#legends say you can still hear me screaming

[pinkpurplesunrises]

When the Darkness Felt Endless (You Were the Light I Found)

4500 words - I guess this is a middle long story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - Maybe this will heal the anxiety - Angst and Fluff - Happy ending - Mentions of depression and prostetics - Please read with care.

Writer's note: wow, wow, wow, you are all so kind! Keeps me going when the creative brain hits. Enjoy this piece while I finally get to work work. See you next week.

The headlines had stopped screaming her name. The lights had dimmed. The cheers faded like echoes in a cold, hollow tunnel.

Alexia Putellas sat in the back of her apartment, hood up, body curled into the corner of a couch she barely remembered buying. The only sound was the ticking of a clock she wished she could rip off the wall. Time was still moving. Everything was moving. Except her.

Her knee still ached, even though the doctors said it was healing. But they didn’t see the part that didn’t show up on scans. They didn’t hear the static that buzzed in her head every time she looked at her boots. Or saw the photos she’d flipped face-down.

Everything inside her was sharp edges and shame. And that voice… her own voice, somehow sounding like someone else. It told her this was who she really was: not the leader, not the fighter, not the hero. Just broken.

She hadn’t been outside in days.

And then the knock came.

It wasn’t loud. Just three soft, almost tentative knocks. Like the person on the other side wasn’t sure if anyone would answer. Or wanted to.

She didn’t move.

The knock came again.

“Alexia.” Your voice was gentle, but it carried something heavier underneath. Like you knew. Like you’d been here, too.

She hated that. That you might see her like this.

Why did you see her like this? You are just one of the neighbors.

“I’m not…” she croaked, but her voice cracked like dry wood. “Just go.”

But you didn’t.

“I brought food,” you said. “You can ignore me if you want. I’ll just leave it here.”

Silence.

“I’m coming back tomorrow.”

That night, Alexia sat with the food untouched on the kitchen counter. Staring at the note you left beside it.

You’re not alone.

She hated how much she wanted to believe it.

You kept coming back.

Every day.

Sometimes with food. Sometimes with nothing but silence and that look. The one that said you see her. Not the athlete. Not the legend. Just her. And she couldn’t stand it.

The third day, she opened the door. Only a crack. Just enough for you to see the bruises under her eyes. Not from fists, but from insomnia and tears.

"You don’t have to…" she started.

"I know," you said. No hesitation. "I want to."

She hated that answer.

Because it didn’t make sense.

People only stay when they want something. That’s what her mind told her. That twisted, looping thought she couldn’t shut up.

What did you want?

Whatever it was, she didn’t buy it.

Fame by proximity? A favor? A story to tell your friends. ‘Oh, I saw Alexia Putellas fall apart once. Up close.’

Or maybe you were just like her… sick with guilt and pretending not to be.

Still, she let you inside that night.

You didn’t ask questions. Didn’t push. Just sat on the floor while she stared at the ceiling. And somehow, in the silence, she cracked.

“They keep saying I’ll come back stronger,” she muttered.

You turned to look at her, eyes soft but honest. "And what do you say?"

She laughed. Bitter, low. "That I’m tired of lying.”

There it was.

The truth spilled from her lips like poison. "I don’t even know who I am without football. Without winning. Without people chanting my name. When it’s quiet like this…" she gestured around the dim apartment, “I can’t hear anything except how much I hate myself.”

Your voice didn’t break, but it trembled with understanding. “I know that feeling.”

She studied you for the first time. Really studied you. There was a weight behind your eyes. Not pity, she would’ve shut down if it were pity, but recognition.

You’d been there, too.

“I used to think if I could just do enough, be enough… maybe I’d stop feeling like a burden,” you said. “Turns out you can accomplish everything and still feel like you’re rotting inside.”

A beat passed. She almost stopped breathing.

Because it felt like you were inside her head.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. Maybe because when I look at you, I see someone worth saving.” You paused. “And I wish someone had done that for me.”

She turned her face away so you wouldn’t see the tear fall. But she felt your presence, warm and still. Not trying to fix her. Not telling her to “get back up.” Just… there.

The silence between you was heavy, but not suffocating. For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel like she was falling alone.

Later that night, as you left, she murmured it… half asleep, half broken, but clear:

“Luna.”

You turned back. “What?”

“That’s what I’m gonna call you,” she said, voice hoarse. “You’re quiet. But you show up when it’s dark.”

You didn’t reply. But you smiled. And somehow, that smile stayed with her long after the door closed.

One evening, she was distant, colder than before. You noticed it the moment you stepped in. Her eyes avoiding yours. Her body taut like a wire ready to snap.

You became her Luna, the quiet light in her darkest nights.

But even the moon disappears behind clouds.

“Alexia?” you asked softly.

She shook her head, voice sharp and brittle. “I don’t need anyone.”

That cracked something inside you. A fissure that had been growing since you met her. But you held your ground. Refusing to let her slip away.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said.

She laughed but there was no humor. “You don’t understand. Nobody does.”

Her voice broke, just for a second, but that was enough.

“I hate who I’ve become,” she confessed. “The injury, the silence, the empty space where my future used to be. Every time I look in the mirror, I hate her. Hate myself.”

The raw pain in her words stabbed you. You reached out, trembling, to touch her arm.

But she flinched.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m broken.”

You wanted to scream, to shout that she wasn’t. That no one was broken beyond repair. But your voice caught in your throat.

Because you knew this was a battle she had to fight inside herself.

Days passed, and the distance grew. Texts left unread. Calls unanswered.

You tried to respect her space, but the silence swallowed you whole.

One night, your phone lit up, a message from her.

“Go away.”

It was simple. Cold.

You stared at the screen. Heart shattering.

But you didn’t reply.

Instead, you showed up at her door the next morning. No words. Just presence.

After a long moment, she opened the door, eyes red and swollen.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

You shook your head. “You don’t have to apologize for pain.”

Her lips trembled, tears spilling down. “I’m scared you’ll leave. Like everyone else.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised. “Luna stays through the storms.”

And in that fragile moment, between fear and hope, she let you in again.

She never understood why you kept knocking. Why, out of all the faces in the building, it was yours.

The truth was, you’d never spoken more than a handful of words. Maybe five in total. Mostly just glances through half-open doors or hurried nods in the hallway.

Neighbors, not friends. But something kept pulling you to her door.

Tonight was no different.

Another knock. Three soft taps.

Alexia stared at the door like it was a stranger’s, heart pounding unevenly. She had so many questions, none of which she dared voice.

Why her? Why now? Why someone she barely knew. Someone she’d barely looked at?

She wanted to slam the door. Yo shut out the unknown. But her body betrayed her. The door cracked open.

There you stood. No food. No note. Just that steady, quiet presence.

You said nothing, just offered a small, almost hesitant smile.

She wanted to ask, Why? Why do you care?

But words wouldn’t come.

Instead, she looked away.

“It’s ridiculous,” she finally muttered. “You don’t even know me.”

You nodded slowly. “I don’t.”

“But you keep coming back.”

“Yes.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Why?”

You looked down at your hands, then back up… eyes steady.

“Because sometimes, when someone’s breaking in silence, the right thing to do is just... show up. Even if you don’t understand.”

Alexia’s chest tightened.

She hated feeling like a charity case. A project. Someone to be saved. She was a fighter, or she used to be. But now… now she felt like nothing.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, voice trembling. “You don’t have to be here.”

You stepped a little closer. Still cautious. Still respectful.

“I’m not here because I owe you. I’m here because I see you. And you deserve more than being invisible.”

Her eyes flicked to yours, searching for something. Hope, maybe, or just the truth.

She didn’t know what to say.

So she said nothing.

And in that silence, a fragile understanding settled.

But the walls were still up.

And the healing… if it ever came… was still far away.

You started staying longer.

Never asked to. Never assumed. Just waited. Always waited for her to open the door first.

The first time she left it unlocked, you stood there for a moment. Unsure whether it was an invitation or an accident. But when you knocked softly and she didn’t flinch, you stepped inside.

She was on the floor, back against the couch, legs drawn in. A hoodie swallowed her frame.

No words. Just your breath in the quiet.

You sat down across from her, not too close. The space between you wasn’t distance. It was permission. She needed that.

The silence stretched until it didn’t feel like silence anymore.

Finally, she spoke.

“You live across from me, right?”

You nodded. “End of the hall.”

Her eyes flickered over you, cautious. “How long?”

“About a year.”

She blinked. That long?

“You ever hear me cry?” she asked bluntly.

You didn’t lie. “Sometimes.”

Her jaw tightened. She looked away. “Bet that was pathetic.”

“No,” you said simply.

She didn’t respond, but something in her posture shifted.

You looked down at your hands. “I used to cry like that, too.”

She glanced up. “Used to?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes still do. Just quieter.”

That earned a dry, bitter huff. Not quite a laugh. But not silence either.

Alexia rubbed at her face. Her fingers trembling. “You know... I thought if I lost football, I’d lose everything. Turns out I did.”

“You didn’t lose everything,” you said.

She met your eyes. Sharp, tired, guarded. “What’s left?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You didn’t want to say me. Not yet. Not when she barely let you touch her shadow.

So instead, you said, “Maybe something you haven’t noticed yet.”

Another silence. Heavier this time.

Then she asked, voice low, “What’s your name?”

You gave it to her.

She repeated it quietly, testing the sound. And then... without quite meaning to... she said, “Doesn’t suit you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No?”

She shook her head. “You’re still Luna.”

Your chest ached, but in a good way.

She was letting you in. A little. Enough.

Enough for now.

You didn’t knock.

For the first time in weeks, your knock never came.

The hallway was quiet.

Alexia sat in the dark. Blanket wrapped around her like armor. Phone on the table. Screen blank. No texts. No sounds. Just the ticking again. That clock she still hadn’t taken off the wall.

Her apartment had never felt so empty.

She waited an hour. Then two.

Then three.

Maybe you were busy. Maybe you finally realized she wasn’t worth the effort. She told herself that. Repeated it like a mantra.

This is what people do. They leave. She should be used to it.

But something about your silence was off. Not cruel, not distant. Just… wrong.

So she stood. Pulled on a sweatshirt. Crossed the hallway.

Your door was closed. No sound from inside.

She hesitated.

Then knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.

No answer.

Her gut tightened. She knocked again, firmer. “Luna?”

Still nothing.

She didn’t mean to open the door. But it was unlocked, just like hers had been the night she let you in.

She stepped inside.

And stopped.

Your place was dim. Quiet. Lived-in but tidy. And in the far room... she saw the silhouette of you curled up in bed, facing the wall.

“Luna?” Her voice was barely a whisper now.

You didn’t turn.

She walked closer. Slowly. And then she saw it. The empty socket beside the bed. A sleek black prosthetic leg propped against the wall. The skin of your thigh raw and irritated. Like it had fought a battle all day and lost.

You still didn’t turn. But you spoke, voice low and flat. “Didn’t feel like being a person today.”

Alexia blinked. The words were a mirror of everything she’d ever said. Everything she thought only applied to her.

And suddenly, she felt like a thief.

You’d been showing up for her. Over and over. And she’d never once asked if you were hurting too. She never noticed your limp, never questioned your quiet exits. Never even saw the piece of you that was missing. Not really.

She’d been drowning so deeply in herself, she never realized you might be wading through your own hell.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

You turned your head slightly, eyes tired but calm. “Would it have mattered?”

That answer gutted her.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It would’ve.”

A long silence.

You gave a tired shrug. “It happened years ago. Car accident. I was in the backseat. Some nights I still dream I’m trapped there.”

She sat down beside your bed, not touching you. Just there.

“I used to think I’d never walk again,” you continued. “Then I thought I’d never be loved. Now I just try to get through the day without wanting to disappear.”

Alexia pressed a fist to her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.”

“No. I am.” Her voice cracked. “You were always there for me. And I never asked about you. I never even looked.”

You glanced at her, lips curling just slightly. “That’s okay. You weren’t supposed to. You were drowning.”

She blinked fast, but tears slipped through anyway.

“I’m tired of drowning,” she said, voice almost inaudible.

Then, softer still: “Do you want me to stay?”

You nodded, just once.

And for the first time, she lay beside you.

No walls. No armor.

Just two broken people, side by side, in the quiet dark.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through your window, painting your room with pale gold.

Today was different.

Today you were getting a new prosthetic leg.

Your first in months.

The one designed to move. To run. To jump. To feel alive again.

You turned to Alexia, heart pounding with something close to hope.

“I have an appointment,” you said quietly. “Physio and the new leg fitting.”

Her eyes flickered, hesitation written in every line of her face.

“I don’t know if...”

You smiled gently. “I want you to come.”

For weeks, she’d barely left her apartment. The shadows clung too tight. The pain was too loud.

But something about your invitation felt different. Not a demand, but a promise.

She nodded slowly, pulling on a jacket she hadn’t touched in days.

Outside, the air was cool and sharp. A fresh contrast to the stale loneliness of her rooms.

You walked side by side. Tentative but steady.

The clinic was bright, bustling with life and the sharp scent of antiseptic.

You tried on the new prosthetic. Lighter, more flexible. And for the first time in months, you felt the thrill of movement.

Alexia watched, eyes wide, a small smile playing at her lips.

On the way back, you both walked a little taller.

And then, unexpectedly, you saw her.

Eli.

Alexia’s mother.

Her face softened at the sight of her daughter stepping out into the sunlight. Not alone but with you. the stranger who had quietly become her lifeline.

“Alexia,” Eli’s voice was gentle but firm, full of the unspoken worry and love only a mother carries. “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

Alexia’s lips trembled as she gave a nod.

Eli turned to you, eyes bright with gratitude. “Thank you for bringing her out.”

You exchanged a glance. Warm and quiet.

For the first time in a long time, hope didn’t feel fragile.

It felt possible.

The days after the clinic visit were quieter but not empty.

Alexia noticed it first in the mornings.

She woke without the usual weight pressing on her chest, the dark thoughts that tangled her mind overnight still there, but softer... distant echoes instead of a roaring storm.

You were part of that change.

Not because you said anything profound.

Not because you tried to fix her.

But because you simply were... a steady presence in a wrld that had felt fractured and cold.

One afternoon, Eli stopped by. She lingered in the doorway. Her eyes warm and kind.

“I see a change,” she said softly.

Alexia shrugged, unsure if she wanted to believe it.

Eli smiled gently. “Sometimes the right person doesn’t just walk into your life. They carry a light you forgot you had.”

That night, you two sat on her small balcony, wrapped in blankets, watching the city lights flicker.

She turned to you, voice quiet.

“You make this... lighter. Like the weight is still there but I can breathe underneath it.”

You reached out, fingers brushing hers briefly.

“That’s enough,” you said.

Alexia smiled, fragile but real.

In the dark, with you beside her, she let herself hope. For the first time in a long time. That maybe. Just maybe. She wasn’t alone.

The knock was soft but deliberate.

You opened the door to find Alexia standing there. A carefully balanced container in her hands.

“I made lunch,” she said, voice a little shy. “Thought you might want some company.”

You stepped aside, letting her in.

The apartment smelled faintly of warmth and effort. Something she hadn’t done in a while.

You ate together, the quiet between bites feeling less like an abyss and more like a space where something new might grow.

After the last forkful, Alexia looked at you, eyes steady.

“I’m going to the training grounds tomorrow,” she said.

Your heart skipped.

“Rehab,” she added quickly. “I’ve decided I can’t stay stuck. And they have staff there of course. Professionals who can help. Maybe even help you, too. With your new leg.”

You blinked, surprised.

“Would you like to come? Start yours together?”

You blinked, surprised.

“I… don’t really have any training clothes,” you admitted shyly, voice small.

Alexia’s lips curved into a proud, teasing smile. “You can wear mine.”

Your heart fluttered in a weird, warm way.

She caught your glance and laughed softly. “I’m serious. You’re going to need something comfortable. Besides, it’s about time I share more than just my pain.”

The morning sun spilled through the windows as you both prepared for the day ahead.

Alexia handed you a loose-fitting sweatshirt and sweatpants. Her training clothes, worn but clean.

You hesitated, fingers brushing the fabric. Feeling a strange flutter in your chest.

“You sure?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, a mixture of pride and encouragement in her eyes. “Absolutely. It’s a start. We start together.”

The walk to the training grounds was quiet at first. Neither of you knew exactly what to say, or how to act.

You noticed the way Alexia kept glancing at you. Maybe nervous. Maybe hopeful.

When you arrived, the clinic staff greeted you warmly. Ushering you both into the rehab area.

The room was filled with equipment: parallel bars, treadmills, balance boards. A physical world of challenge and possibility.

You fumbled with the new prosthetic leg, its unfamiliar weight strange against your skin.

Alexia stood beside you, silently offering support.

“Ready?” she asked, voice soft but steady.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Your first steps were awkward and uneven. The prosthetic didn’t quite feel like part of you yet, and your muscles screamed with unfamiliar effort.

Alexia’s own movements were cautious. Shadows of hesitation flickering in her eyes.

But neither of you gave up.

The physiotherapist guided you gently. Adjusting your posture. Encouraging you.

Between attempts, Alexia reached out, squeezing your hand briefly. A small anchor in the uncertainty.

You caught her gaze, and in that moment, words weren’t necessary.

Hours passed in a blur of effort and quiet triumphs.

By the end, you were both exhausted but smiling. The first genuine smiles in a long time.

On the walk home, Alexia slipped her hand into yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” you asked.

“For coming. For staying.”

Your heart swelled.

When you stopped outside her building. The world seemed to pause.

Alexia looked up at you. Eyes searching. Vulnerable.

Slowly, she leaned in and your lips met in a soft, trembling kiss.

It was hesitant. A question and an answer all at once.

The kind of kiss that promises more than words ever could.

When you finally pulled apart, neither of you spoke.

But the quiet between you now held something new.

Hope.

And the beginning of something real.

A few weeks had passed since that day at the training grounds.

You and Alexia were officially together now. Girlfriends, as she’d said once. Shy but sure.

Most days, you found yourself spending hours in her apartment. The place that had once felt like a prison but was slowly becoming home.

Today, you two tackled the chaos of her room. Clothes piled on the floor. Unopened letters. And the shadows that still lingered in the corners.

You laughed quietly as you worked side by side. The easy comfort between you growing.

Later, she mentioned dinner at her mother’s.

“You’ll finally meet my mamá properly,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“And my sister,” she added with a smile.

Your heart fluttered, nerves bubbling up. Meeting family felt like a big step. But one you were ready for.

Before you left, you needed to freshen up.

Alexia’s shower was small, built before your accident, not quite made for someone like you.

You hesitated at the bathroom door, voice trembling. “I… might need some help.”

She looked up. Surprise flickering in her eyes.

You’d never seen each other quite like this. Vulnerable, exposed.

But Alexia didn’t hesitate.

She stepped inside, gentle hands steadying you as the warm water glided over your skin. Her arms wrapped around you, holding you close in the tight, steamy space.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly against your ear, her voice trembling with something raw and real. “Thank you for pulling me out of the dark.”

You leaned into her, heart pounding, feeling the weight of those words settle between you like a promise.

When you finally emerged, clean and steady, Alexia smiled softly.

“You’re beautiful,” she said simply.

You blushed, heart full.

Tonight, you’d meet her family.

But for now, wrapped in the warmth of each other, you felt ready for anything.

It still felt surreal. This place was yours and Alexia’s now.

A modest one-floor home nestled in a peaceful neighborhood, spacious enough for dreams and laughter and the quiet moments you both craved.

Boxes sat unpacked in the corners, a testament to new beginnings, but the walls already hummed with the promise of life unfolding.

Today was special.

Alexia had a match.

Her first game back after months of grueling rehab, of rebuilding not just her body but her spirit.

You could see the nervous energy radiating off her as she laced up her boots. Her eyes sharp but filled with a fragile hope.

Her mother was coming with you to watch. Her presence a steady, loving force that somehow made the day feel lighter.

The stadium buzzed with anticipation as you found your seats.

The whistle blew, and she was off.

Watching her move with fierce determination. The joy of the game shining through the sweat and effort, made your heart swell.

Each pass, each sprint, each goal attempt was a testament to her fight. Not just to return, but to reclaim.

Eli beside you smiled softly, whispering, “She’s stronger than ever.”

After the final whistle, you met Alexia outside the locker room, her face flushed. Breathless. Radiant.

“You did it,” you said, pulling her close.

She laughed, a sound of pure relief and triumph.

“We did it,” she corrected, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

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Writer's note: your thoughts about this one?

[rayllurn]

"There is a way out of this. With good people doing courageous things. Doing what's right! However dangerous, however vile." ↳ the dragon prince || book 7: dark

[cami040405]

Just saw that one gif of the couple in a haunted house where the guy pushes the girl in front of the “killer” and runs away, so said killer gives the girl his knife and she chases after her man. Could you write a similar scenario. Whether the killer hands reader their weapon, reader asks for it or just takes it, I just think it’s kinda funny. Reader’s boyfriend shoves her in front of the killer and books it so reader ends up with the slasher’s weapon and goes after her boyfriend herself. I’d like Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees please but if you wanna add anyone I certainly won’t stop you.

Slashers' Reaction when they See the Reader being Offered as Bait by Her Own Boyfriend.

Summary: When your cowardly boyfriend shoves you into the path of infamous slashers to save himself, you don’t scream—you get even. Each killer watches you take their weapon and chase down your backstabbing boyfriend with rage, sarcasm and style. Turns out, the real horror isn’t the killer... it’s dating a man with no spine.

Includes: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhes, Bo Sinclair, Charles Lee Ray, Billy Loomis & Stu Macher

A/N: I found this request very interesting, I certainly wouldn't let it go if it were me. Thank you for sending the request, I loved writing it and imagining the scene.

Michael Myers

You should’ve known something was off the second your boyfriend suggested the two of you “go for a walk through Haddonfield” at night.

“It’s Halloween,” you said.

“Exactly,” he replied, smug. “Let’s live a little.”

So you ended up strolling near Lampkin Lane, where the houses were quiet, the wind was sharp, and something was watching you. You turn the corner near the old, abandoned Myers house—the one that’s still cordoned off with faded “No Trespassing” signs and urban legends as thick as fog. The porch creaks in the distance. Somewhere, a swing sways on rusted chains, though there’s no breeze.

Your boyfriend chuckles nervously beside you.

“This is kinda spooky, huh?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, eyeing the dark windows. “I told you this wasn’t a good idea.”

Suddenly, something shifts in the shadows. A figure steps into the orange glow of a flickering streetlamp at the end of the block.

Tall. Silent. White mask. Mechanic’s suit. Michael. Myers.

You freeze.

He’s far away—but not far enough.

Then your boyfriend, in a move so quick and selfish it would impress Olympic sprinters, screams like a banshee and SHOVES you toward the street—toward him.

“OH MY GOD! TAKE HER!” he shrieks. “TAKE HER, NOT ME!”

You stumble into the road, landing on your hands and knees.

“Are you KIDDING ME?!” you shout, spinning around to watch him full-on sprint in the opposite direction.

You can’t believe it. Your boyfriend just offered you to Michael freaking Myers like a sacrifice in sneakers.

You turn back.

Michael is still there. Watching. Still as a statue. His head tilts.

You meet his dark, unreadable eyes behind the mask.

“…I’m not with him anymore,” you mutter.

He slowly approaches. No words. Just the rhythmic sound of his boots crunching on leaves. He stops in front of you, towering and ominous, the chef’s knife in his gloved hand glinting under the moonlight.

You brace for the worst.

Then… Michael raises the knife—slowly—and flips it.

He holds it out to you. Handle first.

You blink. “Wait—are you… giving this to me?”

The silence is deafening.

You glance over your shoulder. You can still hear your ex-boyfriend screaming in the distance, fumbling with a chain-link fence and tripping like he’s in a bad horror movie.

You look back at Michael. His hand doesn’t waver.

“…Hell yes,” you mutter, and take the knife.

You get up. Your shoulders square. You’re no longer the girl who got shoved into danger.

You’re the danger.

“Thanks, Mikey,” you say, not expecting a response. But you swear—swear—his head tilts just a bit more. Like amusement. Then you take off, knife in hand, stalking your way through Haddonfield.

“HEY, JAMES!” you yell into the night. “I’M GONNA CARVE OUT THE WORD ‘COWARD’ ON YOUR BACK!”

From down the road, your ex screams. “WHY ARE YOU SIDING WITH THE KILLER?!”

You shout, “BECAUSE THE KILLER HAS MORE INTEGRITY THAN YOU!”

Michael watches from the shadows, the slightest movement betraying what might almost be a nod of approval.

For tonight, Haddonfield’s boogeyman takes a break.

You’ve got vengeance covered.

.

Jason Voorhees

You weren’t thrilled about this trip to Camp Crystal Lake in the first place. Your boyfriend had sold it as a “fun, spooky weekend getaway”—just you two, nature, and some “light ghost hunting” for his vlog.

You hadn’t signed up to get eaten alive by mosquitoes, much less the thought of possibly running into Jason freaking Voorhees. Still, you tried to enjoy it. The lake was beautiful in that eerie, mist-covered way. You even held his hand while walking the trails after sundown, lantern swinging in your grip, nerves humming with unease.

That’s when you heard it—a twig snapping, somewhere off the trail.

Your boyfriend froze, eyes wide. “D-did you hear that?”

You sighed, half-annoyed. “It’s probably a deer or—”

Crunch.

Another step. Heavy. Deliberate. Slow.

You both turned.

And there he was.

Jason Voorhees.

Towering. Silent. Mask glinting pale in the moonlight. A blood-stained machete gripped in his hand like an extension of his soul. You took a shocked step back. You weren’t even sure if you screamed. But your boyfriend?

He screamed louder than you’ve ever heard a grown man scream. Full panic mode. Then, without warning—

HE SHOVES YOU FORWARD.

“TAKE HER!” he shrieks, dead serious, and takes off running like a cartoon character on fast-forward.

You stumble, barely catching yourself before hitting the forest floor. Heart racing, hands trembling—you look up, expecting death.

Jason hasn’t moved.

He just stares at you. 

You look back in the direction your boyfriend fled, the underbrush still shaking from his cowardice.

Then you turn back to Jason. And it clicks.

“...Did he seriously throw me to you like I’m a Scooby-Doo extra?”

Jason doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. But somehow, you know he gets it. The way his mask tilts slightly, just enough to read like confusion and maybe even a little pity—it’s almost comical.

You wipe some dirt off your pants. “You know what? Screw it. You’re not the scariest guy out here tonight.”

Jason just stands there. Then, slowly, he flips the machete in his hand and holds it out to you.

Handle first. No sound. No words. Just… an offer.

You stare at it.

Then, slowly, grin.

“Oh... Oh, you’re my new best friend.”

You take it. It’s heavy—really heavy—but you’re running on pure adrenaline and RAGE now.

“Thank you, Mr. Voorhees,” you say, sincerely. “I’ll bring it back with blood on it.”

You spin around and stalk into the woods, machete dragging across the dirt, screaming your boyfriend’s name into the trees:

“YOU THREW ME TO JASON VORHEES, YOU SPINELESS TOAD?! YOU’D BETTER HOPE HE KILLS YOU FIRST!”

Somewhere in the distance, you hear a terrified voice yell, “OH GOD SHE HAS A MACHETE—JASON, STOP HER!”

Jason doesn’t move. He watches you vanish into the trees, his massive shoulders rising and falling once with what might—might—have been the ghost of a laugh.

He doesn’t need to lift a finger tonight.

You’ve got it covered.

.

Bo Sinclair

Ambrose wasn’t even supposed to be on the way. You’d both taken the detour after your boyfriend swore up and down it would be a "fun, spooky, abandoned town Instagram thing." Classic him. Anything for the views, right?

But now?

You’re standing in the middle of Main Street—surrounded by wax figures, everything dead silent—and you’re glaring at your boyfriend, who’s just realized the garage isn’t as empty as it looks.

Bo Sinclair steps out of the shadows, wiping his hands with a rag, eyes landing on you both like a lion sighting fresh meat.

"Well, well," he says, slow Southern drawl curling around his smirk. "Y’all lost or just dumb?"

You don’t even get a chance to answer.

Your boyfriend screams—like, actual scream—and grabs you by the shoulders.

“TAKE HER!” he shouts, shoving you toward Bo with both hands. You stumble, trip, and land at Bo’s feet.

Then the bastard runs. Full sprint. Down the road. No looking back.

You lie there for a second, stunned, blinking up at the sky.

Bo just blinks down at you, his expression blank for a beat.

Then his lips twitch.

Then he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, goddamn," he wheezes, clutching his stomach. "You see that? He tossed you like a sack o' potatoes!”

“Yeah,” you mutter, standing up and brushing off your clothes. “Believe me, I felt it.”

Bo whistles, still grinning. “Girl, he didn’t just throw you under the bus, he started the engine and reversed over you twice.”

You’re still glaring after your fleeing boyfriend’s back. The rage is setting in. Humiliation burning behind your eyes.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “He really left me to die.”

Bo wipes his eyes, watching you with interest now. “So what’re you gonna do, sweetheart? Scream? Cry? Run after ‘im?”

You inhale sharply, glance over at the tool bench behind Bo… and then look at the wrench in his hand. Your eyes narrow. Bo watches you eye it. Then, with the ease of someone offering a gift, he flips it around and holds it out handle-first.

“Tell ya what," he says with a grin. "You wanna clock him one? I won’t stop ya. Hell, I’ll even give you a five-minute head start before I come collect what’s left.”

You take the wrench.

It's heavy. Cold. Satisfying.

You grin wickedly. “I’m not gonna kill him.”

Bo lifts a brow. “No?”

“Just gonna remind him that if he’s gonna throw me to the wolves, he better hope they’re hungrier than I am.”

Bo gives a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Damn, girl.”

You start marching in the direction your boyfriend ran, full murder in your stride.

As you pass a wax figure of a man mid-scream, you mutter, “Better start running faster, Jason. I’ve got a wrench and no sense of mercy right now.”

Bo watches you go, still smiling, his arms folded.

“Gotta admit,” he says under his breath, “I kinda wanna see how that turns out.”

.

Charles Lee Ray (Chucky)

“Babe, this is not funny anymore,” you hiss, clutching your coat tighter against the biting wind. “We were supposed to be in Little Italy. Where the hell are we?”

Your boyfriend glances over his shoulder, jumping at every shadow. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he mutters. “Let’s just keep walking. There’s gotta be a main street nearby.”

A garbage can rattles.

You both freeze.

Then comes the sound of tiny footsteps… fast. Too fast.

And then you see it.

A doll. A little red-haired Good Guy doll. Just standing at the end of the alley.

“What the f—” you begin.

And then it moves. Fast, like a blur, and suddenly that high-pitched, gravelly voice cuts through the silence.

“Hi, I’m Chucky. Wanna die?”

The doll leaps toward you both.

Your boyfriend screams like a child at Chuck E. Cheese and, without a moment’s hesitation, grabs you by the arm and throws you in front of him like a ragdoll.

“TAKE HER!” he yells, already bolting down the alley like his soul’s on fire.

You land hard on your hip, scraping your palm against the concrete. “You son of a—!”

Chucky skids to a stop, blinking down at you as you sit there on the ground, stunned and seething.

“…Damn,” Chucky mutters, cocking his plastic head. “That guy really tossed you like yesterday’s trash. That’s cold.”

You slowly push yourself up, wiping blood off your palm. “You think?”

Chucky shrugs, then straightens up, switching the bloody knife in his tiny hand to a reverse grip. “Normally, this is the part where I stab you and laugh about it, but…”

He glances down the alley, where your boyfriend’s distant scream echoes into the night. “I think I just found someone I’d rather gut.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

There’s a pause. Then you step forward.

“…Let me see that.”

Chucky eyes you. “You wanna borrow my knife?”

“I insist.”

He grins wide, teeth sharp behind the plastic sheen of his face. “You’ve got style, sweetheart.”

He hands it over, hilt first. You feel the weight of it—smaller than you expected, but razor sharp and warm. You give it a test twirl, then glance down the alley where your dear boyfriend disappeared.

You take a deep breath, grit your teeth, and start walking.

“YOU CHOSE ME TO DIE, YOU LITTLE COWARD?” you bellow into the dark. “YOU USED ME AS A HUMAN SHIELD FOR A DOLL?!”

You break into a sprint, blade gleaming.

Behind you, Chucky watches with absolute delight.

“Y’know,” he says to no one in particular, lighting a cigarette, “I think I’m in love.”

Then he casually strolls after you, whistling.

.

Billy Loomis (Ghostface)

The old Macher house had been abandoned since Stu's party. Of course it had—the murders, the blood, the urban legends whispered through Woodsboro’s halls made sure of that. But your boyfriend had dared you to break in with him anyway.

"It’s just an old house," he said. "Nothing’s gonna happen."

You should’ve known something was off the moment the door creaked open by itself.

You wandered the trashed kitchen, cobwebs stringing across cabinets like decaying tinsel. Somewhere down the hallway, something thumped. You froze. He grabbed your arm.

Then the phone rang.

Not a cell phone. A landline. On the counter. Plugged into nothing.

You blinked. Your boyfriend picked it up, smirking like a frat boy on Halloween.

“Hello?” A pause. Then a voice, low, amused, just slightly familiar.

“Do you like scary movies?”

His face went white. “Wh—What? Who is this?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Nope,” he said, slamming the receiver down. “Nope nope nope nope—”

But it was too late. From the hallway, Ghostface stepped out.

Not a replica. Not a costume.

The Ghostface.

He held the knife low, that signature gliding gait stalking slowly forward.

Your boyfriend’s survival instincts kicked in—and unfortunately for you, those instincts said sacrifice your girlfriend.

“TAKE HER!” he shrieked, physically shoving you forward into Ghostface’s path, then booking it full-speed out the back door, limbs flailing like a Scooby-Doo reject.

You hit the ground with a grunt. Time froze. The killer stared down at you. His knife gleamed. But then—he tilted his head, like you were more interesting than expected.

The mask came off.

You gasped.

“Billy?”

Billy Loomis smirked down at you, all smugness and shadowed cheekbones.

"Hi, sweetheart."

You scrambled to your feet. “Are you KIDDING ME?!”

He nodded toward the door your boyfriend had just sprinted through like the coward he was.

“He really just did that,” Billy mused. “Didn’t even hesitate. Just… ‘here, kill my girlfriend, I gotta run.’” He mimicked your boyfriend’s scream with a chuckle. “Classic.”

You glared, chest heaving. “I’m going to kill him.”

Billy raised a brow. “You sure you need me to do it?”

There was a pause. A tense, burning one.

Then you lifted your hand, palm open.

Billy blinked.

“…Can I borrow the knife?”

Billy looked down at the weapon in his hand. Then at you. Then back to the hallway.

“You know what?” he said, almost tenderly. “You’ve earned this.”

He flipped the knife and offered it to you, handle-first. Your fingers curled around it. It was still warm from his grip.

“Thanks,” you growled, eyes blazing. “I’ll bring it back with blood.”

“You better,” he replied, stepping back and watching like a proud director. “Make it messy.”

You threw open the back door and stormed into the night, yelling after your now-regretful boyfriend:

“YOU LEFT ME TO DIE, YOU CHEAP-SHOE-WEARING, NO-LOYALTY-HAVING DOLLAR STORE SCREAM QUEEN!”

Somewhere in the trees, your boyfriend screamed again.

Billy leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms as he watched the carnage unfold in the distance.

He gave a small, satisfied smile.

“Damn,” he murmured. “I think I’m in love.”

.

Stu Macher (Ghostface)

It was supposed to be a fun night.

The local horror maze downtown had been canceled last minute, so your boyfriend had the brilliant idea to “break into the old abandoned farmhouse on the edge of Woodsboro,” which in hindsight was like asking to die in the first ten minutes of a horror movie.

“C’mon, babe,” he’d said, “It’s totally safe. We’ll be in and out. No psycho killers, promise.”

You’d rolled your eyes but agreed—because hey, what could go wrong?

The house creaked like it wanted to collapse on you. Dust curled off the stairs. Every door groaned like a warning. You were maybe two steps inside when a TV flickered to life in the corner of the room, showing a grainy VHS of old horror movie clips—then cut suddenly to live footage of you two standing right there in the house.

“What the hell—” you whispered.

That's when you heard it. The low, distorted voice from behind:

“Wanna play a game?”

You turned just in time to see Ghostface—tall, lanky, and looming—emerge from the hallway with a gleaming knife in hand.

And your boyfriend?

Your loving, caring, chivalrous boyfriend?

He screamed at a pitch only dogs could hear, shoved you toward the killer like a sandbag, and ran.

Not a glance back. Not a “run!” Just: “YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN, BABE!”

You hit the floor hard, wind knocked out of you, staring after him.

Ghostface froze. There was a pause… and then a very familiar wheezy laugh behind the mask.

“Oh my god,” the killer wheezed, pulling the mask off with a flourish. “Did that dude just yeet you at me?!”

You blinked.

“Stu?!”

“Sup!” he said, waving with the knife still in hand. “Didn’t know it was you, swear. Thought I was doing the old ‘boo and stab’ tonight. But wow, your man just offered you up like a Happy Meal.”

You sat up, groaning. “He shoved me so hard I almost blacked out.”

Stu held his stomach, doubled over in laughter. “I can’t—I can’t breathe—he was like ‘TAKE HER, OH MIGHTY KNIFE DEMON, SHE’S THE SACRIFICE.’”

You rubbed your temple. “I should stab him.”

He froze, then lit up. “Wait. Wait. You should! Here—” he spun the knife in his hand and offered it, handle-first. “Go get him, tiger.”

You hesitated.

Stu leaned in, grinning. “You know you want to.”

“…You know what? Screw it.”

You snatched the knife, stood, and dusted yourself off.

“I’m gonna murder him. With my words. Maybe the knife. TBD.”

Stu made an exaggerated swoon motion. “Oh my god. You’re so hot right now.”

You stormed out the front door with purpose, knife in hand. “I SEE YOU HIDING BEHIND THE TRASHCAN, JEREMY! DON’T THINK I WON’T DUMP YOU WITH A KNIFE IN MY HAND!”

From behind, Stu followed casually with the Ghostface mask hanging off one hand and a big grin on his face.

“If you stab him, I’m definitely taking you to prom.”

.

[hellothisisangle]

I don’t have the stamina to comic all this dialogue so here it is:

[At some point between PLAYING FOR TIME and I WALK THE LINE]

J: Look at you, more bolts and chips and wires than meat. Not sure what the hell you even are at this point. Some kinda strutting identity crisis. Bet if someone shook you hard enough you’d rattle.

V: Yeah, well, you’re just a ghost of a walking hard on that played mediocre guitar. Guess we all got our own tragedies.

J: Ooh, hit a nerve. Change your face, change your junk, but it doesn’t actually change a thing. Another plug in another crack that keeps fracturing. Can’t patch a hollow core, V.

V: This, coming from the poster boy for ‘oh please, someone, pay attention to me’? Hey, Johnny- was it before or after the bombing that you decided terrorism made you a man?

J: Know what your problem is? Don’t ask questions. Just do your job. Get your reward. Say you hate authority, but you fit into the glove tailored for you just as much as everyone else. And like everyone else, ‘ya still can’t help havin’ dreams of respect, fear, adoration, love. Dreams only big enough to stay dreams, not enough for you to do jack shit about it. Aren’t you lucky you got me. Now you can wake the fuck up.

V: Ha! Never believed for a second you cared about the bigger picture. Nah, you’re just the guy who played hero to hear someone chant his name. Spoiler alert, no one’s chanting anymore. You think I should follow your lead? Screaming louder, hitting harder, waving your dick around like it’s a goddam flag?

J: Better’n nothing. Keep telling you we’re really not so different, you and I. But swapping parts like spare tires- I mean come on, don’t get all pissy when I call it what it is.

V: Replacing myself, piece by piece, finding a version of me that can stand existing is not the same, will never be the same, as your bullshit tantrums.

J: Keep tellin’ yourself that.

V: For fucks sake- the yapping, barking orders, flexing those fake muscles- wanna know what you remind me of?

J: Not really-

V: All the other assholes who told me I'd never be good enough unless I was just like them. Why I had to rip myself open just to breathe. You’re not a legend, Johnny. You’re a cautionary tale. A child who never learned there’s more than one way to be strong.

J: Pull that one outta a fortune cookie or just your trauma stash? Pft- A child calling a child a child. The shit I have to put up with.

V: Quiet the fuck down or I’ll do something that’ll decom both of us for a bit. I need some air.

J: Fine. See ya later. But would’ya smoke a stoge while you’re at it?

[At some point after I WALK THE LINE]

J: For a chrome-clad existential nightmare, ‘ya ain’t all bad, kid. Startin’ to remind me of me. Without the impressive cock.

V: And for a dead relic clutching his dick like it’s the only personality trait that survived, you’re almost tolerable. But don’t get clingy, I’m not a collector of antiques.

[gojos-thot-patrol]

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Starring: True from! Sukuna in a cabin in the woods... Synopsis: You don't see the point in it; chasing myths on Halloween night, going deeper into the woods than you ever had before. You'd rather be at home than chasing ghosts. But, your best friend insists on finding evidence of the local urban legends, and surely she won't abandon you the moment you find what shes been hunting, right? Content Warning: Tonight we are serving True form (two dicks) Sukuna, double penetration, tummy bulges, cunnilingus, kidnapping, marking, slight dubcon, and a soft Sukuna if you squint. reader discretion is advised

“So, remind me again why we’re taking a walk in the woods on Halloween night?” You asked your friend, narrowly avoiding a thorn vine as you pushed past the brush. 

“Because, historically speaking, people tend to see it on Halloween!” She explained, holding up her camera, “It’s our best chance of finding evidence of the spider demon.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her optimism.

“I don’t know if “Historically” is the right word to use there,” you grumbled softly as you continued your walk together. Ever since the two of you had started taking that Folklore Studies class for an extra college credit she had become obsessed with the local urban legend: The Spider Demon. To her credit, it was a genuinely interesting topic. 

As far back as town hall kept records of, there were sightings of the beast: a giant humanoid man that was covered in ancient markings, with four arms, four eyes, and a giant mouth on his abdomen. Rumor has it, he was the one at fault for all the disappearances that plagued your small town, dragging poor, innocent souls into some far off lair and feasting on their flesh. 

The sane people knew the real reason for the disappearances though; most of those kids hopped a train and got the fuck out of that dying town while they still could. You couldn’t say you blamed them. If you didn’t go to school here, one of the cheaper colleges around, you wouldn’t be here either. 

Your thoughts came to a halt as the two of you came up on an old stream. You knew it well as the boundary between where it was acceptable to play in the woods, and where was off limits. Everyone in the town had followed this rule. Your great grandparents had this rule engraved in their soul as kids, just as your parents and grandparents had, just as you had. And just as your kids would one day. No one really knew why you weren’t supposed to cross the water, just that you weren’t.

And your best friend was trying to hop across. “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doin’?!” You yelled as you grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She looked at you as if you had just grown two extra heads.

"I'm crossing the stream?" She asked as if you were the insane one here.

"Yeah, I can see that dipshit!" You snapped, "Why the hell would you do that?!"

"To get to the other side?"

"What are you, a chicken?! You know we're not supposed to cross this stream." Your friend dramatically rolled her eyes, making her annoyance clear.

"The only chicken here is you Y/n." She scoffed. "Come on, it's just water. It can't hurt you." She said in a tone meant to mock assurance. It grinded your bones and made you wonder why you were friends to begin with.

"Don't be like that. Everyone in this town has been told since birth not to cross that stream, there has to be a reason why."

"The reason why is probably so little kids don't drown." She explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire world. It made you want to rearrange her teeth. "I'm going to cross the stream and keep the hunt going, are you with me or not Y/n?" She asked.

You took a deep breath. You absolutely were not with her. Every fiber in your being was setting off red flags, you could hear your ancestors screaming at you to turn around, somewhere from the great beyond, both Cain and Abel look at you and say "girl, don't do it." 

And yet, you started to jump across the rocks. As annoying as your friend was, she was still your friend, and you couldn't let her go alone. Your ancestors all collectively face palm, your nerves explode, Cain turns to Abel and shakes his head. There's no saving you now. You swore the air temperature dropped by at least three degrees as you made it to the other side of the stream. You cursed softly as you wrapped your jacket tighter around you, and rushed to catch up with your friend.

“See? We crossed the water and we didn’t explode! Some rules are just made to be broken.” She seemed confident in that, but you still weren’t. Something was so…off. Wrong. But you couldn’t figure out what. The moon was still as full as ever, lighting your way as the two of you walked. Your friend seemed fine, as chatty as hell even. And you were physically okay. Leaves crunched under your shoes, and the crickets chirped-

Wait. No they didn’t. “Hey, shush.” You demanded of your friend.

“What!? Why should I-”

“I said Shut. Up.” You snapped, an unfamiliar edge to your voice taking even you by surprise. She shut up, and you struggled to listen to the sounds of the forest. Except, there were no sounds of the forest. No crickets singing, no owls hooting, not even the rustle of a field mouse in the grass. The woods were completely silent, filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing. 

“Do you hear that?” You asked your friend.

“I don’t hear anything.” She scoffed.

“Exactly. We need to turn back.”

“What?! No way!” She protested with a stomp of her foot. You were really starting to think that Darwinism would not look kindly upon your friend.

“The woods are completely quiet.” You pointed out, “That doesn’t happen unless it has a reason to be quiet. We’re not welcome here.” You tried to argue. You would have been better off arguing with the moon itself. Your friend just shook her head as she continued to walk.

“The woods are always quiet Y/n, its what makes it so peaceful, or whatever.”

“But not this quiet!” You pleaded as you chased after her, still not willing to let her die out here alone. “Dude, please, we need to go-!”

“Ooo, whats that!” Your “best friend” quickly changed the topic as she pointed out a building off in the distance, running off to check it out. You felt your stomach fall to the floor. Who would build anything out here? You ran to follow her, deciding to just drag her back home if you had to. 

“Its a house!” She pointed out with a laugh as the two of you reached the edge of a lawn, “And they even decorated for Halloween, how sweet.” You looked at the house, an old wooden cabin that looked like something a pilgrim would have built back in the 1700s. You were shocked to see lights glowing in the window, indicating the building had electricity. That wasn’t what unnerved you the most though.

That would be the bones littering the yard. Animal and human alike, some looking older than others. All strewn about as if thrown there without any care, or sense of design. They looked more like discarded trash than they did decor, and a morbid part of your brain forced you to ask; do those maybe look a little too real to be made of plastic? You blood felt colder than ice as your throat contracted, an unseen anaconda choking you as your knees threatened to give out.

This place was cursed. “You should go knock.” Your friend smirked.

“I would rather die.” You whispered.

“I’m serious!” She laughed, “Go trick or treating! You’d probably be the first one to do so here.” 

“No way, this isn’t right. Why would they “decorate” for Halloween all the way out here? Why are they out here to begin with? It doesn’t make sense, we need to go.”

“Well, I’m not leaving until you go knock on the door.” Your friend shrugged as if she wasn’t signing your death certificate. “These kind people deserve trick or treaters, and I deserve to take a picture of you scared shitless as you knock on the door.” She laughed.

“That’s not funny!” You snapped, your patience growing thinner as your anxiety grew.

“Oh come on Y/n! Don’t be such a bitch, just go knock on the door and then we can go, okay? I promise.”

“...Swear?” You asked softly, at this point willing to do whatever it took to leave these woods and go home.

“Swear.” Your best friend smiled, locking her pinky with yours. Her smile as angelic, enough to trick you into a facade of ease. You took a deep breath as you approached the door, carefully avoiding the skeletons as you walked. Did they looked chewed on? You didn’t want to think too hard about it. You could feel your heart in your throat, the false courage of your friends pinky promise fleeing faster and faster with every step you took closer to this house. It radiated death.

Climbing the creaky stairs was harder than you anticipated, your jittering joints protesting the very act. You reached a trembling fist to the splintering wooden door, knocking as soft as possible. “H-Hello?” You called out, hating the way your voice quivered, “Trick or Treat!” Your entire body tried to collapse in on itself, the only thing keeping you from doing so was the primal instinct to maintain your ability to run should you so need.

You waited a few seconds, then let out a shaking breath as no one came to the door. As you turned back to your friend, you were blinded by the flash of a camera, freezing you in your place. The sounds of her cackle filled you with rage. You really needed you friends. 

You rolled your eyes. “There I knocked. Are you happy? Can we please go home no-” your words died in your throat as you heard the door open.

“Trick.” a rough deep voice said, deeply unfamiliar to you. You watched your friends face contort into fear and her jaw unhinged itself into a scream as she scrambled to get away. Though, you weren’t able to hear her panic, the ringing in your ears becoming deafening as you felt your feet fall from underneath you, a python of an arm squeezing your stomach as you were lifted into the air, and into the house. 

You tried to grab the door frame as you were dragged into hell, becoming aware of your own screaming ripping through your throat as the frame was ripped from your fingers and the door shut in your face.

“Quite mortal.” The voice said again, and you almost instantly shut up. Something primal in your DNA sequencing knowing better than to piss off this devil. The monster turned you over in his hands, turning you to face him. Your soul left your body. You took in the visage of the beast, your panicking brain struggling to process what was in front of you.

 A giant humanoid man, with four arms, four eyes, and a face and chest full of ancient markings. He was holding you too close to properly see it, not to mention the fact that he was wearing a regal robe, but you would bet an unreasonable amount of money he had a sickening smile on his belly. You were in The Spider Demons claws.

And worst of all, he was kinda cute? Like, maybe it was the unshakeable sense of death that rattled your soul and turned your brain into mush, but if he was like- a normal guy with a normal amount of arms and eyes, you would have been smitten! You were kinda smitten now, even if you didn’t want to admit that. God you…really really hoped this whole experience wasn’t awakening something in you. This would be something to unpack in therapy later- if you survived this.

The demon took your chin in a free hand, turning your head as he examined you. You smelled divine. If you had been a sacrifice for him, he would have given whoever picked you out an A++ for finding you, and a bit more leniency for a while. But, he knew you weren’t a sacrifice. The townsfolk had declared him their enemy long ago, and had been facing the consequences ever since. So, that begged the question.

“Tell me, whats a pretty thing like you doing at my doorstep on the most haunted night of the year?” He asked, turning your head to look him in the eye. 

“Wishing you were a myth.” You went with the first thing that came to your head and instantly regretted it. That might have been a little too honest for this situation. But, at least he seemed to find humor in it, snickering at your quip.

“Keep wishing then human, I’m all too real.” He chuckled darkly. 

“Yeah, I-I see that…Are you going to kill me?” Your voice was shakier than you intended as you asked. You hated it, but the anticipation of what he was going to do was more painful that anything he could have actually done.

“I haven’t decided yet.” He mused as he continued his examination of you. He smiled cruelly as he felt your pulse quicken under his hands. He could smell your fear, and it was intoxicating. Your eyes, blown wide with fear, were stirring something deep down inside of him, and making you far more interesting than any other human he had come across in years.

Or, maybe it had just been a while since he had anyone to fuck. Granted, he had stolen plenty of mortals from your small town, but most of the time they died in the process. Corpses held no interest to him for anything other than food. But you? You were alive and warm, and vulnerable in his claws. That fact alone made the notion of keeping you alive for a little longer far more enticing than killing you just yet. 

“Um, anything I could do to help you make that decision?” You asked softly.

“The decision to kill you?” he questioned

“Well, the decision not too!” You quickly clarified, “Dying sounds kinda, well, not fun  and with you being like, a real thing that kinda makes me question well everything as far as mythology goes and that makes dying really fucking scary and-”

“You’re rambling mortal.” He sneered in annoyance.

“Right! My bad I just- please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything not to die.” You begged, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as you grappled with being forced to face the unknown. You had the beasts attention though, an eyebrow raising at your offer.

“Anything?” He purred, his eyes falling to the swell of your chest and making you greatly regret your word choice. “Anything at all?”

“Anything.” You whispered softly. You reasoned with yourself that this was for your life and definitely not because the thought of getting railed by a blood thirsty demon made you squish your thighs together in anticipation. You for sure didn’t feel a rush of arousal as the thought of something meant to kill you making you cum instead crossed your mind. That didn’t happen, no way, not at all. You weren’t wondering if his dick was as monstrous as he was, or if his markings graced it as well.

“Alright then Human, deal.” He grinned wickedly as he brushed a stray hair behind your ear. “I’ll let you live, if you give your body to me first.” You felt your face burn at his proposal. Something felt fundamentally wrong about spreading your legs for a demon. You weren’t religious or anything, but that had to be some sort of sin. But, if it was for your life, surely you could indulge- I MEAN- endure. 

“Before I agree, we’re not talking about possession, right?” You had to clarify. He smirked at your words. You were cleaver to ask, it showed a familiarity with the supernatural. Maybe you weren’t as foolish as you first seemed after all.

“Smart girl. But no, we’re not talking about possession.” He confirmed. 

“Okay, cool, just checking.” You chuckled nervously. “You got yourself a deal.” His smirk turned into a dark grin as his free hands rushed to your clothes. You panicked, knowing he was going to rip them off and you’d be forced to walk back in the nude. That would have been mortifying.

“Wait wait wait!” You yelped, holding up your arms to stop his hands. 

“What?” He growled, annoyance flooding his tone.

“Let me undress myself.” You requested, “Please? I’ll make it worth your while.” He seemed intrigued and amused, setting you on the ground with an almost unnerving gentleness. 

“Will you now? Lets see.” He hummed. You nodded, taking a few steps back. You took a deep breath and shrugged your jacket off your shoulders. You had never been particularly good at being sexy, at least not in your opinion. But, The monsters eyes could have convinced you otherwise. The way he watched you undress, as if he was a starving man looking at a thanksgiving feast, or a hungry demon looking at his next meal. It gave you the confidence to put on a proper show, teasing him as you slowly shed your clothes.

“I’m Y/n by the way,” You said as your hands reached to unhook your bra, “You got a name, or is it just spider demon?” He huffed humorlessly at your quip. He never liked that title. 

“Ryomen Sukuna,” He said, his eyes setting fire to your skin as you finally dropped your bra for him, “you can call me Sukuna.” 

“Noted.” You nodded as you dropped your panties. His lustful grin showed off his incredibly sharp fangs as he dropped his own robe, the only thing covering him. You confirmed the mouth theory, seeing it spread and hungrily panting across his toned abs. Your breath hitched when you saw when he was working with. 

His dick- or rather, dicks- looked human enough despite the markings, but they were longer and thicker than anything you had taken before. And again, there were two of them. They stood hard and proud against his stomach, twitching to be inside you. You didn’t know if the buzzing in your hands and legs was from regret, or excitement.

You didn’t have time to figure it out either before you were taken back into the demons arms, this time with less violence and more neediness. He pressed you to his stomach, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist and leaving you open to him.

“You’re pretty brave for a human, you know that?” He complimented as a large tongue lolled out of his stomach mouth and against your soaking core. He chuckled darkly as the muscle shoved itself into your weeping cunt, making you gasp at the sudden stretch, “And such a slut too.”

“Hey, this was your idea, not mine.” You reminded him though breathy moans, trying to ground yourself as your hips bucked against his giant mouth. Every movement of the tongue felt like being touch for the first time, a ripple of pleasure coursing though your stomach and legs, and making you wonder there was something supernatural going on to make a demonic act feel so heavenly.

“True,” He agreed, “But you’re the one that's gushing for a monster when I’ve hardly touched you.” he reminded you, watching the way your face contorted with pleasure as you dropped the act of innocence. He didn’t know what was more arousing to him, watching your resolve dissolve, or just how sweet you tasted as you desperately you rode his tongue. “I was going to kill you just a few moments ago, you know that right?” He growled into you ear.

“Yeah, but you’re fucking me instead. Sounds like a win to me.” You grinned and he laughed at your sudden audacity. He knew he liked you.

“You really are a whore, Aren’t you?” He teased as his tongue slipped out of your cunt and into your ass instead, watching the way your breasts bounced as you flinched and moaned at the sudden intrusion. 

“Not a whore if it’s for my life.” You whined, digging your nails into his shoulders. You were starting to feel light headed from the pleasure pooling in your stomach, your cunt clenching around nothing, pissed off from the loss.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” He chuckled as his face fell to the crook of your neck, taking in your intoxicating smell. He could feel his dicks twitch with need as he kissed you there, fighting every instinct in his body to keep from digging his teeth into the thin skin. He tasted your sweet slick as it dripped from your cunt and onto the middle of his tongue, and finally he withdrew the muscle. 

You whined as he did, head dropping to his chest, both holes now clenching around nothing. “No, fuck-” You whimpered, only for him curl a clawed finger under your chin and lift your head to face him. “Sukuna..” You whimpered as you looked into his fire red eyes, darkened by lust. His lips crashed into yours, capturing you in a heated kiss. You sighed against his mouth, hands rising to tangle into his soft pink hair as his tongue tangled with yours.

You screamed into his mouth as you felt him shove both of his cocks into you at once, one for each hole. He growled, biting down on your lip as you clenched around him. “Sukuna!” You gasped as you pulled back from the kiss, your body trying hard to push out the sudden intrusion.

“Relax for me Darling,” He groaned softly, the pet name slipping out without his permission. He pressed his forehead to yours as he rubbed your stomach, trying to ease your pain.

“I-I can’t. Too big..” You panted, trying desperately to release the tension in your shoulders. The stretch was searing you from the inside out. You felt overwhelmed, the pleasure in the pain feeling like static shocks. “It’s soo much..”

“You can handle it,” He assured you, extremely (perhaps overly) confident in your ability considering you had met less than an hour ago. You shook your head, tears slipping from your eyes. He lapped them up from your face, then captured your lips in a much softer kiss this time. Slowly, your body came to accept his, the tension melting away as his tongue tangled with yours and he eased his way further into you. The burn faded, leaving just the pleasure there, pulsating through you as he pushed deeper. 

He groaned into your lips as he bottomed out into you, stilling both to give you time to adjust and so he didn’t immediately cum in you like a fucking virgin. It was almost embarrassing how good you felt around him, taking him better than any other being had before. You clenched and fluttered around him in a sinful way, bringing him closer to his climax than he would like to admit.

“Told you.” He smirked as he pulled away from the kiss, licking at the string of saliva that connected the two of you. You whined as you looked down to where the two of you were connected, watching a bulge in your stomach appear and disappear with every thrust of his hips. It should have hurt, but no- quite the opposite.

 Every thrust of his hips electrified you with pleasure, sending wave after wave of intoxicating bliss through your nervous system. You had never felt so full before, so complete. You could feel his cocks rub against each other, against your walls inside of you, a dizzying sensation that you had never experienced before. Your hips bucked against him greedily as he fucked you, chasing your high.

“Look at me Y/n,” He demanded, pulling your head up so your eyes connected with his again, “I want you know the demon making you feel so good.” 

“Ryomen-” You whined, forgetting in your sea of lust that wasn’t the name he told you to use. His eyes widened a bit from shock. Mostly because he wasn’t filled with rage by your insolence, but instead a surge of lust from hearing his name fall from your lips. It really had been awhile, he was feeling himself getting attached far too easily. If he knew what was good for him, he would have finished and disposed of you as quickly as possible. He wasn’t interested in what was good for him.

“Say it again.” He demanded, a hand slipping in between you to rub circles into your clit. 

“Ryomen..” You whined, staring at him with fucked out, lust clouded eyes as you trembled in his arms, thighs clenching around his abdomen as the ecstasy crashed through your core and through out your body. You felt your muscles ripple and tense in anticipation. 

“Again,” He growled, pulling you closer to him, and dropping his forehead down to yours. “Who does this cunt belong to?”

“Ryomen..” Your brain was too clouded to make out the rest of his command, your body buzzing and bliss building up inside of you. He picked up his pace, chasing his own high and making you scream out his name in a truly embarrassing and needy moan. 

You clung onto his shoulders and neck, digging your nails into the soft skin there as the euphoria in your veins finally boiled over and hit the fire inside of your stomach, igniting it in an explosion of ecstasy and lust. Your vision exploded with stars and your brain officially clocked out of work as you melted into a puddle. Your legs shaking around him as you leaned against his strong body, unable to keep yourself up any longer.

Your velvety walls quivered around him and sucked him in impossibly deeper, needy and lustful for him. It drove him mad. He watched as your face scrunched in pleasure, your body reacting to him greedily as you melted into the pleasure he he was gracing you with. 

It send him over the edge watching you cum for him, feeling you cum over him, feeling you gush around him. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer, holding you in a grip tight enough to bruise. His fangs buried themselves into your neck, marking you as his and his alone as he came deep inside of you, the warm strings gushing in you and filling you to the point of spilling over.

He held you close to him, head hung back as you both tried to catch your breath. Your mind was starting to clear the fog out, looking up to ask him to put you down before you felt him move inside you again. Your breath hitched as you realized he didn’t even get a little soft. You looked at him with almost horrified eyes as he bucked into you, only acting to encourage him. He looked back at you with lustful and wicked eyes, nipping at your lip as he set his pace and grinned.

“Whats wrong Darling?” He asked, the pet name now fully intentional in its use, “You didn’t think I was done with you yet, did you?” 

🎃🎃🎃

You were warm when you woke up, despite still being in the nude. Probably because of the huge body pressed against yours, radiating heat and holding you close as he slept. Visions of last night ran though your head, making you almost painfully aware of the cum still dripping from between your thighs, and sending another wave of arousal through you. When did you pass out? When did Ryomen?

You stayed still for a few seconds, listing to your bedfellows steady breathing. The bed, despite being made from feathers and thin quilting, was surprisingly soft, and the late afternoon sun filled the old home with a warm hazy light. You realized you couldn’t stay here any longer. You couldn’t get attached to an urban legend. 

You slipped out of his arms, freezing as he groaned and only breathing again once he was softly snoring. You sighed as you slipped out of the bedroom and found your clothes again. You quickly got dressed, and went to open the front door. It didn’t budge. Your eyes furrowed in confusion as you pulled the knob again. What the hell? You pulled with all your might, almost screaming with frustration as the door didn’t even move a centimeter. 

“Don’t bother with that Dove.” You gasped as you heard Ryomens voice behind you, a wave of dread blanketing you as you spun to face him. He was leaning casually against the door frame of the bedroom, a content smile painted on his face. “It has my seal on it. I’m the only one that can open that door.”

[ikwon1c]

Motte

“i’m tired of being g-dragon. can kwon jiyong come home now?”

characters: kwon jiyong x y/n

summary: during the MOTTE tour, jiyong was constantly surrounded but never truly seen or heard—performing through exhaustion, buried under expectations, and silently falling apart. but in a rare moment backstage, he allowed himself to fall apart in the arms of someone who simply saw him—as a person, not a legend.

tags: angst, heavy emotional themes, burnout, idol exhaustion, platonic comfort, vulnerability

if only i could hug 2017-2022 jiyong and tell him how proud i was of him 😔 he did so well. must protect him at all costs 💔

—

The crowd had screamed his name like he was a god.

Every breath he took on stage felt like another part of him slipping away like the lights, the sound, the sea of people only chipped at the pieces left of Kwon Jiyong. He danced, he sang, he bled on stage in that quiet, metaphorical way people don’t notice unless they really look.

But no one looked. No one ever really did.

Amsterdam’s air clung to the skin differently—cool, wet, detached. The kind of weather that didn’t press against you, didn’t demand warmth. He liked it. Or he would have, if he were still capable of liking things.

Backstage, it was all noise.

Assistants rushed around. Staff chattered and buzzed like they were the ones who just performed a 2-hour set. Cameras flashed. Praise, criticism, commands—all spoken like he wasn’t even in the room. He wasn’t, really. He was there, but also… far. Sitting in the corner of the dressing room on a low, padded bench. Elbows on knees. Head bowed slightly, like a puppet with its strings cut.

No one noticed.

No one, except me.

And me? I was a nobody.

Just an assistant under Geeun—his stylist. My job was to hold the clothing rack when it rolled too fast. To steam out creases. To label shoe boxes. To stay quiet, smile, and keep moving.

But I noticed. I always noticed him.

Jiyong didn’t look like himself that night. He didn’t look like the legend, the fashion icon, the artist, the man with the world in his palm. He looked like a boy who hadn’t slept in days, whose heart had been wrung out and left to dry on a wire no one cared to check.

His eyes weren’t just empty. They were gone.

And I couldn’t stand it.

I didn’t think. I walked. Through the crowd of stylists, producers, sound techs, security. No one stopped me—no one looked long enough to register that I shouldn’t be approaching him.

He didn’t flinch when I got close.

I stood there, in front of him. Close enough to hear the catch in his breath. Close enough to see that his fingers were shaking, just barely. I didn’t say a word. Just offered them like I’d done it a hundred times before like this wasn’t completely crazy, like I wasn’t a nameless ghost in his orbit.

My arms lifted slowly—on instinct, on faith—and I opened them. For a second, I was terrified. He would look up, see me, some nobody intern, and brush me off. He would snap back to stage-mode, fix his posture, flash that trademark smirk, and I’d melt into the floor in embarrassment.

But then…

He looked at me.

Really looked at me.

And his eyes…

God, they were tired. Not just from the show. From life.

So I smiled, gently. Soft and unsure, and maybe a little sad, too.

He stared at me. Still blank. But then, slowly, he moved. And for the first time all night, he did something real.

He stepped into my arms.

No words.

He just… stood up and walked into my arms like that was always where he was meant to go. His body hit mine with a weight that almost knocked the air out of me.

He didn’t hug me gently. He clung to me.

His weight sank into me like the gravity had finally won. His arms came around my waist, slow, unsure, and then all at once tight. Desperate. His face buried in the crook of my neck, breath hot and uneven. And then—

A sound.

Low. Raw. Barely a breath. But I felt it more than I heard it.

A sob.

Silently, at first. Just a tremble in his shoulders, a wetness against my skin. Then a sharp breath, and the quiet hitch of someone trying not to fall apart and failing.

My arms tightened without thinking. One hand cradled the back of his head, fingers slipping into sweat-damp hair. The other pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, grounding him, anchoring him.

He cried.

The kind of tears that don’t fall pretty. The kind that rip through your lungs on the way out. The kind that never get seen in public, because even celebrities deserve the dignity of privacy when they break.

No one noticed. No one cared. They moved around us like we were shadows.

And that night, in a city neither of us called home, surrounded by people who only saw the surface, he broke down in my arms.

Just me. Just him.

Just us.

—

I didn’t say anything for a long time. I just let him cry.

I think he needed it—the quiet. The lack of expectation. No one asking him to be okay. No one telling him to perform happiness.

When his breathing evened out, when the shaking slowed, he didn’t pull away.

He just whispered, “I’m so tired.”

And it broke me.

I whispered, “It’s okay,” not knowing if it was or would be, but it was all I had. “I’ve got you.”

I ran my fingers softly through his hair, careful not to mess up the carefully constructed style too much. “I know baby,” I whispered. “You don’t have to say anything else.”

He didn’t. He just clung to me. I just rubbed his back while his arms tightened even more around my waist. A quiet plea in the way he held on.

We stayed like that for a long time. I don’t remember how long. Minutes? More? At some point, I felt him start to shake. Not from cold. From everything.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red, and his breath came in short, uneven gasps. I helped him sit down again. Still in the corner. Still mostly unnoticed. I grabbed a towel and handed it to him, pretended not to see how red his eyes were. He wiped at his face with trembling fingers.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, finally meeting my eyes.

I gave a little nod.

“You… What’s your name?” he asked after a moment.

I hesitated. “Y/N.”

He repeated it like it meant something. Like it was a name he wanted to hold on to.

“I’m just… with Geeun,” I added, embarrassed.

“Can you come with me?” he said. “Just… for a little while?”

I nodded.

The car ride was quiet. The city lights slid past the windows like oil paintings. Jiyong sat beside me, his hand resting on the seat between us, twitching occasionally like he wanted to reach for something and couldn’t quite do it.

I didn’t push him.

He led the way to the elevator, head down. The suite was on the top floor—of course it was—and silent as a museum when the door opened. Too clean. Too empty. It smelled faintly like polished wood and expensive loneliness.

He dropped his bag just inside the door. Then he stopped moving. Like he didn’t know what came next.

I stood behind him, unsure if I was still supposed to be there. But then he turned, and in his eyes there was something raw. A silent ask.

“Can I… talk?” he said.

“Anything you need,” I answered.

So we sat. Not on the couch. Not at the table. On the bed.

He sat cross-legged, slouched, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck like he was trying to stay grounded. His voice was quiet when it came.

“I don’t remember why I started doing this,” he said. “I used to love it. I think. When I was a kid. Music felt like… like home. But now it’s just pressure. Just noise. I can’t breathe.”

I listened.

“I go on stage and it’s like… I become this thing. This idea. And people scream for it. But when the lights go off, I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what they’re cheering for anymore.”

His voice cracked. He closed his eyes.

“I’m scared I’m not a person anymore.”

I said nothing.

He kept going.

“I can’t sleep. Not really. I smoke, I drink, I take something, I knock out for an hour, and then I wake up like I never rested at all. And everyone just keeps saying, ‘You’re doing amazing, hyung. You’re killing it.’ But I don’t feel alive.”

I didn’t move. Not until he did.

He leaned toward me, slowly, like every movement hurt. Then he laid his head in my lap. No fanfare. No drama. Just a tired, broken man looking for something soft to hold onto.

I placed my hand on his hair and gently ran my fingers through it. He exhaled like it was the first breath he’d taken all night.

He kept talking.

About everything. The loneliness. The isolation. How even surrounded by thousands, he felt like no one really saw him. How the pressure to be a genius, an artist, a brand, was killing the little boy who used to scribble lyrics in the margins of his notebooks.

And I just sat there. Held him and just listened. Tonight, he was just wants to be seen and heard.

Loved him—not romantically, but purely. The way you love someone when you see their soul laid bare and you want to help them carry the weight of it.

Eventually, he stopped speaking.

Eventually, he cried again.

Quieter this time. Softer.

His hands curled into the sheets beside my legs. His face pressed against my thigh. And I felt warm tears soak through the fabric of my pants. He was under the blanket now, and I stayed on top of it, upright, rooted. A silent support beam for the wreckage of his heart.

He whispered, “Thank you.”

I whispered, “Sleep.”

And he did. Still holding on. Like I was the last real thing in the world.

And that’s where it ended.

No promises. No forever. Just a night of being human. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

—

The thing about moments like that night in Amsterdam is that they don’t come with closure.

There’s no dramatic ending, no music swelling as you walk into the sunrise. No promises made. No numbers exchanged. Just the slow, steady fading of something too delicate to name.

I never expected to be called again. I didn’t even know if he remembered it after that night.

And I was okay with that.

Sort of.

In the weeks that followed, the tour kept moving. Cities blurred into each other. Hotel rooms changed. Outfits were steamed and wrinkled and steamed again. The music thumped through arena walls night after night, and backstage was always a mess of coffee cups, frayed nerves, and late arrivals. I kept working under Geeun. I stayed in my lane.

I saw him sometimes, of course.

Jiyong.

Not the man curled up in my lap. Not the broken soul I held like a secret. Just the artist again. The brand. The silhouette striding past with sunglasses at night and security in tow. Sometimes he’d walk within arm’s reach, and I’d wonder if he felt it too, that small hum in the air.

But he never looked my way.

And I never expected him to.

So by the time we were packing to fly out again, I had already filed it all away into the drawer of Beautiful, Quiet Things That Don’t Belong to Me.

It was early.

Too early for the sun to be awake. My eyelids felt like sandpaper. My carry-on strap was digging into my shoulder, and I still had the taste of airport coffee on my tongue. Most of the staff were gathered near the group check-in, buzzing softly as they waited for boarding to be called.

I was scrolling through a half-loaded screen on my phone, earbuds in, mind somewhere else entirely, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned.

It was Minji, one of the production staff. She looked mildly apologetic, like she was bracing for me to be annoyed.

“Hey,” she said. “Change of seat.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You were in economy, right? They moved you to business. Seat 3B.”

I frowned. “Why?”

She shrugged. “No idea. Just told me to pass the message.”

I stared at her, confused. “You sure?”

“Your name’s on the manifest now.” She held up her tablet. There it was, clear as day. My name, my passport number, and the updated seat assignment.

Still confused, I nodded and thanked her. She walked off before I could ask anything else.

Seat 3B.

I was among the first to board. The flight attendants greeted me like they’d been prepped. One even said my name with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I followed the winding path of the jet bridge, stepped into the cabin… and there he was.

Jiyong.

Sitting in 3A.

His head was tilted against the window, hoodie up, headphones resting around his neck instead of over his ears. Sunglasses off this time. Face bare. Tired.

He looked up when I stopped in the aisle.

We locked eyes. And just like that, my heart remembered everything all at once.

The weight of him in my arms. The sound of his voice cracking in the dark. The way his fingers had clutched the sheets beside my legs while he cried. That night had lived inside me like a small, sacred flame but I hadn’t known if it lived in him, too.

Now I did.

He nodded toward the empty seat beside him.

I sat down.

The seat was too wide, too soft, too quiet after the chaos of backstage life. I adjusted my seatbelt. Stared at the touchscreen in front of me without seeing anything.

Neither of us spoke for a minute.

Then his voice, low and tired: “Did I wake you?”

I glanced at him. “No. I’ve been up.”

A pause. Then, “I asked for you.”

My chest tightened. “I figured,” I said softly.

He nodded again, eyes flicking toward the window. The world outside was still dark. The kind of gray-blue quiet that only exists before dawn.

“I didn’t know if I could,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Another silence.

This one heavier.

“I’ve been… trying,” he said at last. “Since that night. To feel things again. To rest. To talk. Sometimes I manage. Sometimes I just… get through the show.”

I nodded, watching his profile. There was something so human about him in this light. No glitter. No spotlights. Just skin and eyes and breath.

“I never said thank you right after,” he added.

“You don’t have to.”

“But I want to.”

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I reached for the blanket tucked under the seat. Unfolded it. Without a word, I laid half across my lap, then held out the other half.

He looked down at it, and for a second, I thought he might resist. Then, slowly, he leaned toward me.

He didn’t lay in my lap this time. He just rested his shoulder against mine, head tipped lightly toward mine, sharing the same warmth. His hand found the edge of the blanket and pulled it a little higher.

The plane took off.

Somewhere over the clouds, he exhaled long and low. Not a sigh, not quite but something close to peace. We didn’t talk after that. We didn’t need to. The space between us said enough. He asked for me and I came.

Quietly.

Gladly.

Always.

[xoxoavenger]

Sunflower

pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

summary: Y/N has a crush on Robin's friend Steve, but when she learns about his dating history she retreats in on herself.

word count: 3327

warnings: self depreciation, reader is only described as not skinny but by herself in comparison to other Stranger Things characters, happy ending guys I swear, also based off the song sunflower from that one movie (I don't remember I just get it stuck in my head)

12 Days of Christmas masterlist main masterlist

"Please?"

"No!"

"Oh, come on!" Robin had been trying for the past hour to make her best friend come with her to the movie night that Steve was hosting.

"Robin," Y/N was not budging. It's not that she didn't want to hang out with Robin, but going to a strangers house full of people when you only know one was not her idea of a fun night.

"Just give me a good reason, at least." Usually Robin stopped begging by the fourth 'no,' but tonight she was very pushy for an unknown reason.

"I don't know anyone!" Y/N hadn't gone to Hawkins High, instead being put through a private all-girls school just north of Hawkins. A school Robin visited frequently, due to Y/N's roommate, and that's how the two became friends. So while 'King' Steve Harrington may have been a legend in Hawkins, he might as well have been the post man to Y/N.

"I'll be there!" Robin clearly did not understand Y/N's worries. "I won't leave you alone, I promise."

"Give me the reason you want me to go, and I'll consider it." Robin opened her mouth. "The real reason." Y/N raised an eyebrow at her huff.

"Steve is my best friend, and I selfishly want my two best friends to also be best friends!" Robin pouted, but it made Y/N smile slightly.

"I will go just this once." Robin whooped and punched a fist in the air as she stood from the couch. "But! But, you cant ask me again." Robin seemed to happy to care about Y/N's terms anyway.

This was going to be one hell of a night.

~

"I finally got her!" Robin screamed when she walked in, not even knocking or slowly walking in. Y/N stood out outside the door, blinking as Robin began to give out hugs.

"Who?" A male voice asked, just around the corner and out of Y/N's sight.

"Is this your friend from boarding school?" A kid with curly hair asked Robin as he came to the door.

"It wasn't boarding school!" Robin knocked the back of the kids head, and Y/N's eyes widened. She was really close with these people.

"What is your name?" A girl appeared next to Y/N, causing her to jump. Everyone was still buzzing and talking in the doorway.

"Y/N," She responded, smiling when the other girl smiled. "What's your's?"

"Eleven." Y/N tried not to show her shock at the unique name. "But everyone calls me El."

"I like that name." Y/N said, feeling nice when El smiled wider. She wanted to continue her conversation, however a loud voice cut everyone off.

"Alright!" Hands clasped, a man about Y/N's age got everyone's attention. She felt her heart begin to beat out of her chest and her eyes widen slightly at the sight of him; tall, handsome as hell with the most beautiful head of hair. She struggled to hear what he had to say next. "You can come in the house, ya know." His smirk made her smile slightly, her heart racing as she tried not to act too shy.

"I just wasn't sure," She looked over at Robin, who was talking in low tones to another girl who looked about their age as well.

"Don't worry about it." The man walked over to her as she walked into the house, the kids dispersing and beginning to chatter once more. "My house is basically everyone else's anyway." He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, shutting the door behind her. Y/N gave a small laugh and toed off her shoes, leaving them near the door before turning back to Steve.

"Your house is nice," She said, looking around and realizing her statement may have fallen a bit short. His house was immaculate upon first glance. However, when she looked closer, she realized there were no family pictures, no children's artwork or graduation pictures hanging up. Her heart sunk and she looked back at Steve, who looked a bit awkward.

"Yeah," He said, scratching his neck. "My name is Steve, by the way. I don't know if Robin told you." Y/N's eyes widened in acknowledgement.

"You're Steve!" She laughed slightly at the face he made. "No, it's just, I hear all the time about how Robin works with you. I didn't know her coworker was her best friend." She caught something flickering across Steve's face, as if there was more to the story, but then he was laughing and it was so musical that Y/N forgot all about the face. Steve's laugh seized her heart, and she tried not to blush.

I mean, how embarrassing would it be to blush at your best-friend-in-law's laugh the first time you meet them?

"Yeah, I mean, we've worked at two places together now so," Steve told her, and Y/N nodded.

"Basically married, honestly." She joked, just to make Steve laugh once more. When he did, her heart soared.

"I'm glad someone gets it." He spoke, a soft smile on his face that Y/N wanted to take a photograph of to look at forever.

God, get ahold of yourself!

"I'm Y/N." She held her hand out, and Steve took it, a small smile on his face.

"That is a lovely name." He said, and she couldn't even think about the fact that he probably has used that line a million other times because she was too busy trying to manually make the blood leave her cheeks.

"Thank you," She said, quieter now. He dropped her hand and then looked around, noticing Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan on a couch while the kids sprawled out on the floor, arguing about the movie.

"What's your favorite movie?" He asked, turning back to her.

"Uh, I guess it would be Pretty In Pink? Or actually maybe Footloose." Her eyes lit up as she ran through more movies in her head. "I really like Stand By Me too." Steve smiled.

"I have Footloose." He said simply, then turned to make his way to the living room. Y/N followed, brows furrowed in confusion. She hadn't even gotten to ask him the same question, and she wasn't sure what he was doing now.

"Alright, stop arguing." Steve walked into the middle of the kids and picked up all the movies they had taken off the shelves, not caring about the kids' protests.

"Steve, please tell Mike that no one wants to watch Ferris Bueller again!" The kid with curly hair cried out.

"We watched it like seven times in theaters already!" A kid with and dark, short hair called out, and this caused the pale kid with black hair to drop his mouth in surprise - this must be Mike.

"Because it's the best movie ever made!" Their bickering distracted them from what Steve was doing, starting to yell over each other and making the three girls in the group roll their eyes and sigh.

Y/N looked over to find a spot to sit, but she noticed Robin was deep in conversation with the same girl from earlier on the couch; she was petite and beautiful, permed hair styled perfectly and face gorgeous without makeup. Y/N was instantly jealous, no matter how much she tried to ignore it and push it down. The girl was holding the man next to her's hand.

Robin had left Y/N alone.

Her heart started to race as she stared at Robin, willing her to look over, to notice how uncomfortable she was. She didn't know where to sit now - she could sit on the love seat but then she would be sitting next to Steve, who seemed nice but she didn't know him. Her head spun ever so slightly as she tried to breathe, trying to act like she was fine. It's not a big deal. She can sit on the couch. And if it's the most awkward experience of her life, she'll blame Robin for it until the day she dies.

As she sat down, heart still racing but breathing under control, she noticed a familiar tune playing. It was the intro to one of her favorite movies.

She met Steve's eyes as he got up from the VHS player, walking over to where she was sitting.

"What the hell is this?" The kid with curly hair asked Steve, who was now seated next to Y/N, his thigh pushing into her's.

"A movie." Steve grabbed a bowl of popcorn from the small table, offering some to Y/N.

"You're such a comedian." A girl that was smaller than the rest said, eyes narrowed at Steve. He ignored her with practiced ease, taking a handful of popcorn and staring at the TV.

"You chose Footloose." Y/N whispered, heart picking up when Steve turned to look at her.

"Of course." He smirked, making her blush slightly.

"Thank you." She looked over at Robin, who was staring at the TV while shoveling popcorn into her mouth.

"I know that Robin probably told you she wouldn't leave you alone." Steve muttered, causing her to whip her head over to him.

"She didn't leave me alone." Y/N felt the need to defend her best friend, even if it was a lie.

"Y/N," The way he said her name made her heart clench. She immediately forgot what they were talking about. "I love Robin, and I know she didn't mean to, but she did leave you alone." Y/N crossed her arms.

"She just got excited." Y/N said, causing Steve to chuckle lowly.

"Believe me, I know." He scooted ever so slightly closer. "I've never seen this movie, and we've missed the first five minutes, so I'm gonna need you to explain it for me." She tried not to let her cheeks heat once more as she began to explain to Steve what was going on in the movie.

~

After going to movie night a couple more times and actually becoming friends with some of Robin's friends, she hatches her plan.

She couldn't tell Robin that she was practically in love with Steve already. Not because she didn't trust her best friend, but because she felt weird about it. She had only just met him, and they hadn't even talked all that much. She had to bring it up but make it seem like it was Robin's idea.

"I need you to help me!" Y/N cried, dramatically falling backwards on Robin's bed.

"Oh my God," Robin didn't even look up from her painting she was working on.

"I to go on a date!" She yelled. This was a common complaint, one that would cause Robin to roll her eyes most of the time.

"How am I supposed to do that?" Robin still hadn't put down her paint brush, but she was a little less focused.

"You know so many people!" Y/N tried, hoping this wasn't a little too forward.

"You're right, but not that many are - oh my God." Robin dropped her pain brush, the color splattering on her desk, just before hitting her canvas.

"What?" Y/N rolled over, almost falling off the bed.

"I'm a genius." Robin spun in her chair, grinning at Y/N.

"What?" She repeated, hoping Robin was about to be the best wingwoman ever.

"I know the perfect boyfriend for you!" The girls stared at each other for a couple moments, Robin blinking as if it was obvious. "Steve!"

"Oh." She couldn't sound too excited, but on the inside she was dancing. If she had Robin on her side, it'd be easier to get to know Steve. "I mean, I barely even know him,." Robin was so excited she didn't even bring up the fact that Y/N wouldn't have known anyone Robin brought up.

"Yeah, I could tell you everything." Robin shrugged, making Y/N's eyes go wide. "Like, he crawled backwards as a baby. Weird, right?" Robin laughed, painting forgotten.

"Okay, maybe we should skip ahead to dating history?" That was really what she wanted to know; Steve gave her the vibes of a player. She needed to be proven wrong. She was sure she was wrong.

"Right, well, he used to date Nancy." Y/N's heart sinks at Robin's words. It feels like someone just stabbed her. She regrets asking anything, regrets telling Robin she'd go to movie night. "They dated for like, a year, probably. I don't know, but they had a little thing a while ago."

"Oh," Y/N doesn't know what to say, but she clearly didn't convince Robin of anything. All Y/N can think is that she looks nothing like Nancy. Nancy who's skinny. Nancy who's hair is always perfect with her curled perm. Nancy who's eyes are the most beautiful blue. Nancy who's makeup is never too much, is always complementing her, is so beautiful. Nancy who had Steve's heart.

Fuck.

"They're like, two different people, though. Want different things. He's totally over her. It was practically forever ago." Robin continues, and Y/N tries not to show the hurt that is running through her.

"Right." Y/N nods, grabbing her book and picking it back up again.

"I'll wingwoman you." Robin turns back to her painting. "My two best friends!" She squeals, and Y/N closes her eyes, trying not to show Robin that she's disappointed.

~

Y/N doesn't go back to movie night for two weeks, despite Robin's whines and moans of protest. She wasn't going to break, either, because even though she hadn't seen him in two weeks she thought about him every day.

It was unhealthy.

It was even more unhealthy the way she studied herself in the mirror, comparing herself to Nancy. She knew she shouldn't, that there was no point, that Steve probably didn't even remember her name.

It was fine.

She was a normal human. She was a normal person. She could go to a movie with Steve. They probably wouldn't even talk.

So she agreed, making Robin the most excited she'd ever been. She could hardly wait a week for the next hang out, which was not a movie. It was a pool party.

She could do it.

"I can't do this." She whispered as she parked outside of Steve's house, Robin already getting out of her car.

"Come on!" Robin cried out, and Y/N blinked quickly before shutting her brain off and getting out of the car.

It wouldn't be that bad.

"Y/N!" Steve yells as soon as he opens the door. Her eyes widen, and Steve pushes Robin aside to put his arms around her.

"Alright," Robin says with a scoff, walking inside.

"Hi," Y/N says quietly, because she's still a little confused.

"We missed you!" He says as he pulls back. "I missed you." This was quieter, and Y/N tried her hardest not to blush.

"I missed you too." She said, watching him smile before walking with him into the house. She tries to convince herself that today will be okay.

But then the conversation shifts to Steve and his love life somehow, and one of the kids brings it up.

"Remember when you had a crush on Robin!" Dustin announces as he dissolves into laughter. Y/N's mind goes blank.

Of course Steve has a type. Of course it's the opposite of her. Robin and Nancy are gorgeous. They're both so kind, so smart, so pretty. They're both skinny.

All she can think about is the way her body looks against Nancy and Robin's. Her thigh, which is touching Steve's on the small couch that he had decided the two of them would sit on. Her face is a different shape. Robin and Nancy look like models that Y/N sees on the cover of her mother's magazines. She might as well have not come back, because there was no way Steve would ever see her like that.

And she couldn't even tell anyone; not that she had many people to tell anyway. But Robin wouldn't get it. She'd tell Y/N how beautiful and smart she was that if a man didn't want her for such a stupid reason she didn't want the man anyway. And while it was nice to hear, it wasn't what she wanted or needed now. She didn't need reminders that she was beautiful, because it wouldn't change how Steve saw her.

What had she been thinking? Of course Steve was a player - she had clocked that quickly.

"I need more popcorn!" Robin announces in the middle of the movie. "And Y/N needs to come with me." The way she said it made Y/N realize that she knew something was wrong, and now her best friend was not letting her out of this.

"What?" Y/N asked quietly when they got to the kitchen.

"Seriously?" Robin almost exploded.

"What?" Y/N furrowed her brows, and Ron scoffed as she rolled her eyes.

"You've been acting weird." Robin explains, and Y/N shakes her head dramatically. "No I haven't." She says, grabbing the popcorn and putting it on the pan they've been keeping on the stove.

"Yes, you have. What's going on?" Robin asks, walking to the stove to stand next to Y/N. "You can tell me." This is softer, just as the popcorn begins to pop.

"It's nothing, Rob." Y/N sighs.

"Are you sure? Because I don't want to make you uncomfortable when you come here but I just want you to hang out. And I thought you wanted me to try and set you up with Steve, but you haven't even looked at him all night despite the fact that you're sitting right next to each other." Robin talks it out, and she's getting closer to the truth. The popcorn is done, so Y/N takes it off the hot stove and puts it on a pot holder, but neither of them leave.

"Steve liked Nancy." Y/N says, not able to face Robin. She can only look at the back tile above the stove. "And he liked you. So he clearly has a type." She looks to the side that Robin isn't on, trying to keep the tears at bay.

"Y/N," Robin puts a hand on her shoulder.

"He likes roses. He likes the skinny, perfect hair, perfect body, perfect face. And that is not me. I am not a rose." She takes a deep breath, wiping her face and preparing to leave.

"I hate roses." Steve says from behind her, and Y/N jumps. She turns, and he's standing there with wide eyes that pull at her heart.

"Steve," She didn't want him to hear any of that, but he clearly heart at least the last part.

"When you first showed up here, I called Robin that night to ask if I had a chance with you." Steve admits, and Y/N parts her lips in surprise. She turns to her friend.

"You never told me that." She whispers, and Robin has a sly smile on her face.

"I knew you guys would find your way to each other." She grabs the popcorn and leaves Y/N and Steve to their conversation.

"I'm not the same guy I was in high school. And I know the rumors that went around, and some of them were true. But I'm more mature now, and I really like you." He admits, making Y/N's cheeks heat up. "I've been waiting for you to come to movie night again so I could ask you out. Robin wouldn't give me any of your information because she said I had to do it on my own." Steve steps closer, and Y/N has to take a shuddering breath.

"Sorry," Y/N says, and Steve shakes his head as he moves some hair out of her eyes.

"Don't apologize." He whispers, then grabs her hand. "So, would you like to go on a date with me?" He asks, and she smiles.

"Yes." She whispers, nodding slowly. He smiled.

"And by the way," He says as they walk back into the room. "I find you very, very attractive." She can feel the heat all the way down her chest, but she lets him lead her into the living room and to the couch. She even lets him cuddle her through the movie, even while his friends tease him.

She's never felt more beautiful. 

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover @sadbitchfangirl @gloryekaterina  @oblivion-void @alexshaff2002 @m-rae23 @icequeen1371 @mcueveryday @parkershoco @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @peculiarwren @kenzi-woycehoski @multifandom-boss-bitch @freezaz123 @mads-weasley @johnricharddeacy @sweetdreamsshifter @param8re @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @wish-upon-a-star-1310 @fangisms

[svt-luna]

ʚིᵋ ⋆ INSTAGRAM UPDATE ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── 250331: Lunacy

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰౨ৎ luna's instagram

Liked by jeonghaniyoo_n, sound_of_coups, min9yu_k and 9,655,566 others

lunabae lunacy ♡ 4.30

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lunanova_forever MOTHER?! YOU CAN’T JUST DROP THIS OUT OF NOWHERE WITH NO WARNING!!!?

lunaverse_17 NO BECAUSE CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE COVER??? LUNA YOU LOOK INSANE(ly GORGEOUS)!!! I’M FRAMING THIS.

missbitch Bae Jiyeon’s favorite categories: serving cunt & breaking the internet 😩

hansolslunatic NO ONE MOVE. NO ONE BREATHE. LUNA JUST ATE EVERYONE UP WITH THIS COVER ALONE. WE HAVEN’T EVEN HEARD THE MUSIC YET.

↳ jijijiyeoniee_97 not to mention the name of the album! perfection💋🤌 Lunacy. LUNAcy. ABSOLUTE LUNACY!!

dinozoomzoom This is a whole serve. Ma’am, the visuals, the elegance, the power🫠

jeonglunaluvclub EVERYONE ELSE CAN GO HOME. LUNA JUST WON 2025.

↳ ashonashonash I feel like we have been saying that since last year… she remains winning 🤭

scoopedbycheol EVERYONE SHUT UP AND LOOK AT HER. JUST LOOK AT HER. SHE’S NOT EVEN HUMAN AT THIS POINT.

moonchildluna THE WAY THIS COVER SCREAMS “I’M ABOUT TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE” AND I’M JUST LETTING IT HAPPEN.

jeonghanbabie LUNA WE ARE BROKE!! YOU KNOW YOU GUYS ARE COMING BACK IN MAY RIGHT?? BUT GUESS WHAT?? I’M STILL BUYING. TAKE MY MONEY.

mingyusmealprep PRETTIEST WOMAN IN THE WORLD??? NO COMPETITION???

jihoonsmuse NO BECAUSE I NEED THIS PHYSICALLY IN MY HANDS. I NEED TO STARE AT IT DAILY.

↳ caratwalletscrying NOT ONLY IS SHE SERVING MUSIC, SHE’S SERVING VISUALS. LUNA WE CAN’T HANDLE ALL THIS AT ONCE.

seventeen4ever 14 SONGS??? FOURTEEN??? JIYEON, YOU’RE INSANE FOR THIS.

wonwoowrites When they ask “What was the moment Luna became a legend?” Show them this cover.

↳ jeongnadaily she’s always been a legend.

lunaticforluna THESE TITLES?! OH THIS IS FOR JEONGHAN AGAIN IS IT???? WE GET IT, YOU’RE IN LOVE.

dkisthesun HOLD ON. THE BOY IS MINE??? WE KNOWWWW!!!

woozi_approved Dandelion already sounds like it’s about Jeonghan. I just KNOW it’s about him, don’t ask me how, I just do. (These all could be about Jeonghan 🤗)

junhuiismydaddy NO ONE TALK TO ME, I WILL BE UNHINGED UNTIL APRIL 30TH.

vernonssi Me trying to figure out if Yes, And? is a diss track or a motivational anthem.

wonusmoonlight YOU NAMED A SONG MOONLIGHT??? THAT’S LITERALLY ME?? LUNA, YOU DID THIS FOR ME PERSONALLY (As if Luna’s name doesn’t mean moon 😴)

sebongsalute_ SEVENTEEN OT14 COMEBACK IN MAY, LUNA SOLO IN APRIL… WE ARE NOT SURVIVING THIS. PLEDIS, PLS GIVE US A FINANCIAL AID PACKAGE.

cheolliesdimple MIDAS TOUCH????? EVERYTHING YOU TOUCH TURNS TO GOLD??? OH SHE’S JUST THAT BITCH!!!

svt10thyearsoon YOU KNOW WHAT?? I DON’T EVEN NEED TO HEAR IMPERFECT FOR YOU. IT’S ALREADY MY FAVORITE.

the14thwonder Everyone freaking out over the tracklist while I’m here wondering how we’re going to survive both Luna’s album and Seventeen’s 10th-anniversary album.

joshua_hong_is_real I’M CALLING IT NOW. IMPERFECT FOR YOU IS GOING TO BE THE MOST EMOTIONAL TRACK AND I’M NOT READY.

hannieandluna4ever Why do I feel like half of those songs (if not all 😝) is about Jeonghan??? LUNA, BLINK TWICE IF IT IS.

dkbiggestfan I CAN’T EVEN DECIDE WHICH ONE I’M MORE EXCITED FOR. SUPERNATURAL??? POV??? SEOUL CITY??? 14 TRACKS ALL IN ALL?? I’M STRESSED IN A GOOD WAY.

jeonghansangel BAE JIYEON YOU’RE A MENACE. FIRST, YOU DROP THE TRACKLIST LIKE IT’S NOTHING, THEN YOU TELL US WE’RE GETTING 14 SONGS WHICH ARE POSSIBLY LOVE SONGS FOR JEONGHAN??? GIVE US A BREAK.

lunabae cuties. all of you. i love you guys <3 hope you’re ready for april 30th ;)

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)

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[slut4megantheestallion]

Coryxkenshin & Berleezy as your boyfriends Headcannons (separately)

⠀ ⌢ . ꒰ ⌢୨୧⌢ ꒱ . ⌢

Summary: coryxkenshin x reader, berleezy x reader, fluff, black!reader, relationship headcanons.

Coryxkenshin as your boyfriend

●The ultimate protector boyfriend. Cory takes his role as your man very seriously, always making sure you're safe, comfortable, and happy. If y'all walking outside at night? He's on high alert. If you're scared while watching a horror movie? His arm is already around you.

●He loves making you laugh. This man will do literally anything to hear you laugh - even if it means embarrassing himself, a corny joke,a goofy dance, or throwing out the most ridiculous jokes. If you're having a bad day? He's already pulling up with snacks and a skit- ready performance. "My love, my queen, my everything - why the long face? I'm here to vanquish all sadness!"

●Gaming nights are a must. Y'all will stay up late playing horror games together, both screaming at the screen when something pops out. If you get scared, he's laughing his ass off but also lowkey protective. "AYO, NAH! That thing was moving weird - babe, get behind me, we are fighting pixels tonight."

●He loves cuddling but won't admit it outright. If you sit next to him, he'll act like he doesn't care at first, but slowly, you'll notices his arm moving around you, his head resting against yours. If you call him out, he's all like, "Pfft, you wish I was cuddling you - pssh. Anyways, don't move. This is comfortable."

●The type to send you random texts like:

●"Babe, if we were in a horror movie, I'd definitely survive."

●"I just saw someone who kinds looks like you... but uglier. You still the finest, though."

●"You ate today? I swear if you say no..."

●Super respectful & a gentleman. He'll open doors for you, hype you up constantly, and make sure you always feel appreciated. If you're having a rough day, he's quick to remind you, "Ayo, don't even trip - do you know who you are? You're a whole legend. No one can match your energy."

●Loves watching anime with you. Expect long nights binge-watching classics, him dramatically narrating fight scenes, and yelling at the screen when a character makes a dumb decision. "SEE, THIS IS WHY HE GOT DROPPED! WHY WOULD YOU TURN YOUR BACK ON THE VILLIAN?!"

●If he ever pranks you, best believe you're getting revenge. He'll set up a jump scare prank, but when you flip the script on him, he's screaming louder than you did. "Nah, that wasn't funny - okay, it was, but still, we even now."

●Loves hyping you up in front of people. You could be chilling, and suddenly, he's telling the whole world about how amazing you are. "Y'all see this person right here? Absolute GOAT. Cutest human alive. Y'all not on their level."

Berleezy as Your boyfriend

●A literal walking meme. Being with Berleezy means you're laughing 24/7. He's constantly cracking jokes, roasting people, in the game y'all are playing, and making the most exaggerated facial expressions when something wild happens. "Babe, did you SEE that? Bro, that was demonic."

●Gaming is a whole event. Whether it's a horror game or co-op games, y'all are both screaming at the screen, clowning on NPCs, and Berleezy is always overanalyzing the weirdest details. "WHY is this dude's head built like a microwave, though?"

●He hypes you up like crazy. No matter what you do - outfit? Fire. Cooking? Chef's kiss. Even if you do something basic, he's acting like you, just an award. "Yo, my girl just put milk before the cereal... lowkey, that's different. That's innovation." (He's playing but also 100% in love with everything you do).

●Cuddling is a whole experience. This man will drag you onto the couch, wrap his arms around you, and trap you there. If you try to move? "Nah, where you going? I need my emotional support, baby"

●LOVES roasting you but in the most loving way. If you say something goofy, best believe he's clowning you- but if anyone else tries? Oh yeah, it's over for them. "Only I can roast my baby, y'all better recognize."

●Text messages from him be wild.

●Nah, babe, lowkey if we were ever in a horror movie, you'd definitely trip first. Love you, though."

●"Babe, answer me this - if peanut butter is called peanut butter, why ain't it peanut jam?"

●"You ate today? Don't lie, I'm already outside with food."

●Lowkey romantic but in a chill way. He's not over the top with grand gestures, but he always makes sure you know how much he loves you. He'll pull you in randomly and kiss your forehead, saying, "Damn, I really got lucky with you."'

●Movie nights are full of dramatic commentary. If y'all watch a horror movie, he's yelling at the characters, throwing out theories, and making you laugh even when the scene is serious. "SEE, THIS WHY THEY GETTING GOT! WHY GO IN THE BASEMENT?!:

●If he pranks you, best believe you're getting revenge on his ass. He'll scare you with some crazy ass pranks, but the second you get him back, he's like. "Nah, you petty for that." But you know he respects the hustle.

●If you're having a bad day, he's the first person to lift your spirits. He'll talk you through it, make you laugh, and if he needs it, just hold you until you feel better. "Ayo, whatever's messing with your mood? Forget that. You're that person, you hear me?'

●Lowkey is jealous, but in a funny way. If someone's flirting with you, he'll be in the background making faces and mocking them under hid breath. Later, he'll be like, "Babe, I ain't worried, but like.... if he tries again, we boxing."

[timeslipcamp]

thoughts on episode 17

i've got my coffee i'm at work i am LOCKED IN reading this. i am SO READY for this love island episode yall have no idea

liveblogging as i read it let's go!! 🌹

spoilers for episode 17

so last we left off, sinostra was declaring war on hyde for the maybe maybe not fake warding card, and romeo had just told us that we didn't hear anything before the screen faded to black. we're getting INTO IT now!!!

benkei dropping secrets immediately is so fucking funny. staff shortages and confused that elias is working. so he might not be a janitor, great! great!!

(also first thought about the anomaly involved is its gonna be a shapeshifter or doppelganger type deal, which would be SO funny. not only do we have to date these dudes but now we have to figure out which ones the real one. how funny would that BE)

the fox escaping???? oh my god so it IS smart!!

god if i don't finally get some more background info this chapter i'm gonna scream.

THE PRODUCERS PICKED THESE GHOULS???? okay that makes a little i guess, because no one in their right minds would have picked this group. i still cannot believe the fucking line up we have this is so funny. also the fact that they had to BRIBE THEM

also the way the chancellor said "can you imagine" when he was telling us how much information worldwide they could get? why haven't they already? why are you holding it over our heads? why do we have to prove ourselves to be saved? god i hate the institute.

love/hate relationship with whatever this implies. definitely doing a deep dive into that later unless someone beats me to it

this dude is killing me hahahaha LOVE these designs. i'm already having a fucking blast with this episode and i haven't even seen a single ghoul yet. this might be my new fav episode

the lil fireworks animation was actually so cute. my girl deserves an island vacation let her relax. also love the aphrodite shoutout, this game looooves their greek mythology huh

the bachelors being described as irresistible and the creme de la creme is sending me through the ROOF thinking about who the line up is. does this mean that these 6 are the hottest canonically? or just the hottest according to KP? i want jiro's reaction to being chosen SO BAD

THEY CHANGED HIS HAIR???????? oh im not surviving this chapter i cant read this at work

"No way I'm letting those other guys anywhere near her. I'm in this for real."

YEAH I BET YOU ARE RUI

jiro please 😭 "I'm a doctor by day, model by night," actually made me choke while leaving this voicemail im fucking dying I CANT DO THIS "she seemed fine" IM CRYING

HARU AS A SINGLE FATHER STOP HAHAHA

jin not saying anything and ren is such a DICK god this is the best episode i don't even care about the plot anymore this is the best episode ive ever read

BIG FAN OF ENEMIES TO LOVERS???? MC PLEASE HAHAHAHA

not the chancellor bribing them all to be here bro 😭 what did they bribe jin with 👀

ren with the ocean lovers name....a surfer....from shonan....its all coming together

dude who am i even kidding i'm gonna end up in love with rui. these antics on the show are so funny. i am OBSESSED with the interviews i think we need these on regular missions too. jiro continues to be the funniest ghoul at this school

also ed just like??? describing his current life as his ideal one?? "I suppose I'd want to build a small cottage in the woods and live there quietly with my spouse. It might be nice to have a big dog, too. A loyal and obedient one."

like ed that is quite literally where you are now

A WOMAN IN WHITE?? LA LLORONA??? oh PLEASE give me a good woman in white haunting those tales are ALWAYS heartbreaking. (for those unaware, a 'woman in white' legend are urban legends that pop up quite literally all over the world in a hundred different forms. typically they're a woman, either in a wedding dress, a white dress, or funeral dress. they're women who died of heartbreak, suicide, etc and come back because their pain keeps them here. a lot of ones involve a lover either leaving them or dying, killing their children, the themes go on, but the vibe that i'm getting based on the blood and the wedding dress from this one is that she found love on the island that turned out to be a lie and now only those who prove their love is true can leave)

it being the old producer is so fun i'm so locked in lets go

also love that ed called haru the tamer...an interesting moniker i like it

this is so interesting listening to this group talk. we've got what, four third years, a super intelligent second, and a first year? so it's a pretty seasoned group. kinda makes me think ren's gonna pull a cool move at the end and prove he can match with them. this is such a fun group i'm so excited

FINALLY a couple more bits of info about the clash!! jiro woke up right before, frostheim was sympathizers, obscuary was neutral, and mortkranken was dissidents. love jins silence after jiro mentioned yuri still hates frostheim. UGH i need the jinyuri backstory soooo bad im gonna lose my mind when it happens

haru fucking dodging around the screen is so funny. they really didnt have to have his sprite zip around from side to side but they DID and i LOVE IT paintball is so funny thank god taiga isnt here

HOW DARE YOU FUCKING INTERRUPT THAT PART

darkwick planting the kyklos??? or darkwick has a secret in on a liminal space??? HELLO ED WHERE ON EARTH oh im so mad we were interrupted

shoutout to whoever posted about kisaragi station last week that was a fun thing to notice right before this episode lol

i am actually suddenly very on board that jin is aware he is being used and that's part of why he hasn't done anything this year. that would also be a huge reason for tohma, a former vagastrom ghoul, to transfer and then start investigating. he can play the good sympathizer flipper and use his new connections to find out what darkwick is up to. did darkwick send the kyklos there? do they have a mole in kisaragi station? does haku's vaguely implied teleporting powers allow him to see into liminal spaces? ugh i need to know. cool that they're bringing up barrier stuff given that the kyklos transported us somewhere

okay what the fuck is the vessel shit. rui what do you mean this vessel isnt worth it. why does ed want you? what??? god these episode cuts are going to drive me INSANE. "saving my life force for you" ed please

ren expertly avoided being on the beach though lmao good for him

top ten moment with the crabs and dr jiro god i love him

THE BRACELET TO PROTECT HER FROM EVIL EXPLODING WHEN ED TOUCHES HER HAHAHAHA IM FUCKING LOSING IT

funniest panel yet this episode. ed in the cuck chair in hotel rooms confirmed

ooo ed lore! romania technically has a part that borders the sea, and that's where a lot of "classic" vampire tales stem from. would love if they really went the vlad the impaler route or something, but he lived in the 15th century, so slightly too long ago. or not! ed only said older than 400, so if he's off by 200 years 😂

i'm loving ren and jiro interacting dude. never in a million years would i have paired them together but now i need them hanging out 24/7

dude rui really doesn't think he's ever going to leave the school, does he? his talk with haru was brief and he didn't say much but it just felt kinda...defeated. i don't think he thinks he'll ever be cured. rui baby :(

rui listens to BALLADS he would oh my god emo boy. also jiro asking jin if he wants to play piano :((( jiro baby pleaseITS ZENJIS BIRTHDAY???? oh im gonna throw up whyyyy

its a woman scooooooorned WOMAN IN WHITE LEGEND LIVES thats fucked up though fuck that guy. you can do better maya

"rugged guys" ed is so funny dude i can't do this

dude why did they give everyone these glamor shots and then haru is over here sweating and fighting for his life--

nvm im into it

ANOTHER REN STIGMA MOMENT he can use it to boil water??? okay so we've got ink removal and boiling water....can he like alter liquids somehow? control them?

ED IS ALLERGIC TO GARLIC HAHAHAHA

wait why was rens confession so cute 😭 dude thats the first nice thing AW REN yes we can keep hanging out!!! ren stans stay winning this episode

these are all so sweet lmao i love this episode so much dude it's so good. "i guess it's over now" rui stop making me CRY! jin...i hate to say that worked. im so annoyed lmao

NOT JIN INTERRUPTING THE CHOICE HAHAHA thats soooo funny. he's so dramatic dude. he didnt want to hear who we were picking

YURI CALLING JIRO TO CHECK ON HIM and us THATS HIS MANS

ooooo okay having someone from the institute undercover on the island with us 👀 hate that actually. jin didn't seem too happy about that either. was he there to watch us or the anomaly? what did he hear?

BENKEI WAS THE OLD CLEMENTIA ADVISOR?????

oh my god okay let me get my thoughts in order

okay first of all, the protection charm from benkei and then he's from clementia is fascinating. makes sense why he and nicolas are friends now. nice that they were able to find him a job after but i STILL dont trust elias. at all lmao especially with what benny said earlier.

this anomaly got solved annoyingly quickly but i do love that jin let it drag out thats funny as hell. this was such a funny episode. got a few clash hints and a zenji mention and a small reveal at the end. lot super lore heavy but thats FINE i guess. mc still has two months, hopefully we make some headway with her next mission.

hotarubi and a festival! here we come!

[rayllurn]

"You ever think about moments in your life and wonder how things might be different if you had just changed one thing?" "Of course. Is there a specific moment you're thinking about?" "Uh, yeah. Yes. Yeah. I'm thinking a lot about the moment you came back after not seeing you for two years." "I kind of snuck up on you there. Sorry about that." "When I...when I...when I saw you standing there, I got flooded with so many feelings. I was so confused." "I know. I'm sorry." "No, no, no. No, no, no. That's not...don't be. Um...what if we try that moment again?

[forwards-beckon-rebound]

kiss and cry

summary | you’ve learnt to build your walls sky high in the wake of dick grayson’s abrupt departure from the world of skating. but one decade later, he’s back like nothing ever happened, and you’re back to square one. prompt | language of flowers event: a bouquet of purple hyacinths in blue wrapping paper with a pink ribbon ♡ pairing | dick grayson x gn!reader wc | 3.2k warnings/tags | pairs figure skating, childhood friends to strangers to ???, mutual pining, repressed feelings, angst, swearing, insecurity, no use of y/n, very liberal interpretation of how you’d qualify for the olympics ty @strangergraphics for the divider!

Brian Orser is a liar. 

“Oh c'mon kid, I had no idea. I thought this was a good kind of surprise! You might have a chance at the Olympics this time around!”

You should’ve known something was up when he asked you to stay after practice. The old man is annoyingly close to catching up with you, and if you weren’t wearing skate guards right now, you’d speed walk to the lockers faster. 

“Isn’t this good? You need a new partner, Dick finally decided to call me back, and anyways, I thought you l-”

You don’t need to hear the rest of his sentence to know what he’s about to say. “I didn’t. And I don’t anymore.” Neither of you seem convinced, but at least it gets him to shut up. 

What pains you the most is you can’t even be mad at the older man. You can’t cry, or scream, or throw a tantrum like you were 9 again, because at the end of the day, this is the coach you had begged to take you on. The one who has been behind so many legends and basically built your career up from the ground. Had this been any other situation, any other person, besides the Boy Wonder himself, you would probably be on the verge of much happier tears. But you know, just like last time, he won’t be here to stay. And you don’t know how much more heartbreak you can take.

Before you get the chance to talk him out of it, a pair of footsteps joins you. Speak of the fucking devil.

It’s like they had planned some flanked attack, with Brian herding you towards the front of the building and Dick stepping in to cut you off as you’re about to make your grand escape. No idea, your ass. Brian knew you wouldn’t be able to say no if they had you cornered like this.

“Dick!” he exclaims, pushing past you to wrap the black-haired man in bear hug. Normally, you think you’d be hurt by how his face is practically illuminating (he had never greeted you like that before). But you have your own worries to deal with: namely, a heart that is currently trying to claw its way out of your throat and lungs that have forgotten how to inhale air. You think Brian might still be speaking, but if he is, you’ve tossed that all to the side in lieu of studying the man in front of you.

You make it a point not to meet his gaze, even as you feel him trying to meet yours. Perhaps it’s pride, perhaps it’s fear, but either way, you know as soon as you look at him, properly look at him, any objectivity will fly out the door.

So you settle for the obvious things. He’s taller, and his face is sharper, no longer rounded by baby fat. Even the spiky haircut you used to tease him for is grown out now. He looks good—but nothing like the boy you have enshrined in your memories. This isn’t the boy who would stay behind to help you practice your jumps. This isn’t the boy who would pack an extra lunch for you in case you forgot yours. This isn’t the boy you cried yourself to sleep over for months, the boy who almost made you quit the one thing you loved most in the world because the thought of skating alone made you want to hurl.

This? Him? It’s just a bitter reminder that figure skating wasn’t the only thing he left behind all those years ago. 

You think you hear the two of them discuss the technical details. Practice schedules, song choices, choreography—it all goes in one ear and out the other. It’s a conversation you have with the older man at the start of every season. An annual promise that that year would be the year you finally earn the recognition you had worked so hard for. 

Technically, everything had been perfect. Technically, you were good. Enough to consistently land a spot at the Grand Prix Final.

But not good enough for a medal. It was never enough. No matter how much training you did, how many extra jumps you crammed into your programs, how many partners you had cycled through. There was no use in denying it: after Dick had left, you hadn’t been the same skater.

It’s pathetic. Your crush had not only abandoned you at 14, but any hopes of even making it to the podium had been crushed then as well. And you hate that 10 years later, you still haven’t moved on. Not enough to say no to his offer. Because like it or not, chemistry is everything in pairs, and there’s nobody like him. There is nobody like Dick Grayson.

It’s silent now. They’re waiting for you. 

You finally look up to meet his gaze. “Okay, I’ll do it.” 

—

It’s too easy to fall back into step with Dick. He always greets you with a smile, brings you snacks before practice (homemade ones at that), and carries your bag to your car for you, even though you insist that you’re more than capable of doing it yourself. He’s certainly trying, but the more effort he puts in, the more you can’t help but resent him. 

His kindness is all just a means to an end for him. He’s buttering you up so your movements are less goddamn stiff when you’re next to him, so you at least vaguely resemble an evenly matched pair. You know from Brian that he’s only coming back because of a stupid bet he made with his brother. He’s just here to prove he can make it to the Olympics. Your childhood dream, what you’ve decided would be the sign that you’ve made it—to him, it’s just another achievement he can use to inflate his ego. The worst part about it is he’s good enough that he could genuinely make it happen that effortlessly. And once he’s satisfied with that, he’ll waltz out of your life just as quickly as he came in. 

So when he offers you a hand as you step out of the rink, when he happens to have an extra energy drink, when he suggests a “team bonding” dinner, you don’t accept. You’ll let yourself entertain him on the ice for the sake of the skate. But nothing more. 

At the very least, you can admit that your performance aspect has definitely improved since skating alongside Dick. You breeze through Eastern Regionals, then Skate Canada, then Skate America, and in no time at all, you’re at the Grand Prix Final: the one barrier you’ve always hit. 

The short goes even better than you imagined it would. Too good. You’ve seen the posts that the fans have made about the two of you, digging up old skating clips to support their theories about the two of you. There’s a poorly worded interview by Brian that does nothing but fuel the flames, and even some of the commentators have been talking about how good the two of you look together. All signs seem to be telling you that you have nothing to worry about; the two of you are perfect. They don’t understand that that’s exactly what you’re worried about. 

You don’t catch yourself until it’s too late. You’re slowly getting consumed by him—by his soft smiles and whispers of encouragement and stupid, stupid puns. You’re back where you started, feeling weightless as the two of you skate your free program, actually losing yourself to the music. There’s nothing to prove anymore; this isn’t a performance—this is just how it’s always meant to be. It should feel right. But it doesn’t, because you’re terrified that if you let yourself get comfortable in his embrace, you won’t be able to skate like this ever again.

You pop the triple Lutz. Then you go into an Euler and a double toe loop that’s under-rotated too. You don’t understand, your jumps have always been pristine, especially your doubles. You haven’t made a sloppy mistake like this in a while. The last time was when–

Shit, you’re too early into the step sequence, the turn too sharp at the corner. You meet his gaze repentantly, like that will absolve you of your guilt. You don’t know what emotion you’re expecting to find in eyes. Maybe anger? Frustration? That’s certainly how you feel at the moment. Whatever it is, it’s certainly not adoration. 

You want to ask him what the hell is going on, but there’s no time. Last move. Death spiral. You have to hold hands, and the contact makes your skin burn. You don’t have the heart to look at him again. You’re afraid of what you’re going to find.

Suddenly everything feels too tight: the rink, your chest, the skates around your feet. You have to get out of there. One revolution, two, three, four. You can hold on, it’s almost over. Another four. He pulls you back towards him. It’s your final pose. The two of you are chest to chest. 

You just have to hold this for a second, and then you’re free. You can do it. You can do it. And then he’s leaning in even closer, until his forehead is pressed against yours and your lips hovering over each other. 

You can’t do it anymore and all you can think about is how to get out of there. You don’t even bother to wait for your score; you’ll deal with Brian’s scolding later. But you know if you stay out there any longer, you won’t be able to scrape together what little sanity you still have left. 

You’re leaving. You have to leave.

And as you run back to the lockers, you realize somebody’s been calling out your name.

“Hey, wait! Is everything okay?” Of course, the one person you don’t want to see would follow you. “Why did you leave like that? Did I do something wrong?” His hand hovers over your arm for a moment before he pulls it away and you don’t know whether you should laugh or cry. He used to do it with practiced ease back when you were kids, when you would joke that he had cooties but let him do so all the same. Now, you’re not sure if you can stand his touch, and from the look on his face, it seems to break his heart.

”Nothing, let’s just forget about this.” You feel like you’re being strangled and it takes all of your energy not to burst into tears at the moment. 

”No,” he says softly. “No, I know you, I know you’re not okay. Please, let’s talk about this.” 

And suddenly, everything’s just too much. He’s acting too nice to you, like he actually cares. Like maybe the fervent glances and lingering touches on the ice mean more to him than just pandering to the judges. But you know he doesn’t, because then he wouldn’t have left.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “No, you don’t know a single thing about me. So don’t act like you care about me now.”

”I do though!” 

“Bullshit. We’re not anything to each other.” 

His face crumples immediately. He takes a step back. This is the closest he’s ever been to tears.

On a kinder day, you’d take it all back. You’d apologize and beg for his forgiveness and he would be disgustingly kind like he always is and you could both forget about this. But you’re tired of dancing around the issue and you think there’s a sick part of you that revels in his pained expression. 

You take a step forward. “You’re just a coworker. This? This act where we pretend like we can stand to be in the same room as each other? This isn’t real. So stop acting like it is. You didn’t care about me when you left. So why the change now? Do you know how fucking hard it was for me to move on? I couldn’t even skate afterwards. I thought my career was over. And I’ve had to fight every single day to prove that—that I’m still a capable skater, that I have a place in this sport.” 

Your voice trembles, and it takes all of your strength to swallow the lump in your throat. “I had to fight to be able to skate without you. To have the courage to stand on the ice alone. So I’m sorry that I’m not willing to welcome you back with open arms, because I know this is just some stupid game to you. You’ll get to the Olympics, because of course you will, and I’ll get to ride on the coattails of that. And that will be the greatest moment of my career, but to you, it’s just another thing on your checklist. Then you’ll go back to whatever you decided is more worthy than m–” You choke on your own words. “Than skating. And I’ll have to pick up the broken pieces again. But frankly speaking, I don’t know if I can do that a second time.”

It’s dead silent, save for your panting. You feel like you just ran a marathon. And Dick? You can’t read him, and that’s what scares you the most.

”Forget it.” The silence is driving you insane, and you just start running your mouth. “Fuck, forget it. I should just be grateful you’re even my partner this season. It’s the only way I’ll make it to the Olympics. I know you’re thinking it, you and Brian—”

“Don’t say that.”

“—that’s why you left, isn’t it? Didn’t want to be tied down to a pathetic fucking loser.”

“I never said th—”

”I can’t blame you. I’d leave me too—“

“I DIDN’T LEAVE YOU!” 

Now you’re both silent. You’ve never heard him raise before. You’ve never seen him this desperate either. He’s shaking as he stands in front of you. “You’re right, I didn’t care about skating. It was always just a hobby to me. But I stayed because of you. Because I was young and stupid and in love and the only way I knew how to show you that was to skate with you. And it killed me when I had to quit, but I just…I saw how much passion you had for skating. Like it was the air you needed to breathe, but I knew I couldn’t dedicate myself to the sport like you could.. And you deserved a partner who would love skating as much as you do.”

You think your brain short circuits after “in love,” and if he says anything else after that, you certainly aren’t processing it. “…You loved me?”

Dick laughs like you’ve just asked if water is a liquid. ”Of course I did. Everybody knew it too. Brian used to tease me about the way I would look at you. And I figured I would finally tell you after I quit, in case it would make things awkward, but then…”

“I blocked you.” You whisper in horror. 

“Yeah, so I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me after that. I didn’t realize quitting meant I would lose you too.” 

And suddenly you’re 14 again, watching the boy you’ve had a crush on for over half of your life tell you that he doesn’t want to skate anymore, and you feel so small and so stupid. “Oh god. So all of those years…”

He nods, “I lied about the Olympics thing. Or well, I really did have a bet with Jason, but when Brian told me that you needed a new partner…I came back hoping it would be a chance to make it up to you.”

You’re still having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that maybe Dick had genuinely been trying to make amends with you. “So you being nice wasn’t just for show or team-building or whatever?”

“Team-building? God, I don’t think there’s a world where I can love you in any other way.”

The first realization that he had loved you in the past had been enough to nearly give you a heart attack. But to hear love? In the present tense? You think back to how he’s been acting for the past few months. All of the weird incidents that you can’t just explain away by saying that he’s making fun of you or being civil to you as a teammate or just being nice because that’s how he is. 

Because there’s no other explanation for why he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, why he lifts you with a reverence that could rival the likes of Keats and Byron, why he lingers on the ice after every practice, like he’s chasing the last vestiges of your warmth. 

And you have so many words dancing on the tip of your tongue, ways in which you can lay down your heart for him as he has done for you. But both of you know that even this stolen moment is just that: stolen time.

”Shall we go back?” He offers you his hand evenly, but there’s a tremble in his voice that gives him away. Like he’s worried that even after all of this, there was a universe in which you still don’t reciprocate his feelings. 

Your heart is screaming at you to assure him, promise that yes of course, you would accept him. But the words evaporate from your mind before you have a chance to grasp onto them. So you hope that at the very least, your actions can convey a fraction of your feelings. Hand in hand, you make your way back to the rink. No matter what the result is, you think it’ll be alright if you have Dick’s shoulder to cry on after this is all over. 

—

“And with a free score of 129.44 and a final score of 205.57, that puts America’s own duo from Gotham at third place in the Grand Prix Final!” 

Third, the word echoes in your head, taking you a few moments to process. Third, and there were no other American teams on the podium. Sure, it isn’t exactly the most fairytale ending, but it’s better this way—more real. You turn to look at Dick, who you’re sure has the exact same look of astonishment that you do. You remember Brian doing the math before you guys had even made it to the venue. Based on this event and the rest of your results this season, it was clear that the two of you were the uncontested pair in the whole country. 

“You’re going to the Olympics!” Brian whoops, hugging the both of you and jumping for joy in a way you think only he can get away with. You’re grinning so hard your muscles are starting to twitch but honestly you could care less about that. All of the training, all of the sleepless nights had finally paid off, and you felt like you had really, truly made it. And the fact that you did it with Dick makes it all the sweeter to you. 

You got a medal, a boyfriend, and that day, the kiss and cry finally lived up to its name.

more dick skating hcs | event m.list | main m.list | navi

[chaeul]

Spoilers for the TBNW boxset - be warned/welcome ♥

Hooh boy, strap in guys! Watch me fall apart as I gently take apart and violently scream about the extended tbnw ep10 nc scene (be prepared for lots of parentheses because I have a lot to say and a very hard time putting my thoughts in a sensible order ✌🏼)

“Sex scenes are unnecessary and don’t add anything to the plot, they’re just porn and don’t have any artistic value”- PLEASE, have you seen the way Boss and Noeul do nc scenes??? I have been rewatching and losing my shit for hours, screaming at the partner in crime because these two make me feel so unwell.

Okay, first of all - This is everything to me.

Phu looking down as Cir tilts his head back even more (a beautiful look on Boss, if I may add). 

I mean, FUCK, the boy has had to guard himself behind an icy cold wall his whole life; can you imagine how freeing it must be to feel so safe he dares to lay himself totally bare? Letting himself be vulnerable, baring his neck and making himself small, kneeling by the feet of his savior (because let’s be real, that’s who Phu is to him), looking up at his everything with pure devotion like he’s worshipping him (because he is 😭).

It’s just a short shared gaze but it’s so meaningful *whines and grabs my emotional support patch of grass*

Listen, I love sex, I really do, and there’s no shame in it. But this is what really gives me a boner: the emotional desire, the intensity. The feelings and intentions are so important. And Boss and Noeul are absolute Kings at it (I can practically hear the partner in crime echoing “Emperors, kings, gods, legends!”)

Every time I rewatch this scene I have to pause here to catch my breath because I get so overwhelmed that my heart feels like it’s gonna leap out of my chest. I’m really giving it my best here, but I feel like no matter what I say, I can’t properly convey with words how this shared gaze makes me feel.

Phew, let’s take a lil breather together, shall we? In- - - and Out - - -

Which brings me to my next point: Moaning.

And not just Phu’s alluring siren call of a moan (we can all hear him loud and clear, thanks and blessings to Mame for finally allowing Noeul to let it all out after holding him back during lita filming), no I’m mainly talking about Cir!

Phu pulls a lot of the attention due to the volume and disinhibition in his voice but if you listen closely, Cir is right there with him with a velvety warm hum, a few groans, sometimes even just an audible breath. He’s way softer but it is audible how much he’s enjoying this; from their simultaneous penetration moans all the way to the grand finale and their shuddering breaths (okay, mostly Phu’s, thank you once again Noeul) as they ride out the high with clasped hands.

Another thing that didn’t go unnoticed was the multiple instances where Phu moans and Cir joins in, just slightly delayed. 

As if he’s groaning in reply.

As if Phu’s sighs drive him to exclaim as well, unable to stop himself.

Because hearing how good he’s making Phu feel is Cir’s ultimate pleasure (Cir’s auralism confirmed once again, if anyone’s still not convinced, heh). 

Gosh, this puppydog of a man lives and loves to serve Phu, in the streets and in the sheets!

And then there’s the hand on Phu’s neck

Yes, choking kink ✅ We all love it! (Although it looks to me like he’s merely cradling Phu's neck- but the image is beautiful, we are truly blessed.) 

Yes, Phu’s adam’s apple seems to be a very sensitive spot and Cir knows and loves it.

But what if it wasn’t (just) that? And here’s where I bring it right back to moans and by extension (some might say a long stretch) Cir’s auralism.

(Well, given that Cir currently has dick so far down his own throat that he could nuzzle Phu’s lower abs with his nose) one might argue Cir settles for Phu’s neck, his fingers not quite reaching far enough, unable to slide past Phu’s lips (the endgame once again being loud and clear moans; Phu sucking on them like a man parched is but the icing on the cake), but!-

His throat is where Phu produces those addictive moans that Cir just can’t get enough of. Maybe that’s why he constantly kisses, bites, licks, and in this case places his palm against it- so that in addition to hearing Phu’s moans he can feel them vibrating against his skin. 

Auralism plus, I think I might call it? idk

There’s so much more but my brain is mush by now so, uhm, where was I? 

Ah, yes! The beauty of Boss and Noeul’s nc scenes!

Listennnn these two are so hard working, emotionally intelligent and in sync with their characters and each other, especially in nc scenes - where are the awards for these two???

Nobody can tell me ever again that scenes like these can’t hold merit or artistic value.

Fuck that!

Yes, some works may have the audacity to call dry humping with no emotional depth a love scene. But then there’s Boss and Noeul, telling their story by acting out the most delicate details with almost atom level precision and some people call it porn (derogatory) ?🤯

Like so many things in life, sex has the potential to be beautiful and joyful and fucking hell, I see the beauty in this and I enjoy the fuck outta this. Art is supposed to make you feel things, right?

This makes me feel things! Many! (And yes, being horny is among those feelings and that is okay)

Anyway, love is beautiful and deserves to be portrayed in all its depth and variety, Happy Pride!!! 🌈

[loser-mobile]

Future Lover - Chapter 3 - Jason Todd x Reader

Synopsis: Trying to make it in Gotham, you are dragged clawing and screaming into a time travel mess with a man who claims to be your future husband.

Author’s Note: Holy fucking shit you guys I cannot express how elated I am at the engagement from my last two posts. I have been thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking about how to beat my last chapter and make the next one something special, and I just spent the last 2-3 hours polishing this off. For reference, it is currently 3am where I am. I am one silly noodle.

I think now is officially the time for me to state MDNI. 18+, not just for this chapter, but more broadly for this fic because I am planning on having more explicit content in future.

Content: Mild mention of injuries, and SA implied.

Word Count: 4.2k (Somehow??)

The small backseat of the batmobile was cool. The dark gray seats felt like cold slate, and you awkwardly sat on your hands in an effort to warm them up. You peer out the dark tinted glass as the city passes you by. 

Your eyes dart forward, and timidly meet the eyes of Batman. The white lenses of his cowl are inscrutable. They look like they could be looking at you, and the road ahead, at the same time. All-knowing, the eyes of Batman. 

“Hey.”

You turn your head to the right. Sitting beside you in the backseat is Red Hood, well- the old, no, future Red Hood? Who exactly is this guy? He smiles at you warmly, red muzzle still pulled down to hang around his neck, domino mask still pressed firmly on his face. White lenses meet your gaze, and you stare at each other. 

He whispers again, in a hushed tone.

“He’s really not that bad, y’know. I know he looks scary, but he’s a big softie.”

You blink. “Who? Oh, yeah, Batman. Right.”

You chuckle breathily. 

He smiles back, a little awkward. But there's something else there too. He smiles at you like he expects you to know him. Like he can’t believe you don’t. 

You look away, a little flustered. What the fuck is his deal?

After the fight had concluded, you had watched as Batman made a series of executive decisions. It was awe-inspiring, simply watching the half-man half-legend expertly delegate tasks in his team. Red-Robin is injured, and can’t get back on his own. Spoiler voiced her prognosis, then agreed to meet back at the Cave. They help Red-Robin into the front passenger’s seat, the seat in front of you. 

Then they turned to you. The loose end, the civilian. Before they could say anything, Future Hood had stepped in front of you and insisted, insisted, that you come along. So, here you were. In the Batmobile. After getting caught up in a fight that nearly killed you. What a time to be alive.

You can see through the gaps in the seat, and hear the costumed vigilante groan and grunt in pain as he clutches his side. He thankfully received basic medical attention. You feel as if you should suggest going to a hospital, but you know better. Hell, they probably have one back at the… wherever you’re going. Cave? Okay.

Nightwing and Robin were charged with tracking the two attackers. Ophelia and Max… no… Ophelia and Fred.. Oh whatever, it doesn’t matter. 

Red Hood, that is to say, current Red Hood took his motorcycle, scowling the whole time at his counterpart, who regarded him with almost bemused apathy. Fuckin’ freak, he had said, under his breath to the older Hood, shaking his head. It was obvious that he wasn’t convinced of the Future Red Hood’s story, or whoever he claimed to be. Matter of fact, you weren’t entirely convinced either. There’s plenty of weirdos in Gotham. That’s why it’s so cheap to live here. 

It was disconcerting, being called someone’s wife, especially by a man that had at least 20 years on you. Especially since his current self was someone who, up until this point, had been more of a title than a real person. The Red Hood, the Child of Crime Alley. One of Batman’s army, a formidable adversary. Oh, and just by the way, your future husband! Your mind pictures a Married At First Sight style wedding, with you walking down the aisle in a beautiful white dress, and him at the end in a tux, still wearing that iconic red helmet. You snort softly. Yeah, right.

Future Red Hood shifts beside you, and you sense him looking at you. You shoot a glance over at him, wide-eyed, and catch a knowing smirk on his face, before turning to face the window again. The less yearning eye-contact, the better. Also I should stop binge-watching MAFS.

The batmobile pulls down a hidden tunnel, and out again into an area thickly shrouded with trees. You hear the dirt path under the tires of the sportscar as it peels around another corner and into another long tunnel, this one lined with cool-white lights. The engine whirs as the car glides down the ramp and into the alcove of a large cave. This must be it. 

Batman parks the engine and other vigilants are quick to arrive to aid Red Robin. He’s aided by Signal and Spoiler, as they guide him towards a chair, where an older man with a long face quickly attends to him. 

Future Red Hood hops out of the car, then reaches out his hand to help you out as well, a charming smile plastered on his rugged face. You pause, then decide to just ignore him and lift yourself out of the lowrider alone.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you can’t keep me in the doghouse forever!” He quips, amused. 

The hulking man stands before you, arms crossed now in a relaxed posture.

You gaze back up at him, wide-eyed and aloof. Taking him in again, you notice that if you stand too close to him, you are forced to crane your neck up to meet his gaze. Just who the hell does this guy think he is?!  Your jaw tightens defiantly, and you squint your eyes. 

“You-”

“Jason?” 

Your attention is pulled to your side, to see Signal approach the two of you. The bright yellow and black of his suit cuts through the sleek black surroundings of the cave.

“Jason, what the hell happened to you? You look like shit, man” Signal chuckles, dryly. His gaze shifts to face you. 

“And who’s this?”

Before either of you can respond, the rumble of Red Hood’s motorcycle cuts you off. He pulls up beside the Batmobile. Signal does a double take.

Batman approaches behind the three of you. His deep growl responds.

“Signal, we need to conduct a DNA test. Draw blood from the two Red Hoods and begin a profile match. We need to be sure.” 

Red Hood dismounts from his back and stomps past us. Under the mask, it’s impossible to tell, but deep in your gut you know he’s scowling. The Red Hood beside you chuckles.

“Always so broody.”

Signal huffs out a laugh. “Right?”

He turns to face Future Red Hood, and his smile falters as he receives the older man’s glare.

“My bad.”

-

You are later invited to take refuge on the dark gray modular couch in the Batcave, by the butler, who introduces himself as Alfred. As he gently tends to your scraped hands and knees, you glance around the large room. The sprawling computer, with its multiple monitors, towers over you as you sit, letting the older gentleman clean and dress your wounds. You would feel intimidated, if you weren’t so damn impressed with the whole operation.

Red Robin lays on the medical bed, getting some much-needed rest it seems. Spoiler leans on the side, her golden hair spilling out from under the hood of her purple cloak. Over by the computer, Batman, Signal and Red Hood speak in hushed voices, casting glances every so often towards you, or the older Red Hood, who seems undeterred by the suspicious attitudes, choosing instead to meander around the cave, looking like a mildly entertained museum-goer, and not like someone who is in the fucking Batcave. 

“Ma’am?”

You head snaps to the side.

“Huh?”

“I said, shall I prepare some tea, ma’am?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, Alfred.”

“Very good.” He nods sagely, then quietly walks off to disappear into an adjacent room. Christ, how big is this place?

You chew on your lip a moment, then decide to just go for it. Gingerly standing up, you slowly walk over to the older Red Hood, wrapping your hands around your arms to feebly self-soothe. You walk to stand beside him, as he observes at a ginormous green t-rex statue, arms crossed.

You don’t speak for a moment. You're not quite sure what to say. But you clear your throat.

“Hey.”

“Hey. All patched up?” He asks, softly.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Alfred, the butler. Although he seems to be much more than a butler, in terms of responsibilities.”

“He is.” Is the simple response you’re given by the older Red Hood. You turn to face him. He looks somber.

“So.. future husband, huh?”

“...Yeah. I know it sounds insane.” He sheepishly confesses, turning his head to finally face you.

You huff, dismissively. I mean it is, obviously, insane. He’s an insane person. But the DNA test will soon confirm that. May as well see why he’s so obsessed with you in the meantime. You decide to play along; be affable. 

“I live in Gotham. Nothing’s off the table here.”

He chuckles at that. Good. Good?

“You don't believe me, do you?”

“No, I- I never said that.” You rebut, a little frustrated now.

“You didn’t have to. I can read you.” He states, like it's a fact.

“Oh, yeah, cause you know me so well.” You scoff, dismissively. 

“I do. We’ve been married nearly 20 years now.”

That shuts you up quickly.

“I know everything about you.” He murmurs, looming a bit closer. When did he move closer? It doesn’t matter, the only thing you can look at are his eyes.

“DNA doesn’t lie. You should come clean now, while you still can.”

“I’ll prove it. You’re 22 at present, so right now, you’re living with..” He takes a beat, turns his head to the side and closes his eyes briefly, seemingly conjuring up a memory. “Alice, Harrison, Mike and Sarah.”

“Tch. Any creep with Facebook would know that.” You cross your arms and arch yourself up to him, puffing your chest out defiantly. This guy has done his research.

“Harrison recently hooked up with a guy who turned out to have a wife, and Alice broke your favourite bowl a few months ago.”

That one gets you. Your eyes widen for just a moment. You take a step back. That’s too eerie to be from Facebook.

“Stalker.”

“No. Your husband.”

You practically hiss back. “Get a grip.”

“Your favourite band is-” 

Signal’s voice rings out and interrupts him. “We have the results!” 

You quickly walk towards where he stands, with Batman and the other Red Hood. Older Red Hood trails behind, hands in the pockets of his worn cargo pants.

Signal and Batman part to reveal the screen, showing the results of a positive match. You turn, facing both Red Hoods, who now seem to be in some sort of glare-off. 

“It’s a match.” You state, a bit in shock.

“Whatta surprise. Told ya so.” Older Red Hood replies, eyes not leaving his younger counterpart.

“How did you get here?” Batman booms to your left.

“I already told you. I followed Ophidia and Felix through, after my daughter was taken. Our daughter.” He says the last bit to you, pointedly. 

“This doesn’t prove anything! You could still be lying about us being married!” You protest back.

“She’s right. I don’t know her from Adam, and you’re telling me we’re gonna get married?” Younger Red Hood pipes up, voice slightly muffled under the muzzle still. “I’ve never met this woman before in my life. This isn’t Married At First Sight!” 

HolyshitheknowsMAFS. Your heart lurches for a moment at the mention of your current viewing obsession, before your brain brings you back down to Earth. The two Red Hoods continue bickering, each one getting louder and louder, before Batman interrupts.

“Enough!”

They both fall silent. It’s almost comical how close in age Batman and the Red Hood from the future seem to be, and yet he falls in line almost quicker and more obediently than current-day Red Hood. There’s a reverence, a gleamingly proud respect that your so-called future husband has for the caped crusader. It’s almost like he’s honoured to be in the presence of Batman at all.

“The argument can wait. We have two new super-powered threats loose on the streets of Gotham and people are in danger. We need to focus.”

“Three.”

“What?”

“There’s three. Ophidia and Felix. He’s otherwise known as Bullseye. You met them both today. But their leader, Sergio. He’s the real threat. And he has Iris. Our girl. She’s only fifteen.”

You stare at him, this time without malice or suspicion. Despite everything he might be lying about, you can see the very real fear for his daughter’s safety. 

Then, there’s the name. 

Iris

“Iris.” you murmur, quietly, to yourself.

“What’s their angle?” Current-day Red Hood pipes up, interrupting your internal spiral.

The older Red Hood responds. “They want me to suffer. They’ll do that by hurting everyone I love. And Sergio… Sergio.. plans to hurt her. Our Iris. Says he wants her to… start over with. Make a family.”

You can’t hold back the gasp that slips from your throat, as your eyes widen in horror. Despite yourself, your heart sinks to your feet. 

Beside you, Signal bristles, while Batman remains as stoic as a statue. But you watch as the two Red Hoods have virtually the same reaction. Jaws tightening, fists clenching, shoulders tense. Despite having delivered the news himself, the older Red Hood seems to have no easier time containing his reaction to the disturbing revelation, as if he had been trying to put it out of his mind for a while now.

“I have some leads.” He announces.

You step aside to allow him to access the computer keypad, as he marks down several locations on the giant map of Gotham. Nightwing and Robin's trackers are shown to be somewhere near the Cave, seemingly retreating after losing the scent of Bullseye and Ophidia. 

The older Red Hood begins to explain as he clacks away at the keyboard. “Sergio Sharp. He and I have history. I disrupted his father’s plans to create a machine that could essentially bend space and time. The project was being funded by Lex Luthor, and it was for a client of his that was… well, he wasn’t a saint, alright? But they were getting real close in their research, and I was only going in there to convince him to stop and put an end to the research, but…”

He takes a beat, and straightens up.

“Sergio’s father ended up being killed. It was… unintentional.” 

We all look at the older Red Hood as he provides us with some much-needed context. His shoulders slouch as he recalls the events that led to his daughter’s capture, and you can clearly see his remorse over Dr. Sharp’s death. It’s quiet for a moment.

But the younger Red Hood speaks up. “Well I’ve never heard of these guys. The Sharps, you said? When did you say you first met them?”

His older counterpart replies. “I didn’t. Dr. Sharp died in November of 2025.”

“That’s only a few months from now.” Signal remarks.

“Exactly. Sergio is likely trying to track his father down right now to give him the completed research and save his life. We do have an advantage, though. Sergio, his father, and their team were kept in a secure location during the course of their research. Secure, and unknown, even to them.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Red Robin pipes up from a few feet away, voice slightly weary from his injury.

“They slept, ate and worked in the same place for years. They weren’t allowed to leave, and when they did, they were drugged. LexCorp did it for “security” reasons, but we all know it was to avoid loose ends. Sergio doesn’t know where the hell he or his father are at this time. But I do.”

“So, let’s go there!” Young Red Hood exclaims.

“We can’t” Batman shuts him down quickly. “We need to regroup. Breaking into a LexCorp facility is a risky process, and we don’t even know if the older Sergio is there yet.”

“He’s right” The older Red Hood nods his head. “Besides, our main priority right now should be getting Iris.”

You feel that familiar maternal instinct swell up inside your chest. From your years working as a social worker, you’d learnt to balance that instinct with practical solutions and a healthy dose of boundaries, but this time it felt… different. Unshakeable.

You sigh. “Where do you think he’s taken her?”

Both of the Red Hoods look at you, but the older Red Hood meets your concerned gaze. “I have a few ideas, but we’re gonna need to do some digging. Cards on the table, this guy has the upperhand on me in many ways. He’s been obsessed with me for nearly twenty years, and I- I haven’t thought about him in a long time.”

“So, you’re saying we need to do some detective work. The family of detectives need to do some detecting” Signal’s voice chirps over from where she sits and listens with Red Robin.

“Tch. Yup.” Comes his response. “Think you can handle it?”

“Let's get to work.” Batman concludes.

“Just one more thing.” The voice comes from behind you. Nightwing. And, in tow, a scowling Robin. You hadn’t noticed them come in.

“What about her?” Nightwing points to you, smirking softly.

“What about her?” The older Red Hood quips back, defensively.

“Well, what does she get to know, B? And do we really believe she’s Hood’s future wife?”

“Not future. Very much current.” The older Red Hood pulls out a chain from under his outfit, and dangles it above his chest. On it is a simple silver wedding band. Smart. Avoiding degloving. 

“You know what I mean, man.” Comes the retort from the black-and-blue vigilante.

Alright, that's enough. 

“Do I get a say in this? Like, at all?” You pipe up, a little ticked off.

A somewhat tired sigh comes from Batman, as he considers all that they’ve just learned.

“Well, thats up to you.” He states, plainly. 

You shift your gaze from him, to Signal, and then finally back to the two Red Hoods, who now stand slightly adjacent to each other. You make eye contact with the older Red Hood.

“You said her name was Iris, right? Our- your daughter.”

He nods once.

You take a pause, and breathe in deeply.

“Th-”

The older Red Hood interrupts you. 

“That was your best friend’s name. From when you were little.”

You stare up at him, wide eyed. 

“She died when you were 9. Before she did, she gave you a locket, with a butterfly engraved inside. You used to say you were the butterfly girls.”

Your mouth parts slowly, and you feel like you can barely breathe, though your heart is pounding against your ribcage, like a rabbit in a cage.

“And you made a promise, when she died, that you'd name your daughter after her.”

Holy shit. He wasn’t lying. 

“And you loved her. Loved her dearly. But after she passed, you couldn’t speak about her anymore.” He concludes.

Tears well up in your eyes, and you feel your face scrunch in emotion that you can’t control. “I.. I haven’t told anyone that. Any of that.. I never- I couldn’t. Hurt too much.”

Hot tears spill down from your eyes and your hands rush up to cover your face, but he’s curled his arms around you in an instant. The faint smell of sweat and smoke, and the feeling of his leather jacket envelope you as you shudder into him, letting the sobs come out. After a long day of nothing but fear, confusion and frustration, it’s all too much.

“So it’s true.” You hear from behind him, the familiar voice of Signal.

No response is heard, but the room seems to concur. That this Red Hood, the one holding you right now as you cry, has been telling the truth. He’s from the future, he’s the same man as the current Red Hood, and eventually, the two of you will, inexplicably, be married.

You sniffle. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” You blubber, composing yourself as you peel away from the Future Red Hood’s arms. “I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“Don’t apologise. Never apologise.” The tall man responds, seemingly reluctant to let go of you as you break from his arms.

From your right, Signal holds out a box of batman-branded tissues for you to use, and you chuckle softly and take one, thanking him. He smiles warmly.

Steadying yourself with a deep breath, and composing yourself as much as one can after breaking down in front of the Batfamily, you turn to face Batman, and nod.

“I think he’s telling the truth. Iris is someone very few people know about. And he knows details about her I’ve never told anyone. Ever.” You confirm, voice slightly wobbly still.

Batman meets your gaze, and is silent for a moment, before nodding. “Very well.”

Then, without hesitation, pulls off the cowl to reveal..

Bruce Wayne.

He smiles at you, and nods slightly.

Your eyes practically bulge out of your head. But before you can say anything, Signal removes his helmet, and sticks out his hand.

“Duke Thomas. Ward of Bruce Wayne.”

You mechanically meet his hand with yours, still glancing from him to Mr. Wayne in shock.

From behind you, Nightwing clears his throat and removes his white-lensed domino mask, revealing the iconic blue eyes of Dick Grayson. One of Gotham’s heartthrobs, and adoptive son of Mr. Wayne. Beside him, Robin groans. 

“Yes, yes, you’re all very impressive. Perhaps we can do our introductions to this complete stranger later?" The short teenager huffs, practically stomping away. You bite back a grin, and share a mirthful look with Duke.

“He’s always like this, don’t worry.” Duke whispers to you.

“I heard that!” Comes the biting, yet admittedly high-pitched response from the little Robin.

Turning from Duke as he rolls his eyes, you face the two Red Hoods. One gleams at you, with all the familiarity and affection that comes from nearly decades of marriage. Well, you can only assume.

The other has his arms crossed, and though you still can’t see him under the mask and muzzle, you just know he’s not happy. You swallow apprehensively. He doesn’t seem convinced. 

“They could both be lying, you know.” He says, addressing Mr. Wayne. “Some sorta long-con.”

“Jason, why would they lie? I mean, why would your future self lie?” Dick counters.

“I’m just employing some healthy skepticism, that’s all.” The younger Red Hood replies, somewhat haughty.

“She’s not lying, asshole. She wouldn’t lie about something like that.” The older Red Hood steps forward towards him, his broad back partially obscuring your view of the impending dick-measuring contest.

“And why should I believe you, prick?” Comes the retort, as the younger Red Hood steps up to the challenge. “You could be a clone, a freak that she made to infiltrate us, or to stalk me!”

“You arrogant piece of shit!” The older Red Hood swings a clenched fist at the younger one, which is swiftly blocked.

“Enough! ENOUGH!” Bruce’s deep voice cuts through the fight before it really even starts, and both men back off, steam practically billowing out of their ears.

Nightwing pipes up, chuckling humorlessly. “Yeah, that’s you, Jaybird. Ain’t no way to clone that kinda rage.” It earns him a glare from both Red Hoods.

You cut through, trying to refocus the two fuming men. 

“So… are you gonna tell me who you are? I mean, I already know your first name; Jason, right?” The request comes out more timid than you would’ve liked it to, but oh well.

The older Red Hood, or Jason, looks over to the younger one, who stands further away from you. He squints in response, then groans out his response. He unbuckles the muzzle fully, then removes the domino mask, and runs a hand through his hair. His… white striped hair..

Hang on, is that the crazy guy from the bus? The one no-one would sit next to?

He steps closer towards you and holds out his hand. His face is neutral, a little stern.

“Jason. Jason Todd.”

You take his hand, and shake it firmly.

“Nice to meet you, Jason Todd. My name is-”

Epilogue

Later that evening

Stephanie Brown swoons theatrically, trailing a very unhappy Jason through the hallways of Wayne Manor. Beside her walks Duke, hands in the pockets of his jeans, with a puzzled look on his face.

“How does it feel to be living my dream, Jason? I mean, you’ve got living, breathing confirmation that you’re not gonna die alone. Well, not again, at least.” Steph prods him.

She doesn’t get much more out of him than a grumble.

Duke chimes in, with seemingly more concerning matters to discuss. Seemingly.

“What I’m wondering is, what do we call you now. Y’know, since there’s two of you. Future Jason, and Current Jason? That's a bit of a mouthful. Jason One and Jason Two?”

“Nah, that’s too ‘Cat in the Hat’.” Steph comments.

“You can call me absolutely nothing, and fuck off.” Jason spits back, shoulders hunched defensively as he ascends the stairs.

Steph and Duke exchange a wide-eyed look as he disappears into the second floor of the manor.

“Drama-queen…” Stephanie warbles softly, making Duke giggle softly.

“How about… Red Hood and Blue Hood?” Tim peers from behind a corner.

“Again, we’re not looking for Dr. Seuss references, Tim.” Duke dismisses him. “This is strictly strategic. Battlefield. Code names.”

“Well, maybe you should ask the older Jason. He seems kinda okay.” Tim suggests.

“Mm.. he’s kinda scary, no? Besides, what if he tells me my future? What if I hate it?” Stephanie responds, biting her lip anxiously. Duke nods in agreement.

“Well,” Tim remarks. “Guess we’re just gonna have to sleep on it. G’night, guys.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night”

A/N: K so obviously that last bit (pre-epilogue) was you saying your name, but I refuse to put y/n after that goddamn hilarious y/n meme on tiktok, so you can all use ya brains!

Just kidding. love you.

Also I hope my ability to write well is still alright. Since I am writing the majority of these at night/early morning like a bloody nutjob, I am a little nervous that I just ramble. And this chapter is... like... 2k longer than the two before. Anyway, like always my DMs are open for feedback and I love reading your responses in the comments/tags :)

So I'm not sure if it's completely obvious at this point but I'm not a super avid comics reader, so if the characters are a bit mischaracterised, I'm sorry, but tbh im NOT SORRY and these are MY DOLLS and I'll play with them how I WANT.

okay goodnight love you MWAH

Taglist:

@c4xcocoa

@coffeemin

@theendofthematerialgworl

@daffy-the-duck

@phoenix666stuff

@coralineyouareinterribledanger

@sinnamon-bunn

@ohgodimgoungtodie

@4rachn3

@ye-olde-trash-panda

@truthdaze

@arkham-hoods

@salvatt1

@krys0210

Biting my hair right now im so friggin excited for you guys to read this.

[witless-winion1]

Do you think when Ody comes back, he is so immensely touch starved, like he is constantly walking around the palace fully wrapped around his family, climbing them, just fully around the palace staying as close as possible to them, asking Telecommunications to move back into the room w/ his wife and him so he can hold them both oh so tight so he can believe in his touch that they aren't going to be ripped from his arms, and he's back on a lil raft, alone, maybe even prays to hope like Hermes and Athena come over more often so he can hug them in thanks and like w/ how many friends lost, drags them into a cuddle pile on a surface of some sort (floor? Bed? IDK) so he can trust he isn't alone and those who helped him and those he loves are still there, passing out, and all they can hear is screams (begging for them to not leave please pleASE PLEASE) (I'm coming back for more once I have more ideas, but yeah)

why the hell did this take me so long to answer. Why have I been letting one of my precious few asks rot in the box. I am so sorry my fren, my brain saw the wall of text and activated both the EXCITEMENT and OVERWHELM buttons at the same time. But anyway. Yes.

Odysseus Absolutely clings to Penelope every chance he gets (and she does the same). Remember that comic with his empty throne while he just snuggles up with Penelope on her lap on her throne? I’m a big supporter of that. It’s canon.

He’s a bit more nervous about touching Telemachus, because he doesn’t know his son’s boundaries as well as he knows Penelope’s, but he learns pretty quickly that while is son is mostly unused to constant physical affection, he is very open to it.

In my mind, Telemachus doesn’t sleep with his parents unless it was a bad night for one of them (Tele and Pen suitor trauma, Ody…everything trauma), but they do frequently have cuddle piles in the evening, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they constantly fell asleep like that.

Also now that I’m considering it, I do think Telemachus moved his bedroom to directly down the hall from Penelope when he was a teenager to protect her, just in case. So he stays close even on regular nights. Though he does have to invest in earplugs.

Also, I LOVE the idea of him summoning Hermes and Athena purely to spend time with them.

When he prays to Athena, she’s there in a snap, and is initially rather confused. She’s not very used to physical affection or ‘cuddles’ (a term she does not use), but she finds she enjoys it more in her owl form. Although she refuses to participate in the “physical closeness sessions” when Hermes is there after the first time. She didn’t want him spilling to the rest of Olympus about how, in a sleepier owl form, she started arranging the blankets and pillows of the wedding bed into a nest around the edges of the bed. You know, to keep the chick (Telemachus) from falling off.

Hermes just laughs and dives into the bed, remarking that it’s somehow almost as soft as the ones on Mount Olympus! and playfully sits on Telemachus’ legs and says stuff to get Penelope to whack him with a pillow (or olive tree branch, depending on how bad it was). He also occasionally offers them moly. Odysseus always declines, but Penelope and Telemachus both tried it once out of curiosity.

Penelope then sat down and weaved a tapestry (magnificent enough to make Athena notice and ask about it later, leading to a very fun and intelligent conversation). She then fell asleep (passed out) at the loom when it was done. Odysseus carried her to bed, and she had no recollection of the night before or of weaving the tapestry.

When Telemachus tried moly, he just started mumbling about how he missed Argos. And then he stood up and started rambling about the legends Penelope had told him about Odysseus when he was a young boy. Odysseus nearly cries from both sentimentality and laughter at his son’s clumsy recollections.

But after a while, after some speculation with an old healer in the palace, Odysseus tried microdosing (am I using that word right?) moly in hope of helping with his nightmares, because of every night’s a repeat of “captain”, “but we’ll die”, “this life is amazing,” “waiting,” “get in the water,” “thunder bringer”, etc. He finds his dreams to be more chaotic, but less intense and traumatizing…? Like fever dreams? He decides to only use it on the worst nights, because he’d rather not see Polites and Eurylochus dressed up in winion and lotus-themed drag every night.

[valeisaslut]

along with ellie being different/looking different/being a lesbian compared to other women singers/celebs who are famous alongside her, i can’t stop thinking about how also… the notion of being a “rockstar” is unfortunately and incredibly VERY male dominated.

even with being the daughter of joel, i can’t imagine how much misogyny she must’ve faced from her own “peers” in that musical scene/genre. i wouldn’t even be surprised if men gave her shit BECAUSE joel is her father. you know those super annoying, gatekeep-y type of men who are like… “nirvana? oh yeah? name five songs.” she must’ve been surrounded by them.

the idea of a “rockstar” is always so typically a man, a womanizer, sleaze and star power… thinking very heavily about ellie breaking through such a general “man thing.” thinking about men belittling her, trying to sexualize her, trying to make her into something she’s not. treating her as though she would never be an equal.

and ellie? taking it all in. internalizing it. spite or self protection, maybe it was both, but she became the untouchable thing. she beat them at their own game. she wasn’t their equal, she was BETTER. but she lost herself in the process.

#sorry making headcanons about a story that doesn’t belong to me

OMG. OMFG. I ALWAYS WANTED TO YAP RELENTLESSLY ABOUT THIS. YES. YES. YESSSSSSS!!!!!! I WANNA FUCKING KISS YOU SO HARD YOU BEAUTIFUL GORGEOUS GENIUS NONNIE!!!!!

don’t EVER apologize for making headcanons about my story because this is CANON behavior. i’m gripping it w both hands and screaming “EXACTLY.”

you’re completely right: the concept of a “rockstar” is so deeply gendered and steeped in misogyny. it’s loud, it’s cocky, it’s male by default. and ellie? ellie is none of the things those men wanted her to be. not straight, not submissive, not grateful. not legacy-only. not manufactured. not anyone’s muse. just a fucking star.

she grew up hearing joel called a legend 3 times in the same phrase. she could play guitar before she could do a long division, and instead of being seen as a prodigy, people just said: oh, that’s joel’s kid.

so from the start she’s less than in the eyes of men who will never, ever hold a candle to her talent. and she knows that. she’s spent her entire life being treated like an industry fluke, like she got a shortcut, like she owes the world something for having talent and a vagina.

and what does she do in return? she takes their blueprint, rips it up, and builds her own fucking empire alongside jesse and dina.

six grammys in one night. six. let’s NEVER forget chapter five.

she swept the entire industry and stood there in custom dior looking like she could bite the head off every man in that room and they still clapped like crazy. she has more women simping for her than any man ever could. she doesn’t have to say she’s the best—everyone already knows.

but none of that stops the criticism. because she’s a lesbian and angry and unapologetic. because she doesn’t play the good little queer girl. because she doesn’t soften the edges of her masculinity. because she doesn’t care if men want to fuck her or not. and that’s terrifying for them.

and still. still. she internalizes it. of course she does. all that hate, all that scrutiny, all that fear she inspires: it doesn’t disappear when the lights go down. it settles in her bones. it becomes the voice in her head that says “joel would’ve done that better, you’re just lucky, you’re not enough.”

and that voice doesn’t just show up in insecurities or her addiction—it shows up EVEN in bed. she can give and give and give, but receiving? letting someone take care of her? FIGURES TO CHAPTER FIVE being so shocked ab reader wanting to give her head.

she’d rather wear the strap than talk about why she never comes first. she’d rather collect bodies than risk getting close. she learned how to be wanted without being vulnerable. that’s the trick. that’s the armor.

but it’s not real love. not until you.

because you’re the only one who makes her feel like she’s not a product. not a headline. not the “lesbian rockstar daughter of joel miller.” just ellie. who can be soft and selfish and scared. who can cry and be held and fall apart without the world watching.

so yeah. she beat them at their own game. she made herself untouchable. but now, for the first time, she’s learning how to be held.

THANK YOU truly for giving me a space to talk about this topic, i appreciate not only you reading, but taking your time to reflect, send this amazing inbox and think about all the things im slipping thru the lines. ilysmmmmm💞💞💞💞💞