#I don't know. why. this is. and I would like it to stop

[coriihanniee]

TELL ME, WILL WE SURVIVE? ⋆˚࿔

۶ৎ SYNOPSIS : you're the 4th member of Huntrix, tasked to eliminate the Saja Boys, five powerful demons disguised as idols. However, encountering them face to face brings an achingly familiar pain to your chest.

۶ৎ PAIRING : reincarnated 4th member huntrix!reader x saja boys ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : romance, reincarnation, angst ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : mentions of death, use of weapons, slight emotional manipulation, sexy hot fictional men

۶ৎ A/N : asked if I should write this fic with a poll and 434 votes is crazy... so here it is! This will probably be my only kpdh fic 🥹 I hope this satisfies you~ It was tough to come up what to write apart from Jinu's considering the fact we don't have more information about the others T^T

The tension in the Huntrix dorm was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"I still can't believe it," Zoey muttered, pacing back and forth across the living room while clutching her notebook. "A new boy group that just debuted... and they're actual demons."

Mira sat cross-legged on the floor. Her usually perfect hair was tied back in a messy bun. "The way everyone was completely fascinated by them..." She shuddered. "Like they couldn't look away or think of anything else."

"Five guys who came out of nowhere and had everyone mesmerized on their very first performance," Rumi said grimly, her voice still hoarse from the throat issues that had sent them to the doctor in the first place. "That's not normal idol talent, that's demonic influence."

You looked up from lacing your combat boots, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and dread. While your three groupmates had discovered the Saja Boys' true nature during their trip to the clinic, you'd been stuck in back-to-back variety show recordings. Part of you felt guilty for missing such a crucial moment, but another part was almost grateful. Something about facing demons, especially these particular demons, made your chest tight with an emotion you couldn't name.

"So what's the plan?" you asked, trying to push away the odd nervousness in your stomach.

Rumi stood up, her leader instincts taking over despite her vocal strain. "Intelligence suggests they're operating out of several locations around the city. We need to track them down and neutralize the threat before their next public appearance."

"Five of them, four of us," Mira noted. "Not impossible odds, but we'll need to be smart about this."

Zoey stopped pacing and looked at you with concerned eyes. "Are you sure you're ready for this? I mean, this is our first time facing demons this powerful. The Saja Boys aren't like the lower-level creatures we usually hunt."

You nodded, though your heart was racing for reasons you couldn't explain. "I've trained for this. We all have."

"We don't know much about their individual abilities yet," Rumi warned, her voice dropping to a serious tone. "But we know they're organized and powerful enough to steal our fans and mess with the Honmoon. They've been systematically targeting our fans, hypnotising them with some kind of influence we don't understand yet.”

"We split up," Rumi continued. "Cover more ground that way. But nobody engages alone unless absolutely necessary. These aren't ordinary demons, they're organized, intelligent, and extremely dangerous."

As your groupmates continued planning, you found yourself staring out the window at the Seoul skyline, a dozen city lights twinkling like stars. Somewhere out there, five demons who had quickly become the nation's beloved idol group in less than a day were hiding, planning, hunting.

So why did the thought of facing them feel less like preparing for battle and more like... coming home?

"Ready?" Rumi's voice snapped you back to reality.

You grabbed your weapon and stood up, pushing down the strange emotions swirling in your chest. You were a member of Huntrix. You had a job to do.

Even if something deep inside you whispered that this mission would change everything.

JINU ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Three hours after the briefing, you crouched behind a concrete pillar in an abandoned office building, your heart hammering against your ribs for reasons that had nothing to do with the mission. You had tracked Jinu here alone, separated from his group members, conducting what appeared to be private business on the fifteenth floor.

The elevator had been deliberately disabled, forcing you to climb the emergency stairwell. Each step upwards felt heavier than the last, as if your body fought against an invisible current. When you finally reached the target floor, the silence was deafening.

You pressed your ear to the stairwell door, listening for voices, footsteps, any sign of demonic activity. Your weapon felt foreign in your grip, a silver-blessed blade that had never failed you in past hunts, yet now trembled with your uncertainty.

The hallway beyond stretched like a mouth waiting to swallow you whole. Fluorescent lights flickered sporadically, casting dancing shadows that made your vision blur. You moved silently, checking each empty office as you passed, until you reached the corner suite at the end of the corridor.

The door stood ajar.

Through the gap, you could see him.

Jinu sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his profile illuminated by the pale glow of Seoul's skyline through the windows. Even in the dim light, his features were sharp and aristocratic, high cheekbones, a strong jawline, dark hair that fell perfectly across his forehead. 

"The contract is simple," his voice carried through the crack in the door, smooth as silk yet cold as steel. "Your daughter's medical bills disappear. Her surgery is guaranteed successful. All I ask in return is a small favour down the line."

"What kind of favour?" The other voice was desperate, broken, a father's voice.

"Nothing that will harm your family directly. You have my word."

You should have burst through that door immediately and struck while Jinu was distracted, before he could complete whatever twisted bargain he was weaving. But the moment your eyes found his face, your entire world tilted off its axis.

Inexplicable pain lanced through your chest. Your vision blurred from the tears suddenly sliding down your cheeks. Images surged and vanished too quickly to grasp : a child's laugh, the strum of a bipa, a soft voice humming, arms wrapping around you beneath a threadbare blanket.

"I'll take care of everything. You'll never have to worry again."

You gasped, stumbling backwards and nearly dropping your weapon. The sound echoed in the empty hallway like a gunshot.

The conversation inside the office stopped abruptly.

"I believe our business here is concluded," Jinu's voice had changed, taking on an edge that made your spine stiffen. "You know how to contact me when you've made your decision."

The desperate father's voice slowly faded as he was presumably escorted out through another exit.

You pressed yourself against the wall, mind racing. You had lost the element of surprise, but the mission remained the same. Jinu was alone now. This was your chance to strike before he could reunite with the other Saja Boys.

You kicked the door open and rushed inside, blade raised and ready.

Jinu stood by the window with his back to you, hands clasped behind him as if he had been expecting your arrival. The moonlight turned his silhouette into an ethereal and angelic vision, a cruel irony given what you knew him to be.

"You're faster than I anticipated," he said without turning around. "Though not as quiet as you think."

"Turn around." Your voice came out steadier than you felt.

He complied slowly. However, when his eyes met yours, your soul cracked down the middle.

You could see a brief flicker of recognition cross his face, perhaps even mourning, or maybe grief worn thin over centuries.

You raised your blade higher, just enough to hide how much your hands were shaking.

"You've grown beautiful," he said softly.

Your breath caught in your throat, forcing down a wave of emotions that threatened to break free. You gritted your teeth. "Don't."

He stepped forward. 

"I said don't."

He moved closer.

You slashed by reflex. Jinu blocked it with his arm. He didn't exactly attack back. But he parried, blocked, dodged with the ease of someone who'd trained lifetimes for this.

It happened before you could think. Your body moved, like it already knew what to do. Your chest rose and fell too fast, ears buzzing with the rush of your heartbeat. Jinu barely fought back, annoyingly and effortlessly dodging your attacks. However, you refused to stop until the hurt had somewhere to land.

Until he disarmed you, your blade clattering across the floor.

Jinu didn't press the advantage or move to strike.

Instead, he stepped back. 

You froze for half a second. Why isn't he fighting back? Was this pity? Mercy? Did he think you couldn’t handle it?

"You don't remember." It wasn't a question.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Four hundred years ago," he said quietly, "I had a mother and a sister. We were starving. I played the bipa on street corners, until I found you, you were the only light we had left. You kept us together, even when everything fell apart."

Images tore at your mind again : your hands mending a child's robe. Jinu's fingers brushing yours. The bipa's music cutting through the dark.

"You were there," you whispered, not understanding why you knew it was true.

"I was." His voice cracked. "And I failed all of you."

"But… you're a demon now. You manipulate people. Steal their souls."

"I offer what they ask for. I offered it then, too. I was desperate and hungry. My family and you were dying in front of my eyes. Gwi-Ma found me and promised me a life of comfort and power. I thought if I accepted it, I could bring you all with me."

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

"But the gates closed behind me," he said, barely audible. "I turned around and they wouldn't let you through. I left you in the cold while I slept on silk."

You shook your head, but the memories were surfacing now,

"I searched for you after. But you died, didn't you? Alone. Like the rest of them. While I lived in luxury with blood on my hands."

The truth settled like ice in your lungs. Your memories were fractured, broken by time and pain, but you remembered enough. Remembered waiting put in the cold and the hunger that ate you alive while he feasted in hell.

"I waited for you," you whispered.

Jinu closed his eyes as if the words were a blade through his chest. "I know."

The admission ignited a fury so pure it burned through your veins like poison. He knew. While you were wasted away in that freezing hovel, praying for his return until your throat was raw. While you'd begged strangers for scraps, sold every precious thing you owned just to buy another day of life, he was feasting in warmth and safety. He knew, and he'd done nothing.

"You knew," you snarled, and the rage in your voice made him flinch. "You knew we were dying and you left us there to rot."

Your hands clenched into fists. Every cell in your body screamed for violence, for justice, for him to feel even a fraction of the agony he'd caused.

You lunged for your weapon again. He didn't stop you.

"I'm going to kill you," you said, raising it with trembling hands.

"Then do it."

However, you hesitated, the blade wavering above his heart. Tears blurred your vision as you stared down at him, this man who had once been your entire world. Your arm shook with the effort of holding the weapon steady, but your body refused to obey. Every instinct screamed at you to drive the silver through his chest, to end his suffering and yours, but your heart betrayed you.

Even after everything, you couldn't bring yourself to destroy him. The realization broke you more than his abandonment ever had.

"Why aren't you fighting back?"

"Because I loved you more than my own soul. And letting you end it is the only way I can repent for what I've done."

Your eyes widened at his words, the blade slipping from your nerveless fingers. It hit the floor with a sharp clang that echoed through the empty office.

Jinu's breath caught in his throat. He stared at the fallen weapon, in disbelief at what had just happened. His composure finally cracked, and tears spilled down his cheeks, the first real emotion you'd seen from him since you'd entered this room.

Why?" he whispered. "After everything I've done to you... why can't you do it?”

"I-I don't know…’ you said, voice cracking. “But… this doesn't mean I forgive you…”

"I wouldn't dare ask."

"And I'm not letting you walk away."

He nodded, tears tracking down his cheeks.

You stepped closer, your heart shattering with every breath.

"This time, we need to talk, about the four hundred years you stole from us."

ABBY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The underground fight club pulsed with sweat, blood, and money changing hands. You pressed your earpiece, static crackling back at you as you tried to reach Rumi. 

"Rumi, do you copy? I lost visual on the target."

Nothing but interference.

Intel had tracked two Saja Boys to this district, Abby and Mystery had split from the main group. Following a thorough discussion, you and the other girls decided to split into duos to ensure greater safety. You and Rumi were supposed to stay together, but the crowds and maze-like underground tunnels had separated you. Now you were alone in the bowels of Seoul's illegal fighting scene.

The roar of the crowd guided you deeper into the complex. Through a doorway marked with graffiti, you found the main arena, a concrete pit surrounded by screaming spectators waving fistfuls of cash. 

In the center of the ring stood Abby.

He moved like violence incarnate, all muscle and controlled fury as he circled his opponent. Abby was shirtless, his body a map of scars and fresh bruises, sweat making his skin gleam under the harsh lights. 

The expression that you caught on his face made your breath catch. Pure, undiluted joy. He was having the time of his life.

His opponent lunged. Abby sidestepped with fluid grace, then drove his fist into the man's ribs with a wet crack that echoed over the crowd's cheers as the man fell to the ground hard. 

"Next!" Abby called out, not even breathing heavily. His grin was sharp enough to cut glass. "Who else wants to dance?"

Three men climbed into the ring together as the crowd grew wild.

You should have taken the shot then, but watching him move was hypnotic. Every punch and dodge was precise and calculated. 

Two opponents were quickly taken down, and the third hesitated to swing.

"Come on," Abby taunted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Don't tell me you're scared now."

The man reluctantly charged. Abby caught him mid-lunge and slammed him into the concrete so hard the ground cracked.

The crowd erupted as money flew. Abby raised his arms in victory, basking in the adoration.

You waited until the chaos died down, until the crowd dispersed and the arena emptied. Abby was collecting his winnings from the promoter when you finally made your move.

"Good fights tonight," you said, stepping out of the shadows.

He went completely still for a second, so brief you almost missed it. Then he turned around with that cocky grin already sliding into place. 

"Well, well. What do we have here?" He looked you up and down, but it wasn't the casual appreciation of a stranger. It was recognition wrapped in careful performance. "You don't look like the usual groupies. Too pretty. Too dangerous."

"I'm not a groupie."

"No kidding." He stuffed the money in his back pocket and grabbed his shirt from where he'd thrown it, but didn't put it on. Still showing off, but his movements were more deliberate now, as if he was buying time to think.

 "So what are you? Reporter? Cop? Or just someone who likes watching sweaty men beat the hell out of each other?"

"I'm here for you."

His grin widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, that's direct. Though I gotta say, most people who want me specifically don't usually start with small talk."

The arena was empty now except for the two of you and the lingering smell of violence.

Perfect.

"You're coming with me," you said, hand moving to your weapon.

"Am I?" He stepped closer, and the playful mask slipped just slightly. "And here I was thinking you might be here for something else entirely."

"This isn't a game."

"Everything's a game, sweetheart. The trick is figuring out if we're playing by the same rules." He was circling you now, but it felt less predatory and more like he was trying to get a different angle, trying to see something in your face. "Though I gotta ask, do you even know who I am?"

You drew your blade. His expression shifted, resignation mixed with anticipation.

"There it is," he said quietly, flexing his fingers. "Was wondering when we'd get to this part."

He moved faster than you'd expected, still testing you. Every move of his was calculated, like he was trying to figure out how much you remembered about fighting. 

About fighting him specifically.

"Come on," he said, dodging your blade with familiar ease. "I know you're better than this. You always were."

The words slipped out before he could catch them. You saw the moment he realized his mistake, saw him try to cover it with that cocky grin.

"Always were what?" you demanded, pressing your attack.

"Always were too careful," he said, but his voice was strained now. "Stop holding back."

"I'm trying not to kill you."

"How thoughtful." His voice was softer now, almost fond. "Always looking out for everyone else."

Before you could ask what he meant by that, he caught your wrist and pulled you against his chest. For a moment, you were close enough to see the conflict in his eyes.

"Got you," he said, but it sounded more like a prayer than a taunt.

You drove your elbow back into his ribs and spun free. He let you go reluctantly.

"There we go," he said, rubbing his side. "That's more like it."

You came at him again, blade swinging through the air. This time when he grabbed your wrist and twisted until you had to drop the weapon, his grip was careful, like he'd done this exact move with you before.

"How do you know how I fight?" you asked.

The question made him freeze. His grip loosened just enough for you to break free, but instead of reaching for another weapon, you just stared at him.

"Have we met before?" you asked.

All the pretense drained out of his expression at your question, replaced by rawness and desperation.

"Every day for a hundred and twenty three years," he whispered.

"What are you talking about?"

His hands came up to frame your face, thumbs tracing your cheekbones like he was memorizing them all over again.

"You really don't remember," he said, and his voice cracked on the words. "God, I hoped... I thought maybe..."

His touch was so gentle, and his voice was softer now. 

"How do you know my name?" you whispered.

"Because I've been saying it every day for over a century." He laughed bitterly "Because it was the last thing you heard before you died."

Images flashed through your mind : rain-soaked streets, a thin boy with kind eyes, the sound of your own scream echoing off alley walls.

You stumbled backward, hand pressed to your temple. "What's happening to me?"

"Hey." He reached for you, movements careful now, gentle. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay."

"I'm not okay. I'm seeing things that aren't real."

"What kind of things?"

"A boy. Someone I loved." The words came out before you could stop them. "Someone who died because of me."

Abby went very still. "How did he die?"

"I don't know. I can't—the memories aren't mine." You looked up at him desperately. "This is crazy. I don't even know you."

"Yes you do." His voice was barely above a whisper. "You do know me. You just can't remember because dying screws with your head."

"I didn't die."

"Yeah, you did." He was close enough to touch now, hands hovering just shy of your skin. "Hundred and twenty three years ago. In an alley. They put a knife in your back while I watched, too weak to do anything about it."

The memories hit like a tsunami : cobblestones slick with rain, rough hands dragging you away from a thin boy who was calling your name, the burn of steel between your ribs.

"Oh god," you whispered.

"I made you a promise," Abby continued, his voice thick with a century's worth of grief. "On your grave. That if I ever got the chance to see you again, I'd be strong enough to protect you."

You looked at him, and saw past the muscle and scars to the boy underneath. The boy who'd loved you. The boy who'd become a monster for the chance to keep you safe.

"You became a demon for me?"

"I became whatever I had to become." His hands finally made contact, cupping your face gently, as if any more pressure might shatter you into a million pieces. "I don't care what that makes me. I care about keeping you alive."

Footsteps echoed from the tunnel behind you. Rumi's voice called out your name, worried.

"Shit," you whispered. "My partner's coming."

Abby's expression hardened instantly, all the vulnerability vanishing behind that familiar cocky mask. "Right. Back to reality."

"Abby, wait—"

"No, it's fine." He stepped back, putting distance between you, but his eyes never left your face. "You've got a job to do. I get it."

"I can't just—"

"What? Kill me? We both know you're not going to do that." He grinned. "So what's the play here, sweetheart? You gonna tell your partner you found me and just... let me walk away?”

The footsteps were getting closer. You had maybe thirty seconds before Rumi found you.

"I don't know," you admitted.

"Well, you better figure it out fast." Despite his words, he wasn't moving towards the exits. He was just standing there, waiting for you to decide his fate again.

"There's another exit through the back," you said quickly. "Behind the equipment room."

His eyebrows shot up. "You're letting me go?"

"I'm giving you a head start."

"Why?"

Because somewhere in your fractured memories, you remembered loving him. Because he'd spent over a century becoming strong enough to protect you, and maybe you could be strong enough to protect him too.

"Because I remember enough," you said simply.

His mask cracked just for a moment. "This isn't over."

"I know."

"I'll find you again."

"I know."

He started towards the back exit, then paused. "Hey, sweetheart?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to die before I see you again. I'm getting really tired of that particular tragedy."

In a blink of an eye, he was gone, vanishing into the shadows just as Rumi's voice echoed closer.

ROMANCE ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The rooftop overlooked the glittering chaos of Seoul's entertainment district, where neon signs blazed advertisements for idol groups and concert venues stretched towards the horizon. You crouched behind the air conditioning unit, silver blade steady in your grip as you surveyed the empty space. 

Wind carried the distant sound of traffic and late-night revelers, but here, twenty stories above the city's pulse, silence reigned.

"Beautiful view, isn't it?"

You tensed, weapon raised when you heard his voice, achingly familiar despite being impossible to place. It wrapped around your ribs like phantom fingers, squeezing until your chest felt tight with inexplicable longing.

Romance emerged from behind the rooftop access door with fluid grace, hands tucked casually into his pockets. Under the city's electric glow, his features appeared sharp and ethereal, pink hair catching the wind as he regarded you with calm amusement.

"Though I suspect you're not here for sightseeing," he continued, taking measured steps forward. "Hello, hunter."

Your blade remained steady despite the tremor in your voice. "You know what I am."

"Of course I know exactly what you are." His smile held no malice, only a strange sadness that made your throat constrict. "The question is, do you know what I am?"

Without warning, you lunged.

Romance flowed backwards like water, your strike cutting through empty air as he spun away from your advance. He moved with practiced precision, dodging rather than retaliating, speaking in that same measured tone even as you pressed your attack.

"You fight beautifully," he observed, sidestepping another slash. "Trained well. Committed."

You snarled in frustration, spinning to catch him with a backhand strike that he avoided by millimeters. "Shut up and fight back."

"Why would I want to hurt you?"

The question threw off your rhythm, long enough for Romance to close the distance between you. His hand found your wrist with gentle firmness, and your weapon clattered across the concrete.

You struck out with your free hand, but he caught that too, holding both your wrists as you struggled against his grip. His touch burned with unnatural warmth, sending sparks up your arms that had nothing to do with his demonic nature.

"Let me go," you hissed.

"In a moment." Romance's eyes searched your face with desperate intensity. "I need you to see—"

He shifted, a small and bright object tumbled from his pocket, a ring that caught the neon light as it fell. Simple silver band, modest stone, nothing extraordinary except for the way it made your heart stop.

Pain lanced through your chest. Your knees buckled as emotion crashed over you in waves, grief so profound it stole your breath, love so pure it felt like drowning, loss that cut deeper than any blade. You didn't understand where these feelings originated, only that they threatened to tear you apart from the inside.

Romance released you immediately, crouching to retrieve the ring with reverent care. "You feel it too," he whispered.

"I don't—" You stumbled backward, pressing a hand to your chest where the ache pulsed with each heartbeat. "What did you do to me?"

"Nothing. This is yours." He held up the ring, and the sight of it made tears spring to your eyes without explanation. "It was meant for you."

"What—that's impossible."

"You taught me what love felt like, centuries ago." Romance said quietly, his mask of casual amusement finally cracking. "Before you, I was nothing. A shadow in my own house, invisible to parents who saw only disappointment when they looked at me. You were the first person to show me kindness, love me without expecting anything in return."

He cradled the ring like it held his entire world. "I saved for months to buy this. Worked every odd job I could find, skipped meals. I practiced the proposal speech until I could recite it in my sleep."

His confession struck a place you didn’t know could still hurt. Your eyes flickered back to the ring again, breath hitching.

"You fell ill a few weeks before I planned to propose." His voice cracked, centuries of grief pouring through the fractures. "I held your hand for seventy two hours straight. I didn't eat or sleep, just sat there begging you to stay with me."

"Y-You're lying." But your voice had no strength behind it.

"Your last coherent words were asking me to promise I'd love someone else after you were gone. You were so worried about me being alone." Tears tracked down his perfect cheeks, and seeing them made your own eyes burn. "I lied and said yes because I thought it would help you let go peacefully."

The pain in your chest intensified, spreading through your ribs like poison. "That's not—"

"I tried to keep that promise as a human. I spent years searching for someone who could make me feel what you had.” Romance's voice dropped to a whisper. “But no one came close to you.”

"You became a demon because you couldn't move on..."

"I made a pact with Gwi-Ma after years of failing to love anyone else. I became something that could create love, manufacture and distribute it to anyone desperate enough to want it." His smile was self-loathing incarnate. "If I couldn't feel real love, at least I could give others a taste of what you gave me."

"You're feeding on people and hurting them."

"I'm keeping my promise to you." His eyes blazed with centuries of accumulated pain and twisted devotion. "Every heart I touch and every moment of artificial bliss I create is all for you. You asked me to love someone else, and this is the only way I know how."

The logic was twisted, but the raw anguish in his voice made your chest tighten with sympathy you couldn't afford. "You're manipulating innocent people."

"I give them what they desperately need. The feeling of being cherished, desired, worthy of devotion. When the illusion breaks, yes, they're disappointed. But at least they got to experience something transcendent." Romance stood slowly, the ring disappearing back into his coat. "Tell me that's not better than the emptiness they had before."

"It's a love built on lies."

"All love is lies in the end." His smile returned, but it held no warmth. "The difference is I'm honest about the illusion I create."

You backed towards the rooftop edge, every instinct screaming at you to flee. The mission was clear, eliminate the demon. However, your hands shook as you reached for a backup blade, and the pain in your chest made it difficult to breathe. Each word he'd spoken felt like a knife twisting deeper.

"This isn't over," you managed, but the words came out weak.

"I know." Romance made no move to stop you as you retreated. "But I won't fight you anymore. I've caused enough damage to someone I—"

He cut himself off, the unfinished words hung in the air between you.

"Someone you what?" The question escaped before you could stop it.

"Someone I loved more than my own existence." His voice was barely audible above the wind. "Someone I'm still failing, even now."

The words crashed over you like a tidal wave. Ring. Proposal. Seventy two hours. Promise. Death. Demon. Love. The pieces swirled in your mind, too many fragments to assemble together, each one cutting deeper than the last. Your training screamed at you to stay, but your heart couldn't bear another second of his confessions.

You turned and ran.

The fire escape blurred past as you descended, taking stairs three at a time until your legs gave out two floors from the bottom. You collapsed on the landing, gasping for air that wouldn't come, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could physically force back the tears threatening to spill.

His voice echoed in your mind : I practiced the proposal speech until I could recite it in my sleep.

Why did that hurt? You were a hunter trained to kill demons, not sympathize with their tragic backstories.

You forced yourself to continue down the fire escape, your movements mechanical and disconnected. 

Seventy two hours straight. I didn't eat or sleep, just sat there begging you to stay.

Your back hit the alley wall and you slid down until you were sitting on the cold concrete, arms wrapped around your knees. Hot tears streamed down your face as you grieved for reasons you couldn't name.

This couldn't have happened before. You would remember dying. You would remember being loved with that kind of desperate devotion. You would remember someone saving money for months to buy you a ring.

...

Wouldn't you?

MYSTERY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You lean against the Huntrix dorm balcony railing, watching Seoul pulse beneath you like a neon heartbeat. The city sprawls endless and electric, towers of glass catching streetlight, traffic threading through concrete arteries. Behind you, voices clash over mission prep.

"We should split up and handle each demon individually," Rumi insisted. "Pick them off one by one."

"That's suicide," Mira counters. "We stick together, overwhelm them with combined firepower. Safety in numbers."

"Okay, okay!" Zoey jumps between them with enthusiastic gestures. "What if we compromise? Split into pairs? Best of both worlds, right? Right?"

There are weak spots in the Honmoon barrier scattered across Seoul like broken bones. You've memorized their coordinates, trained for this until your muscles know the patterns by heart. So why won't your pulse settle tonight? 

The argument behind you fades to background noise as you stare at the skyline. 

Suddenly, a soft and delicate melody drifts across the night air.

It felt like a tune you hum when your hands are full of flowers, when you're dizzy with new love. It shouldn't reach you from this height. Seoul's chaos should swallow such fragile notes whole, but the song finds you anyway.

Your breathing stops. You've heard this melody before in dreams that leave you gasping at dawn. 

Across the urban maze, movement flickers near a crumbling rooftop. A shadow that doesn't belong.

You don't hesitate one second. 

The balcony railing becomes your launching point. Rooftop to rooftop, your feet find purchase on surfaces that shouldn't hold human weight. The melody grows stronger with each leap, pulling you forward like a current.

Seoul blurs beneath you, kaleidoscope light and shadow, lives stacked in vertical towers. You follow the song through this maze, breath controlled, heart pounding against your ribs.

The tune leads you to an abandoned building that time forgot. Dark windows, cracked facade, studio spaces that once housed art but now hold only dust. You slip through a broken skylight, landing silent on debris-covered floors.

The music comes to a stop.

Mystery stands beside a shattered mirror, fingers turning over what looks like an old locket. He doesn't startle when you drop in. Instead, his mouth curves into a smile that holds too many secrets.

"You've always been good at finding me."

Your weapon clears its holster, barrel trained on his chest, and his smile deepens.

Ice floods your veins. Your grip tightens on the weapon. "Who are you?"

He laughs softly, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. "I would tell you now, but where's the fun in that?"

"This isn't a game." Your voice comes out sharper than intended.

“Are you sure?” He tilts his head, studying you with eyes that hold starlight and shadows. "You followed my song across half the city. Left your friends mid-mission. That sounds like playing to me."

Heat rises in your cheeks. He's right, and you hate that he's right. "Answer me. Why do you know me?"

He steps closer curiously, like he's watching a flower bloom in real time. "You really don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?"

"All those summer nights when you'd sneak out just to hear me play." His voice drops to a whisper. "The way you'd fall asleep in my arms while I hummed that exact melody."

Your heart stutters. The exact melody that's been haunting your dreams for months. "That's impossible. I would remember—"

"You would remember me, wouldn’t you?" He reaches out, fingers barely grazing your cheek. 

You should pull away, you know you should put distance between you and this stranger who claims to know your past. But his touch feels familiar, like coming home after a long journey.

"You haven't changed. Well, except for the blade." His gaze drops to the weapon still trained on him. "You never needed those before."

"Before what? Before when?" Desperation creeps into your voice.

He smiles again, stepping back. "Don't remember me yet. It's more fun this way."

"Fun?" The word explodes from you. "You think this is fun? I'm losing my mind trying to figure out who you are, and you think it's entertaining?"

"I think," he says, moving towards the broken window, "that some things are worth waiting for. Some mysteries are sweeter when they unfold slowly."

Moonlight catches in his dark hair as he pauses at the window's edge. "Besides, you always did love puzzles. You used to spend hours on them when you couldn't sleep."

Another piece of impossible knowledge. Another fragment that feels true but shouldn't exist. "How do you know that?"

"I know lots of things about you." His grin turns wicked. "You bite your lip when you're thinking too hard. You always eat the corners of sandwiches first. You used to trace constellations on my back with your fingertips."

Your weapon wavers. "Stop."

"Why? Does it hurt to remember what you've forgotten?"

"I haven't forgotten anything. I don't even know who you are." But even as you say it, phantom sensations ghost across your fingertips.

"Liar." He says it fondly. "You remember pieces. Little fragments that visit you in dreams. That's why you followed the melody tonight."

He's right again. You hate that he's right again.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says, preparing to slip through the window.

"Wait—" The word tears from your throat. "At least tell me your name."

He pauses, half-silhouetted against the night sky. "You'll remember it when you're ready."

"What if I'm never ready? What if I never remember?"

For a moment, his smile falters. Vulnerability flickers across his features. "You will. You have to."

He turns to leave, but moonlight catches his profile at just the right angle. Your breath hitches. Along his temple, barely visible unless you know what to look for, the faint outline of demonic markings. Intricate patterns that shimmer like oil on water, there one second and gone the next.

Your training kicks in before your heart can catch up. The weapon in your hands shifts, finger finding the trigger. He's a demon. You're a hunter. The math is simple.

His hair shifts slightly, and for just a moment, you catch a glimpse of his eyes through the strands.

"You see it now," he says quietly. "The monster I am.”

Your finger hovers over the trigger. This is what you've trained for. What you've dedicated your life to. But something deep inside you hesitates.

Your hand trembles. The weapon feels impossibly heavy.

"Tomorrow," he says again, stepping towards the window. "When you remember who we were, you'll understand why I can't fight you. Why I'll never fight you."

In the blink of an eye, he's gone, leaving you alone with the echo of his voice, that phantom melody, and the terrible knowledge that you just let a demon walk away.

You land back on the balcony, chest heaving. The sliding door opens before you can compose yourself. Rumi, Mira, and Zoey spill out, eyes wide with panic.

"Where were you?! We've been searching everywhere—"

"Can we go tomorrow instead?" Your voice sounds foreign. "I don't feel great."

They exchange loaded glances. Eventually Rumi nods. "Of course. Rest is part of prep too."

You turn away before they can see the cracks spreading across your composure and witness how your hands shake.

That night, your bed feels like a battleground. The melody plays on repeat behind your closed eyes. Each note carries weight you can't name and memories you can't quite grasp.

The mystery of it all pressed against your mind. What past did you share? Why couldn't you remember? 

Mystery himself seemed to revel in the unknowing, content to watch you struggle with fragments of what you'd once been to each other. 

BABY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Something was wrong with your hands.

They'd been trembling since you left the dorm, and no amount of clenching your fists or pressing them against your thighs could make it stop. Rumi's words echoed in your head like a mantra you couldn't shake, "Don't let his face fool you. They're still dangerous demons working for Gwi-Ma nevertheless."

Pictures of the Saja Boys were already circulating online in less than a day. Five demons who'd seemingly appeared overnight, stealing the hearts and souls of your fans.

"Ugh, I’m going to beat their stupid pretty little faces," Zoey had said, tapping the images with her pen. "Seriously, look at them! Acting all mysterious and brooding like they're in some kind of boy band. I mean—they are… but look! The internet's already making fan edits—fan edits! Of demons!" She'd gestured wildly at her tablet, where countless social media posts were flooding in by the minute. "Half the comments are people asking where they can meet them. It's insane!”

You'd barely heard her. Your eyes had been drawn to one face among the five, sharp features that still held traces of boyish softness.

His face had made your chest tighten with recognition, like looking at a stranger who wore the face of someone from a half-remembered dream.

Why did he feel familiar?

The neighbourhood around you was a study in urban decay, half the buildings scheduled for demolition, the other half already hollow shells. You decided to turn a corner and came across an abandoned playground.

You knew this place.

You stopped mid-step at the chain-link gate. The monkey bars where someone had scraped their knee. The slide with the chip in the yellow paint. The bike rack, now empty and listing to one side like a broken rib.

This was from your dreams. Or maybe...

"Didn't expect you to come."

The voice drifted from somewhere behind the playground equipment with an edge that made your hand move instinctively to your weapon. You'd heard that voice before, in fragments that scattered whenever you tried to grasp them.

"Show yourself," you called, stepping through the gate. The metal squealed in protest, the sound echoing off empty buildings like a warning.

He laughed mockingly. "Still giving orders, I see."

He emerged from behind the slide, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill of the night. He looked barely out of his teens, with features that still held traces of boyish softness despite the hard set of his jaw.

"You always had a thing for chasing monsters," he said, tilting his head as he studied you with uncomfortable intensity. Those dark eyes flickered, darting away from your face as if looking directly at you caused him physical pain.

"How do you know me?"

Baby shrugged with affected indifference. "Lucky guess."

The way he held himself like he was trying very hard not to care, made anger flare in your chest. "That's not an answer."

He kicked at a piece of broken glass, sending it skittering across the asphalt. "Maybe you're just forgettable."

The casual cruelty in his voice should have stung. You drew your blade, silver gleaming in the late afternoon light.

"Are you going to come quietly, or do we have to do this the hard way?"

Baby looked at the weapon, then back at your face. For a moment, vulnerability flickered across his features before he crushed it down.

"Do what the hard way?" He stepped closer, invading your personal space with  reckless confidence. "Fight me? Kill me?" His voice dropped, a hint of intimacy laced inside, bitter amusement threading through each word. "You wouldn't be the first to try."

You raised the blade between you, but instead of stopping, he knocked it aside with casual violence, the metal ringing as it struck the nearby swing set. Before you could recover, he was on you, crowding you back against the chain-link fence with predatory grace.

"I waited for you, you know," he said, one hand braced against the fence beside your head, effectively trapping you. "Stupid thing to do when you're a kid."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. "What?"

His free hand came up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. The touch was rough, but not enough to hurt.

"You really don't remember," he said, his laugh sharp enough to cut. "How convenient."

"Remember what?" The desperation in your voice made you flinch, but you couldn't take it back.

"Us." The single word fell between you, sending ripples through memories you couldn't quite grasp. "This place. The promises you made."

You tried to push him away, but he caught your wrists, pinning them against the fence. His grip was careful despite his aggression, strong enough to hold you, gentle enough not to bruise.

"You died," he said, voice flat and matter-of-fact. "And I had to grow up. Happy now?"

The world tilted sideways. Images flashed through your mind like broken film, a boy with tears streaming down his face, small hands clutching yours, a voice promising forever, all turned into ashes now.

"I'll never leave you."

The words rose from deep in your throat. Baby's eyes snapped to yours, wide with… hope, if hope weren't such a dangerous thing for creatures like him to carry.

"You broke your promise first," he whispered, and the accusation send a chill down your spine. 

You stumbled when he finally released you, pressing a hand to your chest where the ache was spreading like cracks in ice. Baby stepped back, flexing his fingers, trying to forget the feel of your skin.

"I don't—" You shook your head, struggling to make sense of the fragments flashing through your mind. "I don't understand."

"No," Baby said, his mask completely slipping. "You never did understand. You were always too good for this world."

He kicked your fallen blade across the asphalt, the metal scraping against concrete. "That's why you had to die, isn't it? Pure things don't last in places like this."

The words were bitter, but his voice cracked on the last syllable. He turned away quickly, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Next time we meet, I won't be nice," he said without looking back.

"Please, wait—"

He froze at the sound of your plea, shoulders going rigid. You thought he might turn around. Instead, he let out a short and humourless laugh.

"Begging now? Huh, pathetic."

H walked away, each step deliberate and final. Just as he reached the edge of the playground, he stopped.

"The songs," he said quietly, not turning around. "Those stupid lullabies you used to sing when I had nightmares. I still—"

He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head.

"Forget it. Forget everything."

He simply walked away down the empty street like any other person with anywhere else to be. You watched until he turned the corner and vanished from sight, leaving you alone with your forgotten blade and the sound of wind through rusted swings.

You picked up your weapon with trembling hands, but the silver felt cold and foreign now, it now felt like it belonged to someone else entirely.

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

taglist : @lvlyhiyyih @tinyelfperson @8makes1atom @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @jungwonbropls @prodkwh @reibelhearts @kjwluvr @arieslucy @permanenceimp @arienic

[yan-randomfandom]

I've been reading the fanart. You have a natural talent for creating a more distinctive personality for the Saja Boys from the bits and pieces they gave us in the movie!

Ever since that fanart where the Saja sneaked into the reader's room, I couldn't stop imagining what they would be like sleeping alone with her, as if every day of the week except the weekends they will take turns sleeping with the reader or something like that.

And again, I love your writing. I hope you like the idea. Have a nice day!!!

Saja Boys x GN!Reader

a/n; anon thank you so much heheh!!! this one isn't too accurate to your idea, but i love it and i hope it's still okay!

summary; physical touch with the boys and why they wanna go to your bedroom :))) (touch starved. written separately but they all live in the same housing)

warnings; stalking (watching you sleep), body curious, touching w no permission, nothing sexual tho!

— 🍃 [Monday]

Here's the thing, guys. The boys don't actually need sleep. They're demons. Sleep isn't something their bodies need—instead it's something they want. They are still aware and can feel through touch, which is exactly why they'd prefer to sleep with you.

You're warm, so alive, and they don't know it yet.

Surprisingly enough, Jinu is the first one to knock on your door.

"Jinu?" you drawl, voice laced with sleep. He stands awkwardly by the doorway, patiently waiting for you to process what's happening. Glancing idly at your sleepwear and dimlit room.

You yawn, widening the door. "What's up? Need something?" You pause, raising a lazy accusing finger. "Wait. You're not here to suck my blood, are you—?!"

"What? No!" Jinu gasps, almost offended. You sigh out of relief anyway.

"...We're not interested in physical bodies. Anyway, uh, sorry for waking you up. I just need to see how our socials are going," he explains as he steps into your room. "You can power your computer and go back to sleep."

As soon as you heard the word 'social', you were already turning it on. "'kay, buddy. You sure you don't need help, though? I know I taught you a bit but I understand it can get confusing—"

"No, no," Jinu huffs, denial flooding his form. "I can do it."

"You remember how to turn it off?"

"Yes. Don't worry."

Then you fall asleep next to him, your body slightly pressing against his. His eyes slowly drift away from the glow of the computer screen to your sleeping form. He stares for a moment.

Soft, warm. It reminds him of the past on how he couldn't sleep with his own fam—

Jinu pulls the computer plug off and teleports away.

—💐 [Tuesday]

Baby made you piggyback him. A lot. It was sort of your fault.

You saw the Saja Boys taking turns carrying him—it was a pretty funny ordeal. Then you jokingly offered to piggyback him to see what the hype was about.

He accepted it all too eagerly. As soon as his full weight falls on you, you're genuinely surprised at how light he is. It's probably equivalent to a box full of volleyballs.

"You're lighter than I thought," you say, adjusting your arms behind his legs.

Baby suddenly lets his head rest on yours. "Why are you so..." Warm. He buries himself into your shoulder, his arms tightening around you.

"Why am I so what?" you ask, turning your head, only achieving to tickle him more.

He doesn't let you go for the rest of the day.

And by extension, night.

You tried to complain at first. "Didn't we agree to—"

"Just this once, please?"

You folded.

He snuggles all comfortable within your arms, acting as the little spoon, greedily content in your warmth and breathing.

But then you wake up with his mouth on your skin. He wasn't biting, sucking, or anything. It was just.... there.

Still, though, you assumed the worst.

"I thought you said demons don't suck blood, Jinu!?!"

"We don't!!?!"

—🪷 [Wednesday]

Abby wanted you to touch his abs for some mysterious reason. Yapping about how "no one else will have this chance," or "you might not live long enough to feel it!" and "I actually haven't let anyone touch my artificial abs yet" — it was really weird, but you shrugged it off and agreed anyway.

Like hell yeah. Sure, why not?

So he unbuttons his shirt, all giddy, and watches as you reach for his skin.

You make contact with his abs. Caressing it gently, it feels normal in texture — but you suppose it's a little too cold. The fact didn't totally sound weird at the time.

Looking up, you flinch at Abby's expression. You thought he'd be smiling, like he was the whole time, but he looks so serious that it's actually concerning. He's not looking at you; his eyes were down and fixated on your hand.

You notice, pulling your hand away from him, and snapping your fingers. "You okay?"

He blinks. "Uh."

Later that night, Abby welcomes himself into your room.

He stares at you from the corner. From the center. From the edge of your bedframe. On your bed.

Sometimes, he'd gently let his hands roam over your exposed skin. Mostly your warm hands. And your warm face.

You wake up to find his face in front of you.

Screaming, you unintentionally kick him in the abs.

"Ow, my perfectly crafted abs!"

— 🪻 [Thursday]

Mystery almost lost it when you pat his head.

You did it voluntarily. It's a nice, comforting feeling as you pat his shoulder, his arm, and his cheek. He utterly melts under your casual touches without a single word.

He loves it. You leave him demanding for more. So, Mystery decides to linger around you like a guard dog. Who hopes to be spoiled, who wishes to be held.

But, then, night comes.

"You're not exactly allowed in my room," you say, only to pause when he straight up whimpers.

... You folded. With a sigh, you step away from the door and give him space to walk in.

He happily skips into your room, flopping face-first on your bed. You stare at him for a moment, thinking about how despite them not being human — they really love to rest.

You lie down, feeling Mystery move around under your blanket, closing your eyes when he finds himself comfortable against your chest.

Your chest rising and falling with every breath—Mystery simply can't help but feel envious.

— 🌺 [Friday]

Romance is confused.

There's a buzz between his band members — apparently, they visited your bedroom? Didn't they agree to avoid that specific place in this house?

He doesn't realize he's been staring blankly at nowhere. Reality hits him hard when something gentle touches his hair.

"Might wanna style your hair again, Rome," you chuckle, brushing his hair with your fingers. He shivers when your skin grazes his forehead. "You got the bed head. Though I guess you just snap your fingers and it'd be all okay."

You leave right after that, but Romance keeps staring at the last place he saw your figure, his fingers fidgeting with the hair you just touched.

Okay. He gets it now.

Next day, you woke up with him hovering over your head.

You suddenly grab his shoulders, push him back against your bed, breathing heavy from the shock. The bed sinks under both your weight.

Romance stares immensely up at you.

"You guys," you breath, "will be the death of me."

He smirks. "I can only imagine."

— krazy

[cursedbycrossovers]

Help Wanted ≠ Send Sacrifices (Pt. 3)

Danny… didn't know what he was looking at.

When the door to his office had burst open, jolting him from his nap, Danny had leapt from his chair and almost begun blasting instinctively.

It was a good thing he hadn't, because the guy in the red helmet felt like the absolute weakest ghost he'd ever encountered and would probably destabilize if Danny breathed on him too hard, while the guy he was carrying seemed to be an entirely living human.

They all stared at each other for a few moments before Danny managed to open his mouth.

"Um. Can I… help you?"

The guy in the red helmet lit up, as if he had been eagerly awaiting permission to speak, and held out the human proudly. "I brought you Tim!"

The smaller one stiffened up at the mention of his name, briefly shooting the other a bizarre combination of confusion, irritation, and concern before his eyes snapped back to Danny, as if afraid to look away for long.

"Oh-kay…" Had Danny ever met this ghost before? He was pretty sure the answer was 'no,' and even if he had, he didn't think he would have asked him for a guy named Tim. "Why?"

Red-Helmet-Guy deflated completely, giving off the aura of a very, very sad, betrayed puppy. "You don't like him?"

Shit, even through the mechanical quality to his voice, the guy sounded like he was close to tears. "No, no! It- It's fine, I like him plenty!" Danny scrambled to reassure, although maybe that wasn't the best idea either, considering how the human's expression got about 10x more alarmed, and his eyes began quickly darting around, as if scanning for escape routes. "I'm just wondering… why you brought him?" Danny tried.

The helmeted man's crumpled-can posture immediately straightened out as he puffed up with pride. "This is my brother, Tim! He's the smartest person I know. He runs a fortune 500 company, is a whiz at computers and science, and comes up with genius plans on the fly! He's the most tenacious little bastard you'll ever meet, and he can lie to Batman!"

He enthused like a child at show-and-tell, looking particularly smug about the last thing. Danny has no idea what a Batman is, but the rest of the resume sounds fairly impressive.

Wait a minute.

Danny glanced down from the man's helmet to find that the human had stopped moving, his face gone somewhat stunned and red. Danny's eyes then moved back up to the flat white lenses of the ghost who was practically radiating hope and joy.

"Did you bring me your brother to be my secretary?!"

One of the paperwork piles toppled, its pieces fluttering and scattering across the floor.

— — —

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2

[carmenlikeme]

The decision to have a second child with Robby isn't an easy one.

You both want to. Your first baby was and still is your biggest blessing; you would never regret them, and there wasn't a moment when you didn't think about having another baby. At least two children. Three, if you felt like you could survive not sleeping for over 12 consecutive years.

But your first pregnancy had been so difficult for you, you had doubts.

Well, Robby had doubts.

During your first trimester, you were barely able to drink water before wanting to throw up. Dana recommended some anti-nausea medication, and Robby decided to pick up the least amount of shifts he could to make sure you were okay, always by your side, and just right behind you as you collapsed on the tiled floor.

Your second trimester was a bliss, full of cute pictures, early maternity shoots, and an intimate gender reveal where Robby cried his eyes out after finding out he was gonna become a girl dad. Endless purchases and moodboards for the nursery. You couldn't ask for anything better.

Then, the third trimester came, and with that, the early-onset preeclampsia.

You spend most of your days in bed now, just standing up to go to the bathroom, and even then, you're being looked after when you walk, even for a few steps. When you are close to 34 weeks, you both decide to admit you to the hospital for monitoring, and Robby feels so much better knowing you're only a few floors away.

That's why he looks so stressed, speaking to Dana about how you both want it, but you might consider adoption to avoid putting you at risk once more. Javadi is close by, and before she can stop herself, she opens her mouth to speak.

"Dr. Robby, did you know that 13% of preeclampsia cases are attributed to paternal factors? There's this study that says that while women's genetics are the most important, if the father was born from a pregnancy with preeclampsia. It's generally attributed to 13% from the father, there's another..."

"Hey, crash! I need your help!" Santos interjects, pulling her by her sweatshirt and dragging her away against her will.

Robby stands still next to Dana, who isn't sure if she should kill Victoria just yet. He pauses, tries to find something to say.

"Is that true?" he asks.

"What's true?" Samira joins the conversation, a tablet in her hand. "Mr. Murphy is ready for discharge."

"Javadi just said preeclampsia can be attributed to paternal factors," he says, his tone is almost sarcastic.

"Oh, yeah. There are a lot of new studies about that, also about how paternal diet, mental health, and exercise habits can have an impact on a pregnancy. There's also a greater risk of a premature birth if the father is over 45, so..."

The rest of the conversation and the day go by in a blink. Robby goes home defeated. And there you are, the TV is on, but you're fast asleep with your baby girl on your chest. He smiles, and for a moment, he forgets about the thing that almost made him spiral.

You wake up 30 minutes later. He's cleaning, and you're sure there's a new load of laundry already in the washer. You want to stand up, but your baby is just so comfortable there, you don't wanna wake her up.

"Good morning, love," he says when he walks back into the room. He leans in, careful enough not to disturb his daughter, and kisses you softly. "I missed you two."

"Thank god you have the weekend off," you whisper. "She didn't take a nap today."

"Well, she's almost one. She wants to conquer the world, but her body isn't letting her. Now that she's walking, she'll be unstoppable."

He sits next to you, and even as careful as he is, your baby wakes up. Her bright eyes open, Robby immediately grabs her from your chest and pulls her onto his.

"Show daddy your new shirt, baby," you say. She's still sleepy, but immediately cries when she is far away from you. She cries and tries to crawl back to you immediately. "This kid, she wouldn't even let me go to pee for two seconds."

She sits up on your lap, and it's only then that Robby pulls down her shirt to see it. His hand stays there, frozen, as he reads the words over and over again. He feels like choking up. It's like you're both back in your old apartment, cramped in the tiny bathroom as you wait for the pregnancy test results.

Best Big Sister.

He doesn't know how long it takes him to turn to you, but there you are, holding a pregnancy test that says "Pregnant. 3-4 weeks". You're crying, and he doesn't know when he started crying with you.

"Surprise!" you whisper, choked up. "I guess it's happening."

He kisses you again, this time he takes his time, despite how much your daughter babbles and screams. Just for a second, he kisses you like the world is about to end in just a moment.

"I guess it is."

Nothing matters, just for a second. It's just him, you and your little family.

© CARMENLIKEME 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, modify or claim as yours.

[arowitharrows]

people keep generally agreeing (?) with this post only to double down on the 'not doing anything' phrase and like, if you want to continue using this sentiment then sure, I'm not stopping you. But I personally won't stand behind it and my first assumption will be that people using it have not fully deconstructed and understood the mechanisms of queerphobia and/or do not understand asexuality and aromanticism.

In the past years, and especially with a focus on queer infighting and "discourse", it has become very clear to me how important it is to understand the reasons behind people's prejudice against certain minority groups. Everyone knows that queerphobia exists, but I find it helpful to ask myself, do I know why it exists? Do I know which fundamental beliefs drive people's hatred? Do I know how these beliefs differ between, e.g. the political far right, conservative christians, or my grandmother who grew up in the 40s? It is so important to consider these things, both in determining how to address the problem of queerphobia in the current context and to avoid pointless discourse about who does or doesn't face discrimination in our society.

So, in the context of this post, I need aspec people to understand that no matter how hard you cling to "we aren't even doing anything", it's not going to save you. Sure, people hate queer sex a lot, and maybe you aren't having queer sex. But it is vital to understand that, usually, their core belief isn't that no one should have sex ever, it's that people should have sex in a specific controlled context - e.g. married, heterosexual, sex for procreation, romantic sex - and they will not be happy with you if you don't comply. Choosing to never have sex is expressing bodily autonomy that they do not want you to have. And if you are clinging to this phrase because of a general feeling of "I'm just living my live, why would anyone hate me for existing?" then yeah, I get that, I really do. But don't forget that that's true for every single queer orientation out there.

Also on that note, I need people to not erase aromanticism from this discussion. If we are talking about aphobia then that includes aromantic people and it includes aromantic people who aren't asexual. It includes the way people react to aromantic people having sex without being romantically attracted to their partners. I feel like often times when people say they don't understand aphobia, and when they try to explain/justify this stance, it's only in the context of "not having sex" and aromanticism is somehow forgotten.

tbh I really dislike how aphobia tends to be discussed whenever there's some kind of incident that makes it visible to general society. The most common response seems to be some variation of "why would anyone hate asexual/aromantic people, they aren't even doing anything" and it just always sits wrong with me. It paints such a passive picture of our existence and feels like a comment influenced by the level of invisibility that aspec people have in society. Why would you be annoyed by someone who is practically invisible? Just go back to ignoring their existence, it's easy!

But despite the invisibility, aspec people are actually doing quite a lot of things that will piss off queerphobic, right-wing and religious people (and hell, even left-wing people). And the most obvious point is that we are actively not performing heterosexuality the way they want us to. People who's entire world view is "cis men and women should be in monogamous, heterosexual marriage and have (white) babies" are not going to lean back and say "oh but those asexuals and aromantics are fine". They will also hate our guts, and they will come up with all sorts of reasons, including insinuating we're all secretly into bestiality, or mentally ill, or not human, or attention seeking children. It's just plain old queerphobia, and like all queerphobia, there's no inherent logic to it which you can worm your way out of by "not doing anything".

And like, there's a lot more that aspec people do which people hate. Raising awareness about amatonormativity? People feel attacked, they hate it. Asexual people having sex? Or not having sex? People hate it! Aromantic people being in (seemingly) romantic relationships? People fucking hate it! Aromantic people having sex? Ohh people hate that!!

I guess the existence of aphobia can be confusing when you haven't spent much time thinking about asexuality and aromanticism, but in the end, these are identities that aren't heteronormative and they will be hit with the same or similar bigotry as any other queer identity. I just get tired of this response after seeing it recycled for 10 years without ever seeming to go any further.

[pearlfull]

party on u ( part of u knew )

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ SYNOPSIS: 〝 You know that I've been waiting for you. 〞 Batboys x Reader. ⋆˚࿔ A/N: Heavily inspired by Charli XCX and the devastating edits to this song lol. Dick's is the most literal interpretation of the song. Jason's weird. I love Tim Drake. Yearning bro. I'm taking requests + commissions! More details on that soon. Help a college girl save for car repairs<3

ᯓ★ DICK GRAYSON.

IT WAS SOMETHING UNSPOKEN YET PRESENT. You weren’t just friends. But you didn't call it love either.

It started with shared takeout food.

Shaky laughter while pinning you on the ground during training. Late night text messages. Sleepless nights spent on the same couch. Dick's hand laced yours in the dark, and he tried to match your breath's rhythm as you fell asleep on his chest, fingers curling into your sleep shirt.

Eventually, there were white tulips he brought after work and Bruce was asking about you.

He was always careful with you.

Because he'd done the song and routine before. Been left with the kind of bruises in places you couldn't see.

There were nights when he'd leave before you woke. He'd left you coffee on your nightstand like it was a consolation prize. And you let him. Let him stay his welcome way too long, and then let him disappear for a couple days. Maybe it was stupid, but it was better than nothing.

wonderboy i didn’t want to miss you tonight i already do when you’re still in the room

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not out of anger, not resentment. Still. It was on purpose. On both ends.

You'd stop asking if he wanted you to pick up candy for him at the grocery store and he had stopped asking when he could see you again. Maybe he had thought if he pulled away it would go away.

The invitation felt like a test. An unspoken, come if you still care. Or come so I know you haven't stopped.

It's his birthday, and silver balloons litter the hallway, and Donna laughter is already ringing through as you step in, and Roy's throwing gummy bears into Wally's glass.

You're wearing something that made you feel braver than you were, black fabric clinging to your hips--looking through the crowd with a tight chest.

His grin was the center of the room. His bright blue eyes found yours, and he didn't come over. His pupils were blown.

Kept staring, almost comically. Wondering if whether he still had the right to do that, even though he'd invited you. And you came. And he had worn that cologne you'd mentioned you'd loved, and even had tried to make his hair fall nicely. He kind of felt like a thirteen year old boy getting ready for his first Sadie Hawkins dance. It was wracking to feel like that again.

But maybe he was remembering just how much he'd hurt you by staying so close and never choosing.

You crossed the room slowly. Talked to Donna, and let Roy grab you a drink.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Dick's balcony's always been cold. Maybe he'd overstepped by draping his jacket over your pretty shoulders.

(But neither of you cared, and the lining was so nice!)

“I didn’t think you’d ask.” Your voice doesn't come out quiet, and you're surprised by its steadiness.

Dick looked down at his shoes. “I didn’t know if I deserved to.”

Your smile was glossy, close lipped. “You don’t get to disappear and then expect me to ask you to show up. It's mean.”

“I know.” A beat. “Uh, when I was halfway, I could pretend I wasn’t scared.”

“Were you?”

“Terrified.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I know that seems like such a shitty cop out. The whole, commitment phobe thing. But I still wanted you to come tonight.” Dick stopped. Cracked his knuckles. “I’ve missed you.”

“I don't believe in love that waits.”

Dick's brows are knit closely. “I know.”

“I'm not gonna be waiting.”

“I don’t want you to. I'll meet you where you are. Sorry I didn’t sooner.”

His breath clouds in the air. His voice cracks as he adds, “I get why you stopped asking.”

“Didn’t want to keep asking for something that wasn't fully ours.”

“That’s on me.”

“You were scared?”

“Still kinda am.”

He shifts beside you, steps closer. Adjusts his jacket, so the collar doesn't look rumpled. Dick's fingers brush the side of your throat.

Inside, he doesn't reach for your hand. Just walks close. As close as you'll let him. Close enough that it’s obvious.

You walk back to your car. Your phone lights up.

wonderboy thanks for coming beautiful you didn’t have to

you don’t thank me happy birthday 💙

ᯓ★ JASON TODD.

JASON IS ALWAYS AROUND. Your brother's second shadow. Not because they're attached at the hip. Roy is one of the few people that lets him stand beside him without flinching.

Initially, he barely acknowledges you.

He'll grunt a greeting when you grab a glass of juice, nods from across the kitchen. He always leaves his bike helmet on the counter tile like it's a centerpiece. It smells like gunpowder and iron, and you definitely think it says way more than he ever does with his mouth. Gun oil. Boots on the carpet. Pride and Prejudice folded in his back pocket.

You were studying journalism at university. Doing some stories. Freelance. An open notebook tucked under your arm. You asked questions too fast sometimes--half Harper nature--about everything, about nothing.

And Jason didn’t like it. Said so.

“Why do you talk to people like you’re digging for something?”

“Cause people lie.”

He didn’t say anything after that.

It was Roy’s fault! He left his phone out on the sofa. You didn’t care to look, but the cracked screen had some picture of you and Roy. Jason sent it.

jaybird when was this is she dating someone?

roy tf do you care lmao don’t be fucking weird

jaybird just asking.

roy that’s my sister.

jaybird shut up.

You noticed him staring more after that.

One time at breakfast, you spilled coffee on the edge of your sweater sleeve, cursing under your breath. You didn’t think he was even awake. Jason was slumped at the table over a bowl of cereal. His hoodie pulled up like he hadn’t slept at all. He passed you a paper towel before you even asked. Didn’t even look at you.

Later, your old press badge was pressed against the counter. It was lost for weeks. Bent but clean.

“You found this?” you turned to Roy, eyes glittering.

Roy rubbed his mouth. “Huh?”

Jason starts asking you things. Small things.

“Where’d that article of yours go? The vigilante case?”

“Sleep last night?”

He asked them like it didn't matter, like he didn't already know the answers. His fingers drummed while waiting for your replies, and he seems to drink in every single thing you say.

An interview that went south. A CEO with yellowed teeth called you doll. You bit your tongue till it stung.

Jason's in the garage, with a wrench.

“[Name], you okay?”

“I'm fine, Jay.”

“Don't lie.”

You set your leather bag on the hood of your car.

The wrench drops. “Wanna go hit something?”

You blinked. Slowly. "Sorry?”

“Gym. Pads. Gloves. I'll hold them for you.”

A smile stretches and he swears he feels like he's being lit from the inside. The way it's just for him. “Is that your version of like, a hug?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Roy didn’t pick up tonight. After a date that made your head ache, where the guy with a cheap haircut only spoke about himself, forgot his wallet, you stood outside alone. Cold.

Jason showed up instead.

His hoodie half-zipped, breath fogging in the air, from jogging, car parked across the street, his white streak a little matted. Green eyes scanned your face, and he grabbed the heels dangling from your fingers.

Your purse slipped off your shoulder, and Jason took it mid slide too.

He held both all the way home in his lap as he drove.

You let him walk you to your building, and the air had seemed to have hit you harder this time. Jason still had your bag and heels, and the space between you seemed to buzz.

The stairwell was bright, and the front light hummed over your head. Your throat was tight as you croaked out a "Thank you", softly and every word you wanted to say seemed to taunt you as you realize you rather liked his green eyes, and the golden rings inside them.

He seemed to notice your observation, and his eyes fell to the floor, the corners of his lips lifting so slightly. So, you let your hand fall between you, barely. So his could brush against it. Fingertips, then your pinky hooked his.

He turned his hand, observing the way they fit. Held it tighter, tighter than you expected.

ᯓ★ TIM DRAKE.

YOU'VE ALWAYS LIKED QUIET. Which is a good thing, because you have little else but that in a gas station working a graveyard shift. It's mostly peaceful. As peaceful Gotham can get. Little customers. No noise. Just you, and the fluorescents and the freezer that groans when it turns on.

Sometimes, you leave the counter to stand under the overhang light.

You see him for the first time at 3:24 AM.

The red and black suit. The insignia. A cowl that didn't cover his lips. Red Robin.

He doesn’t say anything. Just lands on the roof like he belongs there. Kinda freakish.

He was gone before you could look again.

The second time he shows up, he taps on the bulletproof glass with a gloved knuckle and gestures to the vending machine near the left of the entrance.

"It ate my dollar," he says.

You blink. "For real?"

"Swear on the mask."

Pretty big swear. So, you open the door. He's taller than you thought he would be. And younger. Same age, or around from what you can make of him.

You slide an energy drink and a bag of chips across the counter. "Next time you save the city bird boy, ask for some change."

He laughs. And you hate how much you like the way his lips curve.

He comes back after that. Not every single night. Although, that'd be fun. But it wasn't enough for you to expect him.

He never buys anything from you. He leans against the counter and asks how your shift was, and you hand him a bottled water and piece of bubblegum. He asks about the books you read behind the register.

"Jane Eyre?" he'd asked with a raised brow. "Sort of a dramatic choice for a Tuesday."

"Says the guy in a bird costume."

He laughed again. Now you hated how familiar it sounded.

But you didn't think much of it. Not until the week Tim stops coming to class.

He was in your study group. Quiet. He had the most gorgeous smile you think you'd seen. All toothy and boyish, despite the dark circles shadowing underneath his eyes.

You liked him more than you meant to. Still do. You swore not to, because there was something about him that seemed like if you reached out, he'd disappear like smoke. And it was getting ridiculous. You'd worn a skirt to class and curled your hair and hoped he'd notice. Forming a crush on someone because he had asked you how your day was and always helped look for your pen underneath your seat during lecture. But he was always noticing things. Listening to you, and he said your name like it was a secret that you both shared.

When he misses study group, then class, then that dumb open mic night you invited him to, you tell yourself it's nothing.

But then Red Robin shows up that same night, again.

He's chipper. "Long night?"

You let the silence stretch, doodling on some scratch paper.

He tilts his head, rocking on his heels. "Have a bad shift?"

"No," you say slowly, "Just kinda missing someone."

The mask twitches. You don't notice.

He starts coming around regularly.

You talk. About stupid shit, important stuff. Your morals. His commentary on the mayor.

You mention how sometimes you wish had a different life. How you want to graduate university already.

He's quiet as he nods, locking eyes with you.

Then he says, “I think you’re doing way better than you think.”

That's not fair to you. Because that sounds like something Tim would tell you over text casually. It makes your stomach twist and you wonder if you're falling in love with a mask, a voice, because he reminds you of someone else.

And he doesn’t even know that.

Tim knows.

He talks to you at night with a different voice, he holds himself differently and pretends that he’s not the same guy who used to try to make jokes clumsily to make you laugh. He loves your laugh.

He watches you watch him and says nothing.

If he tells you, it’ll ruin the quiet connection you’ve built. The thing he keeps crawling back to when the city’s too heavy.

[nottivagos]

notti's nightly thoughts (18+)

an: going to be honest, i don't really know what this is. i'm sleepy 😔

it wasn't uncommon for lando to miss you whilst he was away racing. he knew he couldn't bring you to every race, and he respected that you had other aspirations and responsibilities away from supporting him at races. but god did he need you now.

it wasn't like a regular craving that he could shake away with a quick scroll through some pictures of you together, no, this was different. it was the kind of desire that he did prepare for, but never knew could actually happen. he needed to hear you. desperately too.

he'd been trying to get himself off to some odd voice notes here and there for a while that evening, but it wasn't enough. he needed to hear your voice again, and craved to even be told what to do by you.

in an act of desperation, he called you, not expecting you to answer. it was an ungodly hour for you at home, so he wasn't getting his hopes up for anything, but luckily he'd struck gold.

you stirred from your sleep, groggily turning over to your bedside table to see lando's name lit up on your phone. lethargically answering the phone, you croakily spoke into the microphone, wondering what your boyfriend's reasoning was for calling you at such an ungodly hour.

when lando answered, his voice was already a little breathless. his cock was half hard as he rested topless on his large bed in his hotel room, one hand just aimlessly tracing over his bulge whilst the other held his phone in his hand.

"you sound a little breathless," you asked out of concern. "you alright, lan?" you asked with a genuine concern, "you don't sound very well," you added with your eyebrow raised.

"me? oh, i'm alright babe," he laughed off, fisting himself through his boxers. "just got a little bit of a cold that's all," he mumbled, closing his eyes as he continued to rub up and down the now painfully straining cock in his boxers.

with a hum, you shrugged it off. you started to talk, rambling about things going on at home, blissfully unaware of lando pleasuring himself to your voice. lando's hands came to nearly rip his boxers from his body, letting his angry red cock bounce free onto his lower stomach, tip leaking with salty pre-cum.

lando continued to stroke his length as you continued rambling, thumb smearing the pre-cum down his length, whilst his curls fell on his pillow as he tilted his head upwards in pleasure. his mind was hazy, high on not only the adrenaline pumping through his veins, but the ecstasy of hearing your voice after so long apart.

losing any self awareness, lando let out a short whine, biting his lip to try and suppress it as much as possible, but failing miserably. your eyes widened in realisation, stopping what you were saying mid conversation to question what the hell lando just did.

"why did you just moan?" you asked bluntly and directly, adjusting yourself upwards on your bed.

"n-no!" lando exclaimed, grip hard on his twitching length as his froze, hot blood pumping through his veins. "why the hell would i moan?" he tried to laugh off, but you weren't having it.

"are you touching yourself to the sound of my voice?" you asked rather bluntly again, but lando could sense the smirk plastered on your face from his end of the line.

"why would i do that?!" he blurted out sheepishly, trying to lie through his teeth but failing miserably. "i'm not touching myself," he denied again, "i just-, i just missed your voice, okay?"

"aw, that's cute," you mumbled, "but i'd bet you'd need me to tell you what to do, wouldn't you? i bet you're so lost without the sound of my voice in your ear," you trailed off as lando grabbed his throbbing cock, thrusting the fleshlight around it so it fitted ever so snugly.

"please," he whined stupidly, phone now discarded to the corner of the mattress. "i need you," lando panted, pleading nearly as the breath was sucked out of his lungs in the breathless gasps escaping his lips.

"tell me what you want me to do, baby. i'm all yours," he added, biting his bottom lip at the feeling of the fleshlight fitted snugly around his throbbing length, making him a mess. but god did you revel off of that.

"yeah?" you asked, "you're all mine, are you?" you hummed with a devilish excitement flurrying in your insides. "why don't you let me hear those pretty little noises that you make whilst you tell me how you're feeling, hm?"

"fuck," he panted, fisting his cock with the toy. "it's just-," he stuttered, tears forming in his eyes as he continued to jerk himself off, "i just need to feel you- inside of me, and i can't-," he cut himself off as he whimpered, biting down on his hand to suppress a moan mixed with a sob.

"oh, it's that bad, huh?" you cooed, "you really miss me that much, lando? aren't you such a sweet thing," you murmured, voice laced with venomous sweetness as you felt your panties become wet from hearing lando's moans vibrate through your phone's speaker.

"if i cum please just promise me that you'll come to my next race," lando breathed as his hips rolled in a haste rhythm whilst thrusting the toy harder onto his cock. "that's all i ask," he added, before groaning, "fuck-, i'm close."

"oh you're close?" you hummed with a raised eyebrow. after a moment of pondering, listening to lando's moans grow louder and louder, you answered, "alright, i'll come to your next race," giggling before adding in a sultry mumble, "come for me, lando."

salty tears streamed down lando's face as he let out a guttural moan, hot spurts of come painting the inside of his fleshlight. the sticky white trailed down his length, painting the inside of his thighs as he panted, coming down from his high.

"good boy," you praised as lando whimpered, chest heaving. "that feel better, lando? i bet it does, doesn't it," you murmured into the phone with a sadistic smile on your face.

"now turn on your camera," you commanded, "i want to see what pathetic mess my stupid boyfriend made on his toy thinking about me." <3

[manifestingitgurlll]

so you know its yours. now what?

nothing. you do nothing.

one of the biggest traps from the ego, is the belief that you need to DO something. that you need to affirm, or visualize, or saturate your mind, and on and on. and if you don't do these things, then you won't GET your desire.

but it's not true. you already have your desire. why would you be doing anything to get something you already have? you don't!!

once you decide, then it is done. there's nothing for you to do. you just continue being knowing that it's yours.

what does knowing look like? the same way you know the sky is blue. do you doubt it? do you affirm 10k times a day to remind yourself? do you visualize it in fear that you'll forget it? no, you just KNOW. that's all there is to it!

so stop putting your manifestation in a chokehold, trying to control it. let it go. i know it can be hard. i know it can be scary, thinking, "but if i let it go or move on, then what if it won't happen?"

but remember that's not true, it's just the ego talking. like i just said with the sky being blue. you don't obsess over it right? and look...the sky is still blue. you know you're going to fall asleep tonight right? do you obsess over that? no! and guess what? you still fall asleep!

when you decide, it's done. ALWAYS.

[revelboo]

I had terrible PPD when my son was born. It was so bad that I was almost hospitalized. I lied through my teeth to get out of it, because I didn't want to leave my son. But man, that crying did something to me.

May I request a scenario where reader and Megatron both get PPD? As always, you don't have to if you don't wanna. Thank you!

P.S. We all survived. The baby will be 18 soon. :)

Sure- I can only imagine that would be particularly stressful if they won’t stop crying

Stress

TFP Megatron x Reader

• “Please, please stop,” you whisper, sitting crosslegged on the berth with your son in your arms, rocking him and yourself as you curl forward around him. And his venting is hitching noisily as he wails and he’s been at it so long, he’s rasping now, optics squeezed shut and tiny servos curled in fists. It’s you. It must be you, you’re failing him. Not cut out for this as the anxiety cranks higher until you’re crying, too. Bent forward over him sobbing. “I’m trying.”

• Freezing when he lets himself into the habsuite and he’s greeted with his sparkling screaming, his jaw clenches. Half tempted to just go right back out, because he can’t take that spark wrenching noise. And you look up, eyes red and tears running down your face. Sees the fear and panic in your eyes, the way your shoulders hunch and it’s like a physical blow that you act like you think he’s about to yell at you. Head lowering as your shoulders tremble, tears dripping on his son’s head as you cup the sparkling to you and Megatron crosses the floor, mass shifting to join you. Doesn’t know what to do with this, how to fix it, both of you sobbing brokenly. Hurting. Reaches for you and you flinch, still not looking at him. Do you really think he’s that much of a monster? Except, that is how he’s acted, isn’t it?

• Wails faltering into hiccuping chirps and ragged hisses as soon as your son spots Megatron, you go limp and docile as he sits and drags you into his, his thighs on either side of you. Because the only time he’s not screaming is when he’s hissing at his big, asshole sire. Everything about this wrong. You’d loved your son the second you’d held him in your arms, but you feel like you’re failing him. That’s why he’s screaming, it’s you. It has to be you. “He won’t stop,” you whisper, sobbing as Megatron’s chin brushes your head and you hang onto his arm.

• Almost resents his own sparkling, almost despises him for hurting you like this, because you faced him head on. Never backed down even when you were scared, but this is breaking you and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Hears his son hissing and clearing his vents in little coughs, upset and stressed. And you’re crying, holding the sparkling and shaking against him. “I can’t do this,” you sob and he presses his mouth against the top of your head.

• Need him, need the warmth of that little frame against you. Those little servos clinging to your fingers or Megatron’s harness. But you feel like you’re unraveling every time he cries and you don’t know how to make it better. Shouldn’t you just know? Instead you’re struggling, depressed and anxious and failing him. And Megatron’s arms come around you even as your son warbles his distress and your big mate is rocking you, cheek sliding against your own. “We’ll figure this out,” he growls, voice gruff as your son’s face crumples and he wails even louder.

[sparrows4bats]

Damian only shows his art to those he trusts for years.

His art is so deeply personal that he can't bear for it to be perceived, much less gifted to others.

Dick gets his first painting during his time as Damians Batman.

Steph gets hers after the bounce house.

Alfred commissions him so he has new art for the house. His favourite is a family portrait he keeps in his bedroom.

Duke gets gifted sketches of Signal and Gotham in the sunrise

Cass gets given beautiful moments of ballet dancers.

Bruce is given portraits of his parents.

Damian paints Tim's photographs.

Jason gets artfully designed bookmarks.

Barbara has lovely landscapes and shots of the city she protects from behind her desk.

Other get given bits and piece Damians thinks they might enjoy.

But Jon Kent has an almost constant supply and access to Damians doodles.

He is Damians' creativity buddy and sounding board. Damian draws manga and comics while Jon write stories for them.

There's only one sketchbook he doesn't get to see, the one Damian keeps locked in his desk.

Jon has asked before, but Damian always shuts him down, saying it's private, and Jon respects that even if he is curious. If the magical girl ocs were fine, what is in that particular book?

Until one day Damian is kidnapped, and he has to go through his room for clues to who took him, and even if he feels weird about it, he opens the forbidden sketchbook.

He is expecting secrets, trauma, and the parts of himself that Damian hates.

What he finds is hundreds of sketches of Jon himself.

Each one is so full of detail and so lovingly drawn that feels like he is being burned.

Every freckle is correct, Damian drew close ups of his dimples, and his scars.

Seeing himself through Damians eyes is so intimate it feels like holding his very heart.

So Jon puts the book back where he found it without the other bats noticing.

When they find and rescue Damian, Jon knows he has to tell him but how?

Jon thinks of the sketches he wasn't supposed to see, and something in him melts even while he drowns in guilt.

So one night he confronts Damian when he best friend asks him about colour palettes.

"I saw your secret sketchbook, and I am so sorry!" Jon shouts and braces himself for Damians' anger. It doesn't come.

"What?" Damian sounds scared, and that is so much worse.

"When you were missing your Dad and brothers made me go through your room! Day I'm so sorry!"

"Did they see it too?" Damian shrinks in on himself, and Jon wants to hug him so badly.

"No! I put it back straight after I realised what it was, I swear!"

Damian huffs and looks away.

"So you know?"

Jon gulps, "know what?"

"That I'm in love you." Damian looks for Jons reaction and seeing his face starts to get up to leave. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable Jonathan. I shall depart."

Jon grabs his arm. "No! Day don't leave! I'm sorry! I just need a second. Please."

Damian stops but doesn't turn around. "I do not want your pity."

"It's not pity! Damian, I love you! I have for years and I'm just sorry I saw before you were ready to show me!" Jon is getting desperate now. He can't lose Damian. He doesn't think he will survive it.

"Really? You're not just saying that to spare me?"

Jon is horrified and spins Damian to be able to see his face. "Damian, what the hell! Why would I lie about this?!"

Damian has tears in his eyes when he finally meets Jon gaze. "I don't know, it just feels impossible for you to love someone like me."

"It's impossible not to love you! Believe me, I tried! I was terrified it would destroy our friendship, and I wanted to have some of you even if it wasn't in the way I wanted."

Damian sighs and slowly kisses him. When he pulls back, he laughs a little.

"We are both idiots."

Jon grins and wipes the tear that manages to escape. "Yeah, we are, but at least we figured it out eventually. I love you, Damian. Truly and completely."

"I love you too." Then Damian kisses him again.

Jon has the sketch Damian draws of Jon asleep beside him the next morning framed.

[realcleverscience]

hey @ralfmaximus

Thanks for the thoughtful response. My view is a bit different. Mostly, I don't share your certainty that general AI systems will never be good or reliable. For instance, hallucination rates have been falling dramatically each year. In 2022, most AI systems had a hallucination rate of around 30%. In 2023, 15%; in 2024, 8%, and this year it's already below 1%. It may be true that hallucinations can never be 100% removed, but I think we may well be able to reach levels comparable to humans and possibly better. Similarly, just as hallucinations have fallen, other metrics have been steadily improving as well. For instance, GPT3 had an estimated iq of around 85; 3 years later, the GPT-O series had an iq around 140. This is very significant and rapid progress. I'm not at all convinced that this progress is just going to hit a wall and stop. "AI companies keep pushing larger LLM data sets, but that just seems to make them worse rather than better." This is definitely an issue, however, this seems to overlook that larger systems initially did better than smaller systems, which is why everyone thought, 'ok cool, then let's push for even larger systems'. So there's a good reason the research went in this direction. Further, I'm not convinced that scaling to larger systems is dead. It may just require some clever innovations to make use of it (or, simpler still, more refined training data instead of just plopping everything into it). Alternatively, many people are imagining agi systems built as connected communities of smaller, dedicated AIs. E.g. You ask your AGI system a question, but instead of it being expected to know and be good at everything, what it does is find the narrow AI systems to answer the question. Kinda like having a room with an AI for each specialty, instead of one AI that's expected to do everything. We already seem to agree that narrow AI systems can work quite well. But more fundamentally, I am again not convinced that we've seen the end of AI progress, however it is achieved.

"The current hype around AI is a grift, a way for investors to make a pile of money before the bubble pops."

I don't quite agree with this either. In my view, the amount of progress which has been made, the usefulness AI has already shown, and the rapid pace of improvement all suggest that this is not just a hype scam. More importantly, AIs are already being used by huge numbers of people in a range of industries; that is, the demand already exists, whereas the 3d tv was a novelty that people hoped would have demand, but didn't. Further, even when bubbles appear that doesn't mean the tech they represent are useless. For instance, the 2000's internet had a big bubble that popped, but clearly the internet is not a grift. We're on tumblr, after all. I'm sure most of us use things like google or amazon or uber or a hundred other internet based technologies. (Additionally, while some people lost a lot of money in the dot-com bust, a lot of people got super rich if they managed to invest in the *right* companies.) So yeah, there are certainly individual AI companies which are overhyped without much to offer, and that might create an investment bubble which pops, but it's also bc the underlying technology is growing rapidly, and is expected to continue growing rapidly, so lots of investment is happening and not all those bets will pan out. But that doesn't mean *none* of the bets will pan out. Some AI tech companies could be the next tech giants society is practically built upon, comparable to google today. Lastly, I want to note that your post suggests that you're only against AI in practice, not principle. That is, your concern is that AI just won't be useful. But what if it is? Like, what if in 2026 new systems come out which bring hallucinations down to 0.01%? Or what if they find a way to continue scaling bigger with improved results - or even the opposite, scaling down for improved results (e.g. through distillation - this was one of the tricks DeepSeek used)? Cause, yeah, I understand not using AI for something if the results just aren't good enough for what you need - but what if they are? You seem to be suggesting that while you oppose using AI in practice, it's bc you believe AGI systems will always suck in principle. Again, I don't share that certainty. The history of science, and particularly the history of AI, is filled with stories of assumptions people have had about what can't happen - until it does.

p.s. The OP complained that AI isn't smart. It's just auto-complete. For one, I don't think this is entirely accurate, but for another: as you said, narrow AI systems are already used for science and industry and work really well. Those systems often work on the same fundamental tech. So if we agree that AI systems can be smart and useful in narrow applications, I don't understand why one would believe that general AI systems can't work in principle. The AIs coming up with cures for diseases are *also* "Big Autocomplete ... crunching numbers it's not understanding things". And yet it works, and does "cognitive labor".

tl;dr: AIs aren't perfect, but the data shows rapid progress and suggests this trend will continue.

i hate seeing people drink the openai/chatgpt koolaid 😭😭😭 genuinely feels like watching someone get seduced by scientology or qanon or something. like girl help it's not intelligent it's Big Autocomplete it's crunching numbers it's not understanding things i fuckign promise you. like ohhh my god the marketing hype fuckign GOT you

[zottts]

warnings - size kink, degradation, breeding kink (if you squint), not really a warning but worshipping, it's sentry expect it to be mean

you and sentry had been... 'together' for a while now, and you would think he would change somewhat, and he has - just a bit. but during sex? absolutely not, he was still the same man who wanted to be worshiped like a god, who will degrade and belittle you only because he finds it amusing when you moan and cry out his name as he pumps into you at his speed - why would he slow down for you he had l reasonings to, you liked it anyways. the way you could see his cock outline in your stomach, each little "oh you poor thing". it drove you mad, it was addictive. the only time he "went slow" was to put you in your place or fuck with you.

sentry just loved filling you up, every single time, watching your pathetic attempts to squirm under his hands - your almost doe eyes look as you looked up at him, hair all sprawled out on his pillows, mouth slightly ajar as he pumps into you mercifully, being able to see his cock completely fill you, and knowing you couldn't get enough of him. or from behind when he got his hands tangled within your soft locks of hair, pulling you up towards him with a semi-gentle pull, watching your back arch into him as be whispered how pathetic, useless, and stupid you looked being fucked by his cock.

how he is going to fuck you so stupid that you won't be able to walk nor speak for the next week. every little moan, whine, whimper, he would mock the sounds, how you reacted to things which each pump, as he moved in and out of you.

"so filthy. you want more, hm? you think you deserve more?" he spoke softly, despite the fact his tone was mocking,

he would make you beg for it til you were sobbing, trembling under him. it was so easy for him to ruin you, bring you down to nothing. because to him, like this - you were nothing, pathetic.

"sentry- mnn please?" between heavy breaths, it was a pathetic attempt, really. and you knew that.

"no, do better than that, now." he would slow down, painfully slow - and practically stopping until you were up to his standards. he wasn't asking, it was a command.

"sentry" he cocked an eyebrow, the words dying in your throat before you could even finish the sentence, like he was daring you to finish it. to see what would happen

"my god, sentry, ..my everything, p-please." you spoke through a broken sob, he started to move, in and out of you - slowly, on purpose. "aah-! fuck. please, oh my god please" a whine slipped out. you couldn't help that he was big, and it hurt. and he knew he was big too, of course he did. every time he fucked you like this he could always see the outline of himself inside you, the want to bury himself within you, to fill you completely with himself.

he couldn't help the low chuckle slip out of his mouth at your behavior, mmmn. i don't know if that's good enough." he held you in place so easily with his hands, it was like you were stuck in place. "so pathetic, can't even get a complete sentence out, poor thing." he paused for a moment, running his hands against your sides "you want me to fuck you stupid, fill you up?"

you quickly shake your head, it was hard enough to get a single word out - he knew that, but he wanted to hear you say it. "use your words or I'm pulling out." you took a deep breath "please, pretty please? god- please just move i need you so badly, you are the only one i need. just move" the words spilled out before you couldn't even get a thought in your head, the words sounded almost incoherent - it was like a flip that switched on in his brain, instead of belittling you, mocking you - he actually listens.

the after math of it you are out of breath, he went way past the point of your ecstasy. you laid on your stomach panting, hair in your face. he might be a god, an asshole, but not a monster. of course he was going to help you clean up. at least a bit.

[emmyrosee]

Ouhhh lets gooo babyy sooooo, Kiyomi recently gave an engagement/promise ring to reader, her being a clumsy queen she looses it or misplaced it..kiyomi notices she hasn’t been wearing her ring and when confronted she gives lame excuses then starts getting defensive cause she’s afraid she actually lost it! Could be angsty or fluffy or both 😄

"I'm not going to ask you again."

You chew your lip under Kiyoomi's intense stare, dark eyes unbudging in their lock with you; arms crossed over his broad chest, he looms over you, not in anger, never in anger, but confusion. Hurt.

"Where's your ring? Why have you been dodging me for days?"

“I…” your voice trails off, mind desperate to try and figure out how to explain the situation.

Your ring, the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen, a family heirloom even, vanished from the face of the earth. One moment you had it, the next, it was gone from your existence forever.

You couldn’t possibly tell Kiyoomi. How could you? It was all your fault. Why would he ever consider keeping you around, let alone replace it with a new one when he bestowed one with sentiment to you, and you lost it.

He grits his teeth, “I’m serious. Do you not like it? You can tell me, you won’t hurt my feelings-“

“Kiyoomi.”

“What does hurt my feelings is you completely icing me out-“

“Kiyoomi!”

“I’ll buy you a new ring, I just want you to be honest with me-“

"I lost it, okay! It's gone, it vanished, alright? I don't know if I put it down, or if it fell, or if someone stole it, but it's gone!" Your bottom lip quivers as his arms fall from their disapproving cross. You sigh shakily after a few beats of silence, embarrassment and frustration for hiding such an important detail from your new fiancé for so long, for losing the gorgeous ring that he'd wrongfully entrusted you with, and your voice is tight as you drop your head forward, "and... I didn't want you to think you shouldn't have given it to me..."

More silence. Your shoulders quiver as you try to fight the sobs that want to expel from your chest, blurry, watery eyes focused on your feet, and-

"That's it?"

His voice is soft, but you can almost hear the casualness in his tone, your eyes flying open in confusion, but your head still down in shock. "You've been avoiding me, giving me the cold shoulder, not answering my texts because you lost the ring?"

"What..." your voice trails off, tears stopping in their tracks. You slowly raise your head, "I'm... sorry?" The apology is formed in a question, differing greatly from the sob-filled ones you'd expected to give him.

You watch in complete bewilderment as his eyes close peacefully, a smile splaying on his cheeks and hands coming up to scrub his face in exhaustion, "I genuinely thought you were cheating on me with Hinata."

"WHAT?"

"He was avoiding me all week, as were you, for that matter, and every time I looked at your phone there was a message from him, and every time you'd answer his call, you'd leave the room- like I was fully convinced you were leaving me for him."

"Kiyoomi!" You cry, but relief fills your heart at the lack of even the smallest semblance of annoyance in his presence, like you were merely telling him you forgot to grab the mail. So much relief, that your sobs turn into watery laughter, waves of tears still flowing. "I was... so scared to tell you..."

He hums and reaches up slowly to wipe your tear tracks, "never, ever, be afraid to tell me anything, alright?" He whispers. "especially something as little as material things. Those things don’t matter.”

“But… it was important to you,” you sniffle. “And I lost it.”

“Baby,” he chuckles, tugging you against his chest. “You didn’t lose it; it’s in the engagement box.”

“Excuse me?”

He laughs as he grabs your hand, guiding you down the hall and to the bedroom. You watch with wide eyes and a queasy stomach as he opens your bedside table, where you keep tour most important belongings, and he flips open the velvet box and in fact, revealing the beautiful ring that glimmers in the light. “You left it in the bathroom and I put it back for you, assuming you’d check here first.” Your jaw is agape, stomach churning as the ringing in your ears increases volume, blocking him out. He gently puts down the box and tugs you in for a hug, “even if you did lose it, it’s alright… I would buy you 50 diamond rings if it meant you were happy to be my fiancé.”

“I am,” you sniffle, nuzzling into his chest. “It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever gotten the chance to do…”

He kisses the crown of your head and squeezes you close.

“Im glad.”

[tywrites]

secrets that you keep (talking in your sleep) pt 2 | mateo manta

requests: “hello . please consider and part two to your Mateo fic . thank you very Much ❤️ . Idont know if i should format this as a request or suggestion— but if you take it the first way then Mateo submissive top maybe… Or just Very whiny and the Like.” + “Steamy make out sesh with Mateo PLEASE(maybe more if ur up to it🤭)"

word count: 2.1k

warnings: minors dni!! smut, riding, creampie

a/n: i had so many mateo reqs in my inbox after the last fic hehe, not complaining at all. hope you guys enjoy this filth <33 i also don't speak spanish so apologies if it's used entirely wrong ;-;

part 1

“Anyone ever tell you that you talk in your sleep?”

Mateo’s head was spinning and he had no idea where to put his hands. I mean, what exactly are you supposed to do when there’s a gorgeous human on top of you, looking like they’re ready to eat you for dinner?

After his teasing question, you’d wasted no time in straddling the man, seemingly determined to make him pay for the embarrassment you were feeling. With a leg either side of his lap, you locked your lips with his, kissing him like your life depended on it. Your hands found his, moving them up so they laid on your waist.

God, his lips were so soft – makes sense for a blanket, you thought.

Your hands soon found their way to his hair, tangling into the locks and pulling him even closer to you. You couldn’t help but notice the most adorable breathy sounds coming from Mateo with every tug of his hair, every movement of your tongue. You wanted to drown in him.

“Ay dios mío, corazón… ah, you’re perfect,” he panted out, a dark red coating his cheeks. You took this moment to catch your breath before attaching your lips to his neck, focusing on the sensitive spot right under his ear. He made the most delicious noises.

“Ayy… mmh, mi amor please- ah!” He let out a loud moan when his hips bucked up into your own, the hardness evident in his sweatpants.

Your hands were all over him, taking in every inch of his soft skin. You were ecstatic to finally be able to leave your mark on him, taking this time to make sure the others knew exactly who Mateo belonged to. Your lips trailed over his neck and chest, nipping and sucking at the skin to leave crimson marks behind. It was clear that Mateo was getting impatient – you could feel his hips desperately humping into your own, an almost humiliated expression on his face.

“Aw, my love… Are you that desperate for me?” you whispered sweetly into his ear, your hand trailing down to lay over his bulge teasingly. He whined, bucking up into your hand, attempting to get any kind of friction possible.

“Sí, sí… please don’t tease,”

You smirked. “Hmm? But I thought you wanted to know what my dream was about? You do wanna know… right?”

His mouth dropped agape slightly, his mind barely able to process your words. Fuck, he really did want to know. He needed to know what made you make those noises, why you were pleading his name so insistently… what he was doing to make you moan so sweetly.

“T-tell me,” he said quietly, sweaty strands of his hair falling into his eyes as he gazed at you.

“Say please,”

He groaned, his cock bouncing at your words. He never knew he’d be into this kind of thing. You on top of him, taking full control of the situation – entirely different than it had been just half an hour ago. The picture of you leaning over him, desire in your eyes… He would give you anything you asked of him.

“Please, amor… please tell me,”

You reached out to cup his cheek as you leaned into him, stopping inches away from his face. You looked directly in his eyes as you told him exactly what had made you so hot.

“It’s funny… we were actually in opposite positions to now,” you began, glancing down at your bodies on the sofa, your legs straddling his. “You were on top of me, saying the dirtiest things I could think of. I couldn’t move – not with my hands tied so tightly with your blanket. And god, you were being such a tease…”

He bit his lip, trying in vain to hold back a moan.

“You were telling me all of the things you wanted to do to me. I was begging for it so hard, so desperately, and you were being so mean,” you pouted, your hands moving to your shirt as you began to unbutton it. Slowly.

Mateo’s eyes locked onto your movements, unable to tear his vision away as inch by anticipated inch of your soft skin was revealed to him. He gulped down a mouthful of saliva, thanking the universe that he wasn’t literally drooling right now. The same couldn’t be said for his poor, neglected cock; a small stain now soaked through the front of his sweatpants.

“Mi vida, please…”

“Uh uh, I’m not finished yet,” you say, grinning devilishly. You only received a broken whine in response.

“When you finally touched me… God, I could have finished right there and then. You were amazing, ‘Teo. Made me feel so fucking good, so sexy-”

“You are,”

Your face flushed. You were finally on the last button. As you undid it, you looked Mateo in the eyes. You’d never seen his big brown eyes look so… needy. You finally pushed your shirt off, revealing your body to your boyfriend for the very first time. There’s a thought in the back of your head, a vague one – if it had been anyone but Mateo seeing you right now, you wouldn’t be feeling half as comfortable and safe.

But trusting Mateo came so easily to you.

“Fuck, corazón… such a beauty. How did I get so lucky?” His voice and face were so sincere, looking at you with genuine amazement in his eyes. His hands twitched, desperate to reach out and touch you. You finally decided to be nice, mostly due to how eager you were becoming yourself.

“Mateo?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Please touch me,”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands were on you in a second, roaming over your top half as he kissed you deeply. He was definitely becoming more confident now that he had an obvious place to put his hands. They slid smoothly over the expanse of your back, up to your hair as he pulled you against him, moaning needily into the kiss. You pushed down onto his lap, earning you a wrecked whine from Mateo.

You started to claw at his clothing, needing him to be wearing decidedly less right about now. He shrugged off his puffy duvet jacket, his lips still locked with your own the entire time. You were forced to part, however, for him to rip off his vest. His soft stomach was revealed to you, along with a visible path of white hairs leading down to the main event.

You were going to wreck this man.

Blanket.

You wasted no time in peeling off your bottoms, your hole aching for something, anything to fill it up. Mateo was fixated on your naked form, his eyes glazing over with desire.

“You’re still wearing far too many clothes…”

He chuckled at your eagerness, reaching down to untie the blanket around his waist. When he was finally able to liberate himself from his sweatpants, he let out a quiet groan of relief. His cock was throbbing and everything you were hoping for. Mateo was definitely thicker than he was long, but still a pretty sizeable length. He wrapped a hand around the base, giving it a few quick strokes, his face almost looking as flushed as the tip.

“I… I need you, mi vida…” he said softly, looking at you with sweet, hopeful eyes.

Fuck.

You crawled over to him, laying a hand on his chest and pushing him back to lay against the arm of the couch. “Don’t worry, my love,” you said, giving him a chaste kiss before taking a hold of his aching cock. “I’ll take care of you,”

He whined as you slowly stroked his length, paying special attention to the very tip, your thumb teasingly spreading the pre-cum over the head. His eyes closed, his mouth left agape as you continued your ministrations. He was gorgeous, some of his white locks stuck to his forehead from the heat of the situation, a rosy hue to his skin as he tried to hold back the sweet noises he was making.

You needed him inside you. Now.

You lifted your left hand to his mouth (your right still continuing to bring him the pleasure he so needed), presenting him with three fingers. He looked at you, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Open your mouth, love,”

His eyes widened when he realised what you meant. He obeyed quickly, his mouth falling open for you as you pressed your fingers inside. His tongue worked itself around them, getting them nice and wet for you. He was nothing if not thorough. What you didn’t expect, was the satisfied whine that left him as he sucked on your fingers.

Holy shit. It went straight to your head, your mind getting fuzzy as you watched him be so eager to listen, so eager to please. Once your fingers were suitably wet, you pulled them out of his mouth – Mateo seeming almost disappointed at the absence.

You moved your hand down to your hole, starting with one digit as you slowly began to prep yourself. As eager as you were, one look at Mateo’s thick cock told you that you needed to be stretched out before taking it.

“Ayy… fuck mi amor, are you touching yourself?”

You blushed, adding a second finger. “Need to… open myself up for you,”

He groaned, his head falling forward onto your shoulder as you continued to stroke his cock and touch your own hole. You added a third finger, spreading them wide as you fucked yourself, stretching yourself as best you could in this position. At a certain point you stopped. This would do.

You lifted yourself up so you were up on your knees, placing your hands on his shoulders as you hovered over his cock. Mateo’s hands quickly found your waist and he looked up at you like you’d hung the very stars in the sky. As you slowly lowered yourself down onto his length and felt that initial stretch, you couldn’t hold back the sharp inhale you took. Fuck, he was big.

“Ohh… you feel amazing. Fuckkkk, taking me so well,” he whined, his head falling back onto the sofa as you sank down onto him. “Perfect, so perfect, baby…”

You ignored the slight pain at the stretch, focusing on his sweet words whispered into your ear. Soon, he was completely bottomed out inside you, your thighs shaking from exertion. You couldn’t help but collapse against his chest for a moment, taking a few deep breaths as you tried to get used to the feeling of him inside you.

“Shh, I’ve got you amor… So sweet for me, always taking such good care of me,” he breathed out, placing soft kisses all over your face and neck. “Take your time,”

Once the dull ache had faded away, you braced your hands against his shoulders, looking directly in his eyes as you lifted yourself as far as you could off of his cock. He whined at the loss before letting out a loud groan as you dropped yourself back down onto him. You began to ride him, hard and fast, moaning as he hit that perfect spot inside of you. His hands gripped at your ass, pulling himself deeper into you as you rode him.

“Fuckkk, ‘Teo… Ah!”

“Te amo! Ayyy, mi vida, so good!”

“I love you too, mmh- fuck!”

His hips started to meet yours as he thrusted up, his head falling back and his eyes closing. Your arms wrapped themselves around his neck, holding on for dear life as he took over, driving into you with as much force as he could muster.

“I- I’m close…” you whimpered, clinging to him as you felt the knot in your stomach forming with each hard thrust.

“Me too, corazón. Fuck, where can I…” he trailed off, a desperate look on his face as his thrusts became sloppy.

“Inside, ‘Teo… please come inside me,”

He groaned at your words. You really were gonna be the death of him. He drove into you, determined to get you there first – he had always been a giver. It didn’t take long for you to come undone on his cock, your body convulsing as you let out a loud mewl, your eyes rolling back from the pleasure.

He thrusted once, twice, three times more before finally pulling your hips firmly down onto his own. He released inside you, his hot, thick come flooding your hole. He kept you there as he fully emptied himself inside, his head flopped forward into the crook of your neck. You held him, stroking your hand through his sweaty mop of hair.

There was a comfortable silence as you both came back to reality, the scent of sweat and sex heavy in the air. Mateo’s hands stroked over your back soothingly, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“So…

“So?”

He smiled teasingly at you. “Was it everything you dreamed of?”

You gave his shoulder a gentle slap as you both devolved into giggles, wrapped around each other comfortably in the living room. You could only hope and pray that the others had… vacated the room much earlier.

[lush-escape]

The Vigilante's Guide to Grief

pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader wc: 1.4k summary: Jason's therapist recommends journaling to help him through his grieving process after your death prev: first entry next: denial

Stage one: Shock

Hey,

Ok that's a little easier than writing dear. It's June 11th. Sorry it's been a little while. This just feels stupid still. But I told Christy (dumb stupid therapist who told me to do this) that I would give it another try. So here I am. Trying. Unfortunately she's not that bad. That's a lie. I actually really like her. Dick came by to check on me today. Him and Kori brought over some weird tameranian dessert. I dont know. I stuck it in the fridge it looks like it might grow legs and try to bite me.

Jason rubs at his eyes, “I still have no idea what I'm supposed to write.” He mumbles a curse under his breath while running his hand through his messy hair.

I bet you would have tried it. You always liked the weirdest shit. Like the time Steph and Cass tried to make a cake for you for your birthday. Who the fuck even makes matcha and strawberry cake?

“Um, why does it look like that?” Jason eyes the questionable looking cake in front of him.

“Don't worry about how it looks!” Steph waves him off with a nervous smile.

“Do not judge a book by its cover.” Cass crosses her arms as if she's actually offended by Jason's question.

“It's good! She loves matcha and strawberries, it'll be great.”

“Okay, but like… what kind of cake flavor is it?” Jason asks.

“Coffee.” Cass replies.

Jason groans and rubs his hands down his face, “I should have just ignored both of you and gone to the bakery. This is my first time celebrating her birthday with her as her boyfriend, I can't believe I let you two talk me into this. She's going to hate me. She's going to break up with me-”

“Oh no,” Steph shoots Cass a worried glance, “He's spiraling.”

Cass narrows her eyes and smacks Jason on the back of the head earning her an annoyed “ow! What was that for?!”

“Relax. Trust us.” She says calmly.

That night when you went to Wayne Manor at Jason's invite for a special birthday dinner, he said. And when it was time for cake you were just as surprised as Jason, just on the other end of the spectrum. You stare at it unblinkingly.

“It's, listen okay-” Jason stammers, hand on the back of his neck. “I know it looks a little off and I told Steph and Cass that this was going to be a bad idea-” he rambles.

You place a gentle hand on his forearm and immediately he melts. He sighs and deflates, his thoughts stop spiraling, and suddenly everything is right in the world.

“I hate how you do that….” He whispers.

“What?” You ask with a smile.

“Just.. calm me down like that. All you have to do is touch me and it's like- like everything stops and I can think clearly.”

You smile up at him, warm and bright and like he's created the entire universe just for you.

“Come on, let's try this cake.” You tell him softly.

And despite his better judgement he does try the cake. It's different, not what he imagined, and it's good. Jason grumbles as Cass and Steph tease him for being right.

“Alright, enough of everyone's pestering. We're getting outta here.” Jason waves off the family as he takes your hand in his. You look at him and silently ask where he's taking you and he gives you a soft smile in return. He can hear Tim and Dick snickering at the loving gesture. But he ignores them as he drags you out of the manor.

“It’s a surprise.” Jason tells you quietly.

That night Jason takes you for a drive to the harbor near Brown Bridge. It's quiet and cool, the lights from the city accentuating the bridge in front of you. Water slowly laps at the shore, you can hear frogs and crickets as Jason helps you climb onto the hood of his car before taking a spot next to you.

“What'd you bring me all the way out here for?” You ask him playfully with a smile, leaning your cheek against his shoulder.

Jason wraps an arm around you, “..just wanted you for m’self.” He answers questions as his heart thuds in his chest.

“An’... I got you something. Didn't want the brats to see it.” He finally admits after a few peaceful moments of silence. You knew it was coming.

Jason reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black box.

“It's not anything crazy, just…” He hands it over to you and he's thanking the stars that it's dark out so you can't see the way his face flushes in embarrassment.

Inside is a small, simple, heart shaped locket. Inside holds a picture of the two of you, one of your photo booth pictures - the one of you kissing Jason's cheek as he smiles. The opposite side is engraved with the day he officially asked you to be his.

“Jason…” you breathe out, touched. Heartfelt tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

Wordlessly Jason takes the locket from you and begins to fasten it around your neck.

“It's beautiful, baby.” Your fingers trace the edging of the locket, memorizing it. Jason blushes even more.

“S’not that big of a deal, calm down.” He plays it off with a smile. But even he can't deny the way his heart flutters when he sees it on you.

“Yes it is, you big softy.” You smile up at him and he mumbles something that sounds a lot like “‘m not soft”.

“Yeah, whatever.” He grumbled affectionately before pulling you back into his side.

Jason drops his pen and puts his head in his hands with a shaky sigh. The memory of your first birthday together as an official couple haunts him. He lets himself breathe for a few minutes before he picks his pen back up.

I need you here so bad right now. Not in that stupid fucking urn. I'm spiraling. Again. Sometimes I wish I could feel the same way I did right after you died. Empty. Numb. So I wouldn't have to sit with my thoughts. I was on autopilot. Freaked everyone out though. B said he’d never seen someone so emotionless while planning a funeral before. He said I was in shock. Yeah no shit.

“She doesn't want to be buried.” Jason’s flat tone made everyone on edge.

“We'll have her cremated.” Bruce’s hand is on Jason's shoulder as he looks through a catalogue of coffins and urns.

“Hm…” Jason hums. “Something nice.” His eyes are on the page but he's not really looking. He can't believe this is happening. It all feels fake to him. There's no way your body is going to fit into an urn. You're <I>you</I>, you're not supposed to be in an urn. You're supposed to be sitting on the couch, in his lap, making him watch Love Island or whatever the fuck.

“Something pretty and ornate.” Jason's eyes skim the page. “This one.” He points to a black urn engraved beautifully with stars.

Bruce nods once. He's aware of the shock Jason is in, but it still unnerves him to see his son like this.

“Of course.” He says.

“And for the service I think we should do a, uh, dessert pot luck. She loves desserts.”

Bruce notices the way Jason is still talking about you in present tense but doesn't say anything.

Jason's writing is rushed now as he's trying to get out all of his thoughts while memories of you swirl around in his head.

Christy says that's one of the worst states of grief but I miss it. God I miss you. This isn't fucking fair. None of it is. It wasn't supposed to be you you know. It was supposed to be me. It was always supposed to be me. I already died once what's one more time? I would die a hundred times over if it meant you got to stay here even if it was just for 2 fucking minutes

Jason sighs and closes his notebook. His head is a clouded mess, feels thick with cotton and heavy like lead.

“God damnit…” He pushes away from the desk and without a second thought goes to the kitchen to try that dessert from Kori and Dick. It's what you would've done, after all.

taglist: @vellichor01 @thy-crimson-king @theendofthematerialgworl @tinasdcstuff @4rachn3

[toomuchgas10]

gifted dreamer? huh?

Dave, Mitch? you still running things huh?

you guys suck.

you only care about insults and banter and suffocating me for YOUR dominance. The only projects you have are anything i spoke about. this gay shit. not interested. Act innocent all you want your just doing this to annoy me.

Yeah damn right im ambitious. This is not it. But not if your involved and if your having your obnoxious say so and if you're in the way.

"dreamer" thats salt from your lips. DOES THAT ANNOY YOU HUH?

you didn't like i said that. I know yo hate me.

get over it. "gifted dreamer" none of that is true now. all that potential is dead long ago. who knows. probably no thanks to you.

Easy for you to be innocent and in denial. you think this is what i want or this is who i am? its not.

Don't prey on my isolation ever again.

I don't owe you assholes anything. GIVE UP!

me being angry is their entertainment. its reactive abuse and stalking.

I get it you don't like me. why would you?

You insult me. but you cant take a single bit of criticism about you insulting me. "oOOoo! big mistake" excuse me thats perfectly fair now where near balanced. You can take that., BITCH! look me. for isn't that not what i am doing as well. just because you spend so much work to do it underhanded hiding like a coward! but thats all you care about. THAT'S YOUR WORK. secretly hiding and insulting me pretending shit is gold.

That's how big your fucking ego is. You think you walk all around me invincible but when i catch you being a bitch oh boy you just cant take that.

I don't want this fight. get the fuck out of my way! STOP bothering me.

What your bored?? FUCK OFF!

calling you out on your bs.

You demand respect when you have done everything but that for me. no way in hell i will trust you.

Don't you remember? I dont want what doesn't want me. While you lie superficially to people.

I'm not welcome. I dont want what you have to offer.

I want nothing to do with this gay shit. enjoy your art.

Look at me I've turned into the loud yelling asshole while you act like fairies insulting me with salt.

fuck off~!

Gifted Dreamer 🌌✨