkie was gone, but that in more ways than one didn’t mean JJ wasn’t in his bedroom.

Maybe John B took it out on an errand.

Maybe John B, Pope, and Kie went out on the marsh.

The possibilities were endless— but JJ never was the type to miss out on a Pogue expedition. Nor was he the type to not tell you about it; hell he’d update you if he was doing a task, as simple as smoking a blunt.

Glancing down at the blue and grey text chain, a photo of JJ kissing the bone of your jaw ever so slightly adorned the top, a helpless dimple poking through— but, you couldn’t understand why most of it was blue. Why were they so many texts from only you?

J <3

JB did a lil fire tonight

Got mosquito bites in places I shouldn't have mosquito bites

Need you to help me scratch them :(

I'm being serious

Goodnight baby, wish I was sleeping with you

Those were the last few texts you'd received from JJ, after you'd worked a late shift at the wreck and he'd known you fell asleep. JJ also knew today was your late shift, typically he'd be at the front door of your home; parents ready to boot him out from how much he continuously rambled on about you. You even tried calling Kie, Pope, and John B numerous times with no response.

Yeah, something was definitely fucking wrong.

With a slam of your car door the leaves from the tree above crunch beneath your feet, adjusting your cropped tee so it didn't fall too low. Rays of the sun beaming thoroughly on the skin of your legs and the exposure of your back, making your way towards the screen door of the Chateau. Screen pulled back and worn out, the wood chipped and chewed but this wouldn't be the Chateau if it wasn't. Past the porch you step foot inside, pushing aside beer cans with your shoe clad foot; empty cereal boxes, stale three-day old pizza, open sodas. Anything that you could imagine that was on the hard wood floor, it was.

But what you couldn't find was answers.

"JJ!"

You called, knowing full well there wouldn't be a response as he isn't visibly here. But it's JJ, he could be fucking around.

"Baby!"

You tried the pet name in hopes that it would work, but as you enter his room and see an unmade bed with miscellaneous clothes thrown on it your thoughts grew thin. You huffed limp body falling back onto the solid twin matress.

Instantly flying upward upon hearing familiar voices and footsteps, one familiar voice in particular.

Questions seeming to be answered all at once.

Seeming.

"Did you see that headlock John B had him in?"

"Easy access! Took one hit and I swear I heard his jaw crack!"

It was, in fact JJ.

Doing that thing that he does after the Pogues think they've accomplished something big, yet they always fail to see the bigger picture.

Heat of the moment or adrenaline, you assumed.

"His face was so fucked up!"

"He's had it coming for a long time."

You confirmed it was John B's voice with Kies toward the end. Now the issue was, who the hell did they have to get into a fight with this time?

Though you may not know, you'd make certain to find out.

Creeping around the corner, you make your presence known at the entrance of the living room where they all stood. Appearing as if they's seen a ghost.

Not only did they not have the decency to include you or fill you in, but JJ's fist is coated in blood. Disheveled and mulled, like they'd been ran over by the same bus various times. Kie's curls fanned outwardly, John B with a busted lip, Pope with a black eye, and JJ with a welp against his cheek bone; a gushing cut seeping through.

Your voice grows horse, mouth running dry; fathomed by your supposed friends in front of you.

What were you? A sick joke?

"Look ... we can explain, JJ told us not to tell you and we-"

Kie offered, guilt eating away at her portraying a bad habit.

"Just don't."

"Shouldn't someone like ... be mediator this time, she might actually kill him."

Pope chimes in and it makes your stomach churn because he was partially true.

You brush past them, aiming for your car and of course JJ's steps behind you. Echoing your every move, fingertips knotting around your wrist in an effort for you to turn around and face him. Unexpectedly, your back met with the warm glass window of your car. His fists at the hood, arms hovering near the sides of your head. Tresses combed backward from his digits, out of fear that this situation right here would happen.

There were certain confrontations JJ appreciated and certain one's he didn't.

He had no problem with pummeling someone unrecognizable for the sake of his friends, which spells out the entirety of this.

The confrontations he hated though was this one, the one where he can't even look you in the eye. He invariably lost his tongue in a fight with you, his past making him think that every fight could result in you abandoning him and never coming back. For the long run.

"You should go get that looked at," you spat, biting back so harshly. Peering at a slash that would take weeks to scab over.

"Just stay okay? This doesn't have to be a fight."

His speech is low and he's looking everywhere but at you until you shoved him- hands connecting with his chest in an effort to get his attention and for him to stop caging you in.

Exasperated that he couldn't just tell you, that he couldn't just talk to you about it.

Animosity that he would dare get his precious face damaged in such as way.

Irate and bitter that his somehow get himself in this overwhelming imperilment.

A menace before you.

"It does JJ! We're lying to each other now? This is what we do?!"

It was a show, a show that people would stream on television for their on laughter and enjoyment.

But this was the sheerness of a susceptible couple, glass nearly empty.

Time bellowing out.

"I had to baby!"

Not to be dramatic but JJ's heart had been stitched together once, when you entered his life.

And that's why he tried his utmost to prevent any interference in this relationship.

Because now he swears, he can physically feel a stitch rip open with every remark you make.

"We tell each other everything JJ!"

"And I didn't tell you 'cause, I knew this is how you'd react!"

He stands still with a clenched jaw; tight enough for teeth to grind, hand gesturing at your current 'pissed off' stance—notrils flaring and mouth agape.

And he thinks this actual smoke fuming out of your ears.

Silence fell over the two of you, stood so desperately apart in the misty front yard of the Chateau.

"It was Rafe," He rasped through monotone. "We had to take this round while we could-"

"So fucking stupid, you know he's coming back for ya'll!" You still speak sharply, infuriated past envy. "M'the one treated like shit, just for you to get one up on Rafe Cameron ... of all people JJ!"

"I know, baby! I know-"

He reached for your arms, in ordinace to hold them close, but he failed whilst you inched to the car door.

What's upsetting is, after the fight and pirior to it- JJ craved to breathe in your oxygen and get lost inside your lungs.

"I dont care if it's a decision I won't like, it's still something I deserve to know," and now your voice is just growing weary. "You do such dumb shit and m'expected not to say anything."

All JJ could do was ache.

Ache with regret.

And ache with longing at the feeling of you not wanting to be near him.

He hadn't even gotten a kiss today, for Christ's sake.

"You said you wanted all of me JJ, I gave you that. Why aren't you doing the same..."

Your figure folds, stepping low into the car, JJ running forward bloody fist pounding on the glass window. Praying to God, that you'd give in just this once and hear him out.

"I am! I fuck up one time and you're there to make sure I don't hear the end of it!'

He's finding his voice, a minute two late as his takes note of gear switching and the vehicle moving backward to leave.

"Get out! Don't go ... please don't baby!"

“Baby!”

He trails behind the moving car, as if running would make a difference.

But you wouldn't be there this time.

The last altercation he got into, you were on the other end to clean his bruises and linger kisses onto his cuts; yet, there was also an agreeance that he wouldn't be caught up in another scrutinizing fight.

You validated yourself in thinking you had the right to your reaction.

And JJ validated himself in thinking he was right in not telling you, your words engraving in his brain like clockwork; agatizing that he saw reason.

Nearly a chore for him to listen— heardheaded beyond belief.

Ravaging in the come down.

Always finding the beat, now they can't find the rush.

All filaments of emotion turned to dust.

“You can stop shitting your pants now, she’s already seen us.”

John B’s banter is not one that makes JJ’s tongue stop clicking, nor does it make his leg stop bouncing up and down out of horrid anxiousness.

He’s forced John b to take him to your home, only to be dismissed in your family saying you weren’t around.

You were, you just couldn’t stand to see JJ.

Fed up with his antics and his constant need to put himself in a position of hazardous instability.

Allowing him to resort to plan ‘work invasion’— the one place he knew you couldn’t escape him.

Despite how he typically acts, JJ has precise memory when it comes to you. He still has the little crumpled piece of paper you gave him in first grade— folded neatly inside his wallet, being besotted with you for that long.

‘I like your hiar — signed Y/N’

He picked fun at the way you spelled hair, though he took pride in his hair since then. And no matter how much he misplaced things, he endlessly found his was back to that note.

Resembling you, evermore.

With that being said, remembering your work schedule was something of ease to him.

You did glance at them stepping foot into the eating establishment, sat at a table on the far side— also know as your serving section.

Ultimately, you didn’t want to argue any longer with JJ; you didn’t want to argue to begin with. You bargained with him to learn— to learn that he can’t always have his way.

Especially when he’s teasing you so, showing up during your shift, and wearing that stupid fucking navy blue button up shirt besides the fact that it was, unbuttoned. Chest on display, muscular and built.

You felt the dagger of his eyes on your back whilst you served the table that was ahead of them, still feet away. Unable to concentrate on the order, eaves dropping on their conversation.

“Ma’am, are you listening?”

“Sorry … sorry what was that?”

Your saccharine voice apologizing to the woman and her small child, JJ chews the inside of his mouth. He despised going longer than a millisecond without hearing that sweet, sweet sound, laced with the inticement of veneration.

Accidentally fumbling the pen and note pad in your hand, rubbing your sweating palms onto your greasy black half-apron.

“Just two milkshakes.”

The woman was quick to repeat, voice more stern at you for not getting it right the first time.

But JJ was going to win you over, wether that be clogging every toilet in the stalls to announce to everyone that there was a plumping problem— isolating only you and him.

Though, he had something else in mind. Maybe not we’ll thought out to most, but it was the quickest and most efficient way he new of to win you back over on his side.

You slide your feet against the tiled floor, anticipating serving the group of Pogues. Instead you plaster on as fake as smile, and interrupt their witty banter by clearing your throat.

“What can I get ya’ll today? Our special today is a main dish of lying with backstabbing on the side.”

You were being bitter and you knew it, purposefully standing on the side of the table that JJ wasn’t on. But still the dining chair screeched on the floor, in an effort to move closer.

“Look we actually love you a lot more than JJ, if we’re being honest,” Pope conquered, and Kie and John B shook their heads in eagerness, willing to mask the tension in the air. “He convinced us to leave you out of it and we didn’t want to get in the middle of anything.”

“You don’t have to justify anything JJ did Pope, he chose to break our promise and that’s on him.”

You sneered, eyes rolling harshly at the blonde that’s twirling his thumbs— peering up at you with a deathly smirk on his features.

“That was a one time thing, Rafe deserved it baby, you know he did.”

“Baby, you know he did.”

John B mocked JJ, warning a kick from JJ’s combat boot beneath the table with a scoff.

“Did you guys hear something … like this irritating buzzing sound of some bastard talking?”

That earned a hissing sound from John B, the actual remnants of what JJ felt from that comment.

“Are y’all ordering or what? I have other tables to serve.”

You conquer, JJ’s at the edge of seat, tapping his foot. His sense being filled with that of burgers, shrimp and grits, anything he could utter but he didn’t have an appetite.

No, not when the only thing he had a hankering for was currently in front of him.

Back straightened and stood tall, typically a stance he’d drool over but he can’t get past the weeping sensation— dire need to never be at odds.

To simply just be.

For you to be his, and him be yours.

All over again.

“I was hoping you were on the menu.”

Courage emphasizing his words, eyeing you up and down— nearly eyefucking. Seeing now as his opportunity to go in for the kill.

“Okay, you know what-“

You’re spinning on your heels, in a notion to walk away— refusing service.

Until.

“JJ! Get down, my parents are never gonna’ let us back in here!”

But, he didn’t give a fuck.

A sickly pit in your stomach causes you to turn around, to be met with a JJ stood bright eyed— a disfigured expression and sunken shoulders hanging low.

Standing atop the table, head closer to the ceiling than it ever was before. Loud and proud, whilst his hands clapped, cupping together for a infamous effect.

Your face burns with prim red scrutiny, horror covering your face— just powerful moments ago.

Insides scrambling to nothing, a stupid toothy grin plastered across his features.

Wreckless, per usual, consequences of no variation to him.

He’s irrevocably standing on top of a restaurant table with only lovingly sullen eyes.

“This woman right here,” He gestures his arms toward you, all bodies turning toward you— wanting to cower in shame but oddly enough you were enticed and lead by infatuation.

Pope and John B, just let JJ do his thing— either way he was going to do what he pleased.

Crowds of familiar faces, family, a friends— some with mouths wide open in awe, some making snarky remarks, and some wishing like hell that it was them.

“She’s gonna’ have my babies,” He started a small chuckle escaping his lungs. Announcing to the entirety of the restaurant, giving them entertainment; despite the promise he broke to not get himself hurt again.

This though. This was promising, and convincing and everything in between.

Salvaged with being allergic to the waiting.

Waiting for you to come around.

You’re in the room, you earn his gaze.

You open your mouth, he’s hypnotized.

Starstruck.

“And m’gonna have those lips on mine for however long she lets me … forever I hope.”

He beamed, Kie’s father’s disgruntled face entering the room, waving at JJ to get down.

A sinister grin still on his features.

“And ya’ll will pass by us in disgust, that you can’t be us. That you can’t have our love.”

You’d hoped someone was behind you because you were about to collapse.

“This enough of an apology for you, pretty girl?”

He echoes, bits of his accent flowing through the sentence.

You managed to fight the smile on your features.

Let’s just say JJ proclaiming his love infront of nearly thirty people didn’t come close to his usual public displays of affection.

“Get your ass down!” Kie’s father, Mike, stammered, and JJ willingly jumped down from the table, being that he wasn’t finished.

And he knows by the smile lines next to your mouth— that this argument is officially past tense.

And he knows that tonight he’s going to relish in all the delicacies that you have to offer him.

“I mean it was alright,” you joke, picking fun to pass your inkling of embarrassment.

Knowing that it topped any apology you’ve received.

JJ glides over to you, hands wholeheartedly cupping your face, thumbs nestling you chin. Like the two of you were on a stage and this was a live performance.

You hold his heart in your hands internally, JJ is merely thankful to be alive during this lifetime with you.

Appreciating your existence and the relationship the two of you founded, together.

He places a wet, sloppy kiss to your lips, pecking them repeatedly. Delving them together, molding with perfection and engulfing yours with his.

Exhilarated to have the opportunity to graze mouths with yours.

“Don’t ever make me chase you again.”

But, he knows he’d do it all over.

Standing hand in hand, with lovelorn souls.

Knowing that he’d redo it without hesitation.

[junkissed]

behave!

member — jeonghan x f reader genre — smut word count — 2.1k synopsis — you like misbehaving, and jeonghan likes putting you in your place. even more so when you know you're being filmed. smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, mean dom jeonghan, hannie is a sadist but reader is a masochist so it works out, hate sex (spoiler: it's pretend!), heavy degredation mixed with praise, oral (reader receiving), some fingering, edging, one (1) ruined orgasm, sexual acts on camera, choking, marking, begging, spitting in reader's mouth, reader is a capital b Brat, some borderline pet play (??), maybe kinda bulge kink but only for a second, nicknames (slut, whore, bitch, puppy, angel, good girl), hannie is called sir a couple times, everything is shown to be consensual beforehand!! implied established relationship, aftercare, playful banter between hannie & reader, the ending is soft notes — this is payback for @duhnova and @onlymingyus because i love torturing you both. i wish i had more notes to say about this but i literally wrote it at 3am after i told yall i was going to sleep oopsies (also tagging @lovelyhan because you need to suffer too!!)

“smile for the camera, baby,” jeonghan grins mischievously, holding his phone in one hand as he traces his fingers over your stomach.

“fuck you, jeonghan!”

he tsks, index finger circling around your belly button. “you won’t get to, not with that attitude.”

you stay silent and give him a glare, watching as his fingers slowly travel lower, ghosting over your skin. he’s teasing, and both of you know it. but although there’s nothing you can do to stop it, you don’t even really want to.

he presses his hand flat against your stomach and automatically you let out a whimper, feeling the tension already beginning to build in your core and you’re not even halfway undressed yet. he relishes in your involuntary sounds, knowing that no matter how you pout and pretend to be angry with him and try to hide them from him, he knows your body like the back of his own hand and it won’t be long until he’s got you screaming his name.

he pushes harder and your hands grab at his wrist, unclear whether you’re trying to push him away or hold him in place to add even more pressure. you can’t help the way your legs slide further and further apart, wordlessly begging him to do more than he’s already doing, because it’s not enough.

“you feel that, baby?” he says, pressing the heel of his palm into your abdomen. “feel how empty you are?”

you keep your mouth shut, determined to continue being a brat as long as he’s got his camera out. you already know that watching this recording back the next time you’re horny will be a damn treat, and you’re enjoying riling him up just as much as he enjoys you doing it. misbehaving is half the fun, after all; and when the reward is so sweet, how could you resist?

jeonghan clicks his teeth, tsking at your lack of a response. “if you aren’t gonna talk, then i might as well just put this away and go on with my day. but i know my little whore wouldn’t like that, would they?”

“and why should i say anything to you?” you spit back at him, and your stomach jumps in anticipation when you see his eyes light up at your words.

his nostrils flare as he sets his phone down on the table, giving it no more than a half second of thought on whether or not he’s propped it up properly before he’s bending over you, face to face in a split second.

his hand is still flat against your stomach, and the tip of his nose presses against your cheek with how close he suddenly is to your face. his breath is warm on your lips, and your heart races as you try to guess what he’s about to say to you.

“because, i can just leave you here, soaking wet and painfully horny and it wouldn’t bother me one bit,” he says, “i know your adorable little panties are ruined right now and you’re dripping onto the fucking sheets. i could smell you a mile away like a bitch in heat, that’s how bad you want me. and if you keep acting like a fucking brat, you aren’t going to get any of me. is that clear?”

you nod without a word, knowing it’s not the reaction he wants and purposefully not giving it to him as a final act of defiance. you know him well enough to know he’s reaching the end of his patience, and you can’t keep up being a brat forever. not when you can see how thick the bulge in his pants is, not when you can see the veins popping out in his arms, not when you can see that look in his eyes when you know he’s going to fuck you so hard you’ll be feeling it for days afterward.

he sits up and his hand on your stomach flies to your chin, gripping it tightly. on instinct your lips part in compliance as he forces your jaw open and puckers his lips, violently spitting into your eagerly awaiting mouth.

he wipes the remnants of spit from around his mouth with the back of his free hand, still holding onto your jaw with his other. “when i say speak, i mean speak, bitch. if i say bark, you bark. use your words like a good puppy and i’ll reward you, but disobey me and i’ll make you regret every second of it.”

jeonghan lets go of your mouth and you exhale a shaky but excited breath, this time quick to give him an answer. “yes, sir.”

he leans over you to adjust his phone on the nightstand, eyes narrowing with a sly smile. “now that’s a good girl. see how easy that was?”

“yes, sir,” you answer again. you know this part of the routine; he doesn’t do rhetorical questions, and you know better than not to answer him now.

when he’s satisfied with the camera’s placement he leans back down over you, his lips just centimeters above yours. this time you can’t hide your whines, and he coos. “aw, sweetheart, did it hurt when i grabbed you? want me to kiss it better for you, my little angel?” there’s just enough sarcasm in his tone to know he doesn’t care whether or not it hurt, and he won’t kiss it better, no matter what your answer is.

again it’s a trick question, and again you know exactly what response he’s looking for. “no, sir,” you whisper, barely enough space between you and him for you to move your lips to speak. “i liked it. sir.”

he grins sadistically, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth anyways. “what a good whore,” he praises, “taking what i give you so well.”

he moves on to your neck, biting roughly at the skin below your jaw and sucking for so long you’re sure he can feel your pulse jump each time a new bruise begins to form.

“jeonghan—” you gasp out his name as he moves lower to your collarbones, teeth scratching along your skin as he stares up at you through his pretty long lashes, never breaking the eye contact despite how you writhe beneath him.

“that’s a good girl,” he says, his mouth hovering over your nipple as he looks up at you. “let me hear all those pretty sounds you make. need to hear how good i’m making you feel.”

his tongue laves over your breast and you arch your back up into him, struggling to keep your voice from breaking as you reply with another “yes, sir”.

you’re aware that he’s still teasing you as he works his way down your body, taking longer than necessary to get to where you really want him to be. but the feeling of his mouth covering every inch of your skin is too good to pass up, despite the way your cunt throbs and the uncomfortable feeling of your ruined panties sticking to your soaked folds. 

but finally, mercifully, he must decide that even he’s had enough teasing for one night, because he slides down in between your legs, pressing a kiss to your clit over the fabric of your underwear.

you exhale as tears begin to form in your eyes, already exhausted from being edged and denied and he’s still barely done a thing. “god, fuck— hannie, please, more, please give me more, please—” you babble, your hands gripping the sheets below you until your fingers begin to numb.

usually when you piss him off it’ll take a lot more begging than that to get him to cave, but he must be feeling generous today because he just smiles, fingertips hooking into the waistband of your underwear as he slides them down your legs. “sound so nice when you beg, angel. now look at how you get rewarded when you behave.”

“wait, jeongha—”

and that’s all the warning you get before he dives in. his hands pry apart your thighs, roughly pinning your legs to the bed as his mouth wraps around your clit and he begins to suck as hard as he can. your vision goes black for a second as you struggle to process the sudden stimulation, and your brain can’t catch up quick enough with how fast and rough jeonghan’s tongue moves against you in unpredictable patterns and movements.

you open your mouth to tell him that you’re right at the edge, you’re close you’re so fucking close it feels like you might die, but your breath catches in your throat before you can say a word and you feel yourself start to crest into your orgasm without warning.

until jeonghan pulls away, and your pussy clenches hard around nothing but air. the sudden change in pace is jarring, but it’s already too late to stop yourself from falling over the edge; except the edge is gone, your orgasm ruined at just the right moment.

your chest tightens and your lungs burn, gasping for air as your orgasm crumbles away into nothingness. each pulse of your cunt sears through your entire body and your veins feel like they’re on fire, the usual pleasure from your high stopped short by jeonghan taking it away from you. 

in the back of your mind you realize that of course he could tell you were close, of course he kept going and of course he knew exactly when to stop so that you wouldn’t get a single ounce of pleasure out of it, because he just knows you that well. even if you had tried to hide it, you wouldn’t have been able to: whatever jeonghan does, your body listens and obeys.

the tears finally spill down your cheeks, eyes squeezed shut as you scream in frustration, every nerve in your body on edge and every muscle tensed.

when you regain your breath enough to open your eyes again, you see jeonghan sitting below you looking smug. “oops,” he says nonchalantly, and if you had any energy left in your body you would’ve slapped him.

“god, i hate you so fucking much,” you rasp out, and he grins contentedly and presses a little kiss to the inside of your thigh before he sits up.

“you know you love me,” he giggles. 

he reaches over to the table to turn off the camera and set his phone facedown before he moves out from between your legs. you close your eyes again and sigh, your whole body feeling like jelly as you breathe in and out, slowly coming back down to earth.

“you just wanna take a break, or are you done for tonight? that sounded rough,” jeonghan says, and when you open your eyes again he’s sitting next to you on the bed holding a glass of water. with a groan you force yourself to sit up as he holds the glass in front of your mouth to help you drink.

“if i could move my arms right now, i would splash this right in your face, hannie.”

he laughs, thoroughly used to your post-orgasmic insults by now. “and honestly, i’d deserve it. that was a little mean even for me, huh?” 

you snort, leaning your head back against the headboard. “yeah, it was. asshole.”

he smiles, his eyes much softer now than before. “but it was hot, though,” he says excitedly. “i can’t fucking wait to watch that video. it might be my new favorite.”

you glare at him, eyebrows knitted into a pout. “i was literally on the verge of death and you thought it was hot?”

“oh, shut up. you thought it was hot, too, and you know it. that’s why you do your little brat routine every time i start recording, because you know you love it.”

you don’t have the brainpower to come up with a comeback for that, because he’s right. rough and nasty and fast is exactly the way you like it, maybe even more than he does at times. but once that feral side of you is satiated with an orgasm powerful enough to nearly knock you out, it leaves you to better appreciate the other things he’s good at: like holding you close and making you feel safe and loved, or kissing you all over and making sure he didn’t really hurt you with anything he did, or helping you drink water when your bones feel like mush.

you huff and roll your eyes at him. “can you just fuck me now, please? i’m still mad at you. start making up for it.”

he sets your empty glass down on the table and climbs back over you to gently kiss your lips, still dry from how much you were moaning. “mm, of course i can do that. your wish is my command, angel.”

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[gh0stswh0re]

"relax your throat, darling"

warnings: f! reader, blowjobs + deepthroating, mutual masturbation, domestic fluff, inexperienced reader, established relationship, mentions of the reader being a virgin prior to the relationship, soft dom simon, praise

a/n: i spent an embarrassingly long time writing this and it's still barely a meh. it can be taken as a pt3 to the ghost x virgin (!) reader fic, although it's not implied anywhere + it lacks any proper storyline. this is more of a dribble than anything else.

...

nearly twenty minutes have passed since he picked you up in the kitchen, threw you over his shoulder, and carried you over to the couch – all of your protesting, giggling and playful hitting were to no avail.

it didn't really bother you, the feeling of domesticity; despite how quickly it settled into your lives – living together for barely three weeks and the tiny four-room apartment already started to feel like home.

the early morning cuddles which soon turned into ruthless competitions of who stays under the blankets for the longest before developing the first clinical signs of hyperthermia.

the dim flames of the cheap candles playfully dancing as their sweet aroma of apple-cinnamon spreads throughout the entire apartment complex – it'd be the very definition of tacky if it wasn't for simon trying so hard – even preparing dinner, despite cooking being one of the activities he hasn't done in years, and burning his hand twice in the process.

showering together – because it saves water, of course.

the late-night chatters which followed; strangely enough, simon never makes any other environmentalist comments – what a bastard.

all the small pieces puzzled together into the safe and comfortable living space you two shared, and while he would never say it out loud – simon was utterly thankful for it. and for moments like these – when he had you pinned down on the couch, one hand pressed against your tummy as the other held your hips in place with his nasty mouth pressed flat against your cunt – he was thanking god. or whatever external divine force intervened with his dull life - where the wish to suffer was just a passive request of his subconscious mind – and brought you straight into his embrace. it all felt like a simple promise - a promise of something greater that life has to offer.

this was no rare occurrence – grabbing handfuls of his clothes, silently urging him to take them off, to allow your curious fingers to explore every inch of his body, ... all while he slowly leans back, as the gaze of his drowsy eyes pierces right through you – like a predator stalking his prey - watching your every movement, and studying each individual facial expression – he could sink his teeth into you and devour you whole at any given moment, but he choses not to. truth be told, he finds his own perverted pleasure in it – his body merely anything but a physical tool for you to experiment on - teasing him in all ways possible just to see which movement provokes which reaction in him – who would have guessed such a pure virgin would turn into such a filthy slut.

although, there was a specific thing you've been begging him to try out with you – deepthroating. it sounded fun and looked fairly easy too – seeming like a good time all around.

today, you've built up enough courage to take some of the control away from him – dropping down onto your knees, a hand stilled on each one of his thighs as your lips sank down on his dick,"you didn't- shit, darling" the adam's apple bobbed in his throat as his head fell back and he swallowed hard. "darling, hey- you don't have to" one hand rested on top of your head. "but i want to" he should've known by now - dumb comments get even dumber responses.

you hated admitting he was right – especially about things you've begged him for – but it was a bit too much.

your chin quivering as your throat spasmed around his cock each time he hit the soft palate at the back of your mouth? too much.

your knees burning as if you've been kneeling on fragments of shattered glass for the past ten minutes? too much.

your jaw growing sore as spit dripples down your chin onto your chest? too much.

the stifled moans cutting through his vocal cords up his throat, as the blackness of his blown-out irises consume the color of his eyes? too-fucking-much.

he noticed – warm fingertips crept behind your neck, traveling up to your hairline "hey now-". blood rushed to your face – tingling your cheeks and painting them a shy tone of red as your lips separated from him with a loud, wet pop.

the calloused pads of his fingers rubbed against your lower jaw, carefully easing the stiffness away right before his palm wrapped around your throat – constricting the airway just enough to get a giggle out of you – dipping his head down, he used the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, swallowing the musky taste which spread throughout his mouth.

"just like that, lean back-" releasing his grip on your throat, his hand dropped down to your chest - pushing you away slightly. "and touch yourself" breath cycled inside your lungs – into your mouth, out of your nose – faster and faster with each weary moment.

"you know how i like it" lust streaked through you – from your veins into your bones, swallowing your being entirely. you do know exactly how he likes it – two fingers spreading the swollen folds of your cunt as the third one circles on your clit – and just how much he likes it.

so you did it – leaning backward on your heels, your right hand slipped past your tummy down to your sex – fuck, embarrassment burned hot inside you, but you couldn't deny just how aroused the entire thing made you – wetness was practically dripping out of your aching cunt.

your eyes bore into his before your stare dropped down from his lips to his collarbones - now glistening with a thin layer of sweat - to his stomach – muscles tensing up – down to his lap – he looked massive even as his own hand gripped around his length.

a part of you wanted more – to just hop onto his lap, to soak right through the fabric of his pants as you straddled against him.

the other part, the greater part of you, was frozen in place – paralyzed as you watched his hand move up and down, and up – his thumb teasing the leaky, sensitive tip – and down – his hips thrusting back against his palm.

bliss started to blur your brain's function and soon only a single thought remained in that pretty little head of yours – as he'd call it – to cum, to cum hard, and to cum right fucking now.

"faster, little dove – sing for me" pure carnality.

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hi, I read a few of your posts and I really liked your writing. May I ask a hcs/drabble/one shot of ONE PIECE with Shanks (and Mihawk if it’s possible) who are in a relationship with a woman who have her own crew and the woman flee away in their sleep, leaving them behind, with her crew after years of relationship? A bit angsty 🙊 and they never found her again, seeing her in newspapers or rumors only.

Thank you if you made it and sorry if It doesn’t suit your blog! Have a nice day <3

At first, he though he read the title wrong. But no matter how many times his eyes glided across the black ink, the newspaper headline said the exact same thing: BLACK TOOTH GRINS: A NEW SCOURGE?

There was a picture attached underneath the title. Part of him thought that maybe the familiarity in the woman’s face was just his longing; a product of a mind too lovesick to hold on to sanity. Alas, this time, too, his senses were not deceiving him.

It is your face. You're alive and well as it seems. Looking exactly the same as the day you had left.

The heartache comes back to him tenfold. Not it has ever left but the pain and anger are now suffocating. So many months have passed when he hasn't heard from you as though you've suddenly ceased to exist. No one has heard about you, no one has seen. How can a whole person just vanish? At some point, he told himself that maybe you've met your end. It was entirely possible.

But nothing has prepared him for this. To realize that he was abandoned by the one he loved.

The anguish slowly fades into numbness like a radio falls silent after piercing ears with static. Everything stands still as he recalls the day some part of him had died:

"Greatest swordsman in the world" is a quite hefty title to carry. It is also quite a hefty title to be overshadowed by. Wherever the two of you showed up, you'd always be perceived as a decoration to Mihawk rather than his partner. Like a pearly white Maltese carried by rich ladies in their purses. Having voiced your concerns, Mihawk knew that you feel in some way inferior to him. He just never thought it was that severe.

He was woken up that night, actually. The sky was still black and starry, morning long hours away. You were getting out of bed and your stirring woke him up. But he quickly went back to sleep when you whispered that you were just going to the bathroom. By all means, it was just another night. Like countless others you've spent together. Nothing unusual.

In the morning, everything was gone. All of your belongings had disappeared as though you had never been on his ship in the first place. Like a ghost he's grown to love had simply become bored of haunting him.

Only one thing, however, suggested that you were not a figment of imagination: a laconic note that vaguely explained the situation. In a few words, you told him that you're tired of being seen as an accessory to someone, a pair of gloves that will be out of season when snow thaws. Knowing that you're more than the Maltese in a purse, you ventured into the wide world to become an infamous name of your own.

Throughout many years, every day has he thought of that night and the morning that followed. What if he hadn't fallen asleep? Was he too calloused to notice how much you've been suffering? Was there something he could have done but decided not to for some reason?

The longer he thought about it, the more he came to the same, heart-wrenching conclusion - he was just abandoned in the middle of the night. Whether it was his hurt pride or respect towards your wishes, he's never gone on an escapade to find you.

As years went by and he hadn't heard from you or about you, Mihawk simply assumed that you'd died. It seemed the most probable. Part of him wanted to take the blame: if he had noticed your pain earlier, had he taken your worries seriously, you wouldn't have left and you wouldn't have died. It was his responsibility to protect you, to ensure that his beloved is safe and sound. Alas, he had failed. Quite utterly at that.

He grew bitter and vicious. What good is his swordsmanship if it failed that one time it could have mattered? What good is he if he was too blind and oblivious to ease your burden?

But all of those painful thoughts disappeared today.

Mihawk tears the newspaper and throws it away. He's grown almost used to the weight of bereavement on his shoulders but now he's absolved of it. One shouldn't grieve someone who is still alive. But contrary to his expectations, he doesn't feel better because of that. In fact, he feels a lot worse. Even if your death had been brought by your own choices, it is not your fault. Your death, however, hasn't occurred as of yet, so the time you've spent building infamy was just time you chose to leave him broken and aching.

He mourned you! Turned his grief and misery into a fury that burned entire towns. He became a shadow of the person he used to be. And for what? To learn that he was disposable to you? That his love for you was less important than your pride and ambitions?

Now that you've made it on the front page with an equally hefty title "A New Scourge", perhaps you're a danger big enough to be hunted down by none other but one of the Warlords. Was it not what you wanted? To be truly someone among pirates?

Oh, he will find you. Even if you told him not to look for you. Mihawk will find you and make you take responsibility for the damage you've done - for the man you've irreversibly changed for the worse; the heart you've forced to turn into stone.

Is it revenge or is it justice? No matter. It is right.

If the butterfly effect is true, Shanks, or rather his tendencies, would be the said butterfly that causes a tornado down the line. He's been known as a man with no commitment and certainly not a devout monogamist. It didn't matter that for a few years he's been exactly that - happily wrapped around the finger of one woman. Most of his men "respectfully" disregarded the relationship status as something temporary.

"Shanks thinks he's in love. Like a thousand times before her."

Which was probably why you've gone years being called a variation of "Shanks's girl". Whether they meant it or not, people around you made sure that you know you're disposable. A fling.

But you never were. Gods above! You never were.

Shanks thought it was quite obvious that he didn't consider you a fling. All the jokes and jabs at his previous love life were just that - meaningless jokes among friends. Even when you explicitly told him that they start to make you uncomfortable and that you want to be taken seriously, the pirate captain never quite took you as seriously as he probably should have. "They're just joking".

The jokes stopped one day and, seemingly, so did Shanks's humour altogether. All of your belongings were gone. You were gone. Nowhere to be found, disappeared like fog on a spring morning. The only thing he had from you was a note, hastily scribbled in the corner of a map lying on his desk as though you were too rushed to take your time to write a proper letter.

He's read that note every day for years. Naively hoping that one day he'll somehow be enlightened as to where you've gone. Maybe one of the letters is strangely pointing towards an island? Or maybe the fact that you've written your message in the North-East of the map was a sign? No matter how many asinine guesses he's made, all of them were wrong. You just... disappeared.

Despite asking him not to look for you, Shanks couldn't help himself. Each village he has visited, he would ask about you. Has anyone seen you? Or heard about you? A few times he thought he had seen you in the crowd, only for the woman to turn out to be a stranger vaguely fitting your description. But this investigation, too, proved to be in vain. For better or worse, it seemed as though you had never existed in the first place.

To put things simply, Shanks had given up. If no one across the seas had seen you or heard about you, it seemed the most probable that you'd met your end. Somewhere far away, among unfamiliar waters and surrounded by strangers. Were you in pain? Were you afraid? Did you wish he could have been there? Or maybe you thought-

No. He shouldn't be thinking like that.

Shanks is locked in his cabin. If his crewmates believed he had an alcohol problem after you disappeared, their captain's state right now would be "alcohol catastrophe". He hasn't been sober since he saw the newspaper.

At first, he was excited, yes! You were alive and well! But then the realization set in: you've left in the middle of the night, asked him not to look for you and never once reached out to him. Telling him that you don't love him anymore would have hurt incomparably less.

He's sitting on the floor. His clothes reek but he doesn't care about that. A shaking hand has trouble lifting another bottle of strong alcohol. The front page of the newspaper with your face on it is lying in front of him. He's just blankly staring at it, letting tears fall down his cheeks.

Among the darkness of the room, there's just him, the bottle and the dull, unbearable ache in his chest.

Shanks wishes to find you. To ask what in the Hell you were thinking. Then ask what he can do to have you back with him. But beware, as whatever you demand he will do. Even if it costs him his other hand.

That is, if his liver won't kill him first.