#and refuses to do it with anyone else ever again

[sloaneispunk]

"the thrill of a double-life"

s3!frontman x you. (season 3 spoilers)

summary-> the only time in-ho would make an exception in the games.

you met in-ho when you were playing ‘red light, green light’ he had pulled you behind him before thanos could push you over with the other unfortunate players.

“stay behind me, it can’t detect movement behind, see.” he told you, waving his hand behind his back where only you could see.

you didn’t know why he saved you, or what he saw in you, but you were more than grateful.

after that, he never left your side.

when he had approached gi-hun, joining his team, he’d made sure to bring you along, leading you like bee attracted to sweet nectar.

you didn’t trust him at first, only giving him one word answers when he asked you questions about yourself. but as the days went by, your walls started coming down.

maybe it was the fact that during every meal, he would give you half of his portion. or maybe it was how he protected you from thanos when he tried taking you away from him.

either way, by the third day, you had placed your life in his hands.

unbeknownst to you, every night as you slept in his bed, he would disappear, heading back to the control room.

“why are you protecting her? she isn’t part of your plan, in-ho.” the masked officer would ask every night and yet, he’d only receive the same answer.

“she will be.”

in-ho stayed up watching you sleep from behind the screens, his eyes always finding it’s way back onto the monitor where you were. he knew his actions would sooner or later have consequences, but he wasn’t ready to face them just yet.

gi-hun was his target, not you. yet somehow you always creep into the back of his mind like a plague slowly infecting him.

but he wasn’t dying, he was being brought back to life.

after ‘mingle’, everyone was rooted in despairing and devastation. they were all just soulless bodies walking back like a herd of zombies. but he didn’t care, not for anyone. anyone but you.

as you laid on his lap sobbing, he threaded his fingers through your hair, it was like a lullaby being sung that stilled the angry waters of emotion that flowed through you. he never shifted, not once, he adored the feeling of you curled up on him, your head so close to his chest he could hear every sniffle and whimper that left your lips, finding the rhythm of your heartbeat against his.

everything was perfect.

until the rebellion formed.

“if we don’t strike now, we might not get another chance!” gi-hun yelled, trying to convince the players to join him in his desperate attempt to take the frontman down.

“we are putting everyone else in danger, gi-hun. it’s not logical!” in-ho challenged, arm tightening around your shoulders as if you were going to be ripped away from him.

“look, if you don’t want to come that’s fine but we are doing this.”

god knew he wanted to stay with you, protect you from the harm that was coming your way. but at the same time, he couldn’t risk gi-hun finding the control room, it would ruin the games. his games.

so he went, leaving you in the care of the old lady and her son.

the worst part wasn’t him leaving, it was him not returning.

you broke down when you realised only dae-ho and hyun-ju had made it back. you had lost too many people in the games, and you thought you had lost in-ho too.

after that, you refused to eat, drink, or even sleep. no matter how many times hyun-ju pleaded, you just sat and stared.

little did you know, in-ho watched your every move. seeing you slowly loose yourself was the most painful, intense feeling in-ho had ever felt in his years of being frontman. in his heart, he silently begged with hyun-ju for you to take care of yourself, but it didn’t seem to work.

“why do you keep observing her?” the masked officer would question again, noticing his strange, out of pocket behaviour.

“i don’t know.” he could only mutter out as his eyes lingered on you. he’d imagine if the circumstances had been different, if the rebellion had never formed, he would still have you in his arms where he swore to the god’s above that you belonged.

you were silently picking at your food as the team’s voices were fading in and out. you couldn’t make out what they were saying as their mouths moved but in a way, it was comforting.

suddenly, the alarm blared at the doors drew open, revealing the masked guards carrying an all too familiar black box.

the air stood still as they slowly placed it onto the cold, hard ground. nobody dared to move at first, waiting to see if anyone stepped up. but nobody did.

you felt like you were being drawn by the box, as if it was calling out your name, pulling you in. so you got up, carefully making your way to the centre of the room.

you felt dozens of pairs of eyes watching intensely as you lifted the lid.

you stumbled back.

it was gi-hun.

“gi-hun? gi-hun! oh my god!” you gasped, checking his pulse as the rest of the team came to your side. “he’s still alive!”

suddenly he jerked awake, wheezing.

“y/n?!”

“i-i thought you were dead! oh my god.” you cried, smushing him, hugging him tightly.

“why am i here?” you heard him whisper, barely audible but you caught it.

“what do you mean?”

“they killed everyone else, killed jung-bae, so why did they let me go?�� he questioned and you pulled away.

you didn’t know either.

then he got up, stumbling, tripping over his own two feet as he headed right for the guards.

“why did you let me live?!” he shouted in rage, his throat hoarse as he cried out. “why…”

the guards ignored his wails, taking him by the arms and dragging him back towards the bunks where they handcuffed him to the metal frame. and with one swift punch, silenced him.

when he came to, you were the first thing he saw. you were sound asleep beside him, your hand placed on his.

“y/n?”

you stirred awake, eyes slowly blinking open. “you okay?” you asked.

he shook his head.

“i’m sorry, gi-hun, i really am.”

“it’s not your fault, y/n…i’m sorry too.”

“what for?”

he sighed deeply, hesitating before he spoke again. “for losing young-il.”

oh.

you felt tears brimming your eyes but you quickly wiped them away, wanting to stay tough for gi-hum. he could use any last bit of hope in this place.

“you tried.” you answered, sniffling.

“we both did.”

in-ho watched the interaction between you and gi-hun. on one hand he was thankful that you had regained some sense of optimism again, thanks to gi-hun. but on the other, he knew that gi-hun had broken, which meant that he wasn’t going to be able to protect you. not like he did.

he couldn’t sleep that night. not like he ever could in the first place. his mind raced as he thought about the next game, it was brutal, inhumane even. with the VIP’s joining as guards too, you didn’t stand a chance, not without him.

so he came up with a plan; he would pose as one of the guards be there when you drew your team and played the game.

he knew that by now, player 100 and his team of lunatics would be eyeing you, like vultures circling the corpse of a dead animal. he had to intervene.

the next day, he put on the red jacket, mask in hand as he stood in front of the mirror.

in-ho was living off a double life once again, torn between two roles that he created, two different personas that lived in him, slowly pulling him apart.

he made his way down and blended in with the other guards in red as they entered the next game.

as the team selection begun, his gaze searched for you, his heart racing, praying that the okd trash hadn’t gotten to you yet overnight.

he let out a sigh of relief when he finally found you in the midst of the crowd. you stood silently beside gi-hun, breath held as the players were divided into the red and blue team.

“player 450”

it was your turn.

you just had to get it over with, no matter what, you knew gi-hun had your back and you had his.

blue.

walking towards the blue team, you caught something in your peripheral vision-a guard silently watching your every move. it wasn’t in a intimidating way, but more of a caring one.

in-ho smiled under the mask, he wanted to run to you, pull you back into his arms but he couldn’t. not yet.

“player 456.”

you had your fingers crossed.

red.

nononono

gi-hun locked eyes with you, seeing your panicked state. he mouthed, ‘it’s okay’ and you could do nothing but nod.

as the rules of the game were explained, every player in each team was handed a box. inside yours revealed to be a small key, capable of opening the locked doors in the game they said.

but as you looked over to the red, you saw that they didn’t get a key…they received a knife.

“in order for the players in the red team to pass the game, you must eliminate one player from the blue team.” the guards clarified.

your blood ran cold. it was as if you’d forgotten how to breath.

“eliminate?” you heard gi-hun ask.

“yes, that is correct. you will now have five minutes to exchange roles with another player if they wish the same.”

gi-hun wasted no time running to you. the minute you felt his hands on your face, you broke down.

“just swap roles with me, i can find a place to hide, you’ll just have to-”

you shook your head, “i-i can’t kill anyone.”

from the the far corner of the room, in-ho stood, hid mind racing under the mask. he knew that it was inevitable but now that it was happening, he was defeated.

‘please switch teams, y/n’ he thought, watching you push gi-hun away over and over again.

“no, gi-hun! you and i both know i can’t do it…” you sighed, “i’ll stand a better chance hiding.”

he knew it was no use fighting, so he agreed. he promised that he would find you after he ensured his safety and you didn’t need to ask what that meant, you already knew.

you snuck a glance at dae-ho, he was cowering in a corner. he was gi-hun’s target. but there wasn’t any point trying to get him to change his mind anymore. once he was set, you knew that he would stop at nothing to go through with it.

3..2..1

you ran. to where? you didn’t know but you had to put distance between you and the red team.

for the first fifteen minutes, it was easy. you had almost memorized every twist and turn of the place like the back of your hand. you occasionally took breaks in the various safe rooms you could find, leaning against the door so no one could break in.

but when it got down to the last fifteen minutes, people started to grow desperate. those players that had never laid a hand on anyone else in the games started to become feral, taking down the first person they could find.

you observed the walls as you stepped out of your hiding spot, needing to change every few minutes to avoid getting caught.

they were now covered and smeared with bloody handprints, you shuddered as the screams of players bounced off every layer of wall.

suddenly, you heard the voice of the same old man that had convinced more than half of the players to stay and continue play, it was growing closer. you turned to run but you were too late, his team appearing from the other end, you were trapped.

“where’s your guardian angel, girl?” player 100 mocked, “oh that’s right, he listened to the lunatic and look where he ended up.”

you bit the inside of your cheek. your fists clenched and you narrowed your eyes, you couldn’t beat them, but you’d rather make it even.

then they charged all at once. you dodged and fought back but it was no use against the sharp edged knifes in their hands.

suddenly, you heard gi-hun call out to you, “y/n, run!” he stepped in, holding them back as you ran off, not stopping to look behind as their taunting voices pierced your ears.

you looked up at the clock, three minutes remaining. you passed different players at every turn, but the atmosphere was different. they were driven by greed and fear, it gave them the cofidence drugs give junkies when they took it. there wasn’t a trace of humanity left in the place anymore.

finally, you spotted an unlocked door, you pulled the key from the chain around your neck, quickling unlocking the door but then you froze, it was already open.

as the door creaked open with a loud squeak, you found yourself face to face with nam-gyu, thanos’ sidekick throughout the past few games.

“ah! how nice of you to join me!” he cheered, but his pupils were blown out, he was higher than the tip of mount everest.

you slowly backed away, raising your hands up as if you were pleading with him, asking him to spare you.

“oh, nono that’s not how this game works.” he laughed, stalking toward you, twisting the blade in his palm.

with a battle cry, he lunged at you. you shut your eyes, your hands held up above your face like it was going to protect you from the crazed man.

then, there was a loud gunshot. your senses overwhelmed you, feeling a splash on your face, the air suddenly smelling like smoke and blood, your ears ringing with the buzz of the gun fired.

you waited.

but the impact never came.

when you finally gathered enough courage to open your eyes once again, you found nam-gyu on the floor, his head blown open, trails of his brains covering the ground.

you turned to where the shot came from, seeing a masked guard with his gun still drawn.

you were frozen in place, every fiber in your body tensed up with fear, your feet rooted to the ground.

“follow the arrows on the walls, you’ll find the exit.” the guard ordered.

you just stayed where you were, you could hear your own ragged breaths, but still your chest was tight. the guard immediately dropped his gun, he made his way to you, taking your hand. “if you want to live, you have to leave. now!”

you could only slowly nod. with one last look at the lifeless body on the floor, you took off.

following the blood-drawn arrows, you managed to find the exit. on the other side, you saw gi-hun waiting expectantly at the door.

“y/n! are you okay?!” he asked, voice frantic.

“i’m okay.” you cracked a smile as he pulled you into a hug.

“oh, i knew you’d find your way out.” he sighed into your hair.

“yea…i did.”

that night, you didn’t tell him about the masked guard that had saved your life, you didn’t find the need to.

gi-hun watched over you as you laid in bed, but still unable to fall asleep. he was at the foot of your bed, keeping watch, but the only thing he spotted wasn’t the players, it was the guards walking towards the both of you.

“he would like to see you.” they said.

“who’s he?” you asked gi-hun, the expression on his face dropping into a stoned, scowling look.

“the frontman.”

stepping into the frontman’s room, you felt your stomach drop.

there was no noise, no sound. not even the soft humming of the air conditioning, it was just quiet. not the kind you would want to hear when you were going to be face to face with someone like the fromtman.

it was like death hung in the air, one wrong move and you would face a cruel punishment.

“player 456, player 450. welcome.” the frontman said, inviting you to sit down on the sleek black sofa in fromt of him.

you moved to sit, but gi-hun caught your arm. “be careful.” he warned.

it seemed stupid, but you never denied the man that saved your life.

“please.” the frontman said once more, this time more assertive. “you two must be tired.”

gi-hun only let you sit down after he himself garunteed that it was safe.

happy with the both of you, the frontman sighed.

“do you know how long it took to formulate a masterpiece like this?”

you stayed silent.

“of course you don’t… but you,” his gloved finger pointed at you, “and you,” then moved to gi-hun. “messed it up within a few days.”

“we’re just trying to save everyone before you kill them off eventually.” you spat and he went quiet.

your words had stung him. you were always so sweet to him, never raising your voice once.

in-ho didn’t know what came over him, but he reached for his mask, pulling it over his head as your eyes grew wide.

“young-il?” you whispered under your breath as gi-hun’s eyes filled with tears of anger.

“y/n…” in-ho tried to reach for you but you flinched, pulling away. he nodded, he didn’t need to press on. then he turned to gi-hun, “i’m sorry about jung-bae.”

that did it. gi-hun jumped off the couch, grabbing in-ho by his collar, screaming. but he couldn’t hurt him, he didn’t have time to before the masked guards stormed in, yanking him away.

“please take him back to his bed.” in-ho ordered, brushing himself off, adjusting his collar.

“no! young-il, why?! you killed them! let me go!” he screamed, thrashing in their grip as the elevator doors closed.

it was just you and him now.

“y/n.” he tried again, his voice softer now, as if he was speaking to a little kid. soft and gentle.

you didn’t answer, you couldn’t.

you didn’t remember crying but by now, your cheeks were drenched in salty streams.

“shh, it’s okay, why’re you crying? i’m here now.” he hushed, wrapping his arms around you, kissing the crown of your head.

“you k-killed my friends.” he heard you cry harder, but he only shook his head.

“i saved you, y/n.. i did it so you could live.”

then you remembered the guard that had took down nam-gyu, “did you-”

“yes, and i’ll do it over and over again if that meant saving you.”

you looked up, gazing into his eyes. but he wasn’t the man you knew anymore, this wasn’t in-ho. it was the frontman.

then he drew something from his pocket, a custom made blade. it shimmered in the dim yellow lights, almost beautiful.

“there’s no doubt that that old trash will make you a target in the next game.” he said, his free hand cupping your face, “kill them before they kill you.”

when he got no reply, he simply dropped it into your pocket.

“it’s going to be morning call soon, you have to get back.”

“please don’t make me…”

in-ho took your hand, leading you to the elevator.

“make the right choice, y/n.” he said as he gently guided you in, pressing the level.

then, with a kiss to your cheek, he started to walk away.

just as the door begun to close, he gave you one last advice.

“oh and y/n? your last and final game would be sky squid game.”

you had one day.

[yuunarii-arii]

𝘜𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘏𝘦 𝘚𝘢𝘺𝘴 '𝘐 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘠𝘰𝘶'

word count: 823 pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader warning(s): soft!mattheo, reader is assumed to have hair long enough to tie, just fluffy fluff! summary: Mattheo refused to say the words 'I love you,' until he's properly shown you his affections in other ways.

Mattheo Riddle wasn’t the type to bend over backwards for something as foolish as love. In his eyes, it was a weakness, a vulnerability, but every little thought he believed in was washed away in an instant after a glimpse of your sickeningly sweet smile.

He had fallen deep into this obsession for you, he starved for your smile like he needed air, he dreamt of your lips, your touch, until he awoken in an empty cold bed. You occupied his mind every second, every minute of the day, from dawn to dusk, he could only think about you; and when Mattheo Riddle falls in love, it isn’t subtle, he wouldn't declare it with the words ‘I love you’ at first. He needed to prove to you that he could love you like no other, and possibly proving to himself as well, that he truly is capable of loving.

The way he knew you better than anyone else. Mattheo Riddle memorized everything about you, every little detail, from the way you make your tea to each freckle and scar that adorns your skin. If there was a class only about you, he’d pass with flying colors. And the weird part is, he wasn’t even trying, remembering these little things simply came easy to him, because if it’s from you—no matter how small the detail—it was worth remembering.

He watched as you ran into class, your hair disheveled with clothes just barely tidy enough to be called a proper uniform. With a quiet grin, Mattheo thought to himself, oh she overslept again, you must have stayed up reading all night, which he didn’t doubt it to be the reason for your tardiness, knowing you had a love for books. He could recite the exact excuse you’d use to explain for your lateness and wouldn’t miss a single word; it may sound a little stalker-ish, but we’ve already established that this man is obsessed with you, there’s no backing out now.

Teasing that wished for more to come. It was known throughout the school that Mattheo enjoyed getting a rise out of you. Stealing your quill and books, holding it over your head just to watch you attempt to reach for your belongings; sometimes snatching your hair band, just so you’d chase after him to take it back, or the days when you sat beside him in class and he played with your hair under the guise of simply annoying you, yet the truth was he loved feeling the strands of your hair between his fingers, it grounds him, as if he stopped you might disappear; if he could he would hold your hand and never let go, but he couldn't, not yet. Every little tease or taunt that he had made was simply an attempt to receive your attention, the Slytherin didn’t know any better ways, so he chose to irritate you on a daily basis. However, that doesn’t mean he’d take it too far—Mattheo would rather kiss a niffler than to ever see you genuinely upset—he knows his limits and wouldn’t dare to cross the line with you.

The small acts that anyone could overlook. You never knew why things just appeared when you needed them, it was like magic really—quite ironic, coming from a student of Hogwarts. It happened so often that you assumed you were being watched over by some fairy godmother. What you had never realized was that a certain Slytherin had your every move planned in his head.

Mattheo took pride in making sure your favorite seat was free just for you, no matter the numerous students he had threatened to keep it empty, nothing was out of line when it came to you; and he’d even leave a snack at your desk if he knew you overslept. They were simple, quite minuscule gestures, but they meant the world to you; once you found out it had been Mattheo’s doing, you weren’t quite sure how you felt, but you knew it didn’t do well to ease the butterflies within your stomach...

This would be his 'I love you', just until... Mattheo Riddle was born into a cruel world, void of love or feelings of any kind, but you made him want to learn, he sought out in his own unique ways to show you he cared. Although, at times his feeling weren’t clear and you probably wanted to smack that smirky face of his, but he’s getting there, and he would continue his advances until he finally says “I love you.” They were easy words to say for most, but on the tongue of Mattheo Riddle, they held so much power. It wasn’t easy, It certainly was not something he could say blatantly to your face on a school day; he needed it to be special, no one had ever uttered those three words to him in his life, nor has he told anyone them before. So, until the day Mattheo caresses you in his arms, forehead resting against yours, whispering sweet nothings and sleepy declarations of love, you would continue to receive hidden candies and loving taunts from Mattheo Riddle.

↬Disclaimers

©yuunari-arii 2025. All works & moodboards posted under my name belong to me. Please do not copy, claim, republish, or translate my work anywhere else.

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Heartbeat in Two - the short story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - mentions of heart attack /  implantable cardioverter-defibrillator - read with care

Hospitals had a certain smell. Bleached. Cold. Hollow.

Like the building itself was trying to erase whatever had happened inside it. You'd gotten used to it the way someone gets used to waking up at 3 a.m. Begrudgingly, never quite at peace. Familiarity didn’t soften it. It just made the weight more expected.

You were 27. That was still young, right?

But sometimes you felt like you were made of glass. A careful structure of routines, pills, follow-up appointments and numbers on monitors.

Your heart had been failing you since the day it attacked itself. Six years ago. A heart attack at 21 had left you with a scar that ran deeper than anything medical reports could capture. It had changed you. It had taken things. Not everything. But enough to make the world feel like a little less of a promise and more like a wager.

That implantable cardioverter-defibrillator, embedded just below your collarbone, was both savior and prison. A silent guardian, waiting to jolt your body back when it forgot how to live.

Football had been your life once.

Not as a pro. No, you weren’t born for the spotlight. But you loved the game with a kind of ferocity that didn’t need cheering crowds to validate it. You played with fire in your veins and joy in your muscles. Until that six-minute blackout. Six minutes of nothingness. When you woke up, football had become something you watched from the sidelines.

So you adapted. You worked behind the scenes. Athletic trainer, sometimes physio. Invisible but vital. It let you touch the game without letting it crush you. Most days that was enough.

But then came that night.

2:17 a.m. on a Thursday. You remembered the exact time because the fluorescent clock above the emergency reception desk hadn’t moved in what felt like hours. You were curled on the edge of a stiff waiting room chair. Hoodie zipped up to your neck. Hands curled around a bottle of water that had long since gone lukewarm.

You’d been there since 9 p.m. Your heart had skipped three times in one hour, followed by a fainting spell. They’d done all the tests and told you to sit tight 'just in case.' You knew the drill. The long wait. The dull ache of dread you’d gotten used to pretending you didn’t feel.

The vending machine had eaten your coins. Refusing to release the sad packet of pretzels you hadn’t even really wanted. Your water bottle was empty. And you suddenly felt the hot sting of tears that had nothing to do with thirst or snacks. You were just tired. Tired of your body. Tired of trying to feel normal when you were anything but.

Then you noticed her.

She was sitting three chairs down. Still. Quiet. Hoodie drawn up, like she was trying to disappear into it. Her arms were folded tight across her chest, but her fingers kept moving. An anxious rhythm. Tapping against her sleeve. No makeup. No entourage. Just a woman alone in the sterile glow of the waiting room lights.

You didn’t recognize her at first. Her head was down. Her features shadowed. But there was something about her stillness, the quiet way she held her fear, that made you look again.

She must’ve noticed you staring, because her gaze lifted. And your breath caught.

Alexia Putellas.

Even without the braids, without the kit, you knew that face. You’d seen it lit up on stadium screens. Splashed across headlines. Etched into the dreams of little girls with cleats and big hopes. But here, stripped of all that glory, she looked… breakable.

Her eyes, red-rimmed. Her jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitch.

Still, she spoke first.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

You blinked. Startled out of your daze. Of all things she could’ve said.

“Does anyone ever answer yes to that here?” you replied, voice flat but not unkind.

A flicker passed through her expression. Half a smile. Half something else. Solidarity, maybe. Or the briefest moment of recognition that pain was its own language.

“I guess not,” she murmured.

You didn’t say anything after that. But you didn’t look away either.

She shifted slightly, moved one seat closer without fanfare or explanation. Her thigh nearly brushed yours.

She didn’t ask for space. You didn’t offer it.

The silence stretched. Not uncomfortable. Just dense with things neither of you were ready to say. In that moment, it felt like two worlds had quietly collided in the middle of all that clinical stillness.

You didn’t know what she was waiting for. And she didn’t know what you were running from. But for now... for a brief flickering moment... neither of you were entirely alone.

And maybe that was enough.

It had been a week since the hospital.

You hadn’t expected to see her again. That kind of moment. Shared grief. Late-night silence. It was usually a one-time thing. A flicker of connection that disappears as soon as the fluorescent lights stop humming. You had filed it away, like you did with so many things. Tender. Unexpected. And ultimately unfinished.

But a week later, there she was.

You’d just come off a long morning session. Players recovering from minor injuries. A new rehab schedule to tweak. Your third coffee rapidly losing its ability to keep you upright. You were in the rehab wing, tucked into a shadowy corridor near the stretching mats. Checking your notes on a clipboard you didn’t even need to carry anymore. A nervous habit. Like pretending to look busy would protect you from something.

You heard footsteps first. Slow, measured. Then a voice behind you.

“You work here?”

You turned, startled. She stood there like she’d always belonged in the frame. Hands in the pockets of a dark coat. Hair loose around her shoulders. Face open in that quiet, observing way she had.

“Mostly,” you said, recovering. “Sometimes I pretend I don’t so I can steal the physio’s coffee.”

That pulled a real smile from her. Wide. Soft. You saw it touch her eyes this time.

“Well,” she said, stepping closer, “I won’t tell.”

She didn’t explain why she was there. You didn’t ask. It didn’t matter. She leaned against the wall beside you, and for a moment, it was just… comfortable.

Familiar, somehow.

After that, something unspoken shifted.

She texted you two days later. How she got your number? You have no idea.

You still pretending not to work there?

You smiled at the message longer than you probably should have.

Only when the coffee’s good. Why, you planning a heist?

Maybe. But only if you’re my accomplice.

And that was how it started.

It wasn’t dramatic. No thunderbolt. Just slow, soft unfolding.

Texts. Then coffees.

She liked her espresso short and bitter. You liked yours drowned in milk and cinnamon.

She teased you for it. You told her she was a caffeine purist with no soul.

Coffees turned into walks. Parks mostly. Empty streets on rainy afternoons. Once, a bookstore where you spent more time reading the backs of covers to each other than actually buying anything. She never tried to be impressive. Just present. Attentive. Like you were a page she wanted to read slowly, without skipping ahead.

Walks turned into dinners. Casual at first. Pizza at a tucked-away place neither of you had tried. Then a Vietnamese place where she accidentally ordered something too spicy and tried to play it cool while drinking two full glasses of water in under a minute. You laughed so hard you almost choked.

Sometimes the conversations went deep. Family. Career. The things that haunt you late at night.

Other times, they were surface-level. Films. Bad reality TV. Her hatred of olives. You learned she hated the feeling of socks on wet tiles. That she used to cry over losses even when no one else did. That she read poetry sometimes but never admitted it out loud.

But then came the silences.

The dinners that turned into walks back to your flat door. The pauses that lingered in the air like the last note of a song.

Not awkward. Just full.

Like two people carrying too much but not ready to name it yet.

And still, you didn’t tell her about your heart.

You told yourself it wasn’t time. You told yourself she didn’t need to know. But deep down, you knew the truth. You were afraid.

You were afraid of the way people changed when they found out.

You’d seen it before. The hesitation. The softening. The pity that clung to their words like static.

How do I love someone whose body might betray them at any moment?

How do I plan a life with someone who might not make it that far?

So you stayed silent. Not out of dishonesty, but defense.

You didn’t want her to flinch.

But what you hadn’t expected... what disarmed you completely... was how she never asked you to explain yourself. Not once. Even when you turned quiet. Even when you pulled away just slightly on days you felt fragile. She never prodded. Never tried to fix you. Never pushed for a version of you she imagined.

Alexia never seemed afraid of the deep things. She just treated them like sacred ground. Walked around them with the reverence of someone who knew what it meant to be hurt and to keep going anyway.

Sometimes, you caught her watching you when you weren’t speaking. Not with curiosity, but… understanding. Like she sensed you were holding something. But she trusted that you’d offer it when you were ready.

You were beginning to think she might stay.

And that terrified you more than anything.

Because what if she saw the whole truth and decided it was too much?

But even as the fear gnawed at you, a thought kept echoing in the back of your mind, small but persistent.

What if she doesn’t leave?

What if we don’t pretend?

Not to be fearless.

Not to be perfect.

Just to be here. Honest. Unhidden.

Two people with scars.

Two people with something unspoken growing slowly between them.

And for the first time in years, your heart did something strange.

Not skip. Not stutter. Not ache.

But swell.

Like it wanted to try again.

It happened during preseason.

The kind of day that seemed harmless on the surface. No heavy drills. No sprints. Just movement assessments and light conditioning. The air buzzed with early-season chatter. The crisp sound of cleats against turf. The low thud of medicine balls hitting mats. You’d run this exact session a dozen times. Maybe more. Muscle memory.

But the sun was cruel that day. An unrelenting heat pressed down over the pitch like a second skin. Thick and punishing. You weren’t even playing. Just guiding the drills. Correcting posture. Offering water breaks. But you’d skipped lunch. Just coffee and adrenaline. You told yourself you’d eat after. That you were fine.

You always told yourself that.

And maybe part of you wanted to believe you could live like the others. Like your body wasn’t always ticking on borrowed time. Like you weren’t a heartbeat away from a blackout.

You ignored the warnings. The low hum in your ears. The slight dizziness when you turned too fast. You smiled through it. Gave instructions. Clapped encouragement.

You forgot.

And your body reminded you.

It was instant.

A white-out behind your eyes. Knees buckling before you could register the fall. The pitch tilted sideways. The edges of the world curling in, and then... darkness.

Like a curtain pulled closed.

When you woke, it was violent.

A gasp, like being ripped out of water. Your chest seizing. Your vision scrambled and your limbs shaking. Nerves twitching like puppet strings.

You couldn’t hear anything at first.

Just static.

Your whole body felt like it had been struck by lightning... because, in a way... it had.

The defibrillator had done its job. Again.

You blinked hard, trying to make sense of shapes and colors around you. Hands on your face. Warm. Familiar.

Then your eyes found hers.

Alexia.

Her face hovered above yours. Hair falling forward in a messy curtain. Her mouth was moving, but you couldn’t hear the words yet. You saw panic, raw and unfiltered, etched into her features. Her eyes wide and red. Tears streaking down her cheeks. Her chest rising and falling like she couldn’t breathe right.

And then, finally, her voice broke through.

“... you’re okay, you’re okay, just stay with me... please...”

You wanted to speak. To tell her it was fine. To tell her this wasn’t new. That you’d come back before. But your mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

So you stared at her. At the way she clutched your face like it was the only thing keeping her tethered. At the way she looked more scared than you felt.

You were used to this.

But she wasn’t.

You passed out again in the ambulance.

When you woke again, the light was softer. Dimmed. The steady beeping of monitors beside you was oddly comforting. Like an old, annoying friend keeping you company.

You were in a hospital bed. Wrapped in layers of white and the smell of antiseptic. Your chest ached, sore from the defibrillator's shock. There was a dull pressure in your skull and a needle taped to the back of your hand. But you were alive.

And she was there.

Alexia. Curled in the plastic chair next to your bed like she belonged there. Her hoodie wrinkled. Legs pulled up beneath her. Hair a mess. She looked like she hadn’t slept.

When your eyes fluttered open, she moved instantly. Sat up, eyes searching yours like she was afraid they'd disappear again.

“You’re back,” she breathed, relief rushing through her voice.

“I… didn’t mean to scare you,” you said, your voice rasping. Dry. “This… happens sometimes.”

She didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at you. Her jaw clenched like she was holding something in. Something sharp and aching.

You forced yourself to meet her gaze.

“I should’ve told you,” you whispered. The words felt like lead. “About my heart. The defibrillator. All of it.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that seemed to stretch across lifetimes.

Then she shook her head. Eyes shining.

“I would’ve stayed anyway,” she whispered back.

Her hand found yours. Fingers trembling, but steady when they wrapped around yours. She didn’t look away.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she added, her voice breaking at the edges. “But I’m still here.”

You blinked hard against the tears that threatened to come.

“I’m not used to people staying.”

“Well,” she said, a ghost of a smile at the corner of her mouth, “get used to it.”

And in that moment, something cracked open between you. Quietly, without fanfare. No grand declarations. Just a promise, passed between fingers and heartbeats, in the silence of a hospital room.

That no matter how fragile your body felt, no matter how much fear tried to claw its way in…

You weren’t alone anymore.

[tw1sters]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ grounded in the afterburn

Jake Seresin buries himself in work—until a stitched red heart and a conversation with his father force him to confront the love he’s been too scared to claim.

▸ PAIRING: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: Hurt/comfort, it's just a Jake pity party ▸ WORD COUNT: 1.8K ▸ A/N: bonus scene of jake reckoning with what it means to love you from flight risk

For a long time, Jake just drifts. A ship with no wind to guide him, no captain to steer him to shore. He merely floats.

There is a hollowness in his chest. A cavern that persists no matter how many times he tries to fill it. Drinks and distractions prove ineffective. The emptiness always comes back.

He deals with it the only way he knows how – burying himself in work. He would rather be a million miles away, thousands of feet in the air, than walk the same streets as you — strangers again.

So when the opportunity arrives to be deployed abroad for a few months, he takes it. The hustle and bustle of the international base keeps his mind occupied. He doesn’t recognize anyone else here, and he doesn’t feel the need to necessarily make friends, so he largely keeps to himself. 

The loneliness has already rooted and taken a life of its own. A life in exile doesn’t seem too bad compared to the alternative: living with the constant reminder of what could’ve been. 

His self-inflicted punishment works as it should. Jake doesn’t think he’s ever been so miserable. While his squadron members call loved ones through the crackly connection on base or share photographs of those they have waiting for them at home, Jake can only mourn for a love he couldn't keep.

Jake’s reputation precedes him. It’s the only reason several people try to talk to him. They pry his legendary exploits out of him, making him recount the missions he’s done that put him at the top of his class. 

But it’s meaningless when he still tucks himself in at night alone. He urges sleep to take him quickly. When darkness blankets the barracks, Jake is left with only his thoughts. Thoughts he refuses to reckon with. 

The days pass in a blur. Every day feels the same. A rinse and repeat. 

One day, when he comes in from his morning shift, he shrugs off his jacket. The air here is chilly, temperatures dropping to levels that have him burying himself deeper into his clothes and boots.

The jacket is the one thing he allows himself as a memory of you. You used to steal it and wear it on colder winter days. You say that it’s comfortable, but he knows that you secretly just love the smell of him that clings to the fabric. 

Now, it’s your scent that lingers. As he moves to fold it, his fingers brush over a different texture. He frowns, running his hand over the insides to find its source. 

He notices it then. A tiny red heart. 

It’s small but deliberate. There’s a sloppiness to the stitching that tells him that it is hand-sewn. He stares at it for a moment, wondering if it’s always been there.

Then it clicks. 

There was one day when he was busy poring over the latest training guide that Rooster had put together. He was hunched over the living room coffee table, papers scattered all around him. He initially didn’t notice you tucked into a corner of the couch, fiddling around with his jacket. He never thought much of it. You were always touching that jacket. 

Now he knows what you had been doing. It explains the shy flush of your face when he looked over, how you quickly hid your hands in the jacket. 

His fingers trace the heart. It’s a little frayed, a little misshapen. It reminds him of you and him.

Another crinkle draws his attention and he tugs on the zipper on the inside pocket where the heart had been stitched. There’s a piece of paper that looks like it’s been washed over and crumpled, but the writing is still legible. 

So you always have a piece of me with you.

And it sinks into him like an anchor. Slow, deep. 

Jake swallows the thickness in his throat. The jacket suddenly feels heavy in his grasp. His fingers clutch the fabric and note tight. His heart aches with a longing that he’s tried desperately to bury. 

It’s silly how easily he falls back into old patterns. 

The polaroid of you and him — one Rooster had taken on a blistering summer day. Your arms are wrapped around his neck from behind. The grins on your faces are bright and genuine. When things were easier. He tucks it in the dashboard of his plane. 

It’s been a year since he last put it here for good luck. Even if it doesn’t change anything, he will still have a piece of you with him.

–

The Texas air is humid, clinging onto his skin even when the sun is slowly sinking in the sky. Being home always brings him a sense of calmness. It’s the kind of peace that comes easy. The familiarity engraved into every corner of his childhood home. 

It’s the smell of grass and dirt, the recognizable cracks on the wooden porch chair beneath his fingertips, the flickering of the oil lamp his mother insists on keeping around, the sound of his dad’s labored breaths next to him after a long day. 

Except now he finds himself distracted, his thoughts wandering to a certain someone who isn’t here with him. 

“You’ve been quiet lately. Somethin’ on your mind?” His dad prompts.

Jake has a feeling that his parents have been talking about him. It isn’t surprising. Jake is finally home from deployment, but he isn’t really. His mind is constantly elsewhere—it’s out west, wondering what you’re doing in that moment. 

His mother doesn’t even know what exactly happened, how her only son had ruined the best thing he had. But a mother always knows — somehow, she knows that the guilt is eating at him inside out. 

When he closes his eyes, he’s constantly reminded of you. The way the wind whips through your hair, how you would throw your head back in a delighted laugh. The smile you offer him in the quietest nights, when even the crickets have fallen asleep, and it’s just you and him in the safety of your room. 

He opens his eyes. If he thinks about you too long, all he feels is his heart throbbing painfully in his chest. A cry for help, a cry for you. 

“Just messed something up. Didn’t really mean to, but I did.”

“A woman?”

A bitter laugh rises in his throat. “That obvious?”

“Only heartbreak can put that look on a man’s face.” 

Jake recognizes heartbreak in the lines of his face whenever he looks in the mirror. Smiling feels a little harder nowadays. It used to be so easy, particularly with you.

God, it was so easy with you. 

Jake directs his gaze to the indigos and blues painted on the evening Austin sky. He’s been sitting out here too long now. The beer in his hand is lukewarm. 

He had thought about bringing you home before. You mentioned wanting to visit Texas and he couldn’t help but think about how well you’d fit into his family. He can picture you helping his mom with dishes in the kitchen, giggling with his sisters over his childhood photos in his living room, and listening to his dad drone on about his farm out on the porch. He can see you laughing as you're sprawled across his childhood bed. He can see you with the sun speckling your face with light. 

He takes a long gulp of his beer. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Jake sighs. Because it’s true. He has ruined what he had with you. There’s no turning back time to swallow the horrible words echoing in his voice. 

Clint Seresin is a lot of things but a fool is not one of them. Jake was raised by the wisest people he knows. “Alright, guess we’ll sit in silence until you decide to end this pity party you’re throwing for one.” 

“That’s a horrible thing to say to your son.”

“Gotta call a potato a potato, bud.” 

Jake chuckles, taking another swig of his drink. The silence settles around them again, but Jake knows his dad is just biding his time. The man is stubborn, that’s where Jake gets it from. 

“I met a girl,” Jake starts hesitantly. “She’s— she’s something else. There’s no one like her. She’s the funniest person I know. She’s got this sharp mouth, always has a comeback, always has to have the last word. Sometimes I rile her up on purpose just to see what she says next. God, I love listening to her smartass replies.”

Your laugh echoes in his mind. The ghost of your touch drifts across the back of his hand, sending a shiver down his spine. He can feel the press of your lips against his neck. 

Jake wets his lips and inhales shakily. Breathing has been a difficult task these days. 

“She’s perfect. Perfect for me. Too perfect.” 

“You love her?”

“Yes.” The answer is simple this time. No hesitation. It’s what he should’ve said that night. 

“So what’s the problem?”

His mouth feels dry again. Sandpaper on his tongue. “I am. I’m not even close to being good enough. I can’t possibly make her happy forever. She deserves the kind of love that isn’t hard. She deserves better. Better than anything I could offer her.” 

His dad snorts, drawing Jake’s attention to him. “Talking about forever when you’re not even dealing with the here and now.”

Jake cocks an eyebrow at that. “What do you mean?”

“Love isn’t a constant stream of fireworks. It’s not repeatedly flying through storms and enemy fire. It means that you don’t always need grand gestures. Your mother never needed big declarations, Jake. She just needed me to show up. Every day. That’s all love is —choosing to stay.” 

Stay. It sounds a lot like I love you. 

He closes his eyes again, breath hitching in his throat. He wonders what you would’ve said that night, how you would’ve reacted if he told you he loved you. If he told you that he’s always known deep down that you’re it for him. 

His dad has always said he knew his mother was the one from the moment they met. Jake has never stayed before. Not with women. Not with feelings. Like Icarus, he flies a little too close to the sun and feels the heat lick his wings. So he steps back before he catches fire. 

But the moment he saw the devilish grin on your face, the way you proudly rang that bell and robbed him of his wallet, Jake knew. 

There would never be anyone else.

His dad lets out a huffed laugh. “You’ll figure it out, son. You just have to decide if you’re done running.” He pauses, then continues, “I’ll tell you this, though. You keep running from a woman who gives a damn about you? One day, you’re going to realize that you’re already too far to find your way back. But right now, it’s not too late.” 

For the first time in a long time, Jake doesn’t feel like running away. 

He feels like coming home to you. 

↤ Flight Risk Masterlist

[tommysparkles]

ooo for the cuddling prompts pls <3

24- Between strangers

Cia, my darling, anything for you. ❤️Also, this is so long, sorry lol. Buck had a lot to say. If all of these end up being this long, they might take me a while, oops.

Buck leans against Hen, laughs maniacally as they egg Chimney onto chugging the latest round of Tequila. Buck's starting to have problems even remembering what day it is, so he thinks this should probably be the last, but they're having so much fun after such a hard year, Buck's almost loath to give up this little floaty feeling.

"Think we've had enough," Hen says, far too reasonably, but he knows she's been pacing herself far better than the rest of them have.

There's a weight on his shoulder and he looks to the side to see Ravi practically collapsed against him.

"Too much there, probie?" Buck asks, but he's not entirely sure that was coherent. He thinks it might have sounded a little like 'T'much thr probe?' he shakes his head to clear the alcohol cobwebs away, but it doesn't help. Maybe more tequila will do it.

Ravi mumbles "not" and Buck has no idea what that means. He's just holding up a hand to ask for more when Hen grabs it and pulls it down.

"No, Buck, I think we're done for the night. Your better half is already on the way."

Buck pouts, vaguely remembers he'd thought he should stop, but Hen said his better half is coming, so that's fine. When Hen turns to wrangle a very drunk Chimney, Buck can feel his gaze turn to the door of the bar, like he's drawn there or something. Maybe it is, because the hottest guy he's ever seen has just walked in.

"Hey, look who it is!" Chimney hollers. Buck winces, when did he get that close? The guy coming toward them is wearing the LAFD t-shirt and slacks.

"Hot firefighter, oh my god," Buck mumbles and Ravi snorts a laugh against his shoulder. Buck doesn't know what's so funny, he does know that he shouldn't be drooling over the Hot Guy when his better half is coming for him.

"Sorry, I'm so late," Hot Guy says to Hen. "Shift ran over. I meant to make it here ages ago."

Hen gives Hot Guy a hug and Buck pouts again. How does she know this guy and he doesn't?

"It's totally fine," Hen is saying. "When you texted to say you were running late, I stopped at one drink, but let me tell you, these guys have had more than enough to make up for both of us. We lost Eddie a while ago."

"He found a girl," Ravi stage-whispers, collapsing into giggles against Buck again.

Hot Guy shakes his head. "Good lord. Hen, do you need me to take anyone else home?"

She waves that away. "Nah. Maddie's in the bathroom and she stayed sober too. I've got Ravi here."

"I'll text Eddie in the group chat," Hot Guy says. "Make sure he's okay."

"That would be good," Hen agrees. "Take your boy home. Call me tomorrow."

"Will do. Tell Chimney I said Happy Birthday." Hot Guy takes Buck's arm and wraps it around his own shoulders, but Buck refuses to move, frowning.

"I can't go with you," he says. "My better half is coming."

Hot Guy shoots Hen a look that tells Buck he's trying mightily not to laugh. He schools his face, looks at Buck and says, "I'm taking you to him."

"Oh." Buck thinks about that, decides he trusts this stranger to bring him where he needs to go. "Mmkay."

"He'd be so easy to kidnap," Hen mutters and Hot Guy snorts a laugh.

"Would not," Buck manages. He curls into the guy, just can't help it. "You smell good."

He's gently squeezed against a hard chest as he demands a cuddle without words.

"Thank you," Hot Guy says, guiding him to the door. "Come on, Evan. Let's go."

For some reason, that 'Evan' calms Buck more than anything else. It's his name, of course, but it's said in such a way that makes Buck think the guy's actually called him 'sweetheart' or 'baby' and that makes Buck feel floaty for a different reason.

Soon enough, he's being bundled into the front seat of a very familiar truck, doesn't think much of it when he's ushered into a house that smells, of, well, home. Doesn't really track it when his shoes are removed gently from his feet, he's urged to drink an entire glass of water, doesn't argue when he's bundled into bed.

He could swear a kiss is placed on his temple, but he's out before he can think too much about it.

____

When Buck wakes the next morning, his headache isn't too bad, considering. He looks toward the nightstand, sees another glass of water, sitting next to two ibuprofen. He takes them, washes them down and thinks back to last night. His eyes widen when he vaguely remembers forgetting he had a...

"Hey," that soft, lovely voice says from the door way.

Buck looks up, sees Tommy standing there in old jeans and word t-shirt.

"How are you feeling?"

Buck laughs sheepishly. "Hungover. Kind of embarrassed."

Tommy grins. "Nothing I haven't seen before. Besides, you were very cute."

"I can't believe I forgot!" he looks down at his left hand, the ring that's settled on its home where it belongs. He doesn't know how he didn't feel it last night.

"Well," Tommy says, flashing his own wedding ring. "To be fair, it's only been a few weeks." Then he heaves a put-upon sigh. "But you forgot your own husband. It's very sad."

Buck shoves at him with a laugh. "I didn't do anything too embarrassing, did I? Well. More embarrassing?"

"Mmm," Tommy thinks about that. "Not really. Although, we were halfway home when you asked if you could bite my bicep."

Buck groans and collapses against the pillows as Tommy continues, "Which, you know, you tend to just do that without warning anyway, so drunk Evan is actually very considerate."

Buck laughs, Tommy's grin is bright and beautiful. "God." He holds out his arms. "Come here."

Tommy obeys, laying down on Buck's chest. Buck wraps his arms around him. "I think I still knew you anyway."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm," Buck hums, squeezing him tight. "Thanks for coming to get me."

Tommy presses a kiss onto his t-shirt covered sternum. "Always."

[cosycryptid]

Soft Touches Under Stage Lights

Eddie Munson never expected his first real music video shoot to feel like a fever dream—complete with fog machines, chaos, and a makeup artist who just so happens to be Steve Harrington. On A03: [Here]

Eddie Munson had never seen so many lights in one place. The set looked like a spaceship crash-landed in a warehouse—cables everywhere, people shouting into headsets, and a fog machine that wouldn’t stop hissing like a pissed-off cat. 

He was more than a little nervous. First real music video. First real budget. The pressure to do well was almost tangible as it rested on his shoulders and refused to be ignored. If this went well, he wouldn’t just be the weirdo freak from Hawkins anymore. 

“Eddie, you’re in hair and make-up in five minutes!” someone called. 

He gave a thumbs-up without looking. His eyes still trying to take in everything at once. He stood somewhere off to the side, letting the chaos buzz around him. 

Then the door opened, and Jeff walked in looking the hottest Eddie had ever seen him look. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie said. “Who are you and what have you done with my bandmate?” 

“I know, right?” Jeff held his arms out, gave a twirl and wiggled his eyebrows. “What do you think?” 

“What do I think?” Eddie asked. “I think my position of heart throb is under serious threat. How do you look so good?” 

“Dude, you are not going to believe-” 

“Eddie, you’re up!” a woman looking very official with a clipboard and an earpiece interrupted. “Please make your way over to the hair and makeup station.” 

“Uh yeah... sure,” Eddie said, giving Jeff a suspicious glare. He looked way too pleased about something. The last time he made that face, he said something moments later that derailed a campaign Eddie had been working on for the entire summer. It was never good news. 

“Good luck,” Jeff said, patting Eddie on the shoulder and cackling demonically as he went to find the others. 

Eddie discovered the reason only a few minutes later as he sat nervously in front of a mirror lined with light bulbs that spared no area of his skin from being exposed. 

At first, he thought maybe he was hallucinating when he caught a glimpse of a ghost from his high school days in the background of his reflection. But no, he turned around, and there he was. Hair still perfect, jaw still annoyingly sharp, and carrying a makeup kit like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

Steve Harrington. 

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or run. 

Eddie blinked, then blinked again. Steve Harrington was still there, standing like some kind of fever dream, sleeves rolled up, hair still perfectly styled, and a smirk that hadn’t changed since high school. 

“Hey, Munson,” he said as he looked through the multitude of products he had lined up and selected his preferred instruments of torture. 

Eddie pointed an accusatory finger. “No. No way. What the hell are you doing here? Did I hit my head? Is this a coma dream?” 

Steve laughed, setting his things down on the counter beside Eddie. “Nice to see you too. And no, you’re not hallucinating. I do makeup now. For music videos. And movies. And, apparently, for you.” 

Eddie stared. “You’re telling me King Steve—swim team captain, hair god, leader of the popular—makes people pretty for a living now?” 

Steve shrugged, clearly enjoying this. “People change. Turns out, you babysit teenage girls who don’t have anyone else in their lives to teach them about makeup enough times and you start to realise you’re pretty good with a brush. And I like it. Plus, the pay is better than it was working retail.” 

Eddie snorted. “Fair point.” 

“Another perk of the job is that people tell their stylists <i>everything</i>, I have so many scandalous stories about celebrities,” he grinned. “Wanna hear some?” 

“Who do you think I am?” Eddie scoffed, shifting in his chair to get comfortable. “Of course I do. Spill, Harrington. Who was the rudest person you ever worked on?” 

Steve seemed delighted. “Okay, so picture this, I’m on the set of an upcoming action movie...” 

As they talked and Steve revealed more secrets, Eddie found himself fully relaxing and actually genuinely having a great time. Steve made him laugh harder than he had in a while as he prepared and found his plans and notes for Eddie’s look for the video, which were impressively detailed. He had a few for each of the members, and they almost reminded Eddie of character sheets. He had never pictured ex-jock Steve to put so much care into anything. 

“Do you mind if I touch your face just a second?” Steve asked. 

Eddie swallowed. “No, go right ahead.” 

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched just long enough to feel like it meant something. Steve placed his hands on either side of Eddie’s face and looked at him closely, really looked. Eddie felt suddenly very aware of how close they were and how oddly gentle Steve was being as he tilted Eddie’s face slightly to look at it in different lights. 

When he let go, Eddie had to physically restrain himself from chasing after the touch.  

“I think I know which look I’m going to go for,” Steve announced. “But we gotta do your hair first. So you’re gonna have to come over to the basin with me so I can wash it.” 

The chair creaked gently as Eddie leaned back, his neck settling into the curved rest. He took a deep breath as Steve messed with the temperature trying to get the exact right balance between not too warm and not too cold. Eddie felt strangely vulnerable like this, like he was trusting Steve with more than just putting water and product in his hair. 

Warm water poured softly over his head, and Eddie found himself relaxing into the chair at the sensation. 

“You okay?” Steve asked softly. “Is the temperature good?” 

Eddie hummed, barely audible above the water. “Mmhm. S’good. Just… feels nice.” 

Steve smiled, his hands careful as he cupped water over Eddie’s hair. The curls softened under his touch, and with each pass of his fingers, tension seemed to melt from Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie couldn’t quite believe that this was actually happening-that Steve was being so careful and gentle with him. Part of him wondered if he’d somehow fallen asleep on set and was dreaming this entire interaction with the guy he used to hopelessly crush on but had never spoken to and hasn’t seen in years. 

Eddie heard Steve reach for the shampoo and pop the cap open, then he was suddenly surrounded by the scent of coconut and his traitorous spine tingled as Steve’s fingers threaded themselves into his wet hair. 

With a slow rhythm, Steve massaged it in, fingertips moving in circles, deliberate and gentle. Foam built between his hands and Eddie’s scalp, thick and white and dotted with tiny bubbles. Eddie let out a quiet breath that sounded suspiciously like a sigh. 

“I could fall asleep like this,” Eddie murmured. 

“I’d charge you double for the nap,” Steve teased. 

A lazy smile tugged at Eddie’s lips. He cracked one eye open, looked up at that damn smug face upside down. “Worth it.” 

Steve’s thumb brushed behind his ear—gentle, not playful. Like a promise he didn’t have to say aloud. And Eddie, in that moment, was utterly defenseless. 

By the time Steve finished, Eddie’s hair had never felt cleaner. He had never felt like he was in safer hands. 

“So,” Steve said, voice softer now, “you ready?” 

Eddie cleared his throat. “I mean, I was born ready. But if you make me look like one of those guys from a boy band, I swear to god—” 

Steve raised both hands in mock surrender. “Relax. I know your vibe. I’ve seen the posters. You’ll still look like you crawled out of a haunted record store. Just… with more defined lashes.” 

Eddie tried not to smile. Failed. “Alright, Harrington. Do your worst.” 

He let Steve lead him back over to the mirror. 

“So, first music video,” Steve said as he was putting a product in Eddie’s hair that smelled nice and was supposed to give it texture and volume. Eddie’s not sure what that means because he assumed hair had a texture anyway, but hey Steve’s the expert. “You must be really excited.” 

“I’ll be honest with you, I’m kind of terrified,” Eddie admitted, fidgeting with the rings stacked on his fingers like armor. 

“That’s normal,” Steve said, gently covering Eddie’s eyes before giving his hair a final mist of hairspray. He fussed with a few stubborn curls, then stepped back to assess his work with a satisfied nod. “Alright. Hair’s done. Time for makeup.” 

He dragged a stool over and sat opposite Eddie, close enough that their knees almost touched. 

“Really? You think it’s normal?” Eddie asked, voice quieter now. 

“Of course,” Steve said, grabbing a sponge and dabbing it into foundation. “You could be the most confident person in the world and still feel nervous in a moment like this. It’s not every day you get poked, prodded, and shoved under a hundred lights with a camera in your face. But if anyone can pull it off, it’s you.” 

He said it so casually, like he hadn’t just dropped a compliment that made Eddie’s ears burn. Steve dusted on a layer of powder, focused and unbothered, like this was just another Tuesday. 

“Amazing, huh?” Eddie teased, waiting until the brush was out of the way to raise an eyebrow. “That’s high praise from you, King Steve.” 

Steve froze, brush still in hand. His expression flickered—just for a second—from amused to something more introspective. 

“King Steve,” he echoed, softer now. “Man. Haven’t heard that in a while.” 

He set the brush down gently, then looked at Eddie with a crooked smile. “I used to think that title meant something. Like, if people called me that, it meant I mattered.” 

Eddie tilted his head, caught off guard by the honesty. 

Steve shrugged, rolling his stool a little closer. “Turns out, being king of a high school hallway doesn’t mean much when you’re twenty-something and still figuring out who the hell you are. Took me a while, but I got there. And you know what actually matters?” 

“What?” Eddie asked, closing his eyes as Steve reached for the eyeshadow palette. “Impart your mythical wisdom on me.” 

“Talent,” Steve said simply. Eddie tried not to flinch at how close his voice was. “Character. Creativity. Resilience. Friends who don’t just want something from you. The reason I think you’ll be amazing is because you’ve got all of that.” 

Eddie let the silence stretch for a second, then added, softer this time, “Thanks. Seriously. I don’t think anyone’s ever said stuff like that to me without a punchline at the end.” 

He shifted in the chair, suddenly aware of how still the room had gotten around them. “I’ve spent most of my life being the weird guy in the back of the room. The one people laugh at, or ignore, or… try to avoid entirely. So hearing that I’ve got all those things you listed? Kinda makes me want to believe it.” 

Steve didn’t say anything right away. Just kept working, gentle and focused, like he knew the moment needed space. 

Then, finally, he said, “You should believe it. Because it’s true. And because I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t.” 

He reached out, fingers brushing under Eddie’s chin, tilting his face up just slightly. The touch was gentle—professional, maybe, but there was something else in it too. Something careful. 

“Open your eyes for me, just for a second.” 

Eddie did. Slowly. 

He had a quip ready—something flirty, maybe a little ridiculous—but it died on his tongue the moment he saw how close Steve was. The way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his lips pressed together in focus. It was cute. Unfairly so. 

Steve smiled, slow and deliberate, as he dabbed a final touch of color near the corner of Eddie’s eye. 

“I knew this shade would look good on you,” he murmured. “But honestly? You’ve got a great pair of eyes to work with. Big, brown, kind of annoyingly pretty. I think most of the colours I have would work.” 

Eddie blinked, caught somewhere between flustered and flattered. “You always compliment your clients like that, or am I just getting the deluxe treatment?” 

Steve met his gaze, steady and warm. “Only the ones who make it hard not to.” 

Eddie almost choked on a gulp of air. How was Steve getting a leg up on him in the casual flirting department? That wasn’t the natural order of things. He had to fix it—fast. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, Steve,” he said, voice low and teasing. “With your sharp jawline and that cute little pout of yours? Is that lip gloss you’re wearing? Because it’s awful pretty on you, sweetheart.” 

Steve blinked, clearly not expecting the counterattack. His hand paused mid-sweep with the brush, and for the first time since he’d walked in, he looked genuinely flustered. 

He recovered quickly—too quickly—but there was a faint pink creeping up his neck that Eddie definitely noticed. 

“It’s tinted balm,” Steve said, clearing his throat. “But thanks. I’ll take ‘pretty’ from you any day.” 

Eddie grinned, triumphant. “Good. Because I don’t hand out compliments lightly.” 

Steve leaned in again, close enough that Eddie could smell the faint coconut from earlier still clinging to his hands. 

“Then I’ll make sure to earn the next one.”  

He pulls back with a knowing grin as Eddie feels his face burn under the layer of makeup. “Okay, I’m going to put eyeliner and mascara on now, which will probably feel a bit uncomfortable. I’m assuming you’ve worn eyeliner before, actually I think I remember you wearing it a couple of times. So, if you would prefer to do that part yourself, I’d be happy to let you.” 

Eddie blinked, trying to play it cool even as his face burned under the layer of foundation. He wasn’t going to unpack that. Not now. Not when it implied that Steve Harrington—King Steve, golden boy of Hawkins High—had noticed him back then. When Eddie was just the weird metalhead no one wanted to sit next to in the cafeteria. 

So instead, he smirked. 

“I mean, yeah, I’ve worn eyeliner before. Usually applied in the back of a van with a cracked compact mirror and a lot of swearing, but sure.” 

Steve chuckled. “Sounds glamorous.” 

“So glamorous,” Eddie agreed, rolling his eyes. “But nah, you go ahead. I trust you.” 

Steve raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “You trust me with a tiny brush near your eyeball?” 

“Yeah, oddly enough, I do.” 

“Okay, close your eyes again,” Steve instructed. Eddie did so without hesitation.  

He knew Steve would be just as careful and gentle here as he had been with everything else so far, and while it was a strange sensation, Eddie was correct about that.  

Eddie could feel the soft drag of the brush along his lash line, the faintest pressure as Steve worked with steady hands. It wasn’t just the physical closeness—it was the way Steve moved, like he was painting something sacred. Like Eddie was something worth getting exactly right. 

He swallowed hard, trying not to let the silence feel too loud. 

“You always this gentle?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

Steve didn’t answer right away. He finished the line, then leaned back just enough to look at Eddie’s face from a new angle. 

“With people who deserve it,” he said softly. 

Eddie’s heart did something traitorous in his chest. He kept his eyes closed, not trusting himself to look at Steve just yet. 

“Okay, done,” Steve said after a beat, his voice a little steadier. “Now mascara. Open your eyes and try not to flinch or blink.” 

Eddie smirked. “No promises.” 

It was hard to ignore the cute little concentration faces Steve started making again as he brushed the mascara onto Eddie’s lashes. “You have really nice long eyelashes. You’re making my job easy here.” 

“Nice long eyelashes?” Eddie gasped pressing his hand to his chest like a scandalised old lady in a Victorian drama almost knocking Steve’s mascara wand wielding hand in the process. “Steve Harrington! At least take me to dinner first!” 

Steve let out a startled squawk, jerking his hand back just in time to avoid jabbing Eddie in the eye. 

“Jesus, Eddie!” he laughed. “Be careful, I could have blinded you. Or worse, ruined your make up.” He completes a few more strokes. “There, now I can put this away before you hurt someone or do anything to mess up my work.” 

“Good to see you have your priorities right.” Eddie was grinning like the devil himself; hand still pressed to his chest. “I’m just saying, if you’re going to compliment my lashes like that, I feel like I deserve a candlelit dinner and maybe a mixtape.” 

Steve shook his head, trying—and failing—not to smile. “Let me finish with your lips, go do your job and maybe then we’ll talk first dates.” 

He could point out that the line about his lips was a bit suggestive, but the seriousness in Steve’s tone when he mentioned the possibility of a first date had him zeroing in on that. 

Eddie’s grin faltered—just a little—as his brain caught up with what Steve had actually said. 

‘Maybe then we’ll talk first dates.’ 

Not a joke. Not a deflection. Just… said like it was a real possibility. 

Steve was already uncapping a tube of lipstick, completely focused, like he hadn’t just casually dropped a line that made Eddie’s heart stutter. 

Eddie cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “You say that like you’ve thought about it.” 

Steve glanced up, just for a second. “Maybe I have.” 

And then he leaned in again, steady hand guiding the color across Eddie’s lips with the same care he’d shown the rest of the process. Eddie didn’t move. Didn’t dare. 

When Steve finally pulled back, he looked at Eddie’s face like he was seeing the finished product—but his eyes lingered a little too long on Eddie’s mouth. 

“There,” he said, voice a little rougher than before. “You’re ready.” 

Eddie wasn’t sure if he meant for the shoot or something else entirely.  

Steve stood and turned Eddie’s chair to face the mirror. He was expecting to see some exaggerated version of himself—something too polished, too unfamiliar. But what stared back at him wasn’t someone else. It was him, just sharper. Louder. Like someone had turned the volume up on all the parts of him he usually kept tucked away. 

His curls were perfectly tousled, full of volume and texture, like he’d just stepped out of a dream and into a spotlight. The eyeliner framed his eyes in a way that made them look even bigger, deeper—like they could hold secrets and start fires. The mascara made his lashes fan out dramatically, and the lipstick—deep, rich, and just a little glossy—made his mouth look dangerous in the best way. 

He looked like a rockstar. Like someone who belonged on stage, in front of cameras, in the center of attention. 

Eddie blinked, then let out a low whistle. “Damn, Harrington,” he said, voice a little rough. “You didn’t just do makeup. You conjured something.” 

Steve, standing just behind him, met his eyes in the mirror. “Nah,” he said quietly. “It was already there. I just helped you see it.” 

And for once, Eddie didn’t have a comeback. Just a slow, stunned smile. 

He turned to face Steve, hugged him and placed a big smooch on his cheek. 

Steve froze for a second, caught completely off guard by the sudden hug—and the kiss that followed. Eddie’s arms were warm around him, the press of lips against his cheek lingering just long enough to make Steve’s brain short-circuit. 

When Eddie pulled back, grinning like he’d just won something, Steve blinked, stunned. 

“That was a thank-you,” Eddie said, voice light but eyes sincere. “For the magic. And the mascara. And the whole ‘reminding me I’m not a total disaster’ thing.” 

Steve’s hand drifted up to touch the spot on his cheek where Eddie had kissed him, like he wasn’t quite sure it had happened. 

“Well,” he said, recovering with a crooked smile, “if that’s what I get for doing your makeup, I’m definitely putting you on my regular client list.” 

Eddie laughed, and for the first time all day, the nerves in his chest felt like they’d finally settled. 

From somewhere across the set, someone called, “Eddie! Five minutes to shoot!” 

He turned toward the sound, then glanced back at Steve. “Guess it’s showtime.” 

Steve nodded, still smiling. “Go knock ’em dead, rockstar.” 

Eddie winked. “Only if you’re watching.” 

“Of course I will,” Steve said. “Me and my emergency touch up kit will be front and center. Can’t have you guys running off and smudging my hard work.” 

“Good,” Eddie replied. “Oh, and Steve?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You got a little something right there,” Eddie said, pointing on his face to the spot where he’d kissed Steve. 

Steve looked confused for a second but turned to the mirror. Eddie laughed triumphantly at the look on Steve’s face, the pink tint to his cheeks and the big colorful mark that Eddie had stamped on his skin in lipstick. 

Before Steve could enact revenge, Eddie took off cackling. 

If Eddie went to the head of his label later and demanded they offer an exclusive contract to Steve because he didn’t want to work with anyone else, that was nobody’s business but his. 

[sugawhaaa]

SKZ HEADCANONS

•| cock description |•

Warnings:: NSFW

Pairing:: ot8 x gn!reader

Skz masterlist:: 🌺

A/N:: post concert depression is a real thing...

🌟Bangchan🌟

I feel like everyone generally has the same opinion when it comes to Chan. As Chan said one time "I do have a big nose...you know what else is big?" I think Chan is sitting pretty much middle of the road when it comes to length, just about average, but width is another story. I also imagine his cock to be very veiny and nicely textured 😍

🌟Lee know🌟

With Minho I'd say it's hard to say for sure...I imagine that he gets really hard really easily and always has a slight curve to his cock. Though for lee know its much more about how he uses it. He knows all the right spots you like it and he knows how much it turns you on when he plays with his cock in front of you. In short, he's a total tease.

🌟Changbin🌟

This man is big in everyway except for his height so of course his cock is going to match. Very girthy and veiny but shorter than average, though that doesn't matter with the force of his thrusts 🤭 he really likes seeing his cock resting on your tongue, beside your face or even on your face. Cock worship is a big thing for him...

🌟Hyunjin🌟

This may be controversial but I think Hyunjin is very about average in every way. The only thing not average about his cock is how he uses it. Hyunjin is definitely a total freak in bed and he's got all the right techniques to please just about anyone. Hyunjin wouldn't be confident in his size but wouldn't be insecure either.

🌟Han🌟

Hehe okay the biggest thing about Han is that like Minho he gets hard really easily and gets super sensitive. Anytime this happens he gets super twitchy, like he's constantly trying to find a way to quiet down his boner until he can do something about it. I also imagine him to have a lot of girth and just about average length (probably big balls too sorry not sorry)

🌟Felix🌟

Contrast to what a lot of people believe I think Felix is quite average as well, maybe a bit longer than others but generally average. I also feel like he wouldn't shave much and just let it be more natural than some people which is very...🤭 but he uses his cock as the biggest tease ever.

🌟Seungmin🌟

Once again just average and maybe even a little shy/insecure about it. He wouldn't refuse anything sexual because of his insecurity but it'd be a little subconscious thought that floats around his head every now and again. Though I think he'd be very veiny with a vibrant tip...

🌟I.N🌟

Very mixed thoughts when it comes to this fellow though I think he'd be surprisingly impressive. He'd be all "No I'm shy~~~" and nervous to show off but in reality he has nothing to be insecure about. His cock would be so sensitive though, even when domming he'd feel every inch of you clenching around him.

[raileurta]

Part two of ideas I'll never write a fanfic about

While doing some research on the Internet Soundwave came to learn of an interesting phenomenon regarding humans. They were quite susceptible to manipulation for anything they would consider “cute” in their eyes. A creature they called a cat that was especially adorable to them even made up 15% of their communication network. Sensing an opportunity to control the human population, Soundwave brought this information to Megatron's attention. He was immediately infatuated with the idea and ordered Shockwave to construct the cutest possible soldier. It only took him only a few Earth hours as he took in much easily accessible information from the humans' internet. Shockwave brought the blueprint back to the Decepticon overlord and said how they only needed a bot now, willing or not. Megatron's thoughts immediately drifted to Starscream. The form he was presented with was beyond hideous and he knew Starscream would absolutely hate it. Not one to pass up the opportunity to torture his second in command Megatron forced Starscream to undergo the procedure.

When it was done Starscream was half his original height now covered in a substance similar to organic fur, oversized wings, with two twitching ears, and much bigger eyes. Much to Megatron's disappointment Starscream's attitude had remained the same as humans would find it “more appealing that way” Shockwave had reasoned. (What in the pit was wrong with humans?) Regardless, Megatron would advertise Starscream’s form across the globe and demand the humans to adore the altered seeker. The plan was to get humanity infatuated with him so Megatron could order them to do his binding in exchange for more content of Starscream. To make sure it was extra effective all past pictures or videos of Starscream were altered to make it seem he always had looked like this. The humans quickly fell in love with Starscream.

It worked.

It worked too well in fact.

When humans did their own research on Starscream they would soon find out about his relationship with Megatron. Seeing their “precious baby” being beaten up set all of humanity into an outrage. They immediately began arming themselves to put Megatron into an early grave. Optimus at first tried to talk with the humans to make them calm down but he was promptly ignored. Seeing that his efforts weren't going anywhere Optimus quickly switched gears to do damage control. Optimus offered asylum to Megatron or anyone else who had “wronged” Starscream in the past. As much as they wanted to deny it no one could take on an entire planet of organics.

Megatron quite predictably refused and stated he could take care of them himself.

Horrible mistake.

The humans soon cornered Megatron with their relatively primitive machines and vast numbers. They then proceeded to-

Rip. Him. Apart.

Not figuratively, mind you, it was quite literally in fact.

They tore Megatron apart bit by bit in front of an adoring crowd made up of all humanity that were all collectively screaming for his torture. The videos that came out of that event would promptly be banned in six different galaxies if the psychotic humans ever made it out of their galaxy. Once Megatron was reduced to little more than energon mush the organics would “rescue” Starscream and spoil him with all kinds of gifts.

Seeing what happened to Megatron, anyone who was slightly negative to Starscream in the past quickly fled the planet or made a public apology video begging for forgiveness.

Starscream would rule Earth with a fluffy fist and turn out to be not that bad of an overlord. Humanity would prosper under his rule and make it clear to NEVER mess with Starscream ever again.

[101flavoursofweird]

Janice Quatlane: Selflessness to an extreme

I made some critical comments about Janice Quatlane (my fave) in the tags on one post, so I have to clarify.

I love Janice as a character. I love Janice/Melina as a ship. I love Janice’s design and her mini-arc of learning to let go of Melina and live her own life again. I think it’s impressive how, with everything else that happens during Eternal Diva, Janice gets a subtle arc at all. That, to me, her arc feels more complete than many of the other characters’ in the series, even if it is small. 

Sometimes it saddens me that Janice and Melina felt so overshadowed compared to Descole and his showdown with Layton during Eternal Diva. But… BUT, it doesn’t surprise me, because Descole has so much charisma and he’s so chaotic and entertaining. He goes from suave and in control at one moment, to cackling as he tears the island apart, to throwing a tantrum when his baby brother works out the whole puzzle before him. (I think the movie kind of a better introduction to Descole than PL4, honestly.)

…Descole shows so much more personality than the titular eternal diva(s). Maybe Descole IS the eternal diva!

Janice and Melina, by comparison, aren’t meant to be so bombastic. They’re the emotional core of the movie. Melina is dead from the start. Janice is the companion who writes to Layton and tags along with him for the adventure. Turns out Janice— aka, Melina— is also the person in disguise who Layton has to ‘unmask’. 

Melina reveals how she initially enjoyed living through Janice, but as time went by, she realised how wrong it all was. I know it’s just expressed as part of Melina’s dialogue, but I love this. Even though Janice allowed her to do this and Janice expressed (in the Eternal Diva novelisation) how she wanted Melina to stay, Melina still took advantage of Janice’s selflessness.

Melina isn’t EVIL! She was ill for so long and she actually died, so can you blame her for enjoying being alive again? But it shows Melina is a flawed person, even if it’s part of a flashback. Melina isn’t just entirely… selfless.

In Melina’s narration in Chapter 15 of the ED Novelisation, she throws some shade at Descole:

‘It was no wonder that you hadn’t noticed, Descole. Someone like you would never understand Janice’s kindness, or the nobility of sacrificing oneself in order to keep others alive.’

Melina finds Janice’s self-sacrifice noble, and she suggests Descole failed to notice she was there because he wouldn’t understand such a thing. (Wait until the Azran sanctuary—)

‘Selflessness’ isn’t an uncommon trait in the PL universe. Layton is selfless. Luke is selfless. Flora is selfless… Bruno, Katia, Sophia, Anton, Dimitri, CLAIRE, Emmy, Desmond, Clark, Crow, Tony, Loosha, Angela, Henry, Aurora, Bronev, Marina… The list is endless. Lots of characters— even ‘antagonists’— make self-sacrifices in the names of those they love. Janice doesn’t exactly stand out here!

But with Janice, specifically, I like how selflessness is such a fatal flaw. (She really is just like her mentor!)

Janice wouldn’t have gone out in a blaze of glory, like Descole when he saved Luke. People wouldn’t have mourned her death for years, like Claire. Janice would’ve been quite happy to quietly fade away, without anyone realising she had ever left. 

This is selflessness to the extreme, and Melina decides enough is enough. Giving up your own life so that your ghost (girl)friend can stay with you forever instead of healing and moving on really isn’t the best outcome for anyone. There’s selflessness and then there’s submission and refusing to move forward.

Could Eternal Diva have focussed more on Janice and Melina as individual characters? Could it have shown more flashbacks to Janice’s past— her memories with Melina, or her time in Layton’s class? Could we have seen Layton realising something was off about Janice when they reunited? Yes, yes, YES, 100%. 

Janice, on the surface, seems to be a blank slate. Unremarkable. Blending into the background. No thoughts from Janice behind those bug eyes. But that’s exactly what Janice wants.

-Credit to @lutiaskokopelli for the Eternal Diva Novelisation translation.

[reileftthechat]

Guys please post-war dabi. Like with Endeavor’s money and influence theres no way he’s letting Touya die. At the VERY least he has to make a public statement by atoning and taking responsibility for his actions towards his son. He’s in that tube for another few years before he gets the treatment to regenerate his body. If its possible to do it once when he was a kid, its possible to do it again.

Slowly he gains more energy, with some ups and downs of course. The treatment is pretty extensive, y’know? Eventually his skin regenerates enough to be transferred to a medically equipped cell. Its fresh and pink and a bit sore if he’s being honest. Some spots are darker than others. The same spots that where held together with staples aren’t as pigmented as they once where and attach to the rest of the body without aid. He’s missing his right arm, that unfortunately couldn’t be saved.

A few more years are spent in confinement. You visit him as often as you can, always worrying in the back of your mind that you’ll force him in your presence just a bit too often and he’ll tell you to stop coming. You acknowledge that he prefers his space, in any other circumstance. You’re not much for romance anyway. He isn’t either. A match made in heaven, really.

It started off as casual sex. Slowly, it went from quickies in an alleyway to you inviting him to your apartment. He didn’t stick around after. Not at first. Once he did, once he pressed his face into the nape of your neck and you reciprocated, he touched you more often. Not your thigh or your chest, but a casual touch here and there that didn’t feel casual. Up and down your arms and hands, a guiding hold on your waist or the back of your neck. Not too often, but noticeable.

You’re the one that opens up first. About what brought you to a position where you crossed the path of a villain like him. He’s not much for comfort, so he chaces it with a joke about his own issues. That’s how you form less of a sexually-reliant relationship with him.

You don’t find anyone else in the time he’s locked up. You’ve definitely ran into the Todoroki’s a few times, but kept the conversation as minimal as possible.

When Endeavors order finally passes, offering to take on a chunk of the responsibility for Touya’s actions in return for him to spend the rest of his days in the Todoroki abode, you’re like a ghost in their house. If caught, you make polite conversation before scurrying to Touya’s room.

Fuyumi tried quite a few times to invite you to dinner, hoping maybe it would lure out Touya as well. But you seem fixed on keeping those boundaries for Touya’s sake. You know the last thing he needs is for someone like you to rush him. You’re his last source of pure comfort without strings attached, and he has all the time in the world to make amends with his family.

But really. He isn’t allowed to drink anymore (though nobody would inforce it if it werent for the weekly parole check-ins), has nowhere outside the house to smoke without everyone flocking towards him, not to mention his lack of freedom. Its almost devastating knowing he’ll never see the flashing neon lights and people the size of ants walking below the building he sits on.

He doesn’t have a tv in his room. His therapist advised against easy dopamine that close to his bed. One night he sits in the living room with only the tv lighting up his face. Rei watches from the hall, her head leaned against the wall. Slowly, she makes her way to the sofa and wordlessly sits beside him. Episodes come and go without a single word being exchanged, but he’s not paying attention.

“If it was this easy this whole time, why couldn’t dad ever look at me?” He tries to mask his words in bravery, but he’s obviously quivering. “My baby..” she hums out, “i’m so sorry.”

Words fail him, so he curls up in her lap with a quaking chest and damp eyes. Even still, he refuses to cry. Not now. A gentle hand holds him close, and the other grazes the soft white hair that drapes over his ear.

Eventually, Touya you around the family. Labels never fail to scare him, but everyone knows by the way you look at him with such a gentle and tender love that you’re not just a friend.

[yelenas-eyeliner]

chemtrails over the country club

parker robbins/f!reader

when parker loses everything, he turns to he one person he trusts more than anything - his childhood sweetheart who he hasn't spoken to since he got the hood.

cws; IRONHEART SPOILERS (for all six episodes!), brief references of sex, discussions of mental health, friends to lovers to exes to lovers again | 2.2k wc

i finished ironheart like an hour ago... needed to let some feelings out

It was difficult to pinpoint the exact moment that something within him shifted, but you knew that something had. 

It wasn’t as though you were under the impression that things were ever easy for Parker, because you knew that they weren’t. You’d known him for long enough to remember how his life changed after his mother died, how he pulled away from just about everyone to the point that you had to force him to let you stay in his life. Then, one day, he was gone. He was gone from school, gone from the receiving end of your land-line, just… gone. Like he had vanished. 

After about a week, he had turned up on your family porch looking for a place to stay, and it was just his luck that your parents saw a twelve year old boy with no where to go and agreed to let him stay in the spare room. You didn’t bother telling them about some of the more nefarious things that he had been getting into, how he had been getting in trouble at school and around Chicago just because he wanted his father’s attention. You knew that telling them that would only spell trouble, it would make things more difficult. 

You knew Parker Robbins extremely well, because he lived with you for years. He was your best friend, the one person who you could trust with anything. But he was also someone who you experienced a lot of things with, a lot of things that went beyond the bounds of friendship. It was one thing when he held hands with you on rooftops when you were fourteen, and another when he took you to homecoming when you were sixteen. But when you still hadn’t gone on a date at eighteen, when you got no where near kissing anyone, he was the first person do to that for you, too. He kissed you, he took you on a date, and he did a whole lot more than that even though you never put a label on anything.

Realistically, maybe you should have. Maybe it would’ve stopped things from becoming as bad as they had become.

John, his cousin, was the one who found him. You were both old enough that it was about time that your parents wanted Parker to try looking for a place. He was having trouble finding work, and he didn’t know who else to turn to. So, he turned to John. He was making money, but you didn’t know where he was getting it for the longest time. But when you found out, all those conversations ever ended in were arguments. Arguments about how this was a terrible idea, about how he absolutely didn’t need to be doing this. You wanted to help him, you loved him. And maybe if you could ever work up the courage to tell him that second part, he would’ve listened. 

Something went wrong, you knew that.

Coming to his apartment after classes had become normal for you since you entered your second year of grad school. You’d text Parker, let him know you were using his spare key, and surprise him with dinner. If you were in a committed relationship, maybe it would’ve been domestic. But you weren’t. And today, it was anything but domestic. 

He came home incredibly late. Shaken up, wearing some leather-looking cloak with a hood on it. He started by asking you to check out his back, to ask him if there was something on it. Sure enough, there was some sort of road-rash that definitely hadn’t been there the last time that you had seen him without a shirt on. But he also seemed… different, and you didn’t think it had something to do with the wound.

Parker refused medical attention, and he refused to let you even get close to touching his hood. He was almost just keeping you at arm’s length. Insisting to you, over and over again, that things had changed for the better and that he was going to be making a better life for himself, for both of you. 

Admittedly, he had more pep in his step after that. But it only went downhill from there. 

His operations were expanded, his jobs were more dangerous and large-scale. You just couldn’t bring yourself to be a part of it anymore, so you went no-contact with him. You had no real desire to do this, you wanted to keep him in your life, but you couldn’t keep watching him destroy himself. Even with the crimes aside, he was changing. Every aspect of his personality was changing, and you just weren’t sure if it was something that you were even remotely comfortable with. 

That’s how things remained for a while. You stopped speaking to Parker, and after a few months, he stopped reaching out to you. 

It was better for you both. It was easier for you than watching him destroy himself for something that he wouldn’t even open up to you about. 

That’s what made it absolutely baffling to you when you opened the door to your apartment, finding Parker Robbins standing before you with a black hoodie covering his face. He had everything framing his face in a particular way, trying to cover himself. But you could see it. 

He had that veiny looking rash on his face, and a desperate look in his eyes. 

“What have you done to yourself, Parker?” You asked him, your voice almost exasperated as you opened the door. He came in, but he didn’t say anything, he didn’t know what he could possibly say to you. “Let me see.” 

Parker pulled his head back as you tried to push his hood down, his lips parting like he was about to say something. Like he was about to say no. But he stopped himself, letting his face move to where it had been before. “It’s not… it’s not pretty.” 

“Just met me see you.” 

After a moment, you pushed his hood down once he nodded, your fingers pushing his hair behind his ears before your hands cradled his cheeks. The rash was all over his face, covering a bit of those cute freckles that you had always adored. 

“Is it all over?” You asked him, your voice quiet.

“Not my entire body, but most of it.” 

He sounded a bit ashamed, and you hated that. You wanted to help him, but you needed to be sure that he wasn’t going to turn around and refuse any sort of help again, because that wasn’t beneficial for either of you and you knew it. 

“I’m sorry.” He said after a moment, and you were almost sure that you hadn’t heard him right. “I’m sorry for not being honest with you, I’m sorry for cutting you out.”

Even though you had been the one to cut him off, he had been the one who withdrew emotionally. He withdrew, and he put himself in danger, and he wouldn’t listen to reason. You argued, and argued, and then one day you decided that you couldn’t anymore. And now, here he was, telling you that he was sorry. And all you could do was wrap your arms around him, a hand pressing into his curls as his head rested against your shoulder. He seemed so broken, so defeated by something you couldn’t figure out.

“John died.” He mumbled, his voice muffled by your body as he let himself cry. Your arms stayed around him, holding him tighter. “It’s my fault, I put him there. He didn’t want to go on that job, and I made him. He died because of me.” 

Finally, you pulled back from the hug so you could make him look at you. “Hey, you can’t think about that. Okay? Don’t think about that. I’m sorry, Parker, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s all I can think about.” He responded, his voice was quiet and a bit shattered. You helped him sit down with you on the couch, keeping yourself close to him as your fingers brushed delicately through his hair. “I fucked everything up with everyone, with my team, with my own cousin, and with you, and-”

“Parker,” Your voice was firm, forcing him to look over at you as you spoke even without you doing anything physically. You needed him to understand, you needed him to stop spiraling because you knew him well enough to know how these spirals went. “I don’t know what happened to you, and you’re going to need to tell me if you want me to. But I forgive you, so you don’t have to worry about me.” 

“Why? I don’t deserve you, and I definitely don’t deserve you forgiving me.” 

“You do, you made mistakes but you do.” 

Even now, even with him opening up, you still found yourself too scared to tell him that you loved him. Instead, you let him spend hours going into detail about the cape, the cape that you knew from the very beginning had some sort of bad energy. The scars that were now littering his body, that he seemed to wish that he could find a way to remove. The magical element of it, and the man who had taken something from him in exchange for him being able to use the cape for what he wanted. It sounded to you like he was describing the devil himself, but you didn’t want to have to say that to him. 

Your arm wrapped around him after a while, letting him rest his head on you while he spoke. But he seemed to be getting more and more exhausted, maybe it was because he hadn’t been letting himself rest. Maybe it was something else. You couldn’t be too sure. All that you knew that that you needed to be there for him, that he could keep speaking for as long as he wanted and you could listen, even if everything that he was saying sounded insane. Even if you were sure that he had definitely done a lot of things that were messed up. You couldn’t stop it, you could never stop it. 

He was being so honest, so forthright. Everything that he never wanted to tell you before was coming out, and you knew that you had to be honest with him, too when the time felt right, and you knew from the way that this conversation was going that the time would feel right pretty soon. 

“I should go.” Parker said, his head lifting so he could look at you, but you kept your arm around him.

“Where? Where can you go?” You had a point and he knew it. Everywhere he went would be lonely and painful, and he would probably end up staying at a hotel in the state he was in. “You should stay, Parker.” 

“I don’t deserve to stay here, I just told you about all th-”

“Please stay, I don’t care what you did. I mean, I care, but- it’s complicated, and I get that, and we have to work through it. But I’m telling you that I forgive you for what I can forgive you for, okay. What involves me, what’s mine to forgive.” You ran your hand from his cheek to his face, your thumb brushing over his skin. He leaned his cheek into your touch, and a fluttering filled your stomach as you looked at him. “I love you Parker, I’ve loved you for a long time. And I want to be here for you, please let me this time.” 

Parker nodded after a moment, his gaze lingering on your face. “I love you too.” His voice was quiet, like he was afraid of speaking any louder. But you heard him, you understood him. You understood that you needed to give him room and patience, that you couldn’t force him to come out of his shell before he was ready. You needed him to understand that you would be there for him, though, that nothing would change that.

After a brief moment, you let him lean forward to kiss you, his hand coming to rest on the back of your neck. You leaned into him, kissing him back like it was the only thing that mattered to you. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered to you. You wanted nothing more than to keep kissing him, to remind him just how much you cared about him. How much you loved him, how much you would always love him.

Once he pulled back, your forehead was pressed against his as you held him close, your eyes still closed. “How about we get you to bed and talk more about this in the morning, okay?” 

“Okay, yeah. That sounds good.” 

It was difficult getting Parker to sleep that night. But that night, just like every other following, you would be there to help him, to have the relationship that you never had the chance to have before because neither of you wanted to be open with each other, not in any way that counted. Things were far from perfect, but you understood him now, and that was all that mattered.

[destroyerofgirls]

Having trouble seeing myself as a guy, I always get this urge to detransition because people used to like me more that way. I know it’s not what’s important but I used to get so much male attention before and I miss being wanted. It was so bad for me that I had a rumor started black in the beginning of high school that I was a prostitute so that guys felt okay to harass me and slap my ass in the hallways because I was labeled as a slut. i know it’s fucked up but I miss being wanted like that and I’m afraid I won’t be ever again. Idk what I’m asking, maybe I just want some motivation or attention. Maybe I just need you to make me a guy again. Idk

real talk, I think a lot of guys feel this way. I definitely do. I recently went down detrans blogs again, not pleasant.

i get it, you feel like you'd get more attention as a girl. I mean you're on my blog, so I assume you're attracted to men. you get sucked into wanting to find a partner that you end up basically wanting to please men. which let's face it, majority of the men on this earth are cis, which are mostly straight. and like dating is so hard as a trans person. its hard to find queer people in my area, I'm in a long distance relationship and he likes detrans. it's rough. it's really rough. it just feels easier to go back to being a girl.

but, let me tell you something. you will never be able to go back. you found out who you actually are, you're stuck with it.

we are not girls, period. we are not cis men. we are trans men. as much as you want to pass as cis, me too. our genders are beautiful in themselves. we don't have to be beautiful like women are. we don't have to be beautiful the exact same way cis men are. we are beautiful in our own ways.

cis and trans are adjectives. they describe us. we may look different from cis men. we may think differently from cis men. we love differently, we are unlike everyone else. we are unlike each other. but at the end of the day, we are still men.

we are masculine, we take up space, we are divine. we have the blessing to love ourselves deeper than anyone else. we are blessed to be able to recognize the joy of the little things. we are men. and we're better for it. we are comfortable in our own skins. we are happy.

and I know it is hard. I know that the world tells you to shut up and get back to your place. I know that a lot of us are getting our rights taken away. I know that we feel small.

but we stick together. we lift each other up. we love each other. we support each other. we have built community, and we will continue to build it up.

I refuse to let you give up on yourself.

[imtrashraccoon]

Whew! This has been sitting in my notes for over a year now since I kept getting stuck writing it or got too busy, but it is done! Or maybe I just decided to stop writing it. Meh, maybe I'll return to this idea someday or maybe I won't.

For some context, I was originally inspired by @owl-bones 's Swapdream: Totality art and decided to make my own take. This is essentially a The Nightmare of Apathy: What if? scenario where Nightmare and Dream swap roles. (Aylin's world also isn't permanently nighttime, and she has a slightly different backstory, but otherwise it's pretty much the same.)

To Defy a Dream: Part 1/2

Word Count: 3,555

There was something wrong with you. Everyone else seemed to have an easy time being happy and looking on the bright side of life when things went wrong. However, you struggled to feel much of anything on most days and had to fake happiness so that no one would realize the truth.

You hadn't always been this way. As a kid, it was easy to be happy all the time, and you remembered feeling like nothing could get you down, not even after your parents passed. After that, you had lived with your dear grandmother, and while you were still happy, things started to change. It was like a hollowness had started to take root in your soul, and nothing you did could make the pain go away. All you could do was make the best of things.

This world was cursed. Before you were even born, a stranger had appeared and set about fixing problems. He called himself Emperor Dream, and at the time, he was received warmly by the people. He made sure that everyone was happy all the time, no matter what happened.

It was all fine and good when you were a child since you didn't have to experience all the things that adults did on a daily basis. However, just because there was no war, no petty arguments, and no crime, didn't mean that there was no hardships. Even though Emperor Dream had solved all these things, the people themselves were still mortal. There were still misunderstandings, sickness, and of course, there was still death.

You had seen it happen time and time again. Someone would pass on, leaving their loved ones behind unable to properly grieve them. Some people could remember the good times they had had together so it wasn't hard to remain happy, but you knew that many suffered in silence.

Your grandmother had been one of those people. She had tried to fake it while you were small, but as you grew older, you began to see that your mother's death had affected her deeply. You understood in a way since anyone would be torn up about their own daughter passing away, but even if you had the same connection with her that your grandmother had had, you never could understand why she never stopped grieving.

You used to ask what your parents were like, but while your grandmother would tell you nice things about them, she never really answered your question. Still, you managed to piece together a few things over the years, more from your neighbors than from anything grandmother ever said.

They were good people, although misguided according to most you asked. They had been vocal about not trusting Emperor Dream, how his smile masked dark intentions, and how anyone who questioned him went conveniently missing. They had hoped to find a way to overthrow his rule and raise you in a free world, but such was not to be. No one but your grandmother seemed to know exactly how they died, or what had really happened to them, and she had always refused to tell you.

As fate would have it, you also would never learn the truth because your grandmother had died last winter. You had done everything you could, but your meager wages couldn't afford to buy the medicine she needed. Now you had to figure out survive when you felt there wasn't anything worth living for.

く⁠コ⁠:⁠彡 ~ ~ ~

"Perfect."

You couldn't help but feel a small sense of anticipation as you added a bright orange mushroom to your basket. If you fried this up in some butter and onions, you would have a wonderful addition to tonight's dinner. Maybe you could also haggle with the butcher for a nice cut of meat as well?

As you continued making your way through the forest, you kept a close eye out for any more edible mushrooms or wild vegetables. Foraging may not be the most reliable way to get food, but free was free, and you would take what you could get.

It didn't take long before you reached the river and you knew you would have to turn back soon if you didn't want to get lost. Still, it couldn't hurt to wander along the banks for a little bit longer. You really should have remembered to bring the fish trap you had finished building, but when you had left the house this morning, you hadn't been planning to wander this far into the woods.

The river turned sharply and you had to climb up a steep outcropping to keep following it. There were a couple of sturdy-looking roots poking out of the ground at the top which looked like ideal handholds if you could get enough momentum to get up there.

Taking a deep breath, you sprinted up the bank and seized one of the roots with your free hand to keep yourself from sliding back down. Fortunately, the root held firm, and you were soon able to haul yourself up without losing any of the forage you had found earlier. After dusting yourself off, you turned around to continue onwards, only to make eye contact with skeleton sitting on a nearby log.

Your sudden appearance must have surprised him, although his shock seemed to wear off quickly, and his expression soon returned to a more neutral one. For the moment, he remained seated, quietly regarding you with an open book in his lap. You had probably just interrupted his reading time, but at least he didn't seem bothered by it.

You recognized him as the stranger that had arrived in town a few days ago. He was wearing a black vest with a white dress shirt underneath, matching black pants tucked into tall leather boots, leather gloves, and a magnificent purple cloak. He also had a silver circlet adorning his skull, making you wonder if he was someone of royal descent.

While he hadn't said much about himself since arriving, you had heard rumours about him from your neighbors. He had an uncanny resemblance to Emperor Dream and had apparently reacted strangely when someone mentioned it. He was polite and spoke formally, giving the aristocrat rumours more credibility. Most interestingly, his presence had unusual affects on people nearby, and seemed to counteract the forced positivity the Emperor had enacted. It was like a dark cloud hung over him that could instill feelings of grief, sadness, and even anger in others. Regardless, the town had welcomed him with open arms, and many folks had expressed interest in getting to know him better.

"Afternoon," you greeted with a slightly awkward chuckle.

Nightmare, as you had previously learned was his name, acknowledged your presence with a nod. "Good afternoon."

"I wasn't expecting to run into anyone else out here, but it is a nice day to spend outside, isn't it?"

His gaze briefly flicked up to the sun, and his bonebrows furrowed ever so slightly. "I suppose it is," he murmured thoughtfully.

He didn't seem like he wanted to talk, which was fair, since you had accidentally interrupted his peace and quiet. It was a little bit odd that he was out here in the middle of the woods, but maybe he just didn't enjoy hanging around people? You didn't blame him though since you didn't really like it either.

"I was just out foraging, but I should be on my way before it gets too late." You smiled and waved before adding, "May the Moon keep you."

His eye sockets widened, and just as you were turning away, he abruptly stood up and grabbed ahold of your arm to stop you. "Wait."

Surprised, you turned to look at him. "Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just... Why did you say that?"

"Oh, it's a saying my family had. It's like a way of wishing someone safety I think." You glanced down at his hand, and he seemed to realize that he was still touching you. He dropped your arm like he had burned you and hastily stepped back out of your space.

"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have done that..." he started to say.

"No, no, it's okay!" you interjected. "You didn't do anything wrong." He didn't look so certain so you tried to reassure him again. "I'm not upset, alright?"

His bonebrows furrowed as he scrutinized you for a moment. "Oh... You aren't upset."

You found his reaction to be a bit strange and frowned as you turned to properly face him. "Did you expect me to get mad or something?" you asked gently.

Nightmare shook his skull. "No, it's just difficult to control my magic so I try not to touch anyone. Most people tend to freak out whenever I'm around."

"Really? From what I've seen, the folks in town seem to like being around you."

He grimaced but quickly covered his mouth with his hand to hide it. "Yeah, they do for some reason," he muttered.

You set your basket down and stepped closer. "Is there a reason we shouldn't like you?"

Nightmare gave you a strange look. "You can't be serious..." When you shook your head, he let out a heavy sigh and ran a gloved hand down his face. "I suppose I must explain. I am the guardian of negativity, and my role is to aid mortals, particularly with processing negative emotions and overcoming their effects."

"I see." You tilted your head, regarding him with newfound curiousity. "Do you know Emperor Dream? You seem really similar, although he would describe himself as the god of positivity."

"Yes." Nightmare hesitated before continuing to speak. "He is...my brother."

You had only seen Emperor Dream once, and while Nightmare did bear a striking physical resemblance, it seemed like that was where the similarities ended. Dream had an exuberant personality and never seemed to stay in one place for long, always darting around solving "problems" whether his presence was desired or not. In comparison, Nightmare seemed closed off and wore a tired expression, as if he had never been able to settle down or get attached to anything. They dressed differently as well. Dream generally preferred bright colours and expensive accessories, while Nightmare preferred more soothing colours and functional clothing.

"My brother has always enjoyed cheering people up, and it made him very popular when we were children. Compared to him, I've always been the black sheep, despised and cast aside like nothing. Dream fixes problems, and no matter what I do, I can only cause them."

"That can't be true..." You paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain what you were thinking. "The people in town wouldn't have been so willing to have you stay if they didn't like you. We don't get many visitors here, and when we do, we usually keep to ourselves and hope they move on quickly. It's because you aren't like the Emperor, don't demand respect or force positivity on us. Your presence is honestly a breath of fresh air."

Nightmare was silent for several minutes, but just as you were starting to feel antsy, he looked up and locked eyes with you. His gaze was intense, and for the first time, you noticed how lovely his dark purple eyelights were. You couldn't bring yourself to break eye contact with how lost you were getting in his gaze.

"Can I ask you a serious question?" he asked in a quiet tone.

You nodded, "Yes, of course."

"What do you honestly think of my brother?"

You felt your heartrate increase as the weight of his question set in. You didn't know if he would like it if you told him the truth, and you really didn't want him to get upset. Still, what did it matter what he thought of you? It wasn't like your everyday life would change much if at all.

You inhaled deeply in an effort to get ahold of yourself and calm your nerves. "He's done plenty of good things, I'll give him that, but... I don't agree with his methods. It's also rather stifling to be under his thumb all the time. If I wanted, I can't express myself except for how he thinks I should if that makes sense."

Nightmare's eye sockets narrowed a fraction, but you couldn't tell if he was upset or not. "I see..." he hummed thoughtfully.

You waited a beat or two in case he wanted to explain his thought process, and your patience was soon rewarded.

"If your earlier reaction was any indication, you don't appear to be affected by my negative aura, and I can't help but wonder if the same could be said of my brother's." He went to reach for you but hesitated as if he didn't want to risk hurting you.

You gave him a slight nod.

His bonebrows furrowed with concern, but your consent seemed to give him the confidence to touch you again. His gloved phalanges brushed over your shoulder with the care one might use when handling a china cup, and you couldn't help the slight shiver that coursed down your spine as he did so.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" he asked softly.

You shook your head, "No, I'm fine..."

He nodded and let his hand fully rest on your shoulder. When you didn't pull away, he seemed to relax and let out a breath he had apparently been holding. "Are you sure this is alright?"

With a huff, you placed your hand on his bicep, or where it would be if he had muscles. "I'm alright, okay?"

He seemed a little taken aback that you had willingly touched him, but his surprise was soon replaced with a small smile. "Fascinating... I have never actually been able to be this close to someone... At least, not for a long time anyways..." His tone was still soft, almost reverent, as he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb in gentle circles over your shirt.

You couldn't help but stare at him. Being this close was definitely doing something, but you couldn't put your finger on what. Your insides felt fluttery, and you could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. He gave no indication if he could hear it as well, but you didn't want to ask.

Nightmare drew closer, simultaneously cupping your face with his free hand until you were barely inches apart. His eyelights briefly flickered with something deeper, almost akin to desire, and you found yourself suddenly breathless.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're beautiful?" he whispered.

"No one like you..."

"Well you are. Anyone alive would be lucky to call you their own." His thumb brushed across your lips. "And your soul is the most beautiful one I have ever laid eyes on..."

"You can see it?"

He smiled almost fondly at you. "I don't need eyes to know how magnificent it is..."

Your cheeks were flushed bright pink now. He was just so close, and his quiet voice sounded as smooth as cashmere. You actually couldn't remember a time when anyone paid attention to you like this.

You wondered if he wanted to kiss you and how that would go. He didn't have lips so would it be more like a nuzzle? The very thought had you feeling rather flustered actually. Well, more flustered than you had been already.

Suddenly, there was a loud clap of thunder, and Nightmare abruptly pushed you behind him.

The sun seemed much brighter all of the sudden, making you reflexively shield your eyes. The world fell deathly silent, save for the sound of the river, as if even the birds were afraid of whatever had happened.

"I thought I told you to stay away."

Your blood ran cold at the sound of the melodious voice. Each word filled with a sickly sweetness that in reality disguised an awful venom. There was no mistaking who that voice belonged to, but you chanced a peek anyways desperately hoping you were wrong.

Of course, you weren't. Emperor Dream stood tall with his arms crossed, his golden wings fluttered effortlessly, keeping him suspended a few feet off the ground. His gold eyelights burned with the intensity of twin sums, although his permanent smile was replaced with a look of displeasure solely directed at Nightmare.

The Emperor looked even more magnificent than you remembered. His body was literally shining, and his very bones seemed to radiate positivity. Despite the numbness that you felt all the time, you were already beginning to experience the effects of his positivity aura on your body, and you had to blink away the tears to keep from crying.

He wore an unbuttoned long white coat with intricate gold detailing, a yellow silk shirt, and well-cut pants tucked into white boots. He also had on a gold circlet and several jewel-encrusted rings adorning his phalanges.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice your presence here?" Emperor Dream asked through gritted teeth.

"Hello brother," Nightmare muttered. "It's so nice to see you again..." His fists were tightly clenched by his sides, his body poised for whatever might happen next.

The golden skeleton narrowed his eye sockets suspiciously but made no effort to greet him.

"I haven't been doing anything. All I wanted was to stay somewhere quiet for a little while," Nightmare added.

"No matter where you go, that...corruption follows you like a bad smell. I can't have you disrupt the order I have worked so hard to create."

The air felt charged with their combined magic, giving you the feeling that you should get as far away from here as possible. If they were to fight, there was a good chance you would get stuck in the resulting fallout and be gravely injured or worse. However, the moment you took a step back, Emperor Dream suddenly took notice of your presence. His gaze snapped to your own, and you shuddered under the intensity of it.

"It seems like you have done quite enough already, brother." His voice was quieter now, almost like a deadly adder lying in wait before striking its prey.

Your eyes widened at the realization that he was referring to your broken soul, but there was no way this was Nightmare's fault. You hadn't even interacted with him before now for crying out loud.

Nightmare stiffened at the implications of his brother's threat and summoned twin shortswords into his hands. "Don't you dare hurt her! She has no part in this!" he exclaimed.

Emperor Dream glanced back at his brother before descending gracefully to the ground and folding his wings behind him. He made a show of slowly stretching his arms above his skull, and you noticed the corners of his permanent smile twitch.

"Are you actually challenging me to a fight, brother?" he asked in a deceptively innocent tone.

Nightmare growled and tightened his grip on his weapons. "If it comes down to that. I won't sit back and let you hurt her, not this time."

"How many times must I teach you this lesson?" Emperor Dream asked while stifling a yawn.

Suddenly, he darted forward and one swipe of his wings sent the swords skittering into the brush. In the next breath, he had bodied Nightmare to the ground.

"You are weak, and you will always be beneath me."

You covered your mouth with your hands. All you could do was watch as Nightmare struggled to break free, although his efforts were futile as his brother had him securely pinned. While their tussle was mostly obscured thanks to the Emperor's wings, you could still clearly hear blows being exchanged, mostly from Dream.

He wouldn't actually kill his own brother, right? Stranger things had happened though, and you really didn't want to stick around to find out. You couldn't just abandon Nightmare, but if you didn't run now, there was no telling what Dream would do when he was done taking out his frustrations on him.

You took off into the woods. Surely, the vast canopies would make it difficult for Emperor Dream to follow, and you knew many places to hide if it didn't.

Luckily, he didn't pursue you. After several hours went by with no hide nor hair of the golden skeleton, you decided to chance it and see what had happened. If Nightmare was dead, the least you could do was give him a proper burial, if Dream had even left his dust behind that is.

Nightmare hadn't fallen down by the time you found him, although he was non-responsive and badly injured. You weren't a doctor, but even you knew that a skeleton having broken bones was probably really bad. You counted at least three broken ribs, a fractured radius, and multiple cracks littering his skull and other parts of his body. If you didn't act fast, he wouldn't survive the night.

Your soul ached at the extent of his injuries, especially because he had gotten them while trying to protect you. At least being nothing but bones meant that he wasn't very heavy, and you were able to hoist him onto your shoulders. Hopefully the trip back to town wouldn't aggravate his injuries too much.

Unfortunately, with all the commotion of the afternoon, you forgot your basket on the ground by the very log that Nightmare had been sitting on.

~~~

Part two here! (⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ

~~~

Liked reading this? Maybe consider commissioning me? Just check out my pinned post for my rates. (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

[faramirsonofgondor]

This but what if instead of Dick firing Alfred and Alfred dying, Alfred retires because he refuses to work with “someone like Dick”. Like now that Bruce is gone, Tim is off looking for him, and Jason is off the rails, there’s no reason for Alfred to stay. So he leaves, but not before telling Dick that it should’ve been Dick who died, and that he’d make a terrible Batman. Now Dick is almost completely alone, struggling to run a company he hardly knows anything about, raising a child who’s been abused most of his life, and donning a mantle he never wanted. The only bright spots in his life are Babs, Steph, and Damian. Steph and Babs are extremely confused as to why Alfred just quit, but Dick makes up some excuse about how Alfred was grieving and such. But then Steph overhears Damian and Dick talking about all the cruel things Alfred would say to them. Maybe Alfred even hit them a few times.

Steph is super confused because while Alfred had been stiff and cold to her when she was Robin, she heard great things about him from literally everyone else. He’d warmed up to her after a while, too. She goes to Babs about it because surely she must be missing something? Except Babs is just as confused, so they go digging through years of cave footage and surveillance videos throughout the manor. What they find is so disturbing that they both cry for hours and then vow to never let Alfred step foot in Gotham ever again. They’re sick to their stomachs that everyone had somehow missed this going on for so long. They also encourage Dick to get therapists for him and Damian because that kind of verbal (and possibly physical) abuse leaves lasting impacts.

When Bruce comes back, Alfred is long gone and Damian and Dick have become more well-adjusted than everyone (besides Babs and Steph) had thought they’d be. Then someone asks where Alfred is, worried that their beloved butler might have died. They don’t believe Dick at first when he says that Alfred left, that he quit, just like that. But Babs and Steph back him up, glaring at anyone who tries to blame Dick or prod for more answers.

It isn’t until Bruce makes his first appearance in public again that Alfred shows back up. He’s so glad Bruce is alive, of course he’ll come back to work for him. But everyone wants to know why Alfred left in the first place. He claims it was grief and old age, but they can all see that there’s more to the puzzle. Eventually, Alfred snaps and says that he simply did not want to work for Dick. Now everyone is like “wtf, what did Dick do to upset Alfred so much?” And of course because they’re all idiots and suck at communication, they ask him that exact question. They expect maybe something along the lines of him and Alfred arguing about their grief or something like that. They don’t expect Dick to burst into tears, frantically apologizing and saying that he didn’t mean to be bad. Before anyone can react, Steph, Babs, and Damian are all there ushering them away from Dick.

The rest of the fam is freaking out because they have no idea what’s going on. They still think that maybe Dick did something that he feels really guilty about, but then it also seems like Babs and Steph are angry at them, not Dick. Their questions overlap as soon as Steph enters the room, but she doesn’t say anything, instead leading them down to the cave. She’s still quiet as she walks towards the computer, pressing play on a compilation of videos. The first video is dated two days after Bruce brought home Dick. The last is dated yesterday.

ok ok i’ve seen a bunch of different bad father Bruce and evil Talia hcs and AUs and i raise y’all: evil/bad grandparent Alfred but only with Dick. Like Alfred is a British guy who was in the SAS and has spent the better part of his time as a butler for the ultra-wealthy Wayne family. Then it’s just him and Bruce for a long time. Then Dick comes along, as Bruce’s ward, and the kid is a little gremlin. He’s constantly throwing tantrums, breaking chandeliers, he never eats the food Alfred makes, he screams a lot, and he’s not very appreciative of where he ended up. In front of Bruce, Alfred is always professional. But when it’s just Alfred and Dick? Alfred constantly tells Dick what a brat he is, threatens that Bruce will throw him out if he doesn’t behave, tells him his parents should be ashamed of how they raised him, and says a bunch of other fucked up shit. He tells Dick that if Dick were to tell Bruce how Alfred treats him, Bruce wouldn’t believe him. It completely fucks up Dick’s emotional regulation because he swings between picking fights with Bruce (to see if he’ll really throw him out) to clinging onto him for long periods of time to hiding away in his room and not talking or eating. It seems like no matter how much Bruce tries to comfort him, nothing works. And all the while, Alfred is subtly suggesting that Bruce be harsher and harsher and harsher with Dick. So Bruce starts to get harsher and meaner, thinking that this is what Dick needs. It doesn’t work, and eventually, by Alfred’s suggestion, he takes Robin away. Dick can’t it anymore and leaves, but he still doesn’t tell anyone about how Alfred treated him.

Then Jason comes along, and Dick is worried that Alfred will treat him the same way. He tries to bring it up subtly in conversation, but it seems like Dick has nothing to worry about. So Dick goes to Alfred to threaten him, but Alfred tells him that it’s not necessary because Jason is “actually a good kid” and that he and Alfred have long talks about literature. Dick leaves feeling hollowed out. Maybe it really was his fault, if Alfred hadn’t treated anyone else like that. After all, the man had raised Bruce and Bruce had never said or done anything that indicated Alfred treated him poorly.

Then Bruce just keeps getting more and more children, and with each child the idea is reinforced in Dick’s head that it’s fault for being such a bad child. He still has poor emotional regulation, and swings between isolating himself and clinging on too tightly to his family. It doesn’t help that Alfred is constantly whispering in his ear that the family is better off without him. Then Damian comes along, and he acts so much like Dick used to that Dick is terrified for him, but he knows there’s not much he can do so he just keeps an eye on the situation.

When Bruce dies, one of the first things Dick does is fire Alfred. Everyone is furious with him, especially since Dick won’t explain his reasoning. All Dick manages to say kind defense of himself is that Bruce’s will states that he’s in charge. Alfred goes back to England and dies shortly after. It splinters the family even more. But Dick doesn’t really care, because one evening after patrol, months after Alfred died, Damian begins to softly recall the harsh words that Alfred spoken to him in private. Dick knows he made the right choice, he just wishes he could’ve spared Damian the pain sooner. Dick begins to open up to Damian about the harshness Alfred bestowed upon him as well.

Then Bruce comes back, and he’s not just furious, he’s enraged. He starts screaming at Dick, about how he could ever do this, about how Alfred was nothing but kind to him, and about how maybe Alfred was right and Dick was a bad kid. Dick is shaking like a leaf, his worst fears being confirmed in front of his entire family, and he still doesn’t know how to defend himself from this. He knows Bruce is grieving and upset, but all he can hear are Alfred’s cruel words, telling him that Bruce hates him, that he’ll kick him out of the family, that he’ll beat the shit out of Dick. So when Bruce takes an angry step forward, Dick flinches back hard, falling to the floor of the cave, trembling and on the verge of hyperventilating. It’s enough to shake Bruce out of his anger and grief, fear and confusion filling him as he takes in the scene in front of him. He had never hit Dick before, though he may have been harsh with him verbally. He doesn’t understand why Dick would be so full of fear, so certain that Bruce would hit him. He doesn’t understand anything about the way Dick is behaving, really. Everyone is looking a bit incredulous at the sight in front of them, which breaks Bruce out of his stupor. He takes a small, softer step forward, reaching out to try and comfort Dick, but before he can, a small katana blocks his path.

Fuck you dude I’m crying and I have a meeting in like 10 mins (I mean this in the best way possible this prompt is absolutely deliciously angsty)

I want to see Damian admitting to Dick in the tiniest, most nervous voice Dick has ever heard from him about how, “Pennyworth said Father would never have kept me if I wasn’t his blood.” I want Dick to damn near have a nervous breakdown, because he’d hoped and prayed that Alfred never treated the other kids like how he was treated. I want him to hug Damian so tight and tell him in hushed whispers that Alfred was wrong, that Bruce loved him, that Dick loves him so so much and would never ever get rid of him no matter what.

I want Dick to be so protective of Damian after he finds out. I want Dick to reassure Damian that Alfred was the problem, that Alfred treated Dick just the same when he was younger, had still treated him the same even when Dick became an adult. I want Damian to cling to Dick because he’s the only one who understands, because the others were all wrapped around Alfred’s finger.

When Bruce comes back and Dick falls to the floor, so sure he’s about to get the shit beaten out of him, I want Damian to stand between them. I want Damian to slip up and say in a strangled, devastated voice that Pennyworth was right, that no one in this family loved him or Dick, but Damian isn’t going to let them hurt his Batman.

I want Dick to sit up so fast and tug Damian away and hug him so tight and whisper no, no, that’s not true, that’s not what was happening, Dick was just startled that’s all but please don’t you remember everything we talked about? It’s alright, Dami, everything’s alright. And everyone is so confused because what are they taking about, why are they both so upset, what’s going on?

But Damian is only 11 and he’s upset and Dick has been trying his best to let Damian know he’s allowed to show his emotions, so even though he’s not actively crying, the tears in his eyes are making Dick’s heart break. Because Damian may as well be sobbing. And he hugs him so tight and just keeps whispering reassurances to him, telling him it’s alright, smoothing back his hair.

“I’m glad he’s dead!” Damian huffs into Dick’s shoulder. And it’s muffled and Damian’s voice is thick, but everyone hears it. They all bristle, but Dick doesn’t react at all.

“I know,” Dick whispers. “I know. It’s alright.”

“Don’t leave me here!” Damian begs. “Don’t leave me with them! They don’t understand!”

“I’m not leaving you,” Dick tells him. “I’m not going anywhere. Do you want to go get ice cream? We can go get ice cream.”

“This discussion is not over!” Bruce barks, because he’s still livid, but now he’s confused on top of it.

“It is for now,” Dick says, his tone firm. “We’re leaving. We’re going to go and calm down. I suggest you all do the same.”

Dick is quick to get Damian away from all of them, but the rest of the family is still in shock.

“What do we not understand?” Tim asks slowly. When everyone turns to look at him, he raises an eyebrow at their baffled expressions. “Damian said we didn’t understand. What is it we don’t understand?”

They all know it has something to do with Alfred, but none of them can figure it out.

Maybe Dick and Damian will explain it to them. Maybe they never will. But it leaves a divide between them for a long time either way.

[frownyalfred]

I feel like we've all moved on way too quick from anon with the 'lacing lube with kryptonite' ask so I'm here to get the group to focus again. Let's get our priorities in line, people.

I mean, do you think Clark knows? When he's in the mood to sub does he suggest it? Has he ever purposely led Bruce to the red room in the cave (which we all know Bruce has built) for this exact reason? Come on people, focus!!!

You’re absolutely right. My bad. Can we get some takes on this please?

[thesarcasticism]

angryposting will probably delete later but what is the point of criticism if you don't ask for it? like i don't care, go make your own. what's the point of criticizing me? what will change? you make me feel bad? okay? congratulations?