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icarusignite · 16 days ago

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My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys (p.1)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Civilian! GN! Reader

Summary: In a city where kindness is fleeting and warmth feels like a myth, a reclusive vigilante crosses paths with another ghost orbiting the same darkness. What begins as cautious companionship spirals into something tender, fragile, and terrifying. But when fear drives him away, and violence drags you to the edge of death, Jason Todd is forced to confront the one truth he’s always run from: some things, once lost, can’t be stitched back together. And some things are worth bleeding for.

Warnings: Stabbing, mentions of blood and injuries, Jason is kind of a jerk in the beginning, but forgive him for it, he's got attachment issues lol. Hurt/comfort, angst. slowburn. YEARNING, lots of yearning, my boy is a yearner

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: I am not a medical professional lol so I can't say how accurate this is lol, but just go with it for the angst vibes. This is super self-indulgent lol, I wanted the kind of fic that causes you physical pain so here we are. This was getting a bit too long so I'll post the second part later, lemme know if yall wanna be tagged.

This is my first time writing for DC or the batboys, but the brainrot is real. This is technically a part of a bigger Jason long fic I'm working on but I just really needed to get this scene out lol

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

You were friends, weren't you?

You'd like to think so. It made it easier to explain away the ache in your chest every time he left without a word. Or the warmth that bloomed beneath your ribs when he showed up, battered and brooding, yet somehow still seeking you out.

But then again, did vigilantes even have friends?

Arms folded loosely across your chest, you leaned against the doorframe of your cramped kitchen, watching him from across the dimly lit room. Your apartment was small, embarrassingly so, and the light above flickered in that way you kept meaning to fix. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and cheap chamomile tea, curling around your ankles like smoke.

He sat at your wobbly kitchen table with his boots carelessly propped on the worn wood, the laces still muddy from whatever hell he'd clawed his way out of tonight. His brow was furrowed, teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he wound a fresh bandage around the gash on his arm. A grimace tugged at his mouth as he worked, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

His mask lay discarded beside the pile of bloodied tissues, a splash of crimson on your table that felt far too symbolic. You hated how used to the sight you'd become. It no longer made your stomach turn the way it once did. Now, it just sat there, like a guest you hadn't invited but didn't dare ask to leave.

You wanted to help. You always did, but in the careful months since he'd tumbled, quite literally, into your life, you'd learned not to offer unless he asked. Red Hood—or Red as you had fondly dubbed him because you still didn't know his actual name—was a man built of walls and wreckage, of hairline fractures hidden behind sardonic grins and barbed quips.

He didn't like prying. So neither did you.

You still remembered the first time you'd met him. Your life had been steady, if not dull, up until then. A slow existence filled with microwaved meals, cracked book spines, and long, lingering silences. Then, as if fate had grown bored with your monotony, he had crashed into it. One minute, you were walking home from work. The next, you were the sole witness to something that had no business existing in your version of reality. Guns, masks, blood. Gotham in all its gritty glory.

You were stubborn enough to get involved. He was—well you didn't quite know why he let you get involved.

You told yourself it was just curiosity. Maybe it was. But even now, as he sat there in your kitchen like he belonged, you weren't sure what tethered him to you. The case you'd helped him with had ended days ago. Loose ends tied. Threats neutralized. And yet he hadn't stopped coming.

That first time he'd stumbled through your bedroom window with a bullet wound, all adrenaline and snarled curses, you'd expected him to leave as quickly as he came. But he hadn't. He'd let you stitch him up. Said nothing when you offered him a drink, or when you laid out an old quilt on the couch. You hadn't known his name then, and still didn't. But you knew his face. You knew his eyes. You knew the way his shoulders stiffened before a storm of emotion, and the subtle quirk of his mouth when he found something amusing but didn't want to admit it.

He reminded you of a stray cat, too proud to ask for affection, but too lonely to stay away from the warmth you offered. So you gave it.

Quietly. Patiently. Repeatedly.

You'd begun to anticipate him in all the little ways you shouldn't have. Setting out a second mug when you brewed tea in the middle of the night, because somehow, without fail, he would appear just as the steam began to curl from your chipped porcelain cup. Leaving the bathroom light on, knowing he preferred patching himself up under its dim, humming glow. Folding the throw blanket on the couch just the way he liked—creased at the corners, but not tucked in. He hated feeling confined.

You kept extra ramen in your pantry. Started buying that brand of granola bars he always grumbled about but never left untouched. And now, here he was again in your space, holding his pain in the same way you held your thoughts.

Tight, hidden, private.

You watched him from the doorway and wondered if he saw you the way you saw him. If he noticed the weight of his presence, or how your world tilted subtly every time he stepped into it. If maybe, just maybe, he was coming back not because he had nowhere else to go, but because you were here.

No, that was stupid. You were a lot of things, but you weren't stupid. The city had no room for the foolishly naive.

But were you friends?

You wanted to ask him, but you didn't. You were afraid of what the answer might be. Hope was a delicate thing, and in a city like Gotham, it never lasted long.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. Sometimes, when the silence stretched long and unbothered between you, you found yourself playing a strange little game in your mind. You tried to guess his name.

It had started as a harmless, idle curiosity, but it had grown into something you clung to when his presence lingered long after he'd gone. The guessing had become a comfort of sorts, as though naming him might make him more real. Less myth. Less mystery.

He didn't look like a Robert. You imagined a Robert might wear boat shoes and a pressed polo, maybe even a handlebar mustache if he was particularly insufferable. A Simon would have round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and a fondness for spreadsheets. Anthony? No, far too smug. He'd be the kind of man who winked at waitresses and thought himself charming. Luke maybe, if he had more of a boyish softness to his features, but Red? No, he had an edge carved into him, all angles and tribulations.

Occasionally, when he sat slouched like this, the flickering bulb overhead casting harsh shadows over his jawline, you'd swear you had seen him before.

Not like this, with blood seeping slowly through bandages and a half-gloved hand trembling ever so slightly from the adrenaline still wearing off. But somewhere, in the back of your mind, there was an echo. A fading image of a photograph you might've once seen in a crumpled newspaper. Something about a billionaire's dead son. An obituary that featured a smiling young boy with bright eyes and a future that might have been written in gold leaf and marble.

You'd dismissed it as fast as it came. You never paid attention to socialite tragedies. The world of gala dresses and legacies was so far removed from yours that it barely felt real. Besides, that boy was dead, buried in some manicured graveyard you'd never be allowed into. And this boy was sitting in your kitchen bleeding all over your table.

Alive.

Though, perhaps not for long, if he kept living like this. He had the same regard for his own life that you had for the cracked mugs in your sink. Tolerated, but barely.

You watched him fumble again with the blood-slick bandages, the crimson staining through like watercolours blooming on canvas. He was trying to wrap his shoulder one-handed, which clearly wasn't working. The angle was wrong, and the effort was shaky.

You bit your lip and told yourself not to interfere.

He never asked nor expected your help, and that unspoken boundary hovered between you like a landmine, one you dared not disturb. And yet, eventually, you couldn't take it anymore.

You crossed the kitchen with slow, deliberate steps, like approaching a wild thing that might flee at the first sudden movement. He stiffened, the line of his back going rigid as you rounded the table, but he didn't look up. Didn't flinch. Didn't utter something sharp and dismissive, like you half expected him to.

You took it as a good sign.

Without a word, you pulled out the chair opposite him and sat. For a heartbeat, the room felt breathless. He tracked your movement with the wary precision of a soldier, but he didn't stop you. When your fingers reached for his arm, he tensed beneath your touch, muscles coiled like a drawn bowstring, but he didn't pull away.

That was enough.

You worked in silence, your touch careful and clinical. You unwound the soaked bandages and tossed them aside, grabbing the rubbing alcohol and clean gauze. You murmured apologies when he hissed at the sting, but you didn't stop. If he could live through getting stabbed and shot at, you figured he could endure a little antiseptic.

His skin was warm beneath your fingertips—fever-warm, maybe—but sturdy. He was littered with half-healed wounds and fading bruises, scattered across the landscape of him like constellations only he could decipher. There was a story written in each of them, and you hated that you wanted to read them. To know the ugly details. To understand.

You tamped the impulse down. This wasn't about curiosity. It was about care.

Your gaze lingered longer than it should have. At the sharp ridge of his collarbone. The sinew of muscle taut beneath tattered fabric. The way his calloused hands tightened into fists when the pain surged, but never once tried to stop you.

You should probably get him some lotion for Christmas. The thought rose unbidden, absurd, but somehow entirely fitting. "For your dry, murdery hands," the label might read.

If this... whatever this was... even lasted until then.

When you were done, you gave his arm a light pat. It was gentle, like punctuation at the end of a sentence you didn't know how to finish. Then you stood, discarding the bloodied tissues, and scrubbing your hands clean. You moved on autopilot, draining the tea that had long gone cold and replacing it with a fresh cup—extra honey, just the way you'd learned he liked it, even if he never said it aloud.

Then, because you were helpless against the urge to say something, you leaned one hip against the table and smirked faintly.

"Careful, Red," you drawled, "if you keep getting hurt like this, I might start to think you have a thing for my first aid skills."

He didn't answer right away, but his lip twitched. It was a breath of a reaction, but it was there, and for someone like him, that was practically a sonnet.

You sipped your tea, letting the warmth sit on your tongue before you spoke again. He hadn't touched his yet, staring down at the swirling amber surface like it held answers he hadn't figured out how to ask for.

"You're less chatty than usual," you remarked casually. "And I say that knowing full well you're already a man of, like, four words max."

Nothing. Not even a smirk this time.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were brooding. Which, y'know... shocker."

Still nothing. No anger, just quiet. It was oddly unlike him.

"You don't have to tell me, of course," you amended quickly, not wanting to come off as nosy. "Whatever it is. I just—you're carrying it like it's made of concrete."

You pressed your lips together for a moment, then tried to fill the space again, your tone lightening, the way you knew he preferred it when things got too close to raw.

"I mean, if this is about the tea, I can make it again. Stronger. Less... 'grandma's house' and more 'man on the run.' I just figured you liked honey, seeing as you keep finishing the jar and pretending it was like that when you found it."

That earned you a tiny huff, maybe a laugh, maybe a scoff. You were not sure which, but it was something.

Emboldened, you tilted your head and gave him a crooked smile. "Or maybe you're just disappointed I haven't guessed your name yet. I'm running out of options, you know. I've gone through the entire cast of Friends at this point."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"No, really," you continue, warming to your own ramble. "Ross? Too whiny. Chandler? Too annoying. Joey? ...Well, I could see it, but you'd have to say 'how you doin' at least once to convince me."

When he didn't respond, you wondered if you'd made a mistake with the reference. Did vigilantes have time to watch sitcoms? Maybe you could convince him to partake in a marathon with you.

You let the inevitable silence stretch for a beat, then wrinkled your nose and glanced at him over the rim of your mug.

"So, just for my own peace of mind, you are housebroken, right?"

Your guest didn't look up, but his head tilted curiously. One eyebrow quirked the tiniest bit, the closest thing to a response you were likely to get when he was in one of his moods.

You gestured broadly toward the red helmet on the table, the scuff of his boot across the wood grain, and the faint trail of dried blood from the kitchen. "I mean, it's starting to feel like you live here, Red. And if that's the case, I should start charging you rent. Or at the very least, make you take out the trash once in a while."

No response.

"Because I don't just let any emotionally constipated vigilante bleed all over my apartment. I have standards too."

A twist. Barely there, but his mouth moved, almost betraying a smile. You held onto that like it was gold.

"I'm just saying," you went on, folding your arms dramatically, "if you're gonna keep showing up here at three a.m. looking like you got in a fight with a deli slicer, you could at least pretend to be a little more domesticated. I don't know, maybe wipe your feet at the entrance? Use the actual door? Bring flowers?"

His voice, when it finally came, was roughened by fatigue. "You want flowers?"

You blinked at him, caught off guard. "Okay, well now it's weird because you asked. If you actually show up with flowers, I'm going to assume there's a bomb in them."

He let out a quiet huff. Not quite a laugh, but close enough.

"And don't even think about roses," you added, waving a finger. "Too cliché. You're more of a—I don't know—carnivorous plant guy. Like a spooky Venus flytrap. 'Cause nothing says housewarming present like a plant that eats things."

His eyes finally lifted to meet yours. They were unreadable, but the heaviness behind them seemed to ease, just a little.

"You done?" he demanded, gruff but not annoyed. More like he was indulging you.

You were not, and the next words spilled out in an involuntary confession.

"Sometimes I think about how strange this all is. You. Me. This. Whatever this is." You gesture loosely between you. "You're out there dancing with death on a nightly basis, and I'm here pretending tea can fix bullet wounds."

You don't mean for the smile that followed to be so sad, but it was.

"I guess I'm just glad you come back. That's all."

For a moment, he was utterly still, the kind of stillness that lived in the eye of a storm. His response came frayed like it was coming through a static radio.

"Why?"

It knocked the air from your lungs. It wasn't quite an invitation. Not quite a wall. A wound, maybe.

You wanted to ask what was bothering him. Wanted to reach across the table and touch his hand, just for a second, to tell him without words that he was not alone. That he didn't have to be.

Jason hadn't meant for the question to sound like an accusation.

"Why?"

It slipped out sharper than he intended, but it had tumbled off his tongue before he could stop it. And now he sat there, watching you across the table, your hands wrapped around that chipped mug like it was the most natural thing in the world to sit across from someone like him and say:

"I guess I'm just glad you come back. That's all."

Something in his chest tightened. An ache, deep and reflexive, like a muscle spasming around an old injury. You had said it so simply, like it was obvious, like it wasn't a concept that felt foreign when he tried to believe it.

Glad? To see him?

It couldn't be real. No one was glad to see him. Not really. Not anymore. And the way you'd looked at him when you said it made his defences flare up like an allergic reaction.

He had to ask. Why.

Why would you be glad to see someone like him? Someone who showed up at your window uninvited. Someone who never told you his real name. Someone who brought death on his heels and stayed too long.

Your lack of response only made it worse. You looked at him like he was the one not making sense.

Of course, you were glad he came back.

He hated how fast the words came after that, how he couldn't stop himself from lashing out.

"You shouldn't be."

He said it like a truth he needed you to believe, even if he didn't. Said it hard, like if he drove the words deep enough, they'd take root and push you away before he got used to the idea of you staying. Because he was growing too attached. That much was certain.

It had started creeping in quietly, like a burglar. He hadn't even realized how bad it had gotten until he caught himself during a patrol, slipping off to some rooftop, hand digging into the inner pocket of his jacket for the burner phone you had the number for.

For emergencies. That was all it was meant for. That was the excuse he told himself when he'd scrawled the number down and pressed it into your hand.

You never used it. You never called or even texted. You let him keep his secrets, and that should have made it easier to let go. It didn't. And he'd found himself checking that phone anyway, half in agony, half in hope.

He still had it. Weeks past the point when he should've tossed it and gotten a new number, like he always did. But he kept this one. Maybe one day, you'd need him. Maybe one day, you'd use it. Part of him hated how much he wanted you to.

He stared at your tea across from him now. You never asked if he wanted any. You just knew.

And that wasn't all.

The second mug you always left out on the counter after midnight. The way you started keeping extra bandages under the sink. That one faded hoodie you folded up and left on the back of the couch after he complained—once—about the cold. The cabinet with the snacks you didn't like but kept stocked anyway.

You made space for him without asking anything in return, without ever pushing.

It made his skin itch. It felt like walking into a dream that would crumble the second he touched it. Too temporary. Too good. Too false. Like one of those illusions, fate gave people like him, just long enough to feel warm before it was ripped away again.

Because nothing good stayed. Not for someone like him. Not in Gotham.

But somehow, impossibly, you kept leaving the light on, and he kept coming back.

You tilted your head slightly now, watching him from across the table, your lips pressed into a gentle smile. There was no fear in your eyes. No judgment. Just the quiet patience of someone waiting for a wounded animal to decide whether it wanted to be held or bite.

Jason Todd only knew how to bite, even when he didn't mean it. Especially when he didn't mean it.

Before either of you could speak again, he stood, the legs of his chair scraping sharply against the floor. The untouched tea on the table wobbled in its cup but didn't spill. Not yet. It waited, just like you did.

"Don't," he snapped suddenly, dangerous in the way a wounded beast growled before it struck. "Don't look at me like that."

You blinked, startled, rising instinctively from your chair like you could fix it before the moment broke entirely.

"Like what?"

"Like I matter." The words were bitten off. "Like this means something."

He didn't mean to say it, but it was already happening, and he couldn't stop himself. The vulnerability curled in his gut like something shameful. Something that had to be punished before it grew too loud.

"I'm not some stray you can keep feeding and expect it not to bite your hand." He stepped back from the table like your kindness was something venomous. "You think leaving out tea and wrapping up my arm makes this normal? Makes me safe?"

You flinched imperceptibly, but Jason saw it. You always wore your heart on your sleeve, letting your emotions bloom too brightly across your face. It made you easy to read, and he knew when his words hit home, when the warmth drained from your expression, replaced by sheer hurt. He felt it, sharp and sudden in his chest like a splinter lodging deep into scar tissue.

But he kept going. He had to.

"I don't need your pity. I don't want to be your goddamn charity case. This—whatever the hell this is—you don't owe me shit."

"Red—" you started, but he cut you off.

"You think this makes you a good person? Taking in the stray? Letting me bleed on your damn floor so you can feel better about yourself?" He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "I'm not your project. I'm not here so you can collect your brownie points for being the kind one. You're not getting anything out of this, so why the hell do you keep doing it?"

Your breath caught, but you didn't move. You didn't yell back. You didn't tell him he was wrong. You just stood there, with that same stubborn gentleness in your eyes, and it drove him mad.

"Jesus," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, pacing now. "You need to stop. Stop caring. Just stop."

"I never did it for something in return," you whispered.

"Well, maybe you should have."

The silence after that was suffocating, and Jason stilled. His chest heaved. He couldn't look at you. If he did, he might stay. If he did, he might say something tender, something real. And then he'd ruin you.

You inhaled shakily. "You think I'm doing this for points? That I'm keeping score?"

"You should be," he hissed. "Because all I've done is take. All I do is take. You keep giving and I keep showing up like some parasite, and for what?"

"Because I care," you said finally, too tired to hide the yearning in your voice.

"You shouldn't. I'm not one of the good ones. You think you're doing something noble, letting me in, playing Florence Nightingale. But I'm not who you think I am, and the sooner you stop pretending otherwise, the better."

He stared at you, waiting for you to yell. To scream. To say anything that would prove him right, would make walking away easier.

But you didn't.

You just stood there, hands limp at your sides, lips parted like you wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. And God, your eyes looked so betrayed, like you were trying to understand where everything had gone wrong. Like you had failed some test you didn't know you were taking.

Jason hated the sight of your heart breaking in real-time and knowing he had done it.

You swallowed thickly. "I didn't ask for any of this. I just... I just wanted you to be okay."

Jason's breath hitched.

You weren't crying, but your voice shook like it might come to that if he pushed one word further.

"I've been careful," you added, quieter now as if the room itself might judge you for the confession. "I never ask you to stay. Never asked for anything at all. You're the one who keeps coming back. How am I to blame for that?"

Jason looked away. The guilt hit like a bullet, right where it could do the most damage.

"You should've," he returned flatly. "You should've asked for more. That way you'd see exactly how little I have to give."

He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted to tell you that you were the only good thing in his life that hadn't asked anything of him.

Instead, he said, "You should've slammed the door on me the first time I showed up. That was your mistake."

You didn't have the heart to point out that he hadn't used the door. You didn't follow him either. Didn't plead, didn't reach for his hand or beg him to stay. That hurt worse than anything else.

He was right.

You were too kind. Too kind to call him out on his bullshit. Too kind to tell him to go to hell. Too kind to stop him when he stepped toward the window and opened it, cold air spilling in like water from a broken pipe.

And in your generosity, Jason realized the worst part.

You still would've left the light on for him.

Even now.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as the window slid shut, sealing in silence and sealing out the sound of his retreating steps.

A sinkhole opened in the pit of your stomach, swallowing the remnants of warmth that had once lived in the corners of the space, and it left you hollow, like a house with the doors blown off. His departure felt too much like a goodbye. Too much like a half-finished letter, the ink smudged, the signature missing. The last page of a story ripped clean from the spine.

You stood there for a while as if the air might stitch him back into the room if you stayed motionless enough. As if the chair he’d occupied might creak under phantom weight. But nothing moved. Nothing stirred.

You doubted he’d ever show himself in front of you again, and even if he did—somewhere, out there beneath Gotham’s godless sky—you wouldn’t know where to look. Not that you would, of course. You weren’t foolish enough to chase after someone who didn’t want to be found. If he didn’t want to see you anymore, you would not burden him with your presence. You would not be a nuisance.

When the tears finally came, they gouged hot trails down your cheeks. You bit your lip to keep from making a sound, unwilling to fill the void he’d left behind with your grief. At least you had your answer now. You and him were not friends. Maybe vigilantes didn’t have friends. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be yours.

And oh, how that simple truth ached more than any goodbye ever could.

It had been three weeks since the boy you had grown attached to cleaved himself from your life, not that you were counting, of course. You would never be so pitiful as to tally the days in his absence, to chart the sunrises without him like some widow mourning a love that had never been named.

And yet…

The calendar pages turned with a slow, dragging inevitability. The hollow ache in your chest had become something familiar. Manageable. You were slowly adjusting to the shape your life had taken before he’d ever crashed into your world.

Still, there were nights when the wind howled a little too loud and the tea kettle hissed just before three a.m., and you found yourself setting out an extra mug. You never filled it—not always. But sometimes, on the worst nights, you did. You'd place it gently beside your own, the steam rising between them like the ghost of a conversation.

Come morning, it would sit there untouched. Cold. Filmed over. Forgotten by everyone except you. You couldn’t blame yourself for hoping.

Tonight was another late shift at work. The kind that stretched you thin until your bones ached with exhaustion and your thoughts blurred into fog. The headache had bloomed sometime after midnight and now throbbed relentlessly behind your temples. You pulled your cardigan around yourself as you stepped out into the Gotham streets, rain slanting in bitter sheets from a sky as grey as mourning.

Of course tonight, of all nights, you’d forgotten your umbrella.

Your shoes squelched with every step, the water soaking through the soles and into your socks. Streetlights flickered overhead, some sputtering, others long since dead. You kept your eyes down, focused on the familiar path home, on putting one foot in front of the other, but even so, you felt that prickle on the back of your neck, the kind you couldn’t shake off, no matter how tightly you wrapped your arms around yourself. The streets were too empty.

You tightened your grip on your keys, slotting them between your fingers like jagged little weapons. You were half a block from safety. Just a little farther.

And then hands. Cold, foreign, and wrong. Fingers like iron gripped your arm and yanked you sideways into the yawning dark of a nearby alley.

A gasp tore from your throat, but you didn’t scream. Instinct moved faster than thought. You lashed out with your keys, catching your attacker across the face—or somewhere, you weren’t sure, but the sharp hiss of pain told you it had landed. You tried to twist away, but the alley wall met your back, and your heart hammered like a trapped bird in your ribcage.

It wasn’t a mugging. He didn’t reach for your bag. He didn’t demand anything. He just came at you with precision, with intention.

And then… he was gone, like a shadow pulled back into the deeper dark, vanishing as swiftly as he’d come. You stood there stunned, breath ragged, mind catching up with what had just happened. It wasn’t until the adrenaline began to fade that you felt it.

The pain.

Hot, sharp, deep. A burning throb in your side, just beneath your ribs. You reached down with trembling fingers and they came away slick and red. It was difficult to see the exact shade of carmine that marred your hands in the dark, but the heat of it told you all you needed to know. It clung between your fingers in syrupy ropes, and beneath it all, the pain bloomed sharp and insistent, flaring like a cruel reminder every time you breathed.

You’d been stabbed.

A hollow, almost hysterical laugh escaped your lips, grating the back of your throat. You’d been fucking stabbed. Of course, you had. Tonight was already a monument to misery. Why not crown it with something poetic?

You weren’t sure what the weapon had been—a knife, a shard of metal, something small and quick—but whatever it was, your attacker had taken it with him. You weren't a medic, but even you knew that you weren’t supposed to take the weapon out of the wound. Not if you wanted to avoid bleeding out like a gutted street urchin.

There was nothing left in you now. Only the blood, warm and gushing, and the panic rising in your throat as your body betrayed you with a wave of nausea so fierce it made your vision blur. The heat in your side was unbearable. Blinding until even that faded, replaced by a strange, iciness that spread from the wound outward, curling beneath your skin, settling into your bones.

So very cold.

Your knees buckled beneath you, and you collapsed sideways against the grime-caked alley wall, cheek scraping brick as you slid down into a crumpled heap. Your breath came in shallow gasps, as though your lungs were filling with broken glass. You pressed your hands harder against the wound, but it was futile. The blood seeped past your fingers, indifferent to your desperation.

Time lost meaning. Minutes blurred into hours, or maybe hours into seconds. You couldn’t tell. You sat slumped over yourself, trying to remember how to breathe properly, how to think, how to gather even an ounce of strength to get back up.

Eventually, with twitching fingers, slick with your own blood, you fumbled in your pocket for your phone. The screen flickered to life, glowing too bright against the dark. You’d smeared the glass red, ruined it, probably.

You didn’t care.

Your thumb hovered over your contacts. And then… faltered. Another laugh bubbled out of you, fraying at the edges.

Who were you going to call?

Your coworkers? You only ever spoke to them in clipped pleasantries, trading shift schedules and dead smiles. Your manager? God, she’d be annoyed more than anything. You could already hear her, full of barely-veiled condescension.

How dare you get yourself stabbed when we’re at our busiest? Do you know how difficult it will be to find someone to replace you on such short notice? Honestly, it’s selfish. You clearly don’t care about the team’s success.

Your laughter splintered, turning into a strangled sob, and your shoulders shook violently from the effort of it.

It’s not like you had any friends.

And even if you did, what could they do now? Friends were for sunny mornings and warm café booths, for midday walks and shared sandwiches in the park. What sort of friend could help you now?

No one was coming.

You sank deeper into the concrete, the phone slipping from your fingers, the bloodied screen flickering like a dying star.

The cold crept in intimately, then. Not just the cold of the night, but the one that nestled in your marrow.

This was it. This was how you'd go. Alone, and irrelevant. In that moment, all you wanted—more than comfort or help—was for someone to notice you were gone.

Your fingers quivered as you scrolled through your contacts again, the names blurring before your eyes, all of them meaningless, until one, in particular, made your thumb falter.

His.

You stared at the entry. The number he’d given you with all the solemnity of a last resort. For emergencies only. The implication had been clear. You had never used it.

Yet here you were. Bleeding out alone. Surely this counted. What constituted a greater emergency than your slow descent into death? You should call him. He owed you that much, after the countless nights you’d nursed his wounds, brewed tea for his unravelling nerves, offered wordless comfort when he couldn't meet your eyes.

You hesitated.

He was the one who had left. He’d made it clear that your concern was unwanted, that your presence was a burden, a kindness too foreign for him to accept. Who were you to claw back into his life now, demanding something from a man who had nothing to give?

Besides, he had probably thrown the phone away already. Changed numbers. Burned the whole thing and permanently severed all connection to you.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed down the lump forming there.

You had helped him expecting nothing in return, and if your care had ever truly been selfless, then you couldn’t call him now. You wouldn’t dishonour whatever shred of dignity remained by asking for something he never offered.

He told you not to rely on him, and you were nothing if not obedient. Even in death.

But would he even know that you'd died?

Would he hear about the nameless person found lifeless in some forgotten alleyway? Or would you be just another unclaimed cadaver, swiftly removed with nothing but a toe tag to mark your end?

The thought struck harder than the pain in your ribs.

No. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t right.

You were no one—yes. An inconsequential creature tucked into the shadows of a city that never slept, but you were not nothing. You had existed. You had loved. You had helped. And whatever little sliver of self-worth burned in your chest would not let you die like this, like some discarded scrap on the edge of the world. You wanted to at least have the dignity of dying in your own home.

With a choked cry, you forced your blood-slicked palm against the wall, fingers scrambling for purchase. Your legs screamed in protest, and your vision went white with pain, but you pushed, staggering to your feet like a marionette with half its strings cut. Your body bent nearly double, every breath a dagger in your ribs, but you moved. You moved because you had to. Because you refused to die here in this piss-stained alley, where the rats would be your only mourners and your story would end in tragic comedy.

Step by agonizing step, you dragged yourself toward your apartment building, each footfall a prayer, each gasp a rebellion.

You were not going to die out here. You refused to.

By the time you reached the entrance to your building, your body was little more than a shuddering husk, hollowed out by blood loss and sheer willpower. The stairs loomed before you like a joke, an unscalable mountain for someone with no air left in their lungs. You cursed the building for not having a damned elevator, cursed yourself for choosing this place, this street, this life. But then you remembered, with no small measure of desperation, that your apartment was on the first floor. Just one flight. Just a few steps.

You could do this.

Each stair was its own Everest. Your hands gripped the banister like it was the only thing tethering you to this world, your knees buckling with every upward shuffle. By the time you reached your door, your vision had gone obsidian around the edges, the hallway swimming before your eyes like you were underwater.

Your fingers fumbled at the keyring, sticky with blood. You dropped it once. Then again. The keys jangled to the floor in a wet scatter, and you nearly screamed in frustration. It took everything in you to bend down and retrieve them, the movement setting off a white-hot flare in your side. When at last you managed to force the key into the lock and shove the door open, it felt like winning some futile, cruel battle.

The moment you crossed the threshold, your legs gave out. You caught yourself clumsily on the edge of the doorway, panting. There was a trail of red already soaking into your welcome mat, smearing across the floor where your shoes dragged in rainwater and the city’s muck.

You thought of what a mess it would be in the morning. Not your pain. Not your fear. The mess.

Of course. Always worried about the inconvenience.

Your bed beckoned, soft and warm in memory, but you knew better. The thought of dying there, of ruining the sheets, staining the mattress, and leaving some poor cleanup crew to find you sprawled like a ghost in a coffin of cotton, made your stomach turn.

No, you couldn't do that to them. You couldn't be a burden, even in death.

So you turned instead toward the bathroom, dragging your feet unsteadily. The mirror reflected something ghastly as you passed, but you didn’t look long enough to register it. The bathtub was where you would go. Easy to clean. Contained. Not that you had plans to die, not really. Just a precaution.

You collapsed inside it, the porcelain biting cold against your rain-soaked clothes. You had meant to only sit on the edge, to open the cabinet, maybe fish out the old first-aid kit, the one you’d used on him more times than you could count. But that thought was as distant now as the stars. You couldn’t move anymore. Couldn’t lift your arm, couldn’t reach the faucet, couldn’t even curl properly into yourself.

The chill was everywhere, gnawing its way into your bones. Your side throbbed, your hands were numb, and your clothes clung to you like a second, sopping skin. The bathroom ceiling blurred above you, a dull white light flickering in and out of focus.

Maybe if you could just turn the shower on, and run the hot water, it'd warm you. Even that was beyond you, and your eyes slid shut.

Just five minutes, you told yourself.

You’d rest for five minutes and then you’d wake up. You’d patch yourself up, and you’d clean up the mess.

Jason Todd stood outside your apartment door, a greasy pizza box balanced in one hand, the old burner phone cradled in the other. He hated how long he stood there, staring at your door like some coward at confession, trying to summon the nerve to knock. The light overhead flickered erratically, buzzing like it, too, was mocking him for coming back with his tail between his legs.

He didn’t do apologies. Not well. Not in words. Nonetheless, this was the closest thing he could offer. A peace offering. Your favourite pizza and an irrational hope tucked in his chest that maybe you hadn’t stopped waiting for him.

He told himself it was just a coincidence when his patrols started curving past your building more often than necessary. Gotham was dangerous, after all. Plenty of reasons to keep an eye on your neighbourhood.

That didn’t explain why he always ended up outside your window. Why he paused there, hidden in the shadows with his helmet in hand, unable to resist the pull of light spilling through your curtains. Why he’d squint through the fogged-up glass, watching the shape of you as you went about your night, a ghost in your own home.

Sometimes you’d sit at the little table by the kitchen window, two mugs set down instead of one. One of them always remained untouched, placed directly in front of the empty seat he used to occupy like muscle memory. And god, those were the worst nights, the ones where he caught you staring at that vacant spot, eyes glazed with thought, fingers wrapped around your own mug for warmth that never quite reached your face.

It gutted him in ways he didn’t want to examine. Routine was memory. Memory was grief.

You’d left the light on most nights, like you always did. Once he’d seen you crack open the window just a sliver, as if you were expecting someone to come climbing through. He hadn’t moved from the fire escape that time, just sat there like a coward in the dark, watching you wait.

You hadn’t closed it again until dawn.

Here he was now, standing at your door like a man with something to offer, when all he’d ever done was take.

It had been three weeks, not that he was counting. Three weeks since he’d stormed out, spitting venom at the only person who'd offered him a lifeline. He’d told himself he was doing you a favour by leaving. Sparing you. Protecting you. But all it had done was leave him bitter, clawing at the emptiness where your laughter used to sit.

So he’d come back. He was even doing it your way this time. No rooftop skulking, no slipping through your window like a thief in the night. He’d wiped his boots on the doormat like you always nagged him to, grumbling under his breath about manners even as he indulged your rituals.

It was then that he saw it.

The mat was wet, and not just from rain. It was stained with something thicker than water. His brows furrowed. He crouched down, pressed his fingers against it, and brought them up to the light.

Blood.

A chill knifed down his spine. The pizza box slid forgotten to the floor, and the burner was shoved back into his pocket with numb fingers as he stepped forward. He reached for the door and froze. It was ajar, just enough to be wrong.

Jason’s jaw clenched as he pushed it open, inch by inch, his muscles tense. The air inside was still, but not in the comforting, quiet way. It was stale, coated in something metallic.

The hallway beyond the threshold told him everything he needed to know, and nothing he wanted to. There were smears. Streaks of blood that dragged in uneven trails across the walls and floor like someone had been pulling themselves, struggling to crawl. It didn’t take a detective to know it hadn’t happened more than a few hours ago. It was still wet in places.

“No,” he muttered under his breath.

He followed the trail, dread festering like rot in his gut, stifling in its certainty. The apartment bore the signs of someone trying—and failing—to get to safety. A chair half-toppled in the living room. A phone on the floor with bloodied fingerprints on the cracked screen. The bathroom door half-open, swinging slightly on its hinges.

Inside, Jason’s boots crunched over scattered pill bottles, cotton pads, and disinfectants. The cabinet had been ransacked, the sink stained, and the floor a battlefield of debris. However, it was the bathtub that rooted him in place.

The shower curtain had been torn from its hooks on one side, hanging askew like a shroud, and there at the edge was a hand.

Unmoving, and painted the same devastating hue as his discarded helmet.

“No, no, no—”

Jason surged forward. His fingers trembled as he grabbed the edge of the curtain and yanked it back. His heart stopped.

There you were, curled up like a broken doll. Blood had seeped through your clothes, and pooled beneath you in a slick that had long gone cold. Your face was too pale. Your lips were tinged with blue. You looked like you'd been dying alone.

And he hadn’t been here. He’d left you.

“Shit—” The curse ripped out of him as he dropped to his knees beside the tub. “Shit. No, no, no. Stay with me. Don’t you dare fucking do this.”

His eyes raked over your body in a frenzied scan, finally landing on the crimson bloom beneath your ribs, still seeping sluggishly into the sodden fabric of your shirt.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped, yanking his jacket off and pressing it hard against your side. “Just—fuck—open your damn eyes. Please. I can’t—just stay with me.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t cry out. You didn’t even stir.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he pleaded again, trying to keep pressure on the wound while reaching up to cradle your face. His fingers brushed over your cold cheek, the dampness of it jarring. “Shit, you’re freezing.”

Your skin had the waxy hue of someone far too close to death.

“Don’t do this.” His voice cracked around your name. “Don’t you fucking do this to me.”

He ran his thumb across your temple, trying to coax warmth back into your skin. “You’re not allowed to go out like this.”

He wanted to rage, to tear apart every alley in Gotham until he'd found the bastard who’d done this to you and buried him in pieces, but he couldn’t leave you. Not again.

“I shouldn’t have left,” he whispered, forehead pressed against yours. “I was trying to keep you safe, you stupid, stupid—all I did was get you hurt.”

The blood kept leaking through the fabric under his hand. He tried not to look at it. Tried to focus on the flutter of your breath instead, shallow and shaky as it was.

“You stayed up for me. Every night,” he continued hoarsely. “Kept the light on like a goddamn lighthouse. You set out mugs for a ghost, and I—I let you.”

He swallowed hard, jaw tight. “I thought if I stayed away, you’d move on. Forget me. Be safe.”

He brushed back the damp strands of hair plastered to your forehead and nearly flinched at the chill of your skin. “But you didn’t forget. And now look at you.”

Another shallow breath rattled from you. Not enough. Never enough.

Jason let out a bitter laugh. Half relief, half devastation.

“You always patched me up without question. Let me bleed on your couch like it was normal. Told me to stop tracking blood in like it was mud, like I was just some dumb, messy roommate. You made me think I could be something other than this.”

He gripped your jaw gently, coaxing your face toward his, needing even your closed eyes on him. He had seen worse wounds. He’d inflicted worse wounds. But never before had his hands shaken like this, not even when pulling bullets out of his own flesh. Not even when bleeding in the dark with only adrenaline and resentment keeping him alive.

You weren’t moving, and that terrified him more than anything else.

He hadn’t wanted to look. Had clung to the jacket pressed against your side like it might reverse the damage, like he could will the blood to retreat into your body, but the pressure wasn’t enough. He had to see it, to know what he was dealing with.

"Sorry...I’m gonna lift your shirt now. I need to—I need to fix this.”

As if you could hear him. As if that mattered.

Nevertheless, his entire demeanour softened when speaking to you, even now.

Almost reverently, Jason tugged the fabric of your shirt upward. It clung to your skin, soaked through with blood and rain, and he had to tear it gently around the wound to reveal what lay beneath.

It was sickeningly deep. Ragged. A puncture wound, just below your ribs, the edges dark with drying blood, the center still weeping. It hadn’t clotted. It wasn’t going to.

“Shit,” he grunted, clenching his jaw as a fresh wave of helpless fury surged through him. His hands hovered, uncertain. “You weren’t supposed to…”

He wasn’t supposed to let this happen.

His gloves were already off, discarded god knew where when he found you. And now, he reached for the cabinet above your sink, flinging it open and pawing through it until supplies tumbled out. A crude first aid kit: gauze, antiseptic wipes, a needle and thread in a plastic pouch. Nothing close to sterile. Nothing close to what you needed, but it would have to do.

Jason fell to his knees beside the tub again. His fingers were too numb, but he forced them to work. He yanked the antiseptic open with his teeth, nearly choked on the smell, and drenched a clean cloth with it.

“This is gonna hurt,” he uttered another apology as he dabbed around the wound. You didn’t flinch. That silence hit harder than a scream.

He took a deep breath and threaded the needle.

“I’m not good at this,” he told you. “You usually do the patching. I just sit there like a jackass and make fun of your tea.”

A breathless huff escaped him. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sob.

“But I’m gonna try, okay? You just—you stay with me. Just for a little while longer.”

The first stitch was agony. Not for you, but for him. The needle pushed through skin with resistance, your blood sticking to his fingers. He cursed under his breath, eyes burning as he worked. He tried to be careful, gentle even, but he didn’t have time for grace. He just needed to stop the bleeding.

One stitch. Two. Three. The jagged edges of the opening puckered beneath his efforts, but slowly the worst of it began to close. He wrapped it after, thick layers of gauze and the remains of your shirt to press against it.

Then his hands fell still.

��Okay,” he consoled, brushing hair away from your brow. “Okay. That’s… that’s the worst of it.”

You didn’t stir.

“You’re not dying,” he repeated as if he could manifest it into truth. “I didn’t just fix you up so you could fucking die on me anyway.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips against your forehead, tasting rust.

“I’m not losing you.”

He had come here thinking it would be the beginning of an apology, but now it might as well have been a eulogy.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd headcanon #jason todd #red hood #red hood x reader #dc comics #dc universe #batfamily #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfiction #batfam #jason todd imagine

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victorbutnotreally · 11 months ago

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Hello, I was wondering if you could write a reaction ot8 stray kids with a scary looking male reader with tattoos who's taller and stronger than them but is super nice to them.

I wasn't sure what to request, so I hope this is ok🙃

my first time writing on the internet...thank you so much for the request, darling <3 I really hope you like it. (also, i wasn't sure if the reader is a skz member, so I wrote him as one. hope that's okay.)

LOOKS LIKE HE COULD KILL YOU, IS A CINNAMON ROLL

warnings: slightly suggestive in Lee Know's part.

Bang Chan

He'd be a bit startled at first when being introduced to the new trainee. The guy was tall. The height was the first thing our tiny leader noticed. (M/n)'s tattoos were badass, yes, but that paired with his frame and sharp features was...intimidating. He looked like he could break you in half with those big hands of his. Once he got over the initial surprise, he grew attached. I mean, who wouldn't? (M/n) was an absolute sweetheart. He was quite soft and funny under those muscles. (M/n) was a gentle giant. He'd drag a tired, overworked Chan out of the studio at 3am and carry him like a princess. Once he was added to the group, (M/n) became the official body pillow. Especially to our koala Chan. Scenario

Bang Chan was talking to stay on Chan's Room one day, smiling and giggling at their pickup lines. His eyes landed on one comment which made him giggle a bit more than the others. "Are you mixed? Cuz you're half fine and half mine." He giggled like a little boy and dialed (M/n)'s number. "That's a good one!!" "I have to try it on (M/n)" "Hey hyung, what's up?" "Hey (M/n)....I just wanted to ask you, are you mixed?" "Huh?" "Cuz you're half fine ,half mine." "I'm all yours." (M/n) was one cheeky mf. And that one line was enough to make Chan and STAY go feral.

Lee Minho

He'd definitely be in awe. He'd love to randomly trace the tattoos with his finger and the first time he'd do it would be by poking a rose tattoo on (M/n)'s arm. Once he's comfortable, he'd be using this man like a lamppost to lean on. But at first, he'd be all wide-eyed and trying not to blush when (M/n) raises a brow at him. Would LOVE having (M/n)'s hand on his thigh. Definitely would make comments with a straight face. "You could split me in half like a pistachio." "Those thighs would look really good aroun-" (M/n) raises a brow and he stops. But it's all in good fun. Or is it? Scenario

(M/n) and him were doing that one babysitting show and the kid just looked so enamored by (M/n). He would have his cute wide eyes looking at him in awe and touching the tattoos. (M/n) would smile softly at the kid and put him on his shoulders.

"You'd be a good daddy." Of course, (M/n) knew what was coming. Minho would lean into his ear and whisper. "In more ways than one."

Seo Changbin

This man would look at (M/n) and think "goals." He'd always playfully squeeze (M/n)'s muscles. They'd get along quite easily, I'd say. Gym bros. And (M/n) would be always excited for Dwaekki Gym.

He'd sit there like an excited school kid watching their parent cook their favorite if (M/n)'s in the kitchen. He'd be used to the jokes that are made when they stand next to each other. They even have matching Snoopy and Woodstock t-shirts. I definitely don't need to mention that these two would DEVOUR girlgroup dances. (M/n) would also playfully fight with Wooyoung. "Changbin's mine."

Scenario

At a concert, they were all playing around and a fan holds up a sign with Changbin's picture from the Case 143 MV that says "Can I be your boyfriend?"

Changbin makes an X with his arms and points to (M/n) who had Minho's hand on his butt (nothing new). The fan screams "HE'S CHEATING ON YOUUUUU".

Hwang Hyunjin

Would be a bit blushy at first. He'd probably take some time to warm up to (M/n). But once he's comfortable with (M/n), he'd ask questions. "Did it hurt?" "What's that inspired by?" He'd recommend tattoo ideas as well. "How about a rose and thorns on your hip?"

Definitely would draw (M/n). No doubt about it. Would either draw a simple side profile or draw his beautiful hands. Always holding (M/n)'s hands and would definitely bite his thighs. They'd appear on Studio Choom's Mix & Match together and would be an iconic dance duo. Would watch Kdramas together and (M/n) would poke fun at some stupidities just to get on Hyunjin's nerves.

Scenario (M/n) grinning like an idiot while Hyunjin does body paint on his un-tattooed arm. He leans in and pecks Hyunjin's forehead. Of course, he'd let out a soft laugh seeing that beautiful eye smile of our dumpling. He then shows off the body paint on live.

Han Jisung

Fanboy. Fan. Boy. He loves (M/n)'s tattoos and loves how easily he can pick him up. Jokingly calls him 'bodyguard' and loves to hear him rap. Was a bit flustered by how attentive (M/n) was when he started rambling about something. (M/n) has a habit of babying him because he's a smol bean. Chair? What's that? He only knows (M/n)'s lap. And (M/n) would 100% shield him and glare at people who don't understand privacy at airports. He'd have an arm wrapped around Jisung at all times. Jisung would also fangirl over (M/n)'s photoshoots.

Scenario

(M/n) peacefully spinning around with Changbin at a concert while Han grabs him by the arm and goes, "Jeogiyo...hokshi yeoja chingu isseoyo?" And then (M/n) picks him up and spins him around while laughing that cute laugh of his.

Lee Felix

He was a teeny tiny bit intimidated by (M/n) but the moment (M/n) introduced himself and smiled, Felix knew that the guy was just another cute crackhead like the rest of them. He would love to play video games with (M/n) and (M/n) may or may not have let him win. Both of them would make midnight snacks and have conversations which are either really deep or really high. Also, (M/n) definitely compares hand sizes and coos at Yongbok's tiny hands. Also, (M/n) is a human heater. Definitely perfect for cuddles. Scenario

"Hyunggggggg I made brownieeeessssssss" (M/n) was scrolling and had his rbf on, but his striking gaze immediately softened and lit up once he saw Felix. Felix, who noticed, goes and pinches his cheeks. "Softie." "You know it."

Kim Seungmin

He was a little awkward at first, since he's not used to seeing someone so intimidating. But also because he takes a bit of time to warm up to someone. But one day, when he sees (M/n) reading one of his favorite books and being all giddy, he knew that the big strong man was really a fluff ball. (M/n) and Seungmin would do a lot of lives together and it becomes sort of a series (like Chan's Room) since they match each other's energy really well. (M/n) is also someone baby stays would consider "the normal one" like Seungmin. But boy are they wrong.. Scenario

(M/n) MCing and Seungmin teasing him. "What's your favorite Stray Kids song, MC-hyung?" "Do you like Stray Kids, MC-hyung?"

Yang Jeongin

Would be intimidated. Especially since he was such a smol babie and going through a lot of stress. But one day, (M/n) packs him lunch for school and Jeongin almost cried. He felt so guilty for being scared around (M/n) but (M/n) assured him that it's okay. (M/n) also helped him with school during trainee days. He'd have a fun way of teaching and he wanted Jeongin to at least pass. He helped Jeongin through a lot and would make sure he took care of himself. He's extra soft for our maknae. Would make comebacks at hate comments towards Jeongin. They have a very strong bond. Stay calls (M/n) Jeongin's dad. Scenario

(M/n) coming home after a long day at the studio and just cuddling Jeongin.

#stay kids reaction to intimidating male reader #stray kids #stray kids x male reader #bang chan x male reader #lee know x male reader #changbin x male reader #felix x male reader #seungmin x male reader #jeongin x male reader #han jisung x male reader #hyunjin x male reader

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13uswntimagines · 4 months ago

Text

All In My Head (Alessia Russo X Singer!r)

Part III of the Safe Harbor Universe. Find other parts here

Summary: Being Sick on tour sucks, but that doesn't mean that you want your team to inform your girlfriend. She has her own career to think about. The problem is that honesty is rule number 1 in your relationship.

Warnings: there is mention of a D/s dynamic, but nothing is super explicit. Alessia is referred to as daddy.

Authors note: Yes the ending is a cliffhanger. But this has honestly been in my drafts since like August, so i wanted to put it out. I'm considering a Pt. 2, but it will depend on if people want it. I really hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think.

You sighed heavily, leaning against the stadium's cool stone wall and twisting the bracelet around your wrist.

Which stadium, you couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter, really. They all looked the same after a while anyway, blurring together in the never-ending cycle of rehearsals, performances, interviews, and meet and greets.

All your life seemed to be was performing and promoting music you weren’t even excited about anymore. It was a nonstop grind filled with late nights and early mornings, with almost no time for your well-being.

You almost wished your girlfriend had implemented a rule that placed a limit on how much you could do. At least that would give you the power to say no.

You did your best.

You squeezed in as many phone calls with your girlfriend, Alessia as you could, but she had her own commitments with the Lionesses as they prepared to defend their European championship.

Most of the time you ended up passing out over FaceTime, and waking up to texts telling you she loved you.

You understood. You both had careers and obligations. You both had to make sacrifices to get to do the things you loved.

It was… intense, but for the most part, you enjoyed it. You loved playing for the fans. You would deal with all the promotional bs just so you could interact with the people who loved your music as much as possible.

They deserved that.

And this tour had been going far better than the ones you had been on before it. You were holding it all together far better than you had in the past.

Or it had been.

It all started with a slight tickle in your throat in the city before last. A whisper of huskiness that went away with a nice steam session and some tea.

It was easy to ignore in the beginning.

Then you played 4 shows back to back last weekend.

By the end of the 3rd show, you knew you were screwed, you could barely muster a horse whisper. Alessia had commented that you sounded like a chain smoker, your first sign that she was seeing through you, but you assured her you would be fine. You even joked that you had enough throat coat and grether's pastilles to turn her off for a year. She let you soothe her worries.

You pushed on, powered my menthol lozenges and Honey, and you made it through the 4th show.

It would have been fine. It shouldn’t have mattered that your ability to make any sound at all was hanging on by a thread. The 5 days off you had should have been enough to set everything right.

Except you didn’t have 5 days off.

It was filled with promotional performances for a new album and interviews about how well it would accompany the movie it was attached to. If someone else asked you about how it felt about the possibility of an Oscar nod, you were going to scream. Or rip all of your hair out or both.

The tickle had turned to hot nails, and nothing - not the steam machine or tea and honey - had the power to soothe it.

You sounded like you were talking through gravel, and your team had been hesitant to even let you go on tonight.

Alessia definitely would not have, if she knew how bad it really was. You started avoiding her two days ago after you couldn’t make it through a sentence without a crack, and you couldn’t continue to blame the low whistle that accompanied every one of your breaths on allergies.

You knew going in that performing tonight wasn’t a great idea, but you refused to let the fans down. There were only 4 shows left. Surely you could make it.

The entire show felt like a battle.

You had to fight for every note. For every breath.

Your lungs felt like they were on fire and your throat was raw before you even got to the piano set.

It took everything in you to hide the thinness in your voice. To prevent every sound from cracking as you forced each lyric out.

It was…rough to say the least.

But you made it- even if it was only by the skin of your teeth.

You were shot by the time you did your final bow and disappeared backstage. You ignored the cold Gatorade being pressed into your palms, knowing it would only aggravate the glass shards in your throat, and shrugged off Steven and Clint.

You didn’t need their concern, you needed to escape the roaring in your ears. The pounding in your chest.

So you took turn after turn until you were in an abandoned section of hallways.

You sighed, grasping at your throat as you slid down the cool wall, pulling your knees to your chest and pressing your forehead into the rough material of your costume to drown out the pounding in your head. Your fingers tangled in the hair at the back of your head and you groaned.

The sound felt like hot coals in your throat, and it made your chest ache.

You feared that no amount of steam, or tea, or pastilles would stop it this time.

The cold bricks of the stadium felt nice against your skin, leaching the heat from your body, though it did nothing to help the fire in your chest.

A fire that was quickly moving past the gray areas in your agreement with Alessia, and into a place that your daddy would definitely have something to say about.

You were treating your limits with her like a tightrope, carefully toeing the edge. Except with the way you felt, you knew you were about to topple one way or the other.

You ignored the sounds of clicking shoes coming closer, hoping that whoever it was wouldn’t see you. That they would leave you be to pull the cracked pieces of yourself back together.

But your team knew better than to leave you to your own devices.

“Y/n?”

You tensed at the soft hand on your shoulders, and the sound of shifting clothing as someone settled on the ground beside you.

“You ok, kid?” Natasha asked softly, running soothing circles on the top of your shoulders.

You let out another breath before you pulled your face from its hiding spot, resting your chin on your knees. “I’m ok. Just wanted some quiet,”

You frowned at the horse whisper that left your lips, and the flair of pain that accompanied it.

Natasha hummed.

She had been part of your team from the beginning, back when you were a dumb 16-year-old, long before Pepper, Tony, Steve and the rest of the crew had joined, and she knew you nearly as well as Alessia did.

She raised an eyebrow at you. “Just some quiet?”

You knew that wasn’t what she was actually asking.

The question went much deeper.

She knew about your… dynamic with Alessia, and she had seen the striker take care of you in various ways. She was asking you what you needed.

You nodded, looking away from her, afraid that she would see through you.

“I needed a minute,” You said, your voice barely a squeak. “It was all too much, and I wanted to be alone before I got pulled into something else,”

She made a low sound at the familiar explanation. “And this has nothing to do with how you sound like you’re gargling rocks?”

You grimaced. “Nothing at all,”

She hummed. “So you’re not in any pain at all?”

“Nope,” You breathed out, the p the only clear part of the word.

“Y/n,” She sighed. “I know you have an… aversion to admitting when you’re not… at the top of your game, but pushing yourself isn’t going to help anything. You don’t have anything to prove here,”

You ran a hand through your hair and rolled your eyes dramatically at her. She chuckled at the action.

“There are only 3 more shows,” You said. “I can make it 3 more shows,”

“And how would Alessia feel if she knew you were going to put your comfort aside for 3 more shows?” Natasha asked softly. “And not just your comfort, your health. You sound like shit,”

You huffed at the mention of your girlfriend, your fingers instinctively finding the braided bracelet that never left your wrist.

You knew how she would feel. You could practically hear what she would say. I expect you to take care of the things that belong to me. I expect you to treat them with respect and give them the love and care they deserve.

“I’ve got it all under control,” You rasped, wincing at the action.

It was Natasha’s turn to roll her eyes. “Sure you do. Since you have it all under control, you’ll stop ignoring your girlfriend,” She pulled the device out of her back pocket and balanced it on top of your knees. “She’s been blowing up your phone all day. I think she’s worried,”

You stared at the phone, and as if on cue, it buzzed again with a new message.

Alessia was going to be furious with you, and your daddy would be on another level entirely.

She was usually the one to take the reigns when you were set on driving yourself into oblivion for the benefit of everyone else. But she wasn’t here.

You sighed heavily.

You knew that if you told her, she would drop everything. She would move heaven and earth if that was what you needed.

You didn’t want that.

She needed to focus on her game, and that meant that you couldn’t be a distraction. You would not disappoint her. Not when you were so close to finishing.

“She needs to focus,” You mumbled, your voice straining. “She’s gotta impress Sarina to make the team. It’s important,”

“I think you forget that you are also important,” Natasha argued back softly, patting your back before carefully pushing herself to her feet. “I’m going to have Pepper cancel the meet and greet. You’re in no shape to meet fans. I should also have her call a doctor, but I already know you’ll fight me on it,”

You frowned. You never sold meet and greet tickets, choosing to instead have your team select fans at each show.

“But-“

She held up her hand before you could argue. “That isn’t up for debate. Get rest tonight, and we’ll assess tomorrow in the morning.”

Your jaw clenched, but you nodded, knowing there was no arguing with her.

“I know the world thinks you’re superhuman, but it’s ok not to be indestructible,” She said, softly. “You need to remember to be Clarke Kent sometimes too. There’s a reason Lois fell in love with him first,”

With that, she walked away, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The silence of the empty hallway wasn’t as welcoming as it had been. It didn’t quiet your thoughts like it had.

Instead, it felt suffocating. Like the walls were closing in on you, trapping you in your misery.

You sighed another painful breath, before you grabbed your phone, reading the top notification, longing not to feel so…alone.

Hey babe, caught the end of your show on a random livestream. Are we still on for our FaceTime tonight?

You let your head fall back, thumping the wall.

Everything in you longed to say yes.

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

It was still nice to fantasize about seeing her. About hearing her say ‘Hello my little one,’ with a soft smile that brought out her dimples. If you closed your eyes you could almost feel the pressure of her fingers on the back of your neck, running through the baby hairs that lived there. ‘I’m here, and I’ve got you,’

You let your mind linger there for a long second before you forced your eyes back open.

It took you three tries to type out your reply: sorry darling, I’m super tired. Rain check?

And you paused, your trembling finger over the send button, knowing you shouldn’t send it, but hitting the little blue arrow anyway.

It was awful but necessary.

You let out another long, ragged breath before you forced yourself to your feet and shoved your phone into your pocket, so you didn’t have to see her reply. You leaned heavily on the wall, no longer enjoying how it sucked the warmth from your skin, but using it to stay upright as the entire hallway tilted to the side.

You should go back to your dressing room before Steve sent out a search party. Dealing with Nat was one thing, dealing with the overprotective instincts of Steve, Clint, and Thor was another.

You didn’t have the mental capacity for that, and maybe your dressing room couldn’t make you feel like there was a rope on your lungs, dragging out your soul.

*****

You were not particular about a lot of things when you were on tour. You didn’t care about the size of your hotel room or the cars you were shuttled around in. You didn’t request overly expensive foods or special bubbly waters.

The only thing on your rider that you were very specific about was your dressing room.

It was your sanctuary away from the noise. A place you would spend more time in than your hotel room.

It was important to you that it was always the same. Lit with twinkling fairy lights, the comfy gray couch that followed you on every tour stop standing near the table with your kettle and vocal steamer, and a diffuser already filling the room with the soft scent of lavender and honey.

It filled your lungs the second you stepped through the door, wiping away the burning ache that accompanied every breath for just a second. Reminding you for one fleeting moment of the honeysuckle of Alessia’s favorite shampoo (the reason she picked the essential oil blend to begin with), before the knives returned to your chest.

You rubbed your knuckles over your sternum to quell the feeling, stumbling over to the couch and collapsing into it.

You pressed your nose into the soft gray material, wishing that you had grabbed the bright red sweatshirt you stole from your girlfriend when you last saw her. The smell of her perfume was beginning to fade, but it wasn’t gone yet, and there was a distinct longing in your stomach to be close to her. Even if you were the reason there was any space to begin with.

You could hear your kettle bubbling next to you, and you knew you should make yourself some tea to soothe the sharp edges in your windpipe, but the thought of moving felt like too much.

Instead, you sunk into the couch, your arm dangling off the cushion, your fingers brushing the ugly red carpet.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, and you didn’t have to look to know who was texting you. Still, the urge to see what she would say was too great for you to ignore it.

It took all of your strength to move your heavy arm to your pocket and pull out your phone. Your fingers fumbled over the screen as you squinted at the device with the eye not pressed into the couch.

The light made the throbbing in your head worse, and the words written on the screen made your lungs constrict.

Ok, my love. Are you sure everything is alright? This is the 3rd time this week.

You could almost hear the worry in her voice. See the suspicion in her blue eyes.

They never failed to see through you. To strip away your exterior and leave you vulnerable and raw beneath them. It never made you feel exposed, even in the beginning when the two of you decided to extend your dynamic beyond your bedroom. Instead, you felt seen and safe.

Sometimes she liked to have to work for your submission. She liked to peel away each layer of you one by one until you were a trembling mess beneath her. Open and vulnerable in a way no one else ever got to see you.

Other times, you gave your submission willingly, stripping off your public persona like a dirty shirt and allowing her to envelop you in her warm comfort.

How much you wanted that. How much you needed it.

It was a desperation that filled your entire being.

Before you could process what you were doing, you had already pressed her contact photo and brought the now-ringing phone to your ear.

You laid the device on the side of your head and let your arm go back to dangling. It was too heavy to hold.

It only rang twice before her voice filled your ears.

“Hey my love,” She said, worry and relief mingling strangely in her tone. “I’m so happy you called me. How are you?”

Her voice washed over you like a soothing wave, like a balm on the sharp edges of your nerves, though it did little to help the fire in your lungs and throat.

You pressed your nose into the couch, pretending that it was her shoulder for just a second. That the honey and lavender surrounding you was her perfume. That she was here.

“Y/n, are you there?” She asked, and you opened your mouth to respond, but the words just wouldn’t come out.

You couldn’t force any sound, beyond a low whistle past your inflamed throat. Your lungs crackled with each breath.

Your inability to make sound didn’t bother you as much as it should have.

“Y/n? Did you butt-dial me?” Alessia asked again, and you could almost feel her running her nails through your hair, gently scratching your scalp. “I’m worried,”

The words were said with too much force, not at all the soft murmur your brain had been waiting to hear.

It shook you out of your haze just enough for you to reach up and grab your phone, clicking the decline button too fast.

You let the phone drop to the floor with a low thump as it immediately began to ring again.

Your fingers twitched above the screen, but you didn’t have the strength to reach for it, even as it lit up again with your girlfriend's contact photo.

Well, it was a photo of the two of you. You were curled up in her lap, in one of her blue UNC sweatshirts that were too big, and she was kissing the side of your head.

It had been taken after a particularly grueling day in the studio. It was Alessia’s turn to host team bonding night. You didn’t remember exactly who took the picture, Leah or Lotte, maybe, but it was one of your favorites.

What the camera didn’t catch was that your arms were not in the sleeves. Instead, they were tied with intricate knots behind your back, hidden by the sweatshirt.

It was something the two of you often did, and it was one of her go-to's when you were starting to spiral out of control.

A part of you longed for the feeling of the knots now, and her fingers twisting the soft rope against your skin.

Sure, the weight of your bracelet was nice, but it wasn’t enough.

You let out a wheezing breath that crackled and hurt.

If you asked, she would be here. She would wrap you up and pull you from your free fall.

It took you a long second to remember why you couldn’t have that.

Alessia had a job to do, and you wouldn’t stand in the way of that.

The phone buzzed again against the ugly carpet, the little voicemail icon flashing. You doubted you would be able to resist calling her back if you listened to it.

Still, you had to do something.

So you flicked the screen with one finger, going to your messages, and typing out words that felt fake, even to you.

Sorry, I’m ok. Just tired. I’ll call you tomorrow after the game. Love you.

You clicked send before you could overthink it though, or your trembling fingers could betray you and type out the truth. You laid your head back down on the couch, curling into yourself as a painful cough forced its way past your lips.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, shivering before there was a soft knock at the door, and then the little click as it opened.

A part of your brain hoped that it would be Alessia. That she had read your mind and somehow teleported to whatever city you were in.

But the feeling of gentle fingers on the top of your shoulders told you that it wasn’t.

“Y/n?” Natasha asked, very close to your ear, and you blinked up at her.

You didn’t remember closing your eyes.

“Hm?” You hummed, the sound raw and painful.

“Let’s get you changed, and then we can go back to the hotel and you can sleep,” She said, placing a hand under your armpit and guiding you to a sitting position.

The tiny movement had coughs ripping past your lips.

She held you steady with one hand and grabbed you a change of clothes with the other.

“Easy,” She breathed out, carefully unbuttoning your shirt and pulling it from your sweaty skin.

She left you shirtless for a long second as she disappeared into your bathroom, and the cool air of the dressing room felt nice on your overheated skin.

It didn’t bother you. Natasha had seen you in far less clothing than your sports bra and underwear.

She returned only a moment later with a towel, using it to dry you off before she slipped a light blue t-shirt with a foot on the back over your head.

The pants took a little more wiggling, but eventually, she was able to get you out of your costume and into a pair of sweats that were far too big for you.

She slid a pair of Converse onto your feet, scooping up your phone and tucking it into her pocket.

“Let’s get you to the car,” She guided you to stand, keeping an arm wrapped tightly around you.

“People?” You asked, leaning more of your weight onto her as she pulled you towards the door.

You missed her eye roll.

Of course, all you were worried about right now was who would see you, and what they would think.

“Not here,” Natasha reassured you gently, opening the door. “Only when we get back to the hotel,”

You made a low, painful sound as she half-carried you into the hallway.

You still had time before you had to pull yourself together.

******

The city lights blurred into a distorted kaleidoscope of colors during the short ride back to the hotel.

The cool glass felt nice against your temple, though it did little to ease the throb in your head or the lava in your throat.

The feeling of eyes watching you for any wavering in your resolve also wouldn’t go away. You couldn’t be sure if it was worry (that you would puke all over the car or pass out), or concern about what the fans would think when you pulled up to the hotel.

The whirring of the engine wasn’t loud enough to block out your racing thoughts, but any music was too much for you to handle.

You were drowning.

Every breath hurt, but you didn’t know if it was because of the physical pain or the anxiety gnawing at you.

You didn’t like to upset people. You didn’t like to disappoint them.

You were a people pleaser to a fault, and this wasn’t the first time you had self-destructed to meet everyone’s expectations.

But at the end of the day, the person you wanted to please most. The person you wanted to not disappoint the most was Alessia. Was your Daddy.

You knew you were failing, but you didn’t know how to stop.

The car came to a stop in front of the hotel far too quickly, and not for the first time, you were thankful that the dark tint kept you hidden from public view.

“Ready, kid?” Steve asked, turning around in the driver's seat to look at you.

You nodded once, reaching forward and grabbing the sunglasses facing the wrong way on his head, and pulled them over your own eyes.

You took a deep breath before Clint opened your door, painting your signature smile across your features.

You didn’t wave when you got out, too focused on keeping yourself upright, as Steve’sarm wrapped around you on one side and Natasha’s did the same on the other.

You felt safe tucked between them, though they did nothing to shield you from shrill screams and cheers that met you as soon as your feet touched the ground. They amplified the pounding behind your eyes, and the way the crowd pressed around you made it even harder to breathe (not that you thought that was possible).

You did try to flash the crowd smiles as Natasha and Steve guided you through, Clint protecting your back, and you were thankful your eyes were hidden, despite it being nighttime.

You never wanted the fans to see the… fakeness. The lie.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when the hotel doors slid closed behind you, placing more of your weight on Steve as Natash called the elevator.

“You’re burning up kid,” Steve murmured, shifting to get a better grip around your waist.

You made a low sound, that turned into a full body caught that nearly had you doubling over. “Is that your way of calling me hot Stevie? What would Tony think?”

The words came out garbled, cracking with every syllable as you tried to talk through the coughs.

Steve’s arm tightened around you to keep you upright.

“I think he would say that you are sick,” Steve sighed at the mention of his husband, your publicist, taking more of your weight as another round of coughs wracked you.

You pushed off of him as soon as you could breathe again, even if it felt like sucking air through a straw filled with needles, and swayed your way toward the elevator.

It binged open as soon as you reached it, and you stumbled inside, gripping the metal bar on the back wall for support, and resting your forehead on the cool wall.

You could feel the heat of your skin leaching into the surface, but it did little to quell the pounding in your ears or the feeling like everything was tipping on its head.

Your fingers instinctively found the braided bracelet, running over the soft leather strands.

However, this time, it didn’t ease the bubbling anxiety and fire in your chest.

“We’re almost there, and then you can rest,” Natasha said softly, and you felt both her and Steve’s eyes on you as you leaned further into the wall.

The movement of the elevator was starting to make you nauseous, but you didn’t think you could voice that even if you wanted to. Not with how raw your throat was.

It took you a second to realize the elevator had stopped, and it wasn’t until Natasha gently touched your shoulder that you began to move again.

You let Steve guide you out of the elevator and into the hallway.

Natasha had the door to your suite open before you even got there, and Steve half-carried you to the bed, settling you on the fluffy white comforter.

Your fingers tangled in the expensive sheets as you fought to keep yourself upright.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Natasha asked you softly, kneeling in front of you and carefully undoing your sneakers.

You shook your head slowly, smothering another cough. “Sweatshirt,”

The croaky word hurt as it left your lips, barely audible and surrounded by more lung-crunching coughs.

But they understood, Steve, passing you a bright red sweatshirt from your bag.

You brought it to your face and collapsed back onto the bed, breathing in the perfume that clung to the material.

It burned as it filled your senses, but you could pretend that it soothed the edges of glass in your throat and lungs. You could pretend that it was her taking off your shoes and tucking you in.

You could pretend that it was all ok and that she wasn’t going to be livid when she found out. Not that you were sick, but that you hadn’t told her immediately.

You knew you would take whatever punishment she decided you deserved with no questions. She could be rather creative when she was annoyed with you.

“Let’s get you settled properly,” Natasha said, shifting you on the bed so your head was on the pillows, as Steve moved the covers and tucked them around you. “Rest now, and we’ll deal with the rest in the morning,”

You groaned, sending more flames down your airway, rolling over and pressing your face more firmly into the sweatshirt.

You heard the distinctive sound of your phone being plugged in, and the click of the door.

And then you were alone.

More alone than you had been in a very long time.

Even if it was all your own doing, you hadn’t been this disconnected since the beginning of Alessia’s college career, and your first tour with Taylor. The infamous break in your relationship. Even though neither of you had actually experimented with anyone else, and you had texted and called nonstop, you had been hesitant to push too far, to ask for too much.

You blew out a long breath into her sweatshirt, ignoring the little needles that followed the air, eyes fixed on the phone on your bedside.

It buzzed again as if it knew you were thinking about it.

You reached your hand out, pulling it close so you could look at it, but it was still plugged in.

The movement had the screen lighting up with a string of messages. The one at the top made your heart hurt.

Please don’t ignore me, my Little One. I’m worried.

It said, and you could almost hear the inflection in her tone. You could almost see her eyes softening, and feel her fingers brushing your hair behind your ear.

You closed your eyes, pressing more deeply into the sweatshirt under your head.

Your fantasy world was far nicer than the reality you were in, and the universe wouldn’t end if you stayed in it until morning.

********

Your night was… hazy, filled with half-dreams that were increasingly difficult to distinguish from real life. As the morning light crept its way further and further across the ceiling, you leaned into the sweatshirt slowly losing its smell, one eye peeking out to track its progress.

It felt like a timer. A countdown clock on the imagined feelings of soothing hands on your back and whispered reassurance that everything would be okay.

Soon enough the door would open and you would have to be you again. You would have to pretend like each breath you took didn’t feel like a bear was mauling your lungs, and your brain wasn’t a freight train threatening to escape from your skull.

You would have to deal with the incessant buzzing of your phone that had kept you on the edge of real sleep all night.

You would have to face your girlfriend. Your daddy.

You were not looking forward to it. Any of it.

The only thing that you were semi-excited about was watching your girlfriend play, even through a screen. That had been your only saving grace back when she was in college before the two of you got back together, and you knew it would be your only saving grace now.

You sighed, rolling over, the sweatshirt falling from its bunched-up place against your cheek, and reaching for the phone still on the corner of the bed next to you.

It buzzed again as your fingers caught it, and brought it closer so you could see the screen. It was filled with notifications.

Some were from the group thread you shared with your manager, assistant, and publicist. Some were emails from people you were collaborating with.

But the majority were from Alessia.

You couldn’t help but click on the thread.

You knew it was a mistake immediately.

Good morning little one. I’ll have some time if you want to FaceTime before the game. I miss you, and I’m worried. You don’t usually ignore me.

It was like an arrow straight through your heart.

A direct hit to your will.

You swallowed hard, ignoring how badly it burned, and typed out a message.

I miss you too. Good luck today. You’re going to do amazing

You dropped your phone after you hit send, deciding that finding the starting 11 wasn’t important anymore, and stared up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes, pulling the comforter more tightly around you despite the sweat breaking out across your chest.

You thought it would help the hollow feeling slowly taking over your insides, or the dull throb that accompanied each breath.

It did not.

You let your eyes slide back closed, deciding that the light hadn’t transversed far enough across the ceiling for you to need to be awake yet. Not when the pull of sleep was so strong, and the comfort of your half dreams was too difficult to resist.

“You know I don't like it when you hide from me,” Alessia’s voice said sternly, as though it was right next to your ear, and you felt fingertips graze your lips.

You didn’t open your eyes. Even amongst the haze that was filling every crack in your brain, you knew she wasn't here. She couldn’t be here. Not when she was back in London about to play some team you couldn’t remember.

“I know,” You rasped out.

The fingers gently pulled at your bottom lip before they circled back towards your cheek, and a thumb brushed across your closed eyelid.

“And you’re still doing it?” She asked, and you felt the air of each word on your ear.

You shook your head, turning it slightly, hoping to feel her nose bump hers. “You need to focus on the important things,”

You didn’t come into contact with her, though you knew you should have with the way you shifted.

“And you are not important to me?” She asked her voice hardening in the way it only did when you were about to receive a punishment.

An involuntary shiver ran down your spine, and your eyes opened automatically.

You sucked in a painful breath, blinking blearily at the face above you.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Natasha said quietly, even as your eyes darted around, searching for your girlfriend. “It’s 1, so you need to wake up so we can make a decision about tonight,”

“Less?” You asked, your voice barely a whisper when you saw that Natasha was the only other person in the room with you.

Natasha frowned, brushing your hair away from your forehead. “She’s in London, remember? The game against Luxembourg starts soon,”

Your eyebrows pulled tightly together. You hadn’t remembered that they were playing Luxembourg.

“She’s starting?”

“No,” Natasha shook her head. “It’s mostly the young ones starting since the over-under is plus 20 for England,”

Your nose scrunched, and you forced yourself to sit up. “She has to play,”

None of this would be worth it if she never touched the field.

“I think Serina is using this as more of an identification camp,” Natasha countered, stepping in to help you sit up. “The girls need rest after doing both the Champions League and regular play these last couple of weeks,”

You grunted though it sounded more like a pained wheeze than a grunt.

Alessia’s schedule had been nearly as insane as your own for the past few months. It was part of the reason you were so… reluctant to bother her with something as trivial as a tickle in your throat.

“Maybe you should take a page out of her book,” Natasha added.

Your nostrils flared immediately at the implication.

Your job was so much less physical than Alessia’s. You didn’t do anything to deserve rest like she did.

The pressure you both face to perform was inherently different.

She didn’t let down millions of people every time she rode the bench. She wouldn’t crush the dreams of thousands of people if she didn’t take the pitch.

But still, you could already hear her argument ringing in your head.

I expect you to care for the things that belong to me as deeply and completely as I do. That includes yourself. Your needs matter, and I will not allow you to disregard them.

“No.” You rasped, none of the bite you meant appearing in the word.

“Yes,” Natasha countered, shifting the pillows behind you before you leaned back. “There is no way you can perform tonight,”

You huffed, and crossed your arms, glaring at the city beyond the large window to the right of the bed. “People paid-“

“To hear you sing. Not hack your way through a set,” Natasha cut you off. “They’ll be more disappointed if you give them a show that’s not your best. Reschedule the last 3, so they’re worth what they paid,”

Your glare only deepened, and your eyebrows pulled very tightly together as you processed what she was saying (taking a few extra minutes to cut through the thick fog in your brain).

You knew she was playing on your sensibility. You thought ticket prices were disgusting, and had fought to lower them as much as you could. You had made your show longer in retaliation, so the fans got what they paid for.

You wouldn’t give them a sub-par show.

You didn’t look at her but nodded once.

“I’ll have Tony write a statement. Do you want to approve it before it goes out?” She asked, her voice gentle.

You shook your head, your lips pursing.

“We’ll release it then, and I’ll call a doctor so we can get you some real medication,” The redhead continued, ignoring the deep frown pulling at your features.

It wasn’t that you were trying to be difficult. You just knew what would happen the second the people staked outside of your hotel caught sight of a doctor.

But now you felt like you didn’t have a choice, and not in the fun way.

“Fine,” You muttered, a hacking cough following it.

Natasha patted your back until the coughing stopped, and you relaxed back against the pillows. “I’ll take care of everything. I’ll have food sent up, you just watch the game and try to get more sleep before the doctor gets here,”

You huffed but didn’t protest as she tucked the blanket tighter around your torso.

“I know you’re unhappy with all of this, but it is what it is, and we need to look after your health too,” She sighed, turning and bustling around the room, flipping on the television to the game and grabbing a mug you hadn't noticed from the dresser by the door. “Drink that, and I’ll be back in a bit,”

You didn’t respond as she placed the mug on the table beside you, and disappeared through the hotel room door with a soft click.

You wanted to groan. To yell. To throw the mug across the room, but you knew it wouldn’t help.

The other part of you wanted your guitar, not that you were sure your fingers were strong enough right now to actually play.

You closed your eyes, tilting your head back on the pillows.

It wasn’t long before you felt fingers in your hair, though you hadn’t heard the door open again.

You instantly knew who it was, though her perfume was suspiciously missing.

“You look like you got hit by a bus,” She murmured, her breath brushing across your nose.

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting her blue, except it was two shades darker than you remembered, the same shade as the old UNC jersey she was wearing.

“I’m fine,” You croaked, the sound pulling a hacking cough from your lungs that burned as it left you.

“Ah yes, because you sound just fine,” She huffed, her nails scratching lazily at your scalp. “You don’t need to hide from me,”

You blinked slowly, and her form shimmered slightly beside you. “‘M not. ‘M right here,”

“Rule one is honesty for a reason,” She countered, her hand pausing. “You’ve not abided by that.”

You swallowed around the glass in your throat at the confirmation of what you already knew, and your eyes closed again as the heavy weight of it settled on your mind.

You had broken the most sacred rule and you were in trouble. It wouldn’t just be a punishment you would have to take. It would be regaining her trust that would take the longest time.

It was a fragile thing, and you had shattered it.

You forced your eyes open again, determined to say something- anything- that would make it better, except when you did, she was gone.

You blinked heavily at the empty bed beside you. The space she had been seconds ago.

You wanted to shake your head, but with the freight train pounding in your skull, you knew that was a terrible idea.

“This is a very different starting eleven for England, but it’s what we expected. The only change of note is that Alessia Russo is unavailable for this game.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the television, flashing the starting lineup for the game.

Natasha said Alessia wasn’t starting, but you expected her to at least be on the bench.

You closed your eyes and let your head fall back.

What was the point of suffering alone if Alessia wasn’t even going to play?

You weren’t sure anymore.

******

“I’ve got her,”

You stirred at the familiar voice, and the feeling of gentle fingers running through your hair and the bed shifting next to you. The scent of lavender and honey wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, pulling you closer to consciousness.

Your eyebrows pulled tightly together before your eyes flickered open, meeting the familiar blue of your girlfriend.

“Hey there,” She said softly, her thumb smoothing out the crease between your eyebrows. “How are you feeling?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing but a low hacking cough came out.

“Easy, little one,” Alessia shushed you softly. “Just relax. I’m here, and I’ll take care of you now, ok?”

It was painful how real she felt. Painful how much you wanted to believe she was here with you.

“Trouble,” You mumbled, coughing violently afterward, unable to stop yourself from leaning into her hand.

“I think we should make it your middle name since you seem to find it so often,” She murmured, running her hand again through your hair. “But no. You’re not in trouble. Not right now,”

You made a low, wheezing sound, shaking your head, despite the waves of nausea it sent to your stomach. “Real daddy disagrees,”

She frowned. “Real daddy?”

You swallowed hard, forcing words past your stolen vocal cords. “Not here. In Luxembourg. Won’t fool me again,”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She said, her nails dragging against your scalp in the way she knew you loved. “Natasha called me last night, and I got on the flight as soon as I could,”

It took a few extra seconds for her words to filter through the unpleasant haze in your brain. Even then, they didn’t make sense.

Hell, her entire demeanor, including the softness in her features as she looked at you, didn’t make sense.

You explicitly told Natasha not to call her, and you couldn’t process her going against that request. Not when Alessia had a game to play.

“My brain is making you up,” You wheezed after another long second.

She breathed out a half chuckle. “While your brain is brilliant, I wasn’t conjured by it,”

You made a low, husky sound that could only be incredulity.

Her thumb again smoothed the space between your eyebrows. “What will it take for you to believe you’re awake?”

You blinked heavily at her, your shoulders lifting and falling.

She shook her head. “You’re too much,”

“No,” You mumbled, the crease between your eyebrows pushing against her finger. “‘M a good girl,”

“Yes. You are always my good girl, even when you’re being a stubborn pain in the ass,” She agreed fondly, leaning down to press a kiss to your too-warm forehead. “Sleep. I’ll be here where you wake up, and maybe you’ll actually believe you’re not dreaming,”

“Promise?” you asked. Sounding small, as exhaustion pulled at you.

She hummed. “I promise,”

Her fingers kept their soft rhythm in your hair as your eyes fluttered closed, and you shifted to press your nose into her shoulder, breathing in her perfume with each rattling intake from your lungs. It surrounded you, soothing the burning in your chest, and soothing the sharp edges in your throat.

For the first time since the lingering tickle started, you actually felt at peace. You felt calm enough to let yourself truly relax.

It would suck when you woke up and Alessia was gone, but doing anything other than allowing your mind to linger in this delusion felt unbearable.

Instead, you allowed yourself to sink into the overwhelming pull of exhaustion.

And you swore you heard an “always,” before sleep pulled you under.

Even if this alessia didn’t turn out to be real, you trusted her. And as angry as you wanted to be at Natasha and Steve for calling her, you knew she was exactly what you needed.

She always would be, even if she was just made up in your mind.

#woso x reader #woso imagines #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #safe harbor universe #woso imagine

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kpop---scenarios · 9 months ago

Text

Mine Now

Pairing: Changbin x Reader

Warning: Smutty smut smut [18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

Word Count: 1k

A/N: Happy early birthday, Binnie! ♡

Everything Taglist: @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @kisses-too-the-moon @dwaekkiiracha @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @satosugu4l @iovecb97 @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @minh0scat @pixie0627 @50-husbands @jinnies-muse @yaorzu-blog @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan @skzooluvr @jisunglyricist @ambersnowxxx

@wife2straykids @silly250 @tsunderelino @1810cl @anskiiz

@ayyonoona @31maze13

“Changbin?” You murmur as you open the front door to his apartment. You assumed he'd likely be asleep as it was 2am but you were drunk and you needed to tell him the gossip of what happened tonight before you forgot about it. “Are you sleeeeeping?” You harshly whisper.

The lights in his kitchen were still on, the TV in the living room was still playing a show. You walked further inside, standing at the start of the hallway listening for any sounds of movement, and that's when you heard it. The muffled sounds of breaths coming from his spare bedroom. You shuffle your feet down the hallway, grabbing the doorknob, pushing the door wide open.

Your mouth gapes open as you watch a shirtless, sweaty Changbin standing in front of the large mirror lifting weights. You and Changbin had been extremely close friends for years, and there were multiple times that you wanted to rip his clothes off and wrap your mouth around his cock, or ride him until you couldn't move anymore, but you didn't know if his feelings towards you were strictly platonic or not, and you'd never been brave enough to ask him.

“Oh shit.” He laughs, putting the weight down. “How long have you been standing there?” He asks, taking his headphones off his ears.

“Not long enough.” You mutter, staring at his impeccable body.

“What?” He chuckles, grabbing a towel, wiping his face.

“Don't.” You whisper.

“Don't? Don't what?” He asks.

“Don't wipe your sweat.” You say, you can't take your eyes off of him.

“What's going on?” He asks. “Are you okay?”

“I'm all good.” You grin, finally looking him in the eyes. “You're really hot, you know?”

“Am I? Or are you drunk?”

“I am yes, but that doesn't change the fact that you're super fucking hot.” You whisper.

He smiles at you as he walks closer to you. You move away from the doorway, pressing your back against the wall. Changbin stands close to you, so close you could run your hands down his stomach to feel all the muscles and sweat.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

“I had gossip for you… but I can't remember now.” You admit, looking up at him.

“You should sleep off the alcohol.” He says, going to turn away. You grab his wrist, turning him back towards you.

“If I do that I'll lose my nerve.”

“For what?” He asks.

“This.” You whisper, pressing your lips against his, only for a second before you pull back, leaning against the wall again.

“Y/N.” He sighs. “You're drunk.”

“I'm sober enough to know I want this. I want you.”

He stares at you for a moment, stretching his arm out, hand on the wall as he leans in closer to you.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks.

“I want you to fuck me.”

He smiles widely as he leans back in, pushing his body against yours as his lips attach to yours. His hand rests on your cheek as he slides his tongue into your mouth. You wrap your arms around his neck while he grips your thighs, pulling you up to wrap your legs around his waist. Your skirt rides up as his hands move from your thighs to your ass, He feels around, groaning when he realizes you just have a thong on underneath. He pulls away from the kiss to look at you.

“You're sure?” He asks.

“Fuck me, Binnie.” You smile.

He moves his hands down to his shorts, pulling them down, letting his already hard cock spring free. He reaches between the two of you, the tips of his fingers grazing your already sopping cunt as he moves your panties to the side. He watches you as he slowly inserts two fingers inside you. Watching your eyes roll back into your head, while he slowly pumps them in and out of you a few times, before he takes them out, placing them in his mouth, sucking your juices from them.

“Delicious.” He whispers, lining himself up with you before he harshly thrusts his cock inside you.

“Fuck.” You scream out, his cock stretches out your pussy, leaving you feeling so full. Your nails dig into his back as he slowly thrusts in and out of you, your head nestled into the crook of his neck, muffling your gasps and moans.

“You're so fucking tight.” He grunts, pushing him deeper inside you with each thrust. He was taking his time with you, really feeling you clench around him each time he pushed himself into you, listening to you gasp and moan with each one.

“P-please…” You moan. “Faster.”

Changbin pulls his cock out slightly before ramming it back inside you, now picking up his pace, fucking you harder, faster and deeper as you drag your nails up and down his back. You can feel your orgasm building quicker with each thrust, your clit being rubbed in the right way while he fucks you against the wall.

“God damn, baby.” He groans, relishing in the feeling of your body bouncing against his while he's inside you.

“Bin… I'm gonna…” You pant.

“What, baby?” He grunts. “You gonna cum on my cock? Go on, do it, cum all over my cock.”

“Holy fuck.” You cry out as your orgasm hits you full force, making your entire body stiffen up as you work through your high.

“Good girl.” He whispers in your ear, pounding into you. “I'm gonna cum in your cunt.”

“Do it… fill me up Bin.” You moan, holding onto him.

“Fuck!” He yells out, his orgasm hitting him, panting as he cums deep inside you.

He stands there for a moment, catching his breath before he pulls out of you, setting you back down on the floor.

“Wow.” You chuckle, your knees buckling as you try to catch yourself.

Changbin grabs onto you, squatting down before throwing you over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” You chuckle.

“We're gonna go shower, and then you're gonna tell me the gossip, and tomorrow I'm going to take you on an all day date.” He laughs, taking you out of the room towards the bathroom.

“You're mine now. Any objections?”

#straykidsland #changbin smut #seo changbin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #changbin x reader #skz #stray kids #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #skz writing #stray kids writing #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop writing #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop smut

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blindmagdalena · 6 months ago

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Okay so this is a super self-indulgent ask (and my first! Hi!) but I just picked up my first foster kittens in ages and I wonder how Homelander would handle a love interest fostering kittens and all the cute, yucky mess that entails? I imagine he'd enjoy the nurturing aspect (hellooo mommy kink without a baby to compete with) but he'd hate the baby kitten scratches on his s.o and that "lovely" sulfer dip they use to kill ringworm because God damn is that a strong smell :')

(Anyways, love your beautiful work and your awesome vibes! <3)

AAHH hi hello! welcome! i'm so happy to see you over here! 🥳

okay yes to everything happening here. he shows up one day and wrinkles his nose at the smell. he would complain about every single aspect of kitten fostering—especially all the stinks!—but he would also be fascinated by the process of it.

he insists from the get-go that he wants nothing to do with it. points out that they have fleas and mites. that your whole place reeks now. passive aggressively opens all the windows. but hovers the entire time, arms crossed.

but also he would see your hands and arms getting torn to absolute shreds as you're trying to give them medicine and bathe them, and he starts to get paranoid about you contracting some kind of disease, so he says, "Enough! Enough, put it down, move."

and he plucks the wet, screaming little ball of fur and needles out of your hands and does it himself. he's watched you enough times to do it, and his skin is impervious to their little murder mittens. he hands you each one to towel dry as he goes, complains the entire time, but by the time they're clean and dry he's dragging a piece of string around to play with them and commenting on the personality of each little baby.

he's not attached!!! he doesn't care. but they do need names. he doesn't like placeholders. you have to give them real names. also, he wants the names of the people who abandoned them. why? well, that's not you concern. 🤭

#ask and you shall receive #homelander x reader #homelander headcanons

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danieyells · 11 months ago

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idk if this has been brought up before, sorry if it has, and maybe I'm just thinking too hard on this but I keep looking at the official tokyo debunkers Twitter banner and like seeing taiga with that smirk, but then the broken piece has him with a wide eye + the theories of him seeing the future and such got me thinking.. or maybe it's just a cool banner, what do I know LOL

lol i waited until i got home because i had it saved in HQ for reasons that probably won't come to pass off the twitter page on my laptop

I LOVE THIS BANNER it's such a good image and it shows off Taiga's crazy. Taiga is kind of the game mascot atm, interestingly enough. He's the first character you meet, he's the game icon and twitter header, he has some important knowledge of a major plot point. . .you'd think it'd be Kaito since he's kind of your sidekick and the one who teaches you everything at first, but Taiga's got all the impact.

But yeah, either he's losing his mind back there, or he's Seeing Some Shit. The broken gap in the image showing him with wide eyes is very much a little suggestion of 'there is more going on here than you see on the surface' which, admittedly, is kind of the setting of the game('there's more to the world than meets the eye and you're thrown into the world of anomalies common sense would tell you aren't real') but. . .yeah, if you think about Taiga possibly being able to see the future, which is similarly a hidden aspect of him, then the image is even cooler.

I'm honestly getting more and more attached to that theory as time goes on. Because I remembered today at work. . .Taiga doesn't wear gloves with his uniform, unlike with his house outfit.

When the pc is in the torture chair and his hunger is triggered by their blood, he touches them, bare hand to bare skin.

and then suddenly he snaps out of it, suddenly aware that Romeo was coming.

to which I suspect. . .touching the pc caused them to enhance his stigma by accident. This happened to activate it automatically. And he saw the future without meaning to--perhaps in more detail than usual. That's also how he knew exactly where to shoot to hit the like dove--because he saw it fly in in his stigma's vision.

That's also why he said Ritsu could close the casino and he didn't need it.

The whole future he saw was so fucked(again?) and the casino wasn't helping to alleviate or avoid whatever he had made it for, or perhaps was causing more of a problem--it had, after all, spawned a dangerous anomaly. He just sort of lost steam and gave up all of a sudden. Yeah, take it away, we're fucked no matter what we do. (He got better, though. I too overcome my trauma and depression by forgetting things.)

. . .BUT UH YEAH. IT'S A SUPER GOOD BANNER IMAGE THAT SAYS A LOT. I really love it. Taiga is seeing into the code. It is traumatic but when he forgets in 15 minutes he'll be fine.

#taiga hoshibami #tokyo debunker #danie yells answers #danie yells at tokyo debunker #sunnysunsrain

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vinelark · 2 months ago

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Congrats on the conclusion of bbts!! I read it the whole way through in like two days and loved it! I'm so here for the Drama, but I appreciate that the conflict came more from the situation they found themselves in over questionable choices that they made. They were honest with each other and it's a nice take, and the cards still would have fallen the way they did if things were a little different, and they still had the strong connection needed to make everything right in the end.

Question: is there a translation for the Portuguese attached anywhere to the fic? I was hoping it would be in the end notes for the chapter and sadly my meager Spanish is not doing enough heavy lifting to make it, haha. Love your writing!

thank you! i’m so glad you enjoyed and that the flavor of misunderstanding worked for you. they’re so smart and young and trying their best and they got there in the end.

re: translation: i did not attach a translation to the fic! happy to share it here though. the bolded dialogue below is what i shared with @tigerjpg, who not only translated it but also guest stars in this scene as the unimpressed churro truck vendor.

◇

The smell of cinnamon and fried dough hangs in the air, warming it, and when they reach the window the employee is loading churros into a paper bag.

“The usual, right?” they ask. They’re young, short-haired, cheeks and neck flushed from the heat of the fryer inside the truck. Kon recognizes them from the last time he was here with Clark; they’d spoken rapid-fire Portuguese to Kon like they were testing to see if Superman being a polyglot was just a fluke, and seemed pleased when Kon answered in kind. (He didn’t tell them that he wasn’t actually like Superman in this regard—that Clark mastered language by learning at high speed, but he still learned, while Kon had his language settings pre-loaded before he opened his eyes. That Kon had overused certain phrases he picked up from TV his first few months, English still shaped strangely on his tongue as he tried to make the words feel like his. But at least having a few thousand Duolingo owls in his brain made for a good party trick sometimes.)

“Yes, please,” Kon says now as they set the bag on the counter. “Sorry if we kept you late.”

“Barely,” they tell him, waving away his concern with one hand and shaking open a second bag with the other. “Anyway, we get bonus overtime if one of you shows up, so you’re basically doing me a favor.”

Well, nice to know eating churros can count toward his good deed tally, if they really get a bonus when a super swings by. Speaking of— “Oh,” Kon says, rummaging through his thigh pouch. Clark always leaves a little tip in the jar. Kon usually carries an assortment of currencies—Robin’s idea for standard mission ancillary supplies—but, damn, he left that billfold at the Tower a few nights ago. All he has are a few US $20s and the Titans emergency card. He holds up the bills. “Can I give you these?”

The employee raises an eyebrow. “Your boyfriend already tipped.”

Kon blinks. He hadn’t seen Tim move, but there is indeed a fresh hundred-euro note in the tip jar. Kon and the employee both turn to Tim, who is very intently studying the chalkboard menu on the side of the truck.

“Did you just—have a hundred Euros on you?” Kon asks.

Tim shrugs. “Just in case.”

“In case what?”

Now Tim does look sideways at him. “In case a teenage superhero decides to take me on a spontaneous trans-Atlantic churro run, obviously.”

Kon feels like he should be boggling over the rich people-ness of it all, but he’s a bit distracted by the deepening flush on Tim’s cheeks. Also distracted by boyfriend, and hoping Tim doesn’t know a word of Portuguese, while at the same time kind of hoping he does.

“What’s his deal?” the employee asks Kon.

“He’s, uh, American,” Kon says.

They raise their other eyebrow.

“And rich,” Kon adds.

“Ah.”

#eli the churro vendor i love u #also real eli i love u #i did consider putting the original dialogue in the endnotes #but that was when the exchange was only like four lines #and then it expanded and by then it was too long to copy in #vinelark asks #my fic #bbts extras

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thefandomenchantress · 4 months ago

Text

General Thoughts About Eden's Garden

I have, at long last, finished chapter one of Eden's Garden. And I really liked it! While it wasn't perfect, I still really enjoyed playing it and am very glad I got to experience it. Since I wasn't around for the Another fangames, this is the first time I've been able to keep up with a project like this as it's coming out, and it's been really cool.

So, without further ado, let's get started! Project Eden's Garden spoilers below. :)

I'll start with my criticisms, since I don't have a lot of them. Honestly, my biggest complaint has to be the technical issues I faced while trying to play this game instead of watching it. But I'm not going to sit here and pretend making a game is easy by any means, so I don't really hold that against the game, even if it was frustrating.

Plus, I'm an idiot. I sat for like half an hour trying to figure out the Non-Stop debate controls and thinking my WASD thingy was malfunctioning and not letting me switch truth bullets, when there was only one truth bullet I was allowed to use at the time. I was just being stupid and not catching on when it only showed me one truth bullet in the corner, haha. The repeated crashing of my game, however, wasn't my fault. But I was able to get my hands on a work-in-progress low-spec version of the game that stopped most of the crashing and stuff! After that, most issues went away, except for after the trial ended and the after-trial dialog wouldn't pop up, leaving me on a black screen even after a restarted my computer and tried a few more times. But I'm not too unhappy about that, it's not like I was missing any riveting gameplay sections, haha. I could just watch the YouTube version of the execution and stuff.

Other than those technical difficulties on my end, there are only a few actual problems I had with the gameplay, haha. The first being that I am terrible at bullet hell-styled gameplay, apparently, and Argument Altercation kicked my ass in normal mode. I really wish there was a way to switch your difficulty on that, or maybe checkpoints, because after about thirty or more tries of not being able to get past stage three, I gave up and ended up just getting my hands on a save file from after the minigame. I may love videogames, but that does not mean I'm good at them, haha.

As for the actual writing, I don't have too many complaints...I suppose if I had to say something, though, it'd be that some of the characters felt like they didn't have enough to do this chapter. Ulysses is probably the main one I felt this applied to, even if I love him, he didn't give us too much this chapter, other than a lore drop during the pharmacy investigation (His limited screentime didn't stop me from growing attached to him, though haha). Other characters, despite getting a little more screentime, felt like they didn't really develop at all in the grand scheme of things. But I don't want to focus in on this too much, since it's only chapter one and most characters usually don't start having any big changes until a murder occurs. And the disproportional screentime may just be the writing style of Eden's Garden being that they focus on a certain group of characters each chapter, when they have the most relevance. Wenona, for example, feels like she's being set up to be a larger player down the line, even if she wasn't a super major character this chapter.

There was a lot more I liked about the chapter than disliked, though! All the characters really grew on me, for the most part. Well...Almost everyone. There is one character who I'm kinda meh on right now, since I'm not quite sure what they're going for yet. He's entertaining, I like him fine, but he's not quite on the same level as everyone else. And that character is:

Jett.

Honestly, I think the main reason I'm having trouble is just how he treats Toshiko.

Jett, why are you picking on a literal child??? What are you doing??? This wouldn't bother me if I knew an explanation for it that gives cool insight into his character, but as is I'm just kinda annoyed at him for it. Then again, I haven't bothered to experience any of his FTEs yet, so it's possible he gives some sort of explanation for his child-belittling ways there, haha.

The Mark and Jett thing was fine, I'm liking the set-up there. I think the only difference that makes me like the Jett and Mark stuff over the Jett and Toshiko stuff is that Damon actually calls Jett out for not respecting Mark's boundaries, meanwhile no one really reprimands him for belittling Toshiko because of her age. When he shares her blackmail, no one says "Hey, man, that wasn't very cool of you." They just shrug Toshiko's blackmail off and say no one should share anything else. Wolfgang even calls her blackmail a "joke". No wonder Toshiko is so desperate to be respected, everyone but Ingrid is so rude to her (I can forgive Grace, though, because the gremlin bit was the funniest thing in the prologue to me).

Of course, if they end up calling out his behavior towards her later, as well as everyone else's, I'll be happy and probably end up liking him more. His whole never taking off his helmet thing is pretty cool, I'm interested to see where that goes and to see any character development he has. And him and Cassidy's little friendship being established through gaming was fun.

...Writing all this out actually made me appreciate Jett a little more, since I don't think I would be able to say this much about some of the other characters...I mean if I felt something other than passive enjoyment maybe they’re doing something right…

Oh, right, there were other characters this chapter. Let's get onto them!

Damon was just as entertaining as last time, I'm excited to see what happens next with him. Him letting Diana defend herself made it seem like he was going to be more empathic to others and improve, but Eva betraying him might mean he starts trusting the others even less than before.

In daily life, Eva...Might've been my favorite. Don't get me wrong, Kai is still my favorite character overall, but I loved Eva in daily life so much. Her "Bweh..." and "Raaaage..." voicelines are some of my favorites in any fangan and I'm happy I experienced all her FTEs. I loved her in daily life, deadly life was...Still fine and good, the execution was super well-animated and cool. But her being the culprit did sort of undercut my enjoyment a little, since it sort of calls into question the truthfulness of certain aspects of her character that made me like her. Still really cool, though.

Kai was great. I'm going to make a post dedicated to him later, where I'm sure I'll ramble on and on for a while, so for now I'll keep it brief. He was just as funny as last time, surprisingly helpful in the class trial, his large amount of screentime was a pleasant surprise to me, I'm super excited to see if he'll be the new support, and his FTEs were really cool. I'm super hyped to ramble about everything concerning him later.

Ulysses, despite his limited screentime, managed to be pretty charming this time around. Him already telling backstory stuff to us makes me a little worried for if he'll die soon, but oh well. Him literally saying "um, actually" when he starts his objection was great. Toshiko calling him ugly in...the Prologue, I think(?), was blatantly incorrect because I really like his design. There's something about his color scheme that I enjoy, idk. Plus, owls are my favorite animal, so I was pretty much guaranteed to like his theming.

Diana being heavily suspected by the fanbase and then being suspected in-universe in the trial was cool, the whole "choose the culprit" minigame legitimately tricked me into thinking it was her for a hot minute...Until I remembered how much unused evidence we had, haha. Excited to see where she goes from here.

Wolfgang...Damn those sprites in the Diana flashback were cool. I should definitely check out his FTEs to get a little more context, but wow. While I'm not surprised he was the chapter one victim, I'm a little disappointed we'll never hear more from him.

Grace was great, her demeanor is kinda similar to another favorite character of mine, so I've become pretty endeared to her. I'm interested in seeing where the bunny symbolism goes, and how she'll react to Wolfgang being gone. She had no FTEs (her actually responding when I tried to enter her dorm (I was doing an experiment to see if I could enter anyone but Kai's and Damon's) jumpscared me haha), so I'm guessing she'll live a bit longer and receive some character development! Yay!

Wenona was fun, her attitude was as entertaining as ever. She's probably one of the characters I most want to go do the FTEs of, I'm interested to hear more about her.

Desmond and Eloise's friendship was fun, the scene where they try to get Grace to let them in Wolfgang's room was definitely the highlight of both their characters for me this chapter. Eloise standing up for herself during the confrontation and Desmond backing her up without hesitation was awesome. Can't wait to see their friendship expanded on (And Desmond being angsty during the closing argument was hilarious).

Toshiko and Jett already had most of my thoughts laid out above. Jett I've mostly finished describing, but I did like Ingrid and Toshiko's friendship this chapter. Toshiko's whole pretending-she's-totally-not-freaking-out-and-being-actively-traumatized thing was good, I liked how she was desperate to sound smart in the trials, it fits her character.

Mark was a little ruder than I thought he'd be going in, but I'm not complaining. While I don't think anything topped "Grace, call the fire brigade" this chapter, some things got pretty close, like his annoyed facial expression when you agree with him. Him not wanting to be acknowledged at all at the gaming tournament was interesting, I'm excited to see where they take his character.

Ingrid...Was fine. I'll be honest, I was a little disappointed at how my view of her failed to change at all this chapter. Even her blackmail was something we learned in the Prologue already. Still, I can appreciate her. Even if she didn't change much this chapter, I still like what she is right now. She's all-around pretty cool, and I like how she makes sure to defend Toshiko, unlike some characters I know. /j

(Her being called "reliable" made me immediately feel like she might not last long, though... :()

Jean is pretty interesting to me so far, Cassidy suggesting that he might just be posing as a 'pirate' was intriguing. Him saying there was an arcade on his ship made me think of a crack theory that he worked at a Chuckie Cheese type place, but instead of there being a strange mouse, you could hang around at his prop ship and take pictures with him and his "crewmates" (Co-workers or employees) in costume, with an arcade and snack bar nearby...His knowledge of machinery stuff is also cool. I should check out his FTEs.

Cassidy's whole gaming gimmick is cool, and I like her, but I think if I'm being honest, her fun design and awesome voice actor kinda carry her for me. I don't think she'd be one of my favorites to hear speak otherwise. Some of her voicelines are just hilarious by themselves, too, though ("I better zip up my fly, my genius is showing" was my favorite, like what the fuck that is so random and funny and she only uses it once). She's a character who I don't think I'd find nearly as funny if the vocal delivery wasn't as on point as it is, but seeing as it's totally awesome and on point I have nothing to complain about she’s really cool haha.

And those are all my general thoughts on each of the characters. Now onto a few individual moments I really liked!

I replayed the Prologue before playing through chapter 1, and something really cool I noticed was that when they're on the train, this happens after Cassidy says she smells something weird:

I thought it was really cool how they subtly foreshadowed his lack of a sense of smell like that! The devs really thought his character through from the beginning, I suppose.

But moving on to chapter 1, specifically the trial. One detail I really liked was this:

“Near the boiler room door, I discovered a thin piece of metal.”

“During the investigation, there was a strange smell permeating the boiler room. It took me a moment to notice, but when I did…”

Damon takes credit for both the scrap metal and the smell.

This happens very directly with the metal, where he says that he discovered it. While he does admit he didn't think the metal was important before, what he fails to do is give credit to Ulysses for pointing it out to him, since Damon didn't notice it until Ulysses did. And when Ulysses did notice it, Damon berated him for even writing it down. And yet now here he is, pretending that he took note of the piece of metal all by himself.

He also takes credit for finding the smell, albeit slightly less directly. But he still makes it sound like he noticed it by himself, when Jean was the one who had to directly point it out to him. And even then, Damon could only smell the generator at first, and Jean had to further explain what he meant. And Damon pretty much plagiarizes his description of the smell without crediting him, too. You’d think a debater would know how to cite their sources correctly, haha.

So long story short, Damon fails to mention that he got help investigating from both Ulysses and Jean. I find that interesting because even though Damon says he can only rely on himself right before this trial starts, he is actively ignoring that he is only able to steer the trial in the right direction at certain points because of the help he received from others. The game is both proving his point about him only relying on himself (+Eva this trial) wrong, while also letting the player further see his mindset. Pretty cool. (Though I’d honestly be kinda pissed if I was Ulysses haha).

I also really liked Eva this chapter. Legitimately the first chapter death I've been most sad about in any Fangan. Usually I see the fake-out support thing coming a mile away, since it's such a common thing in fangans, but they genuinely fooled me with Eva. I really got attached to her and I'm sad to see her go.

I still haven't really fully processed her character, but what I do know is that she's really cool and relatable and her voice actor is very talented. Her design is amazing. Her sense of humor is immaculate. Overall, amazing character I was devastated to see go.

One cool detail I noticed, in order to commemorate my love for her:

After avoiding Grace, which Damon theorizes was because she didn't want her talent mocked, she investigates the Dining Hall people. And yet, even though she mentions Jett and Mark being unhelpful, she says nothing about Kai.

This could be shrugged off by the fact Kai said something helpful about the footsteps when Damon approached, but since Kai says this info like he hasn't shared it with anyone else, I don't think that's the case. Instead, I think this confirms Damon's suspicion that she is avoiding those who mocked her real talent, since Kai is definitely a jerk about it to her face on at least two occasions. She legitimately just didn't speak with him. That really hits home just how uncomfortable Eva was with a lot of the people in the killing game.

(I'll talk more about this in the Kai post, but Eva not mentioning Kai when you enter the dining hall, and Desmond also not mentioning where he went before that, made me actually start worrying that we were gonna find a second body haha, that's why I noticed this).

Lastly, I'd just like to say:

Even Desmond and Eloise being like "dude no stfu" at Diana in this CG was hilarious and I love it.

#to anyone wondering where the poll is…that was actually for my Kai analysis post haha #I just didn’t want to say that and give the answer to the poll away #so I’ll explain there whenever that post comes out #project eden's garden #project: eden's garden #eden’s garden #p:eg #damon maitsu #toshiko kayura #ulysses wilhelm #eva tsunaka #I don’t think I talked about everyone else enough to tag #p:eg spoilers

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ronearoundblindly · 1 year ago

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Kissing, lighting and sleepy sex for Hideout Steve and Reader?

I am not prepared. My feels...they shall be too deep and endless. I shall try anyway.

From this dirty ask game for this AU series where Nomad Steve lets motel-employee!Reader soothe his touch-starved body. Lawd, halp me, this is about to get crunk in a tooth-rotting, put-some-pillows-beneath-you you're-gonna-faint type o' way. [y'all can't tell I drank during the eclipse today, right? I'm subtle? Cool.] MINORS DNI.

K - Kissing

ACK My heart! Or rather, there is something deeply adoring for Steve when you kiss his chest, over his heart. It makes him feel just that much more like a person who lives in this world, who belongs in this world, who will return one day to this world...

His hands are also a big one--no, not just actually big hands, but important to show love to because he uses them for such violence. Each kiss is like a little touch of forgiveness for what he's done or had to do with those hands. He appreciates the trust it takes, too, to kiss his palms, when he could easily stop you breathing (sorry, that sounds dark, but Nomad was in a dark place, okay, bad things occur to him now).

Steve loves to kiss your stomach, and it might be somewhat taboo to say, but he has a touch of that crawl-back-home-for-safety comfort thing going on when he presses close and holds your center to him. It's not a mommy kink or roleplay, per se; he relishes the connectedness of being one and curling up against you is the only non-sexual way he knows how to achieve that--like in Chapter 3 when he falls asleep in that position.

As far as leaving marks though? Steve can emphatically say 'hell no,' not on purpose. Pain is a bit, meh, weird for him because he heals so quickly. He might not even notice if you did bite or bruise him. He certainly wouldn't see it in the morning. He does not in any way associate marks with love or affection since he only ever saw them on himself after fights or on women (including his Ma) after being abused.

That is not love to Steve.

It's control, it's dominance, it's inequality, and he fucking hates it.

L - Lighting

Steve entirely defers to you on whether there are actual lights on or off. He likes to use his senses to explore and enjoy you, so without light is fine. He's just here for you.

Steve does, however,--no spoilers for Chapter 5--like ambiance such as candles or something dim and colorful. He thinks you'd look unbelievably perfect beside a sparkling Christmas Tree. He hopes to celebrate (all holidays and birthdays and everything) openly with you some day. The sooner the better.

(Except, no audience for him making love to you under those twinkling lights, please. He's staunchly opposed to that sort of thing.)

S - Sleepy Sex

So, again, no spoilers for Chapter 5, but once Steve gets comfortable with oral sex he is comfortable with oral sex, if you catch my drift.

If he wakes up first, he's on you in some way, arms and legs draped over you, kissing any place he can get to, man-handling you just enough to start something he 100% will finish. He's just...uh god, so attentive.

With the super senses and being a fugitive though, it's not often that you can wake up before him, truly, which limits or completely removes the ability to surprise him with a blowjob, but he will dreamily let you roam wherever your mouth and hands take you. As long as there's lots of contact. As much as possible really. Like lay your arms across his thighs and abs while playing with him. Maybe put your body over one of his legs and ride his foot if you need to. He must feel attached in some way. Cold, distant, or separated does not do it for him.

Here's my absolute, I-will-die, favorite thing about Hideout Steve though: when he's tired/fatigued/worn out/sleepy, he gets louder.

Much. Much. Louder, babes.

No cursing, mostly, but all the moans and groans and whining are totally dialed up. And I don't know about y'all, but I can't really think of anything fucking sexier than Nomad Steve screaming that he's gonna come.

🥵

Thank you for asking!

A/N: Here lies Ro in a puddle. She made up a man she wants and will never have.

[Main Masterlist; Hideout Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#ro answers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #hideout series #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut #dirty asks #ask game

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mayonesamitch · 5 months ago

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Queerness In Ninjago (Spoiler alert, it's very queer)

Contains spoilers

I honestly don't see the queer side of Ninjago being talked about enough. Probably because half of the fandom are immature homophobic people but that's not gonna stop me writing a whole post about it on Tumblr that probably no one is gonna see. I'm gonna be looking at specific characters and at the canon part of it. I do have my own headcanons and stuff but I'm gonna try to forget about those for the sake of this post.

First, let's start out with a character who is almost 95% canon to be part of the LGBTQ+ community, Sally. She's a side character and doesn't play much of a role in the series after The Benefit of Grief but I feel like she's still worth mentioning. She has the progress pride flag on her guitar and the back of her dad's van which shows that she's definitely a supporter.

You can also see the bisexual flag on her guitar case, which tells us that she's bisexual! They don't do much about with it after this but it's still good to have some representation, even if it's not a big part of the story. This is probably the only instance where a character has had their sexual orientation shown in Ninjago.

The episode where we see her in the most, The Benefit of Grief, can be viewed as an allegory of coming out, which I touch more on here, but in case you're too lazy, I'll just explain how here. The basic premise of the episode is her running away from home because she wants to move to Ninjago City and get big in the music industry. However after a while she starts to feel guilty about it, but is afraid to go back in fear that her parents won't forgive her. With the help of Zane she makes the decision to go back home with her parents. Her parents forgive her and woo yay happy ending.

This episode can be taken as a coming out experience. Think about it. You hide your sexual orientation/gender identity from your family, friends, or others in your life. You feel guilty about it but also afraid to come out, out of fear that they won't accept you. It's a pretty good allegory. It most likely wasn't intentional but it will always be in my head because how can you write such a good allegory like that with a canon queer character as the main character and not calm it intentional? That's all that I have to say about Sally though.

Now let's get started with these 2 girlies. They competed in the Terra Technica Dance-Off in season 12, Prime Empire. They were heavily treated like a lesbian couple in the episode. So heavily that the episode got banned in a few places around the world. Tommy Andreasen said that it was up to the fans to decide so though it wasn't really confirmed it's heavily implied. They were only side characters so we don't get to see much of them after this episode but it shows how Lego will be willing to add some gay in the show.

I've been talking about sexual orientation for some time now it's time we talk about gender-queer characters (Gender-Queer is an umbrella label which applies to genders outside the male/female gender binary like non-binary, bigender, pangender, genderfluid, ect.) in Ninjago. One of the Algae Farmers in Dragons Rising have the Non-binary flag attached to them. The person who voices them (Niah Davis) Is also Non-binary. The character didn't have much of a role but it's still super cool to see. (I'm trans so of course I was so happy when I saw it being explicitly showed like this)

The Source Dragon of Life is also non-binary. Which is another character voiced by Niah Davis. The dragon uses they/them pronouns throughout the show and was later confirmed in a tweet. This character actually does play a big role in the series and is the source of Lloyd's power. (Which means Lloyd is non-binary too. /J) They'll also most likely have a big role in season 3 when that comes out. So is every character Niah Davis voices non-binary? Heck yeah!

Now these next 3 instances of queerness in Ninjago are very minor but they include 2 instances of 2 male characters kissing and a rainbow sidewalk. Now, some can argue that the sidewalk can be unrelated to the LGBTQ+ community but it was changed to be a white sidewalk in some places in the world, so it was very intentionally to be LGBTQ+. Some may also argue that the 2 male characters kissing can just be a man and a masculine woman but Ninjago very rarely adds masculine woman, so yes, it's like 99.9% 2 men kissing in both instances. Which isn't much but is still showing that Lego isn't afraid to add some gay in the show.

Now I wanna talk about Jay. Before I hear anyone talk about his relationship with Nya hear me out for a bit. Jay is heavily implied to also have an attraction to male characters which leads me to believe that he's probably a bisexual.

First, I want to talk about this clip. Out of context, it looks very much like a marriage proposal and Jay is saying yes with such a smile on his face. Now, it's just a fake marriage proposal and he realizes after and is kinda confused but anyways. What kind of straight man says "Yes! :D" like that to marriage proposal? (Side note: The Ying-Yang promise in Ninjago is not marriage. I'm just calling it marriage because it will make more sense. It's most likely engagement but that's too long to type) I mean, it seems like he really meant it. Which lead me to believe that he's probably a bisexual.

Also the whole Sweating to the Goldies short is very gay. He's very touchy towards Zane and dances with him and stuff. Though song on the end does include both of them but in the beginning it's mostly Jay doing the gay action. He's extremely flirty with Zane and seems to genuinely mean it. Now that's not me trying to say he likes Zane, since he obviously loves Nya, but I think if Nya wasn't an option, he wouldn't mind being with one of his ninja comrades.

He's also shown to be attracted to Nadakhan's voice. Calling it "beguiling." (Beguiling - Charming or enchanting, often in a deceptive way.) and also calling him a "Silky-voiced seducer." He's also the only ninja in the show to express how attractive his voice is which lead me to believe that he can be attracted to the voice of a male character. Of course, he's not attracted to Nadakhan himself, but acknowledging that he had an attractive voice is no doubt pretty gay. Which is another reason why I believe he's most likely bisexual.

Also another clip related to Kai, he calls him, "Kai baby." Which, c'mon, you don't just call your homies that. That's definitely a sign that he has no problem flirting with other men. Honestly, after season 7, he's been the most gay ninja of the group, despite being one of the only ones having a girlfriend. (Zane was also one of the only ninja to have a girlfriend at the time too but Zane isn't as gay as him) Now if I'm gonna do a little theorizing here, but I think that he's not at peace with his sexual orientation and is now willing to tease and flirt with the other ninja. I know I said I'd keep my headcanons out of this but I'd call it a theory more than a headcanon. (Edit: I, for some reason, can't upload a clip of it so you get a picture of it instead sorry. XD)

Jay is also just 10 times more touchy than the other ninja. A straight male would normally not be comfortable with this amount of touch from their male friend but Jay doesn't mind. He's pretty chill with it and treats it like it's an everyday thing. Which is very very gay. And sure, they're his friends and they've lived together for basically half of their lives but I've lived with my sister for all of my life and she's not even comfortable with me hugging her without permission (or really anyone) so yeah this kind of touch isn't very straight.

And since we're in the topic of Jay, I want to talk about the most villainous and evil character of Ninjago, FugiDove! He's very touchy towards Jay in the series and even sacrificed himself just to save him. He calls Jay is wingman and wants to be with him a lot. Which is very big implications of FugiDove being gay. And the writers of the show aren't stupid they know what they're doing. So all of these little things are definitely implications of him being gay. Which also applies to Jay and Cole.

Speaking of Cole, yes, it's finally time we talk about him. All throughout the show Cole doesn't have a love interest. All of the Ninja had one (Jay with Nya, Zane with Pixal, Kai with Skylor) and yet, he hasn't had one. Some may argue that he liked Nya in season 3 but it's confirmed in this tweet that he was just confused by the attention and never really had a crush on her. Some can also claim that he had a crush on Vania but their interactions don't seem very romantic. More like a friendship kind of interaction.

Now, in Dragons Rising we finally see some sort of actual romance with him. He basically raised a whole family with Geo and has a very strong connection with him. They're very close, and you have to remember that Geo is kinda shy and scared to open up to others, and he's pretty vulnerable to Cole. They're also touchy and don't seem to mind it, which leads me to believe that he might some sort of attraction to Geo, a male character. Also Doc Wyatt seems to support a relationship between the 2. So if it became canon, it wouldn't shock me honestly.

Also the episode where Cole finds his true potential is literally an allegory for coming out. I explain it here but I'll explain it again here for the people who are too lazy. Basically the whole episode is him trying his best to hide his identity of a ninja to his father since his father wanted him to be a dancer. Later in his dad find out and is pretty mad at him but after a whole performance and stuff he's accepting of his son and yay they're a happy family. (Watch the episode here I'm bad at explaining.)

Now, if you think about it, it's very much like coming out. He's hiding his identity out of fear that his father won't accept him as his son. He comes out to his father as a ninja and his father is upset about that. Now flip Ninja with the word gay and bam you get the perfect coming out story coming from Lego. I don't think it was intentional but it could very much be as well. Again, the writers aren't stupid. They know what they're doing. So yeah, I view this episode as an allegory for coming out.

So, yeah, Ninjago is pretty queer. There's a few more examples I wanted to show but then it would be way too long and it's already 11:15PM. Anyways, if you want to sum up everything I'm saying, Ninjago isn't afraid to add some queer representation in the show, Jay is bisexual, and Cole is gay. Or that I'm an overthinker who loves yapping I dunno. And before anyone gets mad, this is going based of the canon. I'd like to think of it as building a headcanon based on canon. You can still have your own headcanons. I honestly don't care. Anyways, if you're still here thank you for staying until the end and reading the thoughts I've had in my head for a while.

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