#in front of a space or space-related background.

[undiagnosedcruelty]

Gummy Worm ?

Pairing: Han Jisung x reader x skz

Genre: fluff, crackfic

Summary: A gummy worm, a fake wedding, and a proposal.

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Content Warning: chaos, fluff, crack humor, chan ugly crying

Word count: 1.4k

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EVERYTHING WRITTEN IS PURELY FICTION──NOTHING IS DIRECTLY RELATED TO ANY REAL LIFE EVENTS.

It starts, like most ridiculous things in your life, with Han Jisung and his unhinged ideas.

You’re stretched out on the couch, barely paying attention to the TV as your phone screen glows dimly in your hands. It’s a lazy afternoon, the kind where time stretches in slow waves, and the biggest dilemma on your mind is whether or not you want to get up and make a snack.

That is, until Jisung plops down next to you with all the grace of a sleepy cat, limbs sprawled in a way that takes up as much space as possible. He nudges your knee with his own, bouncing slightly like he’s holding back some great revelation. You glance at him, already wary.

He’s grinning. That’s never a good sign.

“Hey,” he says, like he’s about to change your life.

“…Hey?”

He holds out his hand, fingers curled around something. With a slow, almost theatrical motion, he opens his palm, revealing—

A gummy worm.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is this a peace offering? Did you commit a crime?”

Jisung snickers but shakes his head. Then, with absolutely no preamble, he says:

“Marry me.”

There’s a beat of silence. You stare at him. He stares at you. The TV hums in the background, blissfully unaware of the absurdity happening in the room.

Finally, you say, “Jisung, this is a gummy worm.”

“Yeah,” he replies, completely unfazed, “but imagine if it wasn’t.”

His face is entirely serious, which only makes it worse. His brown eyes gleam with mischief, but there’s something oddly sincere beneath the surface, something that makes your heart stumble in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

His expression is so sincere—so utterly devoid of the chaos you know is brewing beneath the surface—that it throws you off. You huff a laugh, shaking your head. “And what exactly are we imagining here?”

“That this is the most romantic proposal ever,” he says. He carefully takes your hand and slides the gummy worm onto your ring finger with a reverence that makes it worse. “That I planned a whole thing. That you’re weeping, overcome with emotion—”

“I’m about to start crying for real if you don’t shut up.”

“But in a sexy way, not a gross way.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Jisung grins, tilting his head like he’s won something. “So… is that a yes?”

And maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, eyes warm and playful, or maybe it’s just the sheer absurdity of it all, but you decide to play along.

With an exaggerated sigh, you hold up your hand, gummy worm and all. “Fine. Sure. I accept your very serious proposal.”

Jisung gasps, eyes widening. “Wait. Really?”

“You started this, husband.”

His entire face lights up. “OH MY GOD. WE HAVE TO HAVE A WEDDING.”

“Wait—what? No—”

Too late. He’s already screaming.

“GUYS! WE’RE GETTING MARRIED!”

And that’s where everything spirals.

A Questionable Wedding Ceremony

It all happened so fast, you find yourself standing in the middle of the dorm’s living room, facing Han Jisung in what has to be the most absurd fake wedding ceremony in existence.

The couch is shoved aside to create an aisle—if you can even call it that—lined with mismatched LED lights that flicker between colors, making the whole thing look like a neon fever dream. Someone (definitely Felix) has draped a bedsheet over a chair to serve as an altar, the fabric wrinkled and slipping off at the edges. A bouquet of fake plastic flowers from Minho’s room (originally meant for his cats) sits in a cereal box “vase” at the front.

Seungmin, somehow now wearing a judge’s robe (where did he even get that?), stands in front of you both with the air of someone who is so, so done with this. He holds an actual book in his hands, though one glance tells you it’s just a random economics textbook turned into a pretend scripture.

Jisung stands beside you, hands clasped, practically buzzing with excitement. He’s grinning so wide his cheeks must hurt, and he keeps bouncing slightly on his feet. By the sides, Jeongin stands as the best man, holding the gummy worm ring as if his life was devoted to protecting it.

Seungmin sighs, rubbing his temple. “Do you, Han Jisung, promise to be slightly less of a dumbass in your marriage?”

Jisung, hands clasped in front of him, tilts his head in deep thought. “…No.”

“Figured.” Seungmin flips to a random page of the textbook and mutters, “Moving on.”

To your right, Bang Chan is a mess.

Not just sniffling. Full-on, ugly-crying.

He’s hunched over, gripping Felix’s arm for support. “They’re so beautiful,” he chokes out between sobs. Felix, looking genuinely moved, nods solemnly. “It’s a sacred bond, hyung.”

Meanwhile, Hyunjin has decided to be the live wedding band.

“DUN DUN DUN-DUN… DUN DUN DUN-DUN…”

He sings the wedding march off-key, dramatically clutching his chest as if he’s personally responsible for the romance in the air. You glare at him. “Hyunjin, I swear—”

He gasps. “Are you seriously scolding me on your wedding day?”

Lee Know, standing beside him, smirks and reaches into his pocket. You narrow your eyes, immediately suspicious.

“…Minho?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he reaches into a bag—then flings something into the air. Cat treats.

Jisung yelps as one lands in his hair. You blink as more rain down around you.“Are you serious.”

Lee Know shrugs. “It’s all I had.”

Before you can recover, Changbin stands up and walks down the aisle with a box of confetti, scattering it all around like the flower girl he aspired to be.

Seungmin sighs, clearly beyond his patience. “Fine. You’re married. Or whatever.”

Jisung turns to you, grinning. “We did it, babe.” You shake your head, beyond words. “We really did.”

Then, just to commit to the bit, you lean in and press a dramatic, exaggerated smooch to Jisung’s cheek. The dorm erupts.

“EWWWW.”

“GET A ROOM.”

“THIS IS THE HAPPIEST DAY OF MY LIFE.” (Chan, obviously.)

Jisung just beams, eyes crinkling. “Best fake wedding ever?” he asks.

You huff a laugh. “Absolutely.”

The next morning, You wake up to a dorm that feels completely different from the night before.

Gone is the chaotic, neon-lit wedding chapel, the crumpled LED lights, and the cereal box altar. Instead, the dorm is bathed in soft morning light, the warm gold spilling through the half-open blinds and casting long streaks across the wooden floor. The air is quiet in that particular way it only ever is early in the morning—hushed, still, like the world hasn’t quite woken up yet.

You shuffle into the kitchen, socked feet scuffing against the cool floor. The faint scent of instant coffee lingers in the air, and there, leaning against the counter, is Jisung.

He hasn’t noticed you yet.

His usual chaotic energy is missing—no humming, no half-danced movements, no dramatic gasps to announce your presence. Instead, he’s unnaturally still, fingers fidgeting with something small and velvet. His brows are slightly furrowed, his lips pressed together in quiet concentration as he flips the box open, then closed, then open again. The nervous motion makes something in your chest tighten.

“…Jisung?”

He startles slightly, eyes darting up to meet yours.

For a moment, he just stands there, like he wasn’t expecting you yet. Then, after a breath, he steadies himself and pushes off the counter. He grips the box a little tighter before holding it out.

Inside, nestled against the soft velvet, is a ring.

Not a gummy worm.

Not a joke.

A real, simple, elegant ring.

“You know…” Jisung’s voice is softer than usual, hesitant, like he’s stepping into unknown territory. “If you ever want to make it real.”

The words linger between you, gentle and uncertain. The playful, exaggerated romance from the night before is gone, replaced by something heavier—something real.

For a second, your heart stops.

The air shifts, the quiet of the dorm suddenly thick with meaning. The golden light from the window catches on the edge of the ring, sending a faint glint across the counter. Outside, the distant hum of the city murmurs through the silence.

Jisung clears his throat, shuffling on his feet. “Uh. You can say no. That’s allowed.”

You glance at him—at the nervous flicker in his eyes, at the way his fingers curl slightly against his palm like he’s bracing for impact.

And maybe you should tease him, draw it out just a little—

But instead, you step forward, take the box from his hands, and smile.

“Ask me again.”

Jisung swallows. Nods.

And this time, he doesn’t have a gummy worm.

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[leyavo]

| On my way |

Summary: Simon needs you after a particular rough mission and you help him come back to himself.

Hurt/comfort. TW: death** I apologise in advance for this one. [masterlist] 1,233words

[Wife/gf masterlist]

It’s not often that John Price’s name lit up your phone. You rubbed your eyes, kicking the thin sheets off your legs as you sat up. A sheen of sweat coats the back of your neck, vest top sticking to you like a second skin in the summer heat. You glanced over your shoulder to the vacant space, palm smoothing over the mattress as you answer on the third ring.

“Sorry gal, Si’s not himself. Gonna need you to work your magic again, just like last time.” John’s grating voice nothing more than a scratch, as if he’s been shouting more than talking. The other end of the line silent, no banter in the background as the team make their usual jokes.

“I’m on my way.”

Simon made you a plan for quick exits, made you practice how to react without a second thought. You’re dressed and out the door in a matter of minutes, the T-shirt Simon gave you inside out but you’re too worried to care. Resetting the house alarm is muscle memory, the small bag on the crook of your elbow carrying only the necessities. Phone, charger, purse and a warm bottle water.

The drive feels painstakingly slow, the absence of cars on the road making it seem like you’re not getting anywhere. Three straight lanes of the motorway merging. The rising sun blinding you as the car crawls to a stop outside the residential house of the army base.

John’s halfway out of the door before you’re even walking down the pathway. He’s still wearing his tactical gear, bucket hat askew as he meets you in the middle.

“He’s inside, I’ve got, gotta…” he stuttered, the captain crumbling in front of you.

You nod your head, patting his arm and walking through the front door. The house gloomy, musty stench hanging in the air where the place had been left unused. You know that whatever’s lead up to this moment, no amount of words would console them. There’s no way for you to understand, because you’ve never done the things they’ve had to.

There’s always a distant part of Simon you’ll never relate to. A part he’ll suppress in order to protect you.

And that’s all to do with the mask. The one he’s never worn when he’s with you. The last time you came here, he’d already removed it thanks to the gash on his jawline needing stitches.

The dark and narrow hallway sends a shiver down your spine, the tracks of mud staining the carpet leading the way. You paused at the door ajar, a sliver of light peeking through. Slipping through the gap and into the room, you bit back your gasp.

Simon’s perched on the edge of the bed, head hung low and shoulders hunched as he picked at the skin around his fingernails. The dim lamp casting shadows on the skull mask covering his face, but you can see those downcast eyes. A glimpse of the man behind it.

His gear dumped by his mud coated boots, vest and hoody strewn across the creased bedding. Red coats his bare arms and hands, you can’t even tell if it’s his or someone else’s.

“Simon.” You say his name more like asking a question, wondering if he’s your husband or Ghost still on a mission. Someone you don’t know.

You stood at least a foot away from him, learning the hard way last time when you’d moved too fast and ended up pressed against the wall. No, you’d let him come to you even it if took all day.

“John called me.”

His body curled in more and his broad shoulders trembled. You took a step forward and he stilled, head lifting a fraction to your discoloured trainers. He nodded ever so slightly, acknowledging your presence.

“I’m just going to stay here with you,” you said, closing the gap between you and him, toe to toe. The open window behind you sent a warm breeze through the room, the baggy T-shirt that swamped you billowing towards his clasped hands.

You sunk to your knees, your hands taking his before he resumed the picking. It took everything in you not to move as his head snapped up and you finally got to see the mask. Even the stitching on the centre running down the crown of his head put you off. The cracked ivory skull staring back at you. It’s hard to recognise a semblance of your husband eyes, there’s a shadow of darkness looming over them as his features remain unmoving. Waiting for you to move too fast or say the wrong thing.

Simon’s forehead pushed against yours, the rough skull of his mask digging into your skin. His hand grabbed yours and he lifted it to rest it on the nape of neck. A silent plea for you to help him remove it. It’s gritty and rough under your touch, as if it’s been dragged through a burning building. The Smokey stench stinging your nostrils.

“It’s okay,” your whispered voice trembled as his hand dropped to the bed like a dead weight. The thump drawing you to stand back up as you pulled the mask over his head. The black material tracing his forehead and crooked nose as you gently tugged it off. A mess of blonde hair skimming his thick brows.

“I couldn’t…” his words stopping short as his fists clenched on top of his knees. The scabs on his knuckles tearing open and weeping blood.

“You don’t have to do anything, it’s over.”

You hooked your finger under his chin and lifted his face. His lashes clumped, tears leaving track marks down the grime dusting his skin. The hem of your T-shirt twisted in his grasp as he tugged you closer to stand between his legs.

The top of his head leant against your stomach, the curve of his shoulder blades shifting underneath his dirty shirt. You combed your fingers through his blonde hair, his palms cupping the back of your thighs as if you’d fall back a step and he’d lose you. You’d never seen him so small. The way he hunched over and shrunk away from your gaze each time he tried to speak.

“I’m right here Simon.”

You can’t bring yourself to think of the horrors he’s witnessed, can’t begin to think how it’s only the second time he’s been like this. Breaks your heart to think he probably did it alone before you.

“I couldn’t get to him…” he sniffed glancing up at you, arms wrapping around your waist and head burying into the crook of your neck. “Johnny he just went down.” A sob tore from his throat and his whole body shuddered against yours.

And that’s when you realised why John hadn’t stayed. Why Simon had reacted at the sound of his name, as if he expected you to say Johnny and not John. Why the rest of the task force wasn’t hanging around the house.

It wasn’t Simon’s vest on the bed, it was Johnny’s. His blood staining your husband’s arms, as if he held his friend till his last breaths.

The last time Simon had struggled to come back to himself, he’d seen someone hit by a bomb. Now it was the death of his friend.

You’re not sure if he’ll ever come back from this loss.

“He was just lying there…”

❤️‍🩹 I apologise for whatever I’ve just wrote - Leya

[lymtw]

Lazy Days

Lazy days with Toji where you're sitting between his legs, just basking in his presence. You're laid back against his chest, scrolling through your socials, while he attempts to focus on whatever is playing on the TV screen. His arms are wrapped around your waist, securely, and his chin rests on your shoulder as he watches the movie you put on.

It's practically background noise for you because you're not paying attention, but when you're the one not focused, Toji takes the hit for it too because you constantly interrupt him by showing him videos of food with the promise of making it for him someday. You're also feeding him your broken humor in the form of memes, and though he doesn't find the actual images you show him funny, he cracks up at the way you laugh so hard that you squirm uncontrollably against him in your fit of laughter. He rolls his eyes with a sly smirk on his face at your giggles in the aftermath of your laughter, but still, he can't help but wonder how he got you.

You settle against him again, allowing him to keep watching the movie in peace, only now he sees no point in it. He's lost on the plot, and it's not as interesting without you going 'You like tomatoes, right? Or... at least tomato sauce, right?' or something food related every three minutes. His hands are moving now, his arms still around your lower stomach. You pay no mind to it because he's probably doing it mindlessly.

You're no stranger to him placing his hands on you while completing other tasks. You see his nonchalant front as he makes his way towards you but as soon as he rounds the corner, you can feel the wolfish grin radiating as he comes up behind you. He's there for a mug, but he'll do extra to show you that he's there behind you. He'll grab your hips and pull you back until your ass is against his crotch. Sometimes you resist the pull to mess with him, but he always manages to pull your body into his, a bite to your shoulder following as "punishment" for rejecting him.

For the strangest reason, his advances shook you this time. One hand felt up your bare outter thigh, following the expanse of it until he couldn't reach anymore. Then he went to the underside of it, squeezing the flesh a couple times. Your heart was pounding, but you stayed focused on your phone, or attempted to once his other hand started teasing the knot of the bow tied above your waistband.

He slowly unraveled the knot, allowing the elastic band of your shorts to loosen and give his hand more space. You think he's watching the movie, but really, he's watching you react through his peripheral vision. His hand travels further down your shorts, his middle finger ghosting your slit through your underwear. The touch is barely there, but it has your stomach doing cartwheels. He sighs, his fingers going back up to the lace trimming of your underwear. The sound just barely reached your ears, but it had a lasting effect as he continued to let his hands roam your lower body. He puts his fingers through the left leg hole of your underwear, the digits snapping the elastic against your hip.

You found another video to show him, but you saved it instead to show him later. You don't know exactly what is running through his mind, but it's completely welcome if it involves him continuing to touch you this way.

His fingers drag back down to your slit, this time applying more pressure. You twitch against him, earning that sly grin that appears when he knows he's working you up. You try to ground yourself and keep it together a little longer by putting your leg up, only for Toji to push it back down onto the couch.

"What's wrong, mama?" He mumbles into your shoulder. "Getting real fidgety outta nowhere."

"I'm okay," you assure, turning to give him a kind smile.

He takes it up a notch, allowing his hand to go under your sweater. He uses the privilege he has on your body so adeptly that even his hand placements are enough to force heat to run through you. The feeling of his hand grazing your skin fuels the fire that is kindled within you. He lets his blunt nails drag along the left side of your waist, slowly merging toward your midriff and upwards, before reaching the bottom of your bra. It's no restriction to him, he can just go under it.

He hums, feeling the blood rush down to his dick at the feeling of your warm breast in his hand. It only takes one brush of his finger to make your nipple quickly harden, a feeling that makes you feel like you're buzzing with electricity.

Toji is so well versed in your anatomy, it kind of embarrasses you sometimes that he doesn't have to try so hard to soften you up. He did so well at memorizing your body that he doesn't really have to look anymore to know that his touch is affecting you. That is not to be mistaken for him not wanting to watch his effects take a toll on you, because he would gladly watch you submissively fall apart for hours.

Your stomach tenses as he combines both forms of stimulation, a muffled moan coming from you as fall back on Toji's chest, your sleeve over your mouth.

He laughs at the way your eyes flutter shut, your brows pinching when he doesn't let up even after you waved your white flag. You know better than to think he'd let you walk away without making you cum on his fingers at least once.

"Why are you muting yourself, ma?" He breathes against your ear. "Don't you know it gets me hard when you whine and moan for me?"

You sigh, your phone shaking in your grip. "O-Okay, Toji. Won't do it again," you say in the most delicate tone. You turn your phone screen off and give your undivided attention to Toji and his torturous touch.

"Right. You wanna cum, don't you?"

"Mhm," you mumble, setting your hands down on his thighs.

"Oh, you can do better than that. Tell me you want to cum." His lips find the side of your neck, nudging the material of your sweater aside so that he can ghost the slope that leads to your shoulder. The urge to bite the exposed skin is almost unbearable.

Your hips roll slightly against his crotch, earning a slight groan from him. His cock is rock hard, but he's gonna get you off first since he was the one who got you all riled up in the first place. "Please make me cum, Toji. Please? Pretty please?"

Your words go straight to his dick. You've always been so well mannered—so good at begging for what you want. Being Toji's lover turned you even more politely submissive. Does this mean you deserve to cum quickly every time? Not in Toji's reality because he loves to see the feral look in your bleary eyes when he leaves you hanging.

He chuckles, quickening the movements of the hand teasing your drooling pussy. "Taught you how to beg real good, huh? Who knows what the bratty side of you would bring out of me."

"F-Fuck, fuck Toji," you inhale, exhaling shakily as his hands pause to switch positions.

"I could tame that side of you, too," he says in a taunting tone, as if daring you to rebel against him someday. "I'd get you in this exact position, even if you wanna be a stuck up little princess." His right hand snakes up your sweater, repeating the same process as before of exploring your skin before getting to your breast.

"Mm-mm, no," you whine, squirming in his hold. "'M only good for you, T-Toji."

"Yeah? I'll hold you accountable if it turns out otherwise," he murmurs into your shoulder, his voice like drizzling honey in contrast to the threat. He can feel you gushing even more, his fingers collecting more slick with every up and down of his fingers. "Fuck, you considering it now?"

"N-No I wouldn't... Toji, I wouldn't." Your hands squeeze his thighs, refraining from using your nails.

"Then why'd your cunt start drooling even more when I told you what would happen?"

"Toji..." you whine, your cheeks burning up.

He chuckles, "S'all good, ma. I got you."

"T-Toji, I- Can I cum? Please, please, Toji?"

"Already? I just started, princess. Can you hold it?" He asks, slowing his strokes.

"I don't t-think so... 'm sorry, please..."

He sighs, no trace of disappointment in the sound, rather pride for turning you into a sloppy mess in such a short span of time.

"You'll have to make it up to me. Didn't last very long, you know?" He rolls your nipple between his fingers, amused by the way your body vibrates at the overwhelming stimulation.

"Mhm... yes, Toji. Whatever you want."

He can't hold back the wicked grin that forms at your thoughtless, pleading words for mercy.

"'Kay, mama. Make it worth it."

His fingers make direct contact with your pussy for the first time since he started playing with you. His thumb focused on your clit, while his middle and index finger tease your entrance. His lips go for your neck again, planting wet kisses on the warm skin. He's so overwhelming in every aspect when he makes you cum. You're entirely suffocated by him and you love it.

You don't last another five seconds before completely falling apart on Toji, crying out his name followed by a barrage of moans. Your back arched and your legs came up to assist you in squeezing the life out of Toji's hand. Had he not braced you with the one arm he had up your sweater, you would have completely slid down his body and laid there curled up in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"Up, mama. Stay up," he instructs. His hand goes flat on your chest, pressing you against him to keep you as steady as possible as you writhe in soul crushing pleasure.

Eventually, you go limp, laying your legs flat on the couch again. Toji chuckles, sadistically, at the broken down husk that remains of you. He attempts to bring you back to life by prodding at your overstimulated cunt and you react the way he expected, pushing at his arm to stop it.

He pulls his hands out of their designated areas, wiping your cum off on his sweatpants. "Hey," he calls, poking your forehead when he notices you dozed off.

"Mm..." you hum, in response. You roll your eyes open with a lazy grin etched on your face, an expression that added pressure to the brick in Toji's pants.

"Let's go to the bed. Fucking is not gonna be comfortable here." He traces your jaw with his fingers.

"I can't walk," you mumble, exaggerating to get him to carry you.

"Oh, you poor baby," he mocks. "That won't be a lie once i'm done with you."

You use every ounce of effort to push yourself forward to try and crawl away from him, but he pulls you back by the arm and secures you in his hold again. You giggle as he wraps your legs around his waist.

"Trynna pull a fast one on me?" He chuckles. "Well, aren't you precious?" He pushes off the couch using his foot to boost his momentum, a groan leaving him as he adjusts to standing after sitting for so long.

You surrender yourself to him willingly. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, getting drunk off his scent, and watch as the light that illuminates the living room disappears out of sight when you reach the bedroom.

[sillygoose067]

Crash Landing Into You

Joaquin Torres x female reader

Joaquin wasn’t exactly Avengers-famous. Not in the “signs autographs” or “front of the mission briefing” kind of way. He was the support guy. The gear-up-and-back-up guy. But when Sam had tossed him an invite to a low-key rooftop party—“Not a gala, just a hangout. Some shield folks, some old Avengers. Come chill”—he didn’t hesitate.

He needed a break. A night without a harness digging into his shoulder blades. Somewhere he could eat something not freeze-dried and actually talk to people without background gunfire.

And anyway, Sam said there might be cake.

So here he was, solo in a sea of mostly-familiar faces, warm light strung overhead, a breeze skimming through the city like it was taking a victory lap of its own.

He made his rounds early. Said hey to Torres from Intel—no relation, but they always fist-bumped. Talked up a couple of tech specialists from the DOD about neural interface updates. There was a guy from the Air Force talking propulsion systems, and that sparked a half-hour tangent where Joaquin completely forgot to blink.

“Wait, you actually linked a HUD visual to sub-vocal muscle twitch?” he asked, eyebrows climbing. “Man, that’s insane. You got numbers on latency?”

He was glowing—body buzzing in that familiar rush of overlapping tech-talk, theory, mechanics, potential. He loved it. It felt like flight even when he was on solid ground.

But even golden retrievers need water breaks.

He slipped away when someone mentioned deep-space communications (not his thing), grabbed a drink, and headed to the edge of the rooftop to catch his breath. From up here, the city hummed like a living organism—windows glittering, headlights threading down avenues.

And for once, he felt still.

Then, without meaning to, his eyes scanned the party again.

He wasn’t looking for anyone. But some instinct pulled his gaze toward the far corner of the patio, just beyond the heaters and tables—where a few kids were parked with juice boxes and crayons. He might’ve looked away immediately… except someone else was with them.

You were seated on a bench, cross-legged, shoulders loose, completely unbothered by the party around you. You were wearing a navy wrap dress, simple and modest, the kind of thing someone wore when they didn’t know if it would be weird to dress up or down.

…And entertaining three kids who were talking a mile a minute. You were listening— nodding along, asking questions, smiling like this whole event had been thrown just for them.

Something about it made Joaquin’s heart stumble.

He hadn’t seen you around HQ or during missions. Which meant…you probably weren’t SHIELD or military. And judging by the way you looked at those kids, the easy warmth behind your laugh…

“You’ve been staring,” said a voice to his right.

Joaquin jumped. Sam Wilson was holding a glass of lemonade and smirking.

“No, I haven’t,” Joaquin lied immediately.

“You definitely have,” Sam replied. “What, she got a laser on her forehead or something?”

Joaquin cleared his throat. “I just—I was wondering who she’s with. She doesn’t look like she’s part of the team.”

“Yeah…,” Sam said simply. “Normal. That’s not a bad thing.” He nudged Joaquin lightly. “Besides, I saw your face, Torres. You looked like someone just handed you a puppy.”

Joaquin let out a short laugh, shook his head. “I dunno, man. She’s probably someone’s cousin. I’d rather not interrupt the coloring summit going on over there.”

Sam grinned. “Sounds like an excuse.”

Joaquin didn’t answer. But he kept sipping his drink a little slower, glancing over again.

He lingered by the drink table a few minutes longer, trying to be casual about it. But his eyes kept drifting—back to you, still surrounded by those kids, still lit up in a way that had nothing to do with the party lights.

He didn’t overthink it this time.

Crossed the patio and told himself it wasn’t a big deal.

You were mid-discussion with a wide-eyed little girl about whether or not Thor had ever been to space on a goat. (“Definitely yes,” you were saying, “but I think the goats get travel sick.”)

Joaquin crouched beside your bench, resting one arm across his knee, voice light and warm.

“Excuse me, sorry—I think I’m interrupting an intergalactic livestock debate?”

You blinked, surprised, turning to look at him.

The little boy next to you gasped. “It’s the new Falcon!”

Joaquin gave a humble shrug.

The kids immediately launched into questions—what it was like flying, had he ever raced Sam, did his suit come in red—and he answered every one like it was the most important mission briefing of his life. But every so often, he’d glance at you again. Noticing how you stayed quiet, just smiling, not trying to insert yourself or redirect.

Finally, when a parent called the kids over for cake, Joaquin was left standing in front of you. You straightened slightly, brushing your skirt smooth as you rose.

“They love you,” you said softly. “You made their whole night.”

He shrugged, a bit sheepish. “They started it. I just followed their lead.”

There was a beat of silence. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets.

“You, uh…you work with kids?”

You nodded. “Pediatric surgeon. Emergency and trauma.”

His eyebrows lifted, impressed. “That’s intense.”

You gave a small smile. “It has its moments. But the kids make it worth it.”

There it was again—that same glow he’d noticed earlier. Not just kindness, but a whole-hearted presence.

“And you?” you asked, meeting his gaze for the first real time.

He hesitated—not because he didn’t know, but because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like listing off flight metrics or suit specs.

“I guess…I’m still figuring it out,” he said. “I help out where I can. Mostly flight support, recon. Backup wingman.”

You tilted your head. “That sounds important.”

He smiled at that.

After a pause, he leaned in a little, dropping his voice.

“So. Be honest. Did you come here willingly, or did someone bribe you with cupcakes?”

You laughed. “Roommate dragged me. Said it’d be low-key.”

“And how’s that working out?”

You looked around—lights, buzz, clink of glasses—then back to him. “Pretty sure she and I have different definitions of low-key.”

That made his heart skip, just slightly.

He let the moment hang for a beat, then nodded toward the rooftop stairs.

“Wanna sneak out? Grab some real food? I know a diner a few blocks from here. No one will ask you to explain a single acronym.”

You hesitated—surprised, maybe, or just caught off-guard by how fast this all felt.

But something in his eyes made it feel safe.

You smiled. “Sure. Just let me grab my bag.”

———-

The neon hum of the sign outside buzzed faintly through the window. You were halfway through a milkshake, and Joaquin was telling a story about the time he accidentally activated his wings in a hardware store.

“And I swear, this poor old guy thought I was a drone attack. Dropped his wrench and bolted.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “How are you not a walking headline?”

“I am, I just keep getting pushed below the fold,” he joked, nudging his fries toward you.

The conversation moved easily—his time in the military, your worst overnight shifts, both of you tossing stories back and forth like a tennis match you didn’t want to end.

Somewhere between your third refill and your fry count getting dangerously low, the table fell quiet.

He was watching you. In a way that made your skin feel warm under the fluorescent lights.

And then—

“Can I ask you something?”

You looked up, surprised. “Yeah?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Can I take you out sometime? Like…a real date.”

You blinked, stunned by the sincerity.

Then your lips curved. “This one wasn’t?”

He grinned, cheeks pink now. “So that’s a yes?”

You nodded. “That’s a yes.”

[catiuskaa]

RAINKISSED CHERRIES.

summary: by chance or luck, you and minho found each other that rainy summer evening. dirty dishes, cherries and all.

series masterlist (☆) collab with @dalamjisung !

wc: 3.1k

cw: absolute heart-wreaking fluff! short mentions of bullying, minho is a soft introverted cutie pie, the reader is a cherry enthusiast, and a slight suggestive thing on the end [as a present for all of you who thought the cherry emoji on the poll was for dirty stuff, lololol]

[🔺 ★ 🍒 ★ 🔺]

Minho was used to being alone. 

It didn’t scare him, not really. He didn’t feel fear when all that was happening around him was the silence that crowded the restaurant after a busy day as he cleaned up his kitchen. He relished the scent of lemons that lingered on him after he was done, sometimes going as far as doing the dishes by hand instead of popping them into the dishwasher, in an attempt to intensify it.

He knew most people wouldn’t understand. And quite frankly, he didn’t mind it. The kitchen was his space. No one came in during their shifts, merely speaking to him through the window that divided it from the rest of the place. He could cook without interruption, with the tranquil chatter that the clients brought merely on the background as he hummed distant tunes he couldn’t remember the lyrics to while chopping vegetables or cleaning up a fish.

So he took his time cleaning too, waiting for his ears to get used to the absence of noise and to welcome the reverberation his steps made when he walked around cleaning the counters, or when he moved the plates and cutlery and glasses, the sounds all too familiar, or sometimes new ones, like the door to the fridge that now chirped as he opened it while checking on the list next to it to see what he’d need to buy or refill.

The rain sounded shyly as it fell on the roof over him, like a gentle reminder to bring an umbrella to work. Its soothing charm made him sigh in comfort, and Minho relished in the sound of nothing at all that filled the restaurant after closing.

And when there was a sudden shaking of the backdoor, is why his heart skipped a beat. Or that’s what he liked to think at first, considering that it seemed much more normal to relate that to the unexpected sound rather than the unexpected, unknown visit.

“We’re… closed,” Minho uttered, frowning lightly, confused at the sight of you.

He was pretty sure it was late enough for you to know that the restaurant was closed —if the fact that the sign over the main door that read HAVEN wasn’t on couldn’t have been a dead giveaway already—.

But under his disoriented grin, he found you smiling. “Right. S-sorry,” you mumbled. Your hair was wet, your clothes too, which was also weird, considering summer rain showers were never intense to such an extent.

It brought the conclusion that you had probably been walking under the rain for a while.

“Did you… um.” He felt a small lump in his throat, and he cursed in his mind.

Minho knew he wasn’t cut out for customer service. That’s why his brother, Felix, like the everlasting ray of sunshine he was and had always been, was the one who managed the front while he stayed in the kitchen. The sole contact he had with clients would be when they sat on the window by the kitchen, and that was only allowed in the early mornings, which meant barely any people interacted with him aside from the casual, “coffee, black,” or “is there a newspaper I could read?” He kind of enjoyed that sort of contact. Minho didn’t even need to answer, merely nodding and following suit to what the clients demanded.

But this was different, and despite himself, he tried to push through. “You’re soaked.” He stated, a fact you didn’t dare to contradict, as foolish as that might have been, taking in the state of you. “Come in. You’ll get a cold.”

He moved on autopilot as he headed to the locker that stood in the corner of the kitchen. There was a small smile of triumph that crossed his face when he found the towels that Felix kept there for rain showers, and grabbed one.

“Take a seat… if you, um, want to.”

You blinked at him, puzzled, watching as he left the neatly folded towel over the windowsill-like counter.

Licking his lips, Minho just stared at you, doubting his every action, going as far as wondering if his breathing was too loud for the silence that crowded the restaurant, bubbling with the gentle words he had just spoken.

But then your eyes got teary, and you smiled at him like he had hung the stars in the sky for you to see. His heart did a thing at the sight of your new-formed happiness, beating a bit faster as you took the towel and messily squeezed your hair with it, sitting on the other side of the counter.

You were an unexpected visit in his space. His kitchen. His mind related that to the fact that his heart was going what his brother would call “bananas”, now timidly troubled at the sight of you.

It was a small diner in a small village. With the exception of tourists here and there, arriving in boats to enjoy the cool water to ease the warmth the Sun brought. But there were no boats that night, if Minho’s view of the sea from the kitchen was right. Still, he had no idea who you were, nor how it was that he had never seen you before.

“Do you have a charger I could borrow?” The tone of your voice was soft, almost as soothing as the silence had been before your arrival.

He nodded, handing it to you with a sheepish smile on his features, ones that matched your own.

You sighed, plopping your head down against the towel, laying on the counter, fidgeting with the stool you were sitting on, moving side to side.

“Are you not going to ask?” You mumbled softly, playing with the wet strands of hair that fell over your eyes.

Truth be told, Minho hadn’t planned to, not when he had just remembered he had to dry and hang the wine glasses over the counter.

He let out a somewhat breathless chuckle as he unloaded the glasses from the dishwasher.

“Last time I walked for hours in the rain, I wasn’t keen on people wondering why.”

Your gaze felt piercing against his face, but he pretended to be so very interested in drying the glass in his hands. Mmh, oh, yes, glass was made out of glass. Surprising.

The snicker that passed your lips felt equally sad and amused, and a small part of Minho couldn’t help but think that it sounded way better than the tinkles of the dishes.

“Guess so, yeah.”

“You do look like you have a good story to tell.” He grinned bashfully.

The tips of his ears turned pink, but he didn’t mind it when he noticed the shimmer in your eyes turning lighter, entertained by his words.

“You think so?”

He cherished the giggle you let out. Better than a bittersweet snicker. Much better. 

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

A gentle blush dusted your cheeks, and you remained silent, wondering what could be the best way to explain how you had ended up there, like a stray kitten, scratching the wooden door.

“A friend invited me over. I live nearby, I moved recently, but her house is closer to the main plaza here. You know, where the summer concerts are.” He nodded, attentively listening to your every word.

It wasn’t a place he frequented, much less when it was so crowded, but it was easy to hear the music and see the lights from his room, a recurrent scenario every summer since he could recall.

“I don’t drink. Which, to a bunch of twenty-something-year-olds, seems weird enough to comment on it every single time. Sometimes they say that I ruin the vibe, that I’m a killjoy. It’s whatever.”

Now, Minho sucked at social cues half of the time, —the other half he just wasn’t interested enough to give a flying fuck—, but even for him it was easy to say that, to you, it wasn’t just whatever.

“We went to today’s—, well, yesterday’s concert.” You snickered, but your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It was okay. They had their fair share of alcohol, I had apple juice. I can’t say I didn’t have fun.”

Minho felt his heart pout inside his chest when he saw you shrug nonchalantly. And he lied too, by omission, deciding not to comment on it.

“Then we went back to my friend's house.” Your tone had changed, and the palms of your hands pressed into your eye sockets, as if that could make the memory of a few hours ago more bearable. “And I had this necklace on. A silly thing. Gold.” You muttered, moving your hands to your jaw as you kept speaking. “Probably fake anyways.”

You gulped, as if swallowing dry. “Suddenly, the girl who invited me turned against me.” You bit your lip, chuckling a cold laugh out of your system. “Said I was only there to drive them, because I didn’t drink. But now her boyfriend had a license.” You rolled your eyes, frowning. “Like, girl, your sad excuse of a boyfriend is one shove away from an alcoholic coma. Sure. Let him drive. First one who ends up in a ditch loses.”

Hanging up yet another wine glass, Minho snickered, which got you out of your head lightly, making you smile shyly, noticing your phone had turned back on.

But instead of throwing yourself at it head first, you sighed, continuing the story.

“She said I wasn’t needed now.” Your voice felt heavy with pent-up emotions. “That the only cute thing I could bring to the group was my necklace.” Your eyes were teary again, and Minho couldn’t help but scoff, frowning.

“Sounds like a handful.” He mumbled.

“God, yeah,” you passed your hands through your hair, “but the worst was when her boyfriend, drunk as fuck, decided that if she liked my necklace, she should have it.”

His hands stopped, as if someone had pressed pause on him, and Minho promptly left the wine glass on the counter, cloth inside it. 

“He… grabbed the necklace and… and shoved me.” You recalled the motion, taking a hand to your neck, tightening it on a fist, and tensing up your body, as if you had been pushed right then and there before Minho’s eyes. 

“And, well, the thing couldn’t really hold my weight to begin with…” You scratched the back of your head, your hair still damp under your fingertips. “The clasp got loose and… I fell back to the swimming pool.”

“God, you must be freezing, then,” Minho mumbled, the shock passing through his tone, mixed with light worry. 

You dismissed it with a gentle groan and a flick of the wrist, but when he got you another towel, you were quick to settle it over your shoulders. 

“I don’t know if Lix could have left something around here…” 

But you settled your hand over his wrist, smiling. “No, please. You’ve done enough for me already. More than any of my so-called friends to begin with.”

That’s why I should keep doing more. 

It was a thought, just a random idea, something far from being a grand gesture of any kind. Still, the weight of it threatened to tint Minho’s ears a deep shade of red and take his breath away. It was then and only then that he noticed a red scratch on your neck, just a bit over your collarbone.

You could only blink, puzzled, when he didn’t move his arm away from you, but instead leaned forward, slightly over the counter, boring his eyes to your neck. 

“He did this to you?” 

Ah. You were talking. Mmh. Having a conversation, yes. He— god, he was a total stranger. Handsome, sure, whatever. Ok, maybe not exactly whatever, fine. Still. Huh? What had you been thinking?

“I, uh,” you swallowed dry, but it hadn’t been full of awkward tension. Not as much as you had expected. “What… what?” 

Breathless. It was ridiculous! How could a random, gorgeous, beautiful young man from the countryside make you so weak in such little time? It wasn’t normal to fall so easily for anyone, was it?

His eyes stared at yours, and the brown of his calmed your racing heart and fuzzy mind. 

Oh. 

“Um. You have a… t-there’s a… scratch. Red. From, um, the necklace, probably.” 

But neither of you had moved from the closeness that you had just discovered. 

“Is it, eh, bleeding?” 

Minho’s tone matched your own. A whisper, barely loud enough to be called a sound. 

“No. Just a scratch.” 

His eyes —bright and kind, yet guarded— held yours with an intensity that was both unnerving and comforting, whereas Minho felt like he was being seen, really seen, for the first time in a long while. Which was, again, bananas. One hundred per cent bananas. 

Like I said, ridiculous. Odds are that you had spent less than an hour in his space, his kitchen, and now he didn’t find himself yearning for the tranquil buzz of his ears after a loud day. Tonight, he wanted your voice, telling him a story. And he’d love to listen to anything, especially if you didn’t have that sad undertone while you spoke, because when you had giggled, it had reverberated in his space. Not his kitchen, honestly, but his chest, fluttering butterflies fighting inside of him. 

Neither of you spoke, but the silence was no longer awkward. It was filled with something else, something tender and unspoken. You licked your lips, chuckling lightly, and tucked a wet strand of hair behind your ear, a delicate movement that had only seemed to draw him closer, despite the stillness of your bodies.

“I think there are bandaids here somewhere.” He grinned gently, and you watched him, almost mesmerized. “It’s better than nothing.” There was a slight doubt in his mind, but he ended up shoving it away, speaking softly. “I can’t offer you much aside from bandaids and cherries, really.  Let me.” Minho chuckled.

He had to hold back the impulse to bite his lip at your toothy grin. “You have cherries?” 

For you, yes. But instead, he merely smiled, cruising to the counter close to the window, moving the bowl closer to you. 

Plopping a cherry in your mouth, you sighed in contentment. The familiar, almost homey feeling of the explosion of sweetness in your mouth brought you back to the comfort of your own house. You picked a paper napkin from the corner of the windowsill counter, leaving the pits over it. 

“You must really like cherries.” He tongued his cheek, missing your enthusiastic nod, heading to one of the small drawers of the aisle in the kitchen, like a man on a mission, and you snickered, staring at his back as he looked around in the different drawers. But then, he paused, and his shoulders made a weird motion. “Ah, Yongbok…” 

You couldn’t help but frown at him, yet it was obvious that the giggle you let out after he turned back to face you had been totally on purpose. 

“Hello Kitty bandaids?” You relished on the light blush that dusted his cheeks pink, before sparing him. “That’s so cute.”

Minho let out a chuckle that was full of relief. “My little brother. A menace, as you can see.” 

“Mmh, I’m thoroughly terrified.” 

“You don’t say.” 

He snickered, getting out of the kitchen, standing now before you, towering over your sitting figure, even on the bar stool. 

You watched as he skilfully unwrapped the pink and colourful bandaid, lemon-scented hands tenderly pressing the sticky band over the red scratch. 

“There,” Minho mumbled. “You can keep an extra one if you’d like.”

Only in certain moments, he could remember not missing the old clock that used to tick every second, hanging over the backdoor like an impending sign that his time in the kitchen was well past midnight. And that night was not only one more to the list, but most likely its number one addition. Minho loved the feeling that came over him when he stared into your eyes, and that old wooden thing would have ruined everything. 

No old clock. Just two strangers standing in front of each other, on a late August night, inside a closed diner, waiting for something to interrupt what was too early to happen yet. 

There would be other chances, Minho was sure of it. At least a small part of him was, whereas the other debated how stupid he was because he hadn’t asked for your name yet. Nevertheless, the other part of his brain —a much, much funnier one, if you asked for this humble author’s opinion— knew there was time. 

He didn’t need an old clock in the diner, because there would be time on other rainy evenings, when you’d come back from wherever you had been in the day, the lingering scent of rain on you, and he’d melt in your arms, as if that could make the lemon scent stain on you as much as you had stained him. 

Minho would scrunch his nose. 

“You reek of cherries.” 

And you’d smile, guilty as charged, both of you fully aware that you had probably bought and finished a small box of cherries on your way to him. 

“Change that, then.” 

It would only take a playful giggle escape from your cherry-tinted lips for him to grab you in his arms and sit you down, not behind the counter like the night you two had met, and not on the edge of his bed like he had done barely a couple of months after —one could only resist a sweet sweet cherry for so long—, but on top of the recently-cleaned surface, and he’d giggle too, torn between kissing away the day off you as you both simmered in the late, rainy night, protected only by the diner’s roof, or melting in your hold, your hands, slightly cold from being outside running through his hair and scratching his scalp, letting rain, cherries and lemons lull him to sleep. 

He hadn’t seen any of this in your eyes, that first night. But Minho knew deep inside that there was no way in hell he’d let you go without you coming back the next morning.

“I should go.” You grinned, looking down sheepishly. “Thank you for tonight.”

After folding the towels —an excuse to stay just a bit more—, you both parted ways under the rain. 

Were there things left unsaid? Sure. Honestly, it’s why this author keeps adding small bits and pieces between long hyphens. Minho hadn’t told you how he was dying to see you again someday —the sooner the better, if you asked him—. 

And you had just smiled cheekily as you walked away to find your car instead of saying what you had been thinking for a while, Hello Kitty bandaid in hand —that would surely end up stuck to the wall of your room—. 

It wasn’t your name, as some of you might be thinking. You had scribbled that on another napkin when he wasn’t looking. No, it was something even better. 

See you tomorrow.

[🔺 ★ 🍒 ★ 🔺]

kats, who is craving not cherries but a late-night, lemon-scented minho for herself to cuddle to sleep.

catiuskaa, august 2024 ©

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[puckinghischier]

The 7th Year

Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary: reader wants to celebrate Nico’s 7 year anniversary of being drafted to the Devils

notes: i really wanted to post this on his actual draft anniversary but i’m a slacker and didn’t finish it in time, so here it is now. it still counts cause it’s still draft week, right? anyways, i hope you enjoy and happy reading! 🫶🏼

[4.4k]

“Jack, it’s all wrong!” you cry out, looking at the orange cake sitting in front of you.

“Listen, we can fix it. I can run down to the nearest grocery store and have them make me a new one really quick,” Jack tries to reason with you, attempting to avoid the incoming meltdown.

Today was Nico’s seven-year anniversary of being drafted to the Devils. You know it’s an in-between milestone, most people celebrating every five years, but you didn’t care. You weren’t with him two years ago, having only been dating the hockey captain for a little over a year, so you were determined to make a big deal out of this milestone instead.

Your apartment was decked out in every tacky, red or devil related decoration imaginable, from cardboard cut-outs of Nico littered throughout the large living space to a custom ‘pin the horns on the nico’ party game you ordered for the occasion.

“Jack, I special ordered this cake four months ago, because the bakery he likes had a waiting list almost six months long for their cake decorator. I literally told them I’d pay extra if they could have it done by today,” you shut the lid of the cake box, not wanting to look at the orange monstrosity any longer.

You had sent them several reference pictures of what you wanted done, confirming with them last week that they had the correct pictures and color scheme.

“Well, at least they got the logo right?” Jack tries again, watching you run your hands through your recently curled hair.

People were set to start showing up any minute now, and you were panicking about being ready in time for Nico’s return home in a little over an hour. You barely had time to shower and make yourself presentable after spending all day transforming your apartment into a Nico museum.

All of his trophies and medals from childhood up until now are displayed on various surfaces around your shared apartment, action shot posters are taped on the living room walls, taking the place of your decorative pictures, and several of his old jerseys are on display in shadow boxes propped up in the high-top chairs that usually sit around the small table on your balcony, but are currently placed in various spots around the large room.

“Yeah, sure. The logo says Devils, but the colors say Flyers,” you mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose, trying to stop yourself from crying off your fresh make-up.

Jack had been a trooper today. Luke too. The two of them had shown up to your apartment not even twenty minutes after Nico left with Jesper and Timo this morning for their early tee time. They helped you decorate and arrange your entire apartment, ran all over Hoboken with you grabbing last minute stuff for the evening, and Luke is out right now picking up the catering order that was supposed to be delivered but somehow got marked for pick up.

Your phone starts ringing in the middle of your deep breathing moment, trying to calm your nerves.

“Luke, please tell me you have the food and are on your way home,” you answer the phone, praying Luke is calling to check in and not to give you bad news.

“Yeah, I got it. On my way now. Just calling to check and see if you need anything else while I’m out,” he tells you, the sound of his car door shutting heard in the background.

You breathe out a sigh of relief. At least the food is taken care of, you think to yourself. “No, I think we’re good. I double checked everything before I got in the shower. And Jack has been setting stuff up while I was getting ready. Just please get here in one piece with the food before I have a small stroke,” you attempt a joke, but your tone sounds more strained than anything.

“Aye Aye, Mrs. Captain,” you hear through the phone, picturing the small salute Luke is likely doing right now.

You chuckle out a goodbye and hang up your phone.

“So, am I good to go get changed now, or do you need me to talk you off a ledge right now?” Jack asks you, treading lightly.

You send him an unamused glare. “No, I think I’ve done everything I can do until Luke gets here with the food. Go, change. Shower if you need to,” you wave him off, grabbing the cake on the counter in front of you and walking to place it in the large fridge.

“Alright, but if I hear the balcony door open I won’t hesitate to run out here butt naked to make sure you’re not trying to make an escape,” he sings out as he walks out of your kitchen, turning down the hallway towards your guest bathroom.

You flip him off even though he can’t see you, a smile on your face nonetheless.

Thirty minutes later, Jack is showered and dressed and a few of Nico’s teammates have shown up, decked out in the t-shirts you had ordered and distributed to everyone.

Each of Nico’s teammates are wearing a shirt with his picture from his draft on it. No matter who you were looking at, Nico’s smiling baby face, devils hat on his head and devils jersey pulled over his formal attire, with one finger pointed in the air to signify his being picked first overall, was looking back at you.

You thought it would be funny to have Nico walk into a surprise celebration with his face staring back at him from nearly everyone in attendance, and when you pitched the idea to his teammates they were all for it.

You had ordered your own shirt with Nico’s face on it, too. Although, yours was one of the shirts in the WWE style, overlapping, various pics of Nico making up the design.

As the time got closer to Nico coming home, more and more of his teammates and their significant others showed up, ready to surprise their captain.

Ten minutes before Nico was due arrive, you get a call from Jesper.

“Hey, you guys almost here?” you answer, walking away from the noise of your living room.

“Yeah, leaving the bar now,” he tells you, pausing to bid someone in the background goodbye and ringing out ‘thank you’ a few times as he walks out of the bar.

Jesper and Timo were tasked with keeping Nico busy and away from home today. It started with their game of golf, but quickly turned into an additional eighteen holes and trying to kill time at the clubhouse bar when their games went by far quicker than they anticipated.

Around lunchtime, Timo called you and told you Nico kept saying he was going to bow out early to come home and spend some time with you, but you begged them to find a way to keep him occupied. You ended up having to send him a message, telling him you were out with a friend for a quick lunch before a fake nail appointment that turned into a real one once he asked to see what design you had chosen this time. Which is why you were late getting ready, having to leave Jack to decorate the apartment during your impromptu salon trip.

Most of the time you love that Nico is so invested in your relationship. He always wants to spend time with you, going with you to hair and nail appointments, following you around like a puppy when you go shopping, and simply sticking around the house on days when he has nothing planned just to catch up on your latest reality show obsession he always gets hooked into.

Today, though, you wish he was a little more apt to spending time with his friends. The amount of ‘I miss you’ and ‘can’t wait to come home and binge love island!’ texts you got today made you love him even more – if that’s even possible – but also made your anxiety sky rocket each time, because you know if he wanted to, he would simply leave in the middle of his plans with Timo and Jesper, no amount of convincing able to keep him there.

“Alright, don’t forget your shirts,” you start to remind him. You turn your body to look behind you, hearing a chorus of “Lukey!” and “Moose!” ring out, signaling Luke was finally back with the food. “Hey, I gotta go Jesp, Luke just got back with the food. Be safe!” you rush out before hanging up, making your way back into the small crowd.

You weave through bodies until you reach your kitchen, watching Luke attempt to sit down the large disposable trays.

“Luke, please don’t drop those,” you run over to him, helping him slide the heavy food onto your kitchen island.

You unstack the pans, making sure each one is unharmed and an appropriate distance from the edge of the counter.

“C’mon, Y/N, have a little more faith in me than that. I can carry a few trays of food,” he tells you, dramatically flexing his arms at you.  

You roll your eyes at the curly-headed giant. Checking the time on your phone, you figure you have enough time to try and set up the food a little bit before Nico gets here. Opening the various pans, you freeze.

“Luke…what is this?” you ask him, a cold feeling washing over you.

Luke furrows his brows at you, peeking over your shoulder from his spot behind you. “The food you asked me to get? Is this a trick question?”

You dropped the flimsy lid, condensation from the hot dish flying everywhere.

When you were thinking about what food you wanted to have for the party, you knew it would be in the off-season, the Devils losing their playoff spot pretty early this season. So, you figured it would be a good time to order a few pans of his favorite dishes from his favorite Italian restaurant.

You ordered a pan of their lasagna, chicken parm, and a large pan of a steak and pasta dish specific to the restaurant. You had called them to confirm this morning, which is how you found out it was marked as pick up instead of delivery, causing Luke to have to drive forty-five minutes one way in order to grab the food.

What you were unaware of, however, is the fact that this restaurant, apparently, also caters an array of vegan options.

When you opened the three pans, you were met with a large pan of what looked like roasted cauliflower with tomato sauce, eggplant boats covered in pesto, and what looked like breaded and baked zucchini. 

You had no issue with vegan food, some of it being some of the most delicious food you’ve ever eaten, but this is not at all what you envisioned surprising Nico with.

“I ordered lasagna, chicken parm, and steak pasta. There is no chicken, parm, steak, or layered noodles in front of me right now,” you try to keep your tone even and calm, knowing it’s not Luke’s fault.

“I swear, they handed me the box of food that had your name on it. I even checked the receipt and everything,” Luke defended himself.

You can feel the tears welling up, despite your attempt at taking big, deep breaths to avoid your emotions getting the best of you.

When the first tear falls over, the rest come crashing out before you could even stop them. You bring your face to your hands and start sobbing, upset that you couldn’t have everything be perfect for such an important day for Nico.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Luke coos as he wraps you in a hug, your face still hidden by your hands. “You’re going to ruin your make-up. You don’t want to greet Nico while looking like a little raccoon, do you?” you let out a chuckle at Luke’s words, his attempt at cheering you up working for a quick moment.

You bring your hands away from your face, sniffling and trying to carefully wipe your eyes. Luke keeps you trapped in a hug, giving you a few moments to collect yourself before stepping back, rubbing your arms instead.

“I just wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted Nico to walk in here and see all of his friends here, ready to celebrate him. I wanted to surprise him with his favorite meal and his favorite cake from his favorite bakery, since he doesn’t ever get this stuff during the season. But instead he gets an orange cake and a vegan dinner,” you huff, gesturing to the food in front of you.

“Well, he’ll definitely be surprised,” Luke attempts another joke, this one earning a sarcastic laugh instead of a genuine one. “Listen, we can fix it, okay? We’ll call the place and get a refund then order a few pizzas, alright? It’ll be fine. Everyone likes pizza.”

He bends his knees so he’s eye level with you, trying to gauge your reaction to his suggestion.

You look over to the food on the counter, bringing a sliver of your bottom lip in-between your teeth, mulling the idea over in your head.

“Yeah, we can do that. Everyone does like pizza, don’t they?” you try to convince yourself pizza will be fine, you could just take Nico out to dinner for his Italian food later this week.

“They sure do. And lucky for you, I have the best pizzeria in Hoboken on speed dial. I’ll make them do a rush order for their favorite customer,” Luke winks down at you, stepping away to pull out his phone and make the last-minute order.

You cover the food in front of you back up, picking up each tray and tossing them in the trash can at the end of your island, knowing that a group of hungry hockey players wouldn’t want three trays worth of vegetables to eat for party food.

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, trying to compose yourself and wipe away any mascara residue when Jack comes running through the open doorway, frantic eyes landing on you.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Why do you look like you’ve been crying? Jesper just texted and said they’re on the elevator on their way up,” he rushes out, walking towards you to make sure you’re alright.

“Catering mishap, Luke’s ordering pizza now. Don’t worry, I’m fine. Go grab him, quick,” you suddenly perk up, nerves bubbling in your stomach.

As you follow Jack out of the kitchen and make your way to the front of the small crowd at the end of your entry way, all you can think about is hoping Nico likes what you’ve done. You hope he doesn’t think the decorations are too tacky, or that the shirts are weird. You hope he’s okay with eating greasy pizza and orange cake. You hope he likes the custom Halifax and Devils split jersey you plan to gift him later to represent where he started and where he is now. Overall, you just hope he understands how proud you are of him.

You see Jack and Luke walk up beside you out of the corner of your eye, matching with the rest of their teammates that are surrounding you. Luke leans down to whisper “Pizza’s ordered, it’ll be here in twenty,” into your ear before standing back to his original height and facing forward, waiting on his captain to walk through the door.

You’re suddenly hit with a thought about how thankful you are for the people surrounding you. For Jack and Luke who dealt with your demanding and crazy self today, talking you off of ledges and running around doing your bidding all day long. You’re thankful for the teammates that showed up today, ready to celebrate the captain they love almost as much as you do. You’re thankful for Timo and Jesper, making sure Nico stays in the dark about the surprise, doing everything in their power to keep him out of your hair until this moment.

You’re so incredibly thankful that the universe has allowed you to not only love someone as kind, loving, and special as Nico, but that he loves you back just as much. You also gained an entire family through Nico, his teammates treating you like one of their own, showing you just as much love and care as they do him. You’ve found some of your best friends through him, Jack, Luke, Timo, and Jesper being four of the best people you’ve ever had in your life.

The sound of the front door opening distracts you from your sentimental thoughts. You see Jesper enter first, his Nico shirt looking a little out of place paired with his golf pants. Nico follows him in, blindfolded. You have to stop a snort from making its way out, not knowing Timo and Jesper were going to resort to blindfolding him. Timo follows a step behind Nico, hands on his shoulders, guiding him and preventing him from bumping into anything.

Timo guides him to a few feet in front of you, stopping him before dropping his hands from his shoulders.

“Alright, Cap, you can take your blindfold off now,” Jesper tells him, him and Timo quickly stepping over to where you stand, joining the rest of their team.

Nico reaches up the untie the blindfold on his head. “I swear to god, if you guys did this just to mess with me and take me to another bar I’m going to kill both of you. I told you I just wanted to go home to Y/N-“ Nico stops mid-sentence when the cloth falls into his hands.

A loud, “Surprise!” rings out around the room, Nico’s eyes darting to each person, then down to their shirts.

You stand there, smiling at his shocked face.

“What-“ he starts, but stops, speechless at the scene in front of him.

You step forward the few feet to him, his gaze finally landing on you.

“Happy draft anniversary, baby,” you tell him, smiling up at him.

He looks down at you, eyebrows furrowing. You can tell he didn’t remember what day it was until this moment, his eyes looking around the room again, understanding settling in on the choice of shirts.

“You did all this? For me?” he asks, a smile taking over his face as he looks down on you.

“Well, duh,” you tell him. “Your seven-year draft anniversary is a big deal, you know?”

He beams down at you, the amount of love in his eyes enough to nearly knock you down.

“I love you, you know that?” he asks, wrapping his arms around you, pulling your body close to his.

“I think you’ve told me once or twice,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes at you, bringing his lips down to meet yours. The kiss is innocent and sweet, considering most of his team is stood behind you, but it was enough to cause a feeling of warmth to wash over you, all the way down to your toes.

When you pull back from the kiss you can’t help but to keep smiling at him. “Alright, go greet your teammates now. I’ll find you later,” you tell him, patting him on the chest as you step back.

Nico gives you a wink before he walks over to his friends and teammates, making his way through hugs and handshakes.

You mostly sit back and observe for most of the night, splitting off from the festivities when the pizza was delivered, placing it in the kitchen and announcing everyone to just serve themselves.

You make your way around your apartment, conversing with Nico’s various coworkers. You cross paths with Nico a few times, each time he tried to whisk you away to your shared bedroom, but you insisted he have a good time with his friends, there’ll be plenty of time for the two of you later. You stick around Jack and Luke some, but finding yourself in a corner talking to Nicole, Jesper’s girlfriend towards the end of the night.

“Y/N, seriously, this is great. I wish I would have thought of something like this for Jesper. Nico hit the jackpot with you,” Nicole compliments.

Your cheeks redden. “He deserves it. I mean, he left everything he’d ever known in Switzerland to come here and pursue this. And look how well he did for himself,” you turn to look over at him standing with Jonas and Erik, Jonas attempting his turn at pinning the devil horns on the large poster of Nico on the wall.

You’ve always been amazed at Nico’s bravery and determination to pursue this dream, knowing how hard it was for you to move just a few states away from your family, much less halfway across the world. He proved every single person that told him he wouldn’t make it wrong, not only getting drafted, but being the first overall pick. And now he earned his captaincy on top of that, proving he’s not only a phenomenal player, but an even better teammate and leader.

“I think he did very well for himself, and not just in reference to hockey, either,” she tells you, leaning over and placing a hand on your leg to emphasize her point.

You look down, not particularly knowing how to respond to her compliments.

“Hey, Y/N, want us to stick around and help clean up,” you hear a voice ask you, turning around to see only Jack, Luke, Jesper and Timo remaining.

Nico walks over to you as Nicole stands and joins Jesper.

“Nah, you guys head out. We’ll call you tomorrow if we need any help,” Nico answers for you, standing behind you and placing his hands on your shoulders, giving them a light squeeze.

“That’s code for ‘get out you goons, I’m trying to be alone with my girl right now,’” Jack says, earning a chuckle from the group.

You and Nico walk everyone to the door, saying your goodbyes before shutting the apartment door and turning around to observe the state of your apartment.

“Don’t even think about trying to clean anything up tonight. You’re not lifting a finger for the rest of the night,” Nico threatens, slipping his arms around your torso from behind, burying his face in your neck.

“C’mon, at least let me clean up the cups your lazy teammates didn’t throw away,” you pat his hands, starting to walk him over to start picking up the red, plastic cups.

“Alright, but after that we’re going to the bedroom and aren’t leaving until this time tomorrow,” Nico points a finger at you as he separates from your body.

The two of you gather all of the stray cups, bringing them into the kitchen to throw them away. You notice the empty pizza boxes, breaking a few of them down while asking Nico to put the leftovers in your fridge so they don’t ruin.

“What’s in the box?” he asks, grabbing the white cake box and dragging it out of the fridge.

“Oh no! I totally forgot about the cake!” you exclaim.

“You bought me a cake?” Nico opens the box.

He looks up at you, amusement in his eyes. “Schatz, why did you get me an orange Devils cake?”

You groan, bringing your hands up to rake them down your face.

“It was supposed to be red, but the bakery fucked it up and I didn’t know until they delivered it,” you explained, walking over to stand next to him as he looks between the cake and you.

“The catering was messed up too,” you continued. “I tried to order your favorite dishes from that Italian place you like, but they sent a bunch of vegan dishes instead, so Luke had to order pizza last minute.”

Nico lets out a laugh at your confession. “So, you threw me a draft anniversary party with an orange cake and vegan food?” he teases, closing the lid to the cake box and turning his body to face you.

You give him a pout. “Don’t make fun of me, I was trying to be nice to you.”

This earns another laugh, Nico placing his hands on either side of your pouting face.

“You could have thrown me a party with water soup as the entrée and ice cubes as appetizers and I would still think it’s the best party I’ve ever been to, simply because you planned it,” he tells you, looking down into your eyes.

“You meant it? You enjoyed yourself tonight?” you ask him earnestly, that small seed of worry making its way back into your brain.

Nico doesn’t answer, he leans down to kiss you for the second time that night. This time, though, he wasn’t as slow and sweet as he was when you had an audience.

His kiss isn’t rushed, but with his tongue slipping its way into your mouth, it quickly turns into a partial make-out session in your kitchen.

He pulls back once the two of you need to come up for air, resting his forehead against yours.

“I had a blast tonight. The shirts were a nice touch, by the way,” he smirks at you.

You let out a giggle, thinking of how funny it was when he registered all of his teammates were wearing his face on their chest.

“Thank you, seriously,” his tone turns serious. “I can’t even begin to explain to you what this means to me. I just wish I could’ve had you by my side from the start.”

You look at him through his long lashes, not being able to think about anything except for how much you love him at this moment.

“Well, you’ll have me until the end of it. Or until you get sick of me, whichever comes first,” you joke, causing Nico to pull his forehead back from yours.

He uses his hands that are still on your face to tilt your head up to look at him. “Not possible. If anyone gets sick of anyone around here it’s going to be you getting sick of me, because I never want to be anywhere but by your side.”

You just stare up at him, shaking your head in a no motion, the intensity of his stare taking any words from the tip of your tongue.

You both just stand there, staring at each other for what feels like hours, but was really just a few moments.

“Enough of us just standing in the kitchen, I think it’s time we take this little party to our bedroom so I can really show you how thankful I am,” he breaks the silence, his eyes going from love to lust before you could even blink.

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, just throwing you over his shoulder while you squeal, carrying you to your bedroom. As you pass all of the decorations on the hallway walls on your way to the bedroom, you’re already thinking of how you can make year eight’s anniversary even better, especially if Nico is as thankful next year as he proves to be this year, thanking you over and over and over again once you reach your bedroom.

[defututus]

eddie finds you with a migraine and you're stubborn

eddie munson x fem!reader

cw: established relationship, a mix of angst and fluff (you just aren’t feeling well), migraines and talk of past medical experiences, there’s like a hint of a dom/sub relationship but only for a moment I swear

author's note: this is the first fic I've ever posted and it's for the migraine girlies. I have another migraine-related fic idea that I've been thinking about writing so we''ll see what happens. this fic a culmination of my personal experiences with migraines and wishing Eddie could be here and force me to take my medication when I act like I don't need it.

Thank you @munson-blurbs and @corroded-hellfire for reading it and pushing me every time I come up with an idea and yelling at me to write it, love you both <3

The sound of Eddie's boots echo through the hallways of his apartment complex as he finally arrives home from work, pulling his mittens off his hands and stuffing them in his jacket pockets. The weather this week has been horrible, the garage is freezing, and he nearly tripped over a creeper that someone left in the middle of the room. He’s pretty sure the new guy, Gunther, left it there when he went to grab some parts. Everyone in the room, including Wayne, saw the way his arms flailed and he almost fell on his face. The only thing that kept him going was knowing you would be there at home waiting for him at the end of the day. All he wanted to do right now was curl up with you on the couch under some blankets and watch some gory horror movies all night. You had mentioned trying out the new Chinese place down the road, maybe you guys could just have it delivered so neither of you need to leave the comforts of your warm home. He would have been home sooner but you needed a few things for a recipe you wanted to try soon and he offered to pick them up after work.

Eddie finally reaches the door to the apartment and fumbles with the keys, his hands still freezing despite the warm mittens he wore outside. He curses under his breath, eventually grabbing the right key amongst all the identical ones hanging on his keyring. Heaving a huge sigh of relief, Eddie finally unlocks the door and steps inside to find the apartment dark and chilly. The streetlights illuminate part of the living room through the half open blinds. A young chocolate lab runs over to greet Eddie, his nails scraping the floors as he skids across, excitedly jumping up to greet his human after being gone all day. Eddie bends down to give him some scratches and pat his pack. 

“Hey Yogi, did you keep the place safe today? You really are the best dog, aren’t you?” After about 30 seconds of roughhousing with the pup, he stands back up to flick on a light. He goes over to your small kitchen and sets down the small bag of groceries. Eddie takes his time putting everything away, humming to himself as he shelves the chicken stock and adobo. Once all the items are put away, Eddie looks around and takes in the state of the apartment.

The faint scent of a lavender candle wafting through the area and your water bottle is left on the coffee table. His jacket is hung up in the small coat closet and he unties his boots, placing them in front of one of the heat ducts and swearing he’ll put them on the shoe rack once they’re fully dry. There’s no sign of you whatsoever apart from your bottle and the blanket you usually use haphazardly draped across the edge of the couch.

The place is oddly silent for this time of day. Normally if you were home you’d have some sort of music playing, usually a playlist split between the two of you with your preferred music in it. Either that or you would have some tv show on for background noise. The space heater wasn’t on and it didn’t feel like it had been on for some time now. All the heat coming from the heat ducts was leaving through the old windows so those heaters were necessary to prevent the apartment from feeling like a walk-in freezer every winter. Eddie knew you had to be home - your bag was hanging next to your coat and you wouldn’t go anywhere without at least notifying him. He turns around back to Yogi, happily wagging his tail and looking up at him, and whispers, “Hey, where’s mom? Go find mom for me.” He motions for Yogi to go ahead and he happily obliges, trotting towards the closed bedroom door.

It’s not fully shut, open only a crack so Yogi could come inside if he so chooses. The dog sticks his nose inside to open it more and pushes through it. Eddie silently follows behind him. The room is pitch black thanks to the blackout curtains on the window, a gift from your parents when you and Eddie finally found an apartment together. Eddie then realizes what’s going on.

You had struggled with migraines for a majority of your life with them getting progressively worse and more frequent in the last three years. You’re on a few different medications now to make it more manageable but you still have your bad days, and today is looking like one of them. Frankly, he should have known this was going to happen. Bad weather was always a trigger for you and you had commented on the barometer this morning as you both were getting ready for the day. He was stupid to just brush that off as small talk while you both were still half asleep. You knew a migraine was coming. 

Eddie sees you curled up on his side of the bed with a sleep mask over your eyes. You’re grimacing under it in the fetal position and what sounds to be whimpering. Before Eddie goes inside, he tiptoes over to the light switch he just flipped and turns the lights off, the streetlights being the only thing illuminating once more. He sees some movement out of the corner of his eye coming from the bedroom and tiptoes back over to your room. Yogi is taking a step back before jumping up onto the bed, taking his usual spot curled up behind your knees with his head resting on your leg. He even lets out a little sigh when he settles into a comfortable position. Eddie steps inside the room and closes the door behind him. You pick your head up just a little bit and lift the sleep mask, wincing at the shooting pain from behind your eyes to the top of your head and call out a strained, “Ed?” 

Eddie slowly walks over to his side of the bed, trying to keep as quiet as possible so the floor would creak as little as possible. Once he’s close enough, he reaches down and cups your cheek, stroking it with his thumb and replying with a quiet, “Hey bub, how are you feeling?”

You mumble, “Not great, but you’re home now so I’m already feeling a little better.”

His hands are warm in stark contrast with the cold air circulating the apartment. You nuzzle his hand with your cheek which makes Eddie smile. Eddie moves down to kneel in front of you. You look tired, your eyes only half open with no life in them. He had seen you like this countless times before but it still hurt him every single time. Migraines sucked all the life out of you and Eddie wished he could do something to help you. There were countless times you had to cancel plans because you had a migraine attack and felt so much guilt over it, but Eddie didn’t care. He’d rather lay in bed with you until you feel better than go out and do something when you’re obviously in pain.

He remembered an attack you had last year, it left you crying and asking Eddie to take you to the hospital. You were hyperventilating and complaining that your arm had gone numb. No amount of medication was working and you couldn’t take the searing pain any longer. He had to help you out to the car, only wearing one of his worn band shirts that you stole from Eddie a long time ago and a pair of pajama shorts. You two didn’t even make it out of the apartment parking lot when the medication you took finally kicked in all at once. It was one of the scariest times of his life and he swore it would never happen again. 

Eddie nods, already going through his mental list of things that he needs to do to help you feel better, asking, “Have you taken anything today?” You shake your head no before a wave of pain hits you, causing you to shut your eyes again and bury your face in the pillow with a low pained groan. Eddie sits there, worried but also confused. Why didn’t you take anything? He got up and went over to your side of the bed to open your bedside drawer. It was split into two parts, one with the items you used before bed but the other half held all your medications, including every painkiller known to man. There was a giant unopened bottle of Excedrin, a bottle of Advil, and even the migraine medication prescribed by your doctor. You certainly weren’t low on anything. His attention is turned back to you when you roll onto your back, your migraine moving exclusively to the side of your head that was touching the pillow therefore it hurt too much to lay on your side. Unfortunately, you moving meant Yogi wasn’t able to lay on your legs anymore so he huffed and jumped off the bed.

“Sweetheart, why haven’t you taken anything?” Eddie gets onto the bed to sit down next to you, his hand going back to your face. Your eyes open once more, squinting at the minute level of light coming in from behind the curtains. You whine and answer tiredly,

“I don’t need them.”

Your boyfriend sits up, completely perplexed by your answer. Did he hear you correctly? He takes you in again, noting the noise cancelling earplugs in your ears and how much you keep clenching your jaw, something that he knows will only make the pain worse.

“Wait, what? Honey…,” Eddie stammers, wincing at the volume of his exclamation and watching you do the same. “Listen, I love you. I love you more than everything in the world, but frankly I think you look and sound like shit. You look like you’re in a lot of pain right now.” 

He watches you pout and smiles a little bit, happy to see even a small sign of life in his girlfriend again. “Wow Eddie, rude.”

“Why won’t you take the medication?” he repeats.

“I don’t need it. The pain isn’t that bad, I’ve felt worse.”

“Ok but you have the means to stop the pain NOW so why not do that? Don’t wait until you’re in agony to take something.”

Eddie doesn’t wait for a response. He gets up and leaves the room with your dog following behind like the loyal pet he is. You hear two sets of footsteps walk through the apartment and then the faint sound of running water. You assumed he just left to let you rest so you pulled the blankets up over your head to try and get to sleep. He returns again a minute later, Yogi in tow and your refilled water bottle in hand. There’s a shift in weight on the mattress, which you assume to be from Eddie, followed by Yogi  hopping onto the bed and just standing in the middle of it, as if he’s there just to watch you and make sure you do as you’re told.

Eddie slowly takes the blanket off your head and ignores your protests. He opens up the water bottle and places it on your bedside table. With his other hand he holds out a little pink pill, the medication prescribed by your doctor, as well as two Excedrin. “Cmon, take this,” he asks, moving his hand closer to you when you shake your head no, “Babe, you need to take this. Please.”

There’s no response from you this time. Eddie carefully puts the medication down on the table next to your water. He decides to make it so you can’t ignore him, pulling the covers up and climbs under them next to you. His eyes quickly adjust to the darkness and looks you right in the eye. 

“Listen, I don’t understand why you refuse to take your medication. You have a chronic condition that is easily fixed by a few little pills. Also…” Eddie leans in so your noses are practically touching, maintaining eye contact the entire time. “Think about the creator of that little pill. That nice, strong painkiller. Think about the scientists that made that little pill for you,” he says. You’re looking at him confused as he continues speaking, “Think about how sad he must be that you aren’t taking that pill. He worked so hard to make it for you and you’re being a stubborn little brat.”

You mutter, “I’m not a brat,” and try to roll over, but a hand shoots out and grabs your arm before you could fully turn away from him.

Eddie leans into your ear and you feel his curly fringe tickle your neck. His voice deepens in a way that has always made you squirm and goes, “You’re gonna be a good girl and take your medicine, okay?”

You don’t turn your back to him, but you also don’t fully turn to face him again. The only part of you that turns is your head to look back at him. He’s giving you a look that he only ever gave you in the bedroom, the look he gave you when you were pushing his buttons because you thought it was funny and knew he was going to teach you a lesson when he finally got you alone - in a consensual way, of course. He can see it in your eyes that he got you, that once his demeanor changed you would be more likely to listen to him. To ensure you would really listen to him, he moves his hand from your arm to touch your cheek again and asks, more softly this time, “Take it for me, please.”

Eddie watches you think for a second before sitting up - slowly, because you were still in pain, and takes the covers off of your head. You look over at the dog laying at the end of your bed, now asleep. Eddie takes the covers off his head and turns to the bedside table to hand you the pills and water bottle. He watches you swallow the pills and drink around half of the water in your water bottle. Eddie places his hand on your inner thigh to squeeze it and is finally smiling again. Yogi seems to sense that things are better now so he jumps off the bed and trots over to his doggy bed and lays down there. Once you’re finished with the bottle, he takes it from you and places it back on the table. He asks, “Now, was that so difficult?”

“Extremely difficult.”

“Ok, well we’re gonna stay in bed until everything kicks in. Once you’re better we can take the pup out for a quick—” Eddie leans in to mouth the word walk, so Yogi doesn’t hear him, “—and then we’ll order some take out. Sounds good to you?”

You nod silently, finally smiling at him for the first time since he got home today. He presses a light kiss to your forehead and you flinch away from him.

“Ok, yeah. Forgot to not touch your head when it hurts, sorry.”

Eddie watches you settle back down in bed and reluctantly gets out of the warm bed. The cold is seeping in through the windows and all he wants to do at that moment is just stay under the covers with you, even if it means sleeping in his clothes. You roll over to watch Eddie as he softly treads across the room to the dresser. He starts off by removing his rings one at a time to place them in a little jewelry tray, listening to each piece clink as they hit the ceramic. His hair is taken out of the bun he kept it in all day and he scratches at his head to relieve the tension from having it pulled back all day. 

His shirt comes next, pulling it over his head and revealing the skeleton wings tattooed across his back. You’re stuck there admiring the way his muscles move in the dim light. Eddie complains about how tiring it is being a mechanic but you can’t deny it’s doing wonders for his body. He used to be so lanky but now that he’s been doing this job for a while you’ve noticed how strong he has gotten.

He’s about to put his shirt in the laundry when you wolf whistle at him. Eddie whips his head around to look at you, smirking when he sees you giggling and crawling over to the other side of the bed now wrapping a blanket around yourself to keep warm. He balls his shirt up and throws it in your direction and you swat it away, making him cackle.

“Oh nothings wrong with you, you’re fine!”

You gasp at his accusation and reach down to the floor to grab the shirt so you could throw it back at him. As you’re grasping for it, there’s some shuffling and movement going on as Eddie goes back to getting changed. His work pants are thrown into the laundry basket with his underwear coming off moments later. You’re still watching him, now just admiring his body as a whole while he digs for a comfortable pair of pajama pants, eventually landing on a red pair with reindeer on them that your aunt gave him for Christmas this year. The winds outside from the storm are billowing, meaning more of the frigid outside air is leaking in through your windows. 

Instead of coming back to bed like you thought he would, Eddie leaves the bedroom and goes out to the linen closet. You have a small collection of blankets in there and he pulls out the thickest one in there. He returns seconds later and lays it out on the bed before climbing in beside you. Your eyelids are already getting heavy when he returns to you. You instinctively reach out for him and he pulls you close, allowing you to rest your head on his chest with a hand stroking your hair. You roll over a bit to bury your face in the crook of his neck, mumbling, “I’m sorry for being a brat earlier. Thank you for helping me.” He pecks your forehead again and you don’t flinch this time. 

“Don’t worry about it sweetheart, I don’t mind taking care of you. Now get some sleep, okay?”

You nod against him and Eddie notices your breathing changing a few minutes later when you finally fall asleep. It’s the first time you’ve been able to fall asleep, not that you would tell him. You didn’t want him to worry about you or become a burden, but Eddie would always be there for you if you needed him.

[psformybss]

hey loved the last one x

have a request for hidden vows

there is an interview the outerbanks cast did called scene stealerd where they react to fans doing stuff related to the show. I have an idea. what if the whole cast is reacting together and a clip of yn comes up. the producers of the channel asked her to submit a clip. the clip is a complication of her reenacting a couple of rafe scenes like:

the scene where he says, "I think we should kill them all" to ward

season 2 episode 10 scene where John b and rafe are in the red boiler engine room and he says " watch your head man" and the rest of the script

the scene where wheezie gives rafe money cause Ward kicked him out in season one, and she tells him about how ward is taking sarah to the Bahamas and he is like " I know about a billion more things about business them she does........"

lastly the season 2 scene where rafe and ward and talking how he shot her and he's like "I think I shot her. I was trying to shoot John b but she got in the way. i think I shot her but I don't care that i did".

in all of these yn is like impersonating rafe as kinda sassy and it's super funny. the cast cracks up and drew is all laughing and shaking his head

Scene Stealer

series masterlist

warnings: chaos energy, actor impersonation, unexpected talent, too much laughter

an: hiii, im so glad you loved them! this idea was so fun to write, there’s a slight chance i didn’t get all of the dialogue from the scenes right cause i mostly went from memory so if i didn’t pretend that’s the dialogue that’s actually on the show

════════════════

By the time the cast of Outer Banks piled onto the main couch, the room was buzzing.

They’d spent the past hour reacting to fan-made recreations—laughing, cringing, occasionally questioning their own performances when someone on TikTok out-acted them in a wig and a hoodie. Now, all seven of them were crammed together in front of the biggest screen yet, still breathless from too much laughter and too many inside jokes.

Madison, Chase, and Carlacia had melted into one tangled heap on one side of the couch, knees knocking and shoulders bumping as they fought for space. Madelyn and Rudy flanked the other end, the latter already half on the floor. JD had somehow wedged himself between them, sliding slowly toward the edge like gravity had given up. Drew sat slightly off-center, posture suspiciously straight—legs stretched out, forearms braced on his thighs, water bottle dangling loose in one hand.

He didn’t say anything.

Which, of course, made everyone suspicious.

“You’re suspiciously quiet, Starkey,” Madison noted, squinting at him.

Drew just eyed the monitor like it might bite him. “I know that face,” he said, nodding toward the producer behind the camera. “That’s the chaos face.”

The producer didn’t even try to deny it. Just smiled and said, “For this last video, we reached out to someone special. Someone who knows the show… intimately.”

Rudy gasped. “It’s your mom.”

“Worse,” Carlacia grinned. “It’s gotta be Y/N.”

Drew blinked. Once. Slowly. “Oh no.”

Chase pointed at the screen, already gleeful. “Roll it. Roll it now.”

_______

The screen faded in from black.

A familiar kitchen appeared, fridge slightly ajar, dishwasher humming faintly in the background. Y/N stood barefoot in the center, hair tossed into a chaotic bun, backwards cap tugged low, one of Drew’s hoodies nearly swallowing her whole.

She paced slowly across the tile. Calm. Deliberate. Head tilted just so.

And then, in a voice so casual it bordered on cheerful:

“I think we should kill them all.”

She stopped. Blank-faced. Still. Like she was talking about grocery lists instead of murder.

_______

The room detonated.

“NO—NO, WHY IS SHE SO CASUAL?!” Carlacia shrieked.

Rudy kicked the coffee table, rolling backward onto the floor. “SHE’S GOT THE HEAD TILT. That’s the tilt!”

Madelyn was pointing at the screen like it had personally offended her. “She looks exactly like him—why does she look like him?!”

Drew sat back slowly, squinting in disbelief. “That’s… that’s literally what I did.”

“She studied you like a nature documentary,” Madison howled. “You’re done.”

_______

Y/N crouched behind the backyard grill, wielding a rake like a weapon. She charged out of frame full-speed and slammed it into the wooden trellis with a crack that made half the cast jump.

She leaned into camera view, breathless, feral-eyed.

“Watch your head, man.”

_______

JD clutched the armrest like it was a seatbelt. “SHE BROKE THE TRELLIS FOR THE BIT?!”

“She’s gonna invoice you,” Chase wheezed.

Rudy was flat on his back, one hand in the air. “I’m ascending. Goodbye.”

Drew dropped his head into his hands, wheezing through laughter. “She told me she was out watering tomatoes that day.”

“Lies,” Carlacia declared. “She was watering vengeance.”

_______

The next clip was in their living room, Y/N perched at the edge of the couch, fisting crumpled cash, eyes wide. She stood abruptly, raked a hand through her hair, and spun in a tight frustrated circle.

“I know about a billion more things about business than she does!”

She kicked over a throw pillow.

“What is… what is this?!”

She threw her arms toward the ceiling like it had answers.

From off-screen—clearly pulled from the show—a voice cut in:

“We’re the black sheep. Get used to it, Rafe.”

Y/N froze. Turned. Looked betrayed. Then face-planted onto the couch with a dramatic groan, limbs dead-weight.

_______

“She’s got your rage pacing,” Madison whispered, eyes wide. “Like frame-for-frame.”

“She’s better at being Rafe than you,” JD said, pointing straight at Drew.

Drew scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “She didn’t even tell me she was filming this.”

“She didn’t need to,” Carlacia said. “It’s in her blood.”

_______

For the final scene the bathroom lighting was dim, Y/N sat on the edge of the tub, robe slipping off one shoulder, eyeliner smudged just enough to scream emotional turmoil. A bead of water trailed down her temple.

Her voice cracked.

“I hit her.”

Ward’s voice echoed, clipped from the show:

“What?”

Y/N turned to the camera, face blank.

“But I don’t care that I did.”

A beat.

“That’s your sister.”

She shrugged—one-shoulder, unbothered—and reached for something on the counter.

A juice box.

She punctured the straw with deadly precision and took the loudest sip any of them had ever heard.

_______

Madelyn collapsed sideways into Madison’s lap. “NOOOO.”

“THE JUICE BOX?!” Rudy shrieked from the floor.

“WHERE DID SHE EVEN GET THAT?!” Carlacia howled.

“This is Oscar-worthy,” JD yelled. “THE DRAMA. THE DETAILS!”

Drew just stared at the screen—mouth parted, eyebrows raised, laugh caught somewhere in his chest. And then it came.

A real, full-body laugh. The kind that forced him forward, face flushed, eyes shining. He looked stunned. Wrecked. In awe.

“She’s insane,” he said finally, wiping his face. “And I love her so much it’s actually terrifying.”

“She won the whole thing,” Madison grinned. “No one’s topping that.”

“She is Rafe now,” JD declared solemnly.

Drew gave a helpless shrug, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Guess I’m out of a job.”

The screen faded to black.

The cast was still breathless, collapsed into each other, half-sobbing from laughter.

And Drew?

He just shook his head, the grin still stuck on his face like it had no intention of leaving.

“She’s gonna love this,” he muttered, already imagining her face when she watched this footage. Already planning the popcorn. Already bracing for round two.

Because if anyone was about to be dragged into another parody?

Yeah. It was definitely him.

[hminnj]

Unckuna/reader (he's very dear to my heart), mostly uncle nephew banter tbh, i needa get dividers lowkey, very short lil drabble

-

Sukuna thinks he's lost his mind.

He means it figuratively, obviously. But at this point he's sure he should've physically lost it already.

His nephew- of which he is currently babysitting- is currently on his couch, not a care in the world, half empty family sized bag of chips that was unopened not too long ago (fatface), kicking his feet like an adolescent boy in love, greasy fingers on the remote, and scrolling through youtube shorts on the tv???

Oh and worst of all he forgot to mention, the brat is wearing shoes.

The fact that he's even related to this thing makes him want to kill everyone else in the room and then himself.

"Itadori Yuji..." Sukuna seethes, it takes everything in him to not rip the brat's skeleton right out of his skin. He thinks it would be easy, if only a certain three people would let him (a shame, truly).

Yuji spares him a glance (the disrespect).

"Oh whats up unc"

"And what do you think you're doing?" The older of the two walks over and blocks the view of the tv, glaring down with his hands on his hips.

Yuji stares for a moment before opening his stupid food hole (as Sukuna describes it), "Have you ever seen that one meme, no one looks good from below? Well you're the version where they-"

Sukuna promptly picks him up by his foot, shaking him as a few chip bits fall off Yuji's shirt, "I literally just cleaned the house you freeloading fiend. Have you seen what a mess you've made?"

"You clean the house everyday you freak. Now put me down! I swear I was gonna clean up afterwards anyways." Yuji attempts to wiggle his way out of Sukuna's grip, he gets nowhere (predictably).

"Brat. You don't even know where the vacuum is, were you planning on picking them up one by one?"

"Ugh you're such a housewife, if I didn't know any better I'd assume you- MMM"

The sound of the code being put into the front door quickly stops Sukuna who shoves his free hand into Yuji's face, effectively shutting him up as well.

Sukuna grins when he sees you walk in, holding Yuji as if he were a first place catch for the annual bass fishing competition.

The sight makes you pause and contemplate your life decisions.

"Sukuna... put Yuji down, all the blood's rushing to his head."

Yuji is dropped immediately.

"OWWWWWWWW"

Your eyes trail around the living space and then back to the two children, "Does someone want to explain what's happening? And why there are shoe tracks in my house?" You make eye contact with your husband (who practically regresses 15 years in age when your nephew is around), he looks at you then uses his middle finger to point at Yuji.

Said boy, still recovering on the floor, whines, "Mann why can't I have a cool wine aunt and normal uncle?"

"Yuji if I were a wine aunt I wouldn't even be your aunt. Now are you gonna clean up this mess or should I make you?"

"On it! Whatever you say ma'am!" Yuji scrambles away after saluting and then pops back up from the hallway, realizing something crucial.

"Where are the cleaning supplies again?"

You sigh.

.

Yuji's finished with cleaning when he joins (intrudes, in Sukuna's words) you and his uncle on the couch, another episode of criminal minds running in the background.

You've changed from your work clothes into something more comfortable, snuggled into Sukuna's side as you start, "You know, if Spencer existed in real life I'd consider leaving you for him."

The tattooed man can only cringe in disgust at your behavior, "We're literally married, woman. You would leave me for that??"

He gives you and the tv an incredulous look. You can only giggle at his reaction, "You're like a child sometimes." His disapproval worsens, and you consider continuing to tease him but go with your better judgement (before he decides not to cook dinner, even though he always does anyways).

"I'm sorry hubby, forgive me?" Sukuna scoffs but accepts the affection anyways, he always does.

Yuji's voice interrupts the moment, "Ew you guys are so nasty (his parents are way worse), but speaking of children... when am I gonna get a cousin?"

The young boy can only watch as you two glance at each other then back at him, casually dropping an "Oh, Soon" then moving on completely. It takes him a second to process.

"WHAT."

-

unckuna my love

reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated :]

thank you for reading, have a blessed week

not fully proofread or edited

[lomlhwa]

all american whore (n.r)

pairing: step brother!riki x step sister!reader

preview: your dad has just married riki's mom. but, you're not blood related so you should be fine to hook up, right?

tags/warnings: fem reader, handjob in the back of a car, oral (69 on the edge of a pool....), fingering, unprotected penetration (BOOOO), hickeys, breast slapping, pet names (angel, slut, cock whore), 4th of july celebration (and by celebration i mean orgasms for everyone), creampie

trigger warnings: STEPCEST!!!, like two mentions of reader having a dead mom

wc: 3.0k

song recs for this fic: american horror show by snow wife, all-american bitch by olivia rodrigo

a/n: i was so invested in writing this for like 4 days good lord

“you could at least try and be a little excited, y/n. sure, you’re meeting my new wife and her son today, but it’s also the 4th of july. it’s a celebration,” your dad says to you while driving. “whoopty doo,” you say as sarcastically as possible. you can feel him glaring at you without even looking over at him. “i know you miss your mother, but it’s been over a decade, i’m moving on.”

you lean your head against the window, the air hanging heavy between you and your dad. “i’ll be nice to them but i can’t promise i’ll like them,” you say, turning to see your dad crack a small smile. “i think you will like them, pumpkin. just trust me,” you nod as he speaks. 

____________________________________

as your dad parks, nerves run through you. it’s finally hitting you that you’re meeting these people that your father intends to keep in your life forever. he walks up behind you and squeezes your shoulders. “you ready, kiddo?” he asks and you give him the most unconvincing nod ever. 

you walk up to the front door and knock loudly. “you’re here!” a woman cries out as she opens the door. you assume this is your dad’s wife. “hello honey, this is y/n,” your dad introduces you and you give an awkward wave. “come in, come in. riki is just upstairs playing his video games,” she ushers you in and shuts the front door behind her. “you guys can just head out to the backyard, that’s where everyone else is,” she walks over to the base of the stairs and angles her head upwards. “NISHIMURA RIKI GET DOWN HERE,” she yells. 

you walk out to the large deck in the backyard with your dad and greet lots of people you’ve never met. you notice lots of things in the very large backyard. in-ground pool, hot tub, etc. your step-mom is rich. you settle yourself in a law chair by the pool with a spiked iced tea in hand. you’re soaking up the sun when you feel a presence next to you. you open your eyes and see a man standing there. “my mom told me i had to introduce myself to you. i’m riki,” he scratches the back of his neck and turns to yell to his mom on the deck. “happy now?” his mother shrugs. he walks away from you, clearly unhappy with your presence.

as the afternoon goes on, the family gathering becomes more lively. you’re sitting on the edge of the pool with your legs in the water when riki comes to talk to you again. he slips his shoes off and plops down next to you. “here because your mom told you to?” you raise your eyebrow at him and he shakes his head. “no, i came to apologize. i’m sure you’re in the same boat as me with our parents' marriage,” he swings his legs, creating small waves in the water. you sigh, your shoulders slumping.

“you wanna go up to my room? it’s quieter and we could watch tv or something,” riki nods towards his house and you give him a small smile before getting your legs out of the pool. you grab your sandals and follow him close behind. “y/n and i are gonna hang out in my room for a bit,” riki tells his mom and she gives him a warm smile. “have fun, kids,” she says. she shoots your dad an excited look as you two walk into the house. 

as you settle into riki's bed, you feel as though this is a very intimate space to be in with your step-brother. he puts on some brainrot show as background noise and sparks up a conversation with you. despite being invested in your conversation, you can tell there’s something else on his mind. the way his eyes dart between your own eyes and your lips brings butterflies to your stomach. 

riki snakes his hand onto your bare thigh, your shorts having ridden up from adjusting to sit comfortably in his bed. he strokes your skin with his thumb like it’s second nature. goosebumps rise in the wake of the soft movements from his thumb. you look at him with doll-like eyes and he can’t seem to get enough of your appearance. 

slowly, his hand snakes higher and higher before his fingers are teasing the stitching of your underwear. you can tell he wants to shove his hand in there and play with your wet heat. you know his fingers can feel how wet you’re getting. he shifts his arm a little bit so he can reach his pointer finger out to brush over your clothed clit. slowly, it gets harder for you to hold the conversation. 

riki leans over to whisper in your ear, despite the two of you being the only people in the room. “can i? please let me make you feel good” is all he says to you and you honestly can’t get your head to nod fast enough. you’re not blood related so you should be fine to hook up, right? at your consent, he slips his fingers under the fabric of your panties and plays with your clit. small moans and whimpers escape your lips when he touches you. it feels amazing. his soft fingers on your skin lights your nerves on fire.

riki scooches closer to you so he can press kisses onto your jawline and neck. you tilt your head back on instinct, giving more access to the expanse of your throat. he slides his middle and pointer fingers into your wet hole, pumping them in and out slowly. your muscles clamp around his digits, desperate for more pleasure. “riki, oh my god,” you breathe out, your hand shooting down to hold his wrist while he fucks you. he holds your face with his other hand, making sure you’re looking at him while he fingers you.

your high creeps up on you as the tips of his fingers jab the gummy spot inside you. you arch your back as your walls throb around his fingers. “give it to me, y/n. i know you’re fucking close. cum for me,” he whispers in your ear again. you dig your nails into the skin of his wrist as you cum around his fingers. riki lets out a sinister laugh before pulling his fingers out of you. he brings his wet fingers to his mouth and licks your release off of them. as you’re about to say something to him, you hear your dad’s voice. “y/n! it’s time to go home!”

____________________________________

for the next 3 days, all you can think about is riki. was what you did wrong or immoral? it can’t be. you’re not blood siblings. the only thing bonding you is your parents’ marriage. unfortunately for you, you can’t help but want more.

today must be your lucky day because your dad has some amazing news for you. “we’re going on a little shopping trip with riki and my wife today. do you wanna go there in separate cars or take one car?” your dad asks, leaning on your doorframe. “we can take one car, it’s fine with me. i’ll sit in the back with riki.” 

your dad gives you a warm grin, only happy that you’re getting along with your step-brother. he pulls out his phone to text his wife about your transportation decision. not even 10 minutes later, an suv pulls into your driveway. you rush to put your shoes on before climbing into the large backseat with riki. he pats the seat right next to him, despite the whole rest of the backseat being empty. happily, you oblige. the car is chilly and riki has a blanket over his lap.

it’s about a two hour drive to the biggest outlet mall near you. so you settle next to riki, watching a movie on the laptop he’d brought with him. about 20 minutes into the drive, you notice riki shifting around uncomfortably. you take a single glance down and you know exactly what’s wrong. he’s hard. so unbelievably hard. you can see it through the blanket.

“do you want my help?” you ask in a hushed voice. riki catches his bottom lip between his teeth as he nods. luckily, he decided to wear basketball shorts, so you have easy access. you pull the waistband of his shorts and underwear down just enough to get his cock out. you wrap your hand around it under the blanket and pump him slowly. he digs his teeth into his lip to suppress any sounds coming out. you run your thumb over the pink, dripping tip and he lets out a sigh. “you okay back there, hon?” his mom asks, seeming concerned. just as he’s about to open his mouth, you start pumping faster. “y-yeah, i’m so fine,” riki responds. his mom seems to accept this answer as she goes back to looking at her phone.

“the fuck is wrong with you?” he whispers aggressively. you give him a mischievous smile as your hand continues to work on him. you stroke him with firm, mildly swift motions. his hips buck to meet your hand’s movements and you can’t help but smile at his desperation. riki slides his arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him. he digs his fingers into the skin of your hip as his orgasm approaches. “right there, angel, fuck,” he squeezes his eyes shut as his cums, his hips stuttering. white ropes of cum paint your hand and forearm. as you bring your hand to your mouth to lick it clean, he shoves his cock back into his shorts. 

____________________________________

after your shopping trip, your parents drop you off at riki’s house. you walk into his empty house and plop down onto the couch. riki stands in the doorway of the living room, watching you. “you wanna swim?” he asks, nodding his head toward the back door. “i don’t have a bathing suit,” you reply, smirking at him. “swim in your underwear.” you shrug, not really minding the idea.

you rise from the couch, walking past riki towards the back door of his house. as you walk, you drop items of your clothes on the floor. first you drop your shirt, exposing your back and your black bra. next, your shorts. they left almost nothing to the imagination anyway. your black panties hug your hips and ass in a way that almost sends your step-brother into a frenzy. you peel your socks off last, throwing them into a corner. finally, you reach the pool. you dive in head first, drenching yourself head to toe. “you coming?” you call out to riki, who’s been a statue since you started stripping.

you can barely see him from the pool but you can tell he took his slides off and threw his shirt somewhere in the room. he comes darting out the door, diving into the pool the same way you did. when he comes back up, he flips his hair out of his face. you’re holding onto the edge of the pool and watch his movements. he swims over to you, halting in front of you. there’s a moment of silence between you before he grabs you by the back of the head and crashes your lips together.

riki kisses you like it might kill him if he doesn’t. the kiss is sloppy and full of saliva. he kisses you like he’s been poisoned and your lips are the only antidote. your hands travel to his exposed chest, digging your nails into his chest. he groans against your mouth and the sound goes straight to your core. you wrap your legs around his waist underwater and he kisses you harder. 

“i wanna fuck you, but not here. not now. let me taste you,” he whispers against your lips as if someone will hear you. you nod, but suddenly a better idea comes to your mind. “get out of the pool and lay on your back,” you instruct, also pulling yourself out of the pool. riki follows suit, doing what you told him to. you stand by his head and shimmy your wet panties off. you throw them onto the lawn before turning back to riki.

you put both feet beside riki’s head and lower yourself slowly, sitting on his face. his tongue almost immediately darts out to taste you and you fall forward, catching yourself with your hands on his hips. he wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling your core further onto his face. with trembling hands, you push his shorts down his thighs. he lifts his hips to help you in sliding them off him. you lay your torso down and take his cock into your hands. you stroke it a couple times before spitting on the tip.

you take the first half of his cock into your mouth, already choking around it. he moans against your pussy, his hips bucking into your face. he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it lightly. your knees fight to squeeze around his head but you don’t let them. you stroke the portion of his cock that you can’t fit in your mouth, trying to work an orgasm out of him. you bob your head up and down rhythmically. riki eases two fingers into you and they follow the same rhythm as your head. 

your orgasm creeps up on you faster than you would’ve liked it to, but you can tell he’s close too. you pull your mouth off of him to let out a high-pitched squeal when he curls his fingers inside you. “ah, fuck, i’m gonna cum,” you exclaim, clenching around his digits that are abusing your hole. “me too, angel,” riki replies. his voice is so husky and strained that it almost sends you over the edge. 

you manage to pump him a few more times before toppling over the edge. you shake above him, your thighs clamping down on his head. the noises you make as you cum send him into his orgasm. he releases onto your face and neck, causing you to flinch a little. you roll off of him, laying naked from the waist down on the warm concrete. when you sit up, you hear a car roll into the driveway. riki shoots up and give you an ‘oh shit’ look. you both bolt into the house, grab all your clothes and rush up the stairs. he barely closes his door before your parents open the front door. you can hear them talking and laughing about something but you’re too focused on how fast your heart is beating.

you collapse onto his floor, laughing about how close you were to getting caught. riki listens for the movement of your parents, trying to find out what they’re doing. relief washes over him when he hears them leave again. he turns to you to find that you’re moving to put your clothes on. “don’t you fucking dare.” he walks over to you and hooks his arms under yours, lifting you off the floor and onto his bed. you rest your body weight on your elbows and watch as he admires your body.

riki runs his hands up your thighs and spreads your legs for him. he pulls you so you’re almost hanging off the edge of his bed. “please, angel. let me fuck you. i need to know how that pretty fucking pussy feels,” it almost sounds like he’s begging you. your core throbs as he speaks. “please,” is all you can muster as a response. riki grabs the base of his cock, lining up with your wet hole. “god, you’re gonna be my fucking slut. right, angel? a whore for my, ngh, cock. gonna ruin you for everyone else. you’re only ever gonna want me” he shoves himself into the hilt before pausing.

your walls pulse around him, trying to adjust to his size. before you’re fully adjusted, he starts to thrust. his cock abuses your hole and it feels so fucking good. you wrap your legs around his waist as he uses you. “god, it’s like you were made for me. such a good cock whore. you’re taking me so well.” roughly, he pulls your bra down to expose your breasts. he slaps both of your breasts, leaving bright red marks. you cry out in pleasure, your back arching. “such a whore for your step-brother. what would your father say?” he teases. 

he leans down and connects his mouth with the plush skin of your breast. he sucks on the skin, leaving a dark purple mark. he continues the same motions a couple more times, leaving your chest riddled in his love bites. “you’re fucking mine. you hear me?” he says, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. “say it. say it and i’ll make my sweet angel cum.” the idea of finally cumming makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“fffuck riki, i’m yours. i’m all fucking yours,” you cry out. your orgasm is right there. “good fucking girl. so obedient,” he slaps your chest again, leaving a bright handprint. “where do you want me to cum?” riki asks as his thrusts speed up and become sloppy. “inside, inside, god please inside of me,” you beg, your pussy clamping down on him. he chuckles at your desperation. he connects his pointer finger with your clit, rubbing it in circles. “cum. cum for me right now, slut.”

the combination of his words, his motions on your clit and his cock abusing your wet cunt sends you crashing over the edge. you cry out loudly, a string of curses erupting from you. he quickly follows suit, spilling his seed into your weeping hole. you both rest for a few moments, feeling his cum seep out around his cock. you wipe sweat off your forehead before looking at him.

“we can never tell our parents.”

© lomlhwa 2024

[applestorms]

ok actually fuck it i'm talking about this too. so, the ivantill kiss, right? there are a lot of beautiful stylistic choices that make that scene just incredible, but the one thing i'd like to zoom in on in particular for this post relates to the 180 degree rule specifically.

if you're not familiar with filmmaking, essentially-- the 180 degree rule sets up a line that the camera typically is not supposed to cross. the clearest example of this in the case of scenes where you have two characters in a room talking to one another. for the sake of smoother continuity, you generally want to stick to having dude A on the left and dude B on the right, otherwise it feels wonky or gets confusing to follow, both as an audience and as an editor. this is particularly true when you're doing some kind of shot/reverse shot conversation between two characters and need to ensure that it Feels like they're consistently looking at one another in the same direction, even if they aren't actually both visible in the same shot. basically, the 180 degree rule is meant to help keep your left & right from getting mixed up while filming, and to make sure that the physical space both on- and off-screen are clear to the audience.

in round 6, most of the shots we get of ivan & till while they're on the actual performing stage are close-ups, though we do get a couple of establishing shots. early on we have this very quick frame:

which is very quickly followed up by a close up of till's face, and then a medium close up also displaying his name in the background.

the majority of shots that take place in this setting (not flashbacks) stick to similar shot sizes, putting emphasis on till himself rather than the mostly empty background and stage.

ivan is presented very similarly. we begin with a shot of his feet as he walks up to the mic:

and then a couple extreme close ups of his face, both from the side and the front to emphasize his mouth and eyes as he begins singing.

i think it's this side view in particular that really helps set up the space in terms of how ivan is positioned to the left of till, especially since we also see till from the same side earlier. note the similarities:

we also often see them positioned like this in the flashbacks, ivan on the right and till on the left, a good example being when ivan licks the blood of his face like a fucking freak.

later on, we also get this fairly short establishing shot of the stage from the back, again setting up just how empty and vast this place is:

(this one is actually a bit odd since we're viewing them from the back. bit of a teaser, i guess? the importance of this will be made clear shortly.)

POINT IS. in the minutes leading up to the kiss, we have a very clear line established, wherein till is always on the left and ivan always on the right. a couple flashbacks may buck this trend, but this is consistent for all the shots that we see of them on the actual stage.

notably, though, we very rarely ever actually see them in the same frame in this setting-- again, only in flashbacks, or the extreme wide shown above do we actually see them together.

this changes as soon as ivan decides to start walking towards him:

but still, we haven't crossed the line. always, it's till on the left, ivan on the right

UNTIL.

BAM. it switches.

why? so glad you asked, i have a couple theories. it all comes down to two big points: making the scene more jarring + audience perspective.

in terms of the first point... till is clearly caught off guard by this move, so literally jumping the line right at the moment when their lips touch is a great way of showing how ivan has also just crossed a line, emotionally. it is also, again, somewhat off-putting and confusing. even if you don't fully consciously notice the switch, it takes a moment to reorient yourself within the scene and realize what's happening. it's a very subtle move, but it really emphasizes that OH SHIT moment in a fantastic way.

in terms of audience perspective... alien stage is a story about a bunch of 20 somethings (and one 30 year old) singing and then getting murdered on stage. it is performative to its core, not to mention incredibly voyeuristic. on a meta level, as human viewers, we are to some degree put into the same position as the in-universe aliens, watching and delighting and being horrified over the exact same performance as them. in the earlier shots for this video, when we see ivan and till from the front, we are watching the show from the seat of the audience (which is, notably, not especially present/visible in this round, in comparison to some of the previous ones).

by flipping around to the other side, we are also seeing the details of this moment from a much more intimate perspective. note how the light shines behind them in this moment, particularly in conjunction with this next frame:

ivan wants this to be a moment special to the two of them, not something done for the sake of adding to the performance. so he blocks off the spotlight, and angles their faces away from where (presumably) the majority of the audience is. he can only get so much privacy when they're right smack in the middle of this great big empty stage, but he takes what he can get.

this also helps him get a better look at the scores behind them:

and it's perhaps interesting to note that after this, we jump right back over the line-- specifically, right at the moment ivan is shot.

the fact that the choking itself is also prominently displayed with this orientation (till left, ivan right) seems like additional support for the idea that ivan was doing that for the Performance and the audience.

especially since, when he takes his hands away, they're right back in that ivan left/till right orientation, on the more intimate/genuine side of the line.

this all ends off with another interesting perspective switch, one that is so quick you almost don't even get the chance to notice it. as soon as ivan hits the floor, we move from the usual left-side looking in angle from before to one that puts till in the foreground.

a shift from a POV where ivan dominates, to one where till does, only after ivan passes away. this shit is rich, fellas.

[spidernuggets]

No. 18 "Plea- Please. I can't be hated by you, I just can't" with reader saying this to Jason because he just found out that the Joker is her father

Jason Todd x Joker's Daughter!Reader

"Plea- Please. I can't be hated by you, I just can't."

You tried long and hard to fall out of your father's tight grasp of holding you hostage, telling you many times that you are his flesh and blood. His family. His face and name.

He's repeated that no one in the world will ever love you except him. And even if someone did, if they find out who you're related to, they'd instantly stop loving you. No one in the world is aware of your existence except for him and a few of his goons. Not even Batman knows that the Joker has a kid.

You've watched the Joker torture, maim, kill so many innocent people. You've watched him force other men who can't fend for themselves to work for him.

And for what? Your father does this for a good laugh. Because he's bored. Because he wants to play Tag with Batman.

But with endless lectures and monologues from the Joker, somehow, you remain to stay sane. But every time you tried to escape his hold, he somehow still managed to find you. How does he do it?

You found out from overhearing a discussion to kill Batman that the Joker would use Scarecrow's fear toxin on you to do his bidding, knowing that maltreatment wouldn't get you to do what he wants. And upon this discussion, you hear that you can't escape. That you could never escape from him. He planted a tracking chip, under your tongue.

You instantly ran to what is labelled as your bedroom. But in reality, it's just a small, cramped space with mould growing in all corners, cracks in the walls, and dried blood stains on the floor. But toss an old mattress there, and suddenly it classifies as a bedroom from dear old dad.

There's a shattered mirror hanging on one of the walls. You grab a shard off the floor, staring into the mirror, looking desoerate to take the tracker out. As soon as you lifted your tongue to rip out your tracker, you hear the Joker call for you.

"Ohhh, Y/n, my sweets!" He bellows. You drop the shard, turning to look at your dad with an unamused expression on your face, replying with a harsh 'what'.

"Clear up the attitude, hm? There's someone I'd like you to meet!" He declares, almost in a tune. Your face scrunches in confusion. Joker says no more as he walks away, expecting you to follow, as you do.

You follow him down to the ground floor of the warehouse. And you're shocked to see Robin tied up with barbed wires to a wheelchair. His face is busted, there's dark circles under his eyes, but no one would notice them seeing how bloodied his face was, and his head was hung low.

He looked scared, confused. He looked like he'd given up on trying to escape.

"Meet boy blunder 2.0!" Joker cheered, picking up his crowbar, giving Jason a swing to the leg. Jason grimaces but doesn't scream in pain. He already looks so dead. Joker scoffs in boredom. "Not playing, I see," he mutters. "No matter! I'm quite finished with you anyway. But first!"

The Joker brings out a camera, putting it right in front of Jason. You're confused as to why you were brought down to witness this. You have an understanding that the Joker would kill Robin, but you have no control over what he does. You try to help Robin, and your head would have a bullet in there.

"How long has he been here?" You quietly ask.

"Oh, you know.." The Joker chuckles. "A month... a year? Same difference," he cackles as your eyes widen.

He starts recording, and you don't realise you can be seen in the corner of the background of the footage. The Joker goes on and on with his usual, riddled speeches. Within that, it is revealed to you that this new Robin is identified as Jason Todd, who claims to hate Batman.

"Hey..." The Joker suddenly says to Jason. "I never asked. What's the big secret? Who is the big, bad bat? What's his name? Tell me!" he calmly says.

"Of course, sir. It's-"

No matter how many times you witness your father murder an innocent person, you'd never get used to the sound of his gunshot. Or the sound of his crowbar against bruising flesh. Or his maniacal cackles of dekight when he kills someone. Especially someone who is... was close to Batman.

"Never could stand a tattletale. See, my darling, Y/n?" He says to you. "This is why I work alone. No one to spoil the punchline!" He grands the camera, bringing it to get a closer look at the dead boy in front of you. "You should try it sometime." At this point, you don't know if he's talking to you or the camera. You assume this video footage would be sent to the Bat.

The Joker finishes up the footage, tossing the camera to you as you clumsily catch it. "Export the footage, my sweets. Then, send it to the coordinates that I'll send to you in a bit," he instructs to you.

"Why can't you do it?" You carefully say, trying not to get on his bad side.

"Because..." He hisses, harshly grabbing your face with a firm grip as you winced. "I told you to do it. Now go."

You glare at him, going to go export the footage and send the taoes to the coordinates, in which you assume is where Batman would be currently located.

A month later, everything is quiet. The Joker and most of his goons are out to raid Scarecrow's cookery. You take this opportunity. You head to your room, looking dead in your eyes through the mirror. You slowly open your mouth, sticking your finger in, trying to feel the lumo of where the tracker is situated.

When you find it, you grab a shard, placing it directly over the tracker. You attempted to muffle your whimpers as much as you can to make sure the rest of Joker's goons don't hear you. You were finally able to pop the tracker out, and you hold it up between your eyes, your focus on the blinking light that somehow blinds you. It makes your eyes water, but you drop the tracker to the ground, leaving it there. You're aware that if you step on it, it might send a signal to Joker, indicating that the device he planted in you had been damaged.

So you left it there in your room, you pack whatever shit you can, and you attempt once more to escape that damn warehouse. For the uears you soent in there, you took note of usually unguarded exits and the routines of your dad's goons.

And with that, you successfully stepped foot out of the warehouse. And you took no extra second to bolt away as fast and as far away as you can.

With your bolt for freedom, you go to the closest drug store. Thanks to dear old dad, you managed to steal some essentials. Vitamins, bandages- oh. And some hair dye. You go to whatever public restroom you could find. You got your pocket knife and started to messily cut your hair, along with applying every last drop of that hair dye.

You decided to stay along the outskirts of Gotham. You were never able to get out of the warehouse, so staying in Gotham, a somewhat familiar setting would be safest for you.

And since the outskirts are the poorer sides of town, where the Joker wouldn't be interested in torturing the already tortured, you knew that he wouldn't be a problem for a good while.

So you went around, figuring the in and outs of the outskirts. It's been another few years, and you've forgotten all about the Robin fiasco that occurred in the warehouse. You even forgot that he willingly revealed his identity.

The past few years had been hectic. There was a new Robin roaming around, a new crime lord emerged by the name of Arkham Knight, whose name had died down a bit and is now working alongside Batman... you think?

You were able to get a stable job at Bat Burgers. Luckily, seeing as it's a cheao, greasy fast food place, they didn't need any formal documents. You were able to rent a run-down apartment (which was a huge upgrade to your decomposing room back at the warehouse) and with a little extra cash, you were able to buy snacks for some of the kids along the outskirts.

You were fishing through your bag for your wallet when you bumped into someone, and you hit your face prettg hard against them.

"Ow! Watch it, nitwit!" You snap at them, but they scoff.

"You're the one not watching where you're going," he bites back. And you were about to make a snarky comment, but when you looked up at the stranger, you swear you saw an angel. He was tall... very tall. He also had gorgeous green eyes and a few scars on his face that made him somewhat more attractive.

Your silence indicates to him that you have nothing else to say, and he scoffs once more and leaves. You shake your head away from the thought of how good-looking he was and continued your way towards the grocery store.

You picked up a few meats and vegetables you were going to offer to the soup kitchen down the road, not forgetting to put some candy and snacks in the basket for the kids that would be there.

When you checkout, you headed straight for the soup kitchen, immediately greeting Diane, the owner of the place,with a sweet smile and a wave. You say hi to the other volunteers when you make it to the back of the kitchen, dropping off the plastic bag full of produce, telling the others you won't be long.

When you step out, you're instantly tackled by a bunch of 6 and 7 years olds hugging you tightly, all of them talking at once saying how much they missed you.

"Okay, okay," you laugh with the kids. "Hey, guess what I got," you bend down to their level, lowering your voice, as they all copied you, looking more secretive and quietening. You then whip open your bag, reveal various treats for them as the kids squeal with excitement.

"Alright, alright, one at a time!" You exclaim, happy ti see the kids enjoying their time.

When you wrap things up, you hug the kids once more, saying goodbye and that you'd see them soon. But when you swiftly turn, your face is once more met with a solid surface.

You take a step back, grabbing your nose. "Ow! Shit- again?!" You hiss, your eyes tight shut as your hands apply soothing pressure to your not really broken face.

"You know you shouldn't curse. There's kids around."

You look up, getting a sense of deja vu, seeing the same pair of emerald green eyes looking down at you smugly.

"Ugh.. you," you groaned, secretly glad you got to see him again... just wanting to admire the view, you guess.

"Ugh, me," the handsome stranger mocked with a grin. He stuck his hand out, interested to officially meet the person who continuously walks into his chest. But also, the person who manages to make these kids smile in just a split second.

"Jason."

You raise a brow at his extended arm, shaking it cautiously. "Y/n..." You say, shaking his hand. Didn't he know a Y/n from somewhere?

You notice him wearing an apron. "You volunteer here?" You question as Jason nods his head.

"Whenever I get free time. I only started volunteering recently. Otherwise, I'm just doing whatever. How bout you?"

"Just visits here and there. I don't have time to volunteer fully. Just drop off some food and snacks most of the time, though," you explain, and Jason smiles.

"Well, your time here definitely seems to cheer up those kids. They're always frowning," he says sadly, but you just shrugged.

"It's not much. It's all I can offer. This side of Gotham really isn't Wayne manor," you joke, unaware that you were having a conversation with a son of Bruce Wayne. Well... not until Diane comes up.

"Ah, Y/n! You've met Jason Todd!" She cheers.

Jason Todd. Where have you heard that name before? It's starting to itch the back of your mind.

"Yeah, glad you got another volunteer since you're getting fewer people to help out," you say with a sad smile.

"I know, but it's not every day you get a son of Bruce Wayne to volunteer in a little kitchen," she happily says. One of the workers at the back calls out to Diane for some help. "Well, better get back to work! See you soon, Y/n!" She happily says as she walks off to the back.

Your brows are high, and your eyes are wide as you stare at Jason. "You're... You're a Wayne?!" You say shockingly while looks down at you.

"You didn't know? I'm kind of famous," he starts to say as you look at him cluelessly. "Was announced dead but was actually alove, just gone missing?"

"Nah, doesn't ring a bell."

"Wow, you don't get out much, do you?" He laughs.

"As much as that is an interesting tale to tell, I'm not interested in rich people business," you say as you glance at your watch. "Look, it was nice talking to you. Sorry for walking into you or whatever, but I gotta go. Late for work," you explain as you were about to bolt out the door. But Jason stops you by grabbing your hand.

"Wait! I... I kind of wanted to get to know you more. Can.. I get your number?" He awkwardly asks.

"Oh..." You quietly say. "I... Sorry, I just... Don't have a phone.." You say in embarrassment. But it doesn't seem to bother Jason.

"Oh, well... where do you work? What time would you finish? I can.. uhm. Drop you home if you want?" He offers, and you smile.

"Batburgers. 9pm, " you say as Jason nods and you finally run out the door, sprinting to work.

As promised, Jason comes to visit you half an hour before your shift ends, talking to you about the soup kitchen as you wiped down a table.

When you walk out with him, you notice that he's walking you towards a motorcycle.

"You ride a bike?" You ask.

"Yeah, is that okay?"

"Is it okay?? It's sick!" You exclaim as you hop on behind him once he gets on. Under his helmet, he smiles, thinking how cute your reaction was, as he hands you a spare helmet.

He would be lying if he said his heartbeat sped up when you wrapped your arms around his waist. He just met you. He shouldn't be so nervous around you like this.

"So... would you be free any time this week?" He asks as he walks you up to your apartment complex. You insisted many times you can go on your own, embarrassed for Jason to see where you lived in comparison to Wayne Manor, but Jason assured you that he wouldn't care.

"I have work for the rest of the week," you reply in disappointment. "But... I guess I do finish pretty late each night... wouldn't mind a ride back," you say in hopes that Jason would accept your request of taking both a lift off of him, and his time to talk to him more.

He smiles in response, agreeing to pick you up after work as you gave him your schedule.

Your routine of Jason picking you up during the late nights after work continued. Soon, the two of you went out on actual hangouts through Gotham for a few weeks. Then those weeks turned to months. And soon, Jason frew tired of just being friends with you.

How the hell was he supposed to just be friends with you when his heart raced when you smiled. Or when his cheeks burn when you compliment him. Or when his stomach flutters when you hug him.

How the hell was he supposed to just be friends with you when he's trying so damn hard not to kiss you just because you looked so cute.

Ao he grew himself a pair and asked you out.

Obviously, you said yes.

And another of a couple of dates later, you made it official. Jason was so down bad that he asked you to move into his apartment. You told him so many times you didn't want to intrude his space, but he just called you dumb and ridiculous (which you took great offence to). But eventually, you caved in and agreed.

During this time, you have never felt so loved before. Jason made you forget that the Joker existed. That he was even your father. Jason proved the Joker wrong. There is someone who can truly love you.

But... then your relationship started to get messy. He stopped picking you up from work. He was out late at night, and he wouldn't tell you why. You found him early next morning laying on the couch. He wouldn't even come to bed anymore?

You continuously asked where he's getting these bruises and wounds from. But he wouldn't answer that either. He just told you that it wasn't your business and to leave him alone.

Today, he woke up around noon. He rubbed his eyes and cracked his neck, clearly another uncomfortable sleep.

He was looking around his surroundings when he sees a duffle bag by the door. He then hears from the oppostie side, a door being closed. He turns to see you dressed and with no clear expression on your face.

You've acknowledged that he was awake, but you refuse to make any eye contact with him. You head straight to the door, picking up your duffle bag, fishing through your stuff as you find what you were looking for while Jason remains on the couch confused.

"Where are you going?" He calls out.

"Home." You spit, pulling the spare keys that Jason gave you for his apartment and slammed it on the desk beside the door.

Jason instantly gets up. "W-what? But- But you are home! This is your home! Our home.." he says, panicking.

"Is it? Is our home, Jason?" You yell. "Because you're never here! And when you are here, you're sleeping. Then, you wake up and you go out. And you get hurt. And you're not telling me how or- or why! I don't know if you're cheating or if you're in a fight club, but clearly, you don't want me to know, and clearly, you don't care if I'm worried about you. So, yeah. I'm going home. Oh! And it's over," you hiss, glaring at his, reaching for the door knob.

"Wait- wait! Please. Please, I'll explain," Jason begs, as you turn, a stern look on your face.

Jason sits you down, telling you not to freak out.

Ans you've never hated yourself more than you do now. Jason tells you that he was Arkham Knight, now going by the name Red Hood. And that he used to be the second Robin.

You wanted to scream and cry. That's where you heard the name Jason Todd from. Jason Todd was murdered right in front of your eyes. Jason Todd was tortured by your father. Jason Todd was killed by your father. Jason Todd os dating his murderer's daughter.

You play it off. Saying that it all makes sense. Why he doesn't pick you up anymore. Why he's always out so late. Why he gets so many wounds and bruises.

You'll tell him. You'll tell him who you really are. Soon. It's not fair if he doesn't know. Especially since he's coming clean now.

You'll tell him soon.

You didn't know when soon would be. Every time you think soon is coming, the moment disappears.

Jason's either in too much of a good mood or he's having a breakdown and a nightmare. He has nightmares about the Joker torturing him. And it's you who's there to snap him out of it. It's you who's there to comfort him. You comfort him, telling him that the Joker isn't here. But you are. You tell him that you're there for him.

You feel so guilty. You tell him the Joker isn't out there to get him. But there you are. His own flesh and blood, cradling him, shushing him, whispering sweet nothings to him til he falls asleep once more.

You'll tell him soon.

You grew even more guilty when Jason brings you over to Wayne Manor, and Bruce, Dick and Tim welcome you with open arms. Bruce had this... look in his eyes. But you ignored it nonetheless. Jason gives you a tour of the Manor, even shows you the big cave downstairs, and takes you to his old room. You try to stay optimistic, joking about how he was such a berd, looking at all the classic books laying around. But then you came across an old photo of him. He's younger and in his Robin suit. He looks happy. It was obvious Robin meant so much to him. And your dad took that away from him.

You'll tell him soon.

One day, you went into the cave after receiving a call from Jason.

"Why did you call me here?" You asked.

"Joker's dead." Was all he says. And you froze. You don't know how to feel. Relieved? Does this mean you don't have to tell him who you are?

"I know this is random, but... Superman killed Joker. I don't know if I can finally breathe, but... I don't know. There's a tingle inside of me. Telling me that the Joker is still alive and out to get me."

Shit.

You'll tell him soon. You'll tell him soon, right? Maybe now? Like, the Joker's dead. You've shown nothing but love to Jason. He'd believe you. He'd believe you are not your dad. You'll tell him. Yeah, you'll tell him soon.

Jason sighs and plays the tapes. The tapes that the Joker sent to Batman when he was Robin. And your eyes widen.

"Why the hell are you watching that??" You say in complete fear. The camera that the Joker used was old and glitchy with horrible quality. But as Jason played the tapes, you could still make out that there's a half of a figure, just peeking through the camera in the background behing the tied up, young Jason Todd.

"I don't know... Trying to find a conclusion. If anyone had to kill Joker, it should've been me," Jason says with a low voice.

"Hey... I never asked. What's the big secret? Who is the big, bad bat? What's his name? Tell me!" The tape plays, displaying on the huge screen in front of the two, and you swear you'd throw up any second now.

"Of course, sir. It's-" Before the gun gets shot, Jason sighs, pausing and rewinding.

"I'm sorry. This is all so dark and heavy." Jason grumbles. You don't say anything. You're focused on the small blur in the corner of the footage.

As Jason stares as the paused footage, he mentions, "That doesn't look like one of his henchmen."

Tell him.

"Fuck me, is that another kid?" he mutters angrily to himself, leaning in, taking a closer look at the footage.

Fucking tell him.

Jason takes a breath and presses play, and the video starts with a bang.

Tell him, god dammit.

"Never could stand a tattletale. See, my darling, Y/n?" The Joker says through the video. And time stops. Was the cave always this quiet? The video is still playing. How is it so quiet??

The camera wobbles as the Joker picks it up. He walks closer to Jason's dead body, but for a split second, you're in full, clear view. And Jason pauses the video. You weren't moving. You didn't look scared. You looked fed up.

Jason is silent. That's not you. That can't be you. Jason's head turns from the footage of you to you, currently standing behind him. No, no. That's not you. Your hair colour is different. But your face has the same bone structure.

"Y/n," he calls out. Your name is now so bitter on his tongue. "Tell me that, isn't you. He meant something else, right? 'My darling'? What the fuck does that mean? He was just scaring you, right???" Jason questions, his voice raising each sentence and his bottom lip quivering.

Your eyes are blurry as tears threaten to fall. You walk to Jason, bending down, looking up and you place you hands ever so gently on his knees.

"Jason," your voice cracks. "I wanted to tell you so bad," you whimper.

And Jason lets out a harsh, sarcastic laugh. "Fuck me. Don't fucking tell me you were working with him. You're a real fucking psychopath working with him at what? 13?" He spits, tears cascading down his scarred cheeks.

You shook your head. "Jay," you tried to sweetly call out to him. "I'm his daughter," you pathetically admit.

Jason's eyes widen to the point where it looks like his eyes would detatch from his sockets. He shakes his head slowly. But then, he shakes it faster, harsher.

"That isn't funny, Y/n," he almost chokes saying your name.

"No, it's not funny," you say. "But it's true," you start crying.

Jason pushes you away. You fall back as Jason stands up, towering over you. You've never been so intimidated by him before.

"You're his daughter? The Joker has a daughter?" Jason whispers in disbelief. And you nod in response. "So what the fuck were you doing just standing there? Ha.. What? Did you enjoy watching him put me through hell?"

"Jason- No! I wasn't even there when he-"

"LIAR!" He yells, his voice echoing across the cave. His breathing becomes heavy and uneven.

"Jason, you're going to have a pani-"

"Get out." He says.

"W-what?"

"Get. Out. If I ever see you again, I'll end you. I may not have been able to kill Joker myself, but you? Making me think you loved me? Fuck, is this why you only tell me now? Because daddy's dead? Just get the fuck out and never see me ever again. This is your only chance," he says, looking away from you as you finally start sobbing.

"Jay- Jason. Please," you beg, shifting to your knees, looking up at him. "Plea- Please. I can't be hated by you, I just can't." You pleaded and begged and prayed that Jason would look at you.

But Jason knows that if he looks at your state, then he might forgive you. Might forget the situation. But he can't because your father killed him. And all in his mind is that you used him because you were working with his dad. And that you're only crying because his dad got killed and that you got caught. So, no. He won't look at you, and he won't forgive you.

"Jason, please, you- you're the only person who has ever made me feel loved," you sniffled. "And I- I wanted to help you then. Help you escape. But I couldn't, please! Please believe me, Jason, please," you cried harder.

"You weren't supposed to see that."

You and Jason's heads turn to the voice. Bruce comes out of the elevator to the Batcave, walking closer to the pair.

And all Jason could see is red.

"You knew?" He snarled. And then scoffed. "Well, yeah, of course you knew. You didn't even kill Joker when you found out he murdered me- You didn't even care!" Jason yells. "I don't care that Penguin or- or Riddler are out there. They didn't kill me! They didn't kill thousands- millions! The Joker did! And you kept him alive! Now that he's dead, guess what! His daughter is right here under our noses! And you knew! Do you hate me that much that you let the Joker's daughter into our home?"

"Jason, plea-"

"I TOLD YOU TO GET THE FUCK OUT!" Now that Jasin finally looked at you, all you saw on him face was pure spite and anger. There was no more love for you left in his eyes. Just pure hatred.

And you finally got it. Jason doesn't love you any longer. And your dad was right. Even if someone loves you, when they find out who you're related to, they will instantly stop loving you.

The Joker was right.

So you got up and shamefully left the cave, and once you reached the manor, you can still hear Jason screaming and roaring.

You were numb. You finally got a tatste of what true love felt like, and it slipped through your fingers ever so quickly.

And now the only person you thought ever loved you would kill you if he saw you again.

So you left. You took your stuff from your- Jason's apartment and left Gotham. Now, future generations would probably read about the Joker in their history books. But not on a single page, paragraph or sentence would your name be mentioned. Because only two people in the entire world knew who you were.

One of them was your father's sworn enemies. And the other was your father's victim. One of these people, you hardly knew, but he knew who you were and still trusted you and welcomed you into his home. The other didn't know who you were. And you loved him. And you were positive he loved you too. But once he found out your identity, he loathed you. And he wanted you dead.

god damn that was long

pt 2

[respectthepetty]

Background Noise - Futtara Doshaburi

I liked that right after returning the umbrellas to the restaurant, the guys had to take refuge in a nearby building to escape from the unexpected rain.

And it gave a peak into their reactions when the unexpected happens. Hagiwara Kazuakia laughs. He finds joy in the break of monotony, but Nakarai Sei pauses and assesses.

Then he explores.

And while he reflects on the pieces and his placement with them,

Hagiwara Kazuakia gets far more personal with the art and inserts his physical presence in the art.

This was also seen in their responses to the "two types of women" question since Hagiwara Kazuakia, who is sexually frustrated with his girlfriend, saw women as objects to be fucked or not fucked, and Nakarai Sei, who is sexually attracted to men, viewed women as an aesthetic who either put on makeup in front of others or didn't.

The building they enter is an actual gallery, and a majority of the artwork is Akio Omori's, but without knowing the artist's intentions, his artwork seems to rest in a space of spirituality and the feminine, which is an interesting theme for these two to journey through together.

The flowers, which are viewed as feminine object, have some spiritual correlation. The translation of the first dark flower, which could be incorrect, is "Devil's Thoughts" and it seems to have dragon-like wings and thorns. The second red flower with its gold butterfly-like wings that Nakarai Sei closely looked at was titled "Angel's Face," so we have the abstract (thought) and the physical (face), but also good and evil.

And this dichotomy runs throughout the pieces, yet it's more of a question of the complexity of two supposedly different ideas since both flowers are still beautiful and tempting, which we also see with the celestial bodies.

Red is normally the color associated with the devil and aggression. But also love, and the red figure with its gold wings has the halo. It's the angel.

While the blue and white figure, which are normally colors associated with purity and heaven, has the dragon wings and the spiked tail. It is the devil.

Then we come to the grand piece that resides in another space separated from the rest.

As a Catholic, I immediately saw La Virgen.

But I also noted the shaped of the statue because it looks like a vulva.

And it wouldn't be the first time I saw a vulva in art when that was never the artist's intention (hello, Georgia O'Keeffe, we meet again!), but I do think it adds to the way each man reacts to the piece since they have already walked through a room that has planted the foundation for complex thought since the piece is about a devout woman who ascends to heaven while her chest is partially exposed. The piece is about heaven/God/good, and although the bare chest isn't sexual, there is something about the shape of the statue and the exposure that makes it feel a little tempting, like the flowers.

Hagiwara Kazuakia, the one who enjoys the unexpected, the one who gets closer to the art, the one who inserts himself into the art, sees it as a female statue that reminds him of his sexual frustrations. But Nakarai Sei, the one who pauses and reflects, the one who keeps his distance, the one who thinks about himself in relation to the art, sees it as a wooden statue which, although exposed, can't decide if the statue is obscene or sad. It's the "two type of women" question all over again.

Because just like Fujisawa Kazuaki stated, "no matter what I pick, it will apply to men too. Traits that befit women or men don't really exist," so the men aren't simply looking at art that is nestled in the complex relationship between the feminine and spiritual, but they are examining themselves.

Then the rain stops.

In their relationships, the men dream about the past and the future, but only question the present with each other. Hagiwara Kazuakia hates that he can hear the rain in his apartment because it reminds him of what he once had with his girlfriend. He is stuck in the same cycle of replaying the past.

Nakarai Sei hates that he cannot hear the ran in his apartment because it reminds him of how alone he is and what he will never have. He is stuck in a prison he refuses to leave.

And yet Nakarai Sei stood in the rain outside of the restaurant and Hagiwara Kazuakia tried to provide him shelter from the rain. The past and future collided in the present.

So when they arrived on the gallery's steps after returning the umbrellas, Nakarai Sei went inside to hide from the rain, and Hagiwara Kazuakia laughed as he enjoyed the surprise of it.

The art is them. Neither is simply one thing. They are complex. But they also a pair. We have the angel with its spiked tail and the devil with the halo. We have the winged flowers. We have a man who hates the rain yet laughs when it does rain and one who misses the rain yet hides when it does rain. And I think that is why they have this yin and yang quality to them. They see things differently, yet neither is fully right or wrong. They are the celestial figures. They are the statue. They are frustration and sadness. But they need the other one so they can understand that.

They are getting to know themselves by understanding the other. They want BOTH intimacy and sex, but they are figuring that out as they ask more questions of the other since for the first time they are focusing on the present, so their responses to finding out that their pen pal is right next to them after Hagiwara Kazuakia sends the email about the rain noise app is the same response they had when it rained. Nakarai Sei sits in it and thinks it over, and Hagiwara Kazuakia laughs. Because it's the unexpected.

And for two men who keep going through the motions of what is expected of them, they need the other one to shake up their expectations of what is right, what is good, what it is be a man

And what it means to love.

[erisolsprite]

A Letter to CJ, from Santae Staff

First and foremost, I'd like to establish this as an attempt made in good faith to advocate for the better treatment of all current and future members of the Santae staff and community. I have nothing to gain from this personally--everything that follows is shared only in the interest of transparency, and the choice to do so now is my own.

At the time of the recent walkout on March 4th, 2025, CJ was presented with a letter. This letter was drafted with the assistance of multiple established staff members for two reasons: to address recurring behaviors that were unanimously considered inappropriate and unprofessional, and to provide an exhaustive list of adjustments and changes required to better the team going forward. The intent was always to bring light to these issues, and encourage growth from within by supporting any efforts made to resolve them.

Instead, the few changes that were implemented while I was still an Admin were inconsistent and poorly executed; CJ's behavior remains unchanged, and he has stated outright that he is unwilling to entertain any further negotiations. Without anyone present to hold him accountable, it's likely that this will get brushed aside as unnecessary drama, and the cycle will continue.

Unfortunately, as of writing this, the majority of those aware of the letter are no longer staff. Given CJ's active resistance and overall failure to honor promises made to his own team, making its contents public feels like the most effective way for me to ensure that everyone's effort hasn't been in vain.

As always, I wish Santae and its community all the best.

-- Lacilia

( Full transcript below the cut )

Staff Members of Santae Entertainment LLC.

Dear Management Head CJ, The present letter has the objective of opening communications regarding a series of events within the Santae Workspace. We as members of the Staff Team want to make an official petition to take these statements into consideration and open discussions to improve the workplace environment we have come to appreciate, all in order to continue making possible the growth of Santae.

Recently, we as staff members of Santae Entertainment have witnessed and experienced interactions that have been deemed as inappropriate or unprofessional. These interactions extend to staff members in Front-End and Back-End positions.

In order for us to continue providing service to Santae, we require an immediate acknowledgement and addressal of these eventualities, including a plan of action and the management of our workspace.

Issues of Note

Included are the concerns that Staff Members of diverse roles have reported not being handled in an appropriate manner for a work environment sharing the ideals of kindness, safety and unity as established by Santae. It is our hope that the acknowledgement of said events will open an opportunity to improve relations and foster a safe and professional environment for all Santae Staff Team members.

A. Frequent occasions of speaking ill or inappropriately about current and previous staff, site users and/or situations utilizing the designated Staff Server Voice Calls. As well as distasteful content being displayed in the shared Work Space, despite the vocalization of discomfort from multiple Staff Members.

Conversations on official Staff communication channels must remain professional and respectful, projecting an image of unity, while being mindful about social and historical backgrounds, ethnicity, race, identity and current sensitive global issues.

B. Concerns not being met with a professional or empathetic response, on the contrary, implying that expressing their uneasiness would foster an unsafe work environment, ultimately leading to members of the Staff feeling unheard. This is accompanied by the relaying of unclear terms, rules and regulations for Staff Team members that contradict or imply previous statements on said rules.

As Santae fosters values such as kindness, empathy and compassion, these same values must be represented within the private Staff spaces in order to create a safe work environment for every individual. Communication is essential for the best performance of their employees and therefore the correct functioning of the Santae Entertainment site both in private and public spaces.

C. Incidences of Staff and Users feeling that Management has previously or is currently utilizing resources, information, status or vulnerabilities in a way that elicits the individual into an emotional or moral disadvantage to argue or discuss issues openly. On a similar note, instances of Management insisting on conducting private conversations with Staff and Users after a discussion has been settled in public.

In order to promote a secure and equitable work environment, external factors to disagreements and conversations should not be taken into account unless specifically relevant to the resolution of said discussion. In a similar manner, private or sensitive information pertaining to any Staff member or User should not under any circumstances be distributed, displayed or relayed to any other Staff member or User without the former individual’s expressed written consent. As for an appropriate usage of the designated Staff communication channels, requesting private dialogue between staff without a mediator cannot be insisted on when it is expressed they are unwilling.

D. An incident involving multiple Staff Team members participating in an unrestricted Voice Call channel being spoken to in a manner that was deemed as disrespectful and severely harsh while in the presence of unrelated Staff Team members that were allowed to join the aforementioned call unimpeded, leading to shame and a posterior fearful environment.

We believe this to be the lead cause of reflection upon the conducts observed in Santae Entertainment’s workplace across an extended period of time, motivating the need to elicit change in order to keep operating in the most efficient, professional and adequate manner moving forward. Ideally, communications must be kept in a tone and volume that conveys respect in an omnidirectional way, benefiting the resolution of misunderstandings, mishaps and misinformation.

Suggestions and Future Improvements

The present Santae Staff cherishes the fellowship within its members, including that of the Management Head, and trusts that there is opportunity in hardship, guiding us in the search for a safer environment in which many of us find home. While changes are needed in order to improve current working conditions, the Santae Staff team is open and willing to collaborate in the proposition, development and implementation of the needed and/or requested measures written on this document or otherwise proposed by the Management Head, thus perpetuating the family values that Santae Entertainment holds as its core tenets.

The introduction of an HR Manager who acts as a mediator and impartial party between Staff and Head Management. Santae Staff will propose an interim HR Manager until a new, completely impartial external individual can be hired as fitting for both the Head Management and Staff requirements. We believe that a neutral ground would facilitate communications in the events of announcements, controversies, changes in reglament, management of Staff and resources, as well as scheduling and planification.

Reduce unnecessary private correspondence with Staff and Users, unless actively and enthusiastically consented to. Personal conflict should be handled through the HR Manager, who will arrange conversations between the appropriate Department Lead, the team Member/User, and Head Management. It is to be respected if any or both parties request a Mediator present in conversations taking place, all in order to ensure a secure, fair and respectful dialogue between both parties. This, at the same time, will foster a feeling of trust between all members of the Santae Staff Team.

Cease all distribution, relaying or display of private or sensitive information of any individual without their explicit written consent. This requirement is specially insisted upon as it is protected under various Data Protection Laws, including Federal US Law. We have trust that is in Santae Entertainment’s best interest to comply with such requirements.

Avoid introducing mentions of actions done magnanimously, status or vulnerabilities in irrelevant conversations on unrelated topics. With the objective of keeping communications clear and leveraged for all Staff members, it is important that the focus is kept on priority issues during conversations and discussions, separating personal and professional relationships in a healthy way.

All Staff and Management members must be addressed and referenced to in a respectful manner in all public channels and in private correspondence with other Staff Members. While we understand the existing trustworthy treatment between Staff members, it is important to remain cordial towards all individuals that are and have formed part of the Santae Staff team.

Staff Members should always operate in the chain of command in relation to official matters, unless there is a conflict with the direct next member of the chain, in which case they should address the next highest member in the chain. Management must allow Department Leads to operate as needed with only the necessary interference. This ensures that only verified and clear information is relayed between Departments and between members, avoiding miscommunication, controversies or escalating problematics.

Advances or bonus on Staff payment should be written and agreed to, signed by Santae Entertainment LCC and the next participating party. A signed agreement will ensure the safety of both parties and establish a reference point for future transactions.

Management is encouraged to allow an open, public conversation for Staff Members to discuss and suggest improvements to the structure and culture of the Santae Staff Team, with no fear of retaliation or punishment. We believe that great things are built in collaboration, and the unity Santae has projected in past occasions can shine again in the face of adversity.

We, as Santae Entertainment LCC Staff members, officially and formally request that these terms are met and that a betterment of the work environment is progressed upon in order to continue providing services by Front-End, Back-End, and other diverse Staff, some of which have preferred to remain anonymous. While we have trust that Management Head will take these claims into consideration as it is representative of Santae Entertainment’s core values, failure to hold this agreement on course would constitute a relapse of the previously stated consequences. We believe that the most appropriate way of addressing the present in order to keep transparency and trust is through a public written statement or action of similar fashion, avoiding the usage of unrecorded Voice Calls or private, unmediated channels.

We extend a sincere thanks while we work together to sort this issue.

Thank you beforehand for your involvement in the matter.

Sincerely,

Whixy ErmineLeader Gutshot Marceline Morrie Caligulas Endo LatteDragon Bastet Fritz Lacilia Treat Nymph

[ckret2]

While we're on the topic of Ciphertology, I've really been wondering about Emmaline Butternubbins. How on earth did she figure out exactly what was going on from the get-go? Immediately clocking that Silas was "a human corpse puppeteered by a space triangle" that's "come to build an interdimensional portal" seems a little too suspicious to me.

It makes me wonder if she had a connection with the Anti-Cipher Society, perhaps related to one of their founders? Or maybe she had a close relationship with Bill himself, and figured out he was forming a cult? It would explain how she remained as the only resident of the town that didn't convert to the cult.

Her headstrong attitude and behavior against Bill's agenda reminds me of how Modoc and Ford went against Bill (throwing this out there that maybe she was one of his "favorite humans" that turned against him.)

These are just theories of course, and I'd love to know what you think!

She's portrayed as a grumpy old cat lady, "spoilsport," "unmarried town nag," who passes out homemade chick tracts.

And granted, the townspeople seem pretty dumb and are under the influence of a cult with mind-altering practices—but no one seems surprised to hear her claim that a space triangle is possessing a corpse and they must slay him by the sword.

My guess is that she's just like this. Every detail we have about her suggests that she falls into a pretty common character trope: a religiously conservative crotchety busybody who sees the devil in any new social/religious movements.

She might have wildly speculated based on insufficient evidence and accidentally been right. Or, she might have actually confirmed the truth, but said things like this so often that the town thought she was crying wolf again. Given that TBOB indicates the Gravity Falls universe is full of historical beliefs and superstitions about Bill—the "bastard triangle" of England, country singers who release albums warning people away from Bill—"this man's controlled by a triangle" might be as common an accusation as "this man's possessed by the devil" or "this man was abducted by aliens"—something common enough in pop culture that you'd go "only someone who KNOWS THE TRUTH would guess this!"

A priest during the height of the Satanic Panic who accuses local businesses of being a front for a child-sacrificing Satanic cult is a paranoid bigot—but every once in a while a serial killer does decide hailing Satan would add a certain je ne sais quoi to his murders. Sometimes the priest might accidentally be right.

Either that, or the writer of the chapter is an unreliable narrator, and Emmaline is the town Dib. (idk what another comparison would be if you haven't watched Invader Zim lmao.) somebody who lives in a town where weird-ass stuff regularly happens, always recognizes what's going on because it's always blatantly obvious, but everybody else in town is an oblivious idiot who goes "there goes crazy old Emmaline again, imagining up ghosts and werewolves and space triangles like usual!" Since we don't see any of her life outside of her involvement against Ciphertology, we don't have a way to know if that's the case.

This is the same universe where Stan writes a doctor's note from Dr. Medicine in front of the cops and immediately hands it to them and they buy it. You can't overestimate the stupidity of Gravity Falls background characters.

so, tl;dr: I don't think she had any special knowledge. I think either she was paranoid enough to overreact to minor clues and accidentally hit on the truth, or else Bill was being really really obvious and everyone else was too stupid to pick up on it. Possibly a mix of both.

[frisktastic]

Did Jayce and Viktor survive?

I don't believe this is fully answerable, but I'm leaning towards yes; they survived in some form.

for one thing, I feel like if Viktor knew/believed they were definitely going to die, he would have fought harder to get Jayce to leave.

What I see in their faces is not resignation towards death, but undertainty and awe mixed with fear.

generally, the visuals of the scene really don't imply to me that the two of them were destroyed. in fact, I have a theory for specifically what did happen

first, it seems like the gem is charging up to do something.

But what? why was it necessary for Viktor to do anything at that point besides free the souls he was controlling?

They are right in front of Ekko's anomaly at this point.

(The gold light is the souls Viktor was manipulating, now free.)

Then, something new that appears.

Might be harder to tell in the still image, but those purple pillars are new, and don't seem to be part of the existing structure.

They forms an anomaly.

It's a bit uncertain, but I believe this not a part of Ekko's, but instead is a new anomaly. A space-time anomaly the two of them are creating, with the help of the souls.

You can also see that they are starting to become more distorted--earlier, their glowy forms were smooth--in the same way Jayce, Heimer, and Ekko had right before they were transported.

An anomaly is above them in this moment

I believe that is Ekko's, and one of two things have happened to the purple one. Either the angle just isn't showing it... or it's actually merged with Jayce and Viktor.

The transition from their golden forms to these purple-and-magenta ones is a single cut, and we don't see a transition. But it's at the same time that the purple anomaly disappears.

Then, the key final moments. I made a slowed gif (warning for slight body horror):

(Or go to this video if you a higher quality clip)

The stone becomes bright, and transparent, and jitters around, but it doesn't seem to be disintegrating or fading away. Not just Jayce and Viktor are pulled in; notice how the aurora-like stuff in the background, which is the anomaly from Ekko's explosion, is also grabbed?

That relates to my theory.

I'm not the first to see this tweet:

The acceleration rune is the rune used to power the teleportation of the hexgates.

I'm also not the first to note that the explosion Ekko started out of desperation? Basically fizzled out. Asides from a minor energy burst, there was very little damage.

My theory is that Jayce and Viktor removed the anomaly. Not just shielded the damage, or canceled it out, but actually teleported it along with themselves somewhere (or when) else.

Bonus: the rune is also used to free the souls of everyone controlled by Viktor. (That blue shape is the rune.)

Then they are flying in and around the anomaly(ies). I wonder if they too, are out there alive somehow...