#and then literally almost all of them died by the end of the week

[niyaniyanixa]

people are way too hard on fugo for not going w the rest of the gang man like i would NOT have gotten on that boat. like oh so we're all following this fifteen year old we met three days ago in betraying the actual literal boss of the actual literal mafia. okay not me though girl have fun i guess. plus abbacchio tried to leave me for dead literally yesterday AND trish threw my sick ass jacket on the ground the second we met so actually idgaf about this i'd like to keep my life thanks

[rainandsentences]

Always Almost, Conrad

season three!conrad fisher x female!best friend

synopsis: when her chest physically hurts and her heart flutters violently for him, how would she tell him? you don’t tell that stuff to your best friend… do you?

rate: 16+

warnings: angst!

a/n: in honor of tsitp new season… i was literally imagining this as i watched the new episodes. 💀 drop in the comments: team conrad or team jeremiah? 🧐 (i’ll read and judge quietly…)

————————————————————————

The pizza box was open between them, half-eaten and lukewarm, and she watched Conrad pick olives off his slice with the kind of lazy precision that only came after hours in traffic. He looked tired, older in a way that made her heart ache—more grown-up than she ever wanted him to be.

“You know you could just order without olives, right?” she teased, leaning back against the couch cushions, trying to sound light.

He smirked. “And rob you of this precious moment of judgment? Never.”

“Okay, you’re such a pick me.” She scoffs.

“I love all the ingredients this pizza has… except this guys.” He picked up an olive that she grabbed from his hand to eat it after.

“You have no brain.” She looked away.

“More than you? Absolutely.” He chuckles as she pushes him.

“Bitch” She mumbles as he only smiles.

It was always like this now. Comfortable, familiar and relaxed, she still came over without warning and he texted her sometimes dumb when he couldn’t sleep.

They were like that, simple and easy to be around each other. Like they used to do back then…

They’d grown up together, met at second grade in school when he snitched on her over being copying on a test. They were called at the principal office as she killed him with her gaze, after that, she swore to herself that she would hate him forever. The pledge didn’t lasted till third grade when she was paired with him to do a science project, there’s where they became friends and after, the bestest of friends. So they took her to Cousins Beach for the first time in the summer vacations of fifth grade; they introduced her to the Conklins and quickly they were racing down the dock to see who could cannonball the loudest.

As they grew up, things changed between them and all the other participants of the group.

At fourteen she could see how Belly looked at him with awe so she teased him about it.

At sixteen, she barely saw him. He was moody all the time, he started to see other girls in high school but occasionally they had time to hang out.

Then with seventeen, cancer. His bad mood increased as her mom was fighting the horrific battle against the illness.

She lost, and he also lost his spark.

At eighteen, she realized her stomach dropped every time he smiled at her.

She never told him.

Not when Susannah died. Not when he left for Brown. Not when he and Belly finally broke up and she held him in her arms, rubbing circles into his back while he cried like a child.

She stayed, obviously.

Now, he was recently out of med school,few kilometers away, but still called her when his car wouldn’t start or when he forgot how to cook rice. She was living downtown, working finance hours, and pretending she didn’t care that her phone lit up with his name more than anyone else’s.

But it was different now. She was different.

He still talked about Belly sometimes.

Not in the same way—not with longing or pain. But he mentioned her. Little things. How she was doing. How they’d been kids, really.

And every time, she felt it again.

That he would never look at her the way he looked at Belly. Not then. Not now.

Because she heard him.

“how many times you’ve been in love?” “once”

So she started pulling away in the only ways she knew how.

“Busy week, sorry I missed your call.”

“Can’t make dinner, work stuff. Rain check?”

He let her. For a while…

But he was too smart and knew her too well to figure out something was off.

“Did I do something?” he asked one night, voice low, cracking slightly at the end.

She looked up from her phone. They were sitting on his fire escape, city lights buzzing in the distance.

“What? No. Just tired.”

He watched her. “You always say that now.”

She forced a smile. “It’s always true.”

He didn’t push, because he never did. He just passed her the beer they were sharing and leaned his head back against the railing.

She turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears she wasn’t ready to explain.

The night it finally happened, it was raining.

He offered to walk her to her car after dinner. They hadn’t talked much during the meal, both fidgety and off-center. She didn’t know if he felt it too.

She almost didn’t say anything. Almost climbed into her car and drove off into the familiar ache of never knowing.

But she was tired.

Of pretending, of the constant pain in her chest, of her mind.

“Hey,” she said, grabbing his sleeve before he turned away.

He blinked down at her, hair damp and curling at the ends.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now.”

The words left her like a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

He froze.

She kept going, quietly.

“I didn’t say anything because… i know you have been dealing with stuff. And i’ve always supported in everything and i’m glad i’ve been present in almost every step of your life, i know you how much you loved Belly… …And maybe you still do. I could see how happy you were every time you spoke about her, I didn’t want to lose you for some stupidness of mine. But it hurts now, my chest hurts more every day and i had to say it, i need to… i’m sorry, Conrad.”

Conrad swallowed hard. Looked down. Then up.

His eyes were so soft it broke her heart.

“You mean everything to me,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She nodded, a lump in her throat.

“But not like that.”

There it was. Kind. Honest. Crushing.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” he added. “If I loved you the way you deserve to be loved, I’d never stop saying it. But I don’t.”

She smiled, even as her heart cracked open.

“I know.” She chuckles as she cleans the tears from her cheeks.

He hugged her, tight, longer. She closed her eyes enjoying his presence, his scent and his touch. Her mind wondered to a universe where that was normal, where that was her present— but when he let go, her eyes open and she’s back there, to her reality. She stepped back, he looked at her softly, not with pity but with understanding.

“Maybe we need some space,” she whispered.

He nodded. “If that’s what you need.”

She looked at him, memorizing his face like it was the last time. Maybe it was.

“Honestly, I didn’t wanted for this to happen…” She scoffs.

“I don’t want to lose you…” He says softly.

“Me neither.”

Conrad smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes either.

“Be careful.” He says softly.

“Yeah.” She says still crying.

“Do you think… that it could’ve worked out in another life?” She says with a mixture of pain and frustration.

“In another life, maybe.”

Never in this one… Not a chance

“Funny, in this one still hurts.” She smiles at him, looking at his face for a last time, she turned, walked to her car, and didn’t look back.

And for once, he didn’t follow.

And it was okay.

Because it was almost him.

But for her will always be only him.

[sigynpenniman]

HELLOOOO it’s me oakley, local ggg fan. PLEASE tell me about the mcr tour and lore. i’m so curious

AHEM.

Well

Okay no for real where do I begin I haven’t actually considered how to start explaining this to someone who is completely new to it. I’m so used to throwing around phrases like ketchup and mustard hot dogs at state execution and it making sense to others immediately

okay so basically MCR are currently on tour, on a “play the well-loved album straight through front to back” variety of tour. The two things you need to know about the current state of my chemical romance are 1. They’re essentially permanently silent and often appear to be motionless and 2. They are never ever ever actually motionless and they are always fucking Up To Something, they just almost never tell us what it is until all of the sudden they scare the shit out of us on a random Sunday in November

so the last MCR tour in 2022 & 2023 had a running theme of Gerard dressing up in various outfits, ranging from obvious costumes (like Halloween bodysuits) to casual feminine looks like knitted dresses, but there was always A Fit, and it was generally a different Fit with a different reference every night. However in the very end of the tour, they played the same character at every show for a couple of weeks - we call it the Dead Secretary

^ this is the dead secretary. Nobody really knows exactly who they are meant to be, but given some of the phrasing written on the drums & Gerard’s fascination with 9/11 the character at the time seemed to be somehow 9/11 related

Gerard then waved at the crowd and walked silently offstage in Osaka Japan, without a word or explanation, and then MCR, as they do, then went completely silent for a year and a half, leaving us bewildered and scared in the dark

In November of last year, they finally reappeared with a new logo in a very obviously non-English font and a tagline. The next day we got the first of a series of trailers (do you see a familiar face in there? Perhaps a woman you may recognize from above?) explaining exactly what was happening: they were going on tour with The Black Parade, and there was at least some level of theatrical fascist critique at play.

They then left us more or less in the dark with very little by way of clarity for another 8 months. because this is MCR and they’re terrifying

We are actually officially mid-tour now, and this is what has turned out to be the lore:

The Black Parade are an in-universe band in the fictional nation of “DRAAG” (we don’t know what it stands for), a pseudo-Russian-Italian-German-amalgam fascist dictatorship. The Black Parade, in existing MCR lore, “died” in Mexico in 2007, in a planned move to kill off those alter egos and move to their next era. In our new lore, “somehow they came back” (quoth Mikey Way) and are now being ?forced? to perform by DRAAG’s “Grand Immortal Dictator.” The general flow of the show is thus: the band comes out, they do a couple songs, Gerard introduces them to the crowd as The Black Parade in an ever changing and very funny accent, a couple more songs, a guy in a suit (“The Clerk”) comes out and hands Gerard a piece of paper which they read on stage, but don’t read aloud (the paper is generally thrown into the audience, and fans pick it up later and post its contents - which thus far have been different every night). They do another song and then we have the “Elexecution.” A group of 4 bagged individuals are stood up on the b stage in the middle of the stadium, Gerard explains their crimes (generally “questioning the grand immortal dictator”) and the audience is asked to vote on their execution using red and black cards that are handed out when everyone enters the building. This is deliberately played every show as a literal magic trick, as Gerard as a rule deliberately phrases their instructions to the crowd so no one actually knows which side of their card saves the 4 people. However it doesn’t matter what the crowd chooses, as the 4 people always die - if Gerard attempts to save them, someone somehow will cause the execution to happen anyway, by threat or brainwashing. The limp stunt performers are hauled away and the show continues.

Not long after this the Clerk returns with another piece of paper which he tries to give Gerard, who generally refuses to accept it in some way. The clerk then slaps Gerard, hard, who crumples to the floor, sometimes leaving the paper behind, sometimes doing its bidding (once it was an ad read for ?fictional fiber supplements?). They then roll into Mama which is a song about hell and war and transgenderism, and to which they’ve added a new bridge about daggers and murder and treason, the implication being that there’s some plan to kill the dictator. Gerard takes their uniform jacket off here, and does this song in an undershirt. After another song the Clerk comes back and physically forces Gerard back into the uniform jacket, with some level of threat. They then play the last two songs of the album. As all of this is happening, assorted imagery is occurring on the LED volume onstage, culminating in the control and launch of some sort of missile or bomb (exactly who is bombing who remains somewhat unclear, probably deliberately). The last song is wrapped around to the first song again, and the Clerk comes back out on stage this time dressed as an opera clown. He and Gerard play off each other for a moment, before he stabs Gerard in the heart. Gerard dies convulsing on the floor and the rest of the band are black bagged and dragged away, and the clown slowly loses his mind, finally blowing up himself and the stage.

A lovely woman then comes out and plays a 10 minute cello solo and then the band comes back to the b stage in the middle of the stadium and goes Thanks Everybody We’re My Chemical Romance Wasn’t That Fun 💗. It’s THIS set where Inspekta turned up.

This is a thousand words and it is STILL AN EXTREMELY ABBREVIATED SUMMARY. The important thing to know is that the general plot appears to be this: the black parade have either been let out of political prison or literally resurrected, and are being forced to perform for the dictator’s regime against their will. They are trying, very very hard, to revolt, but generally they aren’t succeeding. However, very very crucially, the show is changing every night. Gerard retains their injuries from the previous show, and they seem to be getting smart about what’s happening (for example, Gerard blocked being slapped at the last show, and got poked in the eyes instead - they may turn up with black eyes this coming week). There’s also a lot of mentions of “reprogramming” and “reconditioning.” The implication so far seems to be that the band are being either brainwashed or straight up killed and resurrected between shows, with unclear levels of memory and awareness of the happenings of the previous loop.

^ our haunted doll 3 loops in, starting to deteriorate

again I am leaving so so much out. I haven’t even mentioned the hot dogs or the ventriloquist dummy Gerard treats like a child or the ENTIRE CIPHER LANGUAGE that all the merch and documentation is in (which we have all had to decode and learn to follow along) or Marianne (our GIRL) but that’s like. A short version. If you want more lore I have a super long post with every scrap of info I could find that I’m trying to keep updated as new lore drops. All the shows are on YouTube in full in decent quality and I. I really recommend it. The reason I say it feels relevant is that the general “anti-fascist and fuck politicians for real” themes of the show are Very Pointed and Very Intentional, and I find Inspekta being the god of leadership to be a very funny character to casually flail around with at the end of the politics and fuck fascism concert. Gerard hasn’t ever had a plush on stage before, this isn’t a known part of the MCR canon to us previously (maybe it will be now?) so the choice is interesting

the next show is Saturday night in Texas. The most interesting thing to see there is going to be whether Gerard has black eyes. So far they’ve only ever been slapped and have maintained their injuries from that - this is the first “new” injury, and whether they retain it will be important to determining how “permanent” the effects of each loop are. The hope and expectation from the fandom is that the band will break the loop eventually, and defeat the dictatorship for good. As of now, they have another show planned, at the end of a leg, in Mexico, where the black parade died last time - the question is, this time, are they going to live?

this was fun as hell to write thank you. im delighted by the developments. come hang out with us come watch the next show we livestream EVERYTHING there’ll be a post Friday/Saturday with all the accounts on all the platforms who are streaming. come see what happens next!!! And be the first to know if Inspekta appears again

[somnoir]

As a prompt Danny after he enters Gotham for any suddenly starts growing again for the first time since the portal incident and his body instead of slowly again decides to catch up all the missing years of growing at once so Danny goes from still looking 14 to suddenly having his father's height and looking his actual age.

Growing pains.... Literally

Since his death, Danny hasn't really... Grown. His parents think he's a late bloomer, that he'll grow later in life. But it's been four years since he's died and he hasn't grown a single inch in that time.

Frostbite is kind enough to tell me that... Well... He's stuck.

He's stuck in this form until something affects his physical form. Amity, even though it's considered the most haunted place in earth, doesn't have enough ambient ectoplasm for Danny. There are too many ghosts from the realm that feed of it, too many nevermores that need it to exist. Amity feeds it's ghosts but it doesn't have enough for a halfa like him.

When he moved to Gotham for the aerospace program (plus the scholarship) he doesn't expect much from it. People still question him about his age, it almost ends with him flinging his ID and birth certificate on people and cussing them out on his height.

He had even started exploring the city. There was this one cafe he found and the owner, Lily, was an absolute angel! With a shotgun. And he met a lot of people in Lily's Eden Cafe, like this weird kid that apparently dropped out of high school. Now, Danny ain't one to judge, so he's pretty okay with Tim. Except for the fact that he was so cool and smooth on a skateboard. Danny wanted one too.

Almost a week after moving, he's suffering. His body hurts, everything aches. It's as if something inside of him was trying to break out and it's making his bones strain. Everything about it hurts.

Many days passed of Danny being delirious from the pain, barely able to register what he was doing. A week and it's like he spent a coma walking around while his consciousness was asleep, practically dead by the lack of his memories.

The next time he woke up, it's been a week since he blacked out from the pain.

There's music in the background, almost familiar. The beat is something he heard Ember compose before his eighteenth birthday, then it was practically blasted through our the Ghost Zone when the day actually came.

"Shhh! Turn that racket down!"

"Hell nah! He likes it, see?"

"The little king seems.... To......change... Gotham..."

His eyes snapped open, gasping when he saw multiple pairs of eyes looking down at him.

"He's alive!"

Danny's instincts took over in that second and he's sending a blast of ecto towards the sudden scream. More screaming. Too much screaming. His head hurt.

"Holy shit, baby pop!"

He takes a moment before he's recognizing Ember... And the hole on his wall... And his glowing hand. Shit.

"Woah, woah! Calm down."

In Danny's confused state, he could barely register Kitty and Johnny in the room. Oh, and Shadow too. But still...

"I— What happened?" He groaned, blinking slowly. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

His voice... OH MY GOD HIS VOICE! Why was it so deep?! What was wrong with his voice? Did he have a cold or something? Or maybe it's just his morning voice—

"Congrats on your dawning!" Johnny congratulated, grinning like a madman.

"What?" ooh, that was weird, "What the heck is an dawning?"

"Ooh, baby pop!" Ember cooed, "Forgot that our little king is still pretty new to being all ghost. C'mon now, baby. Mama Ember will teach you all about ghost puberty."

"GHOST WHAT?!"

Ghost puberty was a thing apparently. He had hauled himself into the Far Frozen after yelling at the four ghosts to steal him some clothes that would actually fit him. Because his entire body felt wrong... So wrong.

He was taller now. Having shot up from 5'4" to a whopping 6'2". Everything still hurt and now all his clothes didn't even fit! Nothing looked right when he'd looked at the mirror. He was almost as tall a shis dad now—he looked almost exactly like his dad now actually. It was almost terrifying how much he resembled his dad. If he went to visit now, he's sure that his mother would have a heart attack from how quickly he had grown.

"Frostbite!" Danny practically growled and oooh... Yeah, now it sounded differently to whenever he'd end up snarling. The deepness of his voice almost intimidated him.

"Great one!" The yeti greeted, looking utterly ecstatic to see him. "Ah, I see you've finished your dawning. I offer my sincerest congrats, your majesty."

"Yeah, yeah. The fuck is a Dawning?"

Frostbite blinked, before his expression morphed into a grim one. "Oh dear... I had thought that the Observants would have deigned to explain this too you upon your coronation... Well, let us sit then, great one. This will be a long one."

To summarize it all, Ghost puberty.

A Dawning was a time every ghost went through, so long as there was enough ambient ectoplasm around them to help their forms morph into their preferred appearances. Usually, a ghosts appearance to their own mentality. Their maturity.

Apparently, Young Blood already went through a Dawning but remained in his child-like form due to his own mental age. He was a child in heart, mind, soul, and body.

Meanwhile... Danny who was still alive yet also dead, had followed on with his mental maturity. His body morphed, it changed, it adapted to how he saw himself, how he desperately wanted to become deep down in his core.

And this Danny Fenton was a 6'2" giant trying to control all his limbs that were suddenly too long, too heavy. Everything felt strange....

Tim Drake's favorite cafe was known for being neutral ground for both rogues and vigilantes. You don't fuck around Lilian's cafe or else she'll pull out a rifle and shoot you dead. So if course, Tim fucking loved the place.

Actually, many people frequented it.

He's familiarised himself with the faces of a lot of people by then. Even that scrawny new kid that arrived three weeks ago. Tim remembers Danny for how enthusiastic he was about going to collage, not even minding the madness of Gotham itself. It was like he thrived in it.

He waves at Lilian after ordering his usual, taking a seat in the corner before he's whipping out his laptop. Duke and Steph arrive soon after, immediately ordering before going off to join Tim.

Mundane things, something they all seemed to appreciate more.

The bell rings, more customers arrive and—

"Danny! Holy hell, what happened?"

Tim paused, immediately snapping his eyes towards— WHAT THE FUCK?!

Steph whistled, "Hot damn..."

Danny Fenton was a scrawny young man, shorter than Tim. Even more slim.

But whoever the hell entered the cafe was 6'2", almost as muscled as Jason, and slouching like Clark—as if he was in the wrong body. He almost dropped his drink if not for Duke gently guiding his hand down.

"Hey, Lils..."

God, what the fuck was that? What was happening? Who the hell was this awkward adonis with a voice as deep as the fucking ocean?

"Tim?" Duke waved his hand over his eyes, "Timothy? Timbers?"

"Duke, leave him alone. He's gone, never coming back." Steph snickered, shaking her head before her eyes went back to Danny, who was stuttering as he tried to order what he wanted. "But damn if I wouldn't act the same. Shoot your shot—"

Shoot his fucking shot he did.

"Hey Danny..." Tim slid up to him with a smile.

Danny blinked—woah was he tall and practically built like a fucking fridge—before his eyes brightened and a smile joined his expression.

"Hi Tim!"

Was this how Bruce felt like when he saw Clark?

Masterpost

[wordsarelife]

—so it goes

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: you’ve always thought mattheo riddle was infuriating, until suddenly everything between you changes. between various almost kisses, whispered confessions, and years of tension finally snapping, you realize he’s always wanted you. but falling for him? that was never part of your plan, but now, you’re his to keep and his to lose.

warnings: language, just a little suggestive, height difference mentioned, tension, pining, slow-burn, a little idiots in love ad very mid writing lol

note: this came to me very spontaneously and because i thought to myself that i had yet to write a fic inspired by 'so it goes' so here it is. this fic has basically no storyline so idk what i have been yapping to make it to 5.4k words lmaooo.

"i'm gonna bash his fucking head in" you stormed into the slytherin common room.

pansy, draped across one of the dark leather couches, lazily moved her head to look at you, not a hint of surprise on her face.

no, she knew all too well, who you were talking about.

"what's he done now?" she asked, not out of curiosity, but boredom. like you threatening mattheo riddle’s life was just another tuesday. which it was, really.

mattheo and you had never gotten along, despite being part of the same friend group and basically growing up beside each other.

maybe that was the problem after all.

you threw your bag to the floor so hard it almost bounced back into your hands. “he had the audacity to open his stupid mouth. that’s what he did.”

theo snorted from the armchair by the fire, not looking up from his book. "shocking development. riddle speaks, and you consider murder."

you whirled on him, eyes wild. "he said i was predictable. can you believe that? me. predictable."

"well.." pansy muttered, trailing off.

"you do threaten his life a few times a week" theo added, helpfully.

you glared at both of them. "some friends you are" you muttered, crossing your arms and falling back onto the leather couch. you only missed pansy's leg by half an inch, as she pulled them to the side at the last minute. "whose side are you on?"

"neither" pansy stated without thought.

another glare from you.

"look, bella" theo drawled. you were used to that tone. he was trying to charm you, so you would forget about your anger toward the riddle boy. this time theo's charm would come to a halt. you swore it.

"this has been going on for literal years" he continued. "we've all witnessed it. it was fun for a while, i admit that. but... per l'amor di dio.. just get it over with, won't you?"

you narrowed your eyes at the boy. "get what over with?" you took a second to think, until your expression changed drastically, making theo forget what he was trying to say.

pansy moved her glance over to you, watching you in quiet suspicion.

"i would have never thought, you'd be the one to suggest it" you grinned, a proud smile on your face. "but this is brilliant, theo"

"i... what?" theo asked, but you left no time for answers.

"how do you reckon i should do it?" you asked as you went on. "i suppose magic is way too obvious. so maybe a knife.. or poison? that's the thing most women kill with, isn't it?"

"i didn't suggst that we should kill the insufferable bastard!" theo protested.

"oh" your smile died. "then what did you suggest?"

the moment was luckily interrupted by the arrival of enzo and blaise, who both had no interest in discussing anything related to mattheo (he was responsible for dozens of bruises on both their bodies from the previous quidditch practice), so the conversation quickly died out and the topic changed to the next charms essay all of you had to submit by the end of next week.

you didn't see mattheo for the rest of the day.

none of your friends had seen him for the most part of it, but that did not raise concern, as mattheo was known to disappear for hours on end.

none of you had the fraction of an idea about where he went.

and mattheo, the stupid idiot, enjoyed being a mystery to his friends way too much to lift the curtain and reveal his whereabouts.

it was half an hour past curfew, when you went to sneak into the kitchen. you had been rolling from side to side in bed for the past hour.

it wasn't that you weren't tired. quite the opposite actually. your mind was just too awake. but that was something a simple glass of warm milk could cure in an instant.

the drink was quickly fetched and it took less than five minutes for you to tiptoe back out into the hall, a mug of the warm liquid pressing against your hand and making your stomach flutter in anticipation for the warm and soothing taste.

but not now. you would save it until you were back in your warm bed, not while wandering the dimly lit corridors of hogwarts in what could only be described as a stretch rather than actual pyjamas.

a thin, oversized slytherin jumper hung off one shoulder. it was stolen, years ago, from theo during a drunken game of exploding snap and never returned. underneath, just a pair of dark green sleep shorts, the hem fraying slightly, riding up with every step. no socks, no bra, and a quiet shiver every time the cold stone kissed your bare feet.

merlin knew why you hadn't taken the time to slip into your shoes, or at least pull on some warm socks.

your mind wasn't the best at this time of day. and certainly not when it was as sleep-deprived as you felt.

the halls were dead silent, except for the soft echo of your bare feet on stone, and the occasional creak of the ancient castle shifting in its sleep. you clutched the mug tighter, nerves twitching just slightly.

"evening"

the voice was so sudden, you almost dropped the mug in your hand. milk splashed over the rim, warm against your knuckles as you swerved around, heart leaping up into your throat.

and there he was.

mattheo fucking riddle, casually leaned against the corridor arch like he hadn’t been missing all day. like he hadn’t carved himself into the back of your brain and left you simmering.

still dressed. he hadn't been back in his dorm all day, tie loose around his neck, white shirt stained at the cuff with something that looked like ink or blood, or maybe both. his blazer hung from one finger, slung over his shoulder like he owned the corridor, like he owned the night. like he’d been waiting.

you hated how calm he looked.

“you scared the shit out of me,” you snapped, readjusting your grip on the mug, milk still dripping from the rim.

"yeah, you look really frightened" he rolled his eyes, before his gaze wandered down your body.

you felt uncomfortable under his watch and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the cold stone biting into your bare soles, but not nearly as sharply as his gaze.

"nice outfit" he noted with a smirk. "meeting someone special?"

"oh fuck off" you snarled, turning away from him and picking up your walk back to the dorm.

mattheo wasn't one to give up easily. he caught up to you quickly.

"you know, if you acted less like a whiny bitch, you could actually be kinda hot"

you halted in your step, turning to look at him.

mattheo's smirk deepened, satisfied that his words had caught your attention.

"and if you were less of a miserable asshole, maybe i could actually tolerate you" you thought for a second, before you added. "no, actually, that seems like too much for your brain to comprehend, so i fear both of us won't get what we so dearly wish for."

"god do you sometimes hear all the words that you're saying?"

you rolled your eyes and continued walking through the corridor. mattheo still followed. there was a distance between you. a distance you were glad he was keeping.

suddenly, mattheo's arm shot out, making you run straight into him.

"ma—" you had already opened your mouth, a loud scolding of his name pressing through, as another big gulp of the milk had slahed over the rim of your mug at your sudden forced stop.

mattheo pressed a hand to your mouth, shutting you up effectively. he pushed you against the wall behind your back, both of you disappearing behind a giant closet.

"what the fuck?" you whispered, just as mattheo had slowly moved his hand away from your mouth.

you were only inches apart. the mug in your hand being the only thing seperating the two of you.

"teacher" mattheo answered, his eyes darting down the hall behind him.

you didn't say anything for a few seconds. his head turned back to you.

he was so close. way too close for your liking. or... maybe he should come closer, move forward until his chest was touching yours, his hands in your—

woah.

you shook your head, quickly getting rid of those weird and unnerving thoughts that had clouded your mind.

you should’ve walked away. you should’ve sipped your stupid milk and gone back to bed.

instead, your gaze wandered back to his face. his curls were falling over his forehead like usually. an untamed mess of dark hair that awakened a deep anger in your gut. how could someone who couldn't even take care of his own hair properly ever dare to be as arrogant as mattheo riddle was?

his brown eyes looked down on you. they almost looked black in the dim light of the corridor. you shivered.

his face was clear, white, soft skin over perfectly sculpted features, a hint of soft freckles on his nose. and his mouth. his mouth was... bleeding?

"you're bleeding" you noted, unable to stop yourself. your eyes jumped to his lips and back to meet his gaze.

mattheo was just as caught off guard as yourself at the words. "yes" he muttered, not sure what else to say.

"why are you always bleeding?" you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

mattheo frowned at your words, a deeper emotion settling onto his face.

his eyes now jumped between yours and your mouth too. you were sure that there wasn't any blood on your lips, so you weren't sure what his thought process was.

suddenly, mattheo stepped impossibly closer.

his hand fell forward, clasping your wrist. the one one connected to the hand that wasn't holding the mug of warm milk, of course.

"what are you—?"

he didn't answer. mattheo just leaned forward, coming closer and closer. the blood on his mouth and the thing itself inching nearer and nearer.

oh god.

was he trying to? ew.

ew, ew, ew.

you couldn't kiss mattheo riddle in the middle of the night.

you couldn't kiss mattheo riddle in the middle of the night, in theo's old sweatshirt and shorts that you wore to sleep.

you couldn't kiss mattheo riddle in the middle of the night, in theo's old sweatshirt and shorts that you wore to sleep and a mug of steaming warm milk still in your right hand.

you couldn't kiss mattheo riddle. period.

you simply wouldn't.

so, in that moment, you did the only thing you could think of. something so unbelievably stupid you wouldn’t even remember it clearly later.

you let go of your beloved warm milk.

the mug shattered on the floor with a loud crack. milk splashed against both your bodies as mattheo jumped back from you.

“wha—” mattheo started, eyes darting between the milk soaking his robes and the broken shards on the floor, but before he could say another word, a sharp voice cut through the silence.

“detention, both of you.”

professor snape stood at the corridor’s end, arms crossed and glare sharper than any curse.

"sir—" you pressed the word out in surprise, looking awfully ashamed about the condition your house teacher had found the both of you in.

"twenty points from both of you and clean that up!" he directed further, until he swirled around, dark robes fluttering behind him as he walked away in the opposite direction.

when snape found students out of their beds, there was no big deal made out of the case, but no one dared to stay any longer after he had found them once. snape didn't have to walk students back to their dorms, as much was clear.

mattheo wordlessly took out his wand, mouthing a quick clean up hex under his breath.

both of your clothes were back to their previous state and the mug of warm milk was intact again too.

mattheo and you didn't look at each other as you silently walked back to the common room side by side. you didn't talk when you both split up in opposite directions to get to your dorms.

that night, a forgotten mug of cold milk sat on your bedside table, while you were in the bathroom, furiously scrubbing the skin of your left wrist. right where his touch had burned itself into your skin.

the next day was a never ending tirade of boring classes, whispers with your friends and the unnerving task of ignoring mattheo, while he tried everything to get under your skin.

"hope the milk was worth the detention from snape" he whispered during history of magic. he had to lean over draco to do so, who angrily swatted at mattheo's arm, trying to push the boy out of his space.

mattheo did not budge.

you stared forward pointedly, acting like you hadn't even heard him.

draco rolled his eyes, pushing against mattheo's arm once more. "do you see that she doesn't want to talk to you?"

mattheo's grin did not falter, his eyes flicking to you before settling back on draco.

"let her pretend all she wants," he said low enough for you to hear. "but merlin knows she’s just pissed because i was right."

you finally turned your head, voice cool and steady. "right about what?"

he shrugged, still smirking. "that you’re all talk and no backbone."

"what are you even talking about?" you snarled angrily beneath your breath, trying to keep quiet as to not make professor binns notice your conversation during his class.

"oh, come on, sweetheart" mattheo's smug smile only widened at your act of cluelessness. his gaze wandered over draco, before it landed back on you, a wink moving with his words. "don't act like i didn't see the fear in your eyes."

"shut up" you muttered, pulling your body back from him, an obvious physical reaction to his words.

mattheo nodded with a satisfied smile.

this was exactly what he had wanted. he leaned back in his own chair, freeing draco from his unwanted presence, before he blew you a quick kiss behind the blonde's head, who had turned to ask you what that weird conversation had been about.

that same evening, mattheo and you were standing in the dimly lit trophy room. both of you equipped with a rag and a bottle of polishing potion.

your wands had been confiscated by filch, before your detention had started and he had left you alone in the small room, that only seemed to shrink with mattheo's presence behind your back.

you wondered if his mind was as busy thinking about you as yours was tangled up in thoughts of him.

the work was rough, unnaturelly slow without the use of magic, and the room was silent while both of you scrubbed at trophies on opposite sides of each other.

then, when mattheo was finished with the trophy he had been working on, he didn't pick up the one standing right next to it, like he was supposed to, but moved across the room to stand beside you.

"could you stay on your side of this very small room?" you muttered, scratching off a particularly dark spot of dirt on the small trophy in your hand. "or is the concept of that too much for you to comprehend?"

"i'm doing just fine" mattheo smiled sarcastically. "thanks for your concern though"

"asshole" you muttered beneath your breath as you went to put the small trophy back in it's original place.

"brat" mattheo retorted almost immediately.

you send him an exasperated glance, before you stepped onto the ladder, that was propped up against the wall, to reach the higher shelves.

mattheo watched that action with a hint of concern, until his facial expression returned back to neutral, acting like he couldn't be bothered.

the silence in the room stretched on, as you reached for a medal hanging against the wall and began cleaning it while still standing on the the ladder.

this was awkward.

it was a mix of not knowing what to say (which was weird, because although you had never gotten along, you and mattheo had always something to say to each other) and a sharp undercurrent of something else. tension, maybe? or irritation?

then, mattheo broke the silence. in the worst way possible.

"ever wondered why we never became friends?"

you huffed, trying to ignore his words, but ultimately burning for his answer. "no, not really"

"well, i did" he muttered, reaching for a silver trophy. one of the less frequent ones in the room. "i mean, i'm glorious company, so it must be your fault"

"please" you shoke your head, moving on to the second medal. "like you're not an insufferable git"

mattheo laughed dryly at your remark. "come on, be honest," he continued. "you had your mind set on not liking me the minute your eyes first glanced my way"

"that is so far from true and you know it" the third medal was now being cleaned. "i was liking you, up until the moment you spilled pumpkin juice all over me."

"that was an honest mistake"

"maybe" you shrugged. "which i would've forgiven, if you hadn't immediately said what you said."

"what did i say?" mattheo wondered, seemingly not able to remember himself.

you glared at him, before you moved your gaze back to the task at hand and finally found the words to answer. "you said that i should better not start crying, because girls like me would have to rely on our smile being pretty enough to—"

"come far in life" mattheo finished. "i did say that, yeah" he muttered softly.

you swirled around, looking down at him in surprise. he actually sounded.. regretful?

you didn't have much time to think about that though. your fast motion on the ladder had caused the thing to start shaking, slipping away from the wall with increasing speed, as you lost your footing.

this was not going to end well.

mattheo reacted quickly. he dashed forward, stopping the ladder with his foot, before opening his arms.

you landed much less graceful than you had wanted, but at least not on the floor, but in mattheo's widespread and kind of muscular arms. he was looking down at you with a soft expression.

"i didn't mean it" he said, his words tying back to your conversation a few seconds ago.

you blinked up at him, chest rising and falling against his from the fall. his arms were still around you,one curling around your waist, while the other was steadying your legs, and he made no effort to let go. his scent, cologne and something darker, something inherently him, wrapped around you like smoke.

still, after a second, he let out a slow breath and carefully lowered you to the ground, his hands steady, lingering longer than necessary. one of them settled at your waist, the other brushing along your arm as if making sure you could stand.

but even once your feet touched the floor, neither of you moved away. you were still impossibly close. too close.

you swallowed. “you meant it when you said it.”

his gaze dropped to your lips for just a second. “maybe i was just trying to get a rise out of you.”

“you did.” your voice came out a little breathier than you’d intended, but you didn’t back down. “congratulations. you always do.”

“hmm.” he stepped closer, barely noticeable, until your bodies were nearly touching again. his hold tightened just slightly around your waist, as if testing the boundary. "do you really hate me so much?"

the question stunned you. you stared up into his brown eyes. they were warm, like hot chocolate after a day spend in the snow outside. they weren't as close to black as you had thought only the night before.

maybe mattheo wasn't as close to the dark as you always thought.

"i don't know," you muttered, your gaze dropping to his lips only involuntarily. there was still a scrap on the side of his mouth, where it had been bleeding the day before.

you wondered who had had the pleasure of meeting mattheo's fist.

"sometimes" you said finally.

"and the other times?" mattheo muttered. he pulled you closer by the waist. maybe not even on purpose. you could feel his breath fan over your cheek.

"the other times.." you whispered, unable to finish the sentence.

mattheo moved his hand on your waist. his thumb slipped under the fabric of your blouse, it had moved out of your skirt during your fall. he brushed his finger over your skin tentatively.

you almost shivered. his touch felt so soft. so deserved, like something you'd been missing your entire life without ever realizing it. without ever knowing how good it was.

a warm feeling settled in your stomach as you drew in a breath.

mattheo didn't look smug about the obvious physical reaction you had to his simple touch. he looked so honest.

“the other times,” he said again, barely a whisper now. his gaze didn’t leave your face, didn’t leave your lips. “what are they, then?”

"i..." you wanted to reply something, anything, but his close proximity was making your mind spiral. never in your life had you been this... attracted, to mattheo riddle of all people.

"y/n," mattheo muttered softly.

"i don't hate you," you said finally, without any further explanation.

he looked relieved. the smile on his face was faint, barely noticeable, but it was there and it didn't look smug or provocative.

"no?" he muttered softly, his question making the hair on your arm stand up, as his thumb shifted beneath your shirt.

"no" you said. surely. finally.

you didn’t realize it, but your hand had lifted, fingertips curling against the edge of his shirt, clinging to the fabric like it grounded you.

he drew you closer. his lips were so close. you closed your eyes. you could almost imagine his taste. the softness of his mouth touching yours. the feeling it would surely awaken in you.

you wanted him. you needed him.

your noses brushed. your lips were a breath apart—

“what in merlin’s name is going on here?”

you gasped, stumbling back from mattheo and almost taking down a few throphies with you.

filch was standing in the doorway of the cramped room and narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously.

before you had the chance to say something, mattheo stepped in front of you, hiding you away from the older man. "we were cleaning," he said simply, a sharp edge in the tone of his words.

filch hesitated.

it was an open secret that he was… uneasy around mattheo. like many people in school. like many people in the wizarding world.

the silence stretched for a beat too long.

"continue then," filch muttered eventually, backing out of the room with a final suspicious glance. “and keep your hands to yourselves.”

mrs. norris padded after him with a flick of her tail, and then they were gone. the door creaked as it shut.

for the rest of detention, neither you nor mattheo spoke. it was as if whatever spark had flickered between you was a fragile flame. one that always burned out the moment either of you got close to changing anything.

you could feel his gaze on you when filch came back and let both of you leave finally.

then, on the way back to the common room, before you had even the chance to worry about things becoming awkward once more, mattheo disappeared into the shadows of the castle, leaving to god knows where again.

that night, you turned from side to side in bed, unable to find sleep.

you stood up, slipping into a pair of slytherin socks, before you left the room, closing the door behind you softly.

the corridor was cold and you wrapped your arms around your frame. theo's sweater was incredibly comfortable, but did not do a great job at keeping you warm.

you walked around the corner and what you saw, made your breath hitch. there was a body on the ground, lazily leaning with his back against the stone wall, his legs stretched out on the floor before him.

mattheo fucking riddle.

of course.

his tie was hanging loosely around his neck, his blazer was a crumpled mess on the floor beside him. he was moving a cigarette over his fingers. a trick you had seen him do a few times before at parties.

mostly to impress girls, mostly because he was bored.

his face looked twisted in the dark light of the corridor, but you could make out the dark stains of the blood easily.

this had to be a joke.

"mattheo" you muttered.

his head jerked up suddenly, but he didn't look as surprised as you. almost as if he had been waiting.

"can't sleep again?" he asked, his voice echoing off the wall across from him.

"got slapped stupid again?" you shot back.

mattheo stood up from the floor slowly. he reached for the blazer beside him. there was a lazy smile on his face, the kind of smug expression that told you exactly how satisfied he was with your words.

"what?" you asked.

"oh, darling" mattheo grinned. "you should really see the other one"

mattheo stepped closer. so close, you imagined to smell the blood on his face.

"i'm only seeing one idiot as it is" you snapped, crossing your arms. "and you do look pretty bad already"

"such compliments," mattheo drawled, pushing the cigarette to rest between his lips and searching the pockets of his trousers for a lighter.

before he had the chance to light the cigarette, you caught it between your fingers, pulling it away from his lips. mattheo followed after your movement, before he realized what you were doing and sighed.

"hey"

"come on" you said, not even sparing another glance at him, as you walked into the direction of the kitchen.

mattheo followed after you wordlessly, accepting his fate without any sort of protest.

"sit down" you directed, pushing him back onto a chair in the kitchen.

mattheo's smile widened. "commanding much?" he laughed at your unimpressed expression. "if you wanted—"

"stop" you interrupted, shaking your head. "i'm just doing this, because i'm a good person, this has nothing to do with you."

"sure it hasn't" matthe leaned back in the chair, while you turned to fetch a rag at the sink, holding it under the water to properly clean the blood off his face.

"you should still go to madam pomfrey tomorrow though" you muttered as you returned and took a seat across from him.

"so you care about my wellbeing?" mattheo asked, furrowing a brow.

"not really" you whispered, as you leaned forward, softly wiping over his left eyebrow, where a few drops of blood had splattered. surely not his own.

mattheo watched you work with narrowed eyes, following every movement of your hand and trying his best to catch your gaze.

"you aren't even looking at me, love."

"of course i am," you protested. "how would i be able to clean this fucking blood off your stupid face if i didn't?"

"stupid face?" mattheo repeated in a mocking tone. "you're not really looking though"

you bit your lip, as you moved on to the right side of his face, right beside his eye. it was a small wound and mattheo barely reacted to the cold touch of the rag on it.

"sweetheart" mattheo called, trying to gain your attention.

you tried not to react.

"look at me, darling"

"i am looking at you, mattheo" you snapped, leaning away from him angrily.

"okay" mattheo nodded, upset that he had angered you, as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

you sighed, before you continued, the rag sweeping at the small wound on the bottom of his mouth that had reopened.

mattheo leaned closer, to make your access to him easier. you narrowed your eyes, but didn't say anything.

he unfolded his hands, that had rested in his lap up until this moment and his right hand settled onto your thigh delibaretly.

he waited.

"mattheo" you said in an effort of protest his action.

his eyes didn’t leave yours. “just tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice low and steady.

you didn’t.

he leaned forward, away from the rag. his nose brushed against yours, before he finally met your lips with his.

your hand was hanging in the air, the rag still in hand, before you finally moved, letting go of the fabric. you closed your eyes, your hands falling into mattheo's neck like a puzzle pieces falling into place.

there was something quietly desperate in the way his mouth moved with yours, like he’d been waiting far too long to know what you’d taste like.

and you... your thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. you forgot what you’d meant to say. forgot where you were. forgot your own damn name.

you felt the pressure of his hand still on your thigh, the way your body felt pressed up against his. merlin, he tasted better than you could've ever imagined.

his other arm slid around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, your chair scraping over the floor as it followed you forward.

mattheo broke the kiss softly, his lips brushing yours one last time before he leaned back just enough to see your face. you were half in his lap, lips parted, breathing unsteady, looking up at him like you were waiting for gravity to pull you back down.

you felt ridiculous.

but his face... he didn't look like he was trying to mock you. no, he looked as wrecked as you felt. something that could only be achieved by a kiss that would screw you up for anyone else.

"you better shouldn't look at me like that," mattheo muttered, with a soft smile, while he tried to stabilize his breathing. "or i won't be able to stop the next time."

you weren't sure you even wanted him to stop.

you blinked up at him, still utterly dazed and at a loss for words.

his hold on your thigh tightened slightly. "didn't think you'd—" he interrupted himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "fuck"

you swallowed. you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“say something,” he whispered, voice rough now. “please.”

you swallowed again, before you pressed the words out. "you're still an asshole."

mattheo laughed, a hint of relief swinging in his voice. "you're still a brat."

"yeah," you muttered, moving closer until you were whispering the words right at his mouth. "a brat, who wants you to do that again."

mattheo's mouth clashed with yours in a second. this kiss wasn't as slow. it was raw, urgent, demanding.

your hands slid into his hair, as he pulled you closer at the shoulders and you slipped onto his lap, his hands clasping around your waist like he was scared you would suddenly disappear.

you pulled his head back by the hair softly, pulling away for just a second, a breathy moan escaping his mouth, before you reconnected your lips, following after him.

there was nothing innocent about it now. just the feeling of being right were you were supposed to, his hands pressed to your body, his tongue in your mouth.

you were so utterly his, it was almost scaring you.

you pulled away after a few more seconds. his hand wandered to your cheek, his thumb moving over the soft blush on your face.

you stood up slowly and he rose to his feet immediately after, like you had put a curse on him. his gaze stayed locked on you, while you put back the rag and he reached for his blazer that he had draped over the back of his chair.

you stepped next to him silently.

he came closer, draping his blazer over your shoulders, before he took your hand in his, pulling you to the entrance of the kitchen behind him.

you walked through the halls slowly. almost like you were on a midnight stroll rather than out of bed after curfew.

"all eyes on us," mattheo pointed out, when you came across a few, very nosy portraits.

you smiled at his words, your eyes falling onto your intertwined hands. like pieces falling into place, you thought once more.

"i'm yours to keep" you whispered, your voice echoing through the corridor, mattheo tucked on your hand. "and i'm yours to lose"

"you really think i'm ever letting you go after tonight?" he muttered, pulling you closer and wrapping an arm around your form. he pressed a kiss to your neck. "fuck, no."

[bonus-links]

*waiting eagerly and patiently for directors commentary* :)

IT'S DONE RAHHHHHH ITS FINALLY DONE!!!!!!! I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter but I am REALLY excited to move on to what's next!!!!! i have been waiting literal years to get here,,,,

starting off with a few things: these frames are the same design from pt. 9, just damaged now. it's also uh. literally the same drawings KJSNFKJG listen sometimes I just have to make things easier on myself. also convenient crack through the hero of time's right eye >:-)

okay so the hero of time lore gives me a bit of a headache. let it be known that I understand in wolf's timeline, the events of OOT technically never happened. He knows the "hero of time" moniker bc he's met him, and i could've SWORN that name is mentioned if not somewhere in TP then in the TP manga. suspend ur disbelief for me lol

Anyway the idea is basically that post-game Wolf has done some digging to track down the person the Hero's Shade was when he was alive. I like to imagine he had some kind of bargain with Zelda where if he agreed to come to certain events she'd let him dig around in what survived of the archives after lol. I actually got stuck on this panel for a while trying to think of some other imagery that got this idea across without being so,,,idk on the nose? but i couldn't think of anything so i went with this HAHA. Even if Mask wasn't technically the "hero" in this timeline, I think he still ended up being a prominent figure, and some documentation of him would exist. An unfinished portrait, a text about the history of the royal guard, military records, correspondence between him and the castle, etc.

ALSO ALSO. how do they know they're talking about the same hero of time? well, they don't. they're making an educated guess lol. obviously whoever made this statue of the Hero of Time couldn't make it look exactly like him, but I feel like Wolf has noticed enough similarities between depictions to be like. hey wait a second

wake is trying to give a pep talk here like "come on guys, going on adventures is what we do!!" meanwhile Wolf and Loft are both like. yeah i guess leaving our loved ones behind with little notice to go on dangerous missions we may never return from IS what we do.....

speaking of which Loft is maybe technically being a little bit of a hypocrite here but I really think he's just trying to make sure Wake doesn't make the same mistake he did lol. he's feeling guilty

one of many things I really regret abt this chapter is not having Tetra and Loft have a conversation similar to the one he and BOTW Zelda have. I feel like Tetra's experience of getting to grow up outside of the pressure of the royal family or her role and then basically having it forced on her during the events of WW would be very valuable for him to hear. I had so many things I was trying to juggle this chapter and somehow that just slipped through the cracks 😭 im sorry tetra.

AT LAST!!! ANNA FROM FROZEN!!! when all that was going down a few weeks ago i was like GUYS GUYS WAIT. HE'S ALMOST HERE. does this mean I have to get a new icon now

in case its not clear (and it probably isn't) he's in the ALTTP lost woods!

okay so some of you may have noticed this, but up until now we've basically been following the thread of mainline games, starting where the timeline merged and working our way back to where it split in OOT. ALTTP is technically part of that, as the timeline where the Hero of Time dies. I have them all connected through the Lost Woods. The pitch for this was basically "wouldn't it be so fucking funny if Mage could've joined the story way earlier but didn't bc he was the only one with enough sense and also enough gall to just throw something through it." and then I couldn't NOT do that

so on that note, this is the BOTW lost woods. If you look closely, you can see Wolf in the distance.

I wanted to do something to establish him as a magic user! he could have just pulled these out of his bag but where's the fun in that. you might also notice that he's not wet because the rain isn't actually hitting him

ALTTP ZELDA MY BELOVED!!!! that's all

that's all i've got for now!!! bonus links turned 3 years old 3 days ago which is. wild. thank you all for sticking with this story for so long!!!

[sparrows4bats]

So this is Batcow fan account, and I shall starting earning that title now.

Batcow is the greatest matchmaker to ever live. She is the reason for the batfamilys continuing sanity and relationship status. The Manor functions because of Alfred and Batcow.

How, you ask? How does a bovine save superhero and vigilante love lives? Why does a cow hold that much power? Dear sweet child, Batcow Is, that is how. But some quick examples of her her brilliance follow:

Dickory

Batcow is how Dick wins Kory back after a spectacular fight that almost breaks them up. Dick is upset and takes it out by arguing with Bruce and then walking around the Manor Gardens to cool off where he notices Batcow has somehow inexplicably ended up on the roof of the Manor. She looks unharmed, but there is no way for her to get down.

Dick panics because if anything happens to that cow, Damian will murder everyone in the house and fight Ras himself to get her to a Lazarus Pit. So after a moment or two of trying to think of a way out of this. He does what he usually does when his back is against the wall, and his life is on the line. He calls Kory.

After listening to him explain, she flies over and air-lifts Batcow off the roof. Where Dick promptly falls to his knees in front of this literal Queen and apologies for being a stubborn ass. Kory laughs and kisses him. Dick brings Bat Cow treats for weeks after.

JayRoy

Jason has been pining after Roy for months, possibly years, but can't find the right way to see if they could be anything more than friends. If they get together, he is in this for the long haul, not just for Roy but Lian too. So, instead of communicating like a normal person, he starts a silent campaign of proving he is Step Dad Material.

All of his attempts somehow backfire. Lian loves him, but Roy has no kitchen left and thought they both died twice. (He still lets Jason watch her, though. JASON IS OBLIVIOUS) So he is looking for child safe activities that don't involve bedtime stories(Lian prefers his over Roy's already), and then Damian remarks how friendly his pets are with civilians in his never ending pursuit of getting Bruce to allow him to patrol with his pets. And Jason knows exactly what to do. Why go to a petting zoo when he has one in the Manors backyard?

(They are still banned from the actual zoo. That penguin was fine. Eventually.)

So he brings Roy and Lian over to the Manor, and Alfred sets up lunch on the grass. Lian loves batcow and the rest of Damians' menagerie. She is so happy that after hours of cuddling and feeding the animals that she throws herself into Jason's arms and says, "Thank you, Pops! Can we come back tomorrow? Pretty please?" Jason tears up, and Roy smiles. He also asks him on a date so he can make it official. (Roy isn't as happy when he finds out about the Dragons on their next visit.)

Jason gives Lian a Batcow plushie when he adopts her a few years later.

TimBer/ Timbernkon

Tim hesitates to kiss Bernard and later Kon for so long that Batcow steps up to help him.

Tim after hours of too little sleep and too much angst . He goes to vent to the cow because she's good company and won't spill his secrets to anyone. One of these chats was interrupted by a worried Bernard looking for this boyfriend after he disappeared from his office.

Bernard loves Batcow, and seeing him act so adoring to her makes any doubt he had fly away. Because Bernard looks at him in almost the same way so he leans in and finally kisses him properly. They end up making out a little and get caught by Alfred, who came to feed Batcow her dinner.

When Tim and Bernard introduce Kon to Batcow, after a few weeks of trying to convince him to date them, Batcow full on body checks him into Bernard, and they accidentally kiss as Kon avoids crushing him. Tim pouts until Kon kisses him, too.

Bernard now visits Batcow at least once a week and bonds with Damian over her.

BatCat

They didn't know Batcow was pregnant or how she even got pregnant, until one day she went into Labour.

Damian is a mess and enlists Selinas' help because she has been around so many cat births. She tries to tell him a cow is completely different, but Damian is desperate and won't take no for an answer. Silena and Damian stay with Batcow, brushing and encouraging her until Batcalf is born.

Damian falls in love at first sight, and Silena has a realisation and suddenly blurts out that she thinks she might be pregnant while looking over the newborn. Damian doesn't react for a moment, and Silena fears the worst until he starts tearing up a little and asks rather shakily, "Does that mean I'll be a big brother?" Silena hugs him and tells him he will be the best big brother and doesn't comment on the tears that soak her shirt.

They tell Bruce together, first about Batcalf and then about the baby. (He is stunned, and Damian tells him off for his response because his silence is upsetting Silena and "She needs little to no stress in her condition, Father!")

Damian and the Cows follow Silena like shadows during her pregnancy (she doesn't ask how Batcow gets into the house and Bruce is too upset about how his son and his pets are doing a better job than him at being supportive to notice how Bat Calf sleeps on Damians bed.)

Damian is the first, after her parents, to hold Helena Wayne. He gives her two Cow plushies she carries everywhere for years.

StephCass

Batcow goes missing while Damian is on a mission, Stephanie is meant to be watching her, as Alfred is away as well. AND SHE LOST THE COW. Damian is going to kill her. Not even Cass could save her.

Then she realises, Cass! Cass will find Batcow, if anyone can, Cass, the most competent person ever, will.

So Cass and Steph spend hours searching everywhere they can think of until it starts to rain. And Cass looks so good with wet hair and rain drops sticking to her lashes that she can't help just kiss her. (They might die tomorrow if they don't find the cow anyway, so YOLO). Cass kisses back and asks, 'What took her so long?'

Batcow is on the roof on the Manor. They call Kara to come get her. No one knows how she ended up there, but they all agree never to tell Damian.

Duke/Izzy

Apparently, 'Do you want to go see my crazy family's pet cow?' is a ridiculous way to ask a girl out. But it made Izzy laugh so hard she says yes anyway.

Duke gives Batcow extra attention ever since and sends Izzy regular updates on her 'Adventures'.

Jondami

Batcow, like in the supersons movie, is one of the first things Jon and Damian bond over. Jon comes over to help Damian with his pets regularly, and that is how their partnership develops to friendship and then something more.

Then, Batcow gets sick, and Damian panics hard. (He has contingencies in place if she dies, but if he can prevent that, he will.) Damian calls for Jon for the first time ever, and Jon is there in Minutes. Damian is in tears and hugging his cow like a giant teddy bear when he arrives. He's never seen Damian look so....human. They investigate what is hurting Batcow and Jon figures out she's pregnant AGAIN, this time possibly with twins.

Damian is so relieved that he hugs Jon. It's the first time Damian has touched him willingly outside of training and missions. They are both teenagers at this point, and its like Jons whole world tilts on its axis. Righting itself to centre on the boy in his arms, a boy who is so kind and lovely, despite all the reasons he shouldn't be. Damian fits under his chin, and suddenly, Jon knows he would do anything to make him happy, to keep in his arms where Jon can protect him. Jon knows Damian can protect himself and has done so hundreds of times, but Jon wants to be the one he calls when he's scared, and based on tonight, he already is.

Damian pulls back too soon, and Jon, instead of pulling him into another hug, kisses him. Best of all, Damian kisses him back.

Duke catches them, and they swear him to secracy with the agreement that he can bring Izzy over when the new calves are born.

They still don't know how Batcow got pregnant, but they name the calves Supercow and Wondercow because Lian insisted. (Jon and Damian laugh at Bruce's face when they introduce him to the new members of the family.)

Batcow deserves an award for her service. For now, she and her children are spoiled rotten.

[angelickks]

NOW SHOWING 🎥 THE BREAKFAST CLUB

starring, remmick

                                          🧾 TICKET STUB

attendee : @bleedingsunlight showing : au!loser!grunge!remmick x popular girl!princess!reader screening type : midnight matinee (rated NC-18) snack of choice : lollipops  genre : au!80s romcom/opposites attract

director's notes imma be so honest w you, ive never written anything faster because i was literally so excited. thank you rin darling for ur kind words!! and just know i ATE this up so bad (so bad that i might’ve, perchance have a diff version of the more “criminal” archetype version of him, but i digress) can't wait to write the next one! i hope i did this justice <333 just to preface, everyone’s of age here, aside from underage smoking but trust it’s for the fiction part of it all + it’s set in the 80s. lastly, since i lack STRUCTURE, posting schedule for a bunch of finished works that r just sitting in my wip folders coming soon!

                                            🎬 SYNOPSIS

What starts with a glitter pen, a lollipop, and an upside-down textbook ends in a gas station parking lot—with lip gloss on his cigarette and her skirt in his lap, Crowded House crooning through the stereo.

YOU SHOW UP TEN MINUTES LATE WITH YOUR HAIR IN A RIBBON AND THE SCENT OF DIOR PERFUME CLINGING TO YOU LIKE HEAT. 

A juicy fruit bubble pops between your glossed lips as you toss your lisa frank notebook on the desk.

Remmick flinches like it bit him.

He's already there—has been for twenty, pacing and panicking, doodling dumb shit in the margins of his composition notebook like don’t look at her tits today and squares are just sad circles.

You sit like you’ve done this a hundred times—like the library’s your runway and every dusty book spine is lucky to be in your orbit. Then you cross your legs—slow, calculated, a full-blown event.

Remmick’s eyes dart before he can stop them—skimming the dress you had to have gotten written up for (and definitely got out of with a well-timed bat of your lashes), the dainty kitten heels showing off a fresh, glossy pedicure that probably cost more than his entire outfit.

He chokes on absolutely nothing. Just air. Just existence. Just you.

“Okay, teach me,” you chirp, voice sing-song and sugar-sweet. “Or whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”

Remmick clears his throat. He’s sweating under his leather jacket, which is insane because it's seventy-eight degrees outside. His flannel’s got a rip at the elbow, one sleeve safety-pinned where it used to have a cuff, that’s now starting to bug him. There’s a faded Joy Division button barely clinging to his backpack—hanging on for dear life, just like him—and if he bothered to look down, he’d realize at least one of his shoelaces is definitely a split headphone wire knotted tight.

He’s a goddamn disaster. You know it. He really knows it.

You hand him your glitter-covered textbook like you’re passing off a love letter. He fumbles it, catches it awkwardly against his chest, and opens it upside-down like a moron.

“Smooth,” you say, smirking. You reach over, flipping it the right way. Your fingers brush his, and he almost dies. Spontaneous cardiac event. Just itching to collapse in the quiet section like a tragic little wet dog.

The moronic action alone makes him want to crawl under the table and die. Maybe smoke himself into oblivion first. Instead, he mutters something about “perspective.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the table. “It’s been a long day.”

You lean in like you’re examining something under a microscope. “Are you always this twitchy, Remmy?”

He flinches at the name. Remmy. You’ve been calling him that ever since he dumped an entire pen’s worth of black ink across your lisa frank folder during your first tutoring session—looked like he’d murdered a unicorn.

These ridiculous meetups aside, it was either two afternoons a week with you, or another long, soul-sucking weekend of detention. Again.

How either of you ended up there was anyone’s guess. Two star students on paper, two totally different universes. Him—the ridiculous burnout with a nicotine habit and permanent twitch. You—the high-gloss poster girl for honor roll and homecoming courts.

And yet, there you were. Both in the principal’s office, arms crossed, avoiding eye contact while your respective crimes were read aloud:

One stolen loosie smoked behind the gym. One elaborate prank that involved a slingshot, an ungodly amount of glitter, and the principal’s rustbucket Camaro, now forever shimmering under the sun.

He thought to himself that it was all peer pressure. You called it performance art.

Either way, here you were. Math books between you. Trouble behind you. And something way worse—or better—simmering just beneath the surface.

“I’m not twitchy,” he says, stiffly.

“You’re vibrating,” you deadpan, popping your bubblegum.

And he is. He’s one jolt of caffeine or one smile from you away from spontaneously combusting.

You twirl your pen between your fingers and start doodling lazy hearts in the margins of your notes. He clears his throat like he’s about to deliver the State of the Union and begins explaining polynomials—badly, with his words stumbling over each other.

You chew your pen cap, frowning. “Okay, but why are there letters in math?” you ask, dramatic as hell. “Like, that’s a hate crime. I didn’t sign up for a spelling test.”

Remmick blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. He then comes to the halting realization that he has no idea how to handle you. But then you tilt your head. You’re looking at him—not through him, at him. With those stupid pretty eyes and that little crinkle in your nose.

And he panics.

“Do you want a—uh. A snack?” he blurts. “I brought an extra pop-tart.”

You blink. “What flavor?”

“Brown sugar cinnamon.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Ew.”

He immediately puts it away like he’s just offered you a dead rat. You go back to doodling. He goes back to dying.

He clears his throat—twice—before attempting something that sounds like authority.

“You’ve got a test Friday,” he says, voice cracking halfway through. “You have to pass with at least a B minus if you want to keep your... you know—freakishly perfect GPA.”

You blink at him slowly, like he’s cute for trying.

“Yes, Remmy. I’m aware,” you sigh, already fishing a lollipop from your purse like it’s a sacred rite. You unwrap it slowly, deliberately, and use the crinkled foil to tuck away your gum with a practiced flick of your wrist.

The flash of your tongue—quick, glossy, unbothered—hits Remmick like a heatwave in a meat locker. He swallows hard. And then again, like his body forgot how to exist without full-blown panic.

“And that is important, but you see... I have very important plans on Saturday.”

He looks confused. Concerned. Like you just announced you were joining a cult.

“I’m talking not penciled in,” you continue, waving the sucker like a wand, “but bold, underlined, permanent ink, Remmy. Plans with a capital P.”

He stares at you blankly. “…What kind of plans?”

You lean in like you’re about to whisper state secrets. “Tiffany Marchand’s pool party. Her older brother’s home from college and her parents are out of town. There will be music. Boys. Opportunities.”

“Opportu—what?” he sputters.

You smile wickedly. “Do you think I shaved my legs for you?”

Remmick turns the color of a stop sign. Actually shifts in his seat like the mere suggestion set his whole body on fire.

“I just—I thought maybe you wanted to pass,” he mumbles.

“Oh, I do,” you say, lips curling around the lollipop. “But I also want to look incredible in a bikini while doing so. So unless this study session includes flash cards and outfit options, I suggest we prioritize.”

He knocks his pencil clean off the table. Doesn’t even bother picking it up. He’s too busy praying for strength. Or maybe an earthquake. Something, anything to save him from you.

“Yeah. Prioritize. Right. Uh… thoughts on decimals?” he stammers, like he’s never said a coherent sentence in his life.

Unlike you, Remmick had absolutely nothing going for him on a Saturday night. If anything, a late night gas station run, if his pack had run clean through.

The fluorescent lights of the gas station hum like static. They buzz against the night, pale and too bright, cutting through the dark like a bad idea.

Remmick shuffles inside, hands in the pockets of his worn-out flannel, trying not to look suspicious, even though he definitely is. 

He looked like he just rolled out of bed. Hair a mess, dickies ripped at the knee, headphones around his neck like a noose. He buys cigarettes with crumpled bills and barely meets the cashier’s eyes.

He doesn’t belong here, or anywhere really—just floats from place to place like secondhand smoke.

When he walks out, fumbling with the lighter, he nearly drops the pack. Nearly lets his own headphones choke him out at the sight. 

Because there, parked crookedly in one of the parking stalls was you. 

Sitting in the driver’s seat of your cherry-red convertible. Top down. Elbows on the wheel. The glow of the streetlamp halos your hair like a goddamn music video. He feels his heart tug a little, because your expression? Cracked. A misplaced thing on a face he’s seen as nothing but perfect so far. Your glossy lips pout in a way that isn’t on purpose.

You look like a heartbreak in highlighter.

He hesitates. Then takes a drag he doesn’t need, more to stall than smoke. His palms sweat like hell. He almost turns around.

But when you glance up, he notices right away—your mascara’s just a little smudged, a telltale shimmer of something softer than you usually let show.

“…Hey,” he says, voice cracking slightly, awkward as hell.

You blink once, then offer a crooked little smile—soft, sad, and nothing like your usual glossed-over charm. “Fancy seeing you here, Remmy.”

He laughs, nervous and jittery. “Didn’t think I’d run into royalty outside a Texaco.”

“Oh, eat my shorts, Remmick,” you snap, but there’s no heat behind it. Just a tired sort of ache curling around the words.

He winces, eyes flicking to the pavement. “Sorry. I’ll, uh—I’ll leave you alone.”

He brings the cigarette back to his lips, fingers trembling slightly.

“No…” you breathe, gentler now. “I’m sorry. That was mean.”

You nod toward the passenger seat, patting it lightly. “Come here.”

He doesn’t move right away. His feet shuffle like they don’t quite trust the invite. Like he’s waiting to be laughed at or pushed away.

You clock the hesitation instantly.

“Remmy,” you say, voice dipping into something teasing, syrupy, warm. “Get in before I change my mind.”

That does it. He moves like a deer caught in headlights—slow, unsure, but aching to be closer, like he’s being pulled in by gravity he never stood a chance against.

“Ah—wait,” you mutter, sharp and low. “Come to the driver’s side real quick.”

He pauses mid-step. “Uh—why?”

You roll your eyes, already leaning slightly toward him. “Because I’m taking a drag before you put that out, dummy.”

He fumbles to obey, circling around the front of your car like it’s an obstacle course. You reach for his hand without asking, plucking the cigarette from his fingers—your lips brush the same spot his just touched.

You take a long, practiced drag, exhale slow through your nose, eyes half-lidded as you look at him. His cigarette now wears the faint red stain of your lipgloss.

But it’s your fingers that linger—delicate and cold against the inside of his wrist as you ready to pass it back. And there it is.

His pulse. Racing. Like you could feel every panicked, pathetic beat slamming against bone.

“Jesus,” you murmur, half-teasing, half-surprised. “You’re about to faint.”

“I—no—I’m not—” he stammers, voice cracking again.

You just smile, coy and wicked. “You sure? ‘Cause it feels like your heart’s about to bust out of your wrist.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

You hand the cigarette back—still warm from your lips—and tap your nails lightly against his palm.

“Now, get in the car, Remmy,” you whisper, voice like velvet and trouble. “I don’t bite unless you ask.”

“Jesus Christ,” He mutters in disbelief before snuffing the stick out with the heel of his boot. 

He makes his way to the passenger side, tripping over his own boot laces. Slides into the seat beside you like he’s afraid he’ll break it. Or you. Or himself.

His eyes are everywhere but you, as if suddenly the car has become much more interesting. 

And then his eyes land on the pile of cassette tapes scattered haphazardly across your dash like some kind of sparkly altar: The Cure. Siouxsie and the Banshees. The Smiths. Depeche Mode.

Each one decked out in your usual chaos—glitter stickers, pink hearts, a few sparkly stars—but the names are still clear beneath it all, scrawled in sharpie or original font. Like holy text with lip gloss.

He just stares. Blinks once. Then again.

You catch him. “What?” you ask, raising a brow like you already know.

He gestures weakly at the dash, like the tapes might bite. “You… listen to this stuff?”

You smirk, slow and knowing, tapping a manicured nail against Disintegration. “Don’t get me wrong, Madonna’s a hit—but this band? This album? Ridiculous. ‘Plainsong’? That’s not a song, Remmy. That’s a full-blown religious experience.”

His mouth drops open like you just declared you could breathe underwater.

You squint. “What?”

He shakes his head, stunned. “I just—I didn’t think girls like you listened to… I don’t know. This.”

This—being the soundtrack to every spiral he’s ever had. The exact mixtape he plays in his beat-up headphones when he’s lying on his bed staring at the ceiling, pretending he doesn’t want things he knows he’ll never have.

But now you’re here. In front of him. With Robert Smith on your dash and glitter on your cheeks and lip gloss on his snuffed out cigarette.

And suddenly, he doesn’t know a damn thing about anything. Especially you.

You just shrug, casual as ever. “Criminally low assumption of me, Remmy. You’re full of surprises, huh?”

He stares—really stares—for a beat too long, like he’s trying to memorize the way you said his name. You catch it, of course. And you can’t help but smile.

Then, softer, more human: “Party sucked.”

“Yeah?” he asks, voice low, careful.

You nod, something wilted settling in your shoulders. “Tiffany’s brother was a dirtbag. And I couldn’t stop thinking about the stupid math test. So I bailed.”

Remmick swallows hard, thumb nervously flicking the edge of his lighter. “What’re you talking about? You aced that thing.”

You grin at him, bright and amused and too pretty to look directly at. “That’s ‘cause my tutor’s a genius. A twitchy, chain smoking, leather-jacket-wearing loser—but a genius, nonetheless.”

His laugh escapes before he can stop it—quiet and disbelieving. A flush creeps up his neck, obvious even under the sickly glow of the streetlamps. You swear his ears go pink.

Then you lean in—elbows resting on the middle console, chin in your hand, eyes soft but sure.

And just like that, he forgets how to breathe.

“I like the way you explain things,” you say, voice quiet but deliberate—like you’re handing him a secret you haven’t told anyone else.

Remmick blinks. His whole body tenses, like the words hit too close to somewhere he keeps boarded up. His mouth opens, then closes. Nothing comes out but a shallow breath that catches halfway.

Your chin props up a little higher, studying him like a curiosity. “You get all flustered and talk too fast and your hands move a lot. But it makes sense when you say it. Makes me feel like maybe I’m not stupid in math.”

“You’re not,” he blurts, way too fast. “You’re—you’re not even close to stupid.”

His voice cracks at the end, and it makes you smile wider. You reach out, fingers brushing his wrist again, featherlight—just enough to feel that pulse again, hammering away like he’s running a marathon from a sitting position.

He doesn’t pull away. He leans into it.

“Remmy,” you murmur, voice dipped in syrup and something warmer, “are you always this nervous around girls?”

He lets out a strangled sound that might be a laugh. “No,” he lies, eyes darting to your mouth, then away, then back again. “Just you.”

You shift closer, your hands now brushing his knees, and his breath hitches so hard you feel it.

“You ever kissed anyone in a gas station parking lot before?” you ask, teasing.

He shakes his head, eyes wide. “No.”

You grin, tilting your head. “Wanna change that?”

And before he can even try to panic his way out of it, your lips are on his—soft and warm, tasting faintly of smoke and cherry lollipop. His hands hover awkwardly for a moment before landing on your cheeks like they’re not quite sure they’re allowed to stay there. You pull him in anyway, sliding your fingers into his hair, kissing him slow—deepening it when he lets out a little noise he probably didn’t mean to make.

The kind of noise that sounds like he’s aching.

When you finally pull back, his eyes are glassy, dazed. You’re still close enough to feel the heat off his skin.

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

You smile against his jaw. “See? Now that’s a religious experience.”

The air between you is buzzing now—heavy, crackling like the moment before a summer storm. His breath is shallow, pupils blown, lips pink and kiss-bitten. He’s short-circuiting in real time.

You sit back just enough to look at him properly, hands still lazily hooked behind his neck.

“Can I go to you?” you ask, voice soft, almost shy.

His brows knit, blinking slow, like your words hit a patch of static in his brain. “Go where?”

You huff a laugh, already moving, already shifting your weight. “On your lap, dummy.”

And that’s it. That’s the kill shot. His whole system crashes.

He watches, helpless, as you crawl over the console and settle into his lap like you belong there—like this was always where the night was headed. His hands hover in the air, unsure of the rules, until you take them and place them gently on your waist.

Your skirt rides high on your thighs now, fabric bunched around you like a bow on a gift he’s not sure he’s allowed to open. His fingers tremble where they hold you—thumbs barely grazing your skin, reverent, like you’ll vanish if he grabs too tight.

He’s warm all over. Sweaty palms. Frantic heartbeat. Head spinning like he just stood up too fast and found you.

“I—uh—I’ve never—” he starts, voice low and cracking, eyes fixed somewhere around your collarbone because if he looks any higher, he might combust.

You hush him with another kiss, deeper this time—more confident, more claiming. He lets out a soft, broken whimper against your mouth, hands tightening ever so slightly around your hips.

“Remmy,” you whisper against his jaw, trailing kisses down toward his neck, “you’re allowed to enjoy it.”

He nods. Violently. Too many times. He still doesn’t trust his voice, but his hands say it for him—curling into your sides like he needs the anchor.

You press your forehead to his, your smile so close it nearly touches his.

He’s never been more wrecked.

His heart’s punching through his ribs, his hands are clinging like he might float off the planet, and stupidly—so stupidly—his knees shift beneath you, like movement might help hide the hard-on growing with every brush of your skin. It only makes it worse. Obvious. Aching.

In his panic, he jerks slightly and knocks into your stereo. The radio bursts to life at full volume, startling you both.

Hey now, hey now… don’t dream it’s over…

“Shit—God, I’m so fuckin’ sorry, I—” he stammers, fumbling like he might tear the whole console out of the car in sheer embarrassment.

But you just laugh. Head thrown back, unguarded, bright and completely you. It cuts through the heat like wind chimes in summer.

“Relax, Remmy,” you grin, fingers curling against the back of his neck. “Crowded House isn’t a crime.”

Then, with mock-seriousness, you hum along—soft and teasing—your voice ghosting over the lyrics while your hips shift on his lap, and he swears he sees God.

“Didn’t peg you as the type,” you murmur, swaying just enough to make his jaw clench. “This your makeout soundtrack, or…?”

He tries to answer. Fails. His mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

“You’re so cute when you’re short-circuiting,” you coo, before kissing him again.

This time, it’s messier. Hotter. His fingers dig in just a little as your mouths slide together, lips sticky with lip gloss and heat. You sigh into him, all plush and warm and too good to be real, grinding down just enough to ruin him completely.

He groans—low, desperate—like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, his mouth, any of this. But you guide him. You teach him with every kiss, every slow roll of your hips, every sweet, breathy sound that slips from your throat.

“I’m dreaming right now, aren’t I?” he mutters against your mouth.

You grin, eyes gleaming. “You better not be, Remmy. ‘Cause I’m not letting you wake up just yet.”

Outside the car, the world is still. The parking lot is empty, bathed in flickering yellow light. Somewhere in the distance, a train moans through the night like a warning, but neither of you hear it. All he hears is you humming along to the chorus again, your breath warm against his cheek.

YOUR SEAT'S STILL WARM. THE CREDITS ARE ROLLING. BUT THE NIGHT ISN'T OVER. PICK YOUR NEXT FEATURE — NOW IN THEATERS : 700 FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION — JACK O'CONNELL MLIST

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Let Me Prove It

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> After months of grieving for Logan, he proves to you he's not going anywhere.

Disclaimer: Descriptions of death, blood, reader goes through grief of losing Logan. Angst, sadness, some fluff. There is a happy ending. Illusions to smut towards the end. Not Proof Read.

You could remember the day you fell in love with Logan Howlett. 

It had been a rainy afternoon. Nothing grand had happened that day. The kids had been in classes all day, most exams were happening all week but by Friday, they’d all be over for the semester. There was stew, heating up on the stove, and you had been reading your book. 

At least, you’d been trying to. 

Often, your mind would wander off on its own and only half way through your train of thought would you realise you had boarded the wrong train and it was already moving. And just like a flash of a meadow, snapping past one of the compartment windows, you discovered you had feelings for Logan. 

And watching him walk through the backdoor only a moment later, confirmed your thoughts. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

Your train came to a halt and you snapped up, focusing on reality. “What?”

Logan grumbled. “Nothing. Dinner ready?”

“Almost. Storm’s looking for you, by the way. She wants to know if you can cover her class next week. She’s got a doctor's appointment and no one’s available.”

Logan still had his back turned as he looked in the cupboard for something. “Sure. What class?”

“History. What are you looking for?”

Logan didn’t fully answer you. He just mumbled a noise before pulling a small box out from the back and closing the door. Turning around he opened it up, took a cookie out before offering it to you. 

“She got a lesson plan?”

Looking down at your book, you dog-eared the page. Sometimes, you’d use a bookmark but considering most of them would disappear without a trace and leave you fending for yourself to find your page again, hours after you’d read it, you gave up on them. 

“Yeah, she’s already left it in your room.”

“Of course she has.” Logan took another bite of his cookie and rounded the kitchen island. 

Your gaze followed him. Mostly out of curiosity. You and Logan were friends. Not best friends. But good friends. Well…

Good enough friends. 

Could you really be in love with him?

Reaching up into the top cupboard, he brought down the set of bowls and took half from the top. 

“You take the rest.”

And for the next ten minutes, you both laid out the table in time for dinner. 

Then you watched as he helped some of the younger kids with their hot meals. Despite all of his grumbling and his small protests when it came to calling him the best baby-sitter. 

Logan was good with kids. 

Yep. 

You were in love with Logan. 

And just like how you could remember the day you fell in love with Logan, you could also remember the day he died. 

It had torn you to pieces. 

It still did. 

It had been on a mission. You’d all faced worse before. And yet, somehow, nobody was prepared for what was about to happen. Everything blew up. Quite literally. You had been helping some of the kids to safety with Storm and Scott. Scott had left half way through, running to find Jean and help her. Storm had given him cover, as well as the kids. 

And once you knew the kids were in safe hands on the jet, you ran back. 

Only, when you got to the top of the hill, having skidded to a halt only to catch yourself on a rotting tree, you looked down to see for the first time, the image that would be forever imprinted in your mind. 

Logan and Jean were at the bottom. Scott had made it just in time to hold his girlfriend back when Logan took the brunt of the attack. It sent him flying and when he fell to the floor, your gut twisted. 

Usually, he’d get up. 

But something was off. 

He wasn’t getting up. Not as quickly, anyway. 

And when he did, an attack came sooner than anyone else had expected. 

Straight through his stomach and a second through his side, Logan was impaled to the tree before being torn from it, sent flying forward with the tentacle branches before being pulled off and sent flying to the ground. 

You remembered screaming his name along with the others before running forward. Storm had made it there before you, but you were the first on your knees beside him, trying to check for any healing that was starting. 

It wasn’t. 

You heard the muffled voices of the rest of the team in your ears, fighting against your own heartbeat as you looked down at Logan. He was bleeding out and fast. 

The bodies beside you disappeared and followed after the attacker and soon everything became…

Silent. 

The ringing in your ears had stopped, your ears had gotten used to your own heartbeat, and you tried your best to focus on Logan. 

His eyes were closed. Begging him through your own tears for him to open his, you took his hand. Feeling for his pulse, it was weak. And getting weaker. 

“Logan…please. Please don’t do this.”

Then your hearing focused on his heartbeat. Each beat took longer to come after the other until finally, with one weak squeeze of goodbye to your hand, Logan died. 

The hours that followed after that became a blur. 

The man you loved but had never told had died in front of you. You had heard his heartbeat stop. You had felt his last goodbye. He never got any last words. Just one last touch. 

And every night that followed after that, you re-lived it. Over and over and over again. Each night, the same. Logan. The branches. The blood. The pulse. The heartbeat. The touch. The silence. 

Sometimes you’d wake just as he touched your hand, the ghost of a feeling left on your palm as you woke. 

The others never bothered to ask. At least, not after the first time you had told them. The Professor had gathered you all in his office after everything had happened. And all you could think of was that Logan’s body was lay, lifeless, underneath the school. 

He had asked you what had happened and, with your arms folded and your eyes on the ground, you answered him. 

“He wasn’t healing. There wasn’t anything I could do. He died,” you explained before looking up at the Professor and giving him Logan’s time of death. “May I go now? I want to make sure the kids are okay.”

The Professor excused you and you left as quickly as you could, the door slamming a little louder than you had meant. 

And for the next two months, you…kept yourself busy. 

People talked about Logan, they were determined to keep his memory alive. But they didn’t have to go to bed at night, just for his memory to die again. Each morning, you seemed to wake up earlier than usual. And with the feeling of Logan’s hand against yours, you busied yourself as best as you could. 

Grading papers, alphabetising the library, cleaning every possible surface including the ceilings, constantly doing the laundry. Weeding out the garden, planting some new flower beds. Fixing the creaky wooden board in the hallway, painting the doors and wooden boards between the windows. Trimming the bushes, scrubbing the pots (even the old ones that weren’t in use anymore). 

You did anything and everything you could. Mostly to keep your mind busy but party because you hoped, if you tired yourself out enough, you might have caught a break. Made it one night through without re-living Logan’s death. 

But all of that changed one afternoon when you were called to the Professor’s study. 

Where you came face to face with…

Logan. 

Everyone was confused. 

Apart from the Professor. 

And throughout the meeting you remained quiet. Obviously, everyone was angry at the fact the Professor had kept such a big secret. 

“We didn’t know if it would work and we didn’t want anyone to have to re-live their grief.” The Professor explained. “It was a shot in the dark.”

“How is this even possible?” Storm asked as she sat down. 

“It seems Logan’s healing abilities were simply weakened. He needed help to heal. Medical help that not I, nor I’m afraid even you, Jean, could give him. There is a doctor I know, based in Alberta. She helped boost Logan’s healing factor and made sure that whatever had weakened him was no longer in his system.”

There was a little more explaining to do, but you could feel yourself drifting from the conversation. You just kept looking at Logan as he stood by the window and the Professor’s desk. 

He had his back turned when you had walked inside, the others all looking confused and annoyed, having to wait for you before they got their explanation. 

He had died. 

You had seen him die. 

You had felt him die. 

And yet, there he stood. His hands in his pockets, looking around the room, breathing and living as if nothing had even happened. 

Not long after all the explanations, everyone got to voice their opinion and you came last. Everyone looked at you, including Logan. 

And all you wanted to do was run.

To him or away from him, you couldn’t quite tell. 

So, with a breath, you forced a half smile and nodded. “It’s good to have you back. Professor, may I go? I’ve got a class that’s about to start.”

“Of…of course. I would have thought-”

Reaching for the door, you looked back. “See you round, Logan.”

Just before you closed the door, you heard Storm announce her way to Logan to give him a hug. But even the Professor couldn’t concentrate on that because he couldn’t help but notice there was something different about you. 

Of course, he’d noticed you’d been keeping yourself busy. Missing out on family dinners, eating yours when you found the time later on in the evening, cleaning up the classrooms after hours, doing a little touch ups here and there with a smaller paint can and paintbrush. 

Little did he know, you had just been filling in the spots you had missed the day before. 

But he had figured you had been like the others. Itching to hug Logan. Being glad he was alive and breathing. 

Instead…

You had barely said two words and had left as soon as you could. 

“Are you okay?” Storm asked you later that night when you were cooking dinner. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Storm lifted herself onto a stool opposite you. “I don’t know. You just didn’t seem…excited about Logan being back.”

“Of course I’m excited he’s back.”

“Then would it kill you to show it?” Storm asked, half jokingly. “Here, let me help.”

You shook your head. “It’s okay, I’m almost done.”

Storm moved her hands away from your chopping board slowly. “Okay. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You smiled. “Ororo, I’m fine. Scouts honour. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

You shrugged, forcing your mind back to reality. “Nothing. It’s just been a long day, s’all.”

Later that evening, you found yourself alone in your classroom. The others were down the hall having dinner but you had found yourself something to do. You could have gone down but whether out of habit of the last two months or fear, you didn’t wish to join them. 

Your appetite had already been worse for wear over the last couple of weeks. If you were sat at the table, across from Logan, you wouldn’t have been able to even think about eating. 

So, taking another bite of your sandwich, you turned back to your essays. 

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Logan looked around the table. You were missing. 

“Whose turn was it to cook tonight?” Logan asked. 

“Y/n’s.” Jean told him. “She’s been making most of the meals lately. Guess she just got the cooking bug.”

“But she’s not here.”

Jean shrugged it off. “She’ll probably get some later.”

“Where is she?” He asked as he went to stand. But Jean stopped him. 

“Oh, no. Stay. Come on, Everyone needs to catch up.”

“Catch up on what?” Logan asked. “I’ve been in a hospital in Alberta for two months.”

“Please, just…stay. Besides, Y/n’ll appear when she wants. She’s probably busy.”

And after a little bit more convincing, Logan stayed. You’d left so abruptly that morning, he questioned if you even wanted to see him at all. 

It continued like that for a week. 

At first, Logan tried to convince himself you weren’t avoiding him. But as the week went on and he began to see less of you inside his routine, he knew you had to be. 

And then he began to notice things. 

Everything seemed cleaner than when he had left. And brighter. Fresher, even. The doors had been given a paint job. Despite it being dry, he could still smell the aroma of fresh paint in the air. The halls were less creaky when he walked down them. The cupboards were tidier. He could find his cookies with ease now. 

And despite the fact he didn’t read all that much, he knew the library had changed. Even the books that no-one ever touched. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen near them. And one of his personal favourites – a book he tended to read around winter, where the cover was falling off and the pages were falling apart – had been binded to look like new.

So, taking action into his own hands, he went to look for you. 

And it wasn’t long before he found you. 

You had escaped him when he saw you planting fresh flowers in the garden, and you had escaped him when you had brought in the groceries having used Storm as a distraction for you to slip out of the kitchen once everything was away. 

But he had found you in the library. 

Once again, you hadn’t come to dinner, making up an excuse that you needed to work. And Logan knew for a fact you hadn’t left to come and get your dinner yet so, he brought it to you. 

“Thought you might be hungry.”

You looked up but Logan had already heard the change in your pulse. 

“Oh…thanks. You can just leave it there.”

And he did. 

“You’ve got to eat at some point.”

“I will,” you looked back up at him. “Soon. I promise.”

This was the longest conversation you’d both had since he got back. So, he took a seat across from you. 

“What are you working on?”

“Work.”

Logan smiled. “Funny.”

Then the silence washed over you both. But he didn’t want it to stick. “Y/n?”

You hummed a response. 

“Can you look at me?”

Your heartbeat seemed to jump and you took in a discrete breath. Finally seeing your face, Logan smiled. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve not been avoiding you.” You looked back at your work. 

“Yes, you have.”

“What makes you say that?”

Logan gave you a list. “The constant work, the avoidance of dinners, the silent treatment. Did I do something?”

You shook your head. “You haven’t done anything, Logan.”

“Then can you look at me when you tell me that so I might believe you.”

Finally, you looked at him. 

“Tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

Logan asked again. “What’s going on?”

You laughed, nervously. “Nothing’s going on. Logan, I’m fine.”

“Are you? Because you’ve been avoiding me since I got back and- what? What is it?”

You laughed again, except this time you didn’t know how you’d describe it. 

“‘Got back’ you repeated his words. “You say that as if you left for a vacation. You died, Logan. Or did you forget that?”

“No. Y/n. What’s going on?”

You shook your head and packed away your things as quickly as you could. “Forget I said anything. Thanks for dinner.”

“You didn’t even eat-” Logan watched you walk away from him again. 

He’d rather have you fight him than avoid him, so he pressed on. 

“Talk to me.” Logan followed after you. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. It’s late, Logan. Go to bed.”

“Only when you do.”

“What?” You asked. 

“Your bedroom, it’s upstairs, down the hall from mine. In the opposite direction. The only thing this way is your classroom.”

“I’ve got to finish grading.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

You shrugged. “What teacher doesn’t get enough sleep?”

“Something is going on. Something has been going on. For a while. Please,” Logan begged. “Just tell me what it is.”

You stopped in your tracks. “Do you really want to know what it is?”

“Yes.” Logan nodded, stopping in front of you. 

“Okay then, I’ll tell you.”

And you did. 

“I watched you die, Logan. I heard your heart stop. I watched as blood pooled out of your body with no way for me to stop it. Even after three scalding hot showers, I still had your bloodstains on my skin, under my nails and on my clothes. Every night when I close my eyes, I re-live it. Everything. Every tiny detail. And the silence afterwards…it’s deafening. Sometimes I wake up, still feeling the pressure you put into my hand. Sometimes it’s still there hours after I wake up. I had spent every single day keeping myself busy, finding extra work for myself, just to make sure that I don’t start daydreaming about the waking nightmare I had to watch you go through. I had spent the last two months going over and over in my head what I would say to you if I ever saw you again. But I could never bring myself to do it, because I had watched you die. I had felt you die. So, please. Forgive me if I’m not jumping with joy because I can miraculously forget what happened, like everyone else.”

Logan let your words wash over him. No one had told him. He had a sneaking suspicion they hadn’t because even they didn’t know. Maybe they never asked. Maybe they just hadn’t noticed. 

Gaining back your breath, you went to turn away. 

“Goodnight, Logan.”

Closing your classroom door behind you, you silently locked it and pressed your back against it feeling your entire body start to shake. Slowly, your legs went from underneath you and you lowered yourself to the ground by sliding down the door. You tried your best to squeeze your tears back into your eyes with the heels of your hands, but nothing could stop them. 

Not now. 

Not when you had just admitted the truth to the one man you never thought you would see again. 

Three times Logan turned back to your classroom door, ready to walk inside. But he didn’t know what he would say. 

So he waited. 

Back in his room, he waited to hear the door to your room close. 

And after two hours, he finally did. 

And before he knew it, his feet were carrying him towards your door. Only, he stood there for ten minutes, unsure of what to do with himself. 

At some point, he finally knocked. 

Turning off the tap by the sink, you hung up your flannel onto the radiator bar and dried off your face when you heard the soft knock at your door. 

There was only one person who could have been up so late. 

He knocked again after a minute or two. 

And you opened up the door. 

Whatever Logan had just semi-prepared in his mind, slipped away. He was going to say something. But looking at you, standing in front of him…all words failed him. 

And the longer he stood in front of you, the louder the reminder came to you that he wasn’t dead. He was alive. He could be shot with twelve live rounds and the bullets would pop right back out of his skin. His claws would flare out and he’d be Wolverine. They’d retract and his skin would heal instantly. There would be no evidence that anything had ever happened. 

Then six words slipped from your mouth before you could stop them. Before even your brain could register the thought. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Logan felt his chest crack and his heart impale with pain. 

Pushing the door open a little wider, his arms engulfed you in an embrace that would forever be imprinted on your soul. Your own arms wrapped around him, trying to remember the feel of him both physically and spiritually in case the day ever came where you truly would never see him again. 

That if this was going to be your only memory of him, you could never, ever forget it. 

Lifting you up in his embrace for a moment, Logan walked further inside your room, kicking the door shut with his foot. Even if no one else was awake, he didn’t want to risk anyone walking by. Clearly, no-one else knew what you had been living through in your nightmares. And he didn’t want anyone else to share this moment between himself and you.

“You spared me the pain of being alone.” Logan whispered into your hair. “I was less scared because you were there.”

“I couldn’t have left you.” 

Your tears were back to rolling down your cheeks. “I’m sorry about everything you had to go through.”

Logan softly kissed away your tears, wiping the others away. 

You took in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Logan shook his head. “You saved me. You stayed with me.”

“But-”

With both your eyes closed, and Logan’s, you felt his forehead touch yours as his hands cradled your cheeks. “I’m real, Y/n. I’m alive.”

You felt Logan take your hand and press it to his chest, over his heart. His heartbeat was mostly steady, if a little quick. Spreading your fingers across his chest, you felt it rise and fall with his breathing. 

“I’m alive,” he kept repeating. “I’m alive.”

Logan’s breath was drawing closer to yours. “Logan…”

“Let me prove it to you.”

And you let him.

Capturing your breath in a kiss, Logan remained soft at first. He didn’t want to scare you. He didn’t want you to jump and run away from him like you had done only a few hours before in the library. 

But then you kissed back. 

So he moved his hands through your hair and over your body until you were pressed against him as close as you possibly could be. 

Your own hands pulled him in closer by his neck whilst the hand he’d placed over his heart remained fixed in its position. 

Logan was proving to every sense in your body he was real. That he was alive. Almost counteracting the memory that had been drawn from a waking nightmare. 

And as he lifted you up, your back soon pressing against the wall, you and Logan knew he would be spending the rest of the night doing exactly what he told you he wanted to do. 

Prove it to you. 

As morning rolled around, you felt a warm body next to you, tangled not only in you but also your sheets. 

Logan. 

His arms practically caged around you, you recalled every single detail from the night before. Your argument in the hallways, the classroom, the knock at the door, the hug, the kiss, the proof. 

And then, you felt yourself, for the first time in months, give a real smile. 

Lowering your head, you buried yourself in between Logan’s chest and your bedsheets, feeling his arms tense at your movement, holding you in the bed without a way of escape. 

And as your body reacted to his touch you realised something. 

For the first time since his death, you hadn’t had a nightmare. You hadn’t seen his death play on repeat inside your head. And the touch you were feeling wasn’t in your hand but rather all across your body. 

Parts were aching with a soreness you never quite knew was possible and later when you would look in the mirror, you would find fingertip bruises by your hips, love bites leading down your hip bone and on your inner thigh. Smaller ones were also dotted around your collar and neck, but a rather prominent one was yet to be left by the crook of your neck from behind where Logan’s lips would find themselves before you got into a fresh shower, Logan joining almost immediately. 

But until then, you’d revel in the feeling of Logan’s constant heartbeat against your hand, and for a moment your lips as you kissed his skin. Before he woke up and proved to you time and time again how real he was and how much the memory that had plagued you for two months was something that, although wasn’t easy to forget about, could become something of a distant memory. 

And for the rest of your lives, he would make sure to do exactly that.

[meowsaaa]

(streamer)Ellie Willams x reader

Ellie Williams is a menace online.

Not in a toxic gamer bro way, more like a screams when she dies in-game but still calls you “bro” when you flirt with her kind of way. Her Twitch streams are chaotic, loud, and deeply unserious—her overlay is just her cam, a rotating image of a frog with a knife, and a donation goal labeled “fund my emotional damage (or my snacks)”.

Tonight, she’s streaming late. Just chatting. Hoodie on. Hair messy. Energy: feral and sleepy.

And you’re in her chat, like always.

you: ur hoodie is swallowing you lmao

ellie_w: good. im trying to disappear

you: u should disappear into my arms

[ellie_w has muted her mic]

[chat]: 💀💀💀💀

The second your message hits, her face on cam drops. She smacks the mute button so fast she nearly spills her drink. But the damage is done—chat is already going feral.

chat: “Y/N SAID SIT ON MY LAP RN”

chat: “ellie.exe has stopped working”

chat: “SOMEONE SCREENSHOT HER FACE RN”

She un-mutes five seconds later, face flushed, voice cracking.

“You guys are—no. I’m not doing this. I’m not—”

“I’m literally just here to vibe and now I’m getting cyberbullied in my own stream.”

She tries to recover. She fails.

Later, you end up in a Discord call with her.

Ellie’s cam is off. Yours is on. She’s just a little icon on your screen, trying to sound cool while failing miserably.

“So like… do you flirt with everyone like that? Or am I just—special or whatever?”

You smirk. “You want to be special?”

She goes quiet.

“Shut up,” she mumbles. “You’re not funny.”

“You’re actually the worst person I’ve ever met.”

“You’re blushing again, aren’t you?”

“I hate you.”

You can hear the grin in her voice.

“But like… in a gay way.”

Eventually she does turn her cam on again.

It’s just her, hoodie still too big, eyes soft now. No chat, no chaos. Just the two of you. You smile at her screen and say:

“Hey, streamer girl.”

And she just melts. Quietly. Sweetly.

“Hey, heartbreaker.”

It’s been two weeks since The Incident™ on stream. Two weeks since Ellie muted herself mid-flirt and almost combusted in front of 800 people.

Now? You’re dating. Softly. Secretly.

Okay, not that secretly—you’ve been falling asleep on Discord together and calling each other “dumb” in the most affectionate ways possible.

But Twitch chat? They don’t know. Yet.

⸻

Stream Night

Ellie’s live again. It’s a chill Stardew Valley stream this time, hoodie sleeves over her hands, thumb ring glinting as she fishes in-game with one hand and sips out of her Garfield mug with the other.

“I swear to god if I catch one more algae I’m gonna—”

Ping. You’ve joined the call mid-stream. Ellie flinches like she’s been caught doing something illegal.

“OH—uh, hey,” she says, cracking her knuckles nervously.

“Didn’t think you’d—um. You’re here.”

chat: “👀👀👀”

chat: “IS THAT Y/N???”

chat: “oh we back in the BLUSH ARC”

You: “Why do you sound like I caught you cheating?”

“Because you did,” she says flatly.

“I married Sebastian in-game and I’m pretty sure that’s polyamory.”

⸻

As the stream goes on, Ellie’s trying so hard to act normal.

You’re in her ear the whole time, laughing at her rage-fishing and saying stuff like:

“You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“I’d still date you even if your farm layout is trash.”

“That hoodie’s mine now btw.”

Ellie is unwell. And it’s very visible.

Ml

Chat Is Onto Her

At one point, you hear her typing mid-stream.

Then a new label pops up on screen. A little tag under her cam.

“call with: not my gf (shut up)”

chat: “OH SHE’S IN LOVE”

chat: “not my gf???? girl you’re not slick”

chat: “SOFT LAUNCH ACHIEVED ✅”

Ellie tries to play it off, voice light:

“Shut up, we’re just… talking. Besties. Bros. Y’know.”

You: “Oh, absolutely. I definitely kiss all my bros on the mouth.”

Ellie short-circuits.

“I—bro—chat ban them. Mods. Ban my girlfriend. I can’t do this.”

Right before the stream ends, she sighs.

Camera still on. Face pink. Eyes soft.

“Okay. I’m not saying anything. But if I were seeing someone—hypothetically—it’d be someone who’s been in my streams for a long time.”

“Someone who bullies me but also tells me I’m cute.”

“Someone who stole my hoodie and thinks I didn’t notice.”

You: “You literally told me to take it—”

“Shhh. I’m being romantic.”

“Anyway. You guys don’t get a name. Or a face. But they’re here. And they’re mine.”

The stream ends with that. No warning. Just an unplugging of emotion, mid-simp.

You get a message 3 seconds later:

ellie_w: did i just soft launch you

ellie_w: did i just GAY PANIC ON STREAM

ellie_w: i hate you (lovingly)

You reply:

you: you’re lucky you’re hot

you: also ur hoodie smells like you and i’m keeping it forever

ellie_w: …i’m never getting that hoodie back am i

you: nope. but you can come get it

ellie_w is typing…

[yallstar]

kinda in love with the uncanny-valley, almost horror elements of the ep7 world..... like imagine being ekko, and you wake up in a life where all social and economic disparity has been corrected and you get to reunite with all of your lost loved ones..... but it's at the cost of the one surviving family member from your real life. and everyone you reunite with is a defanged version of their old self, absent all the motivations that defined them - for better or for worse

he lashes out at silco and vander because to him silco was the biggest villain he knew of up until like, a week ago, and vander had legitimate reason to hate the guy even before vi's death. "the greatest thing we can do in life is find the power to forgive" said by the most vindictive son of a bitch ekko ever met - said to EKKO, a revolutionary who, whether he likes it or not, was following in a younger silco's footsteps. silco and vander built the lanes and ekko built the firelights. and now he's watching these two former revolutionaries play house while the child they vowed to protect is DEAD.

and powder? powder, content to play assistant to ekko's innovation? powder, docile and quietly mourning? there's a catharsis in seeing this path for her but for the ekko that came from a world where powder's grief literally toppled regimes? that must have been BRUTAL to accept. ekko going home at the end willingly makes a whole lot of sense when you realize the world he got dropped into is the dream come true of a little boy who died the same night as the rest of his friends. the boy who woke up in that body wasn't meant to be satisfied by that world, he was meant to save another.

[jazjelspen]

my angel baby (part 4)

alastor w/ angel daughter reader

(notes: alastor joins charlie and vaggie in heaven to convince them about the hazbin hotel. angel reader physically resembles a fawn. )

(requested tags: @insomniacfigure @pooplyface1423 @mo-0-o @thekanrojimitsuri2 @maliciousmace @nevermorekisses @wildfire153)

(thanks to my amazing editor for helping me with this chapter!! @kruncher mwa mwa! /p)

It's been half a month, and you still aren't sure if you really wanna do this.

Sure you have done your research on spells, blessings, everything to protect yourself and maybe even others while venturing into Hell, possibly even in battle if you felt brave enough.

But nonetheless, it was conflicting. Not only were you going to see your father again but you're going to be literally in hell-- the terrible place was always a tempting topic to bring up in a hushed conversation, though few actually dared to do it. It's the worst place to go to after death, everyone on earth hated speaking of it and mentioning it was somewhat like a bad omen, at least from how you've seen others react to it at certain times.

Why bother diving head first into a realm where none of it’s events or residents were any of your business? The souls are in hell for certain specific reasons, so why bother saving a world that was meant to be the end of the line.

Oh but-- Charlie.

Charlie Morningstar's case and evidence sure intrigued you, but was it really worth the risk? Is it worth the sacrifice, the hiding, the possible dying to try to save a bunch of sinners? All of them, more than likely... are very much similar to, if not the same as, your father.

"Maybe..n-.." you breathed out loud, your hand moving away from under your chin as you were stuck in thought sitting at your desk. You were reluctant, of course you'd be.

You looked down at your bag on the floor beside your desk, filled with supplies and necessities for venturing into hell-- you planned it out but-- was it really.. Do these sinners truly deserve to be saved? Helped?

Why, of course they do.

At the very least.. some of them. 

Those who genuinely want redemption and those who committed sins in which they had no choice before they died or to help others. Those are the ones who should be saved.

And from what you learned in the court trial exactly half a month ago, you could only imagine how many sinners Adam and his fleet of Exorcists slayed that were genuinely hoping for a better chance at this 'second' life.

Besides-- why not save lives? Even if they weren't worth saving, even if you didn't know them personally or at all. Isn't that why you got into heaven anyway? Because you sacrificed yourself for someone you didn't know in the slightest?

You died for that reason, what's so wrong in doing it a second time?

Besides, souls like that one sinner Charlie showed the court, Angel Dust, could be on the path to light and eternal paradise... you could almost feel it in your bones and you bet Emily did too.

Wait, that's right--

Emily!

You could have almost jumped from your seat, Emily was the key to your path to Hell! But how to get to her-- Sera was always around..

Oh-- No, no, this is too good.

Ever since the court day Emily has been getting a bit more distant from Sera, if you could find Emily alone once without any inclination you were seeking her out then you could do it! Convincing shouldn't be too hard, she feels the same way as you do in a certain way.

You've been so caught up in your plan to escape disguised as an exorcist that you couldn't see the answer right in front of you! All those weeks wasted-- the initial plan was bound to fail anyway no matter the amount of preparation since, according to your research, the exorcist angels were scattered everywhere in their HQ like a beehive swarm; like busy bees buzzing with bloodlust. They seemed to all recognize each other and have specific physical attributes that you lacked immensely, even if you were to try and steal a uniform you really couldn't because-- you didn't know where they kept them inside.

You took in a deep breath in and out, 'I'm definitely not coming back unscathed..' you thought 'but.. everyone deserves a second chance, even sinners. And if they really don't deserve it then might as well save them so that they may continue living out their eternal sentences with no easy way out.'

You then looked towards a corner of your desk, grabbing a small and recent photo you took with someone very dear to you. You smiled softly at it before letting out a gentle huff of confidence and then carefully stuffing that photo in your bag for your trip to hell.

You then grabbed your bag, put it over your shoulder, and carefully walked out of your home.

It was currently early night in heaven, the sky as always was filled with stars that glow immensely so that heaven is never in utter darkness. At this time of the evening everyone was home and getting ready for bed, shops closing, people walking home. Thankfully you've hung around Emily long enough to know that when she's bothered by something, she doesn't go to sleep easily till she can fix it, and from what you knew the extermination in hell was still going to happen. 

Your wings started to gently flap and as quietly as they could they flew you up to the home quarters of Emily and Sera, them owning a taller building than the ordinary 'winner' would have considering their higher statuses.

It wasn't that hard to fly by since there was no need for security or guards, heaven never exactly needed to be protected from the inside.

You made your way around a high up balcony, one that you knew led to Emily's quarters. You noticed the balcony doors closed but light flickered from within; she's in there.

Your feet carefully plopped themselves on the balcony, nervously lifting your hand to knock on it-- still hesitant.

'Do I really want to do this?' 

It was too late to even ask that now, for your hand already knocked on the glass surface of the balcony door, breath hitched-- you awaited an answer.

...

The sound of pitter pattering steps could be heard from the inside as they neared where you were standing, a figure approached you from behind the glass.

Emily!

You smiled and waved at her awkwardly as she looked at you with a mix of shock, joy, and exhaustion. She opened the door to you with anticipation.

"______! How are you!... wait-- what are you doing here? It's late, you should be at home.."

"Look Emily," you said breathlessly due to your anxiety. "There's no easy way to say this but I need a huge favor from you.. bigger than anything I could ever ask for and will ever ask for. Not only that but- I'm sure you'll believe in my cause.."

She hummed in thought, eyes narrowed at you in an attempt to see if she should listen to her head or heart. "I'm listening..."

You then nodded towards the inside of her room, silently asking if you could go inside so no prying ears could hear you, even if it's unlikely. She read the words in your expression as she nodded and welcomed you in, closing the door behind her carefully.

You started whispering, "I need you to teleport me into hell."

Emily's breathing scuffled a bit, absolutely shocked from your request. "Hell??.. but why?.. ______ you nor I have ever been to hell!.. you could get really hurt or worse die..!" she whisper-yelled in concern to one of her best friends.

"Well-- we aren't sure if they can truly kill angels but I've practiced a few spells to try to defend myself. You know I'm a lot faster with my wings and if I find Charlie I'm sure she'll keep me from getting hurt!.."

"Charlie?.." she asked, now fully remembering what happened on that fateful court day "Wait, you want to go to hell to see Charlie?"

You nodded, "I have to, it's the only way I can survive there. Besides, I need to help her.. you know that what Adam and Sera are letting happen is unjust and inhumane.. you and I both know and agree about this and you can help me by sending me down there."

"but.. _____ I--"

"Emily, the extermination is going to happen in less than a month now.. there's no time left to leave this in the air."

"______.. are you even sure you'll survive a second down there? how do you even know you need to be there, if you really want to help you can try and stay up here where it's safe--"

You let out a quick sigh of fear, afraid that she's getting cold feet "C'mon.. even with your influence Adam won't stop and neither has Sera ordered him to pause for even a moment.. Besides, if they need to have sinners show their improvement and actually redeem themselves.. they need someone who actually has been in heaven and knows how to get there. 

They need a role-model, an example, and I'm willing to help and sacrifice myself a second time to at least give other people a second chance at 'living'.

This time, you shut Emily up, she's speechless-- you truly took her breath away with how determined you were. You were right to some extent, help from a 'winner' for sinners, become just like them as a teacher and be an example could genuinely make much improvement and possibly open the case once more. 

She softly smiled at you, a small amount of pride swelling in her chest, pride that she has for you and hope that she has in your mission.

"Well.. I'll take you there but not without one thing--" she stepped closer to you and folded three fingers of her right hand, then crossed you with them in an all too familiar pattern. Right shoulder, left shoulder, forehead, chest. The sign of the Cross. A sudden glow shined from you for a split second as if a star bursted around you,

"A protection spell. To protect you from the strongest blow that encounters itself towards you, it only works once but it's the strongest spell I know that can be an extra safety net for you down there.. meanwhile I'll try my best to convince Sera to think differently about the genocides.."

"Oh.. thank you Ems!.." you hugged her and she hugged back tightly, both of you guys brimming in a flurry of hope, determination, and anxiety. "I won't let you down.. I promise when I come back, and I will, Adam won't need to kill anymore people with his exorcists anymore.."

"Just-- be careful, _____. You're one of a kind, no one helps and brightens things up like you do.." she backed away from the hug only to hold your hands and smile at you, conflicted but convinced by you.

"Promise. I'll be back before you know it."

"Pinky.. promise?" she took out her pinky finger for you to hold onto, to reassure her that she's making the right decision. Helping you.. she doesn't want to lose you by sending you down your death sentence.

"Hehe.. pinky promise." you took out your own pinky finger to wrap it around hers, another spark lighting up around your wrapped fingers as if sealing the deal.

"Good.. once again are you sure you're prepared??.." she couldn't help but ask-- she didn't want to lose her best friend..

"I'm ready to face what I have to face, ready as I'll ever be." you let out a shaky sigh, betraying you slightly.

Emily let out a shaky sigh of her own before stepping back and slowly summoning a portal, it starting from a little glow in the air to slowly trying to mass itself into your height and size so you may go through with ease. It was difficult since it was mostly Sera or Adam opening them with constant ease and she never really had to until now, unfortunately though.. it was starting to make noise.

You hold your bag as tightly as you could, double checking if all the zippers are closed before preparing yourself for the even growing yellow portal.

"I don't know exactly where the Hazbin Hotel is so-- be... be careful _____.."

You looked at her and nodded with confidence, a look of strength emitting from your face. 

There was shuffling from the hallway outside Emily's room, "Emily? What are you doing at this time of the night?" Sera could be heard from afar, her voice loudly echoing across and even through the closed doors. 

Emily sped through her magic as she used as much of her mental strength as she could to open up the portal, it shouldn't be that hard but-- she never had to do this, she never thought she would do this. She was only in charge of keeping you happy-- but if this were to make you happy, then she's obliged to do so.

The portal was finally big enough for you to enter through, both of you hearing loud oncoming steps coming from outside the halls and in a quick motion you waved at Emily with a smile, her doing the same thing before finally-- you jumped into hell.

Right as you disappeared into the yellow and gold void, she let herself go from holding it open and right as Sera was opening the door, without even knocking mind you, the portal disappeared from thin air and all that was left was Emily standing in the middle.

"What are you even doing?.." asked Sera looking puzzled.

Emily chuckled nervously, shrugging her shoulders "Practicing for next show's fireworks..? heh.."

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You on the other hand-- were being slammed against a hard metal surface that smelled like rotten flesh and food, dried blood, and other stinky items. Hitting your head against it causes you to groan in pain and slowly hold your head, the smell beside you slowly making you feel a bit sick.

Your halo, clattering to the ground, its glow still present on it.. confirming your status to still be an angel. 

"Fuck.." you mumbled, rubbing the back of your head while picking yourself up from the ground. Looking at your surroundings you were in a sort of alley, the metal surface being a large dumpster. Your wings flapped a bit to stretch them out from the hit you took. 

You look at your halo and feel a huge sigh of relief get out of your mouth, despite knowing that only becoming a fallen could only happen if the court officially banishes you from heaven from all you knew it still felt good to know you're still the same you. Besides, you didn't know if a winner has ever become sinner before so.. that at least helped your mind keep itself from flipping over.

God..but your surroundings?

It reeked.

You peeked a bit in the dumpster out of curiosity but the intensity of the smell made you wanna puke so your nose begged you to move away. Now looking at the exit out of the alley you first picked up your halo to then place it above your head, floating above you right after letting it go. Picking up your bag once again to hold it tightly near you so no one would steal it.. being as cautious as you could.

Slowly peeking out of the alley you noticed a humble little town with colors of red, shades of pink, and filled with a few sharp toothed people. Everyone walked around casually and happily, like how normal humans would. Despite how huge the place is there seems to be a lack of crowds.. as if half of the town is missing.

Huh, this place reminded you of a sunny day in New Orleans when you were alive. Is this.. really hell? You haven't come across any people jumping out to kill you or anyone else randomly but a few explosions from far away still made you jerk from fear.

You carefully stepped out of the alley, feeling especially out of place the moment you started walking out. People with various shades of gray skin, everyone with blacked out eyes, sharp teeth, and all still dressed in clothes from around the time you died, maybe a bit of more older fashions but still.. reminded you of back home on earth just slightly.

Each step you took was a new question that you gave yourself.. where were you? is this a level or part of hell? does hell look this way all the time? is the Hazbin Hotel of walking distance? is Emily okay? why does the air smell weird? is your dad Alastor around? is it obvious im not from here-- oh of course it is you have a fucking halo damn it.

'Everyone looks almost normal," you thought 'Maybe I can try to find someone to help m--'

"Oh!.." you bumped into someone, someone small. You looked down to see a fairly normal looking child with eyes entirely blacked out, no pupils to be seen. Geez.. you couldn't lie but they creeped you out a bit.

"Hello there.. sorry I didn't see you.." you spoke to the kid despite how weary you were, giving it an apologetic smile while waving a little towards them in a very awkward manner.

They spoke nothing but instead flashed you a large sharp toothed smile that made your blood curl a bit, what made it worse was what it did next.

"It's okay missy! I like your wings!" Normally you'd smile more and make small talk but-- then the kid took out a cut off hand from behind their back and started chomping it on it as if it was corn on the cob. With your skin crawling and your face as white as a sheet from the shock, the kid then proceeded to run off nibbling on the bleeding hand.

You stood there frozen, your stomach begging to release anything you ate before you came upon here. You slowly turned your head to the right, your peripheral vision noticing a large wooden sign.

'Welcome to Cannibal Town!'

'Well that.. really explains it.' you took a few deep breaths as you tried to control yourself and your upcoming panic as to not alert other cannibals of your fear.. but you could've sworn they could probably smell it off of you.

Would they eat you? Are they going to eat you?.. but some have been looking at you walking by-- are they getting ready to pounce on you, bite off your flesh and--

You stopped in your tracks, noticing how further you are in the town from all your overthinking. You looked up to see that you are at the front steps of a small stage?.. gazebo..? you couldn't remember how hard your heart was pounding.

All of a sudden you felt an incredibly sharp pain on your wing, one that made you shriek aloud and everyone suddenly stopped and stared at you. You turned to see an old lady with a cane looking very similar to other residents around you-- BITE your wing?? what the actual living fuck??

The old woman seemed to grin and licking the golden blood from the bite she got from your wings, fortunately for you she only bit and didn't actually get a chunk of your wing off instead.. either way it fucking stung the way a large wasp sting would.

"Angel wings.. not bad at all-- OUCH!!" The old lady then let out a shriek herself, being hit by the end of a sun umbrella this time and whoever was holding it was shooing her away from you.

"Shoo! Shoo! Susan!! Run off now! We don't bite new otherworldly guests like that!" The voice shouted before the old woman scurried off just as fast as she came. 

You whimpered a bit as your bitten and slightly bleeding wing leaned towards your hands, your palms and fingers then gently caressing them as an attempt to soothe the pain with tears brimming and silently sliding down your eyes.

"Oh I'm so sorry about that sweetheart, that old hag has no manners." The same voice, a woman's voice, called out to you. Her appearance also looks similar to everyone else, the only difference is her large hat decorated with elaborate feathers and adorned with a small skull. 

"Let me see that dear.." she leaned in with her hand reaching towards your wing but of course you flinched away from her, absolutely not trusting her in the slightest form your first terrible experience and the many words of others before you.

You looked at her with fear you've never felt before, fear that you haven't felt since your death. You quickly backed away, your injured wing cowering towards your hands and chest.

'Holy.. fuck..'

"The names Rosie, sweetheart, what's a pretty little thing like you walking around here with no sense of danger?"

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alastor held you in his arms as your nine year old self was fiddling with a toy in your hands after a long day of being taken care of by one of Alastor's lady friends. The man was coming out of work from hosting his famous radio show as he usually always did and now was entering his home after a tiring day from work and honestly he wasn't up for taking care of you right now. If anything he should've probably let you stay with the woman forever and he wouldn't have to be dealing with baby troubles..

Yet everyday you somehow always gave him a reason to keep you despite his almost heartless nature.

He walked in his home and closed the door behind him, locking it as well. Walking over to the sofa he turned on a nearby lamp before setting you down on the cushions and let you be in your own world while he then went to go eat something himself. You didn't have to since the woman that babysat fed you quite well and you liked what she gave so there was no need for you to be overfed.

Alastor went to prepare a meal for himself, not saying much to you in the process since all he wanted was to eat and sleep so better to just fill one of the boxes on that checklist as soon as possible. So while you were still distracted he quickly made himself a meal and started eating so he wouldn't starve before bed.

You were playing with your toy the nice lady gave you, mumbling small nonsense here and there while playing around. Until you decided to speak up loudly from afar,

"Papa, can I ask something?" you talked as you kept yourself entertained with your toy.

Alastor sighed a bit "Yes dear, what is it?" exhaustion evident on his voice that contracted to his permanent smile, be it small or big.

"Is it true that when you found me, my mama and papa didn't want me because I was an ugly and loud cry-baby?"

Alastor almost spit out his food, inevitably starting choking on it. Saving himself from dying of choking by drinking his drink he set with his food and calmed down. "W.. Why do you think that sweetheart? Who told you such an untrue lie!.." 

In truth, he didn't actually know why you were abandoned in that alley. All he found when he picked you up was you wrapped around in baby blankets in a basket and a note with a date on it, most likely your date of birth, but other than that he never knew why you ended up there and why. He simply just took you in and called you his own.

"The boys in the playground I played with said their mamas and papas knew you, and knew you found me. They then started saying I dress too girly and that my real mama and papa left me because I was ugly and a loud cry baby and that's why I don't have a mama and papa." Your little voice seemed to shake a bit but obviously tried your best to hide it away even at this young of an age.

But your father could see and hear right through you. 

Alastor sighed before taking one last spoonful of his food before leaving his meal there to walk towards you, settling himself on the same sofa you both always make the best of memories, this being one of them.

"Well darling, those boys obviously have parents who don't educate them! And are as dull as a doorknob if they say all that foolish nonsense.. you do have a mama and papa!"

You looked at him incredibly confused, since when did you have a mother?

He noticed this and laughed a bit at your expression "Silly, I'm your mama and papa! I do both jobs! I make you food, I have clothes for you, I give you a home, I get you ready for school, I talk to you all the time because you're mine!" He spoke cheerily, as if stating a very well known fact "Their eyes also must not be working also since I think I got the prettiest daughter in all of New Orleans if I do say so myself!" he pinched your cheek playfully, making you giggle. 

He continued on "Yes, you did indeed cry a lot as a small tiny baby but do you think I would've kept you if you were an enormous crybaby? Of course not! Which is why I still have you here with me." Alastor-- "And you dress too girly??.. why, but of course you'll dress the way you do.. you're my little girl! how will my little dove be able to shine in her natural beauty if she doesn't wear the most marvelous pieces of wardrobe I can get her!" He then continued to pinch both your cheeks at the same time, some of your cute baby fat still present on your face despite being a year behind in heading towards the double digits. 

You giggled and laughed loudly, smiling.. just the way you should always be.

Yes he was too tired for this, he was downright exhausted, but hey-- if he can keep an unfaltering smile despite feeling this then of course he can keep up with you even if he's not in the mood. You're the only person who he doesn't like to see in pain, in tears-- 

It's his job to do this, for what is he if he leaves you wilting by yourself with no 'light' of your own to guide you.

Certainly, he wouldn't even deserve to be called your father.

"Oh and dear?"

"Yes papa!"

"What are the boys' names? And their parents? I must have a little chat with them soon!..."

Oh, Alastor.

[omega-e123]

waittttt so imagine this just some shadow headcannon i got.

Shadow because he's at least part hedgehog gets more mellow and sleeply in the winter because normal hedgehogs do hybernate. So in the winter he is very clingy to his lover, and wont let them leave his side as he falls asleep now and again.

S/O: shadow i gotta get up and cook dinner pleaseeeee (is trying to get out of his hold)

Shadow: (who is half asleep) you can eat at the end of winter, now be still and let me sleep. (Has his love in a tight hold as he naps again)

Idk thought it was cute lol.

Oh man, Shadow during winter is much more domesticated and soft spoken with his partner!

It’s probably the closest you’ll see how he acted on The Ark with Maria. Before he literally almost died falling down to earth.

✼　He’s much more prone to initiating PDA. While hand holding is in there, Shadow rathers you link arms as you walk down the street. Keeps you and him warm as a bonus!

✼　If you choose to shove your fingers in his chest fur “for warmth” he won’t argue. A little reluctant, but he’ll allow it.

“Cold again? Hnff!~ You should invest in some gloves,” Shadow playfully complains, wrapping his arms around you. If you do actually buy warm gloves, expect them to disappear a week after every now and then. “At the rate you’re asking, I’m starting to suspect it’s simply an excuse to touch my chest”

✼ Gift him a scarf or a coat and he will refuse to take it off. That scarf is going with him everywhere he goes.

✼　Shadow doesn’t have many clothes, but he does own a small collection of jackets. Some of which were bought because they looked good on you. Yes, they’re specifically just for you to “steal”. It’s better than you getting cold and sick!

✼ Winter time is the season where Shadow gets the most sleep. Usually the most sleep he gets is the recommended amount, which is around 7-8 hours. If Shadow is left idle for too long, he tends to accidentally sleep 12 hours. Which means if you’re not careful, you’re stuck in bed all day with nothing getting done.

Set a lot of alarms, call him throughout the day. Keep him busy! He will feel a little guilt letting the day go by like nothing.

Good luck even moving if he’s cuddling you. Shadow has you in his grasp so tight, you can barely even rotate your body.

✼　Snowboarding and ice skating are his favorite winter hobbies. Shadow does to speed skating, but you can often find him figure skating more often than not. He finds it as a good way to fine tune his movements.

If you don’t know how to ice skate, he is more than happy to teach you. The absolute patience this man has is astounding.

“Don’t worry about falling. Focus on me and keeping your balance, alright? You got this. Keep holding on.”

Going down, he’ll catch you every time, even if it meant falling with you. Shadow will at the very least cushion the fall for you.

✼　At home, Shadow does his best to keep physical contact with you. Washing dishes? His arms are wrapped around your waist, hugging you close. Chilling on the couch? At least one limb is on you. Whether it be his leg, his arm on you, or resting his head on your shoulder.

His face’s favorite spot is the crook of your neck. Do with that as you wish.

[bet-on-me-13]

Steph's Year of Recovery

So! Danny noticed that a new face had made it's way into town. Two new faces actually, an older lady known as Dr Leslie, and a girl about his age called Steph.

He first met them when he was at the hospital for one of his parents. They had stood too close to an explosion again, and he met them while he was in the waiting Area.

Dr Leslie was a strict but obviously caring older woman, who seemed to be the one taking care of Steph as a kind of maternal figure, or maybe more like an Aunt. She greeted him simply and then walked away to talk with the Secretary, leaving him to talk to Steph.

Steph was a blond girl in a Wheelchair, and he could see bandages piking out of her clothes as he talked to her. She explained that she had been in an Accident a few weeks ago that left her wheelchair bound for a while, and that she had come to Amity for their surprisingly good Medical Centers.

He and Steph got along really well, and by the end of it he asked her for her Number so they could continue talking later. They stayed in touch, and when she was finally permitted to leave the Hospital, he introduced her to his friends. They all got along like a House on Fire, both figuratively and in one memorable case very literally (Vlad had pissed them off okay!)

Eventually Steph recovered enough that she moved from a Wheelchair to Crutches, and their shenanigans got even more chaotic (Vlad hadn't even pissed them off, this time was just for fun)

The only thing Danny could complain about was the fact that Steph was hiding something from them.

She said that she had been in an Accident a while ago, which was why they had come to Amity in the first place. But Danny knew it was more than that.

He could sense lingering traces of Death coming from her after all.

...

Steph honestly loved her current life.

Sure she had lost everything, her home, her health, her friends, her life, but she had gained new things too! Like Danny and the Gang! They were honestly some of the best friends she had ever had, and for some reason they just clicked with her instantly.

Danny was interesting and funny, Sam was vegan and a badass, Tucker was smart and witty, they all fit with her personality perfectly! It almost felt like she bad been friends with them for years. (She ignored the way her heart skipped a beat when she saw them)

But she still couldn't shake the sense that they were hiding something from her.

She knew it had something to do with the Ghost Problem in the town. And wasn't that a kicker, there was a whole Supernatural Ghost Outbreak in this Town and nobody knew about it. Dr Leslie had said that Amity was off the map enough to hide from Bruce, but she hadn't mentioned it was hidden from the Justice League itself!

Danny, Sam, and Tucker definitely knew more about it than they let on however. Whenever a Ghost Attack would happen, at least one of them would rush off with some practiced excuse and return after the Ghost Attack was over all dirty. She could guess what was going on, and she really didn't like it.

(This had killed her, she had died doing what they were doing, she didn't want to lose them)

Eventually she had to confront them, coincidentally on the same day they decided to confront her.

"Are you Vigilantes?" / "Did you die?"

"..."

"What?" / "What?"

[silvvermoon]

lover, not a liar ♡

Aki, your best friend, has agreed to teach you how to suck cock. But you need more than that.

pairing: aki hayakaya x reader

wc: 3.7k

tags: friends to lovers, slightly tipsy sex, dom!Aki, rough sex, blowjobs, pet names (baby, princess), calling u good girl, praise, slight dacryphilia, creampie, fluffy ending ♡

“Aki,” you slur, mouth wet and feeling all too warm from the drinks you’d had earlier in the evening. “Are you gonna show it to me or what?” 

You’re sitting on your knees and staring up at your best friend’s erection straining through his grey sweatpants which is, well, pretty unexpected. And definitely not how you pictured spending your Friday night. Aki’s above you, palming himself softly while you wait eagerly for him to teach you how to suck cock. And seeing him like this makes you feel hot. 

It wasn’t something either of you had planned on or even touched on before. You’ve never even shared a kiss with Aki, not a proper one anyway. You’re friends, platonic friends, and that’s all. But tonight, during your usual pizza and movie catch up, the stress of the week finally caught up with you. The awkward silence from your latest 3-month-long fling has been sitting on your mind all night and you just wanted to toss those thoughts all away. Get drunk, complain to Aki, and get distracted by whatever Netflix has to offer. 

Well, that was supposed to be the plan.

Except you forgot how much you overshare once you get a few drinks in you. And Aki’s not exactly 100% sober, despite him holding his alcohol a lot better than you. You never even did get around to ordering that pizza because once you were feeling buzzed enough, all you could keep saying was “and before he started ghosting me, that asshole complained that my blowjobs were terrible. Too much tongue, not enough suction, fuck. Like come on, I wanted to make it good for him but he never told me what he wanted until after, when he just threw negative fucking feedback at me. It’s so humiliating, Aki. Look at my phone! He gave me a rating like I was his Uber driver. Who does that? Who?”

And Aki had, indeed, taken a look at your phone, winced, and then handed it back to you. “I think you dodged a bullet with this one,” he’d said, “and don’t listen to it. I’m sure that’s the last time anyone will suck his dick for him. Even if he offered to pay.”

You’d snorted, laughed so hard that you almost choked even though Aki was dead serious. “But what if he’s telling the truth? Maybe I am shit at giving blowjobs.”

Aki looked at you then, softly, maybe a little bit tipsy too. “It’s the enthusiasm that counts, knowing that you want this so much is what makes blowjobs feel good,” he’d said, and then “besides, I’m sure you’re not shit at them, I’ve seen the way you eat your ice-cream. That’s some real devotion, right there.”

You giggled again, “Sure, sloppy. With no real technique.” And that was that. Your laughter died into  easy silence and Aki was prepared to switch the show on Netflix, until your tipsy brain got the sudden idea of doing something incredibly dumb.

And later, you blame it on the alcohol, you blame it on the way Aki’s too easy to open up to, you blame it on the way his body is so welcoming and relaxed next to you. Hell, you even blame it on Netflix for having absolutely zero worthwhile anything available to distract you from Aki and blowjobs and thinking of his dick while he’s literally right fucking there. You blame it on Aki’s face, which is clearly a weapon in both seduction and destruction on its own.

Nope, not your fault at all. Never.

And, you know all too well that being tipsy makes you act on things you would otherwise keep locked away in the back of your mind. You wouldn’t have felt this way if you hadn’t felt Aki’s own hot gaze on you when he thought you weren’t looking.

So, here you went.

“Hey, Aki, maybe I could… try it on you?” you smiled, face feeling hot from more than just the alcohol. “Can you teach me how to give a better blowjob? With guidance, you know? I mean, if it’s too weird you can say no.”

Yep. You said it. No take backs now.

“You want me to-” Aki paused, swallowing. And then he looked at you, maybe for a second too long where it felt like he was calculating too many things for one night to have. His cheeks were only a little bit red when he turned the TV off and said “sure, I’ll do my best.”

~

And that’s why you’re here. With Aki. Waiting desperately for him to give you permission to pull down his briefs. It should feel weird, awkward, maybe at least a little bit wrong, but it doesn’t. It’s just you and Aki and the growing heat between your thighs.

“Firstly, you’ve gotta open your mouth,” Aki says, and he reaches out with one hand to cup your jaw, thumbing at your lip. He hasn’t kissed you or anything, simply easing you down to the floor with a pillow to prop yourself up on. You open your lips and let Aki press his thumb in against your tongue, taking in the softness of his skin.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s a good girl.”

You nod, humming. Aki’s voice makes your stomach tighten, the way he calls you a good girl. His fingers feel nice in your mouth, as do the ones threading through your hair, massaging your scalp while you lazily suck. 

“Teach me?” you ask, mouth still full of his fingers.

Aki grips your hair just a tad bit tighter. “That’s what I’m doing, but I need you to be patient for me,” he says, and then “we’re taking it slowly, making sure you know where to touch,” he takes your hand, pressing it to his thigh, “and where to tease,” he says softly, bring your other hand to rest against his erection. You can feel him, so thick and hard beneath the tight fabric. With Aki’s encouragement, you give him a soft rub, just ghosting your fingers over the outline of his bulge, keeping your touch light and without expectation.

“Just like that,” Aki murmurs, and when you glance up at him you can see the blush on his cheeks, eyes heavy. He’s turned on, and there’s something incredibly hot knowing that it’s you doing this to him. Aki’s your friend, yes, but you’d be lying if you said that you’d never been attracted to him.

And you’d be an even bigger liar if you said that asking this of him tonight was purely so you could ‘learn’. 

Aki reaches to pull his briefs down, swatting your hands away as you try to do it for him too hastily. “Slow down, what did I say about being patient?” he says. But your pouting turns to arousal as soon as his cock is out, all for you. Aki’s hard as fuck, his cock incredibly thick and girthy with a nice soft curve that you know would hit all the right places inside you. It’s gorgeous, you think, no, you know. You haven’t seen it before but fuck, you’ve definitely thought about it. At night, when you’re horny and tired and too lazy to look at porn, you’ve wondered what Aki’s cock would look like, feel like in your hands, your mouth, your pussy.

And from what he’s showing you, Aki doesn’t disappoint. His girthy cock is the most perfect shade of flushed pink that you’ve ever seen.

“Open a bit wider for me, that’s right,” Aki whispers, cock twitching when you say an over exaggerated ‘ahhh’ and stick your tongue out. His hips move forward gently, his cockhead resting against your tongue, dribbling small amounts of sticky precum on to your tastebuds. He tastes good; only slightly musky with a hint of salt. Way better than anyone else you’ve had in your mouth. 

“Aki, gim’ mor-“ you try to say around the cock in your mouth, choking off when Aki thrusts in unexpectedly. You automatically open your mouth wider, adjusting to the sudden fullness that’s about to hit the back of your throat. Aki doesn’t even move, just stays like that while your eyes tear up and you try to just breathe.

“I’m impressed,” he marvels, thumb brushing against your lower lip that’s stretched around him. “Just wanted to test your reflexes, pretty girl. Didn’t expect you to take me in so well,” he smiles, starting to rock his hips back and forth. 

You can’t do anything other than force yourself to relax, mind hazy as Aki’s thick shaft fills your mouth over and over again. You can feel the wetness beginning to grow between your own thighs, your cunt slick with arousal just from having Aki praise you for sucking his cock. It’s embarrassing. But it doesn’t stop you from desperately reaching down to rub at your clothed pussy while you continue to give him head. You need to rub yourself just to relieve some of the pressure that’s building in your aching little cunt.

Aki only pauses for half a second when he sees you do this, watches you hurriedly shove your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties to rub at your throbbing clit, and you know he must like what he sees because you feel his cock twitch hard against your tongue.

“Turned on?” he breathes out, which you both know is obvious from the way you’re getting yourself off so frantically. The sound of your slick folds squelching as you finger yourself is even louder than the gasps Aki lets out when he nudges his cockhead against the back of your throat. You choke every time he does that, eyes watering from the lack of air and from feeling so used , but your hand never stops rubbing your clit. No, you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. The alcohol in your system isn’t even what’s making you so forward, it’s the fact that you’re just so fucking riled up from having Aki in your mouth, fucking your throat. 

Aki’s the reason why your panties are stained with a thick layer of your cream. Aki’s the reason why your pussy is desperately clenching around your fingers, pulling them further into your wet heat. Aki’s the reason why you’ve become such a shameful slut who can’t stop touching herself the moment she gets a taste of her best friend's dick.

“See, baby?” he whispers, pumping his cock deeper into your mouth, “you already know how to give a good blowjob, look at you, showing me just how horny you get from letting me use your mouth.” Aki murmurs all this while stroking your hair, his fingers in your scalp so he can hold your head still while he rocks into you.

It’s all so much, your own fingers in your cunt and Aki’s cock in your mouth. All of it feels so good and you know Aki’s meant to be teaching you how to suck properly, how to use your tongue, but now you just desperately want to feel his cock inside your pussy. You mewl around his length, stuffed full and barely able to breathe. All you know is you want him to pound you right now. Nothing else matters. 

“Keep playing with your pretty little pussy for me, okay baby? The view I get from here shows me just how much you want this.” 

And fuck, those words do something to you, because the knot in your stomach grows and you desperately add another finger into your cunt, twisting and rubbing against your sweet spot.

It’s not enough.

You pull back off Aki’s cock for a gasp of air. “Aki-” you breathe, spit soaked lips sore as you speak, “m’ fingers aren’t enough, need more, need you,” you sob. “I wanted to make you cum with my mouth but, I need- just, I need your cock-” you choke off. And it’s embarrassing how needy you are in this moment, but you don’t feel any of it when you’re this aroused. 

Aki grips your chin, soft but firm. “You need me to fuck this princess cunt of yours to make you happy? You want it that bad that you can’t hold out any longer?” you nod in response, still rubbing softly at your own swollen clit. Aki bites his lip, stroking your jaw, and says “Well, I guess you deserve it, since you’ve been such a good girl for me, taking my cock as deep as you can down that pretty throat.”

“Fuck, Aki, please yes that’s what I-.”

It all happens so quickly after that. You don’t get the chance to even say anything before Aki’s picking you up by the waist and urging you onto the couch, spreading your body out on the cushions while he looms above you. Your mouth is still wet with his precum, but Aki leans down to kiss you anyway. He presses his lips against yours for the first time, groaning softly into your mouth while he rocks his leaking cock against your bare thigh. It’s a stark difference to the control he had before when he was fucking your mouth, he’d been easy to talk no matter how deep you took him in, only letting out small gasps every now and then. But now? Aki’s moaning, soft little choked back noises just from kissing you. It’s hotter than it should be, and your only response is to wrap your arms around his back and pull him in for more.

Any other time you’d want to indulge Aki with more kisses, but now you just need him inside you. 

“Aki,” you murmur against his lips, “need you to stretch me out. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

“You’re still so impatient,” he says, strong hands parting your thighs and pulling your soaked panties down to your ankles. “And you’re this fucking wet from just taking me in your mouth?” he says, swiping a finger through your slick folds, brushing your swollen clit and making you shiver. Your pussy is fully exposed like this, skirt hiked up high above your stomach while Aki settles between your legs, his length pressed up against your soaked pussy. You’re both leaking, and you honestly can’t tell if it’s your own wetness or Aki’s precum that’s making the squelching sounds when his cockhead slaps against your fluttering entrance.

There’s only a fraction of hesitation, Aki looking down at you with heavy eyes, “are you sure?” he asks, and “oh my god Aki, fucking yes,” you tell him. You’re really fucking sure because if he doesn’t keep going, you’re going to explode.

And then he’s pressing in. No prep. You’re so wet that you don’t even need his tongue or fingers to ease the stretch from his cock. Aki’s kissing you while he slowly enters you, giving you time to adjust to the slight sting of the stretch. “You’re doing so well, such a good girl for me,” he whispers, moving down to kiss your neck, nibbling at your sensitive skin there. “Knew you’d end up with more than just sucking my cock, you wanted this,” he finishes, bottoming out with his length fully stuffed inside your cunt. 

You gasp, whimpering into Aki’s shoulder while he nudges his cockhead against your sweet spot. “You knew? I didn’t- fuck, I didn’t plan it like this,” you choke out. The pleasure is hitting you harder now. This isn’t your fingers inside of you, this is Aki . And he’s pretty and strong and gorgeous and seemingly already knows how you like the shallow thrusts against your g-spot. “A-Aki,” you stutter, your body writhing against his while he fills you over and over again.

“You hoped for it though, didn’t you?” he murmurs, slow, shallow thrusts that stretch your tight walls around his length. The sensation is intoxicating for both of you, and your mind goes blank at the sound of his deep voice. Yes. He’s right. You wanted this, Aki fucking you, hidden behind some flimsy pretense of teaching you how to suck him off. He knows, you know, and now you can’t shy away from his lips against your own. You nod into him because there’s no point denying it now. He’s your best friend and he knows you.

Aki kisses you like he’s been waiting for years. And he has been waiting for years. It’s all tongue and teeth while he pounds your pussy hard and god you’re a mess. All you can get out is a gasping “I think I’m gonna cum, Aki, please, I need it rougher,” with your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head when he fucks you harder. You almost cry when the head of his cock bumps your cervix, it’s a mix of sharp pleasure and pain and you love it, your pussy letting out small squirts each time he rams into your cervix. Your hands curl against the fabric of the couch, trying to find some sense of stability while your body is getting pushed to the limit. You’re not even drunk from the alcohol anymore, just all love drunk from Aki’s perfect cock. 

You’re about to warn him, but Aki gets in before you, his voice raspy in your ear while he thrusts into you. “Yeah you’re close aren’t you, baby? I can feel your pretty little cunt clenching around me, so fucking tight for me even after everything I’ve given you.” And his words only make you tighten even more, your walls clinging to his shaft as you start to reach your peak. You cry out, moaning his name pathetically. All you feel is the warmth from Aki’s cock abusing your sweet spot over and over again, distantly, his voice saying “cum on my cock princess, yeah, that’s my good fucking girl,” and the sound of squelching while Aki fucks your gushing heat through the waves of pleasure. Even when you’re coming down, struggling to breathe, Aki keeps fucking you through the last of the contractions, making you twitch as your poor abused pussy gets overstimulated.

Your heart is racing and you’re entirely fucked out but Aki’s still hard, and more importantly, he’s still inside of you. He’s slowed down though, you’re aware of that much. You’re aware of how only the head of his cock is in your entrance and he’s littering kisses across your collarbone while he waits for you to come back to him.

“Was I too rough on you?” Aki speaks into your skin softly. He sounds almost apologetic, lazily thrusting into your heat while you hold onto his broad shoulders.

“No, s’ good, Aki. Felt so good,” you slur, breath hitching when Aki thrusts a little bit harder into you. “Want you to cum inside me, please Aki,” you pout with whatever sliver of energy you have left, and you’re well aware that he’s waiting for you to give him permission to keep going. As rough as he’s been, and as much as he’s pushed you tonight, you know that if you say you’re too tired, he’ll happily pull off of you and go finish himself off in the bathroom. You don’t want that though. Definitely not tonight.

“Yeah?” Aki nibbles at your throat, breath hot on your skin. “You want me to fill you up?” he asks, reaching down to swipe his thumb over your sensitive clit. He’s pumping into you steadily, and having his cock rubbing up against your g-spot while his fingers play with your small bundle of nerves is just too much. You can feel the heat building rapidly in your belly again and you almost want to sob. “I know, I know, but you’ve done so well, just one more for me,” Aki coos, kissing the wetness leaking out the corners of your eyes, and tells you “I really wanna stuff your princess cunt full of my cum, n’ I know you can take it for me, baby,” while he fucks you steady, urging you even closer than before.

“ Oh, fuck - yes, please, need it so bad,” you whimper, your second orgasm hitting you just as hard as the first. Aki’s words draw it out of you, your gushing pussy clenching around his cock while he groans and fucks into you harder, even rougher than before, pumping you full of thick cum. You love the soft moans he makes, but you love it more when he collapses on top of you, pressing his lips into yours and lazily kissing you while his cock slowly softens inside you. You feel full. And when Aki finally pulls out, still trailing kisses and little bites down your throat, you wince at the feeling of his seed leaking from your puffy entrance. 

You’re an absolute mess, and so is the couch.

“C’mere,” Aki says, tugging you up into a sitting position before pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. You’re still dazed, and watching Aki move around the room to grab you a towel and some tissues is all too much for you. When he finally sits back down, he’s spreading your legs to wipe away  the sticky mess leaking from between your thighs. “I’ve wanted to do that for years, you know,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry, I kinda went all out tonight after you asked me to, you know- I didn’t know if I’d get the chance-”

You stop him, reaching out to hold his forearm and keep him steady for the first time tonight. You know you need to say it. “I’ve wanted this too, Aki. I mean, that is why I asked if I could blow you,” you laugh. You want him to know the truth, and you want to lighten the tension he’s holding over himself. Your chest clenches when he cracks a rare smile at you. You can't hold yourself back from tugging him into a tight hug, holding him so close that you can feel his heart beating against your own.

Aki’s so pretty. He’s always been so pretty. And now that you know what he tastes like, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to stop yourself from needing him. Wanting him. They’re the same thing in your world.

Aki sighs and leans in to your touch, pressing one last kiss to your lips. “Shower? I think we both need to clean up a bit, and I promise I won’t try to make you cum again once we’re in there.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you smile. You feel so warm, being held by Aki. Your body feels wrecked but god, it was so worth it.

[madamechrissy]

Lucid Dreams

Pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem Reader ( reader is a ghost)

Summary: You died a year ago, and now a really hot Nanami Kento moves in to the apartment you're tethered to. You love to fuck with him, shuffle his papers, knock over his things, but you also love to watch him sleep. One day, he ends up seeing you. And... yep, how do you move on to the next realm? Maybe by getting railed by Nanami!?

NSFW- smut, lovemaking, explicit sex

Word Count- 3.5k- This is just a cute little story I got a request for. (It's literally crack fluff smut) Happy ending don't worrryyy. Just fluffy silly cute shit.🤭

Nanami Kento stepped into his new apartment, it was all redone since you had lived there, what’s it been since you died, a year now? You looked at how handsome this man was, dressed in a suit impeccably, sliding the jacket off to reveal toned, perfect arms. You step closer, and suddenly he shivers, as if he could feel your energy, but there’s no way…

Your energy had been fading lately, perhaps the longer you have been dead the less you have, but something about his presence made it flicker once more. You’d had fun haunting the last couple that lived here, ugh but their love annoyed you, because it’s not like you got any love in the twenty five short years you had on this plane of existence.

You expected heaven or something? Or some other life… but no, you just lingered here, in your old apartment, which looked nothing like it did. You could get down almost out of the building, just enough to stare at the moonlight longingly, remembering what it was like to talk.

You don’t talk, no one would hear you anyway.

Well…

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” You murmur as this blond sexy man rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing toned forearms.

Maybe you do speak?

You watch him every day, for a week, come home and do the same routine, over and over. He takes off his glasses, he sighs, he sets down his briefcase, he sighs, he goes to take off his jacket, he sighs. Yes this man sighs a lot, and pinches the bridge of his nose, exhausted from the long hours he clearly works.

You worked a lot too back in the day, overworked yourself to death, hoping for an early retirement, until someone hit you with a car

Yeah.

Maybe that’s why you can’t leave, you’re still so pissed, when you had to look down at your body, when you had to see your parents cry, before they left and never came back around. You couldn’t see them, no you were stuck here, and you don’t know why, endlessly lonely and bored. But… now?

Nanami Kento is here, and you enjoy his presence. You watched him from the shadows, your translucent form barely outlined against the wall. As the days turned into nights, you observed him with a fascination that flared up deep inside you, watched him as he slept, when his usually stern face would relax. You would always brush his hair back, but then one day you realize something.

His hair moved.

You touched him!? He opens his eyes, and you gasp, hovering over him, and the hazel eyes widen, but then he blinks, and you disappear. Nanami sits up, shirtless and chiseled within every inch of his life, fuck the man is absolutely beautiful, and he’s looking around the room.

“Hey, is … fuck I’m losing it. Is someone there?” You gasp, backing away from the bed then, as Nanami looks around, clearly sleepy and confused.

“Yeah.” You whisper, curious, and he bolts up, and then you see it, the bulge in his boxers, and you flush bright red… can ghosts blush!? Maybe? He was clearly huge, and apparently ghosts can get wet too.

Huh.

“Listen, I need my sleep. Please don’t annoy me.” You’re in shock, at how casual he is, and you laugh suddenly, apparently he notices because he glares. “Seriously, go… do ghost things and let me sleep.”

He’s back in bed, and if your heart still beat, it would thud.

You keep watching Nanami Kento, but now you mess with him, jumbling up his papers, just to enjoy the delight when he would yell at you. You would move his toaster just an inch, mix his spoons and forks, laughing maniacally as he would get so flustered, shifting them back. He is always so meticulous, that throwing him off becomes your new thrill.

On one evening, you watched as he flipped his light switch several times, each attempt to illuminate the living room met with flickering bulbs. You’re giggling as you keep fucking with the lights, clearly annoying this man, and you could feel bad, but he’s so cute when he’s annoyed.

“What now?” He mutters, and your laughter echoed softly in the corners of the room. Nanami’s head whipped around, eyes narrowed in irritation. “You are here again. Can you stop fucking around? Do you need to watch a movie?”

“You’re asking a ghost to watch a movie?” He whips his head again, as the storm outside rages, and the lightning illuminates the room, and suddenly his eyes are dead on you, wide in shock. Your eyes go wide right back. “Fuck… can you…”

“See you. Yep.” You fade away, frightened then, and he reaches for you in a few long steps, gripping your arms. You feel his touch, just like you had when you were alive, hot on your skin. “I’m touching you!?”

“I don’t know how you can even see me.” You whisper, and he just keeps holding you, this six foot something gorgeous man, and you don’t know how you look to him. “Am I ghost like?”

“No, you look like an… alive person. Is this offensive to you?”

You laugh softly. “No, I’m not offended. I know I’m dead. Just didn’t know how I look to you, to me I look the same.”

“You look beautiful.” You freeze, as does he, a blush on his high cheekbones, his lips pursed a bit. “I see you in my dreams. You give me those?”

“No, I wouldn’t know how! Um, you do?” He nods then, and you tentatively cup his face, feeling the stubble on his jaw. “Fuck if I was alive I’d have been simping so hard for you.”

“Simping? You talk odd.”

“You talk like an old man.”

“Not a ghost at least.” Your eyes widen, and he goes to apologize, but you just laugh then, breathless. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t believe this. Hello, Nanami Kento.”

“What happened to you?” He murmurs and you sigh, looking down, enjoying his touch far too much.

“I was hit by a car.”

His beautiful hazel eyes fill with concern, why can you even feel his warm breath, his body heat? How?

“I'm so sorry. Why are you…”

“A ghost?” He nods. “I don't know. I was a good person, just worked a lot like you. I didn't have anyone too close. I don't think I have unfinished business.”

“That's horrible. Are you stuck here?” You nod. “How often do you watch me. Hmm?”

You giggle at his question. “Not when you're naked. That's not very consensual is it.”

“Uh huh.”

“Your body is beautiful though from what I have seen.” Nanami blushes again, and it makes his cheekbones stand out even more. “Hey don't worry I'm not trying to date, I'm dead.”

He grimaces, he still hasn't let go of you. “Your humor is morbid.”

“Morbid? I'm dead. Duh.”

“Dear lord. Listen how can I help you move on?”

“Tired of me knocking your cups over?” You smirk and he glares down at you. Fuck he's hot.

“I'm very tired of it, yes. But also I'd like to help. What's something you wish you did before you died?” Nanami asks softly and you hum, touching his chest then, feeling the heart pumping blood in his veins, his hard muscles under your palm.

“Wish I worked less and relaxed more. Wish I had a life. Wish I had loved. Fuck my life was depressing…” you frown as you speak, and Nanami studies you seriously. His hands are sliding down your little shoulders, down your slender arms, making you tremble.

“I know how that feels. I could say the same. Well what do you-”

“Can I try something?” You whisper, cutting him off. He nods. You tiptoe, because no you can't float, that's so bullshit by the way, and you press your lips to his, feeling them hot on yours. You moan softly as little sparks float, making you feel alive. He is tense, unmoving. “There, a perfect kiss. Have I moved on?”

He shakes his head, and your breath catches when he yanks you to him by the waist, pressing you up against his hard body. “You're still here,” his voice is husky now. “I've had some interesting dreams.”

“Oh? Tell me.”

“Where you're on top of me in my sleep… where you're sucking my cock and I can't see you.” You blink rapidly, as his words fill you, and he's caressing your lower lip as he talks.

“Oh yeah?” Your hands trail down his perfect abdomen then, feeling it tremble. “Ghost head, huh?”

“In another dream I get you to manifest long enough to return the favor. And you dissappear once you cum all over my face.”

Now you are soaked.

Wait can you still fuck!?

“How rude of me not to ghost cuddle you afterwards.” You grin then and he moans softly, as you feel how hard he is against your tummy.

“How long until you disappear again?”

“I don't know, this is all so weird. Fuck I'll try though.” He snatches you up then, and your legs wrap around his narrow hips, then you're slammed into the wall, and somehow you don't just go through it, your physical form is there, as he holds you up. He kisses down your throat and you cry out, hands in his silky blond hair.

“Nanami!” You whine out, and he kisses down your chest, as you eagerly grind against him.

“Even better than the dream…” His words make you ache, yearn for more, to be real to not be dead. Fuck the life you could have had.

“Nanami I can't. I can't do this. It'll hurt too much having a taste.” He looks at you then, lips parted, big hands sliding your top right off your head. Huh, that comes off?

“Why shouldn't you. It's not fair what happened. How long have you been alone?”

You're crying, and yeah ghosts can cry, those tears are falling and disappearing as they do. “But what if I move on and can't see you again?”

Your eyes lock, as you realize what you're saying. “If it's your time, darling, it's your time. But for now, I'd love to fuck the reason I'm constantly hard. If I fuck you well enough, would you please stop shuffling my papers?” He pouts then, and you giggle, fuck you’re a ghost but you’re giggling, in his arms.

“I promise.” You brush his hair back, as you had so many nights, having watched him sleep, having watched him just existing so beautifully, and now? He could finally see you.

Your lips meet in another kiss, and then he’s sliding a hand to cup your breasts, nipple rising against his hard palm, fuck he’s just so warm, and alive… you errantly wonder if you feel weird to touch. What does a ghost feel like? But when he sinks two fingers up under your skirt (Yep you died in a skirt) and groans-

“Fuck you’re so hot.” You figure you feel pretty good. And fuck if he doesn’t make you wetter than you’d ever been alive, he makes you feel alive almost. But you’re still not tethered to the Earth, you’re only tethered to Nanami.

“Please…” You whisper, and he eagerly lays you on his bed. “Oh shit, I was scared I’d fall through!”

He chuckles. “You’re kinda bad at being a ghost you know.”

“What!?”

“Yeah, you aren’t very sneaky.” He slides your skirt off, kissing up your thighs, and you feel his hot breath where you’re soaked, making your hips rock up. “I saw you a lot of times but I wondered if I was hallucinating. I work too much.”

“You really do. Nanami promise me… you’ll… oh fuck!” He licks you then, right up your slit, groaning against your pussy.

“Promise what, Darling?” He murmurs, and you struggle to remember.

“Oh… promise you won’t- ah - work so much. It didn’t do me any good, Nanami… now I’m dead and-”

“You feel alive to me. You feel perfect.” You’re crying, your little glittery ghost tears, as his eyes, seductive and lidded stare up at you, and he grips your thighs. He laps you up and you fall apart, like nothing you’ve felt before, yanking on his usually perfect hair.

“Fuck, worth dying for a taste of this.” You whisper out, and then he’s got two fingers in you again, working spots you have no clue are there, his mouth sucking in your clit, and you shatter, cumming all over his handsome face.

“Good girl.” He murmurs, and you cum again as he scissors his fingers into you. “Should I say Good Ghost?”

“Both work, shit, shit you’re so good. I wish I’d had you around.”

“I wish I could have met you.” He murmurs, leaning above you then, and your thighs wrap around his hips, as your little hands run up and down his body. Somehow this feels perfect, this feels right. “This is insane, isn’t it? Are you just a dream?”

“No, Nanami… you’re the dream. Maybe there’s something good for me… mnh! Oh fuck.” He’s rubbing his tip along your folds, and you soak him. He’s so huge, and thick, bigger than you had alive, but there’s no pain, just ridiculous pleasure when he slides inside your entrance, his brows together, lips parted.

“Oh fuck… Darling.” You cry out then, gripping him so tight, so afraid how quickly this would end, as he’s kissing you, as he’s entering you, stroking faster and faster, the bed creaking and the headboard smacking the wall. “You feel so perfect. You’re just so, so beautiful.”

“Oh my god!” Was there a god for you? Maybe Nanami was it. As he works over you, as he tears you apart, until you’re spasming around him, sobbing against his neck, as he keeps making you cum, fucking you from one orgasm to the other. “Nanami… mnh.. Nanami!”

“Don’t even… what was… your name?” He whispers, grunting as he fucks into you, and you struggle to remember, what was it? Oh. You tell him, and then he whispers it in your ear, as his cock is steadily slamming into you, against your cervix, so deep you felt you two were one.

“Kento… call me… Kento…” He huffs, slowing now, your thighs are pressed up, and if you weren’t a ghost? You’d let this man get you pregnant.

That’s how good it is.

“Kento! Oh Kento… it’s so good I- ah!” He’s pressing your thighs against your breasts now, groaning as he fucks you so hard, until he slows, and his eyes catch yours in the night.

“Darling, can I-”

“Can’t get a ghost pregnant- ah- do it!” He’s moaning now, and he fills you with a few more pumps, before hot liquid shoots inside of you, and you cum right with it, clinging to him like he’s your life line, rubbing your hips up for more. He kisses you, so sweetly, over and over, and you fall into it, into his arms.

“I don’t want this to just be once. Don’t go.” He murmurs then, and you’re crying now, as he leans down, easing out and making a mess of your cum and his, and you feel yourself fading. “Darling, please.”

“I don’t wanna go either. I don’t.” He’s holding onto you, and you feel it, some odd pull, like you’re being split in a million directions. “I wish I could have known you, Nanami Kento. Please, don’t make my mistake. Just live, okay?”

You see his own eyes glittering with tears. “I feel like I should have known you… you look so familiar…”

“Maybe we’ll meet in another life?” He just sighs, holding you close, and you hum, eyes fluttering shut. Ghosts don’t sleep, right? Why were you… sleepy?

He’s caressing your cheek, and you hum happily. “There were more dreams. Maybe… stick around? We can try them all?”

You smirk a bit, looking up at this beautiful man, one you wish you could have known in your short life. You brush his tear aside, smiling. “You deserve more than a ghost, stuck in the apartment.”

Then you fade.

It was a beautiful time with…

******

You wake back up, in your body and you’re… alive!? You rush to the mirror, realizing you’re in your apartment. You check the phone, and it’s the next day, the day after you died. No fucking way…

You rush out, and bump right into him.

Nanami Kento!?

You look up at him, wide eyed, and he’s staring at you curiously, a little smile on his face, he looks not as tired as the Nanami you knew, is he the same, you wonder? You realize he’s stepping out of the apartment next to you, and your mind goes insane, have you been in a coma, was it a horrible dream?

“Hey there, I’m Nanami Kento, just moved in.” He holds out his hand, and you take it, trembling, and he frowns a bit. “Sorry, are you all right?”

“Uh… no. No I’m not. Do I look familiar to you?” You ask then, softly, and he nods just a bit, a blush decorating his cheeks. Yours joins as you remember vividly, his tongue on you, his cock inside you.

“Very familiar. Do you work at the same building as me maybe?” You shake your head, sighing, and you realize he has his briefcase. “You are familiar but I just can’t really place it.”

“Huh… sorry I’m being weird huh? Should I let you go?” Then you wonder, can you leave this apartment? “Actually. I gotta go somewhere to.”

“Well, come on then.” He tilts his head, pushing up his green framed glasses, and you touch your chest, feeling your heart beat steadily. Was this heaven, was this another dimension?

Then as you all are outside, a car zooms toward you, careening off the busy streets, and you remember, this is when you die.

“Fuck!” Nanami has thrown both of you out of the way, onto the sidewalk, and he’s on top of you, breathing heavily. His eyes go wide then, as do yours. “Oh my god… you were dead in my dream.”

“I dreamt of you… that I was dead… I…” You’re trembling, and he eases off you, helping you stand on shaky legs. “Was it some prophetic dream? Was I supposed to meet you? This is fucking weird. I’m not dead!?”

He chuckles then. “You’re so not dead. I remember it all. It’s like a fuzzy dream though isn’t it?”

“Oh my god. You saved me!” You’re sobbing, and he holds you close, and you feel it all crashing, everything together. You can’t explain shit, except you are supposed to be in this man’s arms. Your neighbor.

“Should we get you checked out? I knocked you on that concrete hard.” He brushes back your hair, inspecting it then. And you just giggle.

“Do you remember fucking me too?” He’s bright red, his nostrils flaring just so, and then he’s dragging you back into the building. “Hey!”

“Fuck work.” He slams you against the wall of the elevator, pressing one too many buttons, as he cups your face, sighing. “You told me not to work to death, I remember it all.”

“This is fucking crazy.” He nods, but he’s kissing you, and oh god it feels even better, as your own heart thuds against his.

“I won’t let you fade away again.” You hear the emotion in his voice, and your arms wrap around his neck. “You were a really annoying ghost.”

“I was good in bed though.” He moans, your tongues are entwining, teeth clinking as you messily kiss, and then you’re in your apartment, ripping each other's clothes off, in a maddening state.

Both of your phone alarms go off, and you laugh softly.

“I was gonna wait a year to relocate.” He murmurs, and your eyes fly open, as you realize what changed. “Something made me leave.”

“I’m so happy. Fuck… do you think ghost pussy is better by the way? I need your expert opinion.” He’s chuckling now, yanking at his cheetah tie, and you stop him, shaking your head. “Oh no, leave that on.”

So you died… but then you didn’t? And Nanami Kento saved you, and he already knows you, he knows where to touch and where to kiss. You all both don’t go to work that day, no, you are going to get some R n R. <3  Somehow, and some way you were supposed to always end up in his arms, it feels like heaven.