i am ashamed of myself but i couldn't just let this slide
luka (alien stage) yandere headcanons? if you're comfortable, ofc !! please and thank you, and take care ♡
a/n : oh my god i love reading these typa stuff when I scroll through tumblr, so ofc !!1!1 I'm still answering other requests, but they're open so if you have any ideas feel free to just ask :D
ALSO IM SORRY THIS WAS WRITTEN SO LATE !! finally got over writer's block for 5 months now ehe. I JUST SEEN WEIGE WTF.
yandere! luka
×
reader
👽 I won't lie, bro was kind of already a yandere to hyuna if you haven't noticed before... ( <- written that shit before wiege. kms)
👽 If you're someone who works behind the scenes, like a doctor who checks on the contestants after their performances, a make up artist, or essentially whatever requires you NOT to be on camera, best believe he's keeping you away from that damn thing. Because 1) He's even more possessive than his usual self, and doesn't like anyone seeing you in any sort of way that his fans perceive him, and 2) He's scared that somehow you'd actually end up on Alien Stage (even if you think you don't have the talent/looks/ the passion for it.)
👽 He's obviously manipulative, I mean, cmon. spoilers warning here but like, with the way he provokes and ebbs at till and mizi is crazy. Whatever tendencies he had before are just ramped up now. He makes sure you attend to nobody, and pays attention to him and him only. He'll poke any buttons you have if it means it keeps you under him, even if it is borderline blackmail.
👽 He likes seeing you jealous. There, I said it. He likes watching people's reactions twist and turn at his words, his expressions, at him. He is no different when it comes to you. Purposely does things he knows pushes your buttons.
👽 I'd like to think that he isn't all that bad as a yandere (I'm just delusional), and does treat you like a queen, or whatever the highest treatment a human can experience. Shares whatever gifts he receives from the aliens to you, feeds you the best stuff (because he couldn't... spoilers haha...)
👽 He'a also anything but lucid. WILL see you through rose tinted glasses, essentially like a god from his perspective, and if you genuinely ask him to grovel, he will. The only thing he wishes you won't ask is to leave...because he probably won't grant that <3
👽 Man is in his late 20s to early 30s, and while human culture is extremely different in the alien stage universe to ours, I'd like to give the head canon that they probably still have some of our courting culture and stuff. He would buy an engagement ring, and internally combust ( or bust...if you know what I mean), if you wore it. Especially in public.
👽 He's crazy. Wow! No shit, but he really is. I like to think while he does care about his reputation, he just throws all that out when you're involved. WOULD sacrifice himself for you in a heart beat. He'd rather die than you die and leave him all alone.
— summary; you die in round 49. luka keeps seeing you.
— warnings; DEAD DOVE, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. MINORS DNI.
— notes; this is my first time writing for alien stage & i literally do not watch it, i just happened to see luka one day and attached myself to him like a leech bc boy hot. reblogs are appreciated and pls donate to my Ko-Fi if you like my stuff!
You were everything Luka wasn't.
While he was calculating heart rates and psychological warfare, you were writing love songs in the dark and the quiet, where you thought that no one could see you. Upbeat, stupid, hopeful things. He'd catch you humming and twirling in the hallways of Anakt Garden, all saccharine melodies about holding hands and first loves, and he’d feel something ugly coil in his gut that he couldn't name.
And later, years later, when the two of you were grown, no longer children —
He watches from a quiet corner as you bounce onto the stage with glitter on your eyelids and stars in your eyes, singing about summer love, lip gloss, and cherry cola. The Segyeins adored you — not because you were perfect, but because you were pretty. Dangerously so. The kind of pretty that made them overlook flat notes and missed steps.
That was always enough. Pretty girls don't need to sing well. Pretty girls just need to look breakable on camera.
And you, you used it like a weapon. The producers loved you for it. Put you in these tiny, barely legal outfits that concealed just as much as they revealed, and had you dance like a doll on strings. You performed through it. Smiled through it. Shined through it.
That was the carefully curated image you’d built up, and you leaned into it hard. If the aliens wanted to sexualize you, you’d give them a show they’d never forget. Short skirts, breathy vocals, body waves that made the arena go wild.
And Luka, Luka watches you from the shadows of the Top 3 quarters with the same detached curiosity a scientist might reserve for particularly interesting lab specimens. You’re an anomaly. A glitch in the system. By all rights, you shouldn’t have made it to the final round of Season 49. You were sloppy. Emotional. Soft.
And yet.
You did.
Against all odds.
The final round was supposed to be his coronation. His second consecutive win. His legacy.
You came out in white. Simple. Pretty. Resplendent. No glitter. No exposed skin. Just your authentic self, an acoustic guitar, and a song you’d written yourself.
The Segyeins went silent as you sang. Not the bubblegum pop they’d come to expect. Something raw. Something true. Luka stood frozen in the wings, his carefully maintained heart rate spiking to 110, then 130.
You were looking directly at him. Singing to him.
Confess I loved you
Just thinking of you
I know I’ve loved you from the start
He didn’t understand the tightness in his chest. He didn't understand why his fingers — those purple-tipped fingers that Heperu had trained to feel nothing — were trembling. He didn't understand the words you were singing.
Until the votes came in and the Segyeins, for once, chose sentiment over perfection. Chose him over you. You’d thrown it. Thrown everything — fame, safety, your life — just to tell him, in front of billions, that you loved him. That you’d loved him since you watched him count his fingers behind the practice room door. That you didn't care that he was broken.
Your final note hangs in the air, hauntingly beautiful.
And then, you smile.
You’re still smiling when they shoot you.
You’re still smiling when he sees you again that night.
You’re in his room, leaning against the wall where his training schedule was posted, wearing that little lace dress from your second round performance, the one that rode up on your thighs when you danced. “Miss me already, pretty boy?” You ask, light and teasing, and your voice makes his ears ring.
He blinks.
And you vanish with a laugh and a flutter of lace.
But you don’t stay gone.
He starts seeing you everywhere.
Not just in dreams. Not just in the quiet moments between sleep and wakefulness when he's sucking on his sleeve like a child seeking comfort. He sees you in the reflection of his violin. In the steam of his shower. In the space beside him in bed where no one has ever lain because Luka doesn't do that, Luka doesn't feel that, except —
In his most vivid hallucinations, you’re naked. Always. Standing in the corner of his room with your skin all pale and corpse-like, your hair tangled like seaweed, the brand on your hip matching his. You don't speak. You just watch, silent and unmoving, with those soft eyes that forgave everything, even the bullet, even the fact that he didn't save you, didn’t even try.
Sometimes he touches himself while you watch. It’s the only time his heart rate climbs above 90, and he doesn't panic. Your ghost-smile curves wider and he comes apart whispering your name like a prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in, the phantom sensation of your thighs around his face fading like smoke.
Sometimes you're dead. Sprawled across his bedsheets like you own the place, still in that white sundress you’d died in, but there's a hole in your forehead, neat and centred and precise, and your smile is too wide, too red, splitting apart your face like a wound. “Do you even know what you lost?” You ask, and your sad, sweet voice echoes in his skull for hours.
He doesn’t cry. Luka doesn’t cry. But he presses his forehead to yours — cold, so cold — and counts backwards from one hundred until the hallucination fades and the ghost of you vanishes. You're not real. You died. Round 49. I won.
Sometimes you’re in his arms, warm and alive and whispering his name like a prayer. Those are the cruellest hallucinations. The ones where you crawl into his lap and kiss the corners of his mouth like you’re trying to crawl inside him, like you’re trying to memorise something that was never yours to keep. Where you guide his hands to your hips and rock against him, slow and unhurried, like the two of you have all the time in the world and he can almost — almost — pretend that he knows how to love, how to love you back, selflessly, selfishly, as you’d once loved him.
“I wrote that song for you,” you whisper, breath hot against his ear. “Do you understand now?”
He never does.
(Luka understands being a product. He just doesn't understand why you looked at him like he was something else.)
The other participants think he's losing his mind.
Mizi catches him talking to empty corners. Till finds him staring into nothing but empty air with his violin bow suspended, his eyes glassy and distant and very far away. They don't know about you. They don’t know that Round 49 had a finalist who put her own life above his, who looked at Luka — the monster, the manipulator, the winner — and saw something worth saving.
Someone worth loving.
He keeps your song on his personal device. Listens to it when the migraines threaten to split his skull open, when the purple creeps up his fingers and he can’t feel his own heartbeat anymore. Your voice, tinny and compressed and faraway, singing words he still doesn’t understand.
Love is driving me a bit insane,
Have to get this off my chest
He counts his fingers through the whole track. Purple-tipped and trembling. Grounding himself. One, two, three, four, five. You're not real. You were never real. Love isn’t real.
But when he closes his eyes, you’re there. Beautiful and naked and dead and smiling and his, his, in a way that nothing else has ever been, and his chest aches with something that might be longing if he had the vocabulary for it.
Can I request luka x reader from alien stage comfort?? I am craving one after watching wiege whatever it’s reader comforting him or the opposite); (doesn’t have to be after wiege either can be anything)
a/n : thanks for requesting !! also of course heh. I actually don't know how to write comfort (after 2 years of solely writing angst...) so I'm sorry in advance LMFAO
whisper to the trees (ask box) ... : open! feel free to request more alien stage, or any of the fandoms that are listen in my master list ^^
Backstage
luka x reader (comfort)
Today wasn't your day, and Luka could see that. Having been...well, not exactly the best person for his life in terms of empathy or sympathy, he gauges his competitors' emotions and laughs at the slightest hint of despair.
So when he sees the same expression that he usually delighted in when face to face against his 'rivals' on stage, now on you, he wasn't exactly sure on what to do.
You were sitting in the make up room, after another nameless PR stunt for the aliens. Something about this day in particular felt draining. Could it have been the burn out, perhaps? Or maybe something else? You weren't sure, but you felt like shit.
Luka was 'busy' reading his schedule(given to him by his alien secretary), but after hearing what felt like the millionth sigh from you, did he finally take action. He takes the space next to you, and immediately, you began to speak.
"Sorry. I disturbed what little bit of personal time you have left-"
"Is something going on?" He bluntly said, eyes staring straight into you. You paused. His words were outright, and his blank expression yet slightly gentle tone caught you off guard.
"No, not really... Just a bad day, I suppose."
He hummed, seemingly not believing it, but he nodded either way. He leaned back on the couch, eyes fluttering closed and his fingers holding the tips of your hair.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
You remain silent, and this time, he is the one that sighs. But not from sadness, no.
From exasperation.
"You don't need to tell me right away if that's what's keeping you from talking. I don't know what happens to you 24/7, but you don't need to pretend. We're not on screen, no one to see." His voice slightly shook as he continued. "So, just let it out. Even if you think I'll laugh. Even if you think it's stupid to."
"...I don't know. Today just feels worse than all the other days."
"Mmm...thats okay to feel. I've had days where I wanted to just run away."
"But you didn't."
"Because you're here."
"You can't be serious."
"Try me." He smiled. "It's true, though. I would've left this god forsaken place already if it weren't for you staying here. I wouldn't last that long out as a rogue, though."
You cracked a half hearted smile. "I don't exactly believe you, of all the humans, to abandon your survival over me."
He blinked yet again. His words took a soft but serious tone.
" I'm genuine about that. What, you really think I'm all bark no bite?" He smiles, pinching your cheek, though it wasn't painful. "I'd abandon all of the achievements I have and all of the privileges I forced myself to achieve for you. I mean, it wasn't my desire to be this way. It was my guardian's. What I really want is just you. You could beat me up, do anything you want, as long as you even acknowledge me."
"You're weird Luka."
"Whatever keeps you not being so depressed on me. Though I suppose I've failed in that aspect." Sighing, he tilts his head. "You don't need to be perfect all the time, you know. I see the way you try. And it's painful. Painful for me to watch you fight back tears and let out a fake smile; the same one I use. I prefer to see you genuine, even if that means all I see is your snot filled face. I'll still love you either way."
When you heard his last sentence, it cracked open a dam in you.
Something salty and wet dripped from your face, and before you realized it, you were crying. His words were cliche, standard, downright creepy, even, but he looked genuinely concerned at your demeanour. His hands twitched, expression contorting to one of acceptance and affection as you suddenly embraced him. It was warm but weirdly cold (mostly because he was just cold all the time). His hand wiped your tears, the other lightly rubbing your back. Hums left his mouth as each stray tear that left your eye was wiped away.
" Must be a really bad day, huh?...You'll be okay. Whatever you're crying about, I think it'll just pass."
His usual masked face he used, now discarded into a more vulnerable state. Now, it was a comforting, almost sweetly warm Luka. No longer was his on-stage persona, and the only thing that remains is the essence of emotion that even his guardian couldn't remove from him. Being human.
I just saw someone post an alien stage what if ai hoshino! Reader and omg... someone Motivate me to write a whole fic ab that because THERES ACTUALLY SO MANY POSSIBILITIES WITH THAT ONE.
(I'll credit the person/ask the person if I do actually write about it heh)
After watching wiege for the 2nd time, I read a comment that said that even if the alien stage modern happy au would've existed, there would be only a few plausible explanations as to how Luka would've existed, as he's just a clone.
He is a genetic mishap. Quite literally born through alien's technology (?). If he were to be born in this au, that would mean that aliens DO exist.
"oh but layv, what if in this au he was born through human parents?"
Idk man, maybe. But vivinos isn't exactly the type who gives mercy to characters, and maybe they just wanted to emphasize their struggle and determination as humans... 🫤
yeah this is my last straw.
p.s I didn't forget about the two fics I'm writing .. I'm still not done haha ..
