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kathaelipwse · 1 month ago

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The Fan Who Got Away - C.Seungcheol

Warnings: Angst, Comfort, Self-Doubt, Secret Relationship Genre: Drama, Romance, Idol!cheol x Former.Carat!F.Reader Word Count: 3.9k (reading time 14 mins-ish) Synopsis: Years ago, you were a dedicated Carat, attending concerts and collecting albums—until life got in the way, and you drifted from the fandom. One night, at a random bar, you bump into Seungcheol in disguise, hiding from the public. You don’t recognize him at first, but he recognizes you. Turns out, he remembers you from old fansigns. "You stopped coming," he says softly. "Why?" What starts as a simple conversation turns into years of texting, stolen glances at concerts, and a secret relationship that neither of you can walk away from. Author's Note: This story is for everyone who has ever found comfort in an artist but felt like they had to leave that love behind. I hope this brings warmth to your heart. 💙

The bar, a dimly lit haven of forgotten dreams and lingering scents of whiskey and regret, was a stark contrast to the vibrant, pulsating world you once inhabited. It was a place where the weight of daily existence was palpable, a tangible entity that pressed down on your shoulders. You, a ghost of your former self, sat at the counter, a drink swirling in your hand, its contents as stagnant as your life.

The years had been unkind, stripping away the joy that once defined you. The echoes of roaring crowds, the frantic energy of ticket sales, the sheer, unadulterated happiness of being a part of the SEVENTEEN fandom—all of it seemed like a distant, almost fantastical memory. Now, bills piled high, relationships crumbled, and the sheer exhaustion of survival had transformed you into a shadow, a hollow echo of the person you used to be.

"You stopped coming."

The voice, deep and resonant, cut through the haze of your thoughts. It was a voice you knew intimately, a voice that had once filled your life with joy. You turned, your heart pounding against your ribs, and found yourself face to face with Choi Seungcheol.

Even under the dim lights, concealed beneath a cap and hoodie, his presence was undeniable. The leader of SEVENTEEN, the man who had been your beacon of happiness, stood before you, his eyes holding a knowing, gentle gaze that sent a shiver down your spine. He recognized you.

"What?" you managed, your voice barely a whisper.

"You stopped coming to concerts. To fansigns. You used to be there—front row, every time." His voice was soft, laced with a hint of disappointment.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "Didn’t think you’d notice."

"I did."

Those two words, simple yet profound, were enough to shatter the walls you had meticulously built around yourself.

The stale air of the bar hung heavy, thick with the unsaid, the unspoken regrets that lingered like ghosts. You stared into the swirling amber of your drink, the liquid a distorted reflection of your own fractured emotions.

"Life happened," you repeated, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears. It was a cliché, a dismissive phrase used to brush aside the complexities of existence, but it was the only explanation you could muster.

Seungcheol remained silent, his gaze fixed on you, unwavering. He wasn't judging, wasn't offering platitudes. He was simply present, a silent witness to your unraveling. The weight of his attention, the intensity of his focus, was almost unbearable.

"Bills piled up," you continued, your voice barely a whisper. "My job… it barely covers rent. I'm constantly working, constantly exhausted. There's no room for anything else."

You paused, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "And then there's my personal life. Or what's left of it. Relationships fell apart. Friendships faded. It's like… I'm slowly disappearing."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a raw, vulnerable pain. "It's not just about the money, Cheol. It's about feeling like I've lost myself. Like I'm just going through the motions, existing but not living."

You looked back down at the drink, unable to meet his gaze. "I used to find so much joy in being a Carat. SEVENTEEN was my escape, my happy place. But… I couldn't reconcile that joy with the reality of my life. It felt like a betrayal, almost. Like I was pretending everything was okay when it wasn't."

You took a shaky breath, the weight of your confession pressing down on you. "I felt guilty. Guilty for spending money I didn't have, guilty for taking time for myself when I should have been working, guilty for feeling happy when I felt like I had no right to be. And then… I just stopped. I stopped going to concerts, stopped buying albums, stopped watching your videos. I just… shut it all out."

Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, fighting back tears. "It wasn't that I didn't want to be there. It's just that I couldn't… I couldn't bear to see you all, to see the happiness I used to have, knowing I couldn't reach it anymore."

You closed your eyes, the memories flooding back, each one a sharp pang of longing. "I remember the first time I saw you perform. The energy, the passion, the sheer joy radiating from the stage. It was like… magic. And I wanted to be a part of that magic. I wanted to feel that happiness again."

"But I couldn't," you whispered, your voice thick with unshed tears. "I couldn't pretend anymore. I couldn't keep up the facade. And I didn't want to be a reminder of what I'd lost. So, I just… disappeared."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, and found them filled with a deep, unwavering empathy. He wasn't offering solutions, wasn't trying to minimize your pain. He was simply acknowledging it, validating it.

"I used to love SEVENTEEN," you admitted, the words heavy with a bittersweet nostalgia. "I still do. But loving something doesn’t always mean you get to keep it. Sometimes, life takes things away, and you have to learn to live without them."

You paused, a wave of exhaustion washing over you. "I didn't think you'd notice. I thought I was just another face in the crowd, another fan among thousands. I didn't think I mattered."

Seungcheol's silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of your inner turmoil. He was absorbing every word, every nuance, every unspoken emotion. His eyes, dark and intense, held a depth of understanding that made your heart ache.

He didn't interrupt, didn't offer empty reassurances. He simply listened, his presence a silent acknowledgment of your pain. It was as if he was creating a space for you to unravel, to lay bare your soul without fear of judgment.

The silence stretched, heavy and charged. It was a silence filled with unspoken words, with the weight of years of unspoken emotions. You felt exposed, vulnerable, yet strangely comforted by his unwavering attention.

You looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "I'm sorry," you whispered, the words barely audible. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I stopped being a Carat. I'm sorry I disappointed you."

You felt a tear escape, tracing a path down your cheek. You didn't bother to wipe it away. "I just… I didn't know how to be happy anymore."

You closed your eyes, the image of SEVENTEEN's joyful performances flashing through your mind, a stark reminder of the happiness you had lost. "I felt like I was betraying myself if I was happy. I felt like I was pretending and I couldn't do it."

You opened your eyes, finding his gaze still fixed on you. "I didn’t want to be a reminder of what I lost. I didn't want to be a ghost in the crowd."

Seungcheol’s silence wasn’t indifference; it was a profound respect for your pain. He was allowing you to express the depths of your despair, to acknowledge the wounds that had festered for years. He was offering you a space to be vulnerable, to be broken, without judgment or interruption.

His silence was a testament to his understanding, a silent promise that he was there, that he was listening, that he cared. In that moment, his silence spoke volumes, conveying a depth of empathy that transcended words. It was a silence that held your pain, a silence that offered solace, a silence that promised understanding.

He let you finish, and when the last of your words faded into the murmur of the bar, he took a deep breath. He had heard you. He had truly heard you. And he understood. He understood more than you thought possible.

---

The glow of your phone screen became a familiar comfort in the quiet hours of the night. After that initial, raw conversation at the bar, the texts from Seungcheol were like a lifeline, a gentle reminder that you weren't alone. They started with simple check-ins, a way to ensure you were taking care of yourself.

Cheol: Did you eat a proper meal today? Not just coffee and a stale pastry, I hope. You: Okay, fine, you caught me. But I promise I’ll make a real dinner tomorrow. Cheol: That's what you said last week. I’m starting to think I need to send you a meal prep service. You: Or you could just cook for me. ;) Cheol: Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.

The playful banter was a welcome change from the heaviness of your earlier conversations. It was as if Seungcheol was gently coaxing you out of your shell, reminding you that laughter and lightheartedness were still possible.

As the weeks turned into months, the texts became more frequent, more personal. He would share snippets of his day, the behind-the-scenes moments that fans rarely saw.

Cheol: Rehearsals were brutal today. But we got a new choreography down. I wish you could see it. You: I’m sure it’s amazing. You guys always put on incredible performances. Cheol: It’s not the same without you in the audience. You: Are you trying to make me blush? Cheol: Maybe. ;)

The subtle flirtation was a delicate dance, a push and pull that made your heart flutter. You found yourself looking forward to his messages, eager to see what he would say next.

One night, he sent you a picture of himself, a candid shot taken during a break from filming. He was smiling, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Cheol: Thinking of you. You: You look good. Even when you’re tired. Cheol: Only for you. You: Smooth. Cheol: I have my moments.

The late-night calls became a regular occurrence, a way to bridge the distance between your worlds. You would talk for hours, sharing your thoughts, your dreams, your fears. He listened with unwavering attention, his voice a soothing presence in the darkness.

"You know," he said one night, his voice soft, "you never talk about yourself. You're always asking about me, about the members. But I want to know about you. Tell me about your day."

You hesitated, unsure how to articulate the mundane details of your life. "It's nothing special," you murmured. "Just work, errands, the usual."

"Try me," he insisted. "I want to hear about it."

So, you started to share, recounting the small moments that made up your day—a funny interaction with a coworker, a beautiful sunset, a new book you had started reading. He listened intently, asking questions, offering his own observations.

"You have a way of seeing beauty in the ordinary," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "It's one of the things I admire most about you."

You blushed, surprised by his compliment. "You're just saying that."

"I mean it," he said, his voice firm. "You have a unique perspective, a way of finding joy in the little things. It's refreshing."

The compliments, the gentle teasing, the genuine interest in your life—it was all so unexpected, so different from the distant idol you had once admired from afar. He was human, vulnerable, and undeniably charming.

One night, he called you late, his voice a little breathless.

"I just finished a concert," he said. "The energy was incredible. But all I could think about was you."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Me?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice soft. "I kept looking out into the crowd, imagining you there, singing along, cheering us on."

"I wish I could have been there," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"Me too," he said. "But next time, I promise, you'll be there. Front row, center stage."

The promise hung in the air, a tangible expression of his desire to bridge the gap between your worlds. It was a promise that filled you with hope, a promise that made you believe that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to the joy you had lost.

The texts and calls became a constant in your life, a source of comfort and connection. You found yourself sharing more of yourself, opening up about your fears, your dreams, your insecurities. He listened without judgment, offering support and encouragement.

"You're stronger than you think," he said one night, his voice filled with conviction. "You've been through so much, but you're still here. You're still fighting. And that's something to be proud of."

His words were a balm to your wounded soul, a reminder that you were capable of more than you thought. He was slowly piecing you back together, helping you rediscover the strength you had forgotten you possessed.

One late night, after a particularly long conversation, he sent you a final text.

Cheol: Sleep well, my love. You: You’re so cheesy. Cheol: Only for you. You: Goodnight, Cheol. Cheol: Goodnight. And dream of me.

You smiled, the warmth of his words spreading through you. You closed your eyes, the image of his smiling face filling your mind. You were falling, slowly but surely, and you knew that you were falling for him all over again.

2 years had passed by since you both had started texting and you had become a carat all over again; developed feelings for cheol but knew you had no chance with him. Or thats what…you thought.

The phone rang, a sharp intrusion into the quiet of your apartment. The name 'cheolie' flashed across the screen, and your heart pounded in your chest. His voice, when it came, was strained, a raw edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I can’t do this anymore i need to tell you something, And sorry to this over a fucking call i wanted to see you talk to you- this idol life is a fucking mess-" he said, the words heavy with a desperate sincerity.

Your stomach dropped, a cold knot forming in your gut. "Chill out cheol its fine- And you can't do what anymore?"

"Pretend you’re just a fan. Pretend I don’t—" He paused, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. "I don’t want to see you in the crowd. I want you beside me."

The words hung in the air, a declaration that shattered the delicate balance you had maintained for so long. You were silent, your mind racing, trying to process the weight of his confession.

"Say something," he pleaded, his voice laced with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

"Cheol… I don’t think I’m—"

"Don’t." His voice was sharp, cutting through your doubts like a knife. "Don’t say you’re not good enough. Don’t say you don’t matter. I swear, if you say that, I’m coming over just to knock some sense into you."

Tears pricked your eyes, a mix of fear and longing swirling within you. "I’m just me. I’m nothing special."

"You’re everything," he countered, his voice softening, filled with a tenderness that made your breath catch in your throat. "And I want you to be mine."

You swallowed hard, the words echoing in your mind, a declaration that felt both surreal and intoxicating. "Cheol… I don’t understand. Why me? I’m not… I’m not pretty. I’ve gained weight. I’m just… ordinary."

A low growl rumbled through the phone, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you ever say that again."

His voice was firm, laced with a raw intensity that left no room for argument. "You are beautiful. More beautiful than you know. You have a light inside you, a warmth that radiates from your soul. It’s in your eyes, in your smile, in the way you care for others. And yes," he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "you've gained a little weight. And honestly, it drives me crazy. You look so damn good, so… edible. You’re soft, you’re real, and you’re absolutely stunning."

Your cheeks flushed crimson, a wave of heat washing over you. You had never heard him speak like this, with such raw desire, such unfiltered adoration.

"I don’t care about the superficial things," he continued, his voice filled with conviction. "I care about your heart, your mind, your soul. I care about the way you make me feel, the way you make me laugh, the way you understand me without me having to say a word."

He paused, a heavy silence settling between you. "You’re the only person who sees me, truly sees me, beyond the idol, beyond the leader. You see the man beneath it all, the man I keep hidden from the world. And that… that means everything to me."

"Cheol…" you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

"I know I’m asking a lot," he said, his voice softer now, laced with a gentle vulnerability. "I know this isn’t easy. But I can’t keep pretending. I can’t keep watching you from afar, longing for something I can’t have. I need you in my life. I need you by my side."

"But… the fans…" you stammered, the reality of his world crashing down on you.

"We’ll figure it out," he said, his voice filled with determination. "We’ll find a way. We’ll be careful, we’ll be discreet. But I won’t hide you. I won’t pretend you don’t exist. You deserve to be seen, to be loved, to be cherished."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "Please," he whispered, his voice laced with a raw vulnerability that made your heart ache. "Please, say you’ll give me a chance. Say you’ll let me love you."

You were silent, tears streaming down your face, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. You had never felt so seen, so cherished, so loved. His words were a balm to your wounded soul, a testament to the depth of his feelings.

"I… I don’t know what to say," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Just say yes," he pleaded, his voice filled with a desperate longing. "Just say you’ll be mine."

You closed your eyes, the image of his smiling face filling your mind. "Yes," you whispered, the word barely audible. "Yes, Cheol. I’ll be yours."

A sigh of relief escaped his lips, a sound that was both shaky and filled with joy. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for giving me a chance. I promise, I won’t let you down."

The phone line went silent, but the connection between you remained, a bond forged in vulnerability, in honesty, in love. You were his, and he was yours, a secret whispered in the darkness, a love that defied the odds.

Your relationship, born in the shadows of fame and fueled by a deep, undeniable connection, became a delicate dance of stolen moments and whispered affections. It was a world of late-night phone calls, coded messages, and clandestine meetings, a world where every touch, every glance, was charged with the thrill of forbidden love.

Backstage at concerts, amidst the chaos and adrenaline, they would find fleeting moments of intimacy. A quick, stolen kiss behind a curtain, a lingering touch of hands in a darkened hallway, a whispered "I miss you" amidst the roar of the crowd. These moments, though brief, were precious, a reminder of the love that bloomed in the midst of their busy lives.

One night, after a particularly grueling concert, Seungcheol found a way to slip away, his manager covering for him. He arrived at your apartment, a figure shrouded in a hoodie and cap, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I couldn't stay away," he whispered, his voice hoarse from singing.

You pulled him inside, locking the door behind him. He shed his disguise, revealing the tired but happy face you had come to adore. He pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your neck.

"I need you," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

He showered you with neck kisses, each one a tender expression of his longing. The touch was electric, a reminder of the raw desire that simmered beneath the surface of their relationship.

"I missed you so much," he whispered, his lips tracing the delicate curve of your ear.

He pulled you to the kitchen, where he proceeded to make a late-night snack. He moved with a quiet efficiency, his movements fluid and graceful.

"I've been practicing," he said, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I wanted to impress you."

You watched him, your heart swelling with affection. He was so different from the charismatic idol the world saw. He was a man, vulnerable and loving, eager to please.

They cooked together, a silent dance of shared intimacy. The kitchen, once a place of solitary meals, became a haven of shared laughter and whispered secrets.

After they ate, they settled on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms. They put on a movie, but neither of them paid much attention to the screen. They were content to simply be together, to feel the warmth of each other's bodies, to lose themselves in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

"I wish we could do this every night," he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm.

"Me too," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Movie nights became a regular occurrence, a way to escape the pressures of their lives. They would cuddle on the couch, sharing popcorn and whispered jokes, their laughter echoing through the quiet apartment.

Sometimes, they would simply talk, sharing their dreams, their fears, their hopes for the future. He would tell you about the challenges of being a leader, the pressure to always be strong, the fear of disappointing his members and his fans. You would tell him about your own struggles, the loneliness of your past, the joy you found in his love.

He listened with unwavering attention, his eyes filled with a deep understanding. He never judged, never minimized your feelings. He simply offered his support, his love, his unwavering belief in you.

One night, he surprised you with a handwritten letter, a declaration of his love that brought tears to your eyes.

"My dearest," he wrote, "I never thought I would find someone who understood me so completely, someone who saw me for who I truly am. You are my light, my strength, my everything. I love you more than words can say."

He signed it with a simple "Cheol," a reminder of the man beneath the idol, the man who loved you with all his heart.

Their secret relationship was a tapestry woven with stolen moments, whispered affections, and unwavering love. It was a world of hidden kisses, late-night cuddles, and heartfelt confessions. It was a world they built together, a world that was theirs and theirs alone.

He would send you goodnight texts every night without fail, no matter how late he was working.

And in those quiet moments, when the world felt too loud, he reminded you of one thing:

"You won’t leave me again, right?"

You smiled, fingers tracing the words on your screen.

"Never."

The secrecy was hard, but it made their moments together all the more precious. Each stolen kiss, each whispered "I love you," was a testament to the strength of their bond, a reminder that their love was worth fighting for. They were building a world within a world, a haven of love and understanding in the midst of the chaos of their lives. And in that haven, they found a love that was both extraordinary and deeply personal, a love that was theirs and theirs alone.

---

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sha-brytols · 3 months ago

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someone: do you think anders is a good person

the part of my brain that engages in genuine critical media analysis: i think it's disingenuous to label him through the lens of a binary good/evil paradigm because what makes him such an interesting and engaging character is his status inbetween a human with complex emotions and desires and flaws that will never fully align with each other, and the singleminded focus and purpose of a supernatural entity that is literally justice incarnate and has no capacity for nuance and whose very nature is fundamentally incompatible with humanity but the two of them are so deeply connected that they make up a single identity that's constantly at odds with itself and this struggle causes him to act in ways that aren't always clean and often land him and those around him in impossible positions. i think he was morally justified in doing what he did to the chantry but i also believe he understood the magnitude of what he was doing which is why i inherently disagree with the notion that characters like varric or sebastian were wrong in their reactions because that's the very nature of violent revolution—people get caught in the crossfire and are harmed despite their innocence and regardless of the righteousness of the action at large. if someone killed your mom to protect a hundred orphans you probably wouldn't come out of the experience full of love and admiration for the person who killed your mother because regardless of the outcome they still fucking killed your mother. anders destroyed people's homes and lives and there's a conversation to be had about how he gaslit and exploited hawke, his own potential lover, into being an unwitting accomplice even though we know through meta knowledge that he was perfectly capable of doing it on his own and very likely only wanted hawke's involvement because he needed a powerful figure to become the rallying symbol for his cause. the reality is his very nature would have never allowed him to choose hawke and his friends over his goal because to do so would have been fundamentally selfish and antithetical to his newfound identity as one who champions the needs of the many at the expense of the individual. it's a beautifully tragic story about the lengths a person would have to go to in order to enact any sort of meaningful change while constrained in a system that benefits from their powerlessness, and how that process cannot exist without suffering and pain on both the individual and collective level. i also feel like if anders was written by a person with a degree of compassion and awareness for not only the character they were writing but just what living as a vulnerable and targeted minority is like then the narrative and message would have been vastly different than what ended up on screen because, ultimately, the game wants you to look at the stark injustice of a child being ripped away from their family to spend a life locked away in cold isolation where they're at constant risk of exploitation, abuse, death, and even a complete removal of their personhood, and think that there's room for compromise. it's a narrative that perpetuates the myth that passivity and tolerance in the face of oppression is more virtuous than burdening the masses with the discomfort of seeing their own culpability in sustaining it. a better game would have challenged varric and sebastian while also affirming their anger instead of just the latter. a better game would have explored hawke's reaction in a deeper manner that examined their relationship with the system, their own internal biases, and how anders affected their worldview.

the part of my brain that was on tumblr in 2014 and is still extremely petty and spiteful: he should have blown up the conclave while he was at it

#i wrote this while watching golden girls

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 9 days ago

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Hallo haaalloooo halloo!!!! Ur writing is lovely! I too miss series ENA so can we get some fluff HCs of her with a human partner trying to explain that humans need to sleep? I don’t think enas need sleep so it’s a bit of a silly idea to me. It’s like “ARE YOU DEAD” “wgat”

Most Enas don't require sleep.

You had no idea until Blue-Yellow Ena, who wanted to spend the night at your place, asked why you're dressed in cozy clothing and engaging in a "peculiar routine", as she called it.

The last thing you expected was for her to be confused by the words "getting ready for bed".

"What do you mean? What are we getting the bed ready for?" She asks innocently. "A special occasion?"

As someone from the human world, you thought sleep was a universal experience for all living beings--but apparently for Ena's species, that wasn't the case, judging by her growing curiosity on why you need this "sleep".

Maybe the reason for her dysregulated emotions was that a proper sleep cycle was never programmed into her biology/code(?).

That could also be why other entities in this world didn't like her so much. They sleep, and she doesn't.

Either way, no matter how carefully you explain it, you're gonna be shaken awake by Sad Ena several minutes after you drift off to sleep, assuming you died when you suddenly stopped responding to her.

"NO, NO, NO!!! YOU CAN'T BE DEAD!! HOW CAN I GO ON WITHOUT YOU????"

".....girl wha...?"

"..o-oh! You're okay...?"

You end up letting her cuddle with you, in which your girlfriend returns to normal and feels bad for waking you.

She might not 100% understand the concept of sleep, but....she'll try her best to imitate it.

You've conformed to the "rules" of her strange world, so she could try to conform to yours and your human experiences if it helps you feel more comfortable.

But it's hard when she's still worried about whether you're dead or not, so she remains awake most of the night, keeping her head near your chest to make sure you're breathing.

When Moony hears about this "experience", she'll tease Ena about being a "creep" and a "total weirdo" for watching you sleep.

You roll your eyes to the sky, but Ena just smiles and assures the moon that you're safe and had a restful slumber thanks to her efforts.

#and thank you for the kind words! <3 #clanask #anonymous #ena x reader #webseries ena x reader #headcanons #fluff

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cherrieflavouredheadcanons · 1 year ago

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Hi can we please have fluff w Aventurine where reader and him reunite after 2. 1 and just fucking elope start a new life etc? Please I need it.

God yes. This is what we all need after 2.1. I'm aware he is in a coma-like state technically now but for the sake of fluff and this headcanon he is awake from that coma and is now reuniting with you. CW: Spoilers for 2.1 and Aventurines actual name, starts angsty but then turns fluffy, Gn reader, pre established relationship hurt/comfort

I am still accepting requests (especially for aven) btw so if you wanna see something send it in!

Back in your arms

You had lost track of how long it was since Aventurine left for his mission in Penacony. Has it been 2 months? No, probably more. It had been months since you last had been able to make contact with him. Your messages no longer went through, unable to be sent.

Looking at your textlog and scrolling up, you came across the last message he had sent you. It had come in while you were asleep, and it simply read “I love you”.

Waking up to that message would have been a sweet message for most people, but for you it had made you immensely worried.

Aventurine was never someone who professed his love openly, so such messages were quite rare. Receiving such a message, especially unprompted, made you send him a barricade of texts, none of which went through and even now months later none were able to be sent.

If you were honest you were starting to lose hope of ever seeing him again, who knows what happened in Penacony after all? He could be…dead for all you knew, you had no way to verify whether that was true or not after all.

You tried continuing your life on as you would normally, what else could you do? It was hard though, everyday you missed him more and more. Sometimes you imagined his face in a crowd somewhere but whenever you would take a closer look he would vanish.

Sighing you closed your phone and looked around your apartment, it felt so liveless ever since Aventurine was gone. Tears were falling down your eyes as you wondered how much longer you had to live with the uncertainty of where he was and if he was even alive.

Exhaustion was taking over as you began falling asleep. A common occurrence nowadays, since at night you were restless, unable to fall asleep as you worried. Just as you were beginning to fully doze off, you heard the door to your apartment open, immediately waking up.

No one but you and Aventurine had the key, and with him being absent panic coursed through you thinking someone was breaking and entering. You grabbed the nearest heavy thing to defend yourself with.

“For fucks sake…” You muttered as you made your way to where the noises were coming from. Cursing every entity out there for piling even more shit onto you as if your significant other being possibly dead wasn’t enough.

Readying your weapon (probably a heavy book) you stepped foot into the room where the noise was coming from ready to attack and hit the intruder. But once you saw who it was that was in your appartment, you dropped your makeshift weapon, a sob escaping your mouth.

Before you stood Aventurine, alive and breathing. You rubbed your eyes, making sure that this wasn’t your mind playing a cruel trick on you again. Aventurine watched you with a smirk on his, albeit very exhausted looking, face and his eyes held a new found softness you had never seen before.

You fell into his arms immediately, holding him tightly against your body, feeling his warmth. Desperately you grabbed at his clothes as you held on to him, scared this was all just a dream and you would wake up all alone once again. Tears were falling from your eyes, unable to hold them back, the relief washing over you making you let out all of your emotions.

“Wow you missed me that much?” He asked, in his usual teasing tone. Though there was something in his voice that usually wasn’t there. Desperation and a bit of fear. Was he afraid you wouldn’t have missed him? Or was there a deeper reason for it?

Moving away from the hug you grabbed his face in your hands, the tears still falling from your eyes as you took a good look at him. His face had fallen in, and he seemed exhausted. But there was also something in his eyes, his beautiful eyes you were so sure you would never see again, that you couldn’t recognize, having never seen it on him before.

Before you spoke your first words to him, you pulled his face closer and gently kissed him. The feeling of his lips on yours felt like you were floating in heaven. They may have been more chapped than usual, but fuck was it nice to feel him again. Breaking the kiss you finally were able to muster up your first words to him.

“Fuck…I was so worried about you…I…When my messages stopped being able to sent I was…so sure you…Please…never worry me like that again Aventurine…”

You leaned your forehead against his, your words jumbled together from the adrenaline coursing through you.

He took in a deep breath, and held it for a moment before letting it out. A gesture you saw in many people before they needed to say something important and heavy, but one you never saw in your lover.

“...Kakavasha…” His voice seemed unsure and meek as he spoke.

You, of course, had no idea what he was saying, so you looked into his eyes confused.

“Wha-”

“Kakavasha…it is…my given name. The one my mother gave me” He inhaled deeply before he continued.

“It is a long story but the short version is…I am no longer affiliated with the IPC, they probably think I died or something. So I no longer go by Aventurine, and…with how close we are and how much you mean to me. I felt like it was appropriate for you to know my true name...”

His eyes refused to look at you, flickering about unsurely as he spoke. Though he tried to sound confident, his voice wavered, scared that you would not accept him for who he truly was and reject his true self.

You looked at him gently and with all the love you had for him, gently pulling him close again and kissing his nose.

“Well then…It is nice to meet you Kakavasha…” You smiled brightly at him, showing him you accepted him as he was.

He felt relief course through his body and could not help himself but pull you into a passionate kiss. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed to stay alive. As if he would die without you.

Breaking the kiss he whispered “Marry me.” It wasn’t a question but a request. One that you were too stunned to answer to, looking at him with wide eyes.

“I mean it. Let’s get married, run away from everything and start a new life just you and me.”

His eyes were pleading with you to agree. He knew that he wanted to start over, but he knew he needed you with him.

“...yes!!” You once again fell into his arms and kissed him. The two of you holding each other so closely it was as if you were one.

Kakavasha knew that he would need to tell you everything that happened in Penacony at one point, even the part where he tried to end his life. But he knew that if he explained everything to you, you would still stay by his side and be with him.

You were his family after all.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail spoilers #hsr spoilers #aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #honkai aventurine #kakavasha #aventurine fluff #honkai star rail imagines #hsr imagines #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x you #hsr x you #hsr 2.1

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mychemicalweevil · 3 months ago

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I’ve been thinking a lot about how cam and pal got to be Like That. obviously the necro/cav dynamic encourages a relationship that a lot of us would consider some type of unhealthy if it happened irl, so that’s contributing. regardless, I realized I hadn’t really considered what growing up in the sixth house would do to human beings. academia is brutal and while I would love to visit the mercury librarians I think their society probably neglects a lot of fundamental human needs, particularly emotional ones. assigning value to people solely based on the quality of their scholarship is not going to create well adjusted people.

(aside: developing chronic illness in college made me *slightly* disillusioned with academia. it’s extremely difficult to take care of your physical and mental health in that setting. seems like it would be hell on necromancers given their proximity to disability but that’s another rant.)

maybe the sixth house found a way to do academia better but considering what we see of cam and pal, I don’t think so. I think they were raised in a system that values intellect over everything else and probably subscribes to the fallacy that the mind and body are separate entities (cultivate the mind, sometimes at the cost of neglecting the body). camilla pushes back against these assumptions by choosing to become an incredible cavalier, but it makes her an outsider by sixth house standards. palamedes is theoretically the perfect product of the system, but despite his scholarly success he craves and desperately seeks emotional intimacy from someone outside of his house who he’s never met in person (and I don’t think he can fully separate those romantic feelings from his desire to solve a medical puzzle). the assumption that the intelligent mind can overcome the need for physical and emotional care is not working.

tldr: cam and pal feel like two people who desire more than their emotionally cold environment could give them, so they ended up providing that for each other.

#have I mentioned i’m normal about them #I started writing this post in my head on the drive to my job. as a researcher at a university.#academia wins again #the locked tomb #tlt #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #camilla hect #palamedes sextus #sixth house

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itheunknown · 11 days ago

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odi et amo - (04) nobody there

negelected! meta! reader x platonic! batfam

masterlist / prev / next

(TW) : emotional neglect, self-destructive behaviour, self-harm, suicide, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage smoking, underage drinking, alcohol abuse, depression, bpd, depictions of mental illness, violence, trauma, ...

the grip on your shoulders feel like shackles.

your mother had been requested, which meant you, as the replacement, had been dragged out by your aunt to fulfill it.

her grip tightens.

"oh dear child, my protégé, tell me, what does he say."

a ghastly being stares back at you. large, terrifying, unsightly, not bearing a single resemblance to the man in the picture placed on the table in the middle of a drawn out ritual circle, lighted candles flickering in front of you.

your voice is stuck in your throat, your breath hitches everytime you try to speak.

"come on child, tell the client what his soul says!"

a tear rolls down your face as you blink hard, hoping for the entity to disappear when your eyes open like it was merely a bad dream.

it doesn't.

nails digging into your shoulders, your aunt grows impatient.

" there's-", you trip over your words, your throat feels like sandpaper, "there's no one there."

sharp rows of teeth shine.

you close your eyes harshly and whisper, defeated.

"there's no one there."

"but there was no one there, bruce!"

very rarely had pennyworth ever only referred to his father by his first name, damian notes, and it's usually when he cannot keep his cool, which is also rare.

damian had been sitting in bruce's office discussing a variety of things and everything was going accordingly. that was, until alfred had bursted through the doors after knocking rapidly, not even waiting for a reply, stating that he had something important to discuss with bruce.

damian almost told him off had it not been for the panicked look in alfred's eyes, the sheen of cold sweat on his forehead and his disheveled clothes - contrasting his usual professionalism. bruce, too, grew slightly weary of alfred's state before sending damian out with an apology and a promise to make it up to him some time after so he and pennyworth could discuss in private.

of course, he does not leave immediately, lingering outside the closed door to listen in on what was so important for his time to be interrupted.

and then, he saw you, standing to the side, with your head lowered leaning against the wall.

he scoffs, "aren't you a little old for imaginary friends?"

you stood there motionless, the shadow casted on your face does not betray the twitch of your frown.

"i knew you were pathetic but what are you, 5? are you so unbearable that nobody real can tolerate you?"

he crosses his arm and scowls at you, further irritated by the lack of your reaction.

you wordlessly pushed yourself off the walls. whatever else he wanted to voice died in his throat when you had casted him a look, before making your way back to your room.

damian only stares at your retreating back, the emptiness in your eyes haunts him.

you loved your friends, they meant everything to you. they were the light of your life

you can't wrap your head around this.

your friends were real! they had been there for you when nobody else had, listened to you when nobody else did. they were your everything.

your friends, your dear friends.

but then, what were their names?

no no no no they were real!

how could this happen?

how could you let this happen?

you scream, your hands pull on your hair, you can't believe this. they were real, they made you feel real, their existence meant that you were worthy of being known, of being loved.

this can't be happening, you don't even remember their names?

all the memories you’ve shared, you try to recall what they look like - anything at all, yet your brain comes up with a blurred mess of imagery. how could you mourn them if you don’t remember anything significant? how could you mourn something that never existed?

your brain hammers in your head, your eyes burn from how much you've cried, your voice is hoarse, your hair a tangled mess, is this what madness feels like?

you're alone, you have always been alone.

alone, unworthy of love.

you turn to look in the mirror.

and the silhouettes of your friends standing beside your reflection stares back.

cassandra makes her way down the hall, the sunlight spilling through the window basking everything in its warmth. it's the one of those rare weekends in which she was unoccupied, and so she decided to take a little walk around the manor while a soft ballad plays through the wired earphones. this time, she decided to walk through the more secluded part of the mansion, not having explored this area in some time; it looked quite barren, barely any decorations and the slight clouds of dust that could only be seen under the light floats in the air.

she walks leisurely, sometimes stopping to gaze at the rare occurrence of a piece of interior set in the long stretch of emptiness. the stroll continued this way until her eyes landed on a door that was not locked from the outside like the others. curious, she knocked on the door lightly, waiting for any indication that someone was inside. when she hears nothing, cass turns the knob and opens the door cautiously.

in the dark of your room, things strewn across the floor, only illuminated by the warm light from the doorway, heavily contrasting the cold, blue hue. in the center of the untidy, you laid curled up. your blanket pulled halfway off the bed to cover your form.

your eyes were wide open, all red rimmed and heavy with burden. cassandra turns to the direction where your eyes are trained on, only to find what she could presume was a mirror draped in one of alfred’s old tablecloths.

you had not made a peep, your eyes never leaving the covered mirror to acknowledge her. she takes a hesitant step inside, an involuntary shiver runs down her spine due to the significant drop in temperature with careful and slow steps, not wanting to startle you and avoid stepping on any objects.

still, with her standing in between you and the object, your eyes remained trained on it through the gaps of her legs. cassandra can feel the paranoia radiating off of you, she's never seen it this intense on anyone before.

cass crouched down before you, she reaches out slowly as if you're a frightened animal, carefully pulling the strands of hair clinging to your forehead behind your ears gently.

you still don't react.

your eyes locked forward, as if you feared something might happen if you were to look away for a single moment.

she lightly huffs and turns around, pulling the cloth to the side to investigate. only then did you stir out of your trance.

“don’t”, you croak out, exhausted, “don’t let them see me.”

your voice dips into a whisper that she nearly missed.

“they can’t see me fail them like this.”

you had been avoiding all surfaces that could reflect, always seeing your friends distorted presence on them. from covering the mirror in the bathroom to swapping to plastic utensils and paper plates for the metal and ceramics would concur their image whenever you look at them.

all you could do was run away from this reality, try to steer clear from facing whatever unfortunate nightmare your brain conjures up to fill in the gaps.

it’s especially hard on rainy days like these, when bodies of water would collect beneath your feet and you’d see them stare straight up at you, as if their claws would reach out to drag you down beneath the surface to join them.

time and time again, you’d linger behind the very same secluded area of school as before, yet no longer do your friends come find you as you smoked away, but the echo of their memories still flashes at the back of your mind, like a faulty roll of film.

you wish they came back as a dream, not this shadow warped beyond recognition.

this memory feels like punishment.

you take a drag, you exhale.

teeth stained with smoke.

it’s routine, though you don’t feel the same.

everything had changed.

and you don’t know what to do.

it’s been a week since then. you’re no longer going out of your way to avoid reflections like the plague, but your gaze always remains downcast at the tiles when using the school bathrooms to avoid an accidental glance at the mirror.

you can’t avoid them forever, you see them on the shiny door knobs, the gloss of the marble, the shine of porcelain, you even see them when you close your eyes - their faces unrecognizable, different every time, turning inhuman and haunting.

it’s better this way, it’s better to accept it. you deserve this.

especially since they start to creep at you from the corner of your eyes, demanding your attention.

you’re sure your grades had slipped, unable to focus on anything from the lack of rest. your mind always alert, your body constantly in flight or fight, you’d jolt awake immediately after dozing off and seeing flashes of their eyes. the worst part is that you feel guilty: guilty for not remembering anything about them. the rational side of you had come to terms with the fact that your mind had made them up, but despite this you've been unable to let them go. you’ve always prided yourself for being logical and level-headed.

it’s just a way you had coped, you made these people up because you were so alone. they're not real. even if they made you feel real.

it was such a simple explanation, yet the nagging feeling born from the irrational side of your brain suggests otherwise; the guilt gnaws at you like a chew toy.

the silence in the manor now feels so loud. you never knew if there were any further discussions between bruce and alfred, or if damian or cassandra had told anyone else in the family. life had just seemed to move on, as if it was just some insignificant issue that no one could be bothered to pick up and enquire any further. you had forced yourself to move on too, set back into pace and complete your goals. you were truly alone.

or were you, even as they start beckoning your name?

a bottle smashes near your feet while you wipe the table, trying to scrub out the melted wax left from another failed session.

“your mother would never disappoint me like this!”

you flinched in the slightest, but continued your cleaning.

she pulls her hair in frustration, sitting down on the worn down couch the client previously occupied. your mother’s name rolls off her tongue with twisted affection, a longing and loving tone that was never addressed at you.

“what am i supposed to do with your child? a useless little thing…”

you swallow a whimper, you’d long abandoned that wishful thinking that your aunt would ever see you more than a tool for her rituals, more than just a standin for someone who’s never coming back.

her hands clutches the crystal ball, holding it in an embrace as if it was the most delicate and precious thing in the world. she bends down, cheek pressed onto the crystal and strokes it lovingly, humming an unfamiliar tune in a drunken haze.

your hands slow, as you turn to stare at her. a peaceful expression on her face in the midst of all the empty bottles of liquor surrounding her. the space smelled suffocating from all the burnt incense and sage while the tarot card spread still lay on the table.

the hurl of insults and self-pity finally slows to a stop, and you finally feel the tension lift from your shoulder. you nearly stumble through the obstacle of empty bottles and fancy lowball and rocks glasses, reaching the couch where your aunt had dozed off into slumber.

then, your eyes land on the picture on the table, the only image of your mother you had been allowed to look at. a stranger is all she is to you, realistically. someone that had never even held you once.

she looked kind, a sort of welcoming yet mysterious aura surrounding her. you often times wondered what it would have been like if she never passed, what could have been if you were never forced to substitute her value.

unable to let go of the illusion that it could be any different, you don’t see the shadowed claws reaching from behind.

you awake with a jolt, exhaustion riddled your form. the clock reads the earlier hours of the day, drawn curtains still showing the dark sky above. struggling to sit up from the carpeted floor of your room, you finally got more than just an hour of sleep, the lumination of the desklamp bounces off paper cups of what used to hold coffee sitting on your desk.

everything feels like a blur.

you no longer had control over your life, you’re gone.

the urge to give into the destruction, to destroy yourself physically as if it would balance out the mangled cries and deep hurt you’ve buried deep within your soul.

you felt betrayed. lord, you’ve tried, you’ve tried and tried and nothing was enough.

you’re so tired of trying only for nothing to change.

a bad child does not deserve good things.

your past was but a distant memory, so long ago. it doesn’t matter anymore, it shouldn’t.

and yet you were unable to let go.

you vowed to never be like her, you were a logical, capable person that only cared about facts and truth, only cared about reality.

there’s no such thing as ghosts, as ghouls, as demons, as gods. even if they were, they’d never heard your cries, the desperation in wanting to take the pain away.

to take you away.

you only had yourself, you were alone.

so why do the voices never quell?

the distortion of their screams, it echoes in your skull even as you press both your hands against your ears.

they won’t go away.

they won’t leave you alone.

you begged into your empty room, begging them to leave you be, to stop, to shut up.

it was enough that they started to manifest as shadows lingering in the corners of your room, following you through the shadows of your steps. they hover above you, when you’re waiting to refill your coffee, when you get your bicycle out for school, when you’re washing your hands in the bathroom.

they’re everywhere.

you cannot escape.

you vowed to never be like her, and yet here you are swinging the first bottle of alcohol you managed to snag from the cellar in the manor, hoping to silence all the noise.

i think the song rlly encapsulates this episode so perchance you should play it hehe. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE 🙏🙏 you sigmas 🤫🧏

(TAGLIST) closed due to limit :sadge:

@confused-they @hoeinthehouse @strwberryglass @heartjwonie @glitchmshade @bat1212 @buddee @eyeless-kun @thereeallink @icantcryicantstopcrying @bunbunboysworld @gh0str00m @wizzerreblogs @lazy-kari202 @dotomuses @gwyneveire @gh6st24 @roseapov @kore-of-the-underworld @kingshitonly @plsfckmedxddy @unknownloner1345 @lilithquillete @v3vina @froggy-voidd @angrybuttooshorttofightyou @sami0169 @m3vlOvesu @pix-stuff @bunbunbread @agent-nobody-knows @cxcilla @horror-lover-69 @redkarmakai @mariadvorak @shirp-collector-of-fixations @batboygirlie @diejager @noclue-0 @sick2mystmch @novs9011 @kitkatkitmeow @crazycaoticsimp @majonla @hebaoffside @randomlyappearingartist @blueiones @shycreatorreview @simpingpandas @splaterparty0-0 @bk-4-trash-fire

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astra-ravana · 5 months ago

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Tips For Working With Demons

Here are some tips and general advice for working with demons and spirits. I'll probably add more to this list as things come to mind.

• These are individuals, people like you and me. Many of them have had human incarnations here on Earth. They understand your struggle and have their own issues and emotions as well. They have favorite things, best friends, family, and feelings. They are powerful, yes, but should also be treated with love and respect.

• They can and will speak to you. If you possess psychic abilities you may be able to channel some or all demons. People often ask how to tell the difference between the voice of a spirit, or an internal voice or hallucination. Spirit will never speak over you, interupt your ability to think freely, or control your mind. They simply speak, if you're willing to listen. They may also manifest physically, move objects, visit your dreams, send you signs, they have many ways to get their point across.

• Do not stress over time. If you haven't spoken to or left an offering to your patron demon in a few weeks because you've been depressed or busy, this is fine. Spirits do not experience time as we do and your absence is little more than a blink of an eye to them.

• Get creative with your offerings. King Paimon loves chocolate, Bune loves fancy perfume, Lucifer fancies himself some whiskey. You may wonder how offerings help demons, since they lack a mortal body. All physical beings possess a spirit and as such, all physical objects possess an essence. This essence can be absorbed by a spirit to allow them to taste/experience the offering. This gives them energy as well. Fun fact: once the essence of a consumable offering is taken it will be dull and tasteless. Try it sometime.

• Remember to say "thank you". Show appreciation and gratitude to any demons that lend their time and power to enhance your life. This is a team effort and no one likes to be used. Friendship and growth should be your top priorities when working with spiritual entities.

• Go ahead and draw that sigil badly. It's ok to only give a tiny drop of blood. Demons are far from perfect and do not expect perfection from you. Your effort and intention is what matters most.

• Stay away from Solomonic or Abrahamic methods that aim to control or trap demons. This is not likely to end well for you and it is a huge betrayal to the trust of a powerful cosmic being. If you are afraid of the interaction, there are many other forms of personal protection you can employ.

• Chances are there is a demon or spirit that resonates with you. Don't get discouraged if your first several attempts don't spark a connection. Read up on different entities and mediatate to find where you should try next.

• Let go of your preconceived expectations. Demons are not going to just make you rich, successful, or smart. These things are the result of forming strong bonds of power and raising one's consciousness. Often times you won't get what you want, but what you need instead. Spirits can see the bigger picture of who we are, our capabilities, and our soul's path. Trust their vision.

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mintyys-blog · 5 days ago

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Hello!!♥️ I really enjoyed all other invincible stories and writing for each mark i find em such a spot on. I was wondering if it would alright to request invincible (any mark) with reader having powers like Danny phantom? :0 i thought it could be cool idea in invincible world to have someoke with supernatural powers as in like ghost powers and stuff in way and would be useful when the power of possessing bodies comes in play and be helpful too? lol imagine reader spooking mark once a while ptff

MY BOO | mark grayson x danny phantom! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS:

You’ve made it your life’s mission to scare the absolute hell out of Mark at least once a week. Whether it’s floating above his bed while he’s mid-sleep, your glowing eyes flickering in the dark like some demonic entity, or phasing through the wall with a blood-curdling whisper, it never gets old. The way he jumps, fists ready, eyes wide—it’s a masterpiece every time. And while he plays it off like he’s “used to it,” the haunted look in his eyes says otherwise.

There was one particular morning you phased through the ceiling right as he stepped out of the shower. He screamed and almost flew through the damn wall. “You can’t keep doing that!” he shouted, wrapping a towel around himself while still trying to act tough. You just floated upside down, smirking, saying, “If you didn’t look so cute when scared, maybe I’d stop.” He blushed. You called that a win.

When it comes to fighting, though, you’re a dream teammate. Mark’s all power and speed, but your ghost powers make you unpredictable. He flies in with brute force, and you phase through the ground, possess a villain’s body, and start using them as a puppet. Once, during a mission, you made a mercenary punch himself in the face so hard he knocked out cold. Mark stared, jaw slack. “Did you just—” “Yeah. Possessed him. Also made him twerk a little before I left. Hope that’s okay.” He couldn’t stop laughing… until you told him the next person you planned on possessing was him.

He didn’t take it seriously until one day you actually did. It was a light possession, nothing permanent—just enough to feel what flying felt like from his perspective. He freaked out the moment he felt his body moving without input. “Babe, this is NOT funny—oh my god why am I doing flips?! STOP DOING FLIPS.” You eventually let go and floated beside him, smug as hell. “So this is what it’s like to have pecs. Wild.”

You have a habit of turning invisible when you’re mad. Mid-argument, Mark would blink and realize you’ve vanished into thin air. “Seriously? You ghosted me? LITERALLY?” he’d yell, arms thrown up. You’d pop back in through the floor, say something dramatic like, “I rise from the dead… only to hear more of your bullshit,” and disappear again. It was infuriatingly effective.

Late nights were the worst for him. You’d wait until he’s half-asleep, then whisper his name like some haunted movie villain. “Maaaark…” and he’d jolt awake, looking around like he’s in a horror film. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack,” he mumbles, face buried in the pillow. “That’s the point,” you reply sweetly, curling up beside him.

Mark actually loves the deep parts of your powers too—the way you can feel shifts in the spiritual world, how your ghost sense picks up emotions, memories, and even lost souls. It’s not just creepy—it’s beautiful. You bring perspective to his strength, make him think about more than just punching the bad guy. He loves listening to you talk about the strange energy of being stuck between two worlds—living, but not completely. You once told him, “You were born to destroy planets. I was born already half-dead. We both carry things we didn’t ask for.” He kissed you so hard that night, holding you like you were the most real thing in the universe.

People definitely fear you more than him sometimes. You don’t just knock people out—you break them down psychologically, force them to confront guilt, possess their bodies and make them apologize to their teammates before walking off in your glowing form. Mark’s tried to act like the more intimidating one, but even he knows—when villains see you, they run.

He has a collection of ghost puns for you. “Boo-thang,” “my spooky girl,” “hauntie,” and even “Casper, but hot.” You pretend to hate it, but you secretly live for it.

And when he talks about the future, about maybe having a home or kids one day, he always says, “Would they be half-Viltrumite, half-ghost? Because that sounds terrifying, and I’m into it.” You grin, saying, “They’d be invisible until they want juice. Then they’d phase through the fridge.” Mark laughs but lowkey hopes it really happens.

You’re his chaos. His phantom menace. His mischievous, glowy-eyed, haunting little piece of home. And even if he never quite gets used to you floating through walls or making the TV talk back to him, he knows one thing for certain—life has never been more fun, more weird, or more perfect.

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #invincible x fem!reader #invincible x you #invincible X reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x reader #mark Grayson #danny phantom

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