#him smiling in the second one is killing me

[kryptoclark]

mornings like these.

pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

summary: you're trying to make scrambled eggs. clark doesn't really care. (he's trying to scramble your eggs instead)

wc: 3.8k

genre/tags: established relationship, boyfriend!clark, fluff, smut, morning sex, size kink, slight praise kink, oral (fem receiving), p in v sex, implied protection (reader on bc), creampie, soft sex, p w.o p, no use of y/n, as domestically sweet and smutty as it gets <3

the apartment is quiet, save for the soft sizzle of butter in the pan atop the stove and the occasional clink of a spatula against the skillet. outside, the sun is beginning to rise, spilling orange light through the sheer curtains, casting long gold streaks across the kitchen tile.

you're standing at the stove, barefoot, wearing nothing but one of clark's old metropolis u shirts and humming quietly as you cook.

the eggs are nearly done, evident by their yellow fluffiness and you reach up to grab plates from the overhead cabinet above your head and then you hear a sound:

the faint creak of the hallway floorboards.

he's up.

you don't turn around yet. you just smile to yourself, turning the burner off and sliding the last bit of scrambled eggs onto the second plate.

then, after a moment, you decide to speak. "you're staring."

clark's voice is still rough with sleep when he answers, low and thick with that familiar farm boy drawl.

"i'm allowed to admire my lovely girlfriend."

then you feel his arms wrapping around you from behind, warm and firm as his hands find purchase splayed across your waist. he presses against your back, nose brushing your shoulder, and sighs like this is his favorite place to be. like you are.

"morning," you murmur softly, your smile audible now.

"mornin'," he says, his thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles against your sides. "you always look good in my shirts," he adds lowly.

you lean back into him a little, slightly teasing. "you're only saying that because you enjoy the view."

"i always like the view," he corrects you, mumbling the words against your skin and his lips graze the base of your neck.

the words sit warm and heavy between you – sweeter than sugar and softer than the warm light basking his kitchen. you turn your head slightly, just enough for your cheek to brush his jaw.

"you always say the nicest things when you want something," you tease softly.

clark huffs a soft laugh, his breath fanning your skin. "and what if i do?"

his hands haven't moved from your waist, but now they're a little firmer like he's reminding you of his strength. as if you don't know how easy he could fold you over the counter if he wanted.

you smirk and shift slightly in his arms, grinding back just enough to feel the unmistakable shape of his cock, half hard and pressing into you.

"clark," you say, mock scolding. "i'm making breakfast."

"uh-huh," he hums, nosing along the curve of your neck, voice lowering. "but you started it."

"i said you were staring and now, you're the one all grabby."

his hands trail under the cotton fabric of his shirt, skimming your stomach and then up your ribs.

"you're wearing my shirt and no bra," he murmurs. "you're cooking and humming, looking like the reason i don't get out of bed on sundays."

you laugh, but it catches in your throat when his right hand trails down to pinch the soft flesh of your ass. "and in just panties under here. it's like you wanna kill me." he noses back up your neck, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. "we can eat later," he says, dragging his fingers slowly back to your waist.

you're breathless already, trying to stay upright. "the eggs–"

"–will be fine," he finishes for you, turning you around gently in his arms.

and then he kisses you, soft lips meeting your for a connection that's slow, deep and filthy with intent all at once. his hands trail down to grip the backs of your thighs, squeezing the flesh there with a low hum.

you clutch at his bare shoulders, your fingers pressing against the hard contours of his shoulder muscles, his skin warm because of course he's always warm.

he lifts you like its nothing (because it is), hands slipping under your thighs to anchor you against him.

"clark," you breathe as he starts walking, already heading toward the bedroom. "the food's gonna get cold," you warn him softly. it's a half-protest because there's no real bite in your tone, evident by the lack of your body's resistance by the way your legs wrap around his hips for extra steadiness.

"that's why 've got a microwave," he murmurs lowly, eyes lidded slightly downward and glazed over. yeah, there's no getting clark out of this mood until you've exhausted yourselves.

clark carries you down the hall like he's done it a hundred times – granted, he has – with a quiet urgency, like he woke up this morning starving for you and now that you're in his arms, there's no sign of him letting go anytime soon.

might as well relent.

you're kissing him all the way to the bedroom, hands buried in his dark curls, mouth dragging along his jaw, and you don't need super-hearing to hear his pulse thudding hard against you. he barely manages to kick the door shut behind him before he's laying you back on the bed, cool sheets crumbling beneath your body as he hovers over you with a look that steals the breath from your lungs.

even in the soft glow of morning in his quiet apartment, there's a look of intensity in the deep blues of his eyes. one that reminds you that he's memorized every inch of you, but the hunger in them tells you he wants to do it again. slower. deeper. needier.

his hands are everywhere, first braced on either side of your hips, then smoothing up your waist, fingers skimming under his shirt, the delicate softness making your breath hitch.

the light bleeding through the curtains in his bedroom casts against his hovering frame above you, giving him a glowing aura on the right side of his body.

he takes his time taking your shift off, like he's unwrapping a precious gift, revealing your skin to the air and his intense gaze at the same time.

clark groans, quiet and low, like the sight of you takes something out of him, which it does, no matter how many times he's seen you before.

he palms gently up your thighs, his hands large and warm as they settle back on your hips. he leans down to kiss the center of your chest, between the valley of your breasts, his lips reverent and humming against you. you gasp as he presses open-mouthed kisses along the slopes of your breasts, one hand snaking upward to pinch at a stiffened peak. he silences a whimper with a hushed whisper of 'sorry,' against your smooth skin, despite continuing his ministrations, rolling the nipple between his forefinger and thumb.

"clark," you pant softly. you arch slightly, breathing shallow and heart pounding in your chest. "enough teasing."

he half-hums, half-chuckles, lashes fluttering against your breast as he presses a kiss there. your words make him grin – lazy and lopsided and far too smug for someone of his usual candor.

"but, baby," he muses, trailing his lips down the smooth skin of your belly, "that's the best part."

you whimper softly, lower body squirming against the sheets, searching for any form of friction.

he chuckles again, nodding at your neediness. "okay, okay," he murmurs, soft and low. his finger hook into the hem of your panties, teasingly flicking them against your hip once before pulling them down your legs and tossing them aside with a practiced flick.

your legs part for him instinctually, humming when his palms squeeze around the plush flesh of your thighs and pulls them further apart. he leans down pressing a kiss to the inner side of your knee. he peppers kisses up the side of your leg, meeting your inner thigh.

"so pretty," he murmurs, his lips going higher, then higher, until you're gasping, your finger tangled in the sheets.

you don't have to say anything. your hips shift restlessly and he hums in approval.

"'haven't even done anything yet," he says, voice low and reverent, almost smug. he has the full qualification to be, with the way you writhe and pant against the bed after he's done little to nothing.

"clark," you breathe again, tone bordering desperate.

he doesn't need to be told twice. his mouth descends upon you – warm, slow and torturously thorough. his tongue lazily flicks against your clit, lapping at the hardening bundle of nerves with just the right pressure that makes your eyes flutter shut and your back arch further off the bed.

your hands fly to his hair, tugging reflexively at the dark locks, and clark groans at the way you tug him closer to your core. he easily manhandles you, hoisting your legs over his shoulders, inhaling the scent of you while his tongue never wavers.

even now, with his mouth between your thighs and your body unraveling all from his doing, there's a special kind of care in the way clark touches you. he doesn't simply take from you, rushing to meet both of your ends. no, he draws it out. he touches you like he's memorizing every inch of you all over again.

clark is thoughtful.

he effortlessly swept you off your feet with his kansas farm boy charm on his first day working at the planet. and not because of grand gestures.

quite the contraire.

it's little things that clark does that made you fall in love with him.

like how he always walks on the side of the sidewalk closest to traffic. or how he carries an extra umbrella in his bag, just in case it rains and someone in the office forgot theirs. how he remembers your coffee order. how he'll fold your laundry if he stays over your place, not because you asked him to, but because he "had a little time while you were showering."

it's how he listens, really listens, like nothing in the world matters more than what you have to say.

it's the soft expression he holds when you meet his gaze, either at home or at the office.

it's the whispered words he reserves for only you to hear – sweet nothings, gentle praises, utmost compliments.

just like he's whispering right now against your core between languid laps that you can't even make out

"fuck," you gasp, legs trembling around his shoulders. your toes curl at the skillful precision of his tongue.

he pauses just long enough to murmur, "language," into your skin, then grins when he feels you glare down at him. (as if he doesn't swear like a sailor every time he's balls deep buried inside you.)

"i swear to god, clark–"

"blasphemy now?" he teases the inside of your leg again, gently kissing the juncture between your thigh and pelvis.

you shoot him a warning look but it's soon wiped off your face when his mouth returns to your core, this time swiping up your slit. his tongue gives a break to your puffy clit, circling the area under it, reaching your entrance, achingly fluttering.

he hums in satisfaction, dipping his tongue past the opening of your entrance, making your walls flutter.

you're already so close, and clark knows it. if he wasn't your boyfriend, it'd be embarrassing. he pulls away to meet your gaze with his heated one. the blues of his eyes are nearly nonexistent with the ways his pupils have dilated. "always so messy," he muses with a smug smile, bringing his fingers to swipe through the slick between your folds, spreading it around your twitching core.

clark is a giver.

so, despite having pulled away when you were oh, so close to an orgasm, it wasn't out of cruelty. it never is. it's always for something better.

and from the way he kneels up at the foot of bed, allowing you view to the large and hard outline visible behind his sweatpants, you have an idea what that is. the cotton clings to the outline of his cock, the fabric damp at the tip where precum has already soaked through.

his finger hooks into the waistband of his sweatpants and pulls them down in a slow motion, making a show of it. tease, you think mentally and rolling your eyes with a smile. his heavy cock springs free, thick and flushed, the head slick and leaking with his arousal.

your mouth waters at the sight.

you've seen him like this several times, but it still knocks the breath out of you. you always remind him his cock is a good representation of his entire being. he's just so big, so achingly beautiful in a way that makes your center flutter at the sight.

clark meets your gaze, reads your expression and the way your hand twitches to reach for him and he shakes his head. "later," he rumbles, scooting closer to you on the bed, settling between your thighs. "need to be inside you," he adds.

you nod eagerly, panting as he lines himself, giving himself a few slow strokes and nudging the head of his cock at your entrance. "think i'll fit without prepping you with my fingers first?"

you're too needy to care, nodding anyway. "we'll make it fit," you murmur firmly.

clark laughs at your determination to take him without properly preparing your tight walls. the memory of your first time flashes in both your minds: how it took an hour and three toe-curling orgasms coaxed from his fingers before your pussy was able to take his cock.

safe to say, you believe you've conquered him since then.

you roll your hips purposefully against the engorged head of his cock, demeanor desperate. "clark," you whine softly.

"alright, alright," he hums with a nod, slowly pushing inside your welcoming walls with a soft hiss.

your walls stretch around him immediately, fluttering from the sudden pressure of his size. the head alone feels impossibly thick. already punching the air from his lungs despite how gentle he is.

"shit," you breathe, fingers fisting the sheets beside you as he slowly pushes in another inch.

clark groans above you, slack jawed as he watches the way your body tries to take him. "you're so tight, sweetheart," he says through gritted teeth. "still... every time... so tight f'me."

your thighs shake around his hips, your whole body arching to meet him, desperate for more, even as your pussy clenches instinctively at the intrusion. "don't stop," you pant, voice breathless. "i can take it, i can-"

"i know you can," he cuts you off, murmuring the words and brushing his lips across your cheek as a gentle reward. "you're my good girl, right?"

your core clenches around him at his question and you nod frantically, nearly delirious with need as he pushes in deeper. the stretch burns in perfect way: so much, but not too much, just enough to make your mind muddled with fuzz.

slowly and steadily, he gives you another inch, and then another, his large hands gripping your hips to hold you steady to keep you from squirming too much.

"halfway there," he murmurs, but it's more to himself than it is to you. he watches, eyes glazed over and jaw open, as your pretty little body struggles to accommodate just half of his length. "you're taking me so well, sweetheart."

you whimper at the praise, arms winding around his back, clinging to him like a lifeline as your hips roll helplessly to attempt and meet his.

"more," you breath, voice broken and needy. "please, clark..."

his gaze darkens, pupils still swallowing up the blue. he leans down, resting his weight on one forearms beside your head while the other slides under your thigh, hooking your leg up around his waist for a better angle. "i know, baby. i know," he murmurs reverently. brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that's soft but hungry, his cock twitching inside you from the sheer intimacy of it all.

and then he pushes further.

you croon, mouthing falling open in a silent gasp as inch by inch, as he splits you open and stretches you to your limit, and then past it. your walls pulse around him, fluttering like your body can't decide whether to suck him in deeper or clamp down to keep him out because he's too much; too thick; too clark.

clark grunts softly, his voice soft husky at your hair. "i missed this," he murmurs, hips stilling so he can savor the way you're trembling beneath him. the ends of his curls, damp with sweat brush against your earlobe, tickling you. "missed the way you feel around me... like you were made for it," he muses. it's obvious he's drunk with sex, never so bluntly vocal about something so obscene.

you nod, feeling his forehead press to yours. "think i was," you pant, lashes fluttering as your lips brush against each others.

you weren't sure if fate travels across solar systems, but damn are you glad that earth was the planet he crash landed on.

your words do something to him. you can feel the effect rippling through every muscle in his body. his cock twitches deep inside you and his restraint falters.

he sinks deeper into you.

your mouth drops open with a strangled moan and clark swallows the sound with a hungry kiss. his tongue licks into your mouth as his cock continues to stretch your pussy. he's three-quarters in, then four-fifths, then–

"fuck," clark groans, voice raspier than ever. "that's it... that's my girl, taking all of me."

he bottoms out with a heavy press of his hips, the base of his cock flush against your soaked swollen folds. the hair above the base of his cock brushes against your clit, creating a delicious friction. you feel full in a way that should defy logic, as if he's reaching places inside you that no one has (and let's be real, no one else ever will).

and the best part?

it's not just sex. it's never just sex. not with clark.

he lifts his head, meeting your gaze, his lower lip trapped between his teeth because he's holding back oh, so much. "can i...can i move yet?" he asks, tone strained.

you smile at his unwavering consideration and chuckle through your nose, nodding. "mhm, 'm okay," you murmur softly.

his hips roll, slow and deliberate, easing out just enough for to you feel the loss, making you whimper, before he sinks back in with a deep needy groan.

your hands clutch at his back instinctively, fingertips pressing into the firm planes of muscles, anchoring you.

clark moves like he worships you – because he does.

each stroke of his is slow, reverent and full of maddening patient he always has, like he's determined to make you feel every inch of him. it's as if he wants to carve himself into your velvet walls (as if he hasn't already) in the quiet morning light.

"y'feel so good," you slur softly, voice featherlight. "always feels s'good."

"yeah?" he rasps, burying his face in the crook of your neck, gently nibbling on the damp skin. "you feel like heaven, sweetheart."

and you believe him. not just because of how he says it, but because of how he says everything. clark speaks with nothing but truth, softness, and, only with you, with an undercurrent of awe, like he's genuinely shocked that he gets to love you this way.

his pace builds, inch by inch, thrust by thrust, until you're gasping his name like a mantra. your bodies rock together in a practiced rhythm, slicked with sweat and tangled in warm sheets and sunlight. his name continues to spill from your lips from sheer instinct and without thought.

clark murmurs soft encouragements against your skin, his lips pressed to your cheek, down your jaw, down the slope of your neck, across your shoulder.

"you're doing so well for me, baby... so good..."

you're so full, so dizzy, so completely undone.

"clark, 'm about to... gonna..." you whine, feeling the pressure tighten in your lower belly.

he chuckles warmly, slipping his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease, rubbing soft circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. "you gonna cum already, sweetheart?"

you nod, eyelashes fluttering as you struggle to keep your eyes open, your brain nearly mush at this point.

clark reels at your expression, knowing he's the only one to subject you to this state of mind and body.

"cum then, baby," he says, voice tight with balanced control as he continues the relentless rhythm, rocking your body into the mattress. "wanna feel you cum around my cock."

your orgasm hits fast, no warning, save for the high pitched cry of his name spilling from your lips. you're thankful you're over at his apartment instead of your own because you really can't afford another noise complaint from your neighbors. you claw at his shoulders, leaving indents for sure (that'll heal in less than ten minutes), and your thighs squeeze around his hips as you cum hard around his cock.

clark groans as you tighten around him, barely managing before he rasps, "i'm about to– inside– can i?"

you nod eagerly, body flushing with heat. he never fails to ask despite every constant reassurance from you that you're on birth control and he's always welcome to cum inside. that's just another thing that makes clark, clark.

he manages a few more thrusts before he follows you over the edge. his hips still as he buries himself to the hilt, cock pulsing deep inside you as he spills into you with a strangled moan of your name.

the room goes quiet, with the exception of your mingled breathing and birds chirping outside his window.

he doesn't pull out right away – he never does. clark never rushes to move. he always just holds you, pressing kisses to your temple while carding his fingers through your hair. he pulls back enough, just to look at you, just to see your hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes soft and stupid in love. he presses a kiss to your forehead, a million words sealed into the intimate gesture.

you feel his cock soften inside you as he stays buried in the warmth of your body as if it's where he belongs. he likes to think so, at least.

you hum, lazy and content, arms wrapping around his neck as you nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder, pulling him flush atop you, unworried about how he practically crushes you.

"the eggs are definitely cold," you murmur against the sweat-slick skin of his neck.

he pulls back – too worried about his weight on top of you, bracing his arms beside your head – and sports a grin, lazy and crooked. "worth it."

you snort, tracing your finger along the hard expanse of his chest. "you always say that."

"and i always mean it."

again, you weren't sure if fate traveled across solar systems, but somehow, someway, it sent clark kent straight to you.

.... currently feral. hope you enjoyed <3

[danysdaughter]

Drown Me Gently

pairing | new!avenger!bucky x siren!reader

word count | 6.6k words

summary | a half-siren joins the new avengers, hiding centuries of shame beneath skin that was never yours to begin with. but when bucky barnes sees past the danger to the devastating loneliness underneath, the monster you fear you are finally begins to unravel.

tags | THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, (kind of ig) unprotected sex, comfort sex, emotional intimacy, hurt/comfort, emotional angst, identity crisis, soft!bucky, dark past, trust issues, body horror (light), self-hatred, non-accurate siren mythology, mutual pining, reader backstory, deep emotional healing, sensual tension, dark past, post-trauma connection

a/n | chat, I've literally had this fic in my drafts for almost a month. I lowkey don't know if I like this or not, anyway tell me what you think about it, because I'm second guessing. also based on this request

taglist | if you wanna be added to my bucky barnes masterlist just add your username to my taglist

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

You barely had a chance to take a seat before the interrogation began.

“Do you have gills?” Yelena asked, leaning forward like she was inspecting a specimen. “Or do they only show up when you're wet?”

You blinked. “Um—”

“Wait, hold on.” Ava cut in, arms crossed. “Do you eat people? Like, in a sexy way? Or like… teeth and blood?”

“Neither?”

Bob’s eyes lit up. “But hypothetically, if you were shipwrecked, would you rather lure sailors to their deaths or just vibe on a rock singing Adele?”

“I don’t—”

“Also,” Alexei boomed, squinting at you. “How do you have babies with tail? Is it like seahorses? Or salmon?”

“Why would it be like salmon?” Ava muttered.

“Maybe she lays eggs,” Bob said thoughtfully. “Do you lay eggs?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. This had to be a test. Some kind of extremely unorthodox hazing ritual.

“I’m sorry,” you finally managed. “Are these actual questions or did you all just watch The Little Mermaid before I got here?”

Walker, inexplicably sipping a protein shake at 8am, nodded solemnly. “So... do you explode if you drink salt water?”

You stared. “I'm from the ocean.”

“And what about chlorinated water,” he asked, completely serious.

Yelena snorted.

Before the next round of nonsense could begin, a voice cut through the chaos.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

You turned. Bucky stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His eyes settled on you for a beat too long.

“Give her a second to breathe before you start asking about mating rituals.”

“Thank you,” you breathed.

He moved past the others, walking toward you with measured steps. You hadn’t realized how tense your shoulders were until he got close enough that the rest of the room seemed to dim around him.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, but couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Do you ask all the new recruits about their reproductive methods, or just me?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Only the ones who are rumored to eat people.”

────────────────────────

A Few Days Later

You sat on the edge of the couch like a guest who wasn’t sure if they were invited or accidentally wandered in. Your posture was perfect, hands folded neatly in your lap, gaze fixed somewhere safe—like the TV that no one had turned on.

Yelena flopped down beside you with the grace of a feral cat. “You don’t talk much,” she observed bluntly. “Which is fine. Some of us overshare to make up for our emotional repression.”

“That’s just you,” Ava said from the kitchen, balancing a tray of chips and something that might’ve been experimental dip.

“Correct.”

Alexei hovered behind you, inexplicably trying to angle a photo of his dog toward your face. “This is Misha. He was trained to kill before he was housebroken. You would get along.”

“I’m… sure he’s lovely,” you replied politely, offering a tight smile.

Bob sat cross-legged on the floor like a camp counselor. “Okay, but seriously. Do you want anything to eat? We’ve got empanadas. And tofu stuff. And I think someone tried to make brownies.”

You shook your head. “Thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“No fish?” Walker smirked. “Or is it just... men on the menu?”

The room went dead quiet for half a second. Ava groaned.

“Really?” Yelena muttered.

“I’m a vegetarian,” you said quietly.

Walker blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yes.”

“That’s even more terrifying,” Bob said thoughtfully. “You choose not to eat meat. Yet you still eat men. For sport, right?”

“I do not eat men.”

“Sure,” Ava said with a shrug. “But if you did, it’d be poetic justice. Like, ‘Oops, your ship tried to colonize my homeland, now you're lunch.’”

You gave a tight-lipped smile again, but the joke didn’t quite sit right. They didn’t notice the way your gaze dropped or how your fingers fidgeted slightly at the hem of your sleeve.

Except Bucky.

He leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes on you in that quiet, unreadable way of his. Watching. Not judging. Just… observing. Carefully.

“You always like this?” Ava asked, circling to sit nearby. “Polite. Mysterious. Quiet. Like a goth librarian who also knows how to drown people with her mind?”

You hesitated. “I try not to make people uncomfortable.”

“You don’t,” Yelena said, popping a chip into her mouth. “We’re uncomfortable by default. It’s a trauma response.”

“You’re basically the least weird person in this room,” Bob added. “Which is suspicious in itself.”

That earned a small laugh from you—surprising even yourself. Heads turned, and you flushed faintly under the sudden attention.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said.

It wasn’t much. But it was something. A sliver of trust cracked open just enough for light to slip through.

And across the room, Bucky eyes softened.

It had started with snacks and sarcasm. Someone had turned on a movie. Bob was quoting every line with annoying precision. Ava kept tossing popcorn into Walker’s protein shake. For a while, you had almost forgotten to be cautious.

Almost.

“Okay but seriously,” Yelena said, elbowing you gently, “you’ve got to let us see it sometime. The thing. With your voice.”

You hesitated. “It’s not something I do for fun.”

“But it’s, like... mind control, right?” Walker asked, overly casual. “Like Jedi mind tricks, but with falsetto?”

You glanced around. Ava watching with narrowed eyes, trying to read you. Bob leaned forward, too curious. Yelena still too close. Even Alexei had stopped mid-story. And Bucky—still across the room, still silent.

“It’s not mind control,” you said slowly. “It’s... influence.”

The air shifted.

“My voice can influence people. Not just emotion. Thought. Action.”

The joking stopped.

“And I can sense... intention. Urgency. Fear. Hunger. The things people hide.”

Then softly you added. “It’s not always... voluntary.”

There was something fragile in your voice then. Not a confession, but a warning.

Your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers curling in your lap. You could already feel it. The subtle recoil in their posture. Not loud, but enough. Enough for your pulse to tick faster, warning you.

“Damn,” John muttered. “So you just walk into a room and feel everyone’s business?”

“I try not to,” you replied, softly.

That landed harder than you meant it to.

The silence that followed was heavier than any you'd felt all day. Thick with the kind of unease you’d learned to recognize long before you joined this team. Not fear. Not rejection. Just... awareness. The realization that your power wasn’t theoretical anymore. It was here. With them. Listening.

You felt the wall go up in them before they even realized they were building it.

So you did what you always did. What you were best at.

You retreated.

Your shoulders folded in. Your body went still. Not dramatically. Not enough to cause a scene. Just... quieter. Smaller. Like someone sinking slowly beneath the surface of the sea.

No one said anything.

But from across the room, Bucky watched you carefully—jaw set, brow furrowed—not at you, but at the room. At the shift. At how fast they’d gone from teasing to tiptoeing.

And you?

You didn’t need to read anyone’s mind to feel how far away you suddenly were.

────────────────────────

Later That Night

The wind was soft out here. Almost warm, brushing past your bare arms with the gentleness of something that wasn’t trying to take anything from you. You sat curled on a narrow bench, knees pulled to your chest, chin resting lightly on them.

You hadn’t meant to be found. That was kind of the point.

So when the door behind you slid open, your heart sank just a little. Until you heard his footsteps. Quiet. Measured. Familiar now.

Bucky didn’t say anything at first. Just moved beside you slowly and sat down, leaving a respectful distance between you.

“I figured you might be out here,” he said, voice low. Like he didn’t want to scare you off.

You didn’t look at him. “Why?”

“You didn’t say anything.”

The corners of your mouth turned up, barely. “Didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“You’re not. Just... noticed.”

For a while, you both sat in silence, the kind that wasn’t awkward. Just... open. A space you didn’t have to fill.

“I didn’t mean to make them uncomfortable,” you said finally. Voice soft. Still watching the stars.

“You didn’t,” he said automatically.

You turned your head, just a little. “You felt it.”

He paused. “I felt them realizing they don’t understand you yet. That’s different.”

You shook your head slowly. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

His eyes flicked to you. You didn’t see the way they narrowed.

“I know what I am,” you continued. “People don’t have to say it. I can feel it. The moment it shifts. That little breath of fear when they realize I can reach inside their heads without asking. It’s not wrong. I am what they think I am.”

You looked at him then, just briefly. Enough for him to see the resignation. The calm acceptance that only comes from long practice.

“A monster,” you said quietly.

His jaw clenched, barely. You saw it, even if he tried to hide it.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.” He turned toward you fully now. “You think you’re the only person on this team who’s scared of what they’ve done? What they’re capable of?”

You didn’t answer.

“You think any of us have clean hands?” His voice stayed even, but there was a tightness to it now. Not anger. Something closer to frustration. Or pained. “Ava’s killed for hire. Yelena was trained to be a weapon since she could walk. Walker…” He paused. “You saw the headlines.”

He let the silence hang for a beat.

“I spent seventy years hurting people with no choice. With no soul. If anyone here knows what it means to be used, to be feared—it’s me.”

You blinked. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because you're human.”

He stared at you. Then, quietly, “And you're not?”

You didn’t respond.

The wind picked up. You turned your head back toward the night.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, softly, “You scare them a little. Yeah. But not because you’re a monster.”

You glanced at him.

“They just don’t know you yet. And people fear what they don’t understand. But that doesn’t mean they won’t try.”

You looked down at your hands, where your fingers were laced tight together. Like you were holding something in.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I know,” he said.

And you believed him.

Not because his words were kind, but because they were quiet. Steady. Because they didn’t ask anything of you.

Because he didn’t look away.

And for the first time since you joined this mess of a team, you didn’t feel like a weapon waiting to be triggered.

You just felt... seen.

────────────────────────

Abandoned Shipping Yard

It was supposed to be a clean extraction. In and out. Minimal resistance. Ava had scoped the perimeter, Yelena laid out the breach pattern, Walker was already ten paces ahead being Walker, and Bucky had given you a nod just before the comms went live.

You were ready. Or you thought you were.

The cold air clung to your skin as you moved through the corridor of rusted containers. You kept to the shadows, as always, listening more than speaking, watching more than acting. A quiet presence, there when needed—never more.

The first wave of hostiles came fast—mercs, jittery and underpaid. Nothing the team couldn’t handle. You barely had to use your voice.

But something changed.

Second floor. A new group. More organized. You didn’t see them until they’d already flanked Alexei. You reacted before you thought—instinct firing faster than strategy.

They raised weapons.

And you hummed.

Not loud. Not full. Just enough to stop them.

A sound low in your throat, rich with warning and pressure and pull. It rolled over the air like a tide, a siren note pitched directly into their nerves.

They froze.

Then they turned.

Not toward Alexei.

Toward each other.

Guns half-raised. Hands twitching.

Confusion swelled, slow and dangerous. One man dropped his rifle. Another started crying. A third turned to face you like he couldn’t remember why he was holding a weapon at all.

Then Walker’s voice shouted through comms: “What the hell was that?!”

A sharp click—a trigger cocked.

Bucky got there first.

He shoved the last merc down before he could swing his weapon back around, snapping a zip tie around his wrists with clinical precision.

“Clear!” Yelena called from above.

“Room’s secure,” Ava confirmed, quieter, voice tinged with something more cautious.

You stood in the center of the room, throat tight, breath short. The air still trembled faintly with the residue of your voice.

Everyone was looking at you.

No one said anything.

Until Walker.

“Was that you?” he asked, not angry—just stunned. Like he’d seen lightning strike too close. “What even—what was that?”

“I didn’t mean to—” you started, but your voice wavered.

“That wasn’t just noise. That was... influence, right? You turned them on each other?”

“No.” You swallowed. “I didn’t mean to. It just happened. They were going to shoot Alexei, I—”

“But it wasn’t controlled,” Walker said sharply. Not cruel, just assessing. Calculating risk. “What if they’d turned on us?”

That stung. More than it should have.

“I wouldn’t,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“She said it was involuntary,” Bucky cut in, stepping forward. His voice didn’t rise, but it carried weight. “She stopped them. That’s what matters.”

“She also almost made a guy kill himself,” Walker muttered.

“She saved Alexei,” Bucky said firmly, turning toward the others. “We’ve all lost control before. Don’t pretend we haven’t.”

You stood silent, heart pounding, the aftermath of your own power still vibrating under your skin. The others started moving again—resetting, clearing the area, checking gear. But they gave you space now.

Too much space.

You barely heard the rest of the debrief. Your voice was gone, locked behind clenched teeth. Guilt wrapped around your chest like a vice.

You walked ahead in silence.

No one stopped you.

────────────────────────

You hadn’t even taken off your boots. You sat on the floor, back against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around your knees like they might keep you from slipping any further into yourself.

The door creaked open softly.

You didn’t look up.

But you knew the sound of his steps.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Bucky said gently.

You didn’t respond.

He came closer but didn’t sit. Just leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed loosely. Watching. Waiting.

“I lost control,” you said after a long moment. “They’re right to be wary.”

“They’re wrong,” he said simply.

“You didn’t see their faces.”

“I saw yours.”

You glanced up, surprised.

“You looked like you were trying to tear yourself in half,” he said. “Because you cared more about hurting them than saving yourself.”

You looked away again.

“They don’t understand what it feels like,” you said quietly. “To have something inside you that people fear. That you can’t always lock down. That might one day hurt someone—even if you don’t want it to.”

His expression shifted. Pain, recognition, something deeper.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

The softness in his face, the tension in his shoulders—he knew. He knew.

And still, he was here.

Not afraid. Not flinching. Just... here.

You exhaled shakily.

“I think I made a mistake joining this team.”

“No,” he said. “You didn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve been watching you,” he admitted. “And not because I’m waiting for you to snap. I watch because I see you trying. Every damn day. Even when they don’t notice.”

Your throat tightened.

“You don’t scare me,” he added. “None of this does. You do more to hold yourself back than most of us ever have to.”

Silence.

Then, softly: “You belong here. Even if it takes them time to see it.”

────────────────────────

The Next Night

Bucky wasn’t looking for you.

That’s what he told himself.

He told himself he was going for a walk. That his muscles ached. That the silence in his room was too sharp around the edges tonight.

But when he passed the door to the training pool and saw it slightly ajar, lights off, humid air curling into the hallway like a whisper—he knew.

Of course it was you.

He stepped inside quietly, the heavy door hissing shut behind him. The sound echoed across the still water.

“Hey,” he called out softly, scanning the dark. “You left the lights off.”

He moved toward the control panel instinctively, fingers brushing the switch.

“Don’t,” came your voice.

Not a shout. Not even stern. Just quiet. Low.

Carried like a ripple across the water, echoing from somewhere deep in the pool.

He froze.

“…You okay?” he asked, softer now.

A pause.

Then, “Yes.”

But there was something in the way you said it—like you were holding your breath inside the word.

The pool was a long, Olympic cut of black glass. He could barely make out your shape beneath the surface—a flicker of motion in the far end, a slow shift of shadow.

“You’re in the water.”

“Yes.”

The silence stretched again, heavy but not uncomfortable. He stepped forward, letting the heat of the pool air wrap around him.

“I thought maybe you’d gone,” he admitted. “After yesterday.”

There was a sound, something like a soft splash. A flick of fin, maybe. Movement, not retreat.

“No,” you said. “I just needed to be… this. For a while.”

He squinted toward you, his eyes adjusting to the dark. It took a moment, but then he saw it—just barely. The curve of your back breaking the surface. The subtle gleam of something slick and scaled beneath the low ambient light.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t stare. Just stayed still.

You exhaled slowly, the sound barely above the waterline. “I’m not hiding.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I just don't want to be seen like this. Not… yet.”

He nodded, even though you probably couldn’t see it. “Alright. Then I won’t look.”

And to his credit, he didn’t.

He turned away slightly, gave you space, let you move without watching. But he still stayed. Because you hadn’t told him to go.

Because, maybe, you wanted someone to stay.

“I’m not human the way you are,” you said after a while. “Not just physically. Sometimes I feel like I’m wearing skin that doesn’t belong to me.”

He breathed in slow. “I know that feeling.”

“Do you?” you asked, not unkindly. Just tired.

Bucky shifted his weight. “I’ve worn a lot of masks. But yeah. There are days where I look in the mirror and don’t see someone who belongs anywhere.”

The water rippled quietly.

“Then you understand why I needed to be in the dark tonight.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“You ever wish you could just… stay like that?” he asked gently. “Who you are in here. Not the version you have to show everyone else?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then, “Sometimes I think the version they see is the monster. And this—the water, the dark, the scales—that this is the real me.”

“And is she the monster?”

“No.”

Then you added, softer, “She’s worse.“

The words sank like stones.

You waited for him to back away. To excuse himself. To do what most people did when they saw behind the illusion.

But he didn’t.

“You’re not a monster,” he said, steady as stone. “Not in any form.”

You let out a breath—half bitter, half broken. “You should be afraid of me.”

“I’m not.”

“You should be.” A sharp breath. “Especially you. After what you’ve been through. After what it’s like to have your mind twisted, your will taken—I could do that to you. Without even trying.”

Silence.

You expected him to leave. You preferred him to leave.

Then a soft rustle.

You heard it before you saw it—fabric sliding off. The quiet thud of boots meeting concrete. A belt unhooking. Then another sound: the shift of weight, the hiss of disturbed water.

Your head turned sharply in the dark. “What are you doing?”

Bucky’s voice came low and calm. “Showing you I’m not afraid.”

His bare feet met the water first, then his legs. He stepped slowly into the pool, each movement careful, deliberate—like he was approaching a wounded animal. Like he knew you might vanish if he moved too fast.

You froze.

The lights stayed off.

The water rippled gently around him, catching faint echoes of motion from where you were submerged.

“You can’t even see me,” you said.

“I don’t need to.”

Your voice trembled. “You don’t know what I look like like this.”

“I know what I feel,” he said. “I know it’s you.”

He moved further in, the water reaching his ribs, his breath slow, steady.

You stared across the dark, at the shape of him—a silhouette against nothing. Vulnerable. Unarmed. Open.

You whispered, “Why?”

He paused, standing still in the middle of the water.

“Because you’ve spent your whole life trying not to scare people,” he said. “Trying to keep yourself small, quiet, contained. And no one’s ever just... let you be.”

You blinked.

Something deep inside you shifted.

“I’ve been used too,” he said softly. “Controlled. Hurt. Turned into something I didn’t recognize. And I’m still here. Still fighting to believe I’m not what they made me.”

The ripples between you both softened. Fewer waves. Less space.

You whispered, “You’re not.”

“Neither are you.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

Not in the way you did above water—but in the way that didn’t hurt.

“You shouldn’t trust me this much,” you said, a final warning. One last barrier.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But I do”

The water between you held its breath.

You didn’t move at first—didn’t trust the trembling in your limbs or the sharp edge of your pulse. But Bucky stood still, waist-deep, facing the other side of the pool, like he wasn’t waiting for danger—just for you.

So you moved.

Slowly. Silently. The water embraced your form the way it always had—your real shape, the one you kept hidden beneath flesh and clothes and fear. You glided like breath, like tide, like instinct. Your tail made no sound. Your scales caught no light. You were the shadow beneath the surface, and he didn’t flinch.

Not even when you came close.

Close enough to touch.

You hovered at his back, watching the curve of his spine rise and fall with every breath. Water clung to his skin, catching faint glints of motion—your motion—as you lifted a hand above the surface.

And touched him.

His shoulders tensed at first, just barely, but he didn’t pull away.

Your fingers were cool against his skin—webbed, slick, foreign. The pads of them brushed along the ridge of his shoulder blade, then down the line of his arm.

Still, he didn’t turn.

So you did it again.

This time, both hands—light and deliberate—placed just above his hips, fingertips resting at the base of his spine, gently urging.

He let out a slow breath.

And turned.

The water shifted as he faced you.

He still couldn’t see all of you—darkness and depth obscured your form—but he could feel you there. Close. Solid. Real.

His hands came to your waist, cautious, reverent. His thumbs brushed faint ridges along your sides—faint scales you hadn’t hidden, soft flesh beneath them. He could feel the texture of you, alien and familiar all at once.

You let him look.

Not completely. Not yet.

But enough.

You tilted your head up, and he bent just slightly toward you. His face a breath away, eyes searching yours in the dark.

“I see you,” he whispered.

And he did.

Not a siren. Not a monster. Not an aberration.

Just you.

The water lapped quietly around you, the two of you suspended in the dark.

Bucky was so close now. Close enough for the heat of his body to ghost across your skin despite the coolness of the water. Close enough that the contrast between you—his warmth, your chill—felt like static between touching wires.

He looked at you then, fully. His eyes locked on yours, no hesitation. Just slow awe.

You saw the flicker of realization behind his gaze.

Your eyes—icy and deep, nearly luminescent in the dark—weren’t human anymore. The pupils too sharp, the color too unnatural. You didn’t try to hide it.

And still, he whispered, breath brushing your mouth,

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Your lips parted, not to speak, but just to feel that warmth.

Then he leaned in—deliberate, drawn, inevitable—and kissed you.

The first touch was slow, hesitant only in reverence, like he was afraid of breaking something sacred. His lips were warm—so warm—pressing softly against yours, testing.

You didn’t hesitate.

You kissed him back, and the pull was instant. A current dragging you both under.

His hands rose, one settling against the back of your neck, the other at your waist, anchoring you to him. You opened your mouth against his—slowly—and his tongue slipped inside with a soft groan that vibrated low in his throat. You tasted him: salt, metal, heat, something earthy and real.

He tasted you: cool and mineral, like sea-salt and secrets, ancient and raw.

His tongue tangled with yours in deliberate strokes, slow and deep. It wasn’t frantic. It was exploration, mouth against mouth, breath mingling, like he was learning you piece by piece.

Then he felt them.

The faint edge of your fangs—barely exposed as your body stirred with instinct and desire.

He didn’t pull away.

He kissed you harder.

And you let him.

Your webbed fingers curled into his hair, claws grazing his scalp just enough to make him shiver. His hand slipped lower, across the slick curve of your back, dragging you flush against him in the water. Your tail brushed his legs—he felt the ripple of it, powerful and sinuous—and instead of flinching, he leaned into it.

He deepened the kiss with a quiet groan, tilting your head just enough to taste more of you, to chase the sharp edge of your teeth and the soft gasp you gave him when he sucked on your bottom lip.

He wanted more. You wanted.

But the kiss said it all: this wasn’t hunger.

It was surrender.

And when he pulled back—only slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, breath fogging between mouths—his voice dropped again, rough and reverent.

“You’re not a monster.”

You trembled in his arms, not from cold.

And for the first time, you let someone hold you without fear of what they’d find in the dark.

The kisses evolved—mouths moving in rhythm, breathless and hungry, like they’d been holding back for far too long. The water around you rippled with every shift of your bodies, your bare skin slick against his, every nerve alive.

Bucky’s hands slid lower, smoothing over the firm plane of your back where slick, textured scales had shimmered moments ago. But now—he felt it.

They were fading.

His lips broke from yours just enough to murmur, breath hitched, “You’re changing…”

Your forehead pressed to his as your hands threaded through his wet hair. “I can’t stop it,” you whispered. “When I feel—”

He kissed you again, cutting the words off with a gentleness that said you don’t have to explain.

The transformation was slow, intimate.

You felt it first in your hands—your fingers unwebbing, reshaping. Human again. Your claws softened, becoming skin. You ran them down his chest, gasping softly at the warmth, the roughness of him against the new smoothness of you.

Bucky’s hands wrapped around your waist as you shifted again, the powerful muscles of your tail twitching, tensing—then separating.

Legs.

Human.

Bare.

You wrapped them around his hips instinctively, pulling him closer, water lapping between your bodies, heat blooming between where his skin met yours.

His breath caught, hard, sharp.

You were soft and solid and real in his arms, human now but still you—something wild and full of want beneath the surface. He kissed down your jaw, tasting salt and skin and a thrill he hadn’t felt in years.

His voice, low and rough, ghosted along your throat: “You don’t have to be afraid.”

You shivered in his hold, lips brushing his ear as you whispered back, “I’m not.”

And for once, you weren’t.

Not of what he’d think. Not of what you were. Not even of what you wanted.

Just the sound of your shared breath, the gentle churn of the water, the beat of two hearts finally in rhythm.

Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist as he held you against him, his hands roaming—slow, reverent, learning every curve and shape as if memorizing what it meant to have you.

Not to claim.

But to be allowed.

The warmth of him bled into you, his mouth trailing over the column of your throat, lips parting around your skin as he kissed lower—slowly, like he wanted to taste every shiver.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as his mouth returned to yours—hungrier this time. Tongues sliding together with unspoken urgency. He groaned into you, low and rough, when you rolled your hips into him beneath the water.

The sound you made—half gasp, half moan—hit him like a shot to the spine.

His hands cupped the back of your thighs, holding you up, keeping you close, guiding your body so you fit around him perfectly. The heat between you sharpened, pressed tight through soaked fabric and wet skin, every movement stoking something deeper.

There was nothing frantic.

Only build.

Only the slow, sacred pull of yes.

The kiss deepened until there was no air between you. His chest pressed to yours, heat meeting the coolness of your skin, fingers curling along your ribs, tracing the path where scales had once been.

You tilted your head back as he kissed his way down—jaw, neck, collarbone—tongue flicking against the hollow of your throat. Each touch lit up something low in your belly, and when you whispered his name, he froze just long enough to look at you.

Eyes dark, lips parted, hands still reverent.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice hoarse, wet strands of hair clinging to his brow.

You nodded, breathless. “Yes.”

Bucky’s mouth returned to yours with hunger barely tempered now, his kiss pulling sounds from your throat you didn’t know you could make—not songs, not power. Just want.

He guided you back through the water, hands steady at your waist, until your spine met the edge of the pool wall. The tile was cool against your back; he was warm and solid against your front.

His fingers brushed along the curve of your ribs, then up—slowly—tracing the faint shimmer where scales had retreated. He explored each new inch of you with careful reverence, like he was learning you with his hands, like every discovery mattered.

Your breath hitched as he slid one palm beneath the water, low across your hip, then between your thighs—fingers ghosting over the softest part of you with a touch so achingly gentle you shivered.

He swallowed the moan that left your mouth as his other hand found your jaw, tilting your face up so he could kiss you again—deeper now, tongue claiming, teeth grazing your lip.

You gasped, fingers curling around the back of his neck as your legs tightened around his hips, urging him closer.

He groaned, low and wrecked, as he pressed his body into yours fully—his arousal hard against you, his mouth dragging kisses down your throat as you arched into him.

“God, you feel like…” he murmured, unfinished, overwhelmed, pressing his forehead against yours.

Your hand found his chest, feeling the steady, pounding rhythm beneath the scars. “I feel like what?”

He looked at you like you were unreal. “Like something I’ve never deserved. But I’m not letting go.”

He reached down again, guiding himself into you with aching care.

When he pressed into you—slow, stretching, deep—your mouth parted in a soundless gasp, nails sinking into his back as your body opened for him.

The sensation was molten. Your body slick and ready, still half-wrapped in water, and every movement felt amplified—rippled and weightless, like being made and unmade in slow motion.

He held still inside you for a beat—his breath stalling, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek.

You nodded, voice caught in your throat. “Don’t stop.”

So he moved.

Rhythmic. Deep. Rolling his hips into you with intense precision, like he wanted every thrust to be a memory etched into your bones.

You clung to him as you rocked together, lips never far, gasps exchanged like prayer. The water splashed gently around you with every movement, hiding and revealing, sheltering and exposing.

And when you came apart in his arms—body shaking, breath hitching, fingers tangled in his hair—he followed seconds after, groaning into your skin as he buried himself in you one last time.

Afterward, he didn’t let go.

He just held you, still wrapped in warmth and water, as if grounding himself in the shape of you—your real form, your chosen form.

And you stayed there, arms around him, mind quiet for the first time in days.

────────────────────────

You lay together outside the pool, still dripping, the tiled floor beneath you warmed by residual heat from the water and each other.

Bucky’s body was solid and relaxed beneath yours, your head resting on his chest, your arm draped across his ribs. His breathing was slow now, steady, one hand lazily tracing your back—his fingers brushing the faint outlines of where your scales had shimmered.

He didn’t speak for a while. Just let his fingers explore you softly, as if mapping something sacred.

Then, voice low, “So… the other you. The form in the water. Is that the real you?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Your breath pushed gently against his skin, your eyes half-lidded with calm.

Then softly, “Both are the real me.”

He didn’t move, but you felt the weight of his silence.

You lifted your head slightly, just enough to brush your lips against his—light, unhurried, a kiss not driven by need but by quiet affection.

A moment passed before you added, “I’m half-human. Half-siren.”

His eyes opened, and he tilted his head to meet your gaze, brows furrowed—curious, but not skeptical.

You sighed, a faint smile ghosting your lips. “Tale as old as time. Sailor meets siren. Siren gets curious. Doesn’t immediately murder him.”

That made him huff a quiet breath against your temple.

“Sometimes… they mate. Rarely. Just to understand. Or because something stirs in them they don’t expect. The sailors rarely survive the interaction. Then they return to the sea.”

His fingers paused at your spine.

You shifted your weight slightly, eyes locked on his, and said quieter still:

“This time, the siren left with a baby.”

His breath caught, just barely.

You looked down.

“And that baby got left behind on land. Half-breed. Too human for the ocean, too strange for the shore.”

He said nothing.

But his hand moved again—this time higher, threading through your hair, cupping the back of your head gently as if trying to hold that pain, that truth, without crowding it.

You exhaled slowly, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

“A monster on land. An abomination in the sea.”

The words hung between you like steam, curling and vanishing before they hit the air.

Bucky didn’t try to correct you. Didn’t rush to wrap those words in comfort. He just moved—his hand smoothing up your back, across your hair, anchoring you to his chest. Holding you like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

His hand never left you.

Now, it moved with a new purpose—his touch slower, more intentional, tracing the skin between your shoulder blades.

You stiffened slightly.

He’d found them.

The scars.

Faint, old, but still jagged—slashing diagonally across your back in places that seemed more symbolic than accidental. He ran a thumb along the longest one, slow and careful.

“They match,” he murmured.

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“Your claws,” he said. “From before. In the pool. The shape of them.” He traced another line. “These look like what they’d leave.”

You were quiet for a long moment.

Then you whispered, “They did.”

“You mean—?”

“The sirens,” you said softly.

He froze. “Jesus.”

You pushed your face gently against his shoulder, hiding from the look you couldn’t bear to see on his face—pity, horror, heartbreak, you didn’t know which would be worse.

“I didn’t belong here,” you murmured. “On land. Never really fit. So I thought—maybe the ocean would feel like home. Maybe they would understand.”

His hand stilled on your back.

You swallowed. “They didn’t.”

You pulled in a shaking breath, voice tight but steady. “They said I was soft. Weak. That I smelled too human. Felt too much. That I’d taint their species if I stayed.”

A beat.

“They tried to tear the human out of me.”

Bucky closed his eyes. His jaw tensed beneath your hand where it rested on his chest.

You whispered, almost bitterly now, “All the myths are true. They are monsters. They don’t love. They don’t feel. They don’t keep anything they can’t control.”

Silence.

Bucky’s fingers paused again, still tracing the old scars like they were something sacred. “You survived them,” he said quietly. “That says more about you than them.”

Your breath hitched, then came slow and shallow.

“I didn’t just survive them,” you murmured. “I tried to be like them.”

He stilled.

“I thought if I let go of everything human in me, they’d let me stay. If I stopped feeling… stopped flinching when they hunted. When they—”

You stopped, your throat tightening.

Bucky’s eyes were open now, watching you with more than concern. With something like dread.

“I tried,” you said, barely above a whisper. “To become what they were. To be unfeeling. A real monster.”

Your fingers curled slightly against his chest. “I even did it. Their way. Took ships off course with my voice. Lured them close. And I fed.”

His hand faltered.

“I ate humans,” you said, the words fractured, sharp. “So they’d accept me.”

Silence.

The worst kind.

Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t breathe, but you felt his body tense underneath you—hurt, not at you, but for you.

You turned your face further into his shoulder, shame crawling up your spine like ice.

“But it never worked,” you whispered. “I was still too soft. I felt everything. Even when I tried to bury it.”

His arms wrapped tighter around you—gently, but with purpose.

“I couldn’t keep it down,” you continued. “The guilt. The screaming. The way they laughed at me for choking on blood.”

Your voice cracked. “Meat makes me sick now. Just the smell of it.”

He breathed then, long and broken.

You could feel his heartbeat under your cheek. Steady. Solid. And somehow still here.

The silence between you became thick. Not with judgment, but with something worse—your own shame.

You whispered, barely audible, “I became something I hate. I wanted so badly to stop being an outcast, I turned myself into a real monster. And they still didn’t want me.”

You closed your eyes. “They didn’t need to kill me. I did that myself.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, his hand sliding up from your back to cup the back of your head again. He didn’t say it’s okay. He didn’t say you’re forgiven. He didn’t try to rewrite your past.

He just held you.

Because there are wounds too deep for words.

Because you had already condemned yourself, and he knew the last thing you needed was someone else trying to absolve what you hadn’t even survived emotionally.

Still, his voice reached you, low and rough and real,

“I hope someday you'll understand that you were never the monster in that story.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t believe it. But you didn’t pull away, either.

And for now—that meant something.

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[blank-potato]

You Deserve It

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary:

Your landlord starts to turn away, then pauses, glancing over his shoulder with a look somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Oh, and one more thing,” he says, pointing a finger half-heartedly between the two of you. “Try to keep the noise down. Every time you two go at it, it’s like the whole building shakes.” Clark makes a strangled noise that might’ve been a cough. His face turns crimson. You blink, mouth falling open for a second before your brain catches up. Your landlord shrugs. “Just saying. I’ve had complaints from apartment 4D and 5B. They thought there was an earthquake.” Or Clark has a tough day so you decide to make him feel better. You both just hope your neighbours don't kill you with how loud the two of you tend to get.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, oral sex (male receiving), p in v sex, cuddlefuck, creampie, established relationship, Clark being cute and bringing you pie

WC: 4.5k

A/N: When I tell you I dove at my laptop as soon as I got home from the cinema to start writing about him. Hope you enjoy!

***

Clark was exhausted. He's finally on his way to your place after a busy day. He had saved a derailed train, stopped a bus from plunging off a bridge, and spent half his afternoon fighting a mechanical octopus that some genius decided to let loose in downtown Metropolis. All his deadlines for Perry were miraculously met. He needed to relax. And as always, his favourite pick-me-up was you, and your beautiful smile.

Even though he was tired, he'd gone out of his way, stopping by that little bakery in France you said you liked, just to bring back a pie for the two of you to share. It was only a quick flight, after all. And you? You were more than worth it.

Climbing the stairs to your apartment, box in hand, he was just about to knock when he felt eyes on him. 

He turns and finds a man standing on the landing nearby, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His gaze sweeps up and down Clark like he’s scanning for faults.

“Can I help you, sir?” Clark asks. 

“So this is the Clark, huh?”

Clark blinked. “You… know me?”

The man smirked. “You’re famous around here.”

The thought that you might’ve gushed about him, even just a little, made his stomach flip with happiness. 

“She’s talked about me?” he asked cautiously.

The man let out a sharp laugh. “If you call her screaming your name for five hours last Tuesday talking about you, then yeah. She talked plenty.”

Clark has faced alien warlords, collapsing buildings, and a multitude of near-death scenarios. But he had never turned such a vivid shade of red in his life.

He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting the bakery box in his hands, trying desperately not to combust on the spot.

“…Good to know,” he muttered.

Hearing voices outside, you furrow your brow and make your way to the door. You open it slowly, only to find your landlord standing there… and Clark, awkwardly frozen beside him, holding a very fancy pie box and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

“I was just coming to let you know there’s going to be some work done,” your landlord says. “The electricity guys are coming tomorrow around noon. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”

You nod politely, though there’s… something in the air. A weird tension you can’t quite place. Your landlord starts to turn away, then pauses, glancing over his shoulder with a look somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, pointing a finger half-heartedly between the two of you. “Try to keep the noise down. Every time you two go at it, it’s like the whole building shakes.”

Clark makes a strangled noise that might’ve been a cough. His face turns crimson. You blink, mouth falling open for a second before your brain catches up.

Your landlord shrugs. “Just saying. I’ve had complaints from apartment 4D and 5B. They thought there was an earthquake.”

He walks off whistling, and you just want to hide in a hole. Maybe that’s why your neighbours were giving you the evil eye. 

Clark clears his throat, eyes fixed firmly on the pie box in his hands. “I, uh… I brought pie.”

You stare at him, then burst out laughing. “You better come in, Earthquake.”

Clark steps inside, cheeks still flushed, pulling off his shoes and setting them neatly by the door. He watches your back as you walk into the kitchen, the soft hem of the oversized shirt brushing your thighs.

“Is that my shirt?” he asks with a lopsided smile, eyes narrowing playfully. It looks familiar, something he must’ve left behind weeks ago after a late-night visit, and clearly, you’d commandeered it.

“You don’t mind, do you?” you ask over your shoulder, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingers.

That’s the last thing he minds. It’s simple, it’s soft, and yet somehow it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. You, in his shirt, in his space, like you belonged there all along.

“You look…” he trails off, stepping closer, his voice rough from everything he’s held back today. “...like something I want to come home to every night.”

You blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone. Your smirk falters into something softer. “Well,” you say, turning to face him, “I guess you’ll just have to keep leaving shirts here then.”

He closes the distance between you in two strides, one hand settling gently on your hip, fingertips brushing the hem of the shirt. “I’ll leave a drawer if it means I get to see this again.”

You giggle before your eyes land on the dessert box, the familiar design making you gasp.  "Did you get that from France?" you ask, your eyes widening. 

“Having Superman as a boyfriend has some perks.”

Your fingers trace the edge of the pastry box, still in awe. “You crossed an ocean for a pie.”

“I’d cross a galaxy if it meant seeing that look on your face,” he says, almost shyly.

Your heart clenches because you know he’s serious, you can tell.

“You didn't have to fly all the way out there for me. Thank you, Clark.”

You wrap your arms around him, warm and unhurried, and pull him in for a kiss. It’s sweet, just like the man in front of you. His free arm, the one not cradling the bakery box, slides instinctively around your waist, pulling you closer with a low, contented sigh.

For a guy who can lift entire buildings, he’s impossibly gentle with you. The kiss deepens just slightly before he murmurs against your lips, “Next time I’m taking the fire escape. Fewer witnesses.”

You laugh, and he grins, finally starting to relax.

But still feeling a little tension in his shoulders, you say, “Long day?”

“You can tell.”

“Always,” you smile back. 

Clark always carried himself with the calm confidence of someone who could hold the world together and often did, even when everything around him was chaos. But you could tell he’d been through the ringer today, and you had an idea of how you could cheer him up. 

“Come here,” you murmur, pulling him in by the tie, your eyes locked on his with a teasing smile.

“Is that an order?” he asks, already following as you step backwards down the hallway toward the bedroom.

“More like a light suggestion.”

The truth was, you could order him around all you wanted. Superman or not, when it came to you, Clark was more than happy to obey.

You both get to the bedroom, and it doesn’t even take a second before your lips are connected. It’s like you’d both been waiting all day for this moment. The tie slips from your hand, forgotten, as your arms wrap around his neck.

He lifts you with effortless strength, lips never leaving yours, and you gasp softly against his mouth as your back hits the mattress in a rush of motion. Clark follows you down, bracing his weight so carefully.

He shifts, smooth and sure, flipping your positions so you’re straddling him now, hands resting on his chest. You had to admit, you loved the view.

Those pretty lips, slightly parted from the kiss… his dark hair tousled just enough to be unfair, with that one perfect curl resting stubbornly on his forehead. You could stare at him for hours and never get bored.

You reach for his glasses, sliding them off playfully before slipping them onto your own face. You strike a mock-serious pose.

“How do I look?”

Clark’s breath catches in his throat, eyes softening as he takes you in. 

You, in his glasses. He’s never seen anything so perfect. 

“…Cute,” he says in complete awe, like you’d just stolen the air from the room.

“I’ll keep them for now, then.”

And Clark didn’t fight to get them back one bit. 

His hands slide up to rest on your thighs, warm and steady, fingers pressing gently into your skin like he’s grounding himself, like you’re the only thing anchoring him right now.

And you, with a grin tugging at your lips, lean down to kiss him. It’s slow at first, before deepening and becoming more intense, feeling the way his breath hitches as your fingers expertly begin to unbutton his shirt.

“Your landlord—” he murmurs against your mouth, voice already fraying at the edges.

“We can be quiet,” you whisper, brushing your lips along his jaw.

“And your neighbours—” he tries again, even as his hands tighten on your hips.

“It’s okay, I swear,” you mumble, moving to kiss his neck, and take off all your clothes. With each touch and kiss, more articles of clothing are tossed aside until you’re both in just your underwear.  

You start kissing your way down his body, taking your time, savouring the warmth of his skin, the way every inch of him is sculpted like he was carved out of something divine. He’s all strength and softness, breath shallow as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“You don’t have to…” he says quietly, a flicker of hesitation in his voice.

Clark was big. 

Like really big.

Like make your jaw click big. 

He never wanted to inconvenience you or hurt you, so for the most part, he shied away from blowjobs. But you loved it; struggling for air as you try to take as much of it down, tears welling in your eyes when it hits the back of your throat, hearing him moan your name as he fucks your mouth desperately. 

But most of all, you wanted him to feel as good as he could make you feel. Wanted him to know just how much you appreciate him stretching you out with his cock and fucking you into next week. 

You pause, looking up at him, your fingers toying gently with the fabric of his boxers.

“I want to, okay?” you whisper. “I want to take care of you. Will you let me?”

His eyes search yours for a second, then he nods, just once.

“I will,” Clark relents. He knew you just wanted to make him feel good, and who was he to deny you of that? 

You pull down his boxers and pull out his hard cock, licking a few stripes from the base to the head. He gasps out your name, and it’s like music to your ears. 

You loved the way his brow would furrow, that little crease between his eyebrows he got when you teased him just enough to toe the line. It was equal parts adorable and dangerously hot. His jaw would tense, his eyes would darken, and then he’d say your name in that low, warning tone that made your stomach flip.

“I’ll be good, Clark, don’t worry,” you’d say sweetly.

If you were in a more wicked mood, you might tease him a little more, but your main goal was to help him relax; you had to remember that.

You lick his tip a few more times before taking as much of him into your mouth as you can. Saying it’s a tight fit would be a gross understatement, but still, you venture on. Moving up and down his cock with hollowed cheeks, and jerking whatever you couldn’t manage. 

His girth feels heavy on your tongue, stretching your lips as far as they can go, but it’s all worth it to see him like that. He’s fisting the sheets, his head thrown back against the pillow, trying his best not to moan too loud. 

But you want him to, you want to hear him say it, to feel his voice raw with need. So you start moaning softly, the vibrations travelling up his length, making him tremble and let out a low, guttural sound. There’s no way he could keep quiet now.

“Oh please… just like that,” he groans, his hands lifting from the sheets to find their place tangled in your hair. He’s hungry for you, just like you like him. 

Hearing that you take his cock even deeper in your mouth. You look up from where you are, and what you see is beautiful. Clark is usually calm, all discipline and controlled strength. Seeing him like this, glistening blue eyes and desperate like he’s about to cry, vulnerable, his body softening as he pulls you close, needing you like he needs nothing else but you, was perfection.

It was a side of him that few got to see. You adjust as he rocks hips up into your mouth, but can’t stop yourself from gagging when his cock hits the back of your throat.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, pausing for a moment, his hands moving gently from your shoulders to cup your face.

You look up at him, still wearing his glasses with wide, doe-like eyes and a small hum of reassurance, your mouth still occupied. Without breaking the connection, you take his hand and guide it back to your head, inviting him closer, letting him know that you’re more than okay.

All polite-like, he holds you by the hair gently, not pulling, but cradling the strands as he respectfully fucks your face.

“So good, too—too good,” he gasps. 

Wanting to push him all the way to the edge, you deepthroat his cock. Taking him as deep as you can go, fighting off your gag reflex.

“Good…golly…” he groans, voice rough and breathless.

Your eyes flutter open, burning with tears from the searing intensity, the lack of air, but beneath it all, exhilarating.

The sloppy sounds fill the room as you suck him off with a kind of dedication that should be rewarded. His fingers curling in your hair, muscles trembling with the building tension. The sounds of ragged breathing, and your name echo in your head, which sounds especially good coming from him.

You’re flooded with sensation, swallowing hard as quickly as you can, your eyes rolling back, caught in the overwhelming rush.

He helps pull you up gently, both of you gasping for air, still wrapped in that beautiful haze that lingers long after.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly, concern threading his voice as his fingers brush a stray lock of hair from your damp forehead.

You nod slowly, a shaky smile tugging at your lips. 

“Perfect,” you whisper, and you mean it. You could do that all day.

Clark doesn’t miss a beat. 

He takes his glasses off your face and pulls you in to kiss you senseless. It’s a slow and deep kiss, your tongues teasing and tangling with one another, tasting him on your lips like something you’ve been craving for days. His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he pulls you impossibly closer, smiling into the kiss like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. 

“Clark—” He cuts you off with another kiss, deeper this time, sucking on your tongue and dragging a moan from your throat as your brain turns into absolute mush. His teeth graze your bottom lip before he bites down gently, just enough to make you gasp.

In your time together, you’ve come to realise something very important: Clark Kent is much freakier than he looks.

He finally pulls away, lips swollen and breath shallow, one hand steadying your dazed, breathless self as he grins. “Sorry,” he murmurs, not sounding sorry at all. “You were saying?”

“I don’t remember,” you reply with a goofy smile, and you aren’t lying. Maybe that’s another superpower he has, kissing you so hard it gives you amnesia. 

“Lie down,” he orders. It’s gentle, but with that unmistakable edge of command that makes your heart flutter.

You roll onto your side, and he follows, settling in behind you before wrapping his arms around your waist. His bare skin presses against yours, like a living shield around you. You melt into his embrace, feeling his breath against the back of your neck as he snuggles closer, one leg slipping between yours.

It’s been less than a minute since he came, and you feel his hard cock, pressing against your entrance.

“Can I?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you murmur, bracing yourself. Even after all this time you’ve been together, it’s still a sensation that takes your breath away, adjusting to his size, to the way he fills you completely.

Finally, he pushes inside of you, your walls stretching to accommodate him, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your arms reach back instinctively, your nails digging into his bicep.

“Clawing at me now?” he chuckles.

“You can take it, Superman.”

He pulls you closer by the waist, matching his thrusts to yours with a slow, steady rhythm that sends shivers down your spine.

“I sure can,” he murmurs, nuzzling against your neck. He guides your hips up and down, matching it to his own movements, moving you like you weighed nothing. 

“Clark…” you whimper, voice trembling with need and affection.

Slow, deep thrusts follow, each one hitting you right where you’re weakest, unravelling you bit by bit. Your pussy flutters around him like it’s trying to suck him in, and Clark would love nothing more than to sink into you and never come out. 

“I love you so much,” he mumbles into your ear, his voice thick with emotion.

“I love you too.”

Your breath hitches as Clark presses his hand gently against your stomach, feeling the steady rhythm of his moving in and out of you.

“K-keep doing that,” you whisper, voice trembling with need.

The little gasps and moans you let out spur him on. Nothing else feels so right, so electric, as being this deep inside you, your walls pulsing around him like they were made for each other.

“Just a little more…” you plead, voice breathless.

“I got you,” he promises, tightening his grip, holding you steady.

You feel so at home in his arms. You swear his arms were made for cuddling and fucking as well as lifting derailed trains and whatnot. 

And then, finally, you finish, knocking all the air out of you, every shudder and sigh a perfect, messy symphony of release.

His release comes soon after, but he doesn’t stop. Just keeps fucking you through your orgasm, the copious amount of cum he pumped inside of you, spilling out onto the sheets with each thrust.

“Love it when you cum inside,” you whisper breathlessly, your voice thick with desire.

He presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his lips warm and reassuring against your skin.

“I know,”

He slows to a stop, giving you a moment to blink repeatedly as you come back to yourself. Your heart’s still racing, limbs deliciously heavy, pussy pumped full but still wanting more. 

You knew this wasn’t the end of the night. Not even close.

Without pulling out of you, he gently positions you on your back, strong hands guiding you with a tenderness that makes your heart stutter.

“I want to see you,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent as he settles between your thighs, arms braced on either side of you, caging you in.

He starts kissing you everywhere he can reach. Your cheeks, your neck, the curve of your collarbone. Each touch of his lips is a promise.

“You’re…” he whispers against your skin, planting a kiss just below your ear.

“So…” another kiss, this time over your racing heartbeat, his voice growing huskier as his body moves with yours.

“Beautiful…” he breathes, looking into your eyes as he presses deeper.

His pace quickens as he moves against you, the tension building with every breath. It’s hard to hold back with you, but even now, even with the fire in his veins, the last thing he’d ever want to do is hurt you. His strength is immense, but his control? Unwavering.

His hand slides up to cradle your face, eyes locking with yours, vulnerable in a way only you ever get to see.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he whispers, voice thick with emotion.

He could stay like this forever. Filling you up, again and again and again. Watching you whimper your way through another orgasm. It was overwhelming in the best way. He was overtaken by you, by your body, by the way you moved with him like you were made just to fit together. He could hear your heartbeat fluctuate with every kiss, every shift, every whispered moan, and he caught it all.

Nothing hit him harder than the sound of you like this: breathless, aching, saying his name like a prayer.

He knew your body so well, all its secrets, all its tells. The way your breath hitched when his fingers grazed that one spot on your hip. The tremble in your voice when he took his time. The way your nails dug into his back when you were close.

When he shifts, angling his hips just right, a sharp cry escapes your lips before you can stop it, his name, raw and desperate, tearing from your throat as your fingers clutch the sheets beneath you.

“Clark… Clark… Clark!”

It’s the only word you can remember, the only one that matters, echoing between you like a mantra.

No wonder your neighbours were pissed. 

And the way he looks at you, utterly undone, you know he feels the same. 

“Don’t stop—please, I can’t—” you beg. He’s fucking you so good, you don’t know which way is up. The sound of your bed’s headboard hitting the wall repeatedly echoed through the room, a steady, rhythmic thud, and you bet there’s another dent forming. Which is a shame since Clark took the time to fix it the first time you both put a hole in the wall.

“That’s it, Clark…” you breathe out, voice trembling, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body arches into his.

“Wanna be so full…,” you whine, need thick in your voice, every inch of you aching for him, for more, for all of him. If you were being honest, you wanted his cum spilling out of you for weeks.

He groans at your words, the sound deep and rough in his throat, control hanging by a thread. “You will be,” he promises. As if to accentuate your promise, you feel his large hand press gently down on your stomach, like he needs to feel how deeply he’s a part of you. And it’s deep. 

“Just for you, Clark… just for you,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a breath as your toes curl and your body tightens around him, every nerve lit up and alive.

You’re so close, your body trembling, every breath coming in shallow gasps as the pressure builds, sharp and sweet.

“Clark…” you whimper, voice high and wrecked, so needy, so soft, so pathetic on your tongue, but it only makes his hold on you tighten.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin, “Let go for me.”

That’s all it takes for you to give in.  Your legs tremble as your climax washes over you in fierce waves, every nerve ignited and alive.

Feeling you tighten around him, he buries himself deep inside again, filling you up completely.

But again, this wasn’t the end of the night. You keep fucking into the early hours of the morning because Clark’s stamina is godly. 

But you had accomplished your mission. Gone were any thoughts of the day before. All the stress, the exhaustion. All that mattered now was this. You and he, melting into one another with ease, with familiarity, with a kind of quiet devotion that needed no words.

After each orgasm, Clark kissed your skin with a reverence that made your breath catch, like every inch of you deserved worship, like he was reminding himself you were real, here, his.

***

After the dust settles, you and Clark lie together, coming down from your highs. Clark ought to have tough days more often if it meant having sex like that.

“I don’t think we stayed all that quiet,” Clark murmurs, brushing his fingers through his tousled hair, the faintest blush still lingering on his cheeks.

You groan, flopping back onto the bed. “Yeah, my neighbours are going to kill me.”

“There must be an alternative,” he says thoughtfully. “My place?”

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. “And have your neighbours mad at you? No thanks. Let’s keep one of our reputations intact.”

You pause mid-stretch, then slowly sit up, pressing a finger to your chin as if putting on an imaginary thinking cap. A mischievous smile begins to tug at the corners of your lips, the kind that always made Clark just a little nervous.

“I know that look.”

“We could always…,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively. You both knew exactly where that sentence was going. 

Clark lifts a brow. “We can’t have sex in the sky all the time.”

You smirk. “Some of the time.”

 “Okay… some of the time,” he agrees. 

You lay back down and rest your chin on his chest, fingers idly tracing patterns on his bare chest. “What about your ice castle?”

“The Fortress?” he chuckles. “The flight there might be a little tough on you unless you want to land with frostbite.” He pauses, thinking. “Maybe we should look for somewhere with thicker walls, you know… together.”

You blink slowly, thinking, ‘Is this really happening?’

“Clark Kent,” you say slowly, voice full of suspicion and amusement, “is this your way of asking me to move in with you?”

“It is,” he answers resolutely. He’s only the slightest bit worried you were about to tell him to kick rocks, only slightly, totally not nervous at all. 

The thought of having a place that felt as much yours as it was his. Shared routines, quiet mornings, and loud nights made something warm bloom in your chest. An assortment of both your books scattered across the coffee table, indulging his love of breakfast for dinner when you cook together, waking up tangled beside one another, no longer needing to say goodbye.

You shuffle your way around, draping yourself lazily across his body, your chin resting on his chest. “I’d love to move in with you.”

Clark’s eyes soften instantly. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” you say, grinning. “And I think that calls for a celebration.”

You slide back on top of him, straddling his waist again with a wicked smile.

He laughs, breathless. “You’re insatiable,” he says, right before pulling you back in for another kiss, arms wrapping securely around your waist.

“Wait, what about the pie? We could celebrate with that,” Clark says innocently.

“The pie? In bed?” you smirk, tilting your head. “What exactly are you planning to do to me, Clark?”

His eyes widen a little. “You know that’s not what I meant… I actually don’t even know what you’re insinuating—”

You shut him up with a kiss, slow and hot, fingers sliding into his hair. “We’ll eat it after,” you whisper against his lips.

“Dessert before dessert. Got it.”

Main Masterlist

[thatonegrimm]

Hey there! I'd love to make a request! :D

We have the Saja Boys' reaction to the reader singing Soda Pop (loved it btw ^-^). But, how would they react (separately) if they heard them singing one of HUNTR/X songs instead? (maybe the ones about hunting demons?) Would they hate it? Be jealous? Hype them up?

(On another note, I absolutely love your writing! <3)

Thank you for the request! Honestly I'm so obsessed with this song. Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys x Reader Singing— How It's Done

-----------------------

🧿 Jinu 

You were folding laundry and casually singing under your breath—except “casual” turned into full-on Huntrix mode by the time you hit the second chorus.

“Huntrix, show this, how it’s done, done, done!”

Jinu froze in the hallway with a mug in hand, mid-sip, watching you full-perform the last two lines with dramatic finger-pointing and some admittedly impressive attitude.

“…Wow,” he said slowly. “That’s, um… that’s not Soda Pop.”

You blinked. “What? It’s just Huntrix. I love this song.”

He cleared his throat. “I noticed. You—uh—growled at the sock pile.”

You laughed, still swaying. “C’mon, it’s empowering! Don’t tell me you’re intimidated.”

“No,” he lied. “Of course not.”

You sauntered up to him, leaning in just enough to whisper the “mirror mirror on my phone, who’s the baddest?” line into his ear.

He blushed to the tips of his ears, almost dropped the tea, and muttered, “Okay. A little intimidated.”

But later that night, you caught him trying to hum the chorus to himself. He denied it.

-----------------------

💪 Abby 

Abby was in the middle of a workout when he heard it.

Your voice—from the other room—blasting through the verse with terrifying confidence:

“I don’t talk but I bite, full of venom (UH!)”

He paused his reps. Blinked.

And then you strutted in, mid-chorus, holding a brush like a mic and mouthing “Huntrix, don’t miss—how it’s done, done, done!”

He dropped his dumbbell.

“BABE!!” he beamed. “IS THAT HUNTRIX?!”

You blinked, slightly startled. “Yeah?”

He clapped like a proud stage mom. “OH MY GOD. DO IT AGAIN. From the top! I’ll do backup! Wait—wait—” He grabbed his water bottle like it was a lightstick.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” you laughed.

“C’monnnn! Hit the post-chorus!”

You gave in. He did your echo ad-libs with way too much enthusiasm.

You: “Run, run, we run the town—” Abby: “RUN, RUN, WE RUNNIN’!!” You: “Huntrix don’t miss!” Abby: “THEY NEVER MISS!!”

Later, he whispered, “I’m still your biggest fan, even if you do sound like you could assassinate a man in heels.”

-----------------------

📚 Mystery 

You didn’t even realize he was there. You were alone in the common room, headphones in, body swaying as you sang under your breath… which gradually turned into a near whisper-growl by the bridge:

“Making fear afraid to breathe… ‘til the dark meets the light…”

Mystery stood in the hallway. Motionless.

He tilted his head.

You were beautiful, focused, glowing—an entire storm in soft clothes and sleepy morning light.

And the lyrics?

You were singing about ending people.

He blinked slowly. Stayed quiet.

Later that night, he appeared next to you on the couch, handed you a mug of hot cocoa, and said with a straight face:

“…So. You’d kill for fun?”

You laughed. “What? No! It’s just the song.”

He nodded. “It suits you.”

Then he quietly pulled out his earbuds and played the instrumental for you to sing again.

Didn’t even smile.

Just closed his eyes while you sang like a woman born for the throne.

-----------------------

💋 Romance 

You were getting ready in the mirror, singing into your lip gloss applicator with zero shame:

“Fit check for my napalm era—mirror, mirror on my phone, who’s the baddest?”

You turned and nearly ran into Romance standing right there.

He had his arms crossed, brow raised, and the most fake-offended pout on his lips.

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“You’re singing a Huntrix anthem while I’m right here? No love song? Not even a sexy ballad?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not that deep.”

“Oh, it’s deep,” he muttered, fake-dramatic. “Betrayal. In stereo.”

You smirked and sang the next line directly to him, extra sassy.

He paused. Then sighed. “You’re way too hot when you sing that.”

He leaned in close, nose brushing yours. “But if you ever join Huntrix, I will seduce every member out of revenge.”

“Good luck with Zoey.”

He paused. “…Fair.”

-----------------------

🔥 Baby

You didn’t even see him at first.

You were vibing alone in the studio lounge, phone in hand, blasting the chorus:

“Huntrix show this, how it’s done, done, done!”

You nailed the flow. Full volume. Swag and all.

Then you turned.

Baby was standing by the fridge, sipping banana milk like he hadn’t just heard your entire concert.

You blinked. “How long have you been standing there?”

He shrugged. “Long enough to hear you say ‘you run the town.’”

You raised a brow. “Jealous?”

“No.” Pause. “But if I wrote a diss track and dropped it next week, it’s your fault.”

You laughed. “You’d lose.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I love you, but Rumi would eat you alive.”

He dramatically gasped. “Say that to my fireball.”

Later, he came back with a scribbled rap verse titled: “Fire Eats Glam.”

You asked if he was okay. He said, “I’m better than okay. I’m petty.”

You kissed his cheek. He blushed.

“…Still gonna finish the track, though.”

-----------------------

M-List

[kaiser1ns]

#. A LONG-AWAITED DREAM

featuring 𝗷𝗶𝗻𝘂 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗶𝗱𝗼𝗹 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗻!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff + slight angst. you disappeared like a nightmare, but returned like a dream. he should forget you… but all he wants is to remember.

THE SHOOTING STAR you had been famous in the demon world many centuries ago. you were good at it, too good, flawless. maybe that’s why you were the favorite, a pawn polished till you stood alone, a weapon more than a somebody. but you made yourself disappear without a trace, leaving no one to remember you, not even the mighty demon king, who does little to recall someone who bears his mark.

you saw the sajas again. mostly because you were elbow-deep in demon guts at the time. yes, you, a demon, killing your own kind. the betrayal was heavy, just like the marks on your skin that you can’t erase, but you’ve long since cut ties with gwima and anything even mildly infernal. it’s been... what? two centuries? you stopped counting after ten years when you decided pretending to be human and saving souls was a better use of your immortality. it was long enough that even gwima doesn’t bother remembering you, not when he’s got new toys to parade around.

idol during the day, a soul-saving demon during the night.

you felt the energy of the five grim reaper boys, and panicked,  you ditched the scene, hiding in the shadows before any of them noticed. classic you, but the problem is, someone noticed you this time.

jinu. you have seen him before, or rather, you know him. of course, you do, since he’s older, technically your superior. he helped train you when you were just a newbie, back when your job description involved feeding souls to a gluttonous, egomaniacal demon king like it was a buffet. now he’s behind you. trailing like a lost kid at a mall who is crying for his mother, asking questions you didn’t ask for. 

“do you not hear him in your ear? do you not feel any shame, pain, regret?”

okay philosopher jinu, calm down. he wants to know how you did it. how you broke free from him, the one who wraps shame around souls like a curse masked as a vlessing. and you just want to know what the hell he’s doing here when his band is performing right after you. he’s cute, though. nostalgic, but you don’t have time for that. don’t have time for the past.

you blink, acting like you don't know what he's talking about.  "no, but i do hear the countdown to my performance in like... 30 seconds. so if you'll excuse me. see you, old man."

“excuse me? old man—hey!” he grabs your wrist like he forgot you're stronger than you look. your markings glow, purplish hues pulsing on your skin. eyes flashing gold from the sudden touch. you whip your head around, and that’s when he really sees you.

you look human, almost human. but your smile? oh, your smile screams devil in disguise. there’s something new in you, not darkness, but light. you smile like you tasted freedom and liked it. you have changed. his grip tightens, trying to keep you here, because he feels it, knows it. he remembers those eyes. they were made to take souls, but now… they burn with life.

“i’m not going anywhere, jinu” you say, calm and too perfect for someone with blood on their resume. “i’ll see you later, okay?”

he lets go, slowly, like something inside him just twists, and it wasn't from pain. it was something like the freedom he was seeking. he cleared his throat, shoved his hands into his jeans like he's a high schooler trying to look cool infront of his crush.

"break a leg then, sunbaenim," he mutters with a massive eye roll and a smirk that says i’m definitely going to bring this up again later.

“will do,” you wink, already walking off, refusing to glance back. “also say hi to the others, i’m sure abby misses me~”

MEMENTO MORI jinu watches you take the stage. the crowd erupts in screams and cheers the moment you appear. of course you have control here too. but it wasn’t built from doing dirty work, not anymore. not with blood on your hands or shame in your soul. you earned by rebuilding yourself.

he wants to forget everything; he wants his memories gone—burned, buried, erased. but you’re here now… have you always been here? have you always been more human than demon?

it’s like you died and were reborn. a wish from a shooting star, someone who escaped the endless maze, found the missing piece of the puzzle, and embraced their sins. he glances at his hands, and his own shame marks flicker in that same violet hue.

then you sing... and your voice? angelic. a complete betrayal of what you are. of what you used to be.

jinu clenches his fists and storms toward your dressing room. he doesn't know why he is doing something like this. as he enters, two familiar figures appear from the floor: a charming blue tiger and a three-eyed magpie bird, who is already wearing the tiger’s hat, again.

he pats the tiger’s head, and it purrs. then he pulls a blue envelope out of nowhere and places it gently into the tiger’s mouth. “wait for her, alright? she can resist me, but not you.” the tiger blinked, as it turned its head to the side, confused but listening and just going to fulfill the order. “be nice to her.”

and then he’s gone, off to prep for his performance.

GOTTA GO UNDER THE FULL MOON the show was over, and you kept killing it with your two new songs, “gotta go” and “full moon,” hit every note, every move, every soul, even the camera angle. don’t you love it when the cameraman knows how to do his job? give this man a rise. also the cover you chose? already trending, probably breaking the internet with edits. and the fans? oh, you adored them. pure, kind, unsuspecting humans, exactly the kind of souls you’d sworn to protect now, not harvest.

you walked into your dressing room, humming the last chorus under your breath, towel over your neck, heart still pounding, and you … freeze.

“did your master send you here?” you ask, staring at the unexpected visitors lounging on your couch like they are vips. a familiar blue tiger with big yellow eyes and a bird wearing the cat that was not his. “some habits never change, huh?” you kneel and scratch under the cat’s chin, it purrs like old times.

you missed them, only them. not him or the whole demon population. especially not the world you'd burned behind you.

then the cat padded forward and dropped something from its mouth. you blinked in surprise. a blue card? you picked it up and flipped it open.

“when the full moon rises, come see me.” – jinu

“is he out of his damn mind?!” you shouted, immediately followed by a guilty whisper after seeing how the two companions reacted. the cat blinks slowly, while the bird flaps twice in judgment. “sorry.”

you didn’t know why he wanted to see you. didn’t want to. what could he possibly want now? answers? closure? to poke at how you escaped? to ask again how you broke free from the grip of the demon king?

you don’t know, really don’t. it just happened.

all you remember is the hunter. the one who didn’t kill you. who saw your monstrous form and still spared you. who fought alongside you when you were still learning what it meant to want something other than power. maybe it was a blessing, or pure luck. maybe it was her.

you sighed, scribbled something on a small piece of paper, folded it neatly. “open,” you told the cat, and it obediently opened its mouth like a well-trained mailbox, as you tucked the paper in. “it was nice seeing you two. visit me next time without his creepy invitations, okay?”

except, you did end up going, because tonight was the full moon.

he’s sitting on a rock by the sea, waves crashing dramatically when you sneak up behind him. “nice spot. you come here often?” jinu screams, squealing like a little girl. “jeez, don’t do that ever again,” he groans, hand clutching his chest like the old man he is. “i was this close to becoming fish food.”

you laugh. can’t help it, because he’s the same even if he looks human. till handsome, still annoying. still... jinu.

"the moon’s beautiful tonight, isn't it?" he says, as you stand beside him, watching him gaze at the moon instead of looking at you. you hated how soft his features looked under the moonlight. hated that this felt right. then he turned to you, and like a coward, you looked away. it’s awkward. you both know what’s unsaid, both feel it burning beneath your skin like a song stuck on repeat. but you can’t say anything, not when gwima might still be watching.

so you talk about your career instead. your music, your fandom’s weird ship names with famous male actors. he seemed genuinely interested until he disappeared mid-sentence. you were smart enough to suspect something, just not fast enough to dodge the surprise wave of cold seawater he splashed on you from behind.

"what the hell—jinu?!" you yell, and he grins. "revenge is a dish best served wet."

“that’s not even how the saying goes!”

but you're already chasing him, splashing back, laughing like it’s 200 years ago and nothing even matters. knee-deep in the water, as you chase him while little cold waves hit your legs, and you laughed, he laughed harder. 

somehow, you ended up in his arms. you don’t know how you got in this position. giggles, flushed cheeks, eyes too close, lips too close. no need for words right now because your eyes are talking. the obvious three words feel special tonight. why is my heart beating so fast? when the full moon rises, you should give it all. it’s the perfect time for whispering love.

you're leaning in, so close. and then it struck. twelve o’clock. a silent bell tolled in your chest. you pulled away. what were you even thinking? you can’t be honest past this point.

his hands tighten just slightly. he doesn’t want to let you go. and you don’t either. but you have to. placing your hands on his chest, gently pushing him. he got the hint, and let you down, just like his hopes…like the dream he held for too long when it was just another illusion created to satisfy him for even a little while.

"i’m sorry, jinu..." he smiles. it doesn’t reach his eyes, and you see right through it. reaching for his hand, you squeeze it hard to reassure him it is going to be okay, but you are not the one to help him, you just can’t. "you’ll find your salvation. i promise."

and then you smile at him one more time before you vanish, teleporting when his hand reaches again for you, out of pure instinct, alas, you are already gone.

he stands alone under the moonlight, sea wind tousling his hair, eyes locked on the path of silver stretching across the waves. beyond that horizon, there’s another world out there where you meet again. there’s another world where you’re both free in his long-awaited dream.

BONUS cut to five saja boys sitting frozen on the couch in their dressing room. watching the tv with mouths wide open in shock, their souls leaving their bodies in slow motion. you’re on the screen, performing a cover of adult ceremony by park jiyoon. long and tight dress made of black silk, high heels ready to step on them. eyes glowing gold, lips tinted with red as the camera does a close-up and you wink. ending fairy style, the entire nation stops breathing. 

“did…did she just–” romance was too stunned to speak, and baby stole the remote from him. “shut up, and rewind it.” the saja boys are not okay. they’re in awe, terrified, fanboying. they need to collab with you immediately. but will you let them? will you let jinu be close to you once again?

taglist: @seneon @y2kuromi @maruflix @irethepotato @justanindiangirl12 @zuhaeri @levifiance @amery-benson-cvii @ririrenni3 @tsukimoon-chan (sorry if i missed someone; please let me know if you'd like to be added to the general kpdh taglist!)

©2025 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[girlinterupptedsblog]

☆Rafe been trying to get you alone for too long and now that he had he wont let that go

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Kook Princess!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (thigh riding, humping, finger sucking, public sex, risk of being caught, praise kink, light degradation kink, rough teasing, obsession, alcohol mention), tension, toxic dynamic, language, possessiveness, slight age difference (reader is slightly younger), reader is a "spoiled Kook girl"

Hard to Get

Rafe was used to getting what he wanted.

Every girl in Figure Eight had, at one point, fallen into his bed, his arms, his charm, or his bullshit—whichever came first. He didn’t even have to try anymore. Just a half-drunken smirk, a cigarette held between his lips, and maybe the flash of his car keys—done. They were all his.

But you.

The one spoiled, untouchable Kook girl he couldn't get his hands on.

You were a problem. A brat. You didn't need to chase anything—especially not someone like Rafe. And that made him go crazy.

He’d been texting you for months. Double texts. Triple. Left on read. Left on delivered. Half of your replies were sarcastic, some were flat out dismissive, and others were almost flirtatious. Just enough to keep him crawling.

You answered his calls sometimes. Usually late at night when you were bored or wine-drunk in your bedroom. He’d talk. You’d yawn, laugh, tell him to “go fuck Sarah’s friends or something,” and hang up.

Still, he kept pushing.

You’d catch him watching you at the club, at the beach, at parties. Cornering you randomly—in grocery store aisles, outside your car at the country club, once even at your family’s dock. All awkward, loaded small talk. He’d look pissed, nervous, and turned on all at once. You were killing him.

Tonight was.

Big Kook party. Someone’s mansion. Booze. Music. Heat. Lights. You were bored again, wearing something short and tight and designer. You wandered upstairs. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere no one would follow.

Except Rafe.

He’d watched you slip up the stairs like a mirage. He waited a minute. Two. Then followed. Quiet.

You were in the library. A ridiculous, oversized room with floor-to-ceiling books, dim lamps, and a plush armchair in the corner. You had your shoes off, legs crossed, scrolling on your phone like you didn’t know you just made the biggest mistake of the night.

The door creaked.

You looked up. And there he was.

Tall, cocky, flushed from drinking, but eyes locked in on you like a sniper.

Your lips parted. You didn’t say a word.

He stepped inside. Click.

He locked the door.

Your eyes flicked to it. You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Seriously?”

He smiled, walking slow toward you. “You’ve been runnin’ for months.”

“I haven’t been running. Just not interested.”

“Yeah?” he whispered. “Then why are you always there… teasing me, starin’ at me like you want me to ruin your fuckin’ life?”

You laughed softly, biting your nail. “Get in line.”

That made something snap.

He lunged before you could blink, his hand pressing beside your head as he hovered over you, his other hand gripping your thigh—your bare, smooth, tanned thigh. “Don’t play with me tonight. I finally got you alone.”

Your breath caught. The heat hit instantly. The danger, the risk, the tension you pretended not to feel. All of it exploded the second his mouth was near yours.

“You gonna scream?” he smirked. “Get us caught?”

You stared at him, heart thumping. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear.

“I’ll make you beg before the song downstairs even ends.”

His mouth crashed into yours like gasoline to a match—violent, desperate, starved. Your back hit the shelf as his hands roamed down your body.

Your fingers clawed at his hair, pulling him deeper into you, gasping when he grabbed your thigh and pulled it over his hip. “Fucking finally,” he growled, rutting his hard length against your panties.

“You’ve been such a fuckin’ brat,” he muttered into your neck, “doin’ all that teasing—wearing shit like this—acting like you don’t want me.”

You whimpered as he slid you against the shelf, grinding into your core. The friction made you dizzy. Your skirt rode up. He held your ass tight in his palms, rutting hard and slow. “Been jerking off thinkin’ about this for months.”

“Should’ve tried harder,” you teased breathlessly.

That earned you a slap to your thigh—not painful, just enough to sting and shock you. “Try harder?” he echoed, eyes wild. “You’re up here in a fuckin’ thong at a party, hidin’ in a library, and I’m the one who should’ve tried harder?”

He dropped to his knees, pushing your skirt up, licking a hot line from your knee to your inner thigh, smirking when your breathing changed.

“Gonna ride my thigh like a desperate little bitch?”

Your eyes fluttered shut. That dirty mouth. That voice. That heat.

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll fuck you after.”

He sat in the plush armchair, spreading his legs wide. “Come here. Show me how bad you want it.”

You climbed on, straddling his thigh, your wet core grinding down against his jeans. He groaned instantly, gripping your hips, guiding your movements.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. Rub that spoiled little cunt all over me.”

You gasped, rutting harder. It was insane how fast he got you there—how intense it was. Every friction, every little bounce sent a shiver up your spine.

Rafe watched, hypnotized. He’d imagined this so many times—your lip caught between your teeth, your pretty face flushed and desperate, riding him like you hated him.

He grabbed your face. “You get off on this, huh? Being such a fuckin’ tease all year just to act like a slut behind a locked door?”

You moaned at that, grinding faster. “F-fuck you—”

“You will,” he rasped. “But first—”

He shoved his fingers into your mouth. “Suck.”

You did. Messy. Obedient. Desperate. His eyes rolled back. He pulled them out and shoved them under your panties, right into your slick folds. “Goddamn,” he whispered, “so wet for me already.”

His fingers worked fast—stroking that spot inside you while his thumb circled your clit. Your head dropped to his shoulder, moaning in his ear.

“You’re gonna come on my fingers, princess,” he whispered, kissing your neck, “and then I’m gonna bend you over that desk and fuck you till you forget your fuckin’ name.”

“Someone could hear us,” you gasped.

“Then they’ll see what happens when you make me wait this long.”

Your thighs trembled. You were so close, right on the edge, hips grinding into him like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

Rafe groaned, biting your shoulder. “That’s it. Come for me. Be my perfect little mess.”

Crying out into his neck as your whole body clenched around his fingers.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, ruined, he grinned like the devil.

“We’re not done.”

His eyes flicked to the desk.

“You think that was the reward for making me chase you?”

He stood, unbuckling his belt, voice like silk and fire.

“That was the punishment.”

[ilovemarvel97]

Written in Our Souls - Part 16

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Y/N wakes up at Hydra’s base. 

Word Count: 7,983

Warnings: angst, mention of blood, mention of torture, mention of experiment, little graphic content. 

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Previously:

“She’s still alive,” Wanda gasped. “I can feel her—Bruce, please—don’t let her die.”

Bruce hesitated for the briefest moment, then met Nat’s eyes. “We need to keep Wanda stable. But if what she’s saying is true, we need to find Y/N now.”

“I’ll tell Tony,” Nat said, still cradling Wanda. Her gaze shifted to the door where Vision had stood seconds ago—but he was gone.

Vanished.

And that was all the confirmation Nat needed.

---

Thirty minutes earlier.

Y/N woke to a blinding light above her and the sharp sting of restraints biting into her wrists and ankles. The metallic scent in the air made her stomach turn. A quick scan of her surroundings confirmed her worst suspicion, she was in a lab. Cold, sterile, clinical. The hum of machines filled the silence, and she was strapped to a surgical bed, wires connected to her arms, chest, even her temples.

“Ah. Sleeping beauty’s awake.”

The voice came from the corner of the room. A man in a white coat stepped into view, clipboard in hand, eyes gleaming with cruel fascination.

“I was wondering when the infamous Y/N would rejoin us,” he said, his smile too wide, too calm. “Don’t worry, you’re not dead. Not yet.”

She didn’t answer, just stared at him with cold defiance in her eyes. The ache in her side told her she hadn’t imagined getting shot. Her body had started healing — slowly — but the sluggishness in her limbs told her something wasn’t right.

“We’ve always been curious about you,” the man continued, circling her like she was some kind of experiment. “Both super speed and super strength? That’s… quite the anomaly.”

Her jaw clenched. “You’re not getting anything out of me.”

“Oh, we don’t need you to talk. Not yet.” He tapped the screen on a monitor showing her vitals, then flipped to a different display — one showing strands of genetic data. “Your body will tell us what we need to know. Eventually.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You still didn’t answer my question.”

He blinked. “What question?”

She lifted her head slightly, just enough to show she was still fighting. “How’d you make the speed blocker? That tech shouldn’t exist.”

The man grinned, stepping closer.

“Oh, that? That was a gift. From your very own teammate.”

Y/N’s heart stopped. “What?”

He crouched beside her, as if sharing a secret. “Vision. Brilliant, really. Said he’d had enough of you stealing his Wanda. Said he’d give us just enough to slow you down. Said he’d make sure you’d be right where we wanted you.”

Y/N felt like the breath had been ripped from her lungs.

Vision.

He did this.

The burn in her chest wasn’t just the pain from the bullets — it was betrayal. A betrayal so sharp it cut through every bone.

The man stood again, brushing off his coat as he moved back to the console beside her. His fingers danced across the keys, eyes flicking up to meet hers with a sick smile.

“And now, with you here, we can begin extracting everything. Strength. Speed. DNA. All of it.”

Y/N stared at him, jaw tight. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to help you.”

“Oh, but you already are,” he said with a chuckle, motioning to the wires snaking from her body to the machines. “These are pulling from your bloodstream, scanning every strand of your genetic code. Your body is a living miracle of evolution. Something the serum never achieved. We’ll fix that.”

“You don’t even understand what you’re dealing with,” she said coldly. “If you think you can copy what I am, you’re gonna kill yourselves trying.”

The man shrugged, unbothered. “Sacrifices are always necessary for progress. Pain is temporary. Legacy… is eternal.”

Y/N shook her head, pulling against the restraints despite the fire in her limbs. “That why you’ve been chasing ghosts for decades? Injecting people with poison and hoping for miracles?”

His smile thinned.

“I’ll give you credit,” he said. “You’ve lasted longer than most. But we’ll see how long that strength holds when we start taking pieces.”

He nodded to someone outside Y/N’s view. A mechanical arm began to whir to life above her — long, silver, and wickedly sharp.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest. “You’ll never get away with this.”

The Hydra doctor laughed again — soft, chilling, almost amused.

“Oh, we already have. You’re alone. No one’s coming. And if they do, they’ll be too late.”

Y/N’s voice dropped, quiet but deadly. “My team will find me. And when they do, you won’t even have time to scream.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Let’s start before that, then.”

He stood, taking a scalpel from a tray and turning it slowly between his fingers. The overhead surgical lights glinted off the blade, cold and sterile.

“Let’s see how long it takes for you to heal.”

Y/N’s body tensed against the restraints.

Without warning, the doctor pressed the scalpel to her chest—just beneath her collarbone—and dragged it downward, slicing through skin with practiced cruelty. Blood welled instantly, and Y/N gasped, her jaw tightening against the scream that tried to tear free.

He only smiled. “Fascinating. That reaction time… Even under sedation, your pain response is accelerated. Remarkable.”

Y/N bit down hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her scream. Her vision blurred for a moment, pain radiating out through her ribs like fire.

“I can’t wait to see what happens when we dig deeper,” the man said, stepping back to observe the slowly forming wound. “But I’m curious… why hasn’t it started to heal?”

Y/N’s breath shuddered. The answer came to her in a terrifying wave.

The blocker.

They were using it again—keeping her system suppressed, her cells confused, sluggish. Her healing couldn’t work fast enough like this.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the man said, almost gleeful. “Yes, we’ve maintained the inhibitor field. It’s crude, but effective. Gifted by your beloved teammate, of course.”

Y/N’s eyes burned, rage breaking through the pain. “You’re going to regret this,” she whispered.

The doctor leaned in close, his breath sour. “Maybe. But first, I’m going to take you apart piece by piece… until there’s nothing left to save.”

He straightened. “Increase the sedation. I want her awake, but barely.”

A technician moved beside her, adjusting a dial on one of the machines. Y/N’s limbs grew heavier, the edges of her vision darker.

But her heart, even through the haze of pain, beat with one truth.

Wanda.

Not just her name — her everything. Her anchor. Her light. The only thing keeping Y/N from giving in to the darkness curling at the edge of her mind.

And yet…

She hoped Wanda wouldn’t feel this.

Not this agony. Not this helplessness. Not the cold sting of blood or the fire under her skin.

Please… not this time, Y/N pleaded silently, clutching at the bond as if she could shield Wanda from it. Let her be safe. Let her be calm. Let the bond protect her.

If there was any mercy left in the universe, Y/N didn’t want Wanda to feel her pain. Not while she was carrying their child. Not when she’d already been through so much.

Let it be mine to bear.

The doctor’s voice echoed faintly, distant now through the fog.

“Still awake? Good. I want you awake when we map your nervous system next.”

Y/N didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

All her energy, all her willpower — it wasn’t going toward escaping.

It was going toward protecting Wanda through the bond.

Even if it cost her everything.

---

Present

Wanda jolted upright on the medbay bed with a sudden, strangled cry.

Monitors spiked. Her body arched with the intensity of the pain that didn’t belong to her — but was felt like it did. Her hands gripped the sheets, glowing red with uncontrollable energy.

Bruce was at her side in an instant. “Wanda, easy! Easy, you're okay—just breathe. You're safe.”

“I’m not—she’s not,” Wanda gasped out, clutching her chest. Her vision blurred, not from sedation, but from panic — from the searing agony that bled through the bond. “Y/N… she’s hurting again. She’s—” her voice cracked, “she’s trying to block it from me.”

Bruce frowned and reached for another sedative. “You need to stay calm, Wanda. For your sake. For the twins.”

“I can’t calm down, Bruce! She’s in pain! They’re doing something to her!” Wanda's magic flared violently, rattling instruments across the med bay.

Vision phase back into the med bay. Seeing Wanda in distress again, he tilts his head in confusion. “What is happening to her?” he asked, voice cold but seemingly perplexed. 

“Where did you go?” Bruce ask.

Vision ignores the question, his eyes on Wanda. “She is reacting as though physically injured… but there are no wounds.”

Bruce turned to him, eyes narrowing. “She’s bonded, Vision. Soul-bonded. She’s feeling Y/N’s pain.”

Vision blinked, head ticking slightly to the side. “That… doesn’t make sense. Pain through emotional resonance? That isn’t scientifically valid.”

“Neither is a name appearing on your wrist when you're sixteen,” Natasha snapped from the doorway. She’d returned, silent and sharp, watching Wanda with concern. “But it’s real. And you knew it. You just didn’t want to believe it.”

Vision’s gaze flicked from Bruce to Wanda. “But why now? Why this much pain? What is she feeling?”

Wanda’s voice was barely audible, a whisper laced with tears. “They’re cutting her. They’re hurting her.”

Bruce stiffened. “Jesus…”

“She’s trying to protect me,” Wanda sobbed. “She’s trying to hide it through the bond so I don’t feel it. But I do. I feel everything.”

Her hands trembled violently as she pressed both palms to her belly, trying to ground herself, trying to hold on.

“I have to find her,” she said, breathless, as if the decision alone could undo the pain. “Bruce, I have to find her.”

As Wanda gritted her teeth against the next wave of pain, Bruce adjusted the monitor beside her, lowering the sound as both fetal heartbeats spiked again in response to her distress.

The soft thump-thump of two tiny lives filled the air, steady and strong despite the chaos. Wanda’s hand rested protectively on her stomach, her fingers glowing faintly red as if she could shield them from the world.

Vision’s eyes flicked to the screen.

He froze.

For a moment, no one said anything.

Then his head turned sharply toward Bruce, then Wanda. “That… that’s not possible.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “It’s very possible. And very real.”

Vision took a step forward, mechanical eyes locked on the twin heartbeats. “And there are two!?” he said, as if speaking it aloud would undo the truth. “She’s pregnant with twins?”

Wanda didn’t look at him. Her voice was low. “Yes.”

Vision’s face didn’t move, but something in his posture—rigid, twitching—fractured. “You were cheating on Y/N too? I knew the bond is fake-“

Wanda didn’t flinch. She just stared at the monitor, at the two steady pulses of life beating in time with her own grief. “They’re Y/N’s,” she said again, stronger this time. “These babies are hers.”

Vision scoffed, a short, hollow sound. “You were cheating on her too, then? You proved me right. That bond between you—it was never real. Just... chemicals and fantasy. That’s all soulmates are.”

Wanda’s eyes snapped to him, red burning beneath the green. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know enough,” he shot back. “I know soulmates are just a myth built around a biological coincidence. Names on wrists? Genetic branding. Nothing more. And Y/N—she used that mark to manipulate you. You were vulnerable. Conflicted. She saw her chance.”

“You don’t get to talk about her,” Wanda growled. “She didn’t manipulate me. She didn’t pressure me. She didn’t make me feel trapped.”

“Oh please,” Vision said, his voice rising. “Even if what you feel is real, this—” He gestured violently at the monitor, at the twin heartbeats. “—this doesn’t make sense. It’s not scientifically possible. Y/N is a woman. She can’t—she shouldn’t be able to—”

“Yes, she’s a woman,” Wanda snapped, cutting him off with a glare that could have turned steel to ash. “And that’s where I can prove to you the power of soulmates.”

Vision stilled.

“This,” Wanda said, pressing a hand to her abdomen, to the twin heartbeats strong and steady beneath her skin, “shouldn’t be possible by your logic. But it is. Because what we have—what soulmates have—isn’t just biology. It’s something greater. Deeper.”

Vision shook his head, grasping for rationale. “That’s not how reproduction works.”

“You don’t understand because you never wanted to,” Wanda said. Her voice wavered, not from weakness—but from emotion, from truth. “Y/N and I... we are bonded in a way even you with all your data and your stone could never grasp. When our wrists burned the day we met, it wasn’t chemical. It was fate.”

She took a breath, trembling. “And when we loved, it was with everything. My powers, her soul. That connection allowed this to happen. The babies are a miracle born from that bond. My magic didn’t override it—it answered it.”

Bruce stood silently by, absorbing every word, while Vision remained frozen, a machine faced with something he couldn’t calculate.

“After Y/N joined the team, you spent all your time trying to control me, to dissect me, to own me,” Wanda continued, her tone like fire and thunder. “Y/N just... held me. Loved me. And through that love, something impossible became real.”

She stepped closer, eyes glowing faintly now, magic rising beneath her skin.

“You don’t get to question that. You don’t get to belittle it. You’re the anomaly here, Vision. Not her.”

Vision stared at her, then at the monitor again, the twin heartbeats still echoing strong in the room.

And for the first time since Wanda met him, he had no words at all.

Vision remained frozen, struggling to reconcile everything Wanda had said. But before he could gather a response, Natasha’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade.

“You want proof?” she said sharply, stepping between Vision and Wanda. “You want something measurable? Fine.”

She rolled up the sleeve of her jacket and held out her wrist. Etched there, elegant and unmistakable, was one name, 

Maria.

“You see this?” Nat’s voice cracked, emotion tightening her chest. “I’ve had this name since I was sixteen. I didn’t even meet her until years later. And when I did… it was like something in the universe clicked. Like I’d been holding my breath for a decade without knowing it.”

Vision’s eyes flicked to the name, impassive, but watching.

Nat’s hands trembled slightly as she ran her fingers over the name. “You don’t believe in bonds that go deeper than data? Then watch this.”

She closed her eyes, panic rising in her chest. Real, raw panic.

Please, she thought, pressing her palm to the name on her wrist. Please, Maria. Come. Just tell me you feel this—

And then—

Her phone rang.

Everyone in the room jumped.

Nat fumbled it out of her pocket with shaking hands. On the screen,

Maria Hill.

She answered immediately.

“Nat?” Maria’s voice was frantic, terrified. “What’s going on? Are you okay? I felt something—I couldn’t breathe for a second, I—where are you? I’m coming right now—”

“I’m okay,” Nat said quickly, swallowing back the lump in her throat. “I’m okay. I just… I needed to hear your voice.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Maria said without hesitation. “I don’t care where you are. I’m coming.”

The call ended, and Nat stared at the screen for a moment before looking back at Vision.

“That’s what a soulmate bond is,” she said softly, but with steel in her voice. “It’s not wires or circuits or cold logic. It’s connection. It’s love. Something you never really had with Wanda.”

Wanda’s gaze flicked to Nat, gratitude in her teary eyes. Vision said nothing.

But his silence spoke volumes.

Wanda’s breath hitched—then a cry tore from her throat as another wave of pain rolled through her body, raw and sharp. Her hand flew to her abdomen, magic crackling red at her fingertips. The monitors spiked.

Bruce rushed back to her side. “Her heart rate’s spiking—we need to stabilize her, now!”

But Wanda didn’t seem to hear him. She gritted her teeth, tears streaking down her cheeks. “It’s Y/N,” she gasped. “She’s hurting. I can feel it—oh God, it’s bad—”

Vision took a step back, watching her fall apart, seeing it all now—the tremble in her voice, the glow of the magic, the way her body was instinctively shielding their children.

His mistake.

He turned to face them fully. His voice was quiet, almost hollow.

“I made a mistake.”

Nat’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I gave Hydra the technology,” Vision said. “The dampener. I told them how to suppress Y/N’s speed. I thought—” He paused, struggling. “I thought if she was out of the way, Wanda would see clearly. Without the soulmate bond… without her influence... I thought she would come back to me.”

The room went silent. Even the monitors seemed to hush in the aftermath of his words.

Wanda stared at him, shaking her head slowly. “You… you gave me to them,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “And you gave her to them. You let them take us.”

“I didn’t think they would go that far,” Vision said, his voice desperate now. “I just wanted—”

“You just wanted to own me,” she snarled, eyes glowing red. “You wanted to erase my bond with her. You betrayed me.”

Nat stepped forward, fury simmering behind her eyes. “Where is she, Vision? Where the hell did you send Y/N?”

“I—I don’t know where they took her,” he admitted. “Only that Hydra said they’d handle it discreetly. I didn’t ask questions.”

Bruce grabbed the edge of the med bay table to steady himself. “Jesus Christ…”

Wanda clutched her belly tighter, her whole body trembling. “She’s going to die… because of you.”

Vision took another step forward, but Nat blocked him.

“Don’t,” she said coldly. “You don’t get to touch her. You don’t get near her. Not ever again.”

And Wanda, despite the pain, raised her head and stared Vision down.

“I don’t care what it takes,” she whispered. “I will find her. And when I do… you better pray she forgives me, because I will never forgive you.”

After a minute of silence, the med bay doors burst open with a loud slam, making Bruce flinch and Vision stiffen.

“Natasha?!”

Maria Hill’s voice rang through the room, sharp and breathless. She rushed in, still half in tactical gear, her hair damp from the rain outside and her earpiece forgotten somewhere along the way.

Nat turned at the sound, barely managing a step before Maria closed the distance and wrapped her up in a tight, shaking hug.

“I felt it,” Maria whispered, clutching her as if she might disappear. “God, Nat, I felt everything. What happened? Are you hurt? What—why did you call like that—?”

Nat blinked fast, trying to hold back tears. “I didn’t mean to panic you. I just— I needed proof. I needed him to see it.” Her voice cracked, and she nodded in Vision’s direction with disgust. “He called soulmates a delusion. Said Wanda’s bond wasn’t real. So I showed him ours.”

Maria pulled back slightly, her eyes scanning Nat's body, checking for wounds, bruises—anything. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Nat said quickly, her hand coming up to brush against Maria’s cheek. “But Wanda’s not. And Y/N… Y/N’s still out there. Vision gave Hydra the tech to take her down.”

Maria’s face went still.

She turned slowly toward Vision, her jaw tightening, eyes colder than steel.

“You did what?”

Vision opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“I’ll deal with you later,” Maria snapped, stepping protectively in front of Nat and glancing at Bruce. “What’s the status here?”

Bruce gestured at Wanda, who lay pale and shaking in her bed, still cradling her stomach as if the act alone could protect the lives inside her.

“She’s in pain. Through the bond. It’s Y/N—she’s being hurt, and Wanda’s feeling it all.”

Maria inhaled sharply, her gaze softening as it landed on Wanda. “We need to move.”

“I know,” Nat said. “And you’re not going without me.”

“You think I’m leaving your side again?” Maria’s voice trembled as she touched Nat’s wrist. “After that?”

Nat exhaled and nodded once, tightly.

“Then let’s go get Y/N back.”

Just as Maria and Nat exchanged a fierce, determined glance, the medbay lights flickered—then stabilized.

FRIDAY’s voice cut through the tension, crisp and urgent.

“Mr. Stark has located Miss Y/N.”

The room stilled. Then—

Wanda jerked upright in bed, wincing as pain lanced through her abdomen. “Where is she?!”

FRIDAY continued,

“Hydra facility. Remote, underground, heavily shielded. Coordinates locked. Mr. Stark is prepping for immediate extraction and requests backup from all available Avengers.”

Bruce’s eyes flew to the monitors. “That’s why we couldn’t track her. Shielded underground... Damn it.”

Wanda was already pushing off the bed, her hand instinctively resting over her stomach. “I’m going.”

Bruce stepped in her path, panic in his voice. “Wanda, no. Your vitals are still unstable. You’re in pain. The stress on your body, on the babies—”

“She’s in worse pain,” Wanda snapped, her eyes glowing. “She’s mine. And I’m carrying her children!. If she dies, I’ll feel it. I am feeling it.”

Nat nodded in quiet agreement. “She’s stronger with Y/N. And let’s be honest—no one’s getting between Wanda and her girl.”

Maria added with a smirk, “Besides, she’ll blast through Hydra before any of us even hit the ground.”

Bruce sighed, defeated but understanding. “Fine. But I’m coming. And you don’t go in unless I say it’s safe—for you and the babies.”

Wanda’s magic pulsed at her fingertips, raw and ready. “We don’t have time. I’ll be careful. But I’m not staying behind.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with pain and power.

“Let’s bring her home.”

---

Quinjet – En Route to Hydra Facility

The cabin was tense, buzzing with energy as the quinjet sliced through the sky.

Wanda sat strapped into her seat, her head bowed and palms pressed hard against her thighs. Sweat slicked her brow despite the cabin’s cool temperature. Her breaths came in sharp, uneven bursts.

Bruce sat across from her, monitoring vitals from a tablet. “Your blood pressure’s spiking again. You need to breathe, Wanda.”

She didn’t respond. Her hand was clenched over her belly, fingers trembling.

Then her back arched—just slightly—and a sharp gasp escaped her lips.

Another wave. Another stab of pain through the bond.

Nat was beside her in an instant, gripping Wanda’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Wanda shook her head, teeth clenched. “She’s hurting. They're hurting her again.” Her voice broke. “It’s like fire, inside my ribs. They’re cutting her.”

Bruce’s face was grim as he checked the fetal monitors. “The twins are okay. Strong heartbeats. But this link... it’s like she’s channeling Y/N’s pain through the bond.”

Maria stood near the back of the jet, already geared up. “Then we hit them fast. No distractions. No mercy.”

Wanda’s eyes slowly lifted, red glowing faintly around the irises. “I’m going through that door the second we land.”

“No argument,” Tony said over comms. “I’ll breach the surface shields. You follow the beacon straight to her. FRIDAY’s got her vitals tagged.”

Another jolt of pain ripped through Wanda, and she bit back a scream, her hand clutching her stomach again.

Bruce stood. “Wanda, you have to let me sedate you, just a little—”

“No.” Her voice cracked like lightning. “She’s alone. I won’t leave her in the dark. Not again.”

Nat laid a hand over Wanda’s and said quietly, “We’ve got you. And we’ll get her out.”

FRIDAY’s voice returned.

“3 minutes before landing”

Wanda closed her eyes. And through the pain, the magic, and the chaos brewing in her chest… she whispered Y/N’s name.

“Hold on, detka. I’m coming.”

---

Hydra Facility – Perimeter Breach

The explosion thundered through the stillness of the night like a distant earthquake, shaking the earth beneath their feet. The reinforced concrete of the Hydra compound’s outer wall crumbled in an instant, chunks of rubble tumbling to the forest floor with deafening crashes.

Smoke poured upward in thick black columns, choking the air with acrid fumes that stung the eyes and clawed at lungs.

Tony’s repulsor blast had carved a jagged, blazing hole through steel and concrete, illuminating the dark treeline with a harsh orange glow. The acrid scent of burning metal mixed with the sharp tang of ozone.

“Go, go, go!” Steve’s voice cracked like a whip, urgent and commanding.

He sprinted forward, shield raised high, its polished surface reflecting the flickering flames. Bullets screamed past him, striking the ground and ricocheting off walls, but his shield absorbed the worst. With every step, his boots crushed shattered glass and scattered debris.

Sam dove from the sky in a graceful arc, Redwing zipping ahead to scout and disable threats. The drone’s precise shots took out a sniper perched high in the east tower, the soldier slumping silently from the impact.

Thor’s hammer, Mjölnir, blazed with lightning, a fierce beacon in the storm of war. He slammed it down onto a barricade of armored guards, sending shockwaves through the earth. Bodies flew like ragdolls, their armor clanging as they crashed into crates and walls.

Inside the Quinjet, Wanda swayed unsteadily, her face pale and slick with sweat. Her breath came in shallow gasps, eyes fluttering as pain gripped her midsection again, a brutal reminder of the life growing inside her. Her vision blurred, swimming with flickers of red energy sparking from her trembling fingertips.

“She’s close,” Wanda whispered hoarsely, voice strained. “Two floors down.”

Natasha’s steady hand gripped Wanda’s arm, anchoring her in the chaos. “Then we fight like hell and get there,” she said fiercely, pushing her forward.

The Quinjet’s engines roared louder as the team prepared to breach deeper, every second dragging them closer to a rescue that felt more desperate with each heartbeat.

Absolutely! Here’s a longer, more detailed and connected continuation that follows the previous scene and amps up the tension and atmosphere:

(Interior – Main Corridor)

The moment they crossed the threshold into the Hydra facility, the air turned stale and metallic, heavy with the scent of oil, blood, and cold machinery. Flickering fluorescent lights overhead cast sharp shadows, fractured by cracks and grime, creating a strobing effect that made every movement feel jittery and uncertain.

But the soldiers they faced here weren’t ordinary. These weren’t just human foes — they were twisted, cybernetically enhanced monstrosities, a fusion of flesh and cold, ruthless machine. Their eyes glowed faintly red beneath cracked helmets, movements mechanical yet fluid, calculated and relentless, like a hive of deadly drones programmed for one purpose: annihilate.

Clint took a steady breath, nocking an explosive-tipped arrow with precise calm. The arrow hissed through the corridor, slamming into a cluster of the cyber soldiers with a thunderous boom. The blast sent them staggering, their armor clanging, bodies thrown back in a cascade of sparks and smoke.

But it was only a momentary reprieve.

Three of the creatures lunged through the fire and smoke, claws igniting with a fierce red glow — weapons that burned with unnatural heat. They advanced with terrifying speed, each step thudding like a drumbeat of impending death.

“Bruce!” Natasha shouted.

Without hesitation, Bruce’s eyes darkened with rage. Mid-run, his body convulsed, bones cracking and stretching, flesh rippling as the transformation overtook him. His form exploded into the hulking green giant, muscles bulging, raw power radiating off him like a living tempest.

With a guttural roar, he tore into the nearest cybernetic soldier, ripping limbs and metal apart with savage efficiency. Sparks flew as steel clashed with brute strength.

Sam’s voice crackled urgently over the comms, sharp with alarm. “They knew we were coming — this whole place is a deathtrap! Get ready for heavy resistance!”

Suddenly, a violent explosion detonated behind them, ripping through the corridor’s length. Thor reacted instantly, summoning a blast of lightning to shield Bruce and Nat from the deadly spray of shrapnel. Maria dived alongside them, a jagged piece of metal grazing her side and drawing blood, making Nat hiss together with her.

“I’m fine. Keep moving — no one gets left behind!” Maria shouts

Wanda’s breath hitched. Every nerve ending burned with raw, magical energy as her hands crackled with uncontrolled red sparks. Her eyes filled with tears she refused to shed.

“She’s screaming,” Wanda gasped, voice breaking as the pain through the bond seared hotter. “I feel her... she’s giving up.”

The corridor seemed to close in around them — steel walls echoing the sound of relentless gunfire, grunts, and the mechanical whirring of Hydra’s cyber soldiers advancing with deadly precision.

The team pressed forward, every step heavier than the last, driven by desperation and the fragile hope that they weren’t too late.

---

Inside the Lab – Hydra Operating Room

Y/N lay rigid on a cold, steel slab, her body a fragile, broken thing restrained by heavy leather straps biting into her wrists and ankles. The harsh, sterile light above flickered intermittently, casting sickly shadows across the room cluttered with sinister surgical instruments and humming machines.

Her once-pristine shirt was torn and stained crimson, ripped apart to expose her chest where three cruel, jagged incisions sliced through muscle and skin. The wounds glowed faintly with an unnatural, raw red light—edges ragged and inflamed, refusing to heal no matter how long they had been open. Beneath the surface, the damage was deeper—her super strength and speed, once vibrant and pulsing, now felt drained, as if some dark force was siphoning away her power.

Blood, thick and dark, had matted her tangled hair and pooled beneath her on the cold metal slab, seeping slowly into the grooves of the table. A tangle of IV lines fed into her arm, pumping an unidentifiable, luminescent fluid into her veins—hydra’s cruel attempt at control, keeping her alive but broken.

Her limbs twitched weakly, trembling with the effort to resist, but her body betrayed her—a prisoner to exhaustion and pain.

The Hydra doctor loomed nearby, his white lab coat streaked with dried blood and grime, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms scarred from past experiments. In one hand, he held a cold, silver drill, its tip gleaming ominously under the flickering lights. He positioned it carefully by the side of her head.

A nearby screen displayed Y/N’s brain activity—a chaotic web of spikes and dips, alive but faltering.

“Interesting,” the doctor murmured, eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses. “The pain hasn’t shut her down yet. Her mind is still fighting.”

Y/N’s cracked lips curled into a defiant snarl, and with the last shred of strength, she spat a thin stream of blood at him. “Go to hell.”

The doctor’s smirk twisted into something cold and cruel. He reached up with a ragged sleeve to wipe the blood from his cheek, then pressed the switch on the drill. The soft whirring sound filled the room, growing steadily louder as the drill bit began to turn, poised to breach her skull.

---

Interior – Deep Facility Corridors

The corridor twisted downward into the bowels of the Hydra compound—narrower, darker, and lined with corroded pipes dripping cold condensation. Each drop hissed as it struck the metal floor, the sound sharp and alive in the oppressive silence. The air reeked of rust and chemicals, biting at their lungs with every breath.

Wanda staggered, her legs threatening to give out, but she refused to fall. A sudden pulse of agony hammered through her abdomen—sharper this time, wracking her with waves of burning pain that clenched her heart and brought tears to her eyes. She bit back a cry, teeth clenched tight, focusing fiercely on the faint, desperate thrum of Y/N’s voice echoing inside her mind.

Hold on, Wanda whispered through gritted teeth, her hand clutching her belly as her magic flared uncontrollably. Tendrils of glowing scarlet energy snaked up her arms, crackling with volatile power she barely restrained. She had no luxury to falter—not now.

Tony’s suit whirred as he took point, the repulsors on his palms glowing bright blue in the dim corridor light. “Heads up!” he shouted, releasing a torrent of energy that blasted a squad of cybernetically enhanced Hydra soldiers bursting from a side passage like venomous insects.

Steve moved like a whirlwind, shield raised high, expertly deflecting searing gunfire as he charged forward. “Move! We’re almost there!” he called, his voice a rallying beacon amid the chaos.

Clint’s arrows flew swift and true, each explosive bolt lighting up the shadows in fiery bursts. Above, Sam maneuvered with Redwing, eyes sharp as he marked targets and kept pressure off the ground team.

But Hydra’s defenses were merciless and unrelenting. Automated turrets emerged from wall panels, firing sizzling beams that shredded metal and bone alike. Thor summoned lightning with a mighty swing of Mjölnir, the air crackling as bolts smashed turret after turret into molten ruin, sparks flying like fireflies in the dark.

Maria and Nat moved in perfect tandem, covering each other’s backs, even as the blood spreading on Maria’s side darkened the fabric of her uniform. “We’re close,” Maria gasped through clenched teeth. “I can feel it.”

Bruce growled low, ripping a broken pipe from the wall and swinging it like a club, carving a path through the relentless onslaught. Even he looked strained, muscles trembling with effort. Wanda’s gaze flicked to the map projected inside her mind—a blinking red dot pulsing just ahead, marking Y/N’s location.

A sudden explosion ripped through the corridor, shaking the ground beneath them. Debris rained down, sharp and heavy. Wanda’s vision blurred. “No,” she gasped, clutching her stomach again. “She’s getting worse… I can feel it. She’s slipping.”

Nat grabbed her arm firmly, steadying her. “Focus, Wanda. You need to be strong for her.”

Ahead, a steel door barred their path—thick, reinforced, imposing like a tomb. Tony’s repulsors hummed louder, energy gathering in his palms. “This is it. Once we get through, we find her.”

With a concentrated blast, the door buckled inward, sparks showering the floor as the massive barrier gave way.

Inside, the dimly lit room revealed a nightmare frozen in time. Medical equipment lay strewn and shattered, blood pooled thickly on the floor, and in the center—Y/N. She was strapped down to a cold, unyielding operating table, pale and broken.

Her skin was deathly pale, marred by deep, raw wounds that glowed faintly with a sick red light. Some incisions were crudely stitched, but none showed signs of healing. Blood matted her hair and soaked the table beneath her. IV lines pumped unknown fluids into her veins, her limbs trembling weakly.

The Hydra doctor stood nearby—a thin, pale man with cold, merciless eyes—his hand gripping a drill, hovering just above her skull. A nearby screen displayed scans of her brain activity, flickering steadily.

“Stop!” Wanda’s voice tore free—raw, powerful, filled with desperate fury. Magic exploded around her, crimson light flooding the room as the team surged forward, weapons raised.

The doctor’s lips curled into a cruel, cold smile. “Too late.”

The doctor’s hand tightened around the drill’s handle, a low mechanical whirring beginning to rise as the spinning bit neared Y/N’s temple.

But before he could bring it down, a fierce pulse of raw scarlet magic exploded from Wanda’s outstretched hands.

The drill shattered mid-air, sparks flying as the device was ripped from the doctor’s grasp and hurled across the room with violent force. The doctor stumbled back, eyes wide with shock.

“No one touches her,” Wanda snarled, stepping forward, her magic crackling fiercely around her like a living shield. “Not while I’m here.”

The team moved swiftly, guns trained on the stunned doctor. Bruce loomed over him, muscles coiled, ready to strike.

“Hands where I can see them,” Natasha commanded, voice sharp as a blade.

The doctor raised his hands, defeated but still defiant. “You don’t understand what she is. What she could be.”

Wanda’s gaze hardened, eyes glowing a fierce red. “She’s not your experiment. She’s mine.”

Bruce was already moving the moment the drill hit the ground with a metallic clatter.

He rushed to Y/N’s side, eyes scanning the numerous IV lines threaded into her arms. One bag in particular caught his attention — a dark, viscous liquid that glowed faintly blue.

“What the hell is this...” he muttered, carefully disconnecting the IV and pulling a sample into a vial. “This isn’t anything on the record. I need to run this back at the lab immediately.”

Wanda held Y/N’s hand tightly, her other hand trembling as she channeled magic toward the gashes that marred her soulmate’s body. Red energy glowed and pulsed from her palms, weaving into the broken skin with slow, glowing threads of power. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open briefly, pain etched deep in their gaze. A weak, desperate smile touched their lips.

“Wanda,” they whispered, voice barely audible.

“We’re getting you out,” Wanda promised, voice tight, thick with emotion. Her magic didn’t stop, surging stronger with every heartbeat.

Y/N’s fingers twitched weakly on Wanda’s arm, their voice barely more than a rasp.

“You’re not supposed to be here... Wanda.”

Wanda’s breath caught. Her eyes flickered with confusion and fear, her grip on Y/N tightening. “What do you mean? I’m here to save you.”

A faint, strained smile touched Y/N’s lips despite the agony. “It’s... dangerous. For you. For the baby.”

Wanda froze, her hand shifting to her stomach for the briefest moment. Her heart pounded. “I don’t care. You’re my soulmate. I won’t leave you.”

Her voice cracked with the weight of it, and tears slid silently down her face. “You’re the reason I’m still breathing. You think I’d let you die here?”

Bruce glanced over, concern flickering across his face — but he said nothing, giving them space as he continued examining Y/N’s vitals. “Her healing’s begun,” he noted. “Your magic... it’s jumpstarting her system. But she’s too weak — her body’s been running on fumes.”

Across the room, Maria moved fast. She ripped hard drives from nearby machines, plugged in her own tablet, and began rapidly downloading and erasing data. “I’m clearing everything. They don’t get to keep a single byte of her.”

Each monitor blinked out, each file wiped with practiced efficiency. The smell of scorched electronics mixed with blood and sterilized chemical residue.

“They were suppressing her cellular regeneration,” Bruce added grimly. “That compound they injected — it slowed everything. Healing, strength, even brain activity. I need to run a full panel back in the lab.”

Wanda’s energy never stopped flowing. She brushed blood-matted hair from Y/N’s forehead and leaned in close. “Stay with me. Just a little longer.”

With the help of Wanda’s power, the wounds along Y/N’s chest and arms had started to close now — raw and fragile, but healing. Still, Y/N’s body trembled from weakness, her skin clammy and pale.

“She needs rest,” Bruce said finally. “I can stabilize her for transport, but the sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

Steve and Clint secured the hall while Thor and Tony scouted ahead for exfil. Nat hovered near Maria, keeping watch. Everyone knew time was running thin.

But in that moment, Wanda only saw Y/N. Broken. Breathing. Alive.

She wasn’t leaving without her.

As Bruce finished prepping Y/N for transport, Wanda gently cradled her against her chest, shielding her from the cold metal slab, from the memory of what had been done.

Behind them, the Hydra doctor groaned — still conscious, blood trickling from his temple where Wanda’s earlier blast had thrown him against the wall.

Thor turned toward the sound, his expression thunderous.

“I warned you,” he said darkly, stepping forward.

The doctor tried to scramble back, but Thor moved with the fury of a storm. One swing of Mjölnir’s haft cracked across the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling unconscious to the floor.

“Not so brilliant now,” Thor muttered.

Clint was already moving, zip-tying the doctor’s wrists behind his back with a hardened restraint cable. “We’re not letting this bastard off easy. Fury’s gonna want to dig through his head himself.”

“Good,” Nat said coldly, kicking the man’s side to make sure he was out. “He doesn’t get a quick ending.”

Maria nodded grimly as she disconnected her tablet. “We’ve wiped everything. Hydra loses all of it — data, research, this whole damn facility. We take him, we take Y/N, and we leave nothing behind.”

Steve’s voice came through comms: “Extraction point secured. We’re clear for evac.”

Bruce hooked up a compact field monitor to Y/N’s arm. “She’s stable for now, but we need to move.”

Tony hovered at the door, repulsors ready. “All right, kids. Time to blow this hellhole.”

Thor slung the unconscious doctor over his shoulder like dead weight. “He will answer for every scream he caused.”

Sam flew point as the team moved. Clint covered their six, while Steve and Nat flanked Wanda protectively, making sure she didn’t falter as she carried Y/N.

As they made their way back through the ruined halls of Hydra’s nightmare lab, Wanda whispered one promise again and again into her soulmate’s hair:

“You’re safe now. I’ve got you. We’ve got you.”

And as the ruins of the past crumbled behind them, they carried the future out in their arms.

---

INT. AVENGERS COMPOUND – HANGAR BAY – NIGHT

The quinjet touched down with a hiss of pressure valves and a hydraulic thud. The rear hatch dropped even before the engines fully powered down.

“Med team, move!” Steve barked, already unstrapping his harness.

Wanda was the first out. She cradled Y/N tightly to her chest, refusing to let anyone else carry her. Blood had dried on Y/N’s skin, but fresh patches had begun to bloom again through Wanda’s jacket. Her face was pale, too pale, but her chest still rose and fell — just barely.

Nat and Maria flanked Wanda protectively as they pushed through the corridor toward the med bay. “Hall’s clear. Go.”

Bruce ran alongside them, IV bag in hand, still monitoring vitals. “We need to stabilize her temperature and run a full panel. I don’t even know what the hell they were pumping into her — I have samples, I’ll test them once she’s under.”

The double doors of the med bay burst open as the emergency team flooded in.

“Get her on biobed two!” a nurse called. Monitors flickered to life.

Wanda reluctantly set Y/N down, her magic retreating like smoke from the edges of her fingers. She didn’t let go of Y/N’s hand.

“She’ll be okay,” Maria whispered behind her, though her voice shook. “She’s strong.”

Y/N’s body convulsed once as the machines began to scan her. Wanda didn’t move.

Bruce inserted the IV and began adjusting levels on the digital monitor. “Vitals are low but holding... whatever they used to suppress her system, it’s flushing slowly. Wanda — your magic kept her stable, just enough.”

Wanda looked down at Y/N’s face, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “She asked me why I came,” she whispered. “She was worried about the babies.”

Nat stepped beside her, gently placing a hand on Wanda’s shoulder. “Because even in hell, she was still thinking of you.”

Thor entered last, the unconscious Hydra doctor slung over his shoulder, now bound in reinforced cuffs. “The monster has arrived for questioning,” he said grimly. “He will speak. One way or another.”

“Put him in containment,” Steve ordered. “No visitors. No leniency.”

Clint followed with a tired grunt. “We’ll let Fury sort him out.”

Bruce finished setting up a detox protocol on the med bay console, then looked back at Wanda. “She’ll need time. But she’s going to make it.”

Y/N stirred faintly on the bed. Her fingers twitched again, this time finding Wanda’s hand without prompting. Her lips moved — too soft to hear, but Wanda leaned in.

“Stay…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Wanda whispered back, her voice breaking. She sat on the edge of the bed, both hands gently cradling Y/N’s. “Not ever.”

Outside the med bay window, the rest of the team watched in exhausted silence — battered, burned, but not broken.

Their mission was over.

But for Wanda and Y/N… the healing had just begun.

---

The monitors around Y/N continued to stabilize. Her skin, once pale and clammy, now had hints of warmth. Wanda remained at her side, fingers laced with Y/N’s. Her magic hummed softly, responding to every flicker of pain.

The doors hissed open.

Vision entered silently, the yellow glow of the Mind Stone dim. His hands were folded behind his back, expression unreadable.

Bruce looked up from the IV monitor, wary. “What are you doing here?”

Vision’s gaze flicked to Y/N, then to Wanda. “I came to explain.”

Wanda didn’t look at him at first, her focus still on Y/N. “There’s nothing you could say that I want to hear.”

“I never intended for it to go this far,” Vision said quietly. “The inhibitor was supposed to... neutralize her threat level. Not destroy her.”

Wanda turned her head slowly. “What did you just say? Her threat level!?”

“I gave them the formula,” he admitted, voice devoid of shame but edged with something like guilt as he points at the sample of the glowing liquid Bruce got. “The speed-blocking wave tech was based on my own designs — the inhibitor, a biochemical enhancement. I believed—”

“You believed what?” Wanda’s voice shook, rising like a storm. “That if she were gone, I’d come back to you? That hurting my soulmate would make me forget her?! So you made not only the wave but a drug too?!”

“She was tearing you away from your purpose,” he said. “From me. From the mission. I didn’t want her dead — only... removed.”

Wanda rose to her feet, trembling with fury. Scarlet magic surged in her veins, her eyes glowing with raw, unchecked energy.

“You gave them the tech to block her speed,” she said, stepping forward. “And then — you built a chemical cage for her body.”

“I didn’t foresee this outcome—”

“You didn’t care!” Wanda snarled.

Vision moved a step back. “Wanda—”

Her hands raised, magic exploding out of her palms. Crimson tendrils lashed through the air, wrapping around the Mind Stone and drawing on its energy. Vision’s eyes widened.

“You don’t get to say her name. You don’t get to stand here after what you did,” she hissed.

Vision began to phase instinctively — to escape.

But Wanda was faster.

She tethered her power to the Mind Stone itself, forcing a pulse through it that disrupted his phasing ability mid-process. With a crackling jolt, Vision was forcibly pulled down — phasing through the med bay floor against his will.

There was a sickening, reverberating hum as he dropped through multiple levels and *slammed* into a secured containment chamber in the basement — the one designed specifically to neutralize his powers, originally meant as a last-resort failsafe.

The doors sealed automatically with a heavy clang.

Bruce blinked. “You just…”

“I know where I sent him,” Wanda said coldly, her magic retracting slowly. “And I hope he has a long time to think about what he did.”

She returned to Y/N’s side, voice softening again as she brushed hair from Y/N’s forehead.

“Rest, dorogaya. I’m not letting anything hurt you ever again.”

Behind the glass, the others watched in silence — shocked but not surprised. Steve was already giving security new lockdown orders for the basement. Thor said nothing, but the thunder in his eyes spoke for him.

Wanda didn’t look up again. Her whole world was here — in this bed — and no one was taking it from her.

Not anymore.

---

[eclipse-msoul]

𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

S𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : Being the little guide of several espers meant you didn't have a lot of freedom. It's too bad you forgot that.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬 : Yandere themes, killing, overprotective siblings, obsessive behavior etc.

Chapter 1 :

It was an average summer day, flowers in full bloom as the state sparkled under the sun and people chatted - dancing and singing for the festival to come.

Inside the Wayne Mansion, a cute little child was seen giggling and running. The servants ran after in distress, cursing under their breath - knowing what would happen if you fell.

Or Gotham forbid, Got harmed.

Your siblings would kill them - being killed in one stroke being a mercy - they remember how one of their colleagues got his tongue removed and tortured till nothing remained of him.

Just because he wasn't careful enough and caused you to cry.

They could still hear his cries as he begged them for mercy.

And when the Duke - Dick Grayson - came out of the underground chamber, his body was stained with the ruthless smell of blood.

They could see those maniac eyes - having used his power of wind to make their colleague die in a worse way than they could imagine and only hoped they would be spared.

And then The second master summoned them. Looking at the head maid - shrieking and fidgeting- Jason's eyes glowed green, “ Have them all summoned downstairs.” he ordered.

The head maid bowed and practically ran to their dorms - not wanting to anger the second master.

They trembled standing in the Hall as Jason came downstairs with you in his arms and took a whisk of your scent - he smiled and hummed.

And when he had turned to them, gone were those eyes that could melt an ice statue - replaced with those razor sharp ones.

They wished they could've forgotten those eyes.

One of the butler gulped, feeling a chill under his spine. He hoped it never happened again.

“ My lady! Please watch your step-” One of the maid's muffled. You grinned back at her, your feet so tiny yet able to take you so far.

“He he~ catch me!” You said taking a turn and ducking under the table. It was so fun to play with them. You hummed looking at the glass window.

From the looks of it, spring was in full bloom and the spring festival was just around the corner, you couldn't wait for your siblings to take you out.

If they were in a good mood.

And knowing them, that was rare.

Rarer than the blue moon that came out every hundred years and gave espers their strength.

The maids and Butlers panicked, unable to find you. You could hear the tremble in their voice - being five and so young - you took pity on them and came out.

“My lady!” they screamed in relief, one of the maids checking to see if you had injured yourself. You pouted, why was everyone always always so worried about you.

Your siblings. Especially

Don't get it wrong, but as much as you loved them, they were unbearable sometimes to be by. You were small but weren't blind.

They way they looked at you from far.

Their eyes reminded you of predators - in the worst way - it was scary how they could be smiling one second and sentencing someone to death in another.

You had once hugged your brother, you barely reached his knees. “ Brother, why is everyone so scared of you?” Duke took a seat next to you on the picnic cloth and ruffled your hair.

He sighed,“ We're espers and people worry we might lose control.”

You gave a confused glance, turning your head, “ But aren't guides there to help espers? Why would people still be afraid?”

Your memories had the sun gazing at his face while he spoke the next few words.

Your tiny hands clenched into your shirt, making the butler look at the side. “ M’lady-”

You shook your head and smiled “ I'm alright.”

They nodded.

Then you looked at them and pointed at the garden. “I want to go outside.” Just as the words came out of your mouth, all their faces paled. Looks like you needed to push a bit more.

“...I'll be fine, my older brothers and sisters are not here… “ You pressed one of the maid's hands to exert a little bit of power. She folded easily.

“ Y-yes my M'Lady.”

You smiled, he he, it worked with them - and they were espers - no way it wouldn't work on normal people or espers.

You couldn't wait to awaken as an esper.

With the power you held, you'd definitely be like your third brother Tim. Timothy had a mind control ability and from the looks of it, you likely inherited it too.

You didn't share a drop of blood with them.

Taking the hand, you walked towards the garden and your eyes widened with joy. It was so pretty.

The flowers were spread all out, you ran towards them and took a black rose in your hand. Your brother Jason, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, his actions showed you love like no other.

He truly makes the prettiest flowers and green.

You held the rose, readily to pull it, when you felt a prick on your skin. You hissed, dropping the rose. There was a weird feeling you felt, like your energy was being drawn out of you.

Looking down, blood droplets had formed and began to fall.

You were in so much trouble.

All the servants bowed , their hands quivering. They couldn't meet your eyes.

“ It's alright!-” You tried to say, holding your hands up trying to make the servants worry less. Your smile had a hint of panic in it and blood was still coming out.

If you were quick, you could prevent your siblings from finding out. You just needed to find some lotus elixir.

“What's alright?” Your body froze, cold breath came from behind you. You looked back to see Tim smiling at you. What's worse it didn't even reach their eyes.

“ B-Brother Tim-” You voiced, trying to smile but your eyes landed on Steph. She looked one step away from losing control. Her normal shiny blue eyes were replaced with something dark and cruel.

You'd heard about it from your siblings and read about it in your books. Your sister was on the bridge of corruption. She gave you a pained smile as she bent down to your level. Tim stood behind you both.

“ Steph-” You called, touching her face, it was so warm - you had a hard time believing she was okay. “ Are you alright?” , you asked. She leaned into your touch and during it her eye landed on your finger.

“ Blood..” she breathed. Tim looked down and suddenly the ground began to shake. You looked up and met his glowing eyes.

Your mind reminisced of how Duke looked when he said those words - his words trailing out.

His brown eyes had turned shaded and he voiced staring into the abyss. “-Espers would destroy the world if harm was done to their guide.”

And here it is folks! Enjoyyyy and be sure to sent me love and comments. Love you byeee

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 :

@animegoddess15 , @cleverruinsobject , @tacodeemon , @delias-stuff , @cupid73 , @ekest , @wassupbroski55555 , @cvpidsbow2323 , @lowkeyjarrr

[neeeooon]

can…. Can…. Can we get reader who works at mcdonalds and they meet Nagi there and its just a crack fic basically i would gigfle GIFGLE FGIGGLE KILL ME??!!! giggle oh my god

- rin anon

HELP I LOVE THIS. YES.

fries in the bag

nagi seishiro x gn!reader. crack. platonic?? with a little smth at the end?? cussing!

“alright, gang! this is nagi. he’ll be on drive-thru with you, y/n.”

you groaned. the last three people they hired were shit, and you’d just gotten a scolding for “training them so poorly” when it was never your job to train in the first place.

rather than talk back to your boss (again. you were on thin ice, apparently), you forced a tight smile and said, “great. welcome to the team.”

the boy with white hair didn’t smile back. “thanks.”

rude, you thought to yourself, and after sharing a look with a few of your more reliable co-workers, you knew they were thinking the same.

you almost laughed when one mouthed, “okay, but why is he actually fine as fuck?”

though it wasn’t your job, you took pity on the new guy when you found him fumbling while adjusting his headset. “here,” you began, silently holding your hand out for the headset. nagi gave it to you with a defeated sigh, and you smirked before adjusting it and placing it over his hat. “it’s gotta click, otherwise the notches aren’t in place, and it’ll come loose.”

“thanks,” nagi said when you took a step back, and it sounded more genuine this time.

as you walked him through opening duties and showed him where everything was, you decided to strike up some casual conversation. “so, what do you do? besides this, i mean.”

nagi shrugged. “soccer.”

“soccer. cool.” you pursed your lips, giving him three seconds to elaborate before moving on. “the others and i in our age group are only here to make money for tuition. it’s not easy, and the customers can be complete assholes, but the pay is surprisingly good. you get a lot of tips and overtime, too.”

nagi nodded as he brushed some crumbs off the counter and onto the floor. your brow twitched. you’d have to sweep them up later.

“what’re the hours again?”

you blew out an irritated breath and waved nagi over as you walked to the weekly schedule. he followed your finger as you dragged it across the calendar. “tsukino makes the schedule. here, give me your number so i can add you to the group chat if you ever need to drop or pick up a shift.”

nagi handed his phone over. you ignored how boring it looked as you typed your number in and sent a text from his phone.

you: shared a new contact!

you: nagi’s number. say hi

a flurry of texts came in, which seemed to slightly startle the white-haired boy. you dropped his phone back into his hand, fingertips slightly grazing his palm. it surprised you how warm he was. “there. you’re set.”

"thanks," nagi replied boredly, shoulders hunched as he followed your boss when he was called over. you watched them leave, intrigued by your new co-worker.

☆ 🍟

nagi wasn't half bad at the job.

he was a little slow and zoned out at times, but he didn’t complain. he listened when you explained something to him, and most importantly, he was good with customers and racked up an insane amount of tips.

“hi. welcome to mcdonald’s. can i take your order?”

“no worries. take your time.”

“nah, it’s cool. sauce is free if you ask.”

"you want the fries in the bag?"

since you were both on drive-thru duty, your headsets were connected. hearing him converse with customers was… oddly sweet. you hated to admit it, but he was the best addition to the team you'd had in a long time.

you were on your break one evening when you found him slumped against the back wall of the storage room, scrolling lazily through his phone. his fingers moved slowly, so you guessed he wasn’t doing anything too important. brushing any nerves aside, you plopped down beside him and held out your packet of fries. nagi looked at you, turned to the fries, and took one without question.

“you’re not the worst new hire we’ve had,” you said after a moment, raising your voice just slightly to be heard over the ice cream machine.

nagi took another one of your fries and chewed. “thanks.”

his reaction made your brows scrunch. is that the only word he knows how to say to me? so much for complimenting him. “the bar was pretty low, just so you know.”

“still. thanks,” he said with a shrug.

you didn't realize until later, while you were both leaning over the fryer basket watching nuggets sizzle, that you kind of liked him. he was quiet, sure, but easy to be around. funny without trying. best of all, nagi made those long, tiring shifts pass by quicker than when you worked with anyone else.

when your shift ended, nagi waited for you to grab your things and held the door open for you. his lip lifted, but just slightly. “see you tomorrow.”

your chest fluttered in a way you did not appreciate. “yeah,” you said, brushing past him lightly. “see you, fry boy.”

nagi blinked. “huh. cute.”

you almost tripped.

[fireside-fanfics]

Omg can you write a fic for Joaquin Torres x reader where the reader constantly gives him a heart attack

Yes, most definitely! I hope you like this fic as much as I loved writing it :)

Love Me Like a Safety Hazard

The first time she gave Joaquin a heart attack, it was accidental.

She’d decided to surprise him after his debriefing with Sam, thinking it’d be cute to sneak into the hangar and wait behind his locker door with his favorite cafecito from the bodega down the street. What she didn’t expect was for him to scream—a full-throated, startled, high-pitched yelp—as he stumbled back, clutching his chest like a telenovela abuelita. She blinked, holding out the coffee cup sheepishly.

“Surprise?”

“You—mi vida, you can’t just—why would you do that?” he gasped, grinning as he caught his breath, walking forward to steal a kiss anyway.

“Because I missed you,” she said sweetly. “And I brought your favorite. With extra sugar, because I know you’ve been stressed.”

He took the drink, kissed her cheek, and said, “This is how I die. I’m going to die from loving you.”

She took that as encouragement.

The second time was less accidental.

She’d found a fake alien artifact in one of the storage rooms in the compound (read: a Halloween prop someone left behind), and thought it’d be funny to text Joaquin a photo with the caption: “Touched this weird thing and now my hands are glowing green. Normal??”

He called immediately.

“Are you serious? Where are you? Is it radioactive?? Is your skin melting off—”

“Relax,” she said through a giggle. “I still have all ten fingers. Probably.”

He groaned loudly. “You’re going to kill me, woman. Kill me.”

“You love me.”

“That’s the problem!”

The third time was during a mission.

She was embedded undercover at a gala while Joaquin and Sam were stationed outside on comms. Everything was going well—until the security cameras went dark for three whole minutes.

“Report,” Joaquin said sharply into the comm. “We lost your feed. What’s your status?”

No answer.

“Hey—talk to me. What’s going on—”

Then her voice crackled through the static. “Sorry, I dropped the comm. Got it back now. Also, I think I accidentally seduced the diplomat’s wife.”

“…What.”

“She kissed me on the cheek and gave me the passcode to the vault, so I feel like it’s working?”

Sam’s laughter in the background was immediate. Joaquin, on the other hand, slammed his forehead into the console and muttered, “I’m going to die. This is how I die. Flirting via espionage.”

“You’re doing great, babe,” she added cheerfully, voice full of smugness. “You’ll get used to it.”

Joaquin never did get used to it, but he also didn’t ask her to stop.

Because for every heart attack she gave him—whether it was jumping out from behind a door with a Nerf gun, pretending to be kidnapped by hiding under the bed, or signing him up for a “couples tango class” as a surprise—she was always there right after, grinning like sunshine and pressing kisses to the corner of his mouth until he smiled again. And he always smiled again.

Even now, standing in their shared apartment, soaking wet from the unexpected thunderstorm because she texted “emergency” and he rushed home without an umbrella, only to find her trying to install a ceiling hammock “for vibes,” Joaquin could only stare at her—covered in dust, hair frizzy, wearing one of his shirts that hung off her shoulder—and shake his head in disbelief.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, walking over and wrapping his arms around her despite how soaked he was.

“Yeah, but what a way to go, huh?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. He kissed the top of her head and laughed. “Best way I can think of.”

Even now, standing in their shared apartment, soaking wet from the unexpected thunderstorm because she texted “emergency” and he rushed home without an umbrella, only to find her trying to install a ceiling hammock “for vibes,” Joaquin could only stare at her—covered in dust, hair frizzy, wearing one of his shirts that hung off her shoulder—and shake his head in disbelief.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, walking over and wrapping his arms around her despite how soaked he was.

“Yeah, but what a way to go, huh?”

He kissed her forehead and laughed, pressing his cheek to the top of her head like he always did when he needed to ground himself. Her arms wrapped around his waist easily, like she knew—like she always knew. She smelled like sawdust and that overpriced candle she swore enhanced her aura. The storm still raged outside, wind rattling the windowpanes, but all he could hear was her heartbeat against his chest.

“I mean it,” he murmured. “You terrify me. Every day.”

“And yet…” she grinned up at him.

“And yet, I wouldn’t trade a second of it,” he finished, shaking his head with a helpless kind of smile—the one he only ever wore for her. “You drive me completely insane.”

“I know,” she said brightly, standing on her toes to kiss him. “And you’re still obsessed with me.”

God help him, he was.

He was obsessed with her in a way that snuck up on him, quietly at first—like gravity shifting—but now it consumed him whole. She was unpredictable, infuriating, relentless… and utterly irresistible. His pulse still kicked every time she walked into a room. He still caught himself smiling at her when she wasn’t looking. Every part of his life had been sharper, brighter, more alive since she barreled into it with her wild ideas, sharp wit, and the world’s most dangerous smile.

He could never get used to the way she made him feel—like he was teetering between losing his mind and finding something worth holding on to. Even when she made him question every one of his survival instincts, even when she made his blood pressure spike daily, even when he was absolutely certain she was going to be the reason he had an early cardiac episode—he loved her more than he’d ever thought he could love anything.

So yeah, he was obsessed. Joaquin was madly, completely, hopelessly in love with her. And honestly? He didn’t want to be saved.

He tightened his arms around her and let out a long breath, tension fading. 

“Promise me,” he mumbled, lips brushing her temple, “no more fake emergencies this week.”

“No promises.”

“Cariño.”

She looked up at him with mock innocence, a hand over heart, and gasped, “Fine. No more fake emergencies. Only very real, mildly chaotic ones.”

He groaned and still—he kissed her again. Because for all the chaos, for all the stress and the mini panic attacks she handed out like candy, she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. She kept him on his toes, kept his heart racing, and kept his world so full of love he thought it might burst.

Maybe she would actually give him a heart attack someday, but if it meant a lifetime of surprises, laughter, and loving her? He knew it’d be worth it.

[choerykiss]

Them Falling In Love With Another Idol

𝜗ৎ pining/drama/romance/f!reader ─ #around 150 wordcount each

✦ warnings : my dramatic writing . possessiveness (mild) . idol!reader . mild obsession

─ saja boys [ot5] jinu, abby, mystery, romance, baby saja

﹒𝓝𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: first kdh post!! :3 hope you guys enjoy <3

JINU

Jinu is used to being admired. The fans, the fame, the world—all at his feet. So when you step into the scene, with your honey-dripped vocals, power stage presence, and visuals that make gods second guess themselves?

At first, he’s intrigued. Then annoyed. Why is he… staring? Why does he feel like the one being overshadowed?

He watches your fancams late at night. Replays your encore stages. Not because he’s studying the competition—no. It’s something else.

The night of an awards show collab, you lock eyes on stage, and his demon heart thuds loud enough to drown out the music. You harmonize next to him, and for a moment—just a breath—Jinu forgets he’s a demon.

Falling for you feels like being alive, and that terrifies him.

“You shine… even in darkness. Are you trying to kill me?”

ABBY

Abby’s was always known for having muscles and a hype man, always energetic, cracking jokes, the type to flex after a performance. He doesn’t really do feelings.

Until you walk past him in the practice room—sweaty from your own rehearsal, hair pulled up, eyes burning with that fire—and he’s just. Gone.

He lowkey panics. Crushes? Not on the schedule. He tries to play it cool, but suddenly he’s working twice as hard. He has to match your level. He starts watching your choreography, learning them with heavy devotion.

Then, at a joint dance rehearsal, you compliment his freestyle? He nearly explodes right then and there.

“Don’t do that. Don’t smile at me like that—I’m not ready to fall in love on eight counts.”

MYSTERY

Mystery’s whole thing is being unknowable, untouchable, the mysterious prince of K-pop. But you?

You're a mystery he can’t solve.

When he first sees you backstage, barefaced and laughing with staff, he thinks: “Oh. She’s not real.” But then you go on stage and perform like a storm in heels and lip gloss—and now he’s spiraling.

He starts showing up wherever you are. Quiet, unnoticed… until you notice.

You say his real name once. He hasn’t heard it in centuries.

“You’re the one thing in this world that doesn’t fit into a riddle. And yet… I’m obsessed with solving you.”

ROMANCE

Romance is charming. Dangerous. He knows he’s hot, he knows the fans love him—but when it comes to you?

He’s the one who’s flustered. It’s so unfair. You’re funny. Stunning. Your vocals have bite and your dance lines are clean enough to make a grown demon cry.

He tries flirting—you shut him down with a wink and walk away. He’s stunned. And smitten.

He starts writing love songs. Not about you, obviously. (They are. All of them.)

“I thought I was the main character… but when you’re on stage, I’m just the fan.”

BABY SAJA

Baby Saja is the maknae with major ego but a soft little center. When he finds out he’s debuting alongside you—the idol everyone’s obsessed with—he tries to act unimpressed.

“Pfft. Whatever. I’m the real visual here.”

Then he sees your performance. And yeah. He’s DOOMED.

He goes from brat to fanboy in 0.3 seconds. Denies it the entire time. Teases you endlessly, flirts poorly, tries to make you laugh during live stages just so he can see you smile.

“I’m NOT blushing. Shut up. You looked good, okay?? Not a big deal!!”

[formulafanfics13]

I love your fics, and I admire your ability to absolutely grind them out. I was hoping for a YT22 fic where he brings his girlfriend to the paddock for the first time. And she's just trying to stay out of the way, but he's completely obsessed with her and just keeps holding her hand or trying to bring her water. And the internet and other people are just deeply amused at how cute it is

You're My Lucky Charm. - YT22

Masterlist

summary: yuki tsunoda brings his girlfriend to the paddock for the first time. she's quiet, sweet, and just trying to stay out of the way. but yuki? he's completely obsessed. he won't stop holding her hand, offering her water, or looking at her like she hung the fucking moon. the internet notices. the grid notices. and no one knows what to do about it except laugh and fall in love with them both.

warnings: fluff overload, extreme boyfriend behaviour, background teasing from the grid, social media reactions, soft kisses, pet names, hand-holding, obsessed yuki, introverted reader, paddock chaos, mild secondhand embarrassment

It starts before she even steps out of the car. Yuki's fidgeting like a kid on his first day of school. Bouncing his leg. Checking the paddock pass hanging from her neck. Making sure her hat is on straight even though it's his AlphaTauri cap and it's drowning her face slightly.

"You're okay?" he asks for the third time.

You nod, laughing under your breath. "Yes, Yuki. I promise."

"You'll tell me if someone says something weird? Or if they stare? Or if you want to go back to the hotel-"

You grab his hand. "Baby. I'm okay."

He stares at you for a second. Then exhales. Then pulls you in for the softest, deepest kiss like he forgot where he is for a second.

"You're so pretty," he whispers. "You're gonna kill everyone in there."

She doesn't. Of course she doesn't. She stays quiet. Stays out of the way. Smiles politely when someone says hi, holds onto the laminated pass around her neck like it's a shield. Keeps close to the walls. Moves behind the garage barriers without being asked.

And yet, Yuki still doesn't let go of her hand. Not once.

"Who's the girl?" someone whispers in the media pen.

"That's Tsunoda's girlfriend."

"What?! That's her?"

"Yeah. First paddock appearance."

There's a beat of silence.

Then: "She's adorable."

It starts small. Yuki bringing her water bottles like she's in the middle of a marathon. Straight from the fridge. Label peeled off. Condensation dripping. He doesn't even ask if she's thirsty. Just hands one to her every twenty minutes like clockwork.

"You're gonna drown her," Pierre mutters as Yuki walks by.

Yuki flips him off. Then adjusts your hat. "You're hydrated, right?" he asks you sweetly.

You nod. "You've given me like four."

"Good." He kisses your cheek. "You need five."

Social media catches on first. A photo of Yuki holding your hand while talking to his engineer. Another of him adjusting your hair just outside the AT motorhome. Then a video.

@f1girlfanpage: the way yuki tsunoda is treating his girlfriend like she's a sacred national treasure is everything to me

"hold this," he says, giving her his drink. then he forgets and tries to sip from her water bottle five minutes later. they both laugh. i'm actually crying. he's been holding her hand for like 6 hours straight if they break up i'll stop watching motorsport

The grid catches on next. 

She walks into the hospitality area and George full-on gasps. "She's real?" he whispers to Lando. "I thought she was a myth."

Lando snorts. "Yuki hasn't shut up about her for months."

Alex leans in. "She's so quiet. Are we sure she knows where she is?"

"She's got the pass," Charles says, sipping coffee.

They all nod solemnly. "She's got the pass."

Meanwhile, Yuki is sitting beside you in the back of the garage, holding your hand with one and texting on his phone with the other.

You try to pull away gently. "Yuki," you whisper. "You need your hands."

"I need you," he says with zero irony.

You giggle. "You're ridiculous."

He kisses your temple. "Yeah. But I'm your ridiculous."

Later, in the paddock corridor, she trips slightly over a cable. Yuki sees it happen from fifteen feet away. He runs. Not walks. Runs. Wraps an arm around her waist like she's about to collapse. "Are you okay? Did you hurt anything? Did you twist your ankle? Let me see-"

"Yuki," you say, flushed. "It's fine. I didn't even fall."

He still crouches and checks your ankle. In public. On his knees. Someone snaps a picture. The internet loses its mind again.

The rest of the weekend becomes a montage. Yuki letting her eat the last protein bar from his bag even though he needs the calories. Yuki giving her his noise-cancelling paddock headset during FP2. Yuki carrying her little crossbody purse when she gets too warm. Yuki introducing her to Laurent and Christian and then immediately pulling her back with a nervous "okay that's enough he's too charming." Yuki following her into the hospitality trailer and literally sitting on the floor outside the bathroom while she pees.

"Just in case you need anything," he shrugs when she opens the door.

"You think she's in there crying?" Logan whispers to Oscar.

Oscar blinks. "I think he's in love."

She stands beside him during media. Quiet. Polite. Smiling.

Until someone says, "We didn't know you were dating anyone."

Yuki just smiles. "She's not just anyone." And he pulls her close.

He places eighth in the race. Not a podium. Not a win. But when he finds her after parc fermé, all sweaty and flushed and shining like a little sunbeam in a flame-retardant suit, he wraps her in his arms and lifts her clean off the ground.

The cameras catch everything. Him grinning. Her laughing. The way he kisses her like he's just won the whole championship. The way she whispers something in his ear and he immediately turns red.

That night, the internet explodes:

he didn't even finish on the podium and still ran to her like she's the trophy yuki tsunoda is boyfriend of the year and it's not even close how do i get someone to stare at me the way he stares at her they're soulmates. i don't make the rules.

In the hotel, hours later, curled up in bed, she turns to him. "I was trying to stay out of the way, you know."

Yuki hums. "I know."

"You kind of made it hard."

He laughs. "Good. I wanted to."

"Why?"

He turns on his side. Cups her cheek. "Because you're mine," he says softly. "And I want everyone to know it."

She melts. They fall asleep with her head on his chest and his hand still wrapped around hers.

[cinnamonlouu]

Ruin me softly

Stack x black!Reader

The second you open the door, Stack pushes past you like he owns the air you breathe.

“Why’d you block me?”

You don’t answer. You shut the door gently behind you.

He turns to face you finally, chest rising hard under his black thermal. “Answer me.”

“I needed space.”

“Space?” He steps closer. “I gave you three days.”

“And that wasn’t enough?”

“For me?” He laughs, short and cruel. “Not even close. You disappear, block my number, ignore me like you’re untouchable. Like you didn’t spend the last month in my bed with your mouth around my dick and crying my name .”

Your breath catches. Heat floods your face. He sees it and smirks, but it’s joyless.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low now. “You remember.”

“Don’t start,” you say, but even you don’t believe your own plea. Your thighs press together.

“Don’t start what?” He stalks forward, fingers trailing up your arm. “Make you admit you like how crazy I get over you? That it makes you wet when I show up like this, jealous and out of my mind?”

“Elias”

“Say my name again,” he snaps, grabbing your jaw, angling your face to meet his. “Soft like that. Just once.”

“Elias,” you whisper.

His eyes close like it physically hurts him.

“I hate you” he says, voice trembling, hand slipping down your throat. “I hate you but I’ll kill any nigga about, with me or not.”

His words wrap around you. Twisted, raw, true. You try to speak but he kisses you before you can.

His mouth devours yours, teeth scraping your lip, tongue rough and fast. One arm locks around your waist, lifting you, pressing you against the nearest wall .

You moan into him.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants against your throat, already pulling your shirt up, hands sliding under to grip bare skin. “Say it.”

You don’t.

You yank his shirt over his head. His muscles flex under your palms like steel cords, tattooed and scarred, warm and yours. You hate that your body aches for him the second he touches you.

Raw. Desperate. And Completely out of control.

He grabs your chin again, tilting your face. “Eyes on me.”

He unbuttons your shorts with one hand, never breaking the stare. “You been thinking about me, baby?” His voice drops, softer now. “Been touching wats mine? Thinking about my mouth between your thighs?”

You don’t answer. He slaps your thigh, hard.

“Speak.”

“Yes” you gasp.

A crooked smile.

“Good girl.”

He drops to his knees.

Your shorts and panties are yanked down in one rough pull, and you barely get a breath before his mouth is on you. He licks you like he’s starving, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you.

You fist his hair, moaning, legs trembling. His tongue slides deep, curling up, lips wrapping around your clit like he’s drinking from you.

You’re so close your knees buckle. He holds you there, steady with your legs on his shoulders, middle finger sliding into your pussy slow, wet, easy.

You cry out.

“Cum on my face, baby,” he murmurs. “Come on. I need it.”

You break apart like glass in a scream, thighs clamping around his head, hips rocking against his mouth.

When he stands, his chin is slick, lips swollen. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand .

“Turn around,” he says hoarsely. “Bend over the couch.”

You do.

You hear the zip of his jeans. And then he’s pushing in, thick and unrelenting, hands on your hips.

“Pussy knows it’s mine.”

He bottoms out into you hard, wanting to ruin you for any man that you even think about, to drill into you that he’s the only who will please you.

You cry out, gripping the cushions, your back arching with every thrust.

“Tell me you missed me. That no one fucks you like I do.”

You sob, half-ashamed and half-drunk on pleasure. “Yes—yes—I missed you”

He leans over your back, hand gripping your throat again, thumb stroking your pulse. “Say my name baby.”

“Elias.”

He slams in once, twice, and you feel him losing control his thrusts rougher now, sloppy, deeper.

The way he holds you turns frantic, hands wrapping around you pulling you up, mouth immediately makingcontact with your neck, he licks the crease of your neck biting down, so desperate he’s shaking.

“Fuck- I hate you” he rasps into your ear.

“I love you.”

He stills.

And when he speaks again, it’s not a man fucking you — it’s a man breaking.

“Don’t say nothing you don’t mean.” His voice cracks.

Your breath catches.

You whisper, “I don’t.”

He slams into you again with a guttural cry, fucking you harder than before, faster, rougher — and he means it. He means every inch. He means every grip of your hips, every growl of your name, every slap of skin and every soft “mine” in your ear.

“Say it back to me” you moan reaching back pulling him closer. “Elias tell me baby”

“I love you” you lean you head back kissing him tongues dancing saliva coating your lips.

You cum again, body shattering, choking on his name.

He follows seconds later, moaning deep in his throat, burying himself in you as his body shakes with the force of it.

Silence.

Just breath. Sweat. The whimper of worn-out lungs and the shake of frayed nerves.

He pulls out slowly, kisses your shoulder once soft, reverent then helps you onto the couch.

Neither of you says another word.

But when Stack’s fingers tighten around yours, something about it feels permanent.

[min9yusblog]

mingyu - just a dare

“it was just a dare, right? why are you still with me, kim mingyu?”

pairing : mingyu / f!reader

word count : 1.2k

genre : angst, idol's ex meddling, misunderstanding

-----

it started like any other day. you had just gotten home from work, exhausted from being bossed around all day. drizzle lightly tapped the windows of your apartment, as the sun began to set. mingyu had been distant lately, claiming that stress from work was draining all his energy. he even took a day off today.

you place your bags and car keys on the table, then call out for your boyfriend.

"gyu? are you home?" you said.

no answer.

hm. did he go out?

suddenly, a ding from a phone could be heard. it was mingyu's phone, he left it on the sofa. you knew you shouldn't, but you were so curious- especially with him not telling you anything lately. as they say, curiousity kills the cat. and so, you reached for the phone without a second thought.

you gasped in horror as you saw the messages on your boyfriend's notifications.

MJ : when are you breaking up with that loser?

MJ : mingyu ya it was a dare~ whats taking you so long?

MJ : dont tell me you ACTUALLY fell for her??

you slowly put the phone down, head in a mess. without thinking, you grabbed your phone and car keys, storming out of the room. just then, mingyu came out of the shower.

"babe, where are you off too?"

you couldn't give him an answer. it felt like there was a rock in your throat, with you trying to hold back your tears. could it really be true? had the person who once looked at you like you were his whole world… only ever used you as a game? none of it made sense. not the late-night stargazing, not the whispered promises, not the way his eyes softened every time you laughed.

but the texts were real.

it hurt to even breathe.

still, your mind wouldn’t let you crumble just yet. you quickly gathered what little courage remained, and turned back.

“you got what you wanted, now let’s break up.”

“what? what are you saying?” mingyu asked, visibly confused.

your vision blurred, rage rising like heat under your skin.

“it was just a dare, right? why are you still with me, kim mingyu?”

“what—”

“don't explain yourself. i'll go.”

and with that, you took off.

-----

the sound of the door slamming behind you echoed like a gunshot. your hands trembled as they gripped the steering wheel, breath shallow, body numb. it was raining harder now. thunder growled in the distance. you had nowhere to go, no destination. all you knew was you needed to be far, far away from that apartment. from him.

you drove aimlessly for an hour. the city blurred past like a forgotten dream. you ended up at the lookout point — the one you both used to go to when the world felt too loud. it was ironic, really. a place filled with your favorite memories now sheltering your heartbreak.

pulling your knees to your chest, you stared out at the glowing city below, each light flickering like a lie. questions gnawed at you: had it all been fake? was every smile rehearsed? every kiss timed?

you remembered the first time he held your hand. it had been so natural, so easy — like your fingers were made to fit his. but now… even that memory felt foreign. you wanted to scream. to cry. but instead, you just sat there. silent. cold.

a notification buzzed on your phone. then another. and another. dozens of missed calls from mingyu. a flood of messages.

gyubear : please pick up.

gyubear : baby come on

gyubear : tell me whats wrong please?

but you didn’t want an explanation. not yet. maybe not ever. because right now, everything was broken — and apologies wouldn’t fix it.

it was getting late, so you drove back to your house, a place you hadn't been in ever since you moved in with mingyu.

-----

back in the apartment, mingyu stared at the door you’d just slammed shut. his heart pounded, panic creeping in. he had no idea what had just happened—until he saw his phone still unlocked on the counter.

then he saw the messages. and everything clicked.

the messages were from someone he used to know—an ex-fling, someone petty and bitter enough to stir trouble. she had messaged out of the blue, and mingyu hadn’t responded. but he hadn’t deleted the conversation either. he didn’t think it mattered.

he hadn't imagined you would ever see them.

now he realized how terrible it looked. how easily those messages, without any context, could shatter everything. how silence and inaction could destroy something he had fought so hard to build.

and now, it might’ve cost him you.

-----

two days passed.

you hadn’t responded to him, not once. you'd turned off your phone after the tenth missed call. you needed silence, not answers. but silence had turned into emptiness. and emptiness turned into grief.

you told yourself not to cry, but on the third night, you did. you sobbed into your pillow, grieving not just the relationship — but the belief that you had been enough.

the next morning, you found a letter slipped under your door. no text. just his handwriting. you stared at it for a long time before finally unfolding it.

💌 : hi baby. i don’t expect you to forgive me. but i owe you the truth. those messages you saw were real. they were from someone i used to talk to — a long time ago, before i met you. i never deleted the text because i honestly forgot it existed. it came up again because she messaged me out of nowhere last week. i didn’t reply, i swear. but i didn’t delete it either. that was my mistake.

she was bitter. she knew about you, and maybe she wanted to mess things up. and she did. but you were never a dare. you were, are- the only real thing in my life.

im sorry i didn’t tell you. im sorry i let silence cause more damage. if you can’t forgive me, i'll understand. but please believe that i loved you. i still do.

tears rolled from your eyes as you read the letter. you didn't know if it was from relief, or from guilt for accusing him so quickly. whatever it was, you didnt want to lose him either. you packed your things and opened the door.

there he was, pacing back and forth. he noticed the door open, and your eyes locked.

"baby..."

"mingyu...? how long have you been out here?"

"oh. uh.. since i left the letter there."

"you were here for an hour? why did you wait??"

"because you're worth waiting for. i'd have waited until midnight if i had to. you know that right?"

"gyu..." you couldnt even finish your sentence before you started bawling your eyes out.

he immediately ran to you and hugged you tightly. your face was buried in his chest, and you were practically inconsolable.

"im sorry. im so sorry." you said, sobbing.

"no baby, im sorry for ever making you doubt my love for you. its my fault."

you wondered how even when it was you who started it and got mad at him, he was still so calm and apologetic, not once blaming you for jumping to conclusions.

you really won the lottery with this one, you think quietly, as your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt.

and this time, you weren’t going to let go so easily.

- the end -

[nanamisbbygirl]

okay guys i'm feeling a little angsty don't hate me! i just remembered suguru has a tamagotchi :(

you look down at your lap, the little plastic pet singing back to you as you give it it's daily dose of tlc. as silly as it seems, for you, a grown woman to be taking care of a device whose model was discontinued almost a decade ago. yet, you remained loyal, fitting the tamagotchi into your schedule, making sure to keep it alive.

"ouu, l/n-sensei, is that a tamagotchi?" itadori, a first year student catches you off guard. you almost drop the toy. you try to smile, pretending that he didn't scare you just a little bit.

"it is," you look back down at it, "it's an older model, from 2008."

"you've had it for that long?" he sits down next to you, eyeing it as though it's an ancient relic. he then admits to you: "i had one when i was younger but i think i let it die."

letting out a shaky laugh, your grip on the tamagotchi tightens. "it wasn't always mine." it's a bitter sweet feeling, but you don't want to suffocate the poor kid with your angsty memories. you try to keep it simple. "it used to belong to someone very close to me. but he couldn't take care of it anymore, and i didn't have the heart to let it die."

you study the way the yellow-ish orange color has started to fade away. it unequivocally makes you think of suguru, the boy you loved and the boy you lost. you remembered the way he'd let out a gasp if he'd gone a day without feeding it, or how he would strap it to his backpack as to not forget it. one spring afternoon he let you play with it while you sat under a cherry blossom tree. he called it your child, promising he'd take care of it, always. just like how he'd always take care of you. "we'll get married and have a real one, don't worry." that was his promise to you during the end of your first year. funny how life worked.

because you couldn't think about those days without thinking of the fateful november that just passed. how satoru came to you, disheveled, bandages fallen from his face. he was the one to break the news, something that was inevitably going to happen—suguru was always a dead man walking, ever since he killed those innocent people. there was the ironic twist; someone who almost cried at the thought of a fake pet dying was capable of taking hundreds of real lives.

that didn't mean, though, that his death didn't sting. it was as if you'd lost him for a second time. this time for good. hope was gone. he wouldn't be able to redeem himself, to confess and have a change of heart, to crawl back to you, devoting himself to being good. the least you could do was keep him alive through the tamagotchi.

you looked back at itadori, faking a smile.

"we sorcerers don't have long life expectancies, y'know. so make sure you keep the things and people you care about close." the teen looked at you with a confused expression, wondering where the solem elder act had come from. you only snort, putting the tamagotchi back into your pocket. "enjoy these years, yuji. that's my advice to you. now you better hurry back to class, satoru sees everything."

with that, he scurried away, leaving you and the digital pet alone. you and suguru were bound by it, even in death. you wipe a tear. it's the last part of him that's still yours.

[nyangsterz]

⋆˚꩜｡ CONSUMERISM WILL KILL US ALL ── park jongseong

SYPNOSIS. Jay’s obsessed with viral trends. You’re obsessed with calling them propaganda.

So when he drags you out of bed at 7AM for an overpriced Labubu Dubai Chocolate Crumbl Cookie, you roll your eyes, but go anyway—because you love him.

You don’t like the cookie.

But you love the boy.

And maybe that’s sweet enough.

PAIRING. non idol!jay x reader

GENRES. fluff, uses she/her pronouns, jay falling for propaganda, reluctant reader, drabble, vvv short, established relationship

WORD COUNT. 0.8k

AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ ˙ฅᨐฅ ̟ !! heyyy im back, i wrote this when my acc disappeared yesterday and was supposed to post it on my other acc but its back now so im posting it here.

the story is inspired by these tweets i saw: matcha dubai chocolate labubu crumble cookie & jay falling for propaganda, and my friend tweeting about how he would be the boyfriend who always takes his girlfriend to try viral things and makes her queue for hours for it. probably his love language. so i immediately ran to write it

jay is falling for all the propaganda, but ig its ok cause its jay lol. anyways hope yall enjoy!!

Jay had a lot of love languages—quality time, gift-giving, physical touch. But above all, it was making you try things that went viral on TikTok.

And unfortunately for your sleep schedule, that now included waking you up at 6:54 a.m. on a Saturday with the urgency of a man whose house was on fire.

She groaned, burying her face deeper into her pillow. “Jay, unless someone’s on fire or someone’s pregnant, it’s not an emergency.”

He leaned down, grinning like a boy about to reveal a Christmas present. “Babe. Labubu collab. Crumbl. Dubai Chocolate. Today only.”

She cracked one eye open.

“First of all,” she said, voice dry, “Labubu sounds like a scam. Second of all, you need to stop falling for propaganda.”

Jay clutched his phone like it was holy scripture. “It’s not propaganda. It’s dessert.”

“No,” She said, flipping over dramatically. “It’s a capitalist trap in the shape of a cookie. And you’re frothing at the mouth like a sleeper agent.”

He gave her those soft puppy eyes. “But you love sleeper agents.”

She sighed heavily. “Fine. But I’m not putting on real pants.”

She did, in fact, put on real pants. Oversized sweats, to be exact. And Jay rewarded her sacrifice with a hot coffee and a very annoying smile.

By the time they reached the Crumbl store, the line was already spilling down the sidewalk.

“Are you happy?” She muttered, hoodie up, hair in a claw clip, face bare. “I could be in bed. But no. I’m here. In line. Behind three high school girls debating the ethics of skipping class for a cookie.”

Jay, in a puffer vest and beanie, was bouncing excitedly beside you. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Consumerism will kill us both.”

He snorted. “Then we die tasting Dubai.”

“Jay,” She said firmly, “you need to stop falling for propaganda.”

He turned to her with a hand on his heart. “This isn’t propaganda. This is… culture.”

“It’s a chocolate blob with a creepy bunny on the box.”

“Exactly. Labubu’s an icon.”

She sighed and crossed her arms, ignoring him completely.

On the other hand, Jay was practically bouncing. “Rumor is it’s got edible gold.”

“That’s not a flavor,” She muttered, half-asleep. “That’s a tax bracket.”

Jay laughed and wrapped an arm around her. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Cookies and chaos. Our thing.”

She rolled her eyes.

Jay only laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Stop being grumpy. You’ll like it. Probably.”

She didn’t reply. She was cold. Tired. And slowly turning into someone who knew way too much about cookies.

By the time they reached the counter, she was fully in her “whatever” mode—arms limp, face blank, soul gone.

Jay, on the other hand, was in full performance mode.

“Two Labubu Dubai Chocolate Crumbls,” he said with pride, “and can you give hers in the pink box, please? She waited with me.”

The barista giggled. “Aw, you’re a good boyfriend.”

“Tell her that,” Jay said, nudging her.

She blinked. “I’m being held hostage.”

Outside, Jay handed her the pink box reverently, then opened his own like it was a religious artifact.

The cookie was massive—thick, glistening, dark with chocolate, and slightly sparkly with whatever edible gold Jay had been raving about. The Labubu wrapper stared at her with dead eyes. She stared back.

Jay took a bite and visibly melted. “Oh my God,” he moaned. “This might be the best one yet.”

She lifted hers reluctantly. Took a bite.

And immediately wanted to spit it out.

It was way too sweet. Cloying, almost. The texture was dense, like warm fudge trying to be a cake. The gold didn’t taste like anything (of course), and the inside was filled with some kind of gooey chocolate that clung to the roof of her mouth like guilt.

But when she looked up, Jay was watching her with his hopeful, sparkly eyes.

“Well?” he asked.

She swallowed. Forced a smile. “It’s… pretty good. I get the hype.”

Jay’s grin widened. “I knew it!”

He reached for her hand and pulled her closer, offering another bite of his with zero personal space. “Here, try mine—this one has more filling.”

She nodded and let him feed her.

She didn’t like it. Not even a little. But she loved him.

So she chewed and smiled and licked the chocolate off her fingers while he took candid pictures of her laughing under the neon “matcha made in heaven” sign they weren’t even near.

Later, when they were walking back, cookie boxes swinging from their hands, Jay nudged her.

“You know you love it. I saw the sparkle in your eye.”

She scoffed. “That was the sugar crash.”

“Stop falling for propaganda,” she added, teasing.

Jay wrapped an arm around her. “If propaganda tastes this good, I’ll fall again and again.”

She shook her head, but leaned into him.

Because even if the cookie wasn’t sweet—he was.

And maybe, just maybe, that made all the hype worth it.

COMMENTS, FEEDBACKS, NOTES, AND REBLOGS ARE ALL APPRECIATED