"Oh My God He’s Dead- We Killed A Vigilante, OHMYGODOHMYGOD—" A Hysterical Voice Screeched Out, Decidedly

how i think diaboys look like;

ok so, i think diabolik lovers franchise have some really good character designs and i really like them

but the only thing i dislike about them is; their bodies look literally the same

Inspired by dialovers physical headcanons by the one and only @nutaella-kookie 💞💞💞 (please check out her work) i decided to draw some physical headcanons!

so first three boys look like this! i want to draw all of them, so please tell me who should i draw next!

jalebi baby !

or; Dick Grayson and his Indian gf hosting Diwali 🧨☄️🎆

dick grayson x indian!fem!reader, like one euphemism i originally wrote more but it was kinda off-topic so i didn't include it. but if this ends up like...resonating particularly deeply with anyone i'll make another part also never quite got an answer on that friends question... Read Jason's version here !

In the years you’ve been with Dick, he’s celebrated multiple Diwali’s with you. He’s familiar with the customs and practices by now, knows the story behind the holiday, and has space in his closet for the several traditional garments he’s collected over the course of your relationship. But this year is different; this year, you are the hosts.

The day before, you were a mess. Rife with stress and nerves over your first time hosting the family party, an unspoken rite of passage into adult life. He had to basically drag you away from your checklist so he could sit you down and pamper you, massaging coconut oil into your scalp so you could relax. You can’t lie, though, it did help. That, and him being extra generous while washing it out in the shower later. You slept like a baby that night, worries long forgotten.

When the time for the party comes, he’s looking so…

He’s wearing a kurta that perfectly matches the cerulean of his eyes and has a shimmering silver paisley pattern, and he wears it with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows to put his tan, muscled forearms on display. (*Barking*)

Like the gentleman he is, he helps you drape your sari. He presses the pleats flat, secures the pins in place, all with a graceful precision that makes the finished product better than you could ever achieve. He’s pouting the whole time, though, because no matter how much you insist that it’s magenta, it still borders too close to red for his taste.

“It’s magenta, Dick.” “That’s basically red! Why don’t you just wear one that says ‘I Hate Nightwing’ in huge letters?” “Dickie, don’t be ridiculous…you know the pleating would hide the words.”

You thought that was hilarious, but he’s EXTRA pouty after that.

He can’t be mad at you for long, though, not when you’re looking like that. The gold border of your garment, the sparkle of your gold jewelry, and the rosy color against your brown skin with a bindi to match…you’re practically glowing. And if you’re wearing paayals (bell anklets)…that dainty twinkle that follows you when you walk— hold on, he needs a minute. He thinks he’s died and gone to heaven because there’s an angel in front of him.

While you’re spending the whole party running around and looking after everything, he’s looking after you. He’s making sure you take sitting breaks, he’s bringing you water, he’s feeding you while you’re cooking, and taking over the cooking (when you let him) so you can take some time to actually enjoy the party.

For dessert you prepare his favorite (jalebi) but every time you remove one from the pot and place it in the serving dish, two seconds later it’s gone. He tries to pin it on one of your relatives, which results in said relative calling him lode (lode-eh), and you having to sequester him in another room so you can finish cooking.

While you take him on his walk of shame, he asks you what that means and you lovingly reassure him that it’s nothing bad. (It isn’t, technically…I mean it is his name, right?)

I didn't include this in Jason's version but I think while Dick likes jalebi, Jason is a gulab jamun kinda guy

divider from here

Venus

I literally can't b the only in who hates 'never have I ever' on Netflix. Like wtf is this show it's either terribly dramatized or glossing over so much shi

I do think it's pretty funny that fanfic premises based on illegitimate kids as an excuse for crossovers over the years have gone from "Mom character CHEATED on Dad character 😡" to "once upon a time, mommy and daddy had a threesome and now we have YOU!" lmaoooo. People don't want marital discord they just want a third parent

Superior Mates: Nolan Grayson X Male Reader

Summertime Prompt: Day 4, Omegaverse AU Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘father’ Primary Sex: AMAB Secondary Sex: Omega Rating: E/Sex, violence, mentioned character death Warnings: Omegaverse, a/o, Viltrumite culture, imperialism, blood, smut, anal sex, breeding, bonding as mates, reader is a Viltrumite, Nolan being an asshole, Debbie mentioned, Mark is dead Summary: Nolan wasted seventeen years playing human, now he wants something from home.

The rush of air hits you before you see him. You had been standing in your kitchen, simply staring at your fridge to decide on a snack but clearly Nolan has a lot more going on. When you shut the door and look up at him you find him covered in blood and panting. His shoulders move up and down with every breath and his bloodshot eyes are full of that familiar Viltrumite rage that reminds you of home.

“What happened?” You ask, unfazed as you wet a towel in the sink.

“Mark.” He says simply, almost growling.

You approach him slowly, putting a hand on his shoulder and feeling his muscles relax under the touch. No doubt he’s calmed by the natural Omega scent. You run the towel over his blood covered face and he closes his eyes to let you.

“Is that who you’re covered in?”

“He refused.”

“Then you did the right thing.”

He sighs. “Waste of my time.”

“Seventeen years is nothing, Nolan.”

He leans into your hand as you run the towel over his cheek. “I want a Viltrumite.”

“Then raise the next one on Viltrum.”

His hand grabs your wrist and squeezes with a force that would’ve broken a human’s bones. “I want a Viltrumite.”

“Your obsession with fatherhood is concerning.”

His grip loosens and he runs his other hand through your hair. “You’ll think the same during your heat.”

You scoff. “I’m not mating with you, Nolan. We have a planet to conquer.”

“And it’d be easier with a few kids to help.” He says softly, rubbing your head. “I’d fuck you over and over until we had our own planet’s worth.”

“You’re assuming I want kids because I’m an Omega?”

He grips your hair. “Because you’re a Viltrumite.”

“Yeah, and I’ll do my duty and have the necessary number.” You sigh. “At some point.”

He shakes his head. “Now.”

You shove him away, turning back to the kitchen. “Go back to your little human toy, Nolan.”

He glares. “She can’t handle what I want to do.”

“Then go home and pick up some Omega bitch there.”

“They wouldn’t be you.” He seethes. “I want the father of my children to be you.”

“And I want to snap your neck, but we don’t always get what we want.”

“They sent us here.” Nolan growls, moving to stand in front of you. “They expect us to mate.”

“If they did, we’d have orders.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder and you look at him. “I need to fuck something that can take what I give it for once.”

You stare at him, watching his eyes turn from a glare to something more honest. “Fine.” You sigh. “Once.”

“All night.” He squeezes your shoulder. “Let me fuck you until the sun rises and we obliterate this rat infested planet.”

“I’m not having your kids.”

“I know.” He moves his hand to cup your cheek. “Not tonight, but eventually.”

You roll your eyes and he wraps an arm around your waist.

“Is there anyone else you’d want to do that to you?” He whispers. “Anyone better suited?”

“Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Depends. Can I at least pretend I’m fucking Mark’s replacement into you?”

“If you make me cum twice as much as you get to.”

He smiles. “Deal, Omega.”

His lips connect with yours in a hungry kiss, teeth and tongue with so little care but so much desperation. In a flash you’re in your bed and he’s palming you through your pants and his other hand squeezes your ass. His dick presses against your leg, taking over the length of your thigh as he grinds against it.

“I’ve wanted you since we got sent here.” He mutters. “I wanted to fuck you in front of this whole planet of inferiors and show them how perfect a Viltrumite Omega takes it.”

“Then why aren’t you fucking me yet?”

He chuckles. “I was trying to be a gentleman. Human sentiments, they must’ve worn off on me.”

“I didn’t sit through your sob story to not be knotted tonight, Nolan.”

He groans, leaning up to rip his clothes off. “Fuck, I missed Vilturmie Omegas.” He rips your pants off and grips your hips to pull you closer. “You know you’re superior, not whiney like bitched humans.”

“Happy to be of service to the Empire.”

He groans, lining himself up. “Is that what that slick’s for? The Empire?”

You wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging him to press closer. “No. That’s all for my Alpha.”

He stills, timidly running a hand over your taint, hardened dick, and up your stomach to rest on your chest. “Let me mark you.”

You meet his eyes, his scent hitting your nose. “I wanna feel you inside me first.”

He doesn’t hesitate, plunging inside of you and pulling your hips flush against him. His dick fills you completely, the tip pressing so far in that it bulges out your stomach even through your layers of muscle and fat. He holds himself there, leaning over you as he licks at your scent mark.

“Good enough?” He mumbles, kissing the sensitive spot.

Your legs are frozen around him, your body split open and head foggy from the Alpha arousal scent. “Y-Yeah…”

He leans his head up, a hand brushing through your hair. “Who’s your Alpha?”

“You… Alpha.” You shutter as his dick twitches inside of you. “Nolan.”

snowbirds 

domini album

#7 Shisui Uchiha

summary: one room, one bed, one mission partner.

a/n: this fic was impossible to name, and i came so close to just titling it "the one where they share a bed" or "the one in which shisui uchiha almost gets demoted"

word count: 4,457

You’d decided that the Godaime Hokage was testing you. 

She was testing you, because otherwise there was no way in hell you would have been assigned to the same mission as Shisui Uchiha three days before the height of the winter storm season in the northern countries, where traveling would be incredibly slowed, indefinitely extending the amount of time you’d have to spend together with him. 

A mission a carrier pigeon could have completed in less time it would take for you and the curly haired Uchiha to cross the continent to Kumogakure, no less one of Shisui’s own crows. But here you were, standing in the last room available in a hotel at the edge of Kumo’s border with Shisui standing only a few feet away, his travel pack still slung over his shoulder and snowflakes melting in his hair. 

“No,” you said, breaking the tense silence. 

Shisui turned, looking back at you. “No?” 

“No,” you repeated, shaking your head. “We are not sharing the same bed.” He started to smile, his lips pulling up to one side in a smile you’d realized meant he was going to try his damndest to be a menace, and you cut him off. “I’m going back to the lobby and asking for another bed, so don’t get comfortable.” 

 He replied, voice lilting, “They already told us this room was all they had.” 

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. “I’m not sharing a bed with you.” 

You didn’t care for how many years that you’d known him, or how many times you’d saved each other’s asses on missions before, or how you felt about him, this was Shisui Uchiha, and he was your mission partner – that’s it – and you weren’t going to let the line blur, no matter how much he teased and antagonized you. 

“Then we can flip a coin to see who’ll sleep on the floor,” he shrugged lightheartedly, setting his pack down. “Or in the shower,” he added, leaning slightly to look into the bathroom through the opened door. He sent you a cheeky wink, “Showering together means we both get hot water.”  

You clenched your jaw, willing the heat away from your face. “I’m sure you can heat the water just fine with your katons.” 

He just smiled and started opening his pack. “If you want to shower now, I’ll go down to the lobby and get some hot food. I think I saw a kitchen down there.” 

You watched as he pulled out a small pouch of coin from his bag before zipping it up again and letting it lean against the wall. He moved around you, minding your space as he went for the door, but he paused before he opened it, one hand on the knob. 

“Any food in particular you want me grab?” he asked, head tilting to the side. 

You hesitated, gauging his temporary seriousness, then replied, “Bread – if they have any.” 

He gave you a nod, and then flashed smile before slipping out the door. It clicked shut behind him, and you felt the flare of his chakra as he covered the door with a protective seal. The moment he was gone, you loosed a breath, and started to take off your boots. 

Shisui was so complicated and after over a week of trekking through Hot Water Country and then Frost Country, you were no closer to understanding him than you had been before you were forced into isolation with him. He was a constantly twisting dichotomy of humor and seriousness, a prankster and yet also a jōnin-ranked shinobi with a flee on sight order in all the other Great Nations aside from Fire Country. You’d already experienced a number of times in the last seven days when his personality just flipped, an airy joke made in one breath and his ninjatō buried in the gut of an enemy nin by the next. 

If you didn’t already trust him with your life, you’d be worried that he wasn’t entirely mentally competent. 

And it wasn’t that you didn’t like him – truthfully, it was more that you didn’t dislike him that was your problem. You’d grown up with Shisui, graduating from the Academy and then through the promotions at nearly the same rate, but while your friends had come in the names of Kurenai, Asuma, Genma, Rin, Obito, Gai, and Kakashi, Shisui gravitated toward his younger cousin, and had melted into the ranks of ANBU with him until a scandal that had ended with the death of Danzō Shimura and the sudden introduction of fifty undocumented Leaf nin into the shinobi system had dragged him back into jōnin mission duties. 

Until a year ago, he’d been a distant fantasy, someone you could think about with the freedom of knowing your friends would never be able to guess who it was your thoughts drifted toward through the years. But then Tsunade-sama had started assigning him onto missions with you, or with your friends, and Kakashi had involuntarily begun to run interference whenever Gai started to look too closely at the way you’d react whenever Shisui was mentioned, keeping your secret before you were ready to tell it. 

The more time you spent with him or around him, the more often you could feel yourself falling further down a rabbit hole you’d inevitably get stuck in, and now, sharing a room with him? You might as well just look for a shovel to turn the rabbit hole into a grave. 

You shivered as you stripped your clothes, pulling three layers off that were all damp and cold from the melted snow. You didn’t bother hanging the clothes, not when you stood naked in the freezing bathroom while steam from the shower promised warmth. As you slipped behind the curtain, you had to suppress a moan when you stepped under the heated water. 

You and Shisui had been staying in hotels every night that you’d been on the mission, but all of them had been low-scale so to not draw attention to yourselves and had no running water since the pipes were frozen. You’d both been heating the tubs in the hotel bathrooms with katons, the water provided from one of your suiton jutsus, but nothing compared to running water heated by a furnace rather than an Uchiha who wasn’t sure what the boiling point of water was. 

Distantly, you heard the click of the door and recognized Shisui’s chakra signature as you washed the soap from your chest and legs. Knowing that he’d want a hot shower too, you forced yourself to turn the water off and wrapped yourself up in a towel. You made quick work of getting dressed, pulling on a pair of long pants, thick socks, and a thick green sweater you’d stolen from Kurenai before you’d left. 

Out in the room, Shisui was standing above the only table in the room holding a cup of something warm between his hands. 

“Well, you look comfortable,” he chuckled, but you ignored him, going straight for the food as your stomach growled. “They didn’t have bread, but the chef was nice and gave me larger bowls. I think she thought I was cute.” 

You scoffed into your bowl, glad to hide your face with a spoonful of butajiru than acknowledge him flirting with someone. 

“She also gave me some hot chocolate,” he added, and you could practically feel his smirk as you kept ignoring him. “She didn’t look as charitable when I asked if I could have another cup for my wife.” 

You choked, broth catching in your throat as your head snapped up and you stared wide-eyed at Shisui.

“W-Wife?” you managed to get out, spluttering. 

He laughed as he set the mug of hot chocolate down to a second mug you hadn’t noticed before. “My one and only, I told her,” he replied. “The woman who made me chase after her before she finally agreed to marry me.” You could feel your face heating, cheeks practically burning as he continued on. “I might’ve mentioned how you were waiting for me and keeping our bed warm though,” he said, “so the hot chocolate might just be a one-off thing.” 

“Shi-” You gaped around his name. “Shisui!” you shouted. “You’re – you’re –”

“Hilarious? Clever? Amazing?” 

“Insane!” you shrieked, slapping a hand over your face, if only so you would stop looking at him. Wife – kami, he’d called you his wife. 

“Ah, but my insanity got us a warm treat,” he laughed, and then stooped over so that he could pull your hand away from your face. You glared at him with no real heat, really only focused on stopping yourself from rushing outside and sticking your head into a snow drift to stop the blush from making your face actually catch fire. “I’ll go shower now, wife. Make sure you finish your dinner.” 

He let go of your wrist, laughing as you gaped at him, only finding your voice after he grabbed his pack and started to close the door to the bathroom. 

“He’s insane,” you said to yourself. “He’s actually insane.” 

You cut a look toward the twin mugs of hot chocolate and had to bite your lip to keep yourself from involuntarily smiling as you shook your head. “Wife,” you repeated, rolling your eyes. “As if I’d marry him.” 

You decided to drown the taste of the lie with the butajiru, and by the time you’d finished the mug of chocolate and climbed into the bed, Shisui was stepping out of the shower, steam billowing from behind him as he rubbed the towel against his hair. 

“Flipped the coin and chose the winning side, did we?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as you tried to not look at the muscles of his arm as he finished scrubbing his hair. 

You gave him a look, to which he just chuckled at and tossed the towel over the hook on the back of the bathroom door before closing it. 

“My wife is so cruel,” Shisui said as he pulled his bed roll from his traveling pack. “She makes me fetch the food and take a shower second, and then forces me to sleep on the floor.”

“Your wife sounds delightful,” you replied dryly, rolling your eyes as you turned over, intent to not let him see your face. 

Your heard him hum in response, and listened as he walked around the room, flipping the light off. The room was instantly pitch dark, and it took your eyes a moment to adjust as you listened to Shisui get into his bed roll. 

In the bed, you curled your legs up, trying to find the warmth that seemed to have left you the moment the lights went out. Even through your thick socks, you could feel the cold biting at your toes, and your nose felt icy as you pressed it against your inner wrist.

You weren’t sure how long passed before you were biting your lip to keep from shivering, and you were forced to think of Rin’s teasing before you left on your mission. 

The closer you get to Kumo, the colder you’ll get, she’d said, and while you hadn’t been warm since hitting the northern border Fire Country shared with Hot Water Country – a region which did not live up to its name in the winter months – the cold had been mostly tolerable. Until today. When you and Shisui had unanimously agreed to find a hotel with running water, even if it potentially drew more unwanted eyes to yourselves. 

You swallowed, and then, before you could think better of it, whispered, “Shisui?” 

His response came hardly a second later. “Yeah?” 

You hesitated, knowing that you could tell him ‘Goodnight’ just as easily as you could pretend you hadn’t said anything at all, but…

But – 

“Would you – will you,” you swallowed again, turning onto your back. “You can sleep in the bed.” 

There was a moment of silence, and then you heard him shift in his bed roll before he asked, all humor absent from his voice, “Are you sure you’re comfortable with that?” 

You nodded before you realized he probably couldn’t see you. “Yeah, I am.” 

There was a sound of linen moving as he stood up, and then you felt the bed dip to one side as your heart began to race harder. 

“Are you cold?” Shisui asked, his voice much closer now as he lifted the edge of the blanket. 

“Y-Yeah,” you answered, stiffening when you felt his foot accidentally brush against your ankle. 

There was a light tease in his voice as he said, “And now my wife wants to use me for my body heat?” 

You kicked him in the shin before you thought better of it and heard his him chuckle as he settled next to you, his shoulder just brushing against yours. 

“That’s going to leave a bruise,” he said, and you froze when you felt his breath coast over the plane of your cheek, which meant he was looking at you. 

You didn’t dare turn your head toward his, no matter that you could see the outline of his profile in your periphery. “Good,” you replied. 

“I could just go back to the floor,” he drawled, starting to raise the cover. 

“No,” you blurted out, grabbing for his arm but your hand awkwardly collided with his hand, your fingers wrapping around his in the attempt to keep him from moving. The bed had already warmed since he’d gotten in only moments ago, and…and it was nice, him being this close, even if it made every part of you hyper focused on him. 

Stiffly, you let go of his hand, the pads of your fingers brushing over the back of his knuckles as you pulled your arm back under the covers. 

“It’s warmer now,” you said into the silence, glancing toward him. 

For a moment, you thought Shisui wouldn’t answer, and then you’d have to force yourself to sleep knowing you’d thoroughly embarrassed yourself, but then he shifted in the bed, adjusting his pillow under his head. He’d turned over, facing you fully. Briefly, you thought you saw a glimmer of his kekkei genkai in the place where you thought his eyes were, but there were only shades of shadows in the room. 

“It’d be warmer if you let me hold you,” he finally replied. 

You felt the heat of embarrassment light your face up faster than dry grass in a fire, and an alarmed noise escaped you before you could swallow it. Shisui laughed again, but the sound was soft, like he didn’t want to break the conversation off with it. 

“It’s just body heat,” he said, sounding like he was smiling again. 

You seriously wondered if he really could see your face, because he chuckled and reached out, chucking the underside of your chin with his index finger and making you close your parted lips. 

“I’m just kidding,” he said. “You can put your back against mine.” 

You swallowed, considering him in the dark. Even though the warmth of him was helping, you really were still cold and didn’t want to spend the whole night shivering – or waking up to a toe that’d fallen off from the chill. And you trusted him. This was Shisui, and if he wasn’t your friend, he was at least an acquaintance, and someone that you’d known for well over a decade at this point. 

“Just,” you started, and squeezed the blanket. “You can. But be serious.”  

He reached for your hand, his hand sliding down your arm, and you felt his pinky finger lock through yours. Your eyes widened at the gesture, something you’d never seen him do before, but you listened as he told you, “Turn over.” 

You felt him move closer, and your breath caught in your throat as you felt him settle his chest against your back, his arms wrapping around you as you kept the blanket pulled over both you. The scent of him was almost overwhelming at first, and as he pulled you into him, setting his right arm just in front of you, you exhaled a long breath, gradually letting yourself sink into him. His legs tangled with yours, one of his thighs slotted between yours, and one of his shins laying over your ankle. Heat practically radiated off of him, and you found yourself pressing closer to him as he brushed his nose against the back of your neck. 

“This okay?” you felt him murmur against your skin and couldn’t help the goosebumps that rose across your neck and arms. 

“Yeah,” you forced out, shutting your eyes as your heart jack hammered against your chest. You could practically feel his mouth brushing against your neck, and it took every bit of your self-control to not lean farther back to push his lips against your skin. 

You counted the seconds as they passed, willing your body to relax and let your breaths match Shisui’s as his chest rose and fell against your back. 

Hardly two minutes had passed before he whispered, “Your heart is racing like we’ve never slept like this before, wife.” 

“I can’t say we have, husband,” you replied, glad that he couldn’t see you screwing your eyes shut. 

He chuckled, his breath stirring some of the sensitive hair at your nape. “I’ll hold you every night, if you want me to, wife,” he said, and you knew he felt you stiffen again. 

“You’re insane, Shisui,” you muttered, pushing your face into the cool pillowcase. 

He chuckled, and this time his lips did brush against the back of your neck, making your body go rigid as he replied, “Then you can banish me to the floor again, wife.”

You grumbled, “How long are you going to call me that?” 

“Call you what?” 

You bit your cheek. “Your wife.” 

You felt him smile against your skin as he answered, “Maybe ‘til the day I die, but I just might find a way to haunt you so you never stop hearing me say it.” 

“But we’re not –” you gaped, starting to turn over, but only managing to twist so far that your face was directly in line with Shisui’s. “We’re not…” 

Words left you as you met his eyes, the red glow of his Sharingan eyes casting soft shadows over his face. 

Handsome, you thought instantaneously. He was so, so breathtakingly handsome. 

His hand was settled over your stomach now from when you’d turned, and you felt his fingers close around the fabric of the sweater as you stared at each other. 

You could see his mouth pull into a smile before he said, “We’re not…what?” 

You shut your mouth, not realizing you hadn’t done so before, and then replied, “Married. We’re not…married.” 

“I told that chef something else,” Shisui said, his eyes flicking over your face. 

Quietly, you asked, “What?” 

“I told her about how I’ve been in love with my wife since we were kids,” he said softly. “About how I couldn’t tell her for years, because my family was in danger, and I had to help them and how I wasn’t sure I’d survive it, and how when I did live and I started seeing her more often, it made me love her more, now that I was free to tell her.” 

You weren’t sure that you were breathing anymore. Your heart felt like it’d stopped beating in your chest, and all you could feel was every point of contact you shared with Shisui. 

“I told her about how everyone was figuring it out before my wife was, that I was in love with her, and even our boss kept assigning us on jobs together, trying to get my wife to realize I was chasing after her when she didn’t even realize I was running,” he continued, and his hand left your stomach, reaching toward your face. You felt him brush the side of his finger over your cheek, a gentle smile just barely illuminated by his kekkei genkai. “I told her that when my wife finally figured it out, she didn’t believe me and thought I was joking.” 

It was all you could do to stare at Shisui, realizing that he’d read your reaction perfectly. 

He shifted, pulling on your hip with his hand as he turned your body over so that you were facing each other. When you were laying face to face, hardly more than a hairsbreadth between your noses, he took one of your hands in his, giving you the opportunity to pull away before he slotted his fingers through yours. 

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he said, squeezing your hand. “I wanted to tell you, but what I had to go through with the clan…with Danzō…” he shook his head, grimacing. “I couldn’t tell you, because if it turned out that you even cared about me at all, I wasn’t sure that I could promise you I would be around at the end of it all.” 

“ANBU,” you whispered. “Those years in ANBU…you hardly came around. You didn’t talk to me at all.” 

He frowned at the memory. “I didn’t want Danzō to have any advantage over me. If he’d known how I felt about you – that I loved you…” The patterns in Shisui’s Sharingan swirled, and you Sensed his ire roil in his chakra signature, a thin film above a much deeper rage, but then he exhaled, and the anger faded – quelled. “I can’t tell you everything, not right now, but there’s reasons why I didn’t tell you in the past. Sooner.” 

“I –” You closed your mouth and then swallowed. “You – I mean, me? You…you love me?”

“Yes you,” he answered, brow furrowing as his hand left yours and brushed over the side of your face, fingers catching in your hair. “Always you. Since before I even realized what I felt for you was love.” 

Your throat felt tight as the sight of him became blurry and you bent away slightly. He let you pull away, but he stayed close, his hand returning to the space it’d been with yours as you furtively swiped the sudden tears away from your eyes. 

“Shisui,” you said, reaching for his hand and holding it tightly in yours. “You love me?” 

The worried lines in his face softened, and he turned his hand in yours, holding it as he brushed a thumb over your knuckles. “I do,” he answered. 

“Shisui,” you shook your head, reaching out for his face and cupping his cheek in your palm. His eyes widened at the gesture, but he made no move to escape as your fingers curled in the damp curls at his hairline. You knew from Rin what it meant for an Uchiha to let someone touch their face, where their most precious possession was. “Why did you choose now, while we’re in the middle of nowhere, sharing a bed because it’s freezing cold while we’re on a mission to tell me this?” 

His smile pressed against your palm. “We’re on two separate missions,” he replied. When your brow furrowed he explained, “You’re on a B rank mission to deliver a missive to the Raikage. I’m on a S rank mission to be completed upon pain of demotion to genin and unpaid leave for ten years if I don’t stop irritating Tsunade-sama with my ‘longing puppy-dog eyes’ and tell you how I feel.” 

The laugh that burst out of you nearly made you knock heads with Shisui as you sat up, holding your stomach as you shook your head. 

“You’re kidding me,” you snorted, letting Shisui pull you into his arms as he sat up beside you, the blanket twisting around both of you. 

“Absolutely not,” he answered, pressing his face into your neck. “My mission payment is her blessing and paid time off if I can convince you to marry me in a year.” 

You tried to stop yourself from laughing, but couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your lips. 

“You only told me tonight that you love me – you think we’ll be married in a year?” you replied, tressing your fingers through his hair. “What if we really can’t stand each other?” 

Shisui smiled, and you felt your stomach flip as he shifted, pressing you back into the bed as he leaned over you. “Do you love me?” he asked. 

You stared up at him and nodded slowly. “I do.” 

You watched as he lowered himself, putting his weight on his left elbow as he tugged you toward him so that you were facing each other again, noses just brushing. 

“Then you can tell me to sleep on the floor every night, or have me take a shower only after you for the rest of our lives, or make me get all of the food we’ll fill our house with, but I know I’ll always love you,” he said, curling his fingers through your hair. “You’ll never have to doubt me.” 

You pressed your hand to his chest and then reached around his neck, running your fingers through his short hair. “You’re awfully confident thinking that I want to marry you.” 

Shisui’s smile was something you wished you could remember in perfect clarity for the rest of your life, because something in your heart shifted, and you felt all at once just how much you loved him – had been loving him for years. 

“You called me ‘husband’ before, didn’t you?” he replied, and you felt his thumb trace the edge of your lip, delicate as he followed the curve of your mouth even as you smiled. 

“And you think I’ll do it again before a year is over?” you asked quietly. 

Everything about Shisui was gentle as he moved, just a tilt of his jaw and then his lips replaced his thumb, pressing against yours as he pulled you closer into him. Immediately, you responded, kissing him back as he raised your chin and tucked his hand under your jaw, fingers curling just around the side of your throat as his thumb held your cheek. 

Again and again he kissed you, his tongue swiping along the seam of your lips and when your lips were swollen and your breaths came in short pants, he moved again, kissing the side of your face – your cheek, your temple, your jaw – until he was against your ear. 

“Marry me whenever you want,” he said, caressing your jaw again, “just as long as you call me your husband again.” 

The smile that broke across your face nearly made it impossible for him to kiss you again. 

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TAGLIST:

@queer-naruto @cosmins @mad-girl-without-a-box@mykuronekome @kakashi-with-the-good-hair@shoyo-baby-sunflower @sup-zfam @tired-ninfa @bluehimeonigiri @mrmountainman @dramaticq @mercymccann @aaubin @wanna-plan-world-domination

Reverse fae au Ghost Words: 5.5k Rating: M (Minors DNI) Tags: Ghost x f!oc, fae!oc, Ghost pov, slow burn horror, magic, time loss, stalking, predator/prey, dubcon/noncon, manipulation, panic attacks, piv sex, gore, erotic cannibalism(?), Ghost's family lives, Ghost is in therapy too bad it's not gonna save him, (debatably) bad end Summary: Simon Riley saves his family, so why does it feel like he still lost them? Years later he sees a woman in a bar, one he can't seem to shake. a/n: thank you Ghost for infecting my dreams a year ago, I'm going to destroy your life now <3

Simon Riley stands, blood soaked, in a little apartment in the heart of Manchester. His chest heaves, panting as he stares down the beaten and broken body of his former brother in arms. Washington is dead on the black and white tiled floor of his family's flat. His blood pools under Simon's feet, and Simon tips his head back, eyes squeezed shut to avoid the overhead light, as he draws in a sobering breath.

"Simon," His mother breathes, "What did you do?"

He’s not the oldest, but he's the man of the house. He's supposed to protect his family from anything that would hurt them: his father, Roba, now Washington, someday maybe even himself. "My job," He tells her over the sound of his own frantic heartbeat.

-

Ghost stands at the bar while the rest of his comrades laugh. Their booth in the corner is full of jokes and gentle prodding. He checks his watch, fishes for one of the pills in his pocket and swallows it dry. These new SSRIs Beth's doctor has him on are helping. The nightmares aren't as bad, he's feeling things again. The days are long but they're not interminable, sometimes that's all he can hope for.

He glances over his shoulder at the men in the corner booth. Price claps a hand on Soap's shoulder as Gaz grins. It's warm over there, a family away from his family. He wishes- no, he's too greedy. He's happy with what he has, with the life he's built for himself. At the price of only one life he thinks it's well worth it. He should visit his mum while he's back in the UK, take advantage of some of the leave Price is always hounding him about. He's only glad he was able to convince his little family to move closer to base. Mum was hard to convince, but after Washington… It's hard to sleep knowing there's still blood rotting under your kitchen floor. Joseph didn't need to grow up watching people avoid half the kitchen.

“Jus’ a wa'er,” Ghost tells the bartender, “‘nother round for those sods though.” He nods back at the 141. He should grab something for the kid while he's got time. No sense being the favorite uncle if he can't spoil the bugger. Never mind he bought a whole house just so the kid could have a garden to play in.

“That's sweet,” a voice coos at him. Ghost glances left, following instinct to fix his gaze on a woman at the end of the bar. Despite the low lights and crowd she's glowing, in her element. Pretty, Ghost thinks, and sort of… pink. Her lips, anyway, are pink when they curve into a smile. He turns back to the bar, must not have been talking to him. And why would she be?

“You have a big heart,” her voice husks in his ear, her hands trailing down his back. He swats at the buzz, like shooing away a gnat and turns to look at her. The space behind him is empty. She's still at the other end of the bar chatting with someone, her pink lips moving in a dull hum of conversation. There's something about her, something that prods at the back of his eyes, like an incessant alarm blaring. She doesn't look dangerous, but then again the pretty ones never do. It’s the fuzz, he thinks, he must be tired if the edges of her are starting to get blurry, he’ll grab the next train after this round. The bartender sets three pints and a glass of water in front of him, and Ghost is forced to look away from the woman. 

“Cheers,” he nods to the bartender, setting a few notes on the bar and grabbing the glasses between his hands. No trouble getting them back to the table, people are too eager to jump out of his way. Although he's not sure if it's because of the mask or the size of him.

Ghost passes pints to waiting hands, nodding along as Soap gives his best impression of a joke. Gaz shakes his head, but his smile speaks volumes. Price keeps his eyes on the door despite his relaxed posture. Really all of them do. Even through the squint of laughter Soap and Gaz’s eyes scan the room, always on guard for a potential threat. It's strange, Ghost pulls the seat out and doesn't feel the need to glance over his shoulder. He angles it on instinct, but his eyes touch the men he’s with rather than the crowd. It's the first time he hasn't felt like jumping out of his skin with his back to the door. Must be the new meds working.

“Give your mum my love,” Price tells him and Ghost is forced to bring his attention to his captain.

“‘oo said I’m goin’ ta see my mum?” He replies, fingers itching against the cool glass.

“Ya always run off the see ‘er,” Soap chides.

“I think it's sweet,” Gaz chimes in.

“S’why I like you Garrick,” Ghost leans back in his seat, “ya stay outta my business.”

“Doing my best sir,” Gaz grins, clinking his glass against Ghost’s.

“My job to know your business,” Price smiles, leaning against the table.

“What's Mactavish's excuse then?” Ghost jokes, eyeing the scot. Soap balks, presses his hand to his heart like he's offended.

“Ahm yer best mate, ah cannae care about ya?” Soap says, doing a truly impressive impression of puppy dog eyes. Ghost snorts into his glass and shakes his head. It's easy to fall into this rhythm with them. The few people in this world he can trust, the few people who understand what it means when he says he has people to protect, people to get home to. Fighting the bad guys to make the world better, so he never has to see his family look at him like that again.

Ghost’s fingers tighten on his glass, splintering cracks running under his hand. Soap settles a hand on his shoulder and he takes a breath. Fine. He's fine. Anger is controllable, his emotions are controllable, he’s not ruled by fear anymore. He repeats it like a mantra. He lives, he takes another step forward and he lives. Soap pats his shoulder twice as his grip loosens.

“How's that new girl you're seeing?” Price asks, the false nonchalance sold for everyone else in the bar but no one at the table. The therapist, he doesn't need to add. Any direct acknowledgement of it, of the pills, tantamount to a discharge. Ghost is grateful, truly, the Price fudges his paperwork, for all of them.

“Be’er than the last one.” His answer earns a nod, a smile.

“Right, well, won't keep you from your family,” Price sniffs, “but I expect you in for morning PT at 0700.”

“Rog,” Ghost nods, finishing his glass and pushing back from the table, “Gonna enjoy sleepin’ on a real mattress.” Gaz grumbles into his pint while Soap glares at him. Ghost smiles, and gives a short two fingers wave before stuffing his hands in his pockets and heading out.

The walk to the tube station is short. The street lights break up the darkness, the moon a thin sliver overhead, and the air is just at the edge of crisp. Spring is starting to break into summer. He always misses the stars when he’s in the city, misses the pinpricks that fill the sky in the desert. It feels too romantic to mention to any of the guys, anathema to the image he’s created. There are parts of him that still don’t feel like they fit, pieces he’s still trying to find in the wake of everything. It’s been a good few years and Ghost still can’t call himself whole, but he’s trying.

He texts Tommy from the train platform. It’s late, but neither of the Riley boys have ever been heavy sleepers. His phone buzzes with a message before the train arrives, Tommy letting him know he’s got a spare key. Ghost huffs a laugh, the hand in his pocket pressing fingers against the jagged teeth on his key ring. He sends a thumbs up, and switches to one of the stupid color games his mum convinced him to download. He’s just cleared level 1506 when he hears laughter drifting down the steps of the platform. 

A glance back, his phone closed as his shoulders draw back to attention. Old habits die hard, you can’t take the military out of the man. He relaxes minutely seeing the woman from the bar. She hangs off her friend’s arm, smile wide and eyes glittering. His brows draw down, a sharp pain hitting his temple. There’s a moment, when she opens her mouth to speak, that he sees the  peaks of sharp teeth. He turns away, presses the heel of his hand against his eye, trying to clear some of the fuzz away that seems to be infecting his vision. He glances at the woman again and finds her eyes boring holes through him, unblinking and unafraid of being caught.

Ghost holds her gaze, the fuzz tingling at the edge of his vision, black creeping into his periphery. His ears ring, and the train rushes to the platform. He turns to move out of the way of the doors, to check which line this is, and his ears pop. He winces, must not be used to the tube after such a long deployment. He slips onto the train, taking one of the open seats. He watches the doors close, and the train moves from the platform, the woman tips her head and he feels something pitch behind his ribs. It feels like avoiding a proximity mine, hearing the explosion behind him and knowing he dodged something big. He pulls his phone out to give the next level a go.

-

Ghost is woken up in the morning by a four year old not even a third his size jumping on his chest with enough force he almost thinks he’s taken a mortar round. Only to hear the fit of giggles that follows him tossing the little bugger off of him. Christ. Ghost drags a hand down his face, feeling the scratch of stubble as Joseph climbs over him. Tommy walks past the guest room door, and then backpedals to raise a brow at his brother.

“Thought Beth took ‘im to daycare already.” Tommy flips one end of his tie over the other and tugs the tail through the knot he’s made.

“Guess she’s got me babysittin’.” Ghost grumbles, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Joseph drops down to sit next to him.

“You mind?” Tommy asks, peaking in the dresser mirror to adjust his tie. Ghost shakes his head.

“Long as ‘e doesn’t.” Ghost scratches his chest, glances at Joseph who stares at him. Little shit grins a gap toothed smile and Ghost pushes him sideways onto the mattress. More giggles as Joseph kicks at him and tries to escape his iron grip.

“Daddy help!” Joseph shrieks, earning a hum from his father and a grab from Ghost. The kid is hauled against Ghost’s chest and then grabbed around the ankles to hang as Ghost stands from the bed.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Tommy tells him, patting Joseph’s stomach. Ghost follows him out of the guest room, swinging the kid as he goes. “Mum’s at her club today, and Beth’s got an event tonight.” Tommy says, half talking to Ghost, half talking to himself as he grabs his bag for work, “pub later?”

“Don’t see why not.” Ghost rumbles, lowering Joseph to the carpeted floor. The four year old kicks his feet at Ghost’s hand and rolls towards his father. Tommy’s quick to scoop the kid up with a grunt of effort.

“Gettin’ too big for this,” Tommy grunts, earning a hug around his neck and a soft ‘I love you daddy.’ Something about the scene aches behind Ghost’s ribs. A glimpse at the life he isn’t supposed to have, the broken cycle that he never thought he’d get out of. Maybe he got too far out of it. “‘Ow long’re you in town?” Tommy asks, setting Joseph down.

“Few weeks.”

“Welcome to stay as long as ya need.” Tommy pushes his kid towards the living room and Joseph wanders off to play. Ghost snorts.

“‘S if it isn’ my ‘ouse.”

Tommy grins, and holds his fist up. “Drinks on me then.”

Ghost bumps his own fist against his brothers with a smile. “I’ll ‘old you to that.”

Watching the kid is easy. Keeping a hold on him? So much harder. Being on leave gives Ghost a great opportunity to cement himself as favorite uncle. Which means taking his nephew out. Ice cream, playground, new loud toy that’s sure to piss off his parents. Swear to God this kid needs a leash though. Joseph’s little hand leaves Ghost’s big one as he sprints off down the street after something. Ghost swears loudly and makes his way after the booger. 

“Joseph,” He calls after the kid, his little head bobbing down the street, “Come on you little shit.”

It’s not busy, but there are enough people still dragging their feet from lunch to be a nuisance. Ghost’s never lost a target before, but most of his targets have at least three feet of height on Joseph. Someone bumps his shoulder and the sharp swear Ghost throws at them costs him a second of sight. His eyes dart back to the street and Joseph is gone.

The fear that grips him is unlike any he’s ever felt in the battlefield. It seizes his lungs, holds his ribs tight so he can’t take a breath. His eyes dart around for Joseph, for the little red jacket the kid insisted on wearing, the striped trousers, he can’t find him. A brainwashed soldier, and four years of Tommy’s parenting, Joseph could survive all of that, but one day with Ghost and he’s gone.

Ghost’s breath comes short, his eyes nearly vibrating with how quickly they scan the area. Red coat, striped trousers. Red coat, striped trousers. Red coat, striped trousers.

The walls may as well be closing in on him. Dirt rains down from the sky. The coffin closes. The jaw bone digs into the palm of his hand. The worms and beetles crawl over his skin as he digs and digs, suffocating on the dirt that’s still loose in the grave. The road breaks into an open square and he stands watching the parade of people that filter through it. It’s open air, so why does he feel like he’s suffocating? 

He turns to look towards the road he just came out of, the buildings seem to wave and curve in towards the people walking its path. Back towards the square. The shops feel closer, the store fronts opening like mouths to lure in an unsuspecting child. Red coat, striped trousers. He eyes the fountain, the couples that sit on the edge of it unsuspecting that the shallow water could drown a kid Joseph’s size. Strangers brush past him, eye him, their coats and rushed steps might hide a squirming victim.

Ghost’s hand grabs a passerby by the arm, his fingers tight as he turns manic eyes upon the man. The older man startles, his eyes darting over Ghost’s form, obviously frightened by this sudden confrontation. He lets him go, his attention returned to the square. The man hustles away from him, his hand gripping the space on his arm where Ghost had grabbed him with a wince. Not that Ghost notices, his mind too focused on the thing he’d lost. He takes a step further into the square and the people in it part like the red sea.

Red coat, striped trousers, and a flake.

He breaks the surface of the water, his eyes landing on Joseph as a woman crouches next to him. She pushes his hair back, glancing around at the crowd as his nephew bites into the vanilla soft serve. Something hurts, pushes insistently, behind his eyes. It needles at his brain, scratches at some old wound. It doesn’t matter, nothing matters but making his way to his nephew. Damn everything else.

The woman glances up at him, her smile splitting her face, wide and toothsome. “Such a big heart.” She coos. The ringing in his ears grows louder with each step, louder and louder until it’s deafening. It hurts. A man passes in front of him and Ghost all but throws him out of the way. He scoops Joseph up off the cobblestone, pressing his forehead against the kid’s temple. Joseph squirms, his ice cream falling from his hands and down onto the ground. 

Ghost heaves in a breath, squeezing Joseph tighter against his chest. Christ he thought he’d lost him. The pressure seems to stop the kid from complaining about the lost ice cream, pushing instead against Ghost’s chest to be released. Ghost transfers him to his hip and checks him over, any cuts of bruises, a single hair out of place. He straightens the red coat, pinches his cheek, tips Joseph’s head to kiss the top of it. 

Almost lost.

“Where she go?” Joseph asks, twisting in Ghost’s arms. 

“Scared the shit outta me,” Ghost huffs, ignoring the kid’s looking around in order to take him back up the street. See if he sets the little man down until they get home.

-

The house is empty when Ghost wakes up the next morning. There’s no patter of little feet, no shout from Beth that Tommy’s going to be late, only the smell of coffee filling the kitchen. There’s a note letting him know who will be back when. He tugs it off the fridge and crumples it in his hand to toss into the kitchen trash. He’ll go back to base, look over some paperwork. It’s tedious work but at least it passes the time. 

Ghost sits on the tube, tapping at the bottles on his phone screen. It’s nearly empty, a few stragglers making their way into work, a few people heading home from long nights, and Ghost. The train stops at its next station. The doors open, there’s a slight pressure change, Ghost glances at the few people that board and goes back to his game.

A woman sits down beside him.

He doesn’t look up, but he does scan the rest of the train. Open seats galore. She crosses one bare leg over the other, the tip of her heel bumping his leg. If she expects him to move she should have sat somewhere else. He keeps his legs spread wide, his elbows on his knees as he taps away at his phone. One bottle filled with pink liquid sparkles upon completion. He stalls looking at the rest of the bottles, the colors mixed together in varying degrees. His mind pulls different possibilities, different patterns.

A manicured finger taps at his screen, one bottle upending into another. Ghost glances at the woman as she presses close, her eyes fixed on his screen. She doesn’t look at him, her finger tapping again and again as Ghost watches her eyes move. Long lashes and full cheeks. Pink lips. He winces, jerks away from her as her nail digs into his thumb. 

“Oops,” She blinks. 

Ghost looks at her, his heart feels like it’s about to pound out of his chest, his eyes ache like he’s attempting to focus on too many things at once. There’s a splitting pain in his head. He squeezes his eyes shut with a grimace and watches the colors pop behind his eyelids. He can’t control his breathing, it feels erratic, his brain is too focused on systems that should be involuntary. He forces his eyes open again, stares at his reflection in the window across from him. The woman beside him sits prim and proper reading a book three seats away. 

He can still feel her pressed against his side. Did he hear her move? Feel her move? There was no change in the air, no movement, no shifting, her warmth didn’t fade, her pressure didn’t fade from one moment to the next. She was beside him and now she’s not. His eyes watch her through the warped glass. Her reflection wavers, changing with the rattle of the train car. She flips the page in her book, tips it to read in the low light. Romance novel, Ghost notes. 

A glance down at his phone. Blood is smeared over his screen, streaked in fingerprints smaller than his own, his game boasting a completion trophy. His thumb is red, the congealed blood no longer contained to the shallow wound just below his nail. He raises the digit to his lips and cleans the blood with his tongue. 

Eyes bore holes into the side of his head, but when he looks at the car everyone seems to be minding their own business. It makes his skin crawl. The tension in his shoulders tightens. 

Ghost scratches his nail against the blood drying on his phone screen. His blood, dragged by an unfamiliar hand. 

The train pulls up to his station, and he stands. Phone locked and pocketed, he glances at the bird again before departing. She doesn’t look up from her book. 

His head is pounding as he steps out into daylight. A migraine, it must be. He hasn’t had one of these in a while, still as debilitating as the last one. Maybe he should go home. Ghost turns to head back down the stairs, he’ll text Price and let him know he couldn’t make it. He bumps into someone. Hands settle on his chest, holding him up, steadying him, and then-

And then they sink into his chest. Soft hands push past his ribs, push into his skin like dipping into water, his flesh non newtonian to the hands that hold him. His eyes hold the woman’s, as her fingers wrap around his lungs and squeeze. No. Not his lungs, his heart. Her fingers grasp his heart, holding on tightly, reverently. She presses close, her chest against his, hands releasing to continue their path through him and wrap around his spine in some sick impression of a hug.

“You’re lonely,” She breathes, “I can fix that.”

-

Ghost hands the guy at the gate his ID and waits for him to check the ledger. It seems to take ages. The man even radios Price to be sure he has the right man. When Ghost does finally get through the gate the migraine that had been building on the train is in full force.

His fingers hardly make a dent in the throbbing at his temple. The sound of footsteps drums against the inside of his skull. The blood pounding in his ears makes him queasy. His stomach flips, and he nearly upheaves his breakfast. Price catches him by the shoulders. Chill drips down his spine, mint fills his nose, then ginger. He swallows the magic his captain presses into him and sets himself right again.

“You broken?” Price asks, the low rumble of his voice just touches concern. Ghost drags his hand over his eyes, glaring at the recruits that scurry past the two of them. 

“No sir,” Ghost swallows again, and feels the sting of ginger creeping up into his nose, “Must’ve-”

Price grabs his face, his thumbs pulling at his cheeks, inspecting the whites of his eyes. He tips Ghost one way then the next, inspecting him. His eyes narrow, and Ghost resists the urge to swat his hands away. Ghost doesn’t pretend to understand his captain’s inspection, his mannerisms. “Magic”, “witchcraft”, he’s seen the jars that line Price’s office, read the briefs the military keeps redacted beyond legibility, and it still feels like bullshit. Until Price gets his hands on him.

“I got somethin’ on my face?” Ghost asks when Price has been quiet too long. His captain’s lips have drawn tight, and lets him go. 

“What’s the date,” Price forgoes answering him. Ghost frowns but indulges him. Price mirrors his frown.

“By how much?” Ghost fills in the gaps in Price’s frown.

“A few days,” Price sighs, “Your mum called.”

“What’d you tell ‘er?”

“Nothing I can’t deny later.”

Ghost nods slowly. He can’t- the last thing he remembers was getting off the train, then making his way to the gate. Not unusual, he’s walked the route enough times he can shut his brain off, but it’s all black. He can’t remember a single part of the walk. He feels over his jaw, he’s shaved recently. A few days? His family knows better than to ask about his work, he’ll just tell them he got caught up in paperwork and crashed in the barracks.

-

It’s not a nightmare, Ghost knows that much at least. There’s no blood, no cramped space, no pain. There are soft fingers carding through his hair, humming. The pillow he rests his head on shifts slightly as the woman above him leans over him. She smiles, her fingers tracing over the scar that cuts through his brow, and down his crooked nose. The light overhead is soft, the air warm on his skin. Her hair halos her, casts strange shadows over her face. 

Ghost raises a hand to cup her cheek and she leans into the touch. He feels lighter, his chest, his limbs, the tension melted away under the careful touch that drags over his skin. Something sharp and teeth gnashingly dark batters against the back of his mind. It scratches behind his eyes. 

“They don’t understand, do they?” She asks. Who? Ghost wants to ask, but his tongue feels like lead. She drags her finger from his hairline to his chin, and back up, and back down. His head follows, nodding along with what she says.

“They never will,” She pouts, and Ghost’s brows twitch, “Poor thing.”

“No,” He manages to unstick his tongue, the scratching behind his eyes is growing more insistent. Ghost turns his head to look at the room, his cheek touches skin. So he’s on her lap. He takes a breath, something soft and floral filling his nose. It bursts pink and fluffy in his vision, clouding what he sees. The room feels fuzzy, he can’t focus his eyes. Dreamlike, he supposes. 

“I understand you,” She breathes, “you love with blood in your teeth.” She moves his head, turns him to look at her again. “I could love you, and you’d never be lonely again.”

His eyes focus on her face. Pretty, electric. Her eyes are too bright, her lips too perfectly carved, her skin looks like glass, she shines with some magic he’s never seen before. She’s fuzzy when he blinks. His heart clenches tight, his grief washing over him. He wants to see her again. It feels consumptive, like a fire burning through him. To love with blood in his teeth, to cut his lips on a kiss, to dig his hands into her thighs and carve his name into her, what bliss that would be.

“Stay with me,” She bids. Ghost swallows, she turns to kiss his palm, he forgot he was touching her. Her skin feels like it’s melting into his, she clings to him. Her lips part and he feels the sharp scratch of her teeth against his palm. The pain shudders through him, lights up the dark howling thing locked in his mind. 

She purrs as his hand wraps around her neck. Possessive, wanting. Blood in his teeth, he thinks to himself. Blood on his hands, on his kitchen floor. He can still see the look on his family’s faces, the horror, the fear in their eyes. Scared of him.

He’s just like his father.

Ghost jerks awake in the barracks. The spartan walls, painted in an attempt to seem more homey than the bare stone. The mattress is familiarly shitty. He drags a hand down his face. It’s dark. When did he drag himself away from the mountain of paperwork that had made its way onto his desk?

He sighs, pulls his knees up to rest his elbow against them as he scratches his head. His dream is already fading from his mind. Not that it made much sense to begin with. At least he wasn’t back in that damn flat. He’ll call his mum in the morning, let her know he’ll be home for dinner. She must be worried.

-

It’s still light out when Ghost leaves base. His back is killing him. Hunched over papers all day as Price piled more on isn’t his idea of a good day at the office, but shit needs to get done. Price had been looking at him strangely all day but hadn’t said anything. When he’d finally snapped at him to either say something or close his eyes, Price had threatened him with insubordination. It felt hollow, but the weight of it settled over his shoulders heavy enough to keep him from snapping again.

At least he let him go at a decent time. Ghost checks his phone, barely five. So why is the tube station so empty? There’s no one on the platform, and there was no one going down the stairs. Suppose that’s good. When he’d tapped his card it didn’t work, felt like a kid hopping the turnstile, be pretty embarrassing if someone had seen him do that.

There’s a woman on the other end of the platform. She wipes at her face, the sound of her sobbing carrying to his end. Ghost watches her for a moment. Her shoulders shake, and he can just barely hear the short sniffles that come with tears. It’s a strange feeling being the only two people in the station. It doesn’t feel real. The air doesn’t touch his skin, and there’s no sound save for the soft crying. 

“You alrigh’ love?” Ghost asks, his voice booming in the small space. He grabs his head at the sharp throb of pain. The space warps, his vision swimming. He closes his eyes, to try and stem the wave of vertigo that washes over him. Maybe he should have stayed on base, gotten examined. 

Christ what is he talking about?

He opens his eyes with a shake of his head, some of the pain dissipating. He looks down at the crying woman. He shouldn’t have yelled when she’s so close. She looks up at him with watery eyes and sniffles. Her pretty pink lips curve down into a pout, almost comical how exaggerated it is. He’s only ever seen Johnny wield that level of frown.

“I’ll be ok,” She tells him. Her manicured fingers swipe at the tears that roll down her face, “Thank you.”

Something in her voice makes his blood throb, and push against his circulatory system. He feels stuck, like his feet are glued to the platform. He can’t move his head to look away from her. She’s pretty when she cries. That must be it. She makes him want to hold her down and see what else he can do to make her sob and beg.

“You’re welcome,” Ghost mumbles. Hands around her neck, he’d bet she likes that. 

The thought itches against the inside of his skull. 

“Would you walk me home?” She asks, “You get off at -” how does she know his stop? “-it’s not far from there.”

She touches his arm, drags her nails up and down. His head follows. 

-

He remembers Price telling him once that magic is about exchange. You can’t get something from nothing, he’d been told. Which seemed like bullshit. What’s the point of magic if you can’t do the impossible with it. Only human, Price had griped at him, you want a miracle try religion.

“What do you want?” The woman in his arms whispers, her lips dragging along his jaw. His hands grip her hip, pulling her up and down his cock. She feels like a furnace, her soft gummy walls clinging to him desperately as he thrusts into her. Her hands squeeze in his chest, pluck at nerve endings and drag nails down his lungs. It hurts. He tips his head to kiss her. He’s never tasted anything sweeter than the honey that drips from her tongue.

What does he want? He wants to fuck her, and keep fucking her. He wants to hold her in his arms and never let go. He doesn’t want to be lonely anymore, always hovering on the outside of humanity. He wants his family to be safe, to never worry about anything ever hurting them again. He wants to be an asset to his team. He wants to lick her cunt. He wants to bite bruises on her thighs. He wants to melt into her. What does he want? What doesn’t he want? He’s greedy, sinking his teeth into any meal he can stomach.

His teeth press against her throat. He wants to feel her blood between his teeth. 

She’s laughing, bright bubbly giggles that pop against the walls with a spark of something. She pushes him back into the mountain of pillows, her hips rolling against him with a fluidity that feels unnatural. He stares up at her, his skin buzzing with her, his mouth, his teeth aching to latch onto her again.

“Say my name,” She grins, her teeth sharp and her nails cutting.

“Love,” He breathes.

“What do you want?” She asks again.

“You.” Ghost’s heart pounds, his voice feels weak. Damning.

“That’s right,” She tells him,

And rips his heart from his chest.

Inarizaki's Kansai Dialect

Japanese Dialects are split into Eastern and Western, with the Standard Japanese dialect being Eastern (Kanto region) and Kansai region dialect being Western (eg. cities of Osaka and Kyoto, and of course Hyogo prefecture- where Inarizaki is from). The pitch, tone, and stressing of the sounds is different from standard Tokyo Japanese so you should be able to hear the difference in how the Inarizaki members speak even if you don't know any Japanese.

just in case yall didn't know, Suna is the only member on the team that does not use Kansai dialect as he was scouted from Aichi prefecture, so he basically just speaks in the standard dialect

Some linguistics of the dialect that may or may not be heard in the show:

"ya" ending vs the standard "da" ending.

Kore kirai ya. vs Kore kirai da. (I hate this.)

the use of the "h" sound instead of "s"

Han vs standard san (honorific suffix, not really used anymore)

Negation suffix "-hen" instead of the standard "-nai".

Taichou kanri dekitehen koto, homen na. vs Taichou kanri dekitenai koto, homen na. (Don't compliment him when he's obviously not taking care of himself.)

verb "oru" vs the standard "iru".

Dareka ga mitoru yo, Shin-chan. vs Dareka ga miteiru yo, Shin-chan. (Someone's always watching, Shin-chan.)

verb "temau" vs standard "teshimau"

Naitemau yaro! vs Naiteshimau darou! (You're gonna make me cry!)

Negation "suru" verb becomes "sen" instead of "shinai".

Ki ni sen dee. vs Ki ni shinai yo. (Don't worry about it.)

Some words that are different in Kansai dialect:

Honto becomes Honma (really)

Sodane becomes Seyade (thats right)

Nande becomes Nandeyanen (why)

Totemo becomes Meccha (very)

ii becomes ee (good)

"aho" means stupid in Japanese, but apparently in the Kansai dialect calling someone an "aho" is actually a compliment?! (even though it has the same definition)

Overall, I could watch the Karasuno vs Inarizaki episodes a hundred times just to listen to Inarizaki's dialect and how different it sounds to the rest of the characters in the entire show.

Although Karasuno speaks in the standard dialect (which isn't very strange since Miyagi is a suburb close enough to the Kanto region), theres a few lines here and there where one of them says something using the Tohoku dialect (the dialect that would be used often in the rest of Tohoku, such as Aomori).

(I especially like Kita's voice, thank you Nojima Kenji.)

Aurora Borealis Crown has been haunting my thoughts…..