#living without them... just feels so empty and wrong...

[wileys-russo]

Alessia “babe… I don’t know how to tell you this, but I lost my ring” living room

lost property II a.russo

it wasn't until you got in the car that evening that either of you tweaked anything was wrong, alessia having surprised you with a dinner reservation at your favourite japanese restaurant.

"oh less, why?" you'd questioned right away when you'd arrived home from work and she'd told you, the blonde giving you an odd look and a smile.

"just because." the englishwoman grinned, pecking your lips and sending you upstairs to get ready while she put on a load of washing. an hour later and you were both ready to go, alessia holding up the procession as she hunted for her car keys.

"baby this is why i bought you all the air tags for christmas!" you reminded gently, a thin lipped smile on your face as you tapped your foot, the pair of you now running late for your reservation as alessia dug through her training bag for the second time.

"i don't need them! i don't have a problem with losing things, this is a one off." your fiance huffed stubbornly as you exhaled, sinking down into the sofa. "we could just order in?" you suggested, knowing it took a lot to tip the level headed blonde over the edge but recognizing she was close to snapping.

"no. we're both ready, and you look gorgeous. they're here somewhere!" alessia paused to send you a smile before resuming her digging through her bag, moving quickly onto her favourite handbag and purse but also coming up empty handed.

"i'll go check upstairs less, and you look beautiful!" you rose up from the lounge, ducking down to kiss her cheek and taking the steps two at a time, disappearing into your bedroom.

"found them!" you called out within seconds, a roll of your eyes as you snatched her keys off the bathroom counter and also her phone with a scoff. "where?" alessia was already waiting at the bottom of the steps with wide eyes.

"bathroom, where you showered right after training." you laughed, twirling them around on your finger and holding them out of the taller girls reach, hovering a few steps above her.

"should you call them? let them know we're running late?" you suggested, alessia nodding and slipping a hand into the pocket of her blazer, the temptation to grin swallowed down at the frown on the footballers face as she patted herself down.

"i can't-" "bit hard to call without a phone?" you questioned, eyebrow raised and the device held in your other hand as alessia's cheeks flushed pink. "you'd lose your head if it wasn't attached to your body darling." you teased, her keys and phone slipped into her hands as you squeezed her face in your free hand as you passed.

"this is just a bad example. i do not have a problem with losing things!"

only as your fiance finally pulled out of your driveway and you hung up with the restaurant who agreed to hold you table, did you note there was something quite noticeably missing from her left hand which gripped the steering wheel.

"less." you called for her attention as she hummed, eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel, slowing down at a red light and glancing toward you with a raised eyebrow.

"baby wheres your ring?" you asked quietly, the strikers eyes dropping immediately to her hands which she balled up and moved to her lap. "i uh-well i-" the blonde stumbled over her words, jolting in her seat as she light turned green and the car behind her honked twice telling her to move.

"alessia. did you lose your engagement ring?" you asked slowly, eyes narrowing as your fiance could almost feel the tension rise ten fold within the car, hairs on the back of her neck prickling at the hardened look which burned the side of her face.

"no! babe of course not, of course i didn't lose it." the blonde assured, reaching across to squeeze your knee. "right. so then where is it?" you questioned, arms moving to cross as your fiance shifted in her seat, eyes refusing to meet your own.

"its uh, its being cleaned!" alessia excused, flashing you a nervous smile as you hummed. "the engagement ring that you've had for two weeks...needed to be cleaned?" you asked clearly not believing the poor attempt at a lie.

"yes! yes i was uh, i was showing the girls and i forgot to take it off while we were training. then of course it rained today, and the ring well it got muddy." alessia lied, nodding as if to convince herself more than you, turning right into the carpark.

"it got muddy?" "yes, muddy." "and you couldn't have just wiped it?" "wiped my engagement ring? you don't wipe diamonds!" alessia scoffed, putting her car into park and giving you a look of shock which you met with a blank stare.

"look at this baby, see how it sparkles? catches the light? thats because you take such good care of it, much better care than me. but i would never lose my ring! never." alessia laced her fingers with yours, holding up your engagement ring as you rolled your eyes.

"you spin a decent story russo." you gave her a slight smile, unclicking your belt as the blonde kissed the back of your hand and let go to do the same, the pair of you exiting the car.

"now my love, would i lie to you?"

~

"leah!" the blonde glanced up from her breakfast at the call of her name, eyebrows furrowing together at the younger girl practically barreling through the cafeteria to get to her, dropping into her seat and trying to catch her breath.

"less?" leah questioned, taking a bite of toast, a few odd glances thrown alessia's way whose chest heaved, not even dressed for training yet as she'd run right from her car to the table.

"i lied to my fiance and i think our marriage might be over before its even started." the blonde stated bluntly, leah choking on a mouthful of toast at the sentence, beths hand smacking her on the back as she joined the pair with a plate of food.

"you right? you know you're old enough now to know you have to chew before you swallow leah." the norhterner smirked as her friend gave her an evil side eye, quickly chugging the last few mouthfuls of juice.

"alessia you've not even been engaged for a month, how is your marriage over already? you've loved that girl for years!" leah asked once she could speak again, beths eyes near bugging out of her head.

"what did you do to that poor lovely girl alessia?" she spoke up sternly, eyes narrowing as alessia scoffed. "why do you assume i did something?" the striker questioned, leah clearing her throat capturing the attention back to her.

"to quote well uh, you. 'i lied to my fiance and i think our marriage might be over before its even started'." leah mocked, fixing the younger girl with a look who paled and sunk into her seat with a sigh.

"i lost my ring." "sorry speak up please some of us don't speak whisper." "i lost my ring."

"uh i hope you mean literally any other ring and not your engagement ring alessia!" beth gasped as the striker winced and shushed her. "oh less forget the wedding being off, you're a dead woman. can any of the venues you were thinking of accommodate a funeral?" leah questioned, alessia shooting her daggers before dragging her hands down her face with a quiet groan.

"she is always on you about being more mindful of your possessions, little miss forget a lot!" beth reminded as your fiance exhaled heavily.

"i know i know! i didn't mean to i just..." "forgot?" both beth and leah chimed in sync sharing a grin as alessia huffed. "are you two going to help me or not?"

"right. so we need to retrace all of your steps from yesterday, where did you start?" leah asked as the three of them made their way out of the canteen, having merely an hour to do so before they were required on the pitch.

"my car. but i already tossed that last night after she fell asleep, and i searched the house top to bottom it's definitely not at home." alessia affirmed as leah hummed.

"so you walked in through the front doors and-" "alessia!" a new voice interrupted them, one of the trainers waving from the end of the hall as he chased after the trio.

"not now henry i'm so sorry, girl talk." alessia called back, jolting the man in his tracks who nodded with a strange look, opening his mouth to speak but they'd already disappeared into the change rooms.

and an hour later as the trio wandered out onto the pitch, alessia was still ring-less, word spreading throughout the team some of whom checked in with her and others (kyra) who seemed to think it was hilarious.

it was obvious her mind was elsewhere during the first session, missing easy goals, easy passes, tripping over herself with her head in the clouds as your voice echoed around in her head.

renee pulling the striker aside to check in alessia assured she was just having an off day and everything was fine, beth and leah watching a few feet away as they hung back after the whistle, the rest of the team filing inside for lunch.

"hey less!" again henry called after her as alessia joined beth and leah, the trio already trying to plot where else the ring may have been left, leah now making an excuse that they all had recovery and couldn't be late as she ushered them back inside.

the later in the day it became, the more alessia's stress grew, now going as far as to be dodging your calls and ignoring your texts, having a day off from work and trying to do the groceries without the list you'd asked her to write out yesterday, another thing she'd forgot.

"the more ya dodge her the more its gonna bite you in the ass later less." beth cautioned, watching the younger girl silence your call and slip her phone into her pocket with a wince, trudging through the car park with slumped shoulders and a face like she was being marched to her execution.

"good luck mate, its been lovely knowing you." leah sighed squeezing her shoulder as alessia pushed her hand off with a scowl, the older blonde snickering and jogging off to catch up with steph who she'd driven in with.

you were starting to grow worried the later in the day it became and your fiances car still hadn't appeared in the driveway, all your calls going to voicemail and texts unanswered.

you paced around the living room, darting to the window like an excited puppy every time you thought you heard her, only to deflate seeing it was just one of your neighbours.

though when afternoon turned to evening and still there was no sign of her, all of the girls confirming she'd left right after training same as them, your worry began to fester and stew, doubts creeping in no matter how much you tried to push them out.

you bounced your knee and bit your lip as your mind drew itself to a conclusion you tried to refuse to believe.

the fancy dinner last night, the insistence to make you breakfast in bed before she'd left for training, the cute little note on the fridge, the lack of a wedding ring, the unexplained absence, the dodged phone calls and messages you could see she'd read.

then finally, the engine, the hurried footsteps and a key in the door.

"baby? it's just me!" she sang out, the thump of her training bag against the floor and shuffle of her shoes wiped against the welcome mat sounding afterward, but you didn't make a move to go and greet her.

"hey i thought we agreed to watch that together! its thursday night that means takeout and trashy tv shows." your fiance whined seeing you already a half an hour into an episode of the real housewives.

a show alessia had been adamant she would never watch or enjoy however after days of her 'curious' questions and hovering around the sofa pretending to be busy whenever you'd put it on you'd worn her down to actually sit and watch, and since then she was hooked.

"are you cheating on me?" it came spewing out of you before you could even take a beat to process, pausing the television and head whipping around to meet your fiances gobsmacked features.

"am i what?" "are you, cheating, on me?" you repeated a little firmer this time, swallowing the fear of her answer and trying to give her the hardest look you could muster.

"i-why would you think i would ever in a million years cheat on you?" alessia rounded the sofa in the blink of an eye as you sat with arms crossed and a frown.

"you took me out for a fancy dinner to distract me, you didn't wear your ring, you've been ignoring me all day and you finished training hours ago but you only just got home and no one can tell me where you've been!" you accused, alessia's face falling.

"baby-" "no alessia, where have you been? who have you been with? does she work at the restaurant? is that why you took me there so you could-" you gasped, shooting up to your feet as the blonde groaned.

"no! no no no no. can you please sit down? i will explain everything." alessias hands fell to your shoulders, very gently pushing you back down to the sofa, shifting uncomfortably under your prickly glare.

"babe i don't know how to tell you this. but...i lost my ring." alessia mumbled quietly, foot nudging a scuffed patch of carpet. "you what?" you asked, not quite hearing her properly as she winced.

"i uh, i lost my ring." "you mean the cleaner lost your ring?" "no...it was never at the cleaners." "right. so you lied to me about it?" "no!" "alessia you are skating on thin ice-" "okay yes! yes i told a little lie. but i promise you i have spent the entire day trying to find it, thats why i'm so late!" alessia collapsed onto the sofa beside you and buried her face in her hands.

but before you could say anything the doorbell rang, and when your fiance made no move to get up to answer it too busy indulging in her little pity party you got up to get it.

"uh hi?" you spoke to the unfamiliar man on your doorstep who took a step back as you pulled the door open. "i'm so sorry to bother you this late, but is alessia here?" you noticed the arsenal badge on his jacket and the word staff sewn underneath, nodding and calling out for the blonde.

"henry? is everything alright?" alessia questioned, surprised to see him to say the least as his hand fished around in his pocket. "look i tried to talk to you all day but-" he grunted and rummaged deeper into his pockets.

"-but i didn't think you'd want to wait any longer for a reunion." with that he fished a sandwich bag out of his pocket and at the sight of its contents alessia's jaw nearly hit the floor.

"my ring! jesus christ henry if i wasnt engaged i'd kiss you." alessia breathed out as he handed it over and you rammed your elbow into her side with a glare making the trainer chuckle.

"i've been married for three years now. good luck! see you tomorrow." the man grinned and with a wave he was walking back down the driveway, the door closed as alessia scrambled to slide the ring back onto her finger with a deep exhale of relief.

one which was interrupted by a clearing of your throat.

"baby-" "no. nope! no, not a word." you warned, a hand held up to stop her advancing toward you as she'd started, a sheepish smile and guilt ingrained deep in her features.

"i'm really sorry?" "thats three words." "i love you?"

"lie to me again and you can have this back." you warned seriously pointing to the ring on your own finger, your fiance nodding eagerly and launching at you for a hug which you ducked.

"baby where are you going?" "to find a needle and thread." "...why?"

"because alessia we are going to take those air tags i got you for christmas and sew one into everything you own, and then after that i'm going to stitch that ring permanently to your finger!"

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

Emmy listen- I got a great idea but I need your beautiful mind for it. Feel free to just ignore me buut like what if for a daddy Chan idea where he accidentally yells at reader and they leave? Like a nice angst -> comfort. Ugh. I just know you’re so good with this series and I just love it and you but like you more lol. Annnywaaays I’m rambling have a good day lol

do you think beary will forgive me?

pairing: daddy!chan x princess!reader

genre: angst with a happy ending

word count: 2 ss and ~2.3k

warnings: very very brief mentions of dying (not real dying, it’s in reference to a tv show lol), yelling, lots of crying, pet names.

an: saturn, i hope this is what you were looking for. i hope i did it justice. it’s still crazy to me that one of my faves thought that i would be the best person to write their idea. anyway, this is absolutely devastating. so enjoy. lol i’m shy but i’ll try to reach out to you more, i’d like for us to be better friends. :)

masterlist

!! my requests are now closed until i’m caught up !! :)

the tv blared loudly as your newest drama obsession reached its peak, the main character sick in a hospital bed while the love of her life cries and begs her to pull through.

“if she dies, i’m going to freak out.” you say out loud. to no one in particular, as the apartment was empty. you glanced at your phone for the time. you got excited. daddy should be home any minute. your attention was pulled back to the screen as the main character wakes up from her coma. “oh thank god.” you say to yourself, clutching your blanket tightly, sinking further into the couch cushions.

you don’t hear the door lock beeping or the mechanical whirring of the mechanism as it unlocks and clicks open. a weary chan stumbles inside, kicking off his shoes. if you weren’t so entranced by your show, you would notice how tense he is. how his shoulders and neck look stiff with exhaustion, his brow furrowed with agitation.

he drags his feet through the house until he finds you in the living room. you see his frame in the doorway and jump up from the couch, running to him. “daddy!” you exclaim. you throw your arms around his neck, clinging to his body. he reluctantly wraps his arms around you, squeezing gently. it lasts only a second before he pulls away.

“do you have to have the tv that loud?” he scolds. your smile drops and you feel embarrassed. you felt stupid for having the volume up that loud. you race back to the couch, flinging the blanket to the side in search of the remote. after a moment, you find it and quickly shut the tv off, plunging the room into silence. you turn back around, but you’re alone again. there’s no longer a daddy in the room. you huff a disappointed sound and shuffle your slippered feet across the floor in search of him.

you ultimately find him in the bathroom, pulling his shirt off over his head. while his face is covered, you rush up behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle. you’ve done this so many times and he always loves it. always tells you how cute you are and how much he loves you. but… not today.

he discards his shirt on the floor before pulling your hands free of his waist and gently pushing you away. he makes eye contact with you in the mirror before saying “i need to take a shower.”

“oh.. okay.” you say. you force a smile to your face, determined to put him in a better mood. he must have had a very long day. he looks away before even noticing your smile, turning to switch the shower on. he kicks his shorts off and steps inside, without saying another word.

you were shocked. and also, kind of sad. he didn’t even seem excited to see you at all. you didn’t get any hugs, or any kisses, not even a head pat. you wondered if you did something wrong, wondered if you were just being dramatic or being too needy. maybe he finally got tired of you like you always feared. tears pricked your eyes. you forced them away, shaking your head.

no. you would not cry. you are a big girl.

unsure of what to do, and missing him terribly, you sat on the floor of the bathroom, waiting for him to be done. sometimes you would talk to him while he was showering, asking him about his day. but you felt like that wasn’t the best move right now. so you sat silently, patiently, playing with the loose strings on the bathmat. finally the water shut off and a muscular hand reached out in blind search of a towel. he found one and you could hear him drying himself, before he flung the curtain open to find you sitting on the floor. you smiled up at him, just excited to be near him, happy that he was finally home.

“what are you doing?” he asked, deadpan.

you didn’t like his tone. it was cold and very un daddy like.

“i was.. waiting for you to be done.” you said, your smile faltering a little.

he sighed. “i can’t even get a minute alone in the fucking shower?”

you felt like you had been slapped. “wh-what?”

he stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, and walked right past you and into the bedroom.

the tears were back at your waterline, threatening to spill. you carefully stood up on shaky legs and walked to the bedroom. you peeked your head around the door frame and saw him pulling a pair of boxers on, hair dripping onto his bare shoulders.

you wanted to say something, but he said he wanted to be alone? you didn’t want to bother him. but he never talked like that. if he ever needed alone time, he would sweetly tell you that before setting you up a movie or activity to do while he spent some time with himself. you couldn’t remember a time when he had ever cursed at you. your mind again wondered if you had done something wrong. something to upset him. he noticed you standing silently in the doorway.

“damn it, y/n!” he yelled. “i said i want to be left alone. what the fuck don’t you understand!?” he stomped toward the door, toward you, his face scrunched up in anger. you had never seen that face on him before. he had never talked to you this way and it really scared you. he grabbed the door and slammed it shut in your face. you stumbled and fell backwards onto the floor, landing on your butt and scraping your palm in the process of trying to catch yourself.

you silently cried on the floor for a moment. your heart raced with fear, with hurt. your palm stung. you wiped your tears and shakily walked to the living room. you grabbed your phone and walked out the front door, not a destination in mind, cow slippers still on your feet.

you stared at the door handle to your apartment. you had been hiding in the cold emergency stairwell of your apartment building, unsure of where to go. you reached your hand out. you wanted to go inside. wanted to feel the safety of the four walls and locking door. you even wanted for chan to hold you. for him to tell you that everything was alright. that you were safe now. but how could he make you feel safe, when he was the one who scared you in the first place? your stomach was in knots. would he yell again? he promised he wouldn’t.. would he be mad at you? mad that you couldn’t give him space, mad that you left without telling him where you were going? your hand shook as you reached for the handle. you took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

chan was sat on the edge of the couch, his phone clutched in one fist, his other hand was at his mouth, nervously biting on his thumb nail. when he heard the door to the apartment open, he stood up abruptly, his phone clattering to the floor. he took a step in your direction. you noticed him, and the fear in your eyes broke his heart. the door clicked shut behind you quietly. you stood in the entryway, not making a move further into the apartment. he took another step toward you, fighting the urge to run to you and scoop you up in his arms. but you flinched, and took a step back. your eyes were wide with fear and hurt and he didn’t know what to do to make it better. for once in your relationship, daddy didn’t know how to fix it.

he sank to his knees in the middle of the living room, head hung low. you were confused at first. and then your confusion turned to worry, all your fears melting away. you slowly approached him, stopping a few feet away. his shoulders shook.

“daddy..?” you said, your voice soft.

he looked up at you, tears in his eyes, his face scrunched up in pain as he fought the urge to sob like a baby.

you had only ever seen him cry once, when he watched a particularly sad movie with you, but this was completely different. this was devastation in his eyes. you knelt in front of him. now face to face, you reached out and wiped his tears off his cheeks with the pads of your fingers.

“daddy don’t cry..”

his eyes locked on your palm, the scrape clearly visible as you collected his tears. he looked back to you, before gently reaching for your hand. he held it in his, palm up, examining the damage.

“baby what happened?” he asked, his voice thick with tears.

“i.. fell.” you say. “when you slammed the door.. i fell.”

his face contorted in pain again and his head fell forward. his tears splashed onto your palm and onto the floor.

“baby.. i’m so sorry.” he sobbed. he messily kissed your injured palm.

“it’s okay..” you comforted him.

he shook his head. “it’s not okay.” he looked up at you, gently squeezing your hand, careful of the scrape. “daddy is supposed to protect you. but i.. i caused this.” his eyes looked to the ceiling as he tried to stop his tears from flowing.

“did.. i do something?” you asked, your own tears coming to the surface again. “to make you mad?”

his free hand came to your cheek, stroking gently. “no, baby. of course not. you were just excited to see me and i yelled at you. what kind of daddy does that?”

“why did you yell then?” you asked.

“it’s been such a long day.. it seemed like everyone needed something from me.” he sniffled. “i just wanted to be alone. and away from everyone. and then when i got home and you were right there, i just.. i lost it.” he looked into your eyes, the glassy surface mirroring yours. “i am so so sorry. i can’t imagine how scared you must have been. i will never, ever, yell at you again. i promise.”

“i was really scared.” you confessed. “i’ve never seen you like that.”

“and you shouldn’t have. daddy should never yell at his princess.” just when he thought his tears were under control, his bottom lip started to quiver again. “you were just excited to see me..”

he felt terrible. awful at how he treated you. he felt undeserving of his title. the whole day was heavy on his shoulders, exhaustion taking over his body now that you were home and he knew you were safe.

“i thought maybe you got tired of me..” you said.

“what?” his heart squeezed, like the knife that had been plunged inside it already was now turning. “baby i could never get tired of you.”

you looked down at your injured hand, your own tears falling freely.

“i’m always so needy. always clinging to you.”

“and i love that. i really do. baby i promise that you did absolutely nothing wrong. this is all daddy’s fault.” he tilted your face up to look at him. “you are my perfect little baby, yeah?”

you sniffled, but did your best to nod your head in his hand.

“you. are. perfect.” he said again. enunciating each word, really wanting to make sure you understood.

“can.. can i hold you?” he asked. you nodded in response. “are you sure? tell me with words.”

“yes i’m sure. you can hold me.”

he sat down on his butt, his back leaning against the couch, and he pulled you into his lap. your face was in the crook of his neck and he wrapped his strong arms around you. he held you tight. he had a thought that maybe it was too tight. but when he tried to loosen his hold, you gripped onto him tighter, his t-shirt balled up in your little fists. you cried quietly into his shirt, relief flooding through you as you were finally where you belonged.

“baby i’m so sorry.” he said against your hair, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “i will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. i will never scare you ever again. it’s.. it’s eating away at me.” he rubbed his hand across your back.

“do you think you could ever forgive me?” he asked.

you pulled away slightly to look at him properly. “i forgive you, daddy.”

tears threatened to spill down his cheeks again, but he refused. “really?”

you nodded. “you didn’t mean to scare me. you didn’t mean to yell.” you said. “but please don’t ever do it again.”

he shook his head, squeezing you tight. “i won’t. i promise.”

you held your pinky out. he let out a watery chuckle before linking his pinky with yours. “i pinky promise, baby.”

your head fell back to his shoulder and he continued to stroke your back, gently rocking both your bodies back and forth. it was quiet for a moment before he asked, “do you think Beary will forgive me?”

“hmm..” you thought. “i don’t know. he’s very protective of me.”

“i know he is. im a little nervous to face him.”

you laughed and he laughed too, your hearts feeling lighter now that you had each other again. and as he continued to rock you, your eyes grew heavy, your body exhausted from the long evening. you would eventually pass out on his shoulder and he would carry you to bed, tucking the cover around you, and kissing your forehead.

he would mutter an ‘i love you.’ and one more ‘i’m sorry.’ before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

♡ pls reblog if you liked it! it truly helps a lot and makes me smile :) ♡

©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.

[claramelooo]

CRIMSON REVERIE

Now it starts!

Love it <3

Pairing: Dark!Witch Wanda x Reader

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Warnings: +18

Summary: You don't understand why Professor Maximoff watches you so much, apparently, neither does she

Read here: Prologue | ENVY | MULTIVERSAL ANCHOR

FUEL

The awakening was abrupt but not uncomfortable. Wanda blinked slowly, adjusting to the dimness of the room. The hand resting on her waist was large, familiar, but rough—different from the softness she had expected. For a moment, she wished for something else, but as she turned, she found Vision, his calm, usual expression still present as he slept.

Wanda's chest tightened. It was like a reverse dream—something desired yet distant. She slid out of bed carefully, trying not to wake him, but memories began flooding her mind, blending with the conflicting emotions pulsating in her chest.

In the hallway, she encountered Tommy and Billy, still sleepy, one chasing the other with muffled giggles that warmed her heart. For a moment, she almost forgot she didn’t belong there. Almost.

Even with them there, even with Vision by her side, something was missing. Something she couldn’t ignore.

Wanda took a deep breath, heading to the kitchen and pouring herself a cup of coffee. The memories of this universe began to align, filling gaps. She was a teacher, a respected and feared figure on campus. Vision was her husband. Her children, healthy and happy. Everything seemed perfect, but the emptiness persisted, like a hole she couldn’t fill.

The emptiness had an oblique face and a delicate shape. Sharp eyes, yet kind. Her heart burned—for something, for someone. But Wanda didn’t understand. Something was wrong.

Vision entered the room, his presence methodical and precise as always. “You’re up early again,” he remarked, his yellow eyes analyzing her with customary objectivity.

“I didn’t sleep well,” Wanda replied, closing the book without looking at him.

Vision tilted his head, the gesture almost human, but something was missing—emotion, spontaneity.

“Is something on your mind? Can I help?”

The question was logical, a rational attempt at a solution. But that was always what was missing: human warmth, the living flame

Wanda felt should be there.

“No, Vision. It’s not something you can fix.”

He frowned, as if trying to understand.

“I detect a change in your behavioral patterns since this morning. There seems to be an increase in emotional tension. Are you feeling dissatisfied?”

Wanda looked at him and, for a moment, tried to find the same spark that had drawn her to him in another time, another place. But it wasn’t there. Vision was precise, methodical, and though kind, he lacked passion. He never had it.

“I’m just... confused,” she admitted, resting her chin in her hands.

Vision moved closer, sitting beside her with carefully calculated motions. He took her hand, like a rehearsed gesture.

“Wanda, you have everything you ever wanted. Me, the boys, a respectable career. What more do you need?”

The words hit like a punch.

“Everything I ever wanted,” she repeated bitterly. “Yes, of course. That should be enough.”

Vision tilted his head again, observing her with almost clinical curiosity.

“If there is something else you desire, we can recalibrate our environment to meet your needs.”

“Recalibrate?” She laughed without humor, pulling her hand away from his.

“You think this is about the environment, Vision? It’s not that simple.”

“Then what’s missing?” he pressed, the logic in his voice starting to irritate her.

Wanda remained silent for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“What’s missing… is life, Vision. You don’t understand because you don’t feel it. You’re… functional. Logical. Precise.”

Vision processed her words, but his response was direct, almost mechanical.

“My purpose is to ensure your well-being and that of the boys. If I’ve failed, I can correct it.”

“You haven’t failed,” she replied, tiredly. “I just... I don’t know. I don’t know.”

He stayed silent, perhaps trying to calculate an appropriate response. But Wanda knew it was futile. Vision couldn’t be what she needed. He wasn’t passionate about life. He didn’t understand it and never could.

She looked at him, trying not to feel guilty. He couldn’t grasp what it meant to be human, nor the emptiness she felt.

“You’re good, Vision. A good father to the boys. A good partner for... whoever you believe I am here,” Wanda murmured, standing.

“Wanda, you’re speaking as if you’re somewhere else,” he remarked, with his usual precision.

She paused at the door, not turning around.

“Maybe I’ve always been.”

And with that, Wanda walked away, leaving Vision alone in the room, silent and unchanged, as always.

[...]

Wanda’s heels echoed through the university hallways like a warning, and you felt your heart race even before lifting your eyes from the notebook. Professor Maximoff was coming.

She was the kind of woman who could stop time, who made others bow with just a glance. The rumors about how even the administration feared confronting her were not exaggerated. Wanda Maximoff wasn’t just a professor; she was a force of nature.

You’d never admit it out loud, but there was something about her that always left you on the edge. It wasn’t just her stunning beauty or the low, firm tone of her voice, but the way she seemed to see you differently. As if she knew more than she should. As if she could strip you bare with a simple raise of her brow.

She stopped directly in front of you. You looked up, meeting those emerald-green eyes fixed on you, and felt your throat go dry.

“Miss...” she began, her voice low and drawn out, as if considering whether it was even worth speaking to you.

“Y/L/N,” you quickly completed, trying to sound confident, but the hesitation in your voice betrayed you.

“I’m well aware of your name,” she replied, a hint of disdain in her voice. “Don’t think I forget my students.”

Wanda Maximoff hated you. Not with a simple, petty hatred, but with something more complex, more visceral. Every word you spoke in her classes, every glance you held, was an affront—not just to who she was but to what she had fought to build.

You didn’t seem to fear her like the others. You didn’t buckle under the weight of her presence, nor stumble over your words like so many other students when Wanda directed her penetrating gaze at them. Instead, you challenged her in ways she couldn’t ignore, even when she tried. It was in the details: the way you held her gaze a second too long, the faint curve of your lips suggesting that you knew something—something Wanda didn’t want anyone to know.

She hated you because you were a distorted mirror, reflecting the cracks in her flawless facade. Your audacity—subtle or otherwise—was an uncomfortable reminder that, no matter how much control she had over her world, there was something about you that eluded her grasp. It infuriated her, and at the same time, it ignited a fire she didn’t know how to extinguish.

Your face warmed, but you masked it by shifting your gaze to your notebook. “Of course, Professor.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, and you felt her eyes boring into you, assessing, intimidating.

“You’re aware that your analysis of Blindness is overdue, aren’t you?” Wanda asked, leaning forward slightly, arms crossed over her chest.

You swallowed hard, trying not to get lost in her scent, which seemed to wrap around the air around you. “Yes, Professor. I... I’m finishing it; I just need one more day.”

“One more day,” she repeated, as if savoring the words, her lips curling into a half-smile that promised nothing good. “You always have an excuse, don’t you?”

“I don’t—” you started, but she raised an eyebrow, and the words died in your throat as she noticed the slight stiffening of your shoulders.

“Perfect,” she thought, feeling a cruel satisfaction. There was something almost addictive about watching you struggle to maintain your composure in front of her. It was a game Wanda hated playing, but one she couldn’t walk away from. Not when it came to you.

“Spare me, Miss Y/L/N. I’m tired of hearing excuses from students who think they can survive my course with mediocre effort.”

When your eyes finally gathered the courage to meet hers again, there was a palpable tension in the air, as if it had grown heavier. Wanda could feel the heat rising in her skin, but she attributed it to anger—it had to be anger.

You challenged her again, with that look that seemed to dare her: Go on, Maximoff. Break me, if you can.

It was unbearable. It was intoxicating.

Your heart was beating so fast you thought she could hear it. But instead of feeling ashamed, something else was coursing through you. Admiration? Desire? Maybe both.

“I promise I’ll deliver something worthy, Professor,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though you knew she could detect your hesitation.

As you spoke, your voice filled with a sweet blend of hesitation and boldness, Wanda realized she wanted more than just to crush your defiance. She wanted to understand why you did this—why you dared to draw her attention at every turn in this place. Why she couldn’t keep you under her control. Every word you said was a conscious effort to maintain power, but the truth was, she also felt something close to fear—fear that, somehow, you were seeing more than you should.

More than anyone ever had.

Wanda tilted her head slightly, her eyes fixed on yours as if searching for something. “I hope so. It would be a shame to waste the talent you have on laziness.”

You almost smiled but held back. She had just complimented you, even if indirectly. That was rare coming from her.

“I won’t disappoint you,” you replied, your voice low, almost a whisper.

“We’ll see,” she murmured, straightening up and casting you one last look before turning to leave. “Don’t waste my time, Miss Y/L/N.”

You watched her walk away, her firm steps echoing until they faded. Only then did you release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

As intimidating as Wanda Maximoff was, you knew you couldn’t avoid her. You didn’t want to. The truth was, there was something about her that made you want to be noticed, even if it was with a stern gaze.

And you were willing to do whatever it took to earn that gaze.

At the end of another exhausting class, you sat on the grass near the university entrance, laughing at the silly jokes Kate made about a professor who, apparently, fell asleep during his own lectures.

"I swear, he blinked so slowly he had his eyes closed for, like, three minutes!" Kate gestured dramatically, pulling hearty laughter from Yelena, who was munching on something crunchy and undoubtedly unhealthy.

"Maybe he was just meditating," Bucky suggested, biting into an apple with the nonchalance of someone who had seen it all.

"Or he died, and no one noticed," Yelena retorted, her mouth full, making Kate almost choke from laughing too hard.

"You guys are terrible!" you chuckled, trying to focus on finishing your report on your laptop.

"No, you're terrible," Kate said, pointing at your screen. "Still working on that? You know Professor Maximoff is just going to look at it, laugh in your face, and toss it in the trash, right?"

You made a face, and Bucky gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Relax, you'll survive. Just don't look her in the eyes; rumor has it she can read souls."

"She already read mine and found it disappointing," you muttered, eliciting more laughter from Yelena and Kate.

Before the banter could continue, your phone buzzed. A notification flashed, summoning you to meet Wanda Maximoff in her office.

"Uh-oh," Kate teased, peering at the message. "Someone's in trouble!"

Yelena sighed dramatically. "Goodbye, my friend. It was nice knowing you."

"You're all horrible," you retorted, standing up with a knot in your stomach, trying not to let your growing nerves show.

“Come in,” her firm voice called out as soon as you knocked on the door.

With hesitant steps, you entered to find her seated behind the desk, her reading glasses perched on her nose and an open notebook in her hands. She didn’t even glance up as she began speaking.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"No, Professor," you replied nervously.

She closed the notebook with a sharp snap, finally lifting her piercing gaze to meet yours. "Let me clarify, then. This," she gestured toward a paper on the desk, "is unacceptable. Not only are you failing miserably in my subject, but you're also wasting my time and that of your peers."

"I can improve," you said quickly, the tension rising in your voice.

She tilted her head slightly, a cold smile tugging at her lips. "Improve? It's far too late for that. I’m failing you—preemptively. And understand this, darling, it’s not about me; it’s about you and your persistent inability to meet my expectations."

Heat flushed your face, and your hands trembled with adrenaline as you faced the weight of her authority. But you refused to back down so easily. "Maybe your expectations are too high," you shot back, crossing your arms defensively.

Wanda let out a low laugh, a sound that pierced your confidence like a dagger. She rose slowly, walking around the desk with calculated precision, as though she owned the room—and you.

"Do you really think you can challenge me here, in my office, after weeks of subpar performance?"

"I know I'm not perfect," you managed, your voice faltering slightly. "But that doesn’t give you the right to humiliate me like this."

She stopped just steps away from you, leaning in slightly so your faces were mere inches apart. Her emerald eyes seemed to strip away every fragment of pride you clung to.

"Oh, humiliate you? No, darling. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend what I’d do if I truly wanted to see you in a truly degrading position," she whispered, leaving your knees feeling like jelly.

Yet, there was something in her gaze—a blend of authority and something darker, more elusive—that stirred something within you. It wasn’t just anger or frustration; it was as though she was testing you, pushing you toward a boundary you didn’t know existed.

"Whatever you want," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of courage and vulnerability, "fail me. I won’t beg." You finished, pride laced in your tone.

Wanda’s lips curved into a smile that almost looked satisfied. "Such a brave little girl, aren’t you? And yet, here you are in my office, trying to justify this deplorable behavior."

She circled you like a predator stalking its prey, each step echoing as a reminder of who held the power. "But you know as well as I do that the fall of the proud from their pedestal is always glorious to watch."

"Then maybe you’ll fall along with me," you snapped in a moment of reckless defiance, instantly regretting the words.

But instead of anger, you heard a low, vibrating sound—Wanda’s deep, rich laugh. You swallowed hard, feeling your heart hammering against your ribs.

When Wanda stopped behind you, her presence was almost suffocating, the heat of her proximity wrapping around you like a smothering cloak. Her voice was a low whisper, heavy with a nearly physical weight.

"Tell me, Miss Y/L/N, just how far are you willing to go to save your scholarship? To avoid tarnishing your already fragile reputation?"

Her words struck you like a blow. Your heart raced, and tears welled in your eyes.

"Please," you began, your voice breaking. "I can’t fail. I’ll lose my scholarship. I… I can’t afford to stay in school if that happens."

Wanda arched a brow, as if dissecting you with pure disdain. Slowly, she leaned against the edge of the desk, her posture radiating dominance.

"Oh… so now you’re willing to beg? Where’s all that courage now?"

You nodded quickly, the lump in your throat making it hard to form words.

"Beg," she commanded, the word sharp and cutting.

"I… what?" you asked, lifting your head in shock.

"Beg," she repeated, slicing through the silence. "Show me that you understand your place. That you grasp what it takes to redeem yourself."

The knot in your throat tightened as your pride warred with the growing urge to yield. But deep down, you knew Wanda would always win. She always did, with a precision that was both terrifying and mesmerizing.

"Please," you whispered, barely audible.

She tilted her head, feigning that she hadn’t heard you. "Louder. Make it worth my attention."

Tears spilled freely now, and your hands clenched in your lap, struggling to hold back sobs. "Please, Professor. I’ll do anything. Just don’t fail me. I—I'm trying, really trying to do better…" you stammered, the words crumbling in your throat.

"Trying," she repeated with a smirk, standing and approaching slowly. Her measured steps were like a drumbeat of inevitability. "Trying isn’t good enough. Do you think I’m here to entertain mediocre excuses? To tolerate justifications from a student who can’t even meet my gaze as she speaks?"

Your heart pounded as her intense stare bore into you. You tried to speak, but your words refused to come.

Wanda took another step, so close now you could feel the heat radiating from her. "Look at me when I’m talking to you," she ordered, her voice low and cutting.

You obeyed, your tear-filled eyes meeting hers.

"I… I’m sorry," you managed to whisper, your voice shaking.

"Sorry doesn’t fix anything," she countered, leaning in close, her whisper brushing against your ear. "Do you think you have the right to waste my time?"

Wanda watched you from above, her eyes fixed on you as her mind oscillated between anger and a cruel pleasure she couldn’t fully comprehend. The humiliation you exuded, the vulnerability manifesting in every tear streaming down your face and the tremble in your voice, seemed to fuel something dark within her.

For a moment, Wanda felt as if something in her soul was awakening. An ancient warmth, a spark of long-dormant power, began stirring in her chest. It was as if parts of herself she barely understood in this universe were reacting directly to your submission and the palpable fear emanating from you.

When she noticed the warm liquid trickling down your legs, the realization of what you had done struck her like a wave. And in that moment, satisfaction coursed through her so intensely that her eyes glimmered with faint, red sparks.

The weight of Wanda’s psychological dominance was crushing, like an invisible hand tightening around your throat. It wasn’t just the fear she inspired; it was the way she dismantled every layer of your defenses, exposing parts of yourself you didn’t even know existed. She had a cruel talent for finding the cracks in your emotional armor, carving a direct path to the core of your vulnerability.

“Are you really this fragile?” Wanda asked, her voice laced with a soft disdain that was anything but accidental. She tilted her head, studying you like a predator sizing up its prey. “I haven’t even done anything to you yet, Dekta. It’s just... words. Just me.”

Her gaze was so piercing it felt like she was invading your mind, pulling out your innermost thoughts and laying them bare in the open. It was terrifying, but there was also something inexplicably captivating about the way she wielded power—not just over the room, but directly over you.

As she stepped closer again, her movements were slow, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. Wanda stopped just in front of you, leaning slightly so her eyes were level with yours. Her smile was almost gentle, but her eyes—those hauntingly captivating crimson eyes—betrayed the intensity that burned within.

“Do you know what I find fascinating?” she murmured, her voice now soft, almost seductive. “How you try to resist, try to hold on to some semblance of dignity and pride... but I see. I see exactly what’s happening here.”

There was something hypnotic in the way she spoke, as if every word was a sweet spell, wrapping around you and tightening with each syllable. Your body reacted before your mind could process it—cold sweat on your skin, a slight tremor in your muscles that you couldn’t control.

“I think you know I could destroy you with a snap of my fingers,” Wanda continued, the tip of her fingers brushing your face in a gesture that was almost tender. “But that would be too easy. Too quick. No, I prefer this... I prefer watching you break, piece by piece, knowing you’ll never be a match for me. Because you know I’m already in your head.”

Wanda stepped back slowly, an almost imperceptible smile curving her lips. “Pathetic,” she murmured, though there was something else in her voice—a dark satisfaction.

With your face flushed red with shame and your hands trembling, you stammered, “Please, professor. Forgive me. I won’t fail again.”

She tilted her head, as though assessing your sincerity, and finally allowed a small smile, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes.

“Perhaps you can be useful after all,” Wanda said, making a great effort to move away from you and your pleading eyes “But don’t think of this as a favor. You will work for me. As my assistant. That means you’ll be in my office every day after class, doing exactly what I tell you. Understood?”

“Yes, professor,” you replied, quickly wiping away the tears.

“Good girl,” she murmured, returning to her desk and resuming her paperwork. “Now leave. And don’t make me regret being generous.”

You left hastily, your face burning with embarrassment and your mind still reeling from everything that had just transpired. Deep down, a small part of you knew this second chance came at a high cost—but you also knew you had no choice.

Later, sitting on the central lawn with Kate, Yelena, and Bucky, the group’s usual chaos surrounded you. Yelena was stealing fries from Bucky’s lunch while Kate lamented a presentation she had to give.

“So, what’s the big news?” Yelena asked, her mouth full, noticing your troubled expression.

You hesitated before blurting it out. “I’m going to be Professor Maximoff’s assistant.”

The trio froze.

“What?!” Kate choked on her soda. “Professor Maximoff? The one who looks like she walked out of a gothic horror movie and makes the board of directors quake in their boots?”

“The very same,” you admitted, bracing for their reactions.

“No, this isn’t just weird; it’s a death sentence,” Bucky said, crossing his arms and giving you a serious look. “What did you do to deserve that?”

“She was going to fail me. I begged her not to, and this was the deal.”

Yelena burst into incredulous laughter. “So she made you grovel and now she’s turning you into her butler? I already like this woman.”

“It’s not funny!” you snapped, crossing your arms.

“It’s hilarious,” Yelena replied with a mischievous grin. “But seriously, do you need help? Should we start a student revolution for your freedom?”

“Or sabotage her office,” Kate suggested.

Bucky sighed. “You two are terrible advisors. Look, it might not be so bad. You’re smart. You’ll survive. Maybe even learn something… other than how to be terrified.”

You gave him a weak smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Buck.”

That evening in the dorm, you sat on your bed hugging a pillow, while Darcy worked on her laptop at the desk nearby. She wore an old t-shirt and shorts, her hair tied up haphazardly in a way that somehow made her even more stunning to you.

“So, what happened today?” Darcy asked without looking up from her screen.

“I got ‘promoted’ to Professor Maximoff’s assistant,” you said, your voice heavy with defeat.

Darcy chuckled and finally turned to you. “Seriously? That woman’s terrifying. How did you manage that?”

“It’s not like I wanted to,” you muttered.

She walked over and sat beside you, leaning in casually but close enough for you to catch her scent. “I think you must be special to her. She doesn’t seem like the type to do favors.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment,” you said, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

Darcy met your eyes, hers sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something more subtle, almost predatory. “You look so good today.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Just sayin’,” she teased, laughing lightly, though her tone carried an edge of something deeper.

You knew Darcy enjoyed toying with you, pushing your limits. It felt like she understood how you felt and used it to keep you on edge, perpetually yearning.

“It’ll be fine with Maximoff,” Darcy said, squeezing your shoulder lightly. “And if she’s too mean, just call me. I’ll protect you.”

“I think you’d be the one needing protection,” you joked, trying to mask how much her touch affected you.

“Maybe,” Darcy replied with a playful smirk, giving you a wink before returning to her laptop as if nothing had happened.

And there you sat, watching her, caught between hope and frustration—an impossible tug-of-war Darcy seemed to enjoy orchestrating.

[...]

You sat in an uncomfortably stiff chair in Professor Maximoff's office. The space was pristine—shelves lined with worn-spined books, meticulously organized as if by military precision. Sunlight streamed through the large window, casting a warm glow on the polished wood of her desk.

Your gaze, however, was fixated on a silver frame atop the desk. Inside was a photo of Wanda beside a tall, elegant man—Vision, the name you'd heard whispered through the hallways—and two smiling children, Tommy and Billy. The image radiated serene, stable happiness, the kind that felt utterly unattainable to you.

Your chest tightened. That was her life: perfect and orderly, with a loving husband, happy kids, and a flawless career. In contrast, you felt like an intruder, someone scrambling to hold it together while navigating college and life.

“You’re not allowed to snoop.” Wanda’s sharp voice cut through the air behind you, making your shoulders stiffen.

You turned in the chair, wide eyes meeting hers. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Sorry,” you muttered, quickly averting your gaze.

“You always have something to apologize for, don’t you?” Wanda’s voice was calm but laced with disdain as she walked toward you, her heels clicking against the hardwood, each sound amplifying the tension. “Do you know what happens to little girls who break the rules?”

“I didn’t mean to; I just…”

She raised a hand, silencing you immediately.

“I don’t want excuses. If you’re going to work here, you’ll learn to follow the rules. Rule number one: my personal life is none of your business. Rule number two: what happens in this office stays in this office. Understood?”

You swallowed hard, shame warming your face. “Yes, Professor Maximoff.”

“Good.” She leaned in slightly, her face only inches from yours. “Do you know what else I expect from you?”

“I… I don’t know,” you stammered, your voice faltering under her piercing gaze.

“Excellence,” she murmured, the word a threat and a promise all at once. “Nothing less. And if I sense you’re not giving your best…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but the look in her eyes said enough.

You nodded quickly, the weight of shame and insecurity pressing heavily on your shoulders. “I’ll do my best.”

“I hope so,” Wanda replied, straightening her posture and smoothing her blazer with a decisive gesture. “Now, organize these papers and make sure my desk is spotless. You have thirty minutes.”

You quickly rose to comply, trying to ignore the persistent tightness in your chest as you passed the desk again. The photo still sat there, smiling at you like a cruel reminder of everything you’d never have.

As you began sorting through the papers, Wanda stood nearby, her eyes fixed on you. At first, it seemed she was merely ensuring you were doing the task correctly.

But then something shifted.

It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible. Wanda’s jaw relaxed slightly, her breathing became deeper, less controlled. Her eyes, sharp and calculating moments before, began to wander over the movements of your body. They lingered longer than they should have—on your legs, where the hem of your uniform skirt rode up slightly more than intended when you leaned forward.

Something inside her stirred, a spark kindling deep in her chest.

Wanda blinked, once, twice, as if trying to clear her thoughts, but the sensation persisted. It wasn’t just your presence that unnerved her, but the vulnerability radiating from your every gesture. The way your fingers trembled as you handled the papers, the flush on your cheeks, the faint hitch in your breath when you felt her gaze. It was intoxicating, feeding a part of her she had long suppressed.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, the faintest glimmer of red flashing at her fingertips before she reined it in. It was enough to make her close her eyes for a moment, battling the power threatening to surface.

“Control yourself,” she muttered under her breath, the words so soft they were almost inaudible.

But it wasn’t so simple. The abyss within her was widening, and the Scarlet Witch—the part of her she had locked away in chains—was straining against its binds.

She tried to look away, but her thoughts were already spiraling. Blurred memories surfaced like waves, unrelenting: warmth, the soft sound of breathless gasps, the damp heat of skin pressed against skin. Her mouth went dry, and a familiar heat spread through her chest.

“You really don’t know how to be appropriate, do you?” her voice came out harsher than she intended, though it carried an unspoken weight she couldn’t hide.

You froze, your hands pausing mid-motion. “What did I do now?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“That skirt,” Wanda pointed, her expression deliberately neutral as she fought to maintain control. “Do you think it’s suitable for a professional environment? Or are you just trying to distract everyone?”

Your face flushed immediately, and you tugged at the hem of your skirt instinctively. “It’s the college uniform… I don’t choose the length.”

Wanda took a step closer, her presence suddenly overwhelming. “You don’t choose, but you certainly enjoy the attention, don’t you?”

“No, I swear I don’t…” your voice cracked, and you dropped your gaze, discomfort radiating from you.

Wanda leaned in, her words brushing past your ear with a mix of reproach and something else you couldn’t quite name. “I don’t like distractions, especially the ones coming from you. So if you want to stay here, learn to be invisible.”

You nodded quickly, unable to respond as the weight of her gaze bore down on you.

Wanda stepped back, straightening and exhaling softly, as though trying to smother the heat coursing through her. She knew it was wrong—knew she should stop—but the power and control she felt in reducing you to submission were addictive.

“Finish this and leave,” she said, turning toward the window, as if the view outside might cleanse her thoughts. “And next time… be more mindful of what you wear.”

You continued organizing the papers, her words echoing in your mind. That tone—a mix of scolding and something unnameable—sent shivers down your spine.

“Distractions, especially the ones coming from you.”

You weren’t sure why, but the idea of destabilizing someone as composed as Wanda Maximoff—even slightly—sent your heart racing. She was practically untouchable, the most feared and respected figure on campus, and yet… something in her gaze, in the faint tremor of her voice, ignited a spark in you.

You glanced at Wanda, who now stood with her back to you, her posture rigid, hands clasped behind her. Deliberately this time, you leaned forward slightly, letting the skirt ride up just enough to test the waters.

“Leave,” she commanded, her tone clipped, without even looking at you. But there was something strained about her voice, something forced.

You obeyed but couldn’t resist one last glance before walking out. Her face remained calm, but the tension in her shoulders and the way her fingers gripped the edge of the desk betrayed her.

Maybe you weren’t as invisible as she wanted you to be.

[...]

The first time Wanda saw you, something inside her stirred. It wasn’t hatred, nor was it passion. It was a pulsating, inexplicable irritation, like an itch she couldn’t quite reach. You weren’t particularly remarkable—at least, you shouldn’t have been. Just an ordinary student, dressed simply, with an attitude that oscillated between nervousness and boldness. But there was something about you, something Wanda couldn’t ignore.

Your clumsy, awkward demeanor seemed tailor-made to test her. That first day, when you rushed into class late, cheeks flushed, stumbling over your own feet and nearly dropping your backpack, Wanda couldn’t help but roll her eyes. A strange, unjustifiable anger bubbled in her chest, as if your mere presence was a personal affront.

But it wasn’t just that. As she watched you shrink under her sharp gaze, something else began to stir beneath the surface—a familiar energy she had long since forgotten. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. Her fingers tingled, and the air around her seemed to hum faintly.

“Do you think you can waltz into my class late and just take your seat as if nothing happened?” Wanda’s voice was as sharp as a blade.

You mumbled an apology, stammering, and Wanda saw the blush on your face deepen. Your vulnerability should have soothed her irritation, but instead, it only fueled it. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing you so submissive, so intimidated.

In the days that followed, Wanda began noticing small details that annoyed her even more. The way you chewed on the tip of your pen while trying to grasp her explanations. The muffled sound of your whispers to classmates, though you clearly lacked the courage to challenge her openly. Your almost naive persistence in trying to please her, even when she deliberately ignored your efforts, made her grit her teeth—and feel something else. A thrill that defied logic.

And then there was that moment when you raised your hand to answer a question, hesitant but resolute. Your eyes met hers, and Wanda felt a pulse of something deep within her. Your presence was like a crooked mirror, reflecting parts of herself she didn’t want to see, parts she preferred to keep buried.

She didn’t understand why her powers—dormant for years, stifled by a “perfect” and mundane life—seemed to stir every time you were near. Perhaps it was the way you appeared so fragile and yet so impossible to ignore. Or maybe it was something deeper, something Wanda didn’t want to name, because to do so would mean admitting that you, in some way, held power over her.

And Wanda Maximoff couldn’t bear the thought of not being in control.

Now, as the room lights were dim, and classical music played softly in the background, Vision was attentive as always, delicately tracing the contours of Wanda’s body with steady hands. Yet her mind was elsewhere.

She tried to focus on the man’s hands caressing her skin, tried to feel the heat, the passion that once united them. But every touch of his felt pale, distant, almost lifeless. As if something essential was missing.

It came suddenly, like a raw and uncontrollable wave: the image of you. Not the “you” who was both docile and irreverent, always striving to please her, but the “you” who was desperate, tear-eyed, and begging for a forgiveness she had denied.

The muffled sound of your pleading echoed in her memory, and Wanda felt the warmth Vision was trying to rekindle explode with an almost painful intensity. The memory of the tremor in your voice, the way you begged, submitted, and allowed her to hold power over you until you wet yourself, tears streaming down your face as she crushed you emotionally…

A heat surged through her body. Her heart raced, and she felt a sharp tingling in her hands and her own core. Unknowingly, red energy began to spark around her fingers.

Vision noticed, tilting his head slightly but misunderstanding. “Is everything alright, my love?” he asked, his voice as gentle as ever.

“Yes,” Wanda lied, though her breathing was heavy, almost ragged. She closed her eyes, trying to push away the guilt beginning to surface. But the pleasure was far more real now.

The image of you lingered, growing stronger. The way your short skirt revealed just enough of your backside to make her crave more, your legs trembling with nervousness, the blush that painted your face as you shrank under her gaze. It was wrong, but Wanda couldn’t stop. You were fragile, so easy to break, and the thought awakened something ancient and primal within her.

She bit her lower lip hard, stifling a moan that wasn’t meant for him. No, it was for the vulnerability she had seen in you. For the way your submission made her feel something she hadn’t felt in years: raw, palpable, and absolute power.

Wanda longed to have you begging for her, but in a different way now. She wanted to press your pretty face between her thighs, smothering you until you turned purple from her suffocation. Wanda wanted to shove her fingers into your mouth, making you drench them with your saliva—so it’d be easier to slide them inside you.

Could you be a virgin? Pure?

At that moment, Wanda only wanted to wear a strap-on and take you from behind, punishing you for wearing that tiny skirt and for having such a sharp tongue. She’d thrust into you so hard that the only thing you’d be able to scream would be her name, like a sacred and solitary mantra—as if she were a goddess needing prayers to grow stronger. You’d offer her your sweet little cunt.

Wanda wanted to pour herself into you, to leave her seed inside you... she wanted… Wanda wanted...

“Wanda, your magic…” Vision stepped back slightly, puzzled.

The heat within her grew, fueled by the energy now visibly pulsing in waves around her hands. Scarlet hues filled the room, and the woman nearly floated.

She opened her eyes, realizing the lights in the room flickered and the bed trembled faintly. “I… I’m fine. Just keep going…” she insisted, gently pushing him.

“Perhaps you should rest, my dear,” Vision suggested, ever logical.

Wanda nodded, wanting to end the moment before he noticed anything more. He left the room, respecting her space as he always did. As soon as the door closed, Wanda collapsed onto the bed, panting.

The realization hit her like a punch. She had nearly climaxed thinking about you—not Vision, the perfect husband, the father of her children, but you, a pathetic and insignificant student. Her soul twisted with hatred at the truth, but hatred was a fuel. It ignited her.

“Little bitch,” Wanda whispered to herself, her words heavy with a rage that seemed endless. She got up abruptly, her bare feet meeting the cold floor.

She walked to the large mirror in the corner of the room, staring at her reflection with eyes glowing redder than they should. “What’s wrong with me?” she murmured, though she knew the answer. It wasn’t a mistake. It was a desire so primal it eroded her reason, leaving only instinct in its place.

She closed her eyes again, trying to banish the image, but it was useless. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, anger boiling under her skin. “I don’t want this,” she said louder, as if speaking the words aloud could undo the knot of desire and hatred tightening around her.

But the Scarlet Witch within her smiled. It wasn’t about wanting or not wanting. It was about giving in. About realizing that the control Wanda prided herself on was slipping through her fingers when it came to you—as if she couldn’t control you.

She hated what had just happened, but she hated even more how much she enjoyed it.

When Vision murmured something as he reentered the room, Wanda turned to look at him. There was a calmness on his face that brutally contrasted with the storm inside her. He loved her. He would do anything for her.

And yet, it was you that Wanda wanted to crush. It was you she wanted on your knees, sobbing, begging.

And it was you who, somehow, made her feel alive again.

For the first time in a long time, the Witch within her desired something.

~*~

As the great philosopher Selena Gomez once said: If you wanna, come and get it

Tag list <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @sheriffswan-blog @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000

[daryltwdixon]

Watching from the Sidelines

Daryl x Reader angst

more pining! more angst! A continuation of the story I’ve been putting together based on songs I love. Part 1 & 2. This one is more of a drabble.

inspired by Phoebe Bridger’s Sidelines

Daryl still sits on the edge of the porch, his fingers absently twisting the strap of his crossbow. The early morning light stretches long shadows across the ground, but it does nothing to chase away the knot that has taken root in his chest. He’s been up since before dawn, unable to sleep—not with his mind running in circles, not with the thought of you still next to him. You linger, vivid and inescapable, like the sun gone from his vision but leaving behind the afterimage of the conversation you’d tried to have this morning.

He hasn’t lied outright. Not really. He was drunk last night, drunk enough to let himself slip, to kiss you, to say things he’d never let himself think about in the daylight. And now? He can’t stop replaying it. The press of your lips against his, the way your breath hitched, how your touch lit a fire in him before he pulled away like a goddamn coward.

His jaw tightens, the strap creaking under his grip. He told you he didn’t remember anything—brushed you off like it was nothing—but he remembers everything. Every second.

And he feels like a fool. For saying those things to you, for kissing you without warning or permission, for letting himself slip when he knows better.

The thing is, Daryl Dixon wasn't afraid of anything. Not walkers. Not the world going to shit. Not even the idea of dying out there, alone, just another nameless body in the dirt. He’s always figured he’s living on borrowed time anyway, so what’s the point in holding onto something? Nothing to prove, nothing to lose.

But then there’s you.

You, who look at him like he’s more than just another body. You, who have this way of making the world feel a little less cruel, a little less empty. You, who kissed him back, even for just a moment, like he’s someone worth wanting.

And now? Now he isn’t so sure anymore.

Because for the first time in his life, Daryl has something to lose. And it scares the hell out of him.

It isn’t just the kiss—it’s everything. It’s the way your laugh pulls at something deep in his chest. The way your voice softens when you say his name. The way you look at him, even now, like you haven’t given up on him, even when he’s wanted to give up on himself.

He isn’t built for this, for feelings like these. Hell, he doesn’t even know what to do with them, let alone what to say to you. All he knows is that he can’t screw this up—not when you’re the first person who’s made him feel like there’s something in this world worth holding onto.

He lets out a heavy breath, running a hand over his face. The sun is higher now, warming the porch beneath him, but it does nothing to ease the chill in his chest.

He doesn’t deserve you. He’s told himself that a hundred times. Knows it’s for the best to keep you at arm’s length. But the truth is, he doesn’t care. He wants you anyway. Wants you so bad it makes his chest ache, makes every thought feel like a battle between holding onto you and letting you go before he ruins everything.

Daryl glances over his shoulder, his eyes catching your movement through the window. You’re still padding quietly around the downstairs, your steps slow, shoulders drawn inward. You stop by the counter, leaning on it like something heavy has settled over you, your head bowed as if the weight of the world has finally found you.

He turns away quickly, swallowing hard, the knot in his chest twisting tighter. He isn’t sure how to feel about any of this—about you, about what you make him feel, about the way you’ve turned his whole damn world on its head.

Shit.

He thought pretending not to remember was the easier way out—for both of you. But now, seeing you like this, seeing how let down you are by his refusal to acknowledge last night…he realizes just how wrong he’s been.

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to go back to watching the world from the sidelines. Not anymore. Not now that he’s met you.

Daryl stands abruptly, the crossbow forgotten as he pushes away from the porch. His boots hit the steps with purpose, his heart hammering as he crosses the short distance to the door.

He has to make this right. For you. For whatever was left between you after he nearly ruined it all.

Daryl stands in the doorway, his hand gripping the frame for a second before stepping inside. You’re still in the kitchen, your back to him as you fiddle with something on the counter. From the way your shoulders hunch, he can tell you aren’t just busying yourself—you’re trying to hold yourself together.

The thought twists something sharp in his chest. He hasn’t even given you the chance to talk about it, about what happened, and then he went and made it worse with his excuses.

He isn’t good at small talk, and he’s definitely not good at starting these kinds of hard conversations. So Daryl takes a step closer, his boots heavy against the floor. He hesitates for a moment, his hands flexing at his sides, before speaking to your turned back.

“I lied,” he says, the words rough and uneven.

That gets your attention. You jump slightly, startled by his presence, and then you slowly turn to face him, your brows furrowed in confusion as your brain tries to catch up to him. “Daryl—hey. What—what are you talking about?”

His jaw tightens, his gaze dropping to the floor before he forces himself to meet your eyes. “I remember."

Your breath hitches, your eyes widening as the words sink in.

“I remember,” he says again, his voice quieter now. “all of it. Every word, every—” He stops, swallowing hard before trying again. “I didn’t forget. Just didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know if I should.”

You stare at him, your hands gripping the edge of the counter behind you like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. “Why would you lie about that?”

“’Cause I’m a damn coward,” he admits, the frustration in his voice clear. “I thought… if I pretended it didn’t happen, maybe it’d make things easier. For you. For me. But seein’ you like this? Knowin’ I hurt you by not sayin’ nothin��—that ain’t easier. That’s just me bein’ stupid.”

Your heart thuds painfully in your chest, his words hitting you harder than you’d expected. “Daryl…”

He takes another step closer, his hands twitching like he doesn’t know whether to reach for you or not. “I meant what I said last night,” he murmurs. “Every word. I know I shouldn’t feel like this, know it’d probably be better if I kept my mouth shut, but I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. Can’t stop thinkin’ about what it’d be like to… to have somethin’ with you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. His eyes search yours, raw and vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before, and it makes your chest tighten all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For lyin’, for messin’ this up. But I had to make it right. Had to tell ya the truth, even if…” He trails off, his voice catching, but he doesn’t look away. “Even if it means losin’ ya.”

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is your unsteady breathing. Then, without another thought, you close the distance between you, your hands reaching for him as you pull him into a kiss.

This time, there’s no hesitation. No uncertainty. It’s full of everything you’ve both been holding back—real and impossibly tender.

When you finally break apart, his hands stay on your arms and yours remain tangled in his shirt.

“It would take a lot more for you to get rid of me, Dare,” you whisper, your voice trembling but steady. “You never have to worry about that.”

Daryl lets out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening their grip ever so slightly as they slide to your waist, grounding himself in the feel of you. His forehead presses against yours, and for a moment, his eyes close like he’s still bracing for something to shatter.

“Scares the shit outta me—all this,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, the words tumbling out like they’ve been trapped too long. “But... but I want it. I want you. Always have.”

“I want you too, Daryl,” you say softly, your hands lifting to cup his face, his stubble rough against your palms. “You don’t have to be scared. Not with me.”

His eyes open then, meeting yours, and there’s something so tender in them it makes your chest ache. Vulnerability, relief, and something warmer, deeper—a flicker of hope that hasn’t been there before.

His thumb brushes against your hip, and his voice drops even lower, almost like he doesn’t mean for you to hear it. “Don’t know if I know how to do this… but I’ll try. For you, I’ll try.”

Your lips curve into a small, trembling smile as you lean in, pressing your forehead to his again. “That’s all I need, Dare. Just you.”

And for the first time, he doesn’t feel the need to pull away. To retreat. He just stays there, holding you close, letting himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this is something he can hold onto. Something he deserves.

[1980ssunflower]

honestly i can never find the words to accurately describe how my husbands are my realist and truest soulmates

[beeseverywhen]

god the duality between 'I don't want someone in my house' and 'yeah I'd like my own kids and no way I'm doing that alone'

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Dead Tired Coffeeshop Accident

For one reason or another, Danny is now living in Gotham and working in a coffeeshop. For one reason or another, Tim frequents the same coffeeshop.

Now, both of them are honest to god messes who treat sleep like a grave enemy. Meaning they both survive on coffee, spite, energy drinks, and their respective hyperfocuses.

They don't even talk, really, they just see each other from time to time: Tim knows the barista who looks like he's been dead for weeks is named Danny, and Danny knows how to make Tim's Death Wish with his eyes closed, but other than that, they are just strangers who largely don't care about each other.

That is, until one time after his patrol, Tim comes to the said coffeeshop in his Red Robin gear. He doesn't even think about it, he simply needs coffee. He comes to the counter. He orders. His voice is tired and emotionless. He just wants his coffee and maybe stare at a wall for a few hours until his brain reboots. Danny takes his order without even looking at him. He has been sitting and staring at a wall for a few hours, night shifts are literally killing him.

They are both so done.

Red Robin waits for his coffee. Danny makes it almost automatically, his mind elsewhere. The coffeeshop is empty, save for them two. It's four in the morning. Nothing feels real.

Danny sets the cup on the counter.

"One Death Wish for Tim," he says out of a habit, not fully registering they are alone, and he doesn't need to do that.

Tim takes the coffee without thinking, nods a silent 'thank you'. Brings the cup up to his mouth-

And notices a glove on his own hand.

He is in Red Robin get up.

He freezes and looks at the barista, who is cleaning the coffeemachine. Danny, noticing him looking, also looks back at him. Did he make the wrong order? He knows Tim's soul, he's seen it a lot, he couldn't have mistaken him for anyone else, but maybe he forgot to add syrup?..

There's a domino mask on Tim's face. A vigilante domino mask.

They stare at each other. No one moves. No one blinks. The sun is rising somewhere over the city.

Tim takes a sip of his coffee. Danny goes back to cleaning the coffeemachine.

They never speak of this again, but Tim becomes a regular here in both of his personas.

[mostly-imagines]

Banished

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason misses his girlfriend

warnings: extremely mild angst, he’s just mopey (he’s fine)

Jason sits slumped over the kitchen island, head lying in his crossed arms. His now soggy cereal disregarded after barely a few bites.

Dick’s been rummaging through the cabinets for the better part of twenty minutes while Tim has sat atop of the nook table shoving donuts in his mouth for the better part of thirty.

Damian trudges into the room, past them and onto the nook bench, taking out a knife and beginning to whittle away at a block of wood.

He glances at Jason with a scowl. “If you’re going to be so miserable, can’t you do it in your own home?”

Jason just grunts.

He wishes. You and Bruce had conspired to trap him at the mansion for the week so he could heal from injuries sustained during the last mission without risk of him suiting up and sneaking away from you in the middle of the night.

But it’s not even the fact that he’s basically being babysat that’s got him so disgruntled. He secretly wouldn’t really mind it at all if you were here too. But you were dead set that the manor was too far out of your way for work, so you’d stayed behind. A lose-lose for Jason.

“He’s just mad his girlfriend kicked him out,” Dick teases, swiping through the fridge.

Tim snorts from the doorway, “Me too. He’s a lot more depressing on his own.”

Jason keeps his head down as he blindly reaches for the spoon in his cereal and chucks it at Tim’s head.

Tim catches it without thought, continuing, “A lot more irritable, at least. Why isn’t she here?”

“She’s gotta work,” Dick says, scanning through the pantry.

Damian peeps his head up from his project. “But Todd has a rather large supply of less than legally obtained money, does he not?”

“Yeah, but she said she wants to pay her own rent, I think,” Dicks hums, finally giving up on his quest for a snack.

Damian pauses.

“So she wants to live in a tiny apartment?” He asks, a mixture of confused and horrified.

“Watch your mouth,” Jason mumbles.

“It was a genuine question!” Damian protests, face screwed up.

Jason finally lifts his head up, turning to his little brother with a raised brows. “And I’m genuinely going to break your nose.”

It’s an empty threat, maybe. But it was enough to shut Damian up anyways. Jason turns back to his cereal and swishes the bowl around.

Dick rests his arms on the counter across from Jason and speaks lowly. “You know, it is just a few days. She’s coming back.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Jason was never one for showing his feelings—let alone talking about them.

He misses you, plain and simple. Dick could see that much clearly, though the longing looked unfamiliar on Jason.

Bruce lingers in the hallway, just past the island, listening.

He’ll admit (to himself) that he’s worried about Jason. It’s been three days and Jason has yet to show a crack in this demeanor. And while it’s not uncommon for him to stow himself away, there is something quite wrong with the way he hasn’t countered his brother’s jabs at him or teased them.

And while he could do without the blatant threats, he’s proud to hear his son defending his girlfriend, even over trivial things. It’s one of the few moments where he feels like he did right by him as a father.

And now here’s his son, caring about someone else more than he cares about himself. Someone who’s a good person, no less. It had been your idea to trick Jason into staying at the manor, you were scared that he would push his body past its limit when you couldn’t do anything to help.

Bruce knew you didn’t feel great about basically banishing him for the week but he could see that you just wanted what was best for Jason. He could see it so clearly. Maybe Bruce could never have been a perfect father, could never have given his son everything he needed despite having more money than he could ever use. Maybe he couldn’t help him, even now.

But you could.

Bruce peers around the corner, leaning up against the doorframe.

He watches Damian give up on carving at his block and start into the leg of the table.

He watches the bickering that broke out after Tim grab the last glazed donut, which was apparently the only thing Dick could possibly fathom eating.

And he watches Jason.

As Jason’s phone lights up on the counter next to him. He glances down at it with a frown before his face absolutely lights up.

He scrambles to pick the phone up and starts typing away. A quiet action that catches the attention of all of his brothers.

He types and types, waits for ten seconds for a response and types and types again—smile on his face.

The Waynes didn’t need to be the greatest detectives in the world to know who he was texting.

✨ reblog fics or face the block button ✨

[acid-ixx]

ch.3: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: allusions to sexual assault, prostitution, and alcohol abuse.

"hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!"

please stop.

"i know that we haven't been talking for quite a long time—"

no, you have never once had a solid conversation with him.

and you wish it stays that way between the two of you.

"—so let's catch up over coffee, yeah? i'll be staying at the manor for a week!"

you don't want to, you don't want to see his face at all, his dismissive eyes. don't want to hear his voice, how it only sings praises for everyone but you.

"(name)??? it says you have seen the messages :( are you asleep? you shouldn't sleep with your phone on, baby bird, that's dangerous!"

he doesn't have the right to scold you, he's not your older brother anymore. and you're not asleep, fuck, you regret not dozing off this afternoon. hell, you're more than awake and aware of the messages he's sending you, eyes scanning over the train of spam that clutters what was once an empty one-sided conversation.

"baby bird? c'mon, i miss you!!!"

lies, lies, lies. all he ever says are lies and you wouldn't fall for it, not anymore.

yet you're simply frozen in shock, seated up in bed as you simply watch dick's messages stack upon each other.

you watch, and wait. it's like you have lost autonomy over your body's actions.

five minutes pass.

your phone rings.

it was the only sound that fills the room other than the wringing in your ears.

it continues ringing, reverberating throughout the room, but all you do is stare, stare until the it ends, for everything to end and for all of this to be a sick hallucination your brain played on you.

there's nothing else you could focus on, your heartbeats spike the longer the call sound continues. you didn't even have the strength to decline the call, let alone move as you fear you might end up pressing the accept button.

so you wait, you wait until it stops.

and once it does cease, your sweaty thumb immediately pressed the block button on dick's profile, even going as far to delete all the past chats you had sent him. then, without moments hesitation, hastily scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, where their other contacts lay barren of messages.

you have only used enough effort to message dick. that's what probably triggered his sudden intent on spending time with you, no? or was this all for his sick pleasure?

fortunately, all your other contacts with your past family are empty.

it will remain empty.

so you immediately blocked them, all of them. the thumps in your heart are erratic, so much so that you had to remind yourself to breath. through your nose, and out your mouth.

that's it, right? he'll get the message, definitely. that you don't want him to talk to you, to get rid of the false pretenses between the two of you, you don't want to "catch up" over coffee, or over anything.

it's all over, you tell yourself.

'calm down, relax...' you're in the safety of your own apartment, you should feel safe right now, he wouldn't bother you anymore.

not anymore would you be led to believe that they care for you.

— so why is it that you can feel that familiar rise of bile? taste it, even? why is it that your body is shaking so uncontrollably?

what the fuck.

seriously, just what the absolute fuck is wrong with you?

you never take yourself as an overdramatic person, especially not now, at the age of eighteen where you had finally learned to live for yourself, to never yearn what you knew was unattainable. your past tantrums were no more, no more you say but you wish so badly to carve a knife into your very heart.

why is it that now— now that you were out of your comfort zone, out of their empty presences and their overwhelming absences; why is it now that he just suddenly decided to appear? why is it just now that you feel your skin scorching uncomfortably at just a single message.

shit, your heart hurts so much. you want to take the beating organ out of your chest, just to make the pain stop.

your momma always told you, she said it herself that you are a brave child, her pride and joy despite the hellish living conditions you both were subjected to.

why is it so hard to believe her now?

just, why are you so weak?

when your mother hid you inside that closet - one too small for even a malnourished child like you to fit - telling you to hush for her, and that it's just a game of hide and seek with the 'bad guys', to not make a single sound at all or even come out if you hear screaming— you did what you were told, obediently, covering your mouth, trying your hardest to ignore your sore joints and heavy breathing.

"woah, mommy! is this really me?! you always make me look so nice." a young voice squeals, the sound echoing throughout the hollow room.

"yes, it's you, baby. you who are so strong, unlike me. momma will always love you." scarred hand, littered with gashes and soiled bandages run brush through your messy hair as your small form sat on the dirty bathroom sink. your eyes are drifted towards a mirror, checking out the new shirt your mother had bought for you.

"i love you too..."

you never cried that loud when light suddenly hits the cramped interiors of the closet, when you were caught and shoved outside of your hiding space by strange men, your mother nowhere to be found. when you felt the same men ripping your clothes apart, knives branding your skin like a searing hot pan; you never fought back because that's what your mother taught you. even when they pinned you down and injected you with a strange substance, head suddenly numbing and vision darkening; you still woke up alive, no?

... you woke up alive and conscious in a police station, where you had questiomed to the kind officer about your mother's disappearance, where she had bared the news that you would be taken in to a new family; a new home where your father resides in. one way cleaner, way safer she says.

yet for the next 15 years you were neglectef of the love your mother had given you. you were only raised by a butler too busy to fully focus on you. you had compared yourself to your siblings, siblings who had achieved so much in so little time.

and you?

you are only a wayne by name, but a (last name) by heart.

but you are brave, you are strong— you came from the lowest of the low, yet you pushed through and through to be a better person, and look where you are now...!

... just look at yourself now.

your phone lays untouched on the bed sheets. it tempts you, mocks your panicked state, and you want to rip that rectangular piece of metal apart. yet all you do is stare at it, sitting upright as one hands supports your weight. your fingers clench the mattress, it does nothing as your vision darkens from your lack of breathing.

breathing.

oh, breath in, breath out. do what alfred has taught you years ago, the- the one he uses whenever you would run alone in the desolate halls of the manor to alfred's room, just because you were anxious of the monsters in the corner of your eyes, where he would help you return to your senses and play you a lullaby from an old music box right after. the one he uses after you two would watch horror movies and you were too scared of any sounds that engulf your surroundings.

your throat tightens, and you want to vomit out the contents of what you have eaten— but you have to try.

five things you can see.

your eyes, although frozen wide and stinging with tears, darts around the room. everything is darker now, it's cold and you feel so small. your apartment was small. unlike the place you had lived before, it lacks of furniture, of life, of personality. the only things in your tiny apartment were basic necessities, but even food was scarce for someone like you who had juggle working multiple jobs and college just to pay for rent.

you can see your phone, the candy wrappers you had forgotten to throw, the overflowing trash bin, an empty bottle of prescription pills, alfred's gifts on the shelves counts, right? you laugh sarcastically at yourself; even a trashcan has more contents in your shitty apartment.

fuck, your chest throbs, you remind yourself to breath a little deeper.

four things you can feel.

the mattress is too hot for you, sweat already running down your forehead as if you had ran a marathon. you can feel the tears well up your eyes, overflowing with bitterness that you thought you had already buried deep down, and your hands gripping the sheets so uncomfortably tight. the weather is too cold, winter's nearing but the blood pumping through your veins scorches your very being.

that's four, three more to go and you hope this would all be over. you hope that this would all be a dream, a hallucination, anything.

three things you can hear.

does your choked sounds count? or does it need to be anything else? fuck, why doesn't it work as well as when alfred helps you through? you told yourself that you could take on anything in life, but is it all just a lie—?

focus. focus on your surroundings. you can hear your sniffling, heavy intakes of air, and a repeat of the phone ringing with dick's name as the contact.

shit, shit, shit. don't remind yourself of that. move on, just get onto the next thing.

two things you can smell or... taste? you don't remember, why can't you remember? your thoughts keep running back in circles to the messages, that stupid '<3', the way his desperation could be felt through the phone.

it reminds you of yourself.

before you knew it, your fist brought itself to punch your chest.

thump, beat, thump.

every time your heart beats too loudly, you strike your chest as hard as you can, uncaring for the pain it inflicts you, uncaring for the way you beat the air out of yourself. as long as it distracts you from the bile rising up your throat and the unsated nausea from sitting in the same position— it'll be fine if you hurt yourself. you've already done so a million times, no?

... yet nothing works.

why doesn't anything work out in your favor?

please don't do this to me.

your fists eventually stops. everything hurts even worse.

just earlier ago, you were praising yourself for all the progress you had made. how you weren't in need of validation anymore. you try so desperately to erase any inch of evidence that you were a wayne.

it all crashes down, again and again, and again and again.

moments ago, you were laying on your bed, scrolling through social media, making plans to hangout with your small group of friends in college, trying to cling on to the good parts of your past— ignoring the empty chats of what was once family.

but even without them, even if they haven't knew that you pushed them away from your life— they're always seeping their way at the back of your mind.

you truly can not erase your past. no matter how much you shake your head to rid of the thoughts, no matter how much you try to erase any documentations, any

even talking to alfred reminds you of your stupid past. a past that eats you up every time you wake up from the nightmares, wishing that there would be someone, anyone, who would hold your body tight and tell you it's alright. your mother, your father, your brothers and your sisters— they just were never there for you for so many years. and you hate to admit it but; you still cling to the wish that one of them would...

would hug you and kiss all your wounds away. drive away the countless of dreams filled with terror and torture.

you're independent now, but at what cost? what good does it do when you still try your damn hardest to live? when you know it in your soul that you still desire for a semblence of familial love.

and now that you've pushed alfred away, you're truly alone.

alone and stuck in a loop of trying to run away from your past and failing miserably.

and all you can ever do is, well...

you cry.

the tears bursts out of your eyes like a broken faucet.

you cry because that's the only thing you know how to do. you let the waters loose, hands quickly tangling itself on your hair, ripping fragile strands apart. you cry because you've been living a such a life full of lies, of broken promises, a life where you have to constantly walk on eggshells. you cry because you want to turn back and throw away all your progress just to feel the embrace of a family who had never once held you in their arms. you let yourself heave, let your voice wail out to its deepest frustration, uncaring for the thin walls, or the sleeping neighbors next door, or the rumbling of your empty stomach.

you cry, for what seems like hours, unending like the memories of solitary isolation, like the wanting of a love that you could never quite catch. you let your eyes become all puffy and red; red like the gashes you have scratched upon your skin, like the crimson, beaded blood from your bitten lips.

you don't find any strength in yourself to stifle your sobs anymore.

not when you're so, so lonely in this world.

and when your voice dies down, when your hoarse shrieking becomes no more; you simply force yourself to stand, despite the spinning of your vision, the stumble in your steps and the lack of air in your lungs; you run to your bathroom, slamming the door shut, letting adrenaline take its course into your already tired body.

your knees, they buckle after its few wobbly steps. it's sore and lacks the circulation to be properly controlled, but you ignore it in favor of expelling the acidic bile that finally rushes itself up your tongue.

at least you find just one thing to be grateful for— that your knees slipped on the wet tiles and land coincidentally towards the toilet's rim, a loud thud vibrating through the room.

alfred says the best way to cope is to never jar your emotions.

it's painful, everything is so painful that you want to scream; you need to let it all out.

you don't care if your knees were to bruise because you couldn't help it anymore, spilling out the contents of your breakfast onto the toilet bowl. your throat constricts into itself, and all you could do is gag and force every bit of food out of your mouth.

and it tastes so bitter that you cry even more. there were some bits and chunks stuck on the sides of your tongue, you can taste the acid on the back of your throat. you feel the urge to vomit even more but there's no more to expel. all you can do is dry heave, shaking hands finding its way to cover your mouth from gagging anymore.

it's so pungent, so fucking disgusting— but all you do is force yourself to stand once more, to look away from the mess you had created and flush it away.

the tears just wouldn't stop, the throbbing in your heart could never be expelled just as easily as the contents of your stomach.

yet you chose this life, there's no more alfred to assist you on your own personal struggles. there's no more rubs on the pack, pats on the head or a warm meal that greets you every time you drown in your own emotions. it's only you who can solve your own problems. you can't depend on anyone but yourself...

if only life was as easy as it is to flush away unwanted contents from your stomach.

if only you weren't in gotham... if only dick wasn't in...

gotham.

he's in gotham right now.

shit.

shit, shit, shit.

dick is in gotham, and you know he just doesn't give up.

he can track you down, he'll find you, he might hurt you because you blocked him— you know of his temper, of his unadulterated anger; you're scared of that. just what have you done wrong? did you take something that was his? no, no, never.

you've never been in his room before. he knows yours because he had visited once, but you don't know his. you don't even know which hallway leads to it.

oh, fuck.

you stumble towards the bathroom sink, hastily twisting the faucet's valve. cold water immediately rushes down, you cup your two hands together to collect the running water.

you need to get to you bearings, prepare for the absolute worst because you know, you know the power he holds in his arms.

with the amount of times he had spammed you, called you even— there's something he wants from you, and you don't want to entertain whatever he has on his mind.

you splash your face - splotched with tears, snot and drool - clean multiple times, rub your swollen, red eyes, and wipe the bits of vomit on the sides of your mouth. you can still taste the vomit. god, it's disgusting.

so you hastily grabbed your toothbrush, pushing an insanely large amount of toothpaste on the bristles. you scrub your teeth aggressively, feeling the urge to rid of the pungent taste of stomach acid. then you gargle mouthwash, twice, and spit it all out.

your movements are too quick for your own self to catch up, but you have to do this. your brain tells you to follow through whatever it has to do.

follow through instincts, get him out of your mind.

distract yourself from dick and the cryptic messages he had sent, that you had thoroughly deleted but...

it dawns upon you that albeit all your failed attempts at bonding with him— you know nothing about dick beyond the circus incident that had killed his parents and his identity as gotham and bludhaven's vigilante, nightwing.

you know nothing about him...

and you fucking blocked him before you could ask for an explanation.

what does that message mean? what does he want to talk about all of a sudden? a person doesn't just fucking waltz in someone's life after 15 years of absence and exclaims himself as close as your friend, no?

it had been so long since you had last heard him call you baby bird, let alone even read your messages, so why spam you now?

your knuckles grip at the bathroom sink's tiles, it was the only thing that provides you balance, legs too wobbly to support the dizziness. you feel a huge lump on your throat again, but you can't just erase all the efforts you had done to get yourself together.

— but at the same time, it's too hard to ignore the panic that resurfaces on your very mind.

so what do you need exactly?

distraction, something to get your mind off of the current situation? before you run away from gotham—

you need a distraction, anything. even if it's stupid, you'll regret it later, just not now.

cigarettes? no, you don't smoke. alfred will kill you if he finds out and you can never lie to him.

drugs? you'll be shot in the head by nasty criminals scamming naive citizens for half the price before you could even purchase them.

... then what?

you look at yourself in the mirror, puffy eyes glazing with emotions you yourself couldn't comprehend.

'despite everything, it's still you, no?'

if you could describe yourself right now, you would call yourself a mess, a big loser who had let their emotions run free for too long, let themself go way too quickly, gave up too quickly, and believed too naively. you had lost so much yet gained so little. a wayne so stubborn that it was the only thing you could ever relate to your father who had estranged you without knowing it.

there was more negatives than positives, you're aware of it.

but if there's one trait that anyone could generalize off of you, it would be that you're always desperate for something.

anything.

and just one time, you tell yourself. one time and that's it, nothing more, nothing less.

once you done relaxing, you're packing your bags and making a run for it. you'll even cut alfred off of your life once and for all. no matter how much it pains you to do so, it's necessary so you could make a new identity from scratch.

it'll hurt you so deeply.

but that's why you're going to do what you wish you had done back when you were still so young—

you need a drink right now.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, is truly just an empty palace that houses buried memories.

with walls that cover the cries of one lonely child; a child who yearns for the unreciprocated love of their family. it was a cage for a child who stalks the frigid halls without any company, who sleeps in a room too small for their age, who cries for anybody to notice the pain that they had hidden with rose colored tints for so long, who yearns for a warmth that could never be provided in the spaces of harsh, black wallpaper and harsh winters.

it will always be innately lonely, and cold.

yet it's even more sullen now, an atmosphere so empty nobody could pinpoint.

no more was the voice that sings of the butler's splendid cooking. no more was the etching of ballpens on smooth paper on an intricately designed diary that stores all the rants of one's daily life. no more were the strokes on colorful canvases that paint dreams of a different life. no more was the humming of multiple tunes every morning. no more was the presence of the ghost who water the plants every afternoon. no more were the footsteps that thud in the kitchen and the hands that opens the fridge.

and most importantly—

no more were the hushed cries of the kid who resides in the smallest room of the wayne manor.

a house could be described as a building where a unit, moreover a family, lives in; but a home is what represents comfort, a place of belonging and safety.

it was a place encased with deep, historical roots.

but right now, encased in a field of damp grass - wet from heavy rain - and the overwhelming scent of petrichor— the manor is simply a house.

for it could never be complete without the presence of the very lonely child who cries for a love never to be attained.

the wayne manor, in all its worth, would never be the same without (name) wayne, a child who had always belonged, but at the same time, always wronged.

bruce wayne never considered himself the greatest father.

he could be gotham's best detective, the most feared vigilante, or the heavily beloved billionaire who donates millions on hospitals, hosts charity events, and so much more.

he could spend his entire life saving countless of other lives that do not deserve the turmoil of living on edge constantly, attend meetings, plan out his every moves, sit on cushioned seats as he broods over where the all the next criminal hideouts; he could do everything and he'll be damned great at it.

—but he will never be the greatest at being a father.

he had long accepted that fact, embraced it even, facing countless of criticism from both alfred and media alike, but it would never be an excuse to neglect or mistreat any one of his children, just like how it would never be right to just ignore a kid's cry for comfort in the barren halls of a manor.

bruce was never outright cruel towards anyone, every action of his baring significance to his moral code.

which was why bruce feels a pit of neverending regret now.

in all the years that he had spent trying to raise his children, children who, in a way, are trouble. who all differ from each other from ideals, to pasts, to habits, to preferences— he wouldn't lie and say that he never had difficulty helping each and every one of them grow to be who they are now.

living through his decisions are never easy, especially if the outcomes were unpredictable; raising a child, let alone children, could go so many ways.

the lives that he had to juggle, alongside his identity as bruce wayne and as batman, they were all an endeavor that he had chose to balance. he had come so far and stumbled so often. but at least by the end of it, he would be proud to say that he truly will never regret having them by his side when he was at the lowest points of his life.

he had his flaws and his mistakes, he had done irreversible actions that he wishes he could reverse, and most importantly, he had failed each and every one of his children indubitably.

but he really tried.

he tried his best to be there for every single one of them. he was there for dick when he had witnessed the death of his mom and dad, adopting the boy who was overflowing with rage towards the killer of his parents and utilizing his gymnastic skills for good. he was there to pick jason up when he had stolen the batmobile's tires, helping the child unlearn the past abuse he had fallen victim to (and although he had died, then resurrected, and turned cold-blooded towards criminals, murdering without hesitation— he still cares for jason deeply). he was there when tim had lost his parents. there for damian who had only been raised as an assassin since he was born. for cass, for duke, for everyone.

he really tried to be active in their lives, supporting them through their blood, sweat, and tears.

... but he had never tried to be there for you.

his forgotten third child, the biological firstborn, child of a well-known prostitute, (name) (last name), whose identity has long been erased off of the face of the internet; the scandal of a century that took the shared efforts of him and barbara to decimate whatever information the late (or missing?) (last name) has in the underground.

(name), his child he has never once bat an eye on, too preoccupied with tim, aversing his attention away from you to train the other kid; ultimately ignoring the immense trauma you must have dealt with from being raised by a mother targeted by most criminal organizations from extorting their cash. it was sickening for him to think of just how cruel were the conditions the two of you were forced to live through.

it was sickening for bruce to imagine the even lonelier years you had to suffer through after your mother's disappearance— years where your father's presence was elsewhere, years that a child has to suffer through alone without any figure to look up to.

it was your name that he had hesitated to even say, in fear of butchering the pronunciation and earning more of alfred's judgemental looks.

(name) wayne.

not even a face can be associated with you, not your voice, your hobbies, nothing.

he couldn't recall a memory where he had taken you to a fancy gala, or one-on-one father-child dates, or any occasions that requires bonding with each other.

he wasn't the man who welcomed you through the doors of the manor, nor was he the father who should've picked you up at the police station.

bruce wayne knows nothing of his third child.

if alfred hadn't confronted him about your terrible living conditions as of now, living in debt whilst trying to push through college, then how long would he have ignored your presence inside the manor? how long would the years pass without him acknowledging any important milestones that you would reach?

until your untimely demise perhaps?

he couldn't even remember a time he had at least given you a gift during christmas or new year or any time of the day.

not even the name of your elementary and high school, or your college university. he doesn't know of your friends, your teachers or what subject you excel in.

you had already graduated highschool, and he wasn't even there for your ceremony. he wasn't there to walk you up the stage, wasn't there to shield you from the thousands of photographers who would've attended should they know that a wayne would attend, wasn't there to offer you a pat on the shoulders for a job well done.

then who had to walk you up the stage?

"alfred..." he stops walking, clearing his throat as alfred turns back at bruce, offering a raised eyebrow at the sudden pause and bruce's rigid pose.

"yes, master?"

"when... (name) graduated," he hesitated on saying your name again, catching on alfred's sudden squint of the eyes. "who walked them up the stage?"

he hopes you didn't have to go up there alone, that a teacher at least accompanied you or—

"i was the one who attended in your stead, master bruce." the butler replies without hesitation, as if it was a normal occurrence. he sighs again, too tired to scold bruce's surprise for absolutely dismissing all the important dates that include you and instead turns back to continue on his treck to guiding bruce to your room.

alfred's look of condescension makes him sink deeper into the void of regret. for being unable to

fuck, how many important events had bruce missed? from school plays, to parent-teacher conferences, to talent shows— was there ever a "bring your father to school" day?

oh... he really hopes there wasn't.

his hands find itself scratching his head, fingers tangling itself onto his hair in hopes of providing distraction— but his thoughts all circulate towards you, a faceless entity, an itch that he could never reach unless he sees you for himself.

the further he walks through frigid halls, the smaller the space seems to get.

how many birthdays had he missed?

when even is your birthday?

you are eighteen now, five when you were taken in which means... almost fourteen years of missed birthdays...

he didn't even give you a single gift card out of pity. not even money for allowance, or a birthday cake.

bruce was never there for you, and he has a feeling that that may have been one of the reasons of you moving out.

he needs to make up for it at least, once he contacts you he'll apologize for everything—

but first, he needs to see the state of your room. to at least have a first impression of you, of what your life was in the manor; any clues that pertains to just who his child is, as humiliating as that sounds for a father.

which was why he didn't hesitate to let alfred lead him straight to your room, albeit the shame he feels for not even knowing where his own child's room is located.

back when he had taken damian in, it was him who introduced the boy to his own room, whom had promptly thrown a tantrum and demanded someplace bigger before ultimately accepting his fate.

... how would you have reacted to your own? he wishes to at least picture your face, probably opposite to damian's, as you get to live in an entirely different space from what you're used to.

would you be pleased? would you look at him with sparkling eyes and thank him? or would you maintain a neutral stance? an overwhelmed one?

he really wants to see you, your expressions, just a sliver of your presence.

but nothing comes up in his mind. not the length or color of your hair, not your height, not anything. he could picture a vague imagery of your mother, but not you.

it makes him wonder; does any of your siblings know what you look like? were you at least any closer to them that you are to him?

he hates just how much desperately the darkness in the pit of his chest is crawling in need to hasten his steps towards wherever your room was.

the rain outside had already ceased, but a newer thunderstorm was brewing inside bruce's heart.

he needs to see you.

as he walks behind alfred through the halls of the manor, he had just noticed how barren the other side of the manor truly is.

cob webs and dust particles litter through the corners of the untouched furniture, the wallpaper peeling off itself and revealing untreated mold and even more cocoons of baby spiders that would soon crawl out, and even most of the ceramic vases they had passed by houses no flowers, instead being covered in a thin sheen of dust.

it was obvious just how neglected this corner of the house is.

just like you.

alfred was always meticulous in his duty as a butler, but bruce had advised the old man to leave unexplored parts of the manor be, seeing as how nobody would stroll by; and to only clean it whenever he would host an expensive gala in the manor with spare rooms as guest rooms.

it made bruce wonder if these halls are the path that leads directly to your room, which it actually does, and he feels even more guilty at just how... different your living condition is compared to your siblings.

it was no wonder why the butler would always excuse himself early, seemingly always making a treck towards a forgotten chamber that he rarely visited.

he'll make a note of relocating you to a room closer than his if you ever were to decide to come visit during holidays or vacations.

... alfred said it had been six or seven months since you had left, just how many occasions have he missed?

counting only fills the dread in his the growing hole of the pit of his heart.

yeah... he will get you a new room, one preferably closer to his; just so he could greet you every morning by knocking on your door and at least escorting you to the kitchen for breakfast. he'll try to make small talk, invite you over and... bond with you.

that'll be a good habit he could incorporate into his daily life.

a small part of him wishes you wouldn't look at him in disdain if he had to forcibly visit your apartment.

he swears it's in all the good of his heard; he just needs to check for himself if you were doing okay.

as him and alfred nearly arrives at your bedroom, the two had already noticed the light peaking from outside the doors and what seems to be two voices ensuing an argument.

even alfred, who had ceased his steps, looked surprised at the presence of the people who seemed to be there before them.

bruce doesn't even hesitate jogging towards the room, unaware of alfred's immediate shift to a calculating gaze, as bruce immediately opens polished, mahogany doors, inviting himself in.

... it smells of bleach and fabric refresher.

his heart clenches at the implication.

"father...? why are you here?" damian's voice cuts through the tension, bruce merely dismisses youngest child as his eyes takes in the space, ignoring how the other presence in the room - dick, with wide, feral eyes - quips about an ongoing "family" reunion.

bruce analyzes every detail, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

small... your room is way too small, and lacks of any design or life whatsoever. a tiny bed is shoved in the corner, the closet too miniscule to even contain clothes for someone your age (just where do you store them, then?), the windows barely welcome any ventilation nor sunlight, even your bedside table was too small to be considered one; the lampshade on top of it could be easily toppled over by a single sway of a hand.

everything is clean, too clean and orderly.

his eyebrows furrow at its state. even a model's walk-in closet is significantly bigger than the cramped space he calls your bedroom.

no proper ventilation, not even any space is provided for... your hobbies. hobbies that he wasn't even aware of.

is this how you had been living for almost eighteen years of your life?

how do you live like this?

just how much has he neglected you?

"bruce...?" it was dick's voice that he had now registered. it sounds out of breath, way too abnormally distraught and out of character.

he slowly looks at dick, equally befuddled at the presence of his eldest and youngest sons.

he seems disheveled, stressed even. the athlete's blue eyes were wide and dilated, seemingly unfocused as his stance was rigid. he was breathing too deep, hand clenching his phone too tight, veins popping through muscles, and he holds a... notebook in the other, this time like it was a delicate piece or artifact.

"... why are you here?" dick tries to cover his current state with an awkward laugh, but he could never hide the furrow of his brows, the flickering in his eyes, nor the anxious stomping of the his feet. sweat runs down dick's forehead; it looks like he's been inside the room the longest.

and dick refuses to get out of it. he won't, not until he finds out just why were you pushing him always all of a sudden.

he's afraid of forgetting his baby bird once more and neglecting your needs. if you were just as self-depracating as he is then... just how well would you be coping all by yourself?

does bruce share the same intentions as him? he doesn't know, his thoughts all leading to a path of thinking about, well, you.

you and your wide eyes looking at him like he was the world.

"i'm just here to visit... (name)'s room." bruce replies, a deep tremor in his parched throat, threading even further into the cramped space as his eyes seem to lock into the multitudes of messily stacked notebooks in the center of the bed.

they were all captioned '(name)'s diary', each having different fonts for every notebook and a date plastered on the very bottom.

"and you both are...?" he stares at them, demanding an answer as he sits on your too small bed (—it creaks, he hates that it does so he promises to get you a new one, a bigger one even, with enough space to fit in at least four people just as you deserve), picking up one of the diaries in his hand; it sports messy calligraphy and peeling stickers, reminiscent of just how old it was.

the hold he has on the diary is delicate as he flips through the first page the same way the eldest child had done. the papers were stained gray from the lead of the pencil, doodles littering every page, from flowers to animals and even faces that bruce couldn't recognize.

at least it provides the void in his heart food for thought, taking in every small detail about you and your hobbies.

you like documenting your life through diaries, that was the first thing he noted about you. the entries all date far from back when you were five or younger, the earlier pages highlighting, well, you and your mother's life. though the handwriting wasn't all that eligible, bruce finds himself becoming fond of the common topics you often rant about from "momma's burnt stack of pancakes" (paired with a drawing on the side, colored with dried markers and glitter gel pens), to the fairytales your mother loves to read you.

as much as it was entertaining for him to read through your mind, it's sad how aged the papers were and how some pages were crumpled to the point some contents were incomprehensible.

he'll get you even more high quality ones, rather than the cheap paper the one he's currently holding has. and he'll buy you designer pens, or do you prefer the more functional ones? would you like fountain pens or glass dip ones just to enjoy the experience?

bruce notices a pattern of the pen's strokes, an array of thinner lines were preferred in most of your entries compared to the thick pencils you sometimes force yourself to use, as there was an entry you had mentioned where if you use thicker lines then you'll run out of pages quicker, and "my mom doesn't have enough money to buy me one right now."

even the doodles in pencil had prefered line widths. finer quality for even finer details, thicker lines to emphasize and exaggerate your art on the side of the papers.

would you prefer mechanical or charcoal pencils? charcoal is messy and smudges, bruce knows as he sees small drawings of a tiny sprite that point towards a smeared sketch of a flower, a look of disdain on its furrowed brows.

he couldn't contain the upward quirk of his lips, blocking out dick's shadow that seems to get closer to bruce.

unfortunately, there were no ballpens of your preference on your bedside table for him to take for himself. he'll find out himself sooner enough though; what materials you like to utilize for your diaries and sketches. hell, it seems you like using a mix of normal and puffy stickers alongside a mix medium to obtain different colors.

journaling supplies, you'll find a lot of them in your arsenal soon.

he'll make sure of that once he finds out where you live.

he looks at damian flipping through what seems to be one of your sketchbooks.

art is, undoubtedly, one of your hobbies too— that's the second thing he notes, picking up what seems to be your second diary right after he flips through the first one, wasting no time to learn more about you.

this time, your second diary talks about your early life into the gotham manor. your anxious yet earger energy to meet your father, how the dick grayson (presumably your idol, with how you mention him as the) is now your brother, and how you almost got lost just wondering in the manor; they all highlight your innocence and curiousity about the world. you write so effortlessly, unafraid of writing down what you truly feel.

though you barely mention the incident regarding your mother, you have stated multiple times about how you miss her beautiful smile and her captivating laughter.

he's grateful that you're fond of writing diaries, exposing bruce to the deeper, more personal parts of your life. he doesn't need to pinpoint any lies or truth. all your secrets, your endeavors, your dreams and your passions are buried deep into the crevices of your diaries, etched in thousands of words and drawings that tell bruce just who you are.

and truly, you are his child.

bruce craves to know more about you in person the more he reads through your entries.

fortunately, it wasn't only him that feels an intense need to take you in, as the presence of his eldest cuts him off of the his train of thoughts.

"y'know, before you forget we're even here, bruce," dick quips with a fond smile as he looks at his bruce's unkempt state, taking a seat next to his father who seems to be in his own world just like damian. the bed creaks against their weight, both cringing at the sound before bruce returns to his own world of... analyzing you, just like he did hours ago.

but he knows that his father knows how to multitask, so he doesn't hesitate to answer.

"i'm also here for (name), i promised to take them out for dinner month's ago." that seems to actually catch bruce's attention, as he looks up from reading your second diary, gazing at dick as if to urge him to continue.

dick proceeds with a sigh, a smitten smile plastered on his face as he recalls the only memory he has of you.

"(name) really has a knack for writing and all, right? i love them for it. when i first met them, they were just so adorable. my baby bird tried to ask me for an autograph!" dick couldn't help himself from yapping, chuckling lightly as he remembers the deathly grip you had on alfred's cuffs, how you were hiding behind the butler's legs and looked at dick so enamored. he couldn't contain his unhinged smile, the goosebumps on his skin made shivers ripple throughout his entire body.

bruce (and even damian, who had all his attention on your sketches) had listened in on his monologue.

"i was the one who helped lead them to their room," he continued confidently, tapping his phone with his fingers, "they clung really close to me when we climbed up the steps, even tried to hide under my jacket..."

looking back, dick wishes he had carried you up the steps. thing was, you were incredibly small back then, and the manor's staircase is particularly hard to transverse through when ascending, so you must've felt exhausted and leaned onto him for support. your tiny legs must've been sore once you two had arrived by your room.

oh, he should've noticed. dick swears he won't make that mistake again once he gets you back in his arms, he promises to carry you the moment you even show the slightest bit of fatigue.

he swears he will, and he'll make sure to spoil you rotten with all the affection you deserve.

oh, dick really wants to see his baby bird again.

"yeah, that's, uh, the only time we had only ever talked." he admits shamefully, opening his phone for what seems like the thousandth time, looking at your profile over and over again, one that had him blocked.

he bites his lips, nibbling his skin in anticipation, in hopes that in the good of your heart that you just, unblock him.

it was just so unbelievable, despite you having all the reasons to push them away from your life, he just doesn't want to accept it. doesn't want to think of the worst outcome; of you hating him.

his baby bird blocked him and he just couldn't comprehend the amount of hurt he's feeling right now. what's wrong with checking up on his baby sibling? on someone he hasn't talked to for a long time already?

scrolling up through your previous messages fills him with both dread, and another emotion he doesn't want to admit— the slightest bit of pride he feels that you chose him over everybody else. you chose dick grayson as your idol, as someone to look up to and eagerly wanted as your older brother.

he was the favorite.

yet he feels terrible at the same time for taking it for granted, for forgetting your his own younger sibling. and bruce? bruce feels terrible just looking at how much your disappearance - an existence he didn't even know existed not until a few hours ago - impacted the atmosphere of the house.

is your absence the reason why the manor had felt too empty, then...?

even alfred seemed to sulk more often, always having his phone around and... talking to someone?

does alfred know where you are? or at least maintain communication with you?

it seems like the family was equally keen to find out just who you were.

whilst the two engross themselves in their own personal matters, damian continues to stand near the middle where the light hits the brightest, analyzing all the pages of your sketchbook. the youngest couldn't even afford to miss a single detail, green eyes mulling over the poses of your human sketches; the anatomy, the composition. all the progress, the mistakes, the erasures... his mind seems to eat up every drawing as if it was a piece of art hung in a museum.

which it should've been— but he wouldn't even let worthless critiques lay their eyes on any one of your sketches. they wouldn't understand you as much as he does.

it's his to look upon, nobody else could understand the meaning of your art, the meaning of his older sibling's art.

the older sibling who he used to threaten with his sword, who he called vile names — a bastard child, he told you one day. he was unable to ignore the glare you sent him, how he felt a pang in his heart after — the older sibling who he ridiculed endlessly in front of his best friend, whose actions he criticized without end; who had started to avoid him like the plague after all of his incessant bullying.

his older sibling who he had used as a punching bag for all his negative emotions, who he was incredibly jealous of, who he felt the need to fight, to compete with, all for the sake of grabbing your attention without seeming frail in his intentions.

his weak and incapable older sibling, who he knew hated him with all their gut.

the unwanted and undeserved treatment he had subjected you to was gruesome.

it was just exactly like your drawings... gruesome and brutal, to say the least. as if it was a medium of releasing all your unparalleled anger. charcoal strokes violently covers the entirety of your pages, it was unpredictable where the lines meet and end, whenever there is color, they blotch each other without harmony, all the subjects of your art either human or anything else within your vicinity.

if someone else with inexperienced, undeserving eyes were to witness your sketches, they would not understand and dare say, criticize your art pieces for being too contemporary, for letting your emotions run free through cheap quality paper without any ounce of care for the rips and tears of the pages.

but damian likes it... he likes the rawness of your pieces, likes it when you incidentally find a way to express tragedy, grief, and all the antagonistic traits a human could bare. he likes just how all thr subjects you paint were muddled with dull colors, sometimes too vibrant, sometimes too neon, sometimes a mix of all— your hectic personality bleeds through the pages.

you should've... shared your talents with him. albeit the jealousy he feels towards you, the sense of competitiveness— a small part of him admits his desire to bond with his only blood sibling... he doesn't even know why he treated you like trash, yet felt so incredibly heartbroken whenever you would retaliate with a blank, soulless stare.

he doesn't know why he felt so compelled to melt into your embrace, despite never once being physically close to you. your warmth always emanates off of your body; he hates that he wanted your validation, your praise and your attention.

he'll apologize to you sooner, damian will drag you back even if he has to, he needs to, actually.

needs to get you to forgive him, to look at him fondly, and to love him without bounds. he's on his path to redemption, he acknowledges his wrongs, all the wrongs he had done to you, he couldn't list it all out but he knows just much it affected your views on him.

damian knows he should've dismissed your reactions— he was raised by assassins for gods sake! he should not be so perceptive of every micro expression of yours, but the connection he feels towards his blood sibling is stronger than any bond, a bond that he himself chose to sever and came to regret afterwards.

he remembers one specific expression of yours after he had criticized your anger issues when he had heard news of you being transferred into another school. it was a glare that lacked any fight or bite, you had long since given up on him and allowed him him harass you whenever he felt like so. but that day was the same day you had snapped, nearly choking on his

he told himself to ignore it, that you were merely throwing a tantrum (despite how hypocritical he seemed)

yet he didn't expect to be overcome with regret.

with hurt.

with empathy at the tears that welled on your eyes.

damian doesn't want to admit it but, that was one of the first times he had hesitated to retaliate with an even crueler comeback to your glare. he wanted to so badly run to you and bond with you and your unadulterated anger, to comfort you and provide you the affection you had so desperately needed— but in the bitterness and the jealousy of his heart, he had forced himself to leave you be; a decision even until now he regrets because... you had no longer seen him as a younger brother, let alone treat him as one, as he desired to.

after that incident, you tend to avoid him more and more, not even eating in the same room as him, let alone ditching whatever you were doing in favor of keeping to yourself.

he should've held himself back from hurting his older sibling, the one who, despite doning no skills or talent in combat whatsoever, who knew that he was more of a threat than a younger brother; was brave enough to approach him with a tray of alfred's baked cookies and a hesitant yet welcoming grin.

and yet he had replied with a sword to your neck and an insult to your origin, calling you a bastard child; the product of a whore and his father's terrible decisions.

he had simply watched as you had left the hallway with a knick on your neck and a wobble on your steps, nearly dropping the tray of untouched goods due to the inconsolable shivers you must've felt.

you hate him, no? he could see it in your eyes, no matter how defeated it may be, there was always a tinge of resentment towards him that he knows he couldn't undo.

you hate him, you must've hated him so much and he hates that. hates how he wants to throw a rampage over the fact that you would never consider him as a younger brother.

... if things were different, if he had never let his emotions and his past dictate his actions, would you love him?

for the first time in quite a while, he had felt tender longing and desire, his hands caressing the pages of your sketchbook as if it could bring you back to the manor.

for the first time in a while, damian allows himself to want, to dream about a fantasy where you would cherish him, allow him to melt on your chest whenever he feels the pressure of the world getting to him, let him sulk about his deepest darkest insecurities as you would run your fingers through his hair and tell him it's all alright.

for the first time in so long, he would openly admit the immense regret he feels, wishing for an opportunity to turn back time, to never unsheath his sword towards you and to never open his mouth to allow vile words to spew out of it.

time passes by oh-so quickly when you are left alone with only your thoughts to accompany you.

it had been quite awhile since the trio were left pondering about your very existence, alfred noted, watching the three scramble about through their minds. they had seemed to have forgotten the very butler who had been observing every single one of their actions.

alfred had waited so long for this moment to come, for them to realize just how crucial you are to the family, how you are the very final jigsaw puzzle the complete the picture perfect definition of a home, how much they need you if they wish to maintain even the slightest bit of sanity.

it was only right that he decides to place the final nail in the coffin.

after all, this was all to get you back to your safety, to where you rightfully belong.

—"it seems like the family has finally taken notice of young master (name)'s disappearance...?" alfred buts in by the door, a single eyebrow raised, crossed arms, an all-knowing look that just screams 'i told you so'.

he continues once he had their complete attention, "i would like to say that i am heavily disappointed in how it took more than a decade and a half for all of you to find out about their existence. if it wasn't for the long months of their absence and even a personal sermon towards master bruce about their financial struggles, they would've long been gone. well... they would be gone soon if they are unable to pay this month's rent for their apartment."

his tone was sullen as he nitpicks every single one of their reactions, a mixture of confusion, shame and regret a commonality between the three.

"(name) is in financial debt?" it was damian who asked first with furrowed brows and wide eyes, unbelieving of what alfred had just stated. "but father wires money to all of his children, right?

the youngest turns back to his father's seated form, expecting a nod of some sorts, but all bruce had was a tense jaw and a solid stare. it speaks of volumes, all damian could do was shut his mouth, looking back at alfred with a pout.

alfred expected this reaction. it was truly unfortunate how the family would never know just how important you were in their life.

yet all he could do was press on, further their guilt and desperation.

"young master damian, i am aware of bruce's willingness towards providing for his children, but (name), like you, had adopted your father's stubbornness to accept any financial aid on their part..."

the silence was defeaning now, tension so thick that not even a knife could cut through it. fortunately, the people alfred were with are trained combatants, formidle not only through fights but with words.

it was a shame they had never used their brains to connect the dots with just how sullen the manor was the moment you were gone.

"how do we...?" this time it was dick who talked, albeit hesitantly. "bruce could at least send a few thousands to them, then? or i could do it, you could just give us their location and—"

"unfortunately, there is nothing i could do about it, master dick," alfred interrupts dick's sudden onslaught, "for even i do not have master (name)'s address. they refuse even the slightest bit of a clue, hence why i have confronted master bruce about it."

it was like a needle had dropped on the floor, an intense, numbing feeling everyone present was subjected to feel.

... what?

it was dick who had reacted first, springing up from his seated position as he stared at alfred's defeated eyes incredulously.

"are you serious, alfred? (name) could be anywhere in gotham right now? unprotected, unsafe, and in debt?"

a long, defeated sigh was what he had merely received from the alfred.

"yes, master dick, you hear exactly what i say."

"but the world outside is too dangerous for (name)! we can't just let them loose in a street filled with criminals who can take advantage of their innocence!"

"they're eighteen, dick." all of a sudden, it was damian who cuts back with a roll of his eyes, "i'm sure they can survive on their own."

"yeah right, and have you even read their latest diary, or are you just gonna pretend like you aren't going to keep their sketchbooks all for yourself, huh?" dick retaliates with clenched teeth, letting himself be swayed by his own emotions. "or... you're planning to track their location without us so you can get a reservation to visit them first?"

"calm down, dick—" bruce stands, immediately holding dick back, gripping the athlete's tense shoulders.

"why should i, bruce?! (name) can be anywhere, we— i can't afford to bide time on anything but them!" he glared back at his father, slammimg his fist onto your bedroom walls without hesitation. cracks immediately formed on the chipped wallpaper, a testament to dick's strength; you'll be relocated to another room, a better one anyways and they'll... they'll turn this one into a bigger atelier for you.

dick just needs to let his anger out, yeah... unfortunately, his father seems to think otherwise.

bruce retaliates with a snarl, "we need a solid plan, dick. we can't just randomly search where they are—"

"look, if none of you are willing to help, then fine, i'll track (name) all by myself—"

"— i've never mentioned not coming, grayson." damian cuts him off with a glare, possessively holding all your sketchbook in one hand. "i'll be the one spending time with them first."

"yeah, right... and you, bruce? you coming with or no?"

defeated, bruce replies, "... you already know the answer, dick."

"of course, dad. glad to know we're on the same team after all," dick lets out an airy laugh, returning to his old demeanor. but bruce could easily pinpoint the sharp edge to his giggles, how calculated it is and how it's all merely a cover up to hide the unbearable itch to get you into his arms.

not like bruce could help it too, feeling the same way dick does— all he wants to do is see you for himself after all.

"then call the others into the batcave, now. tell them it's a priority mission, don't let them say otherwise, and don't settle on any excuses."

bruce is so grateful that he had his hands on your diaries, that he was given the grace to read through your entries and embrace even the slightest clue about you.

although there was no face to associate with your name, no photograph nor portrait— he at least has an idea of your personality, of what you like and prefer; something that bruce would hold dear, something that feeds the growing urge to find you.

find you to not only correct his mistakes, to make up for all the lost time, but to also get closer to you. to bond with his child, the one he should've focused on all those years ago. the one who, despite showing disinterest to vigilantism, chose to not fall deep into the pits of resentment, of committing heinous acts— you had chosen to run away from them without any intentions of badmouthing your own family even after the years of neglect.

his child, (name) wayne.

you were a symbol of what he had strived to cherish, to protect. it was your innocence through these pages, your eagerness to the world despite its cruelty, that relays the message to bruce that he should've centered his attention on both you and tim instead of just tim.

maybe then the dispair he had felt after jason's death would've been less devastating, maybe then you'd act as his source of light in the darkness he had choose to brood in. maybe then he wouldn't have acted so rash, so impulsive and tense.

after all, you had lost your mother too early, and your father was just somebody you can watch through the television and read through the newspaper.

and you? you were forced to take the short end of the stick, without any familial attention nor emotional support whatsoever— a substantial failure on bruce's part. you didn't deserve anything you were subjected to, didn't deserve to know what pain and despair felt like.

bruce should've been the father who had to shoulder all your burden. he should've been there for you as he was there for all your other siblings.

he should've been the man who would kiss your wounds away whenever you go out to the park with him to play. he should've been the man who would sit on the crowded bleachers to watch you perform on a talent show. he was supposed to be the father who would hold you close to your chest as you cry about your first heartbreak, about your overdue projects, about the bullies in the school.

but he wasn't that father for you. and now, you seek love and attention from people who weren't even family. because they had failed you, he had failed you.

there was so much things about you that he doesn't know of, so much he had missed out on. his absence was a constant in your life; what would you have felt if he suddenly barged in on it then? especially now that you've moved out on the presumption of neglect?

but could he help it if he does?

could bruce help it if he was already concocting a way to bring you back? alfred had explicitly told him that you were living off of debt

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,100+ words. no beta we just die. undertale reference. this is my least favorite chapter LMAO, despite it's length i had to waste blood sweat and tears for this and i hate it so much. anways guys pls comment or send as ask if u like this and what's good abt it bec this chapter literally made me question my ability as a write 😭 erm im gonna take a break after this and mostly answer asks bec istg my energy is so drained. also is it jst me or does everyone default the reader as female ^^' it's jst weird for me bec i always write them as gn/male. oh and if anyone is wondering, yes i am gonna add the batgirls too bec they r family !! the entire family (universe) is obsessed with u !! also yall i cant add anymore to the taglist, tumblr won't allow me.

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

[gaystardykeco]

the problem with vacation is that now in three days i have to go back to working and being alone the rest of the time and idk if i can handle it

[luxaofhesperides]

the beginning - danny

0.

The Lazarus Pit brings Danny back.

The child who went into them, however, is gone forever.

Danyal al Ghul is the soul who should reside in this body. Danyal has a life still to live and Danny died ages ago, old and surrounded by loved ones, ready to spend the rest of his forever in the Infinite Realms.

Something's gone terrible wrong, he thinks rather wryly, squinting through the cold green water that surrounds him. An ache echoes through his body and he brings a hand—small, a child's hand that shouldn't belong to him— to his stomach, where he can feel a large wound slowly pull itself together.

Did I get stabbed?

He means to continue the thought, but a sharp pain hits his head, making him curl up. He gasps and air bursts from his lungs, water rushing to fill in the empty space. Danny chokes, panicking, as memories slide into place, the lives of Danyal al Ghul and Danny Fenton fighting for dominance in his head. His lungs burn, throat working futilely to push water out, but there's nothing to be done.

Danny is a child again, and just like last time, he dies young.

1. So.

Assassins.

Danny honestly can't tell if this is a step up or a step down from mad scientist parents. On the one hand: he knows they loved him, as clumsy as it was, even though they loved their work more. On the other hand: assassin cult sounds like something out of a fairy tale, and while cool, is definitely not safe for kids.

And Danny, somehow, is a child again.

This really wasn't what he expected when he woke up on the sandy bottom of the pit. He's in ghost form, which is an unpleasant shock, but at least its familiar.

He is also, if his memory as Danyal serves him correctly, nine years old.

Kinda sucks that he died so young this time round. Didn't even make it to the double digits before he was taken out of the running.

He can't remember what it was like being so small in his last life. He can't imagine how anyone would look at a child and run them through with a sword. It's a cruel world he's woken up in. It's made worse by the fact that he's alone.

At least being down here without needing to breathe is giving him valuable time to think.

Danny has lived a full life already. He didn't really need or want another one, content to be a full ghost in the Infinite Realms. But going back isn't really an option, now that he's in a new body. The kid he could have been deserves to live fully, and the least Danny can do is live that life for them.

It'll be hard, but Danny's sure he can manage a decent life for himself.

Being presumed dead will make his escape from the assassins easier, though he'll miss getting the chance to meet his new mother; assassin as she is, Danyal knows her not by her blades but by her soft lullabies and jasmine-scented hair. The loss of her child must be hurting her deeply, but it's necessary. If Danny wants any semblance of a normal life, he has to leave her behind.

Besides, he's seen enough death. He doesn't want to ever be the cause of it.

So, he needs a plan for this new life.

Step one: get out of dodge.

The rest he'll figure out on the way.

2.

Turns out assassins weren't the most shocking thing in this new life.

No, that honor goes to superheroes.

Genuine, honest to God superheroes! With powers and everything!

To think that Danny once called himself a superhero. Ha! As if! He's nothing compared to the likes of Superman or the Flash or even Green Lantern. They're in another league. Literally. They're part of the Justice League, which has a whole slew of other heroes, and Danny is possibly their biggest fan.

Not like that's weird; most people in this world are huge fans of superheroes. Makes sense, since they're the ones who rely on their protection the most.

It does suck to know that his background belongs to that of a villain. Assassins aren't known for saving people, after all.

Part of him contemplates becoming a hero again, taking up the role of Phantom and joining the ranks of Superman. But he's had many years to come to terms with the loss of his teenage years and the bitterness that came with it. That experience, that life once lived, helps him decide each time that being a civilian is the gift this life owes him.

At thirteen, Danny lives in a foster home with six other kids. He's the oldest and has his hands full taking care of everyone else while their foster parents work three jobs between them to keep them all afloat.

When his younger siblings play superheroes, he gladly takes the role of the villain, swooping in with a blanket to kidnap away an innocent bystander that has to be rescued. He falls over dramatically at the end of each fight and praises his siblings' strength and teamwork, making them puff up with pride.

It's all fun and games so long as it only stays fun and games.

Superpowers are cool and all, but his came at the cost of his life, his health, his future. He knows, better than anyone, the price of being a hero. He knows that even Superman carries heavy losses on his shoulders, struggles under burdens no one can see.

He's lucky that the small town he ended up in—Luray, Virginia—has no heroes or villains. Too small a place to be on anyone's radar, apparently.

His classmates often complain about how they wish they could live in a big city where there's more to do, more to see, superheroes flying through the streets to protect them.

Danny is happy where he is. It's quiet, and small, and nothing like what he's used to, but it's safe.

That's all he really wants.

3.

Here's something that stays the same no matter what world he's in: Danny is a magnet for trouble.

If the trouble stopped at bullies, everything would have been fine. Danny could handle Dash, and he could handle Justin just as easily.

But the universe loves to escalate with Danny, specifically, which is why Danny had to reveal his powers when some villain-wannabe school shooter attacked his high school.

And to think he felt bad for Jackson when he didn't make it onto the track team.

Luray does not have a meta population. They're too small to have much of a population at all, and much of it is white which made him, half-Iranian, stand out even before he threw out a barrier of ice to protect his classmates a second before the gunfire began.

"Danny?!" his seatmate, Clarrissa, cries out in alarm.

"Everyone get out the window and run for it!" he orders, "I hold him back as much as I can!"

"You can't stay here!"

"Don't worry," Danny says, offering her a tight smile. "He couldn't kill me even if he tried. Now go!"

His classmates hadn't wasted any more time, sending him shocked looks as they escaped the classroom. A glimpse of his reflection in the window revealed glowing green eyes and blue mist wafting out of his mouth.

Looks like his time in Luray is up. He hopes his foster siblings won't be too mad at him for running away.

The gunfire stops, and Danny takes his chance to leap through his ice, intangible, and tackle Jackson, easily knocking the gun away from him.

"Monster!" Jackson spits at him, and Danny laughs.

"Bold of you to say that. I'm not to one trying to kill people."

He doesn't want to hear anything else that comes out of Jackson's mouth, so he knocks the guy out with a solid hit to a pressure point on his neck. Hopefully that'll keep him down long enough for the cops to get him.

Danny stands and means to leave, but something hits the back of his head hard and he's out before he realizes what's happened.

When he wakes up, he's strapped down to a table in what is undeniably a lab, and sighs.

At least he made it to sixteen before he went into another lab. Maybe in his next life he might even get all the way up to twenty before he's pulled back down here.

4. Though he has all his powers and a ghost form, that doesn't mean he is a ghost in this life.

No, he's fully a meta, which means meta-suppressing cuffs work on him.

It's not exactly a discovery he was hoping to have while locked up in a lab, but it's what he's got, so he has to roll with it. The cuffs are heavy on his wrists and around his throat, keeping him from escaping as a group of people in masks and lab coats bustle around, ignoring him.

His head is still foggy, though likely more from the drugs than the hit he took to his head.

He doesn't bothering talking to any of them; they don't see him as human, and Danny's dealt with enough of that in his past life.

Mad scientists love to talk though, so he still hears the gist of their plans: recreating the meta gene for normal people, making a profit from selling powers, getting rich and famous from their accomplishments. They had been using Jackson to get corpses for human testing, but they got Danny instead — someone they can harvest bio material for, a much better find than a couple dead kids.

If he had the energy to rage, Danny would have killed everyone in the room already. They planned to kill his classmates just for test subjects.

He doesn't want to be an assassin, but he'd gladly lean into those old lessons to make sure they never hurt anyone again.

But the cuffs and drugs do a good job of keeping him docile, barely able to think, as they transport him around to different locations and cut him open.

He's not sure how long it's been when they ease up on the drugs a bit. It still takes time for his body to work through everything, and he comes too with a throat that's dry and a stomach that hasn't had anything in it for quite some time.

The first thing Danny does when they start asking him questions is throw up on them.

If they wanted cooperation, they should have treated him better. This is fully on them.

It makes for a convincing argument for food and water and a bathroom break, at least, so he gets what he demands and takes care of his human body under the cold gazes of three scientists.

"You guys suck," he says conversationally. "Keeping test subjects alive is like basic knowledge. No wonder y'all suck at your jobs."

"Your comments aren't needed," one of the scientists says primly. "Get up. We need to study how using your powers affects your body."

They hook a bunch of different things onto him, then lock him in a glass cage and use the cuff around his throat to send jolts of electricity through him when he doesn't do anything. He throws a chunk of ice at them, watching as it breaks apart into small pieces when it hits the glass. The scientists scribble in their notepads, and when they look at him again, he flips them off.

He gets shocked again, but it's worth it.

The process repeats for another few hours, then he's pulled out of the cage, gets an IV stuck in his arm, and drops off into drugged oblivion before he has time to start throwing hands.

5.

It must have been months. Danny's not sure; it's hard to keep track of time when locked in isolation.

He knows he's fed at least once a day. He's been getting a tray of bland food at random times, but he's counted over 50 trays sliding through the little slot on the bottom of his cell door.

Turns out insulting scientists and their procedures is a bad idea, especially when he has the language to really bruise their egos.

So.

Isolation sucks.

But at least they don't drug him anymore!

The cuffs do their job of keeping him in place, and if he didn't have memories of another life to keep him company, he definitely would have lost his mind long ago.

There's other people in here, other metas. He's heard them screaming and begging for mercy. He's heard them go chillingly quiet. He wonders why there are so many superheroes in this world when not a single one has come to save them.

Surely at least one would notice metas disappearing and would investigate?

But no.

No one ever comes to save them.

So Danny needs to figure out a way past the cuffs, and then he can be Phantom again long enough to free the other metas and make every scientist involve pay for their crimes.

He just needs to wait.

He just needs—

6.

When Danny wakes up, the alarms are ringing. It makes his head pound, throbbing with each piercing sound.

He stumbles up, using the wall to keep his balance, and freezes when he sees that the door to his cell is open.

…Huh.

The hallway is bathed in red light when he steps out. No one's around. He wanders around the facility, searching for answers and only finds more questions.

There are other cells, also empty. Certain rooms have blood splattered across the walls and the floor, but no bodies. Labs are destroyed, broken glass on the floor. But every room is empty.

He wanders until he finds what must be a security room. There's a strange device dangling off a keychain on a rack, and Danny eyes it curiously. He runs his fingers around the cuff on his throat, feels the little depression where the collar comes together, and takes the rounded device. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work.

But if it does work…

The cuff pops open easily, as if it hasn't been his greatest foe these past few months.

All at once, his strength returns to him. He has forgotten what it was like to breathe easily, to feel his powers come to his call so easily, to be reassured that he can take care of himself.

It's almost like coming back to life.

He transforms, settling back into his ghost form with relief, and flies through the facility in search of any other metas that may need help. He finds no one, but he does catch a glimpse of the outside.

The sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at. Part of the facility has been blown apart; rubble surrounds the place and the surrounding forest has been flattened. It looks as though a fight has moved through the area.

Maybe a superhero did come to save them? Rude of them to leave only Danny, though.

He continues his search, poking his head into different rooms and hallways. He finds a staircase going down and follows it into the basement. More labs greet him, and the glow of computers and strange vials of liquid leave him unsettled.

There's a green glow coming around the corner than reminds him of the Lazarus Pit he flew out of, once upon a time many years ago, and that's what draws him forward.

Tucked away in that familiar glow is a small body, floating in a tube of liquid. There's an oxygen mask attached to her face, but that doesn't stop Danny from recognizing her.

"Ellie?"

7.

Just like in one life, Danny is cloned. The difference is that this time, there's no reason for it, no insane godfather trying to recreate a version of him that will choose him.

No, this time it's from a group of scientists who should have known better, who decided to mess around with his genes, and brought his once little sister now daughter into such a cruel, dangerous world.

Danny barely remembers breaking the glass to get her out of there. He doesn't know where he found the coat to bundle her up in, flying out of the facility as fast as he could. He feels sick, knowing it's his fault that she's here now, forced into a painful, terrifying existence because he wasn't strong enough to save himself.

He's a runaway meta victim of mad science. He can't take care of her.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he whispers to her, pressing a kiss against her head. "I'm so sorry."

She small in his arms. She barely weighs anything.

Danny blinks back tears and tries to find some place he can stop and rest, somewhere safe he can gather his thoughts and figure out his next steps.

This isn't like when he first woke up in this world, with both sets of memories.

This is Ellie.

She deserves more than just a wish and a half-baked plan for a better life.

She deserves a family that wants her, that can care for her, that can protect her. She deserves to grow up normally and not worry about destabalizing or being a replacement for him or being hunted down.

She deserves one life to be a kid and grow up safe and be whoever she wants to be.

Danny will never be able to give her that.

But maybe he can give her to someone who can.

8.

Danyal grew up with an assassin mother and a cruel grandfather who expected far too much from a child. He was taught to kill and be more weapon than child. He was taught the world was something for him to take, to protect, to water with blood.

Danyal was meant to be the next Demon Head, and the next Bat.

Danny knows he can't go to his mother. If they're both lucky, he will never have to see her again. Knowing his luck, he's already planning explanations for why he never went back to her.

Danny's father, on the other hand…

It didn't take much to put the pieces together. The notorious Bat is Batman, Gotham's vigilante and one of the founders of the Justice League. While a child would have been left confused by the many comments his mother made about his father, it was simple enough for Danny to line them up with what he learned about the heroes of this world and realize, oh, that's my dad.

It takes a few weeks of research, using public libraries with Ellie tucked securely in a wrap to his chest, but he's able to learn more about Batman.

The most important thing being that he has kids.

Of course, none of this is officially acknowledged, but everyone knows that the Robins are his kids. Current Robin, especially, likes to remind people that he's 'the son of Batman'.

Okay. Cool.

Danny has siblings.

Awesome.

He's… not looking forward to those conversations.

At least it means more people to look after Ellie. Assuming they take her in, which Danny's really hoping for.

But it's the best he can do, so Danny sets course for Gotham and hopes that just this once, everything will work out.

9.

Meeting the Bats of Gotham is a lot harder than he expected.

A week in the city and he's barely caught more than a glimpse of them. He can't dedicate a lot of time to tracking them down either, needing to break into grocery stores to get food for him and Ellie.

She's so quiet as a baby, and it terrifies him. She's only cried twice the entire time he's had her, and Danny spends every day begging her to hold on.

Time during the day is spent catching naps and researching common vigilante spotting areas in Gotham. He's got a map of Gotham taken from a library and has been steadily marking it up, putting stars in the best places to find a Bat. There are places all over the city, and Danny has no idea how to know which ones are the best.

The only thing he can do is wait at a different rooftop each night, clinging to Ellie, wondering if this is the last night he has with her.

On the ninth night, someone finally arrives.

"Step away from the edge," a voice demands.

Danny turns to see Robin approaching, hands held out as if to catch him. He's bigger than Danny was expecting. Which makes sense; most of the stories Danny got online are from when Robin was a kid, and it's been a few years since then. He must be a teenager now. Older, but still young.

"Robin," he manages to say, his throat tightening. It feels almost like there's a noose around it. It feels like that meta-suppressing cuff has clicked back into place, leaving him helpless.

"Step away from the edge," Robin repeats. "There is no need for this to be your last resort."

"But it is," Danny whispers.

Robin darts forward and wraps a hand around Danny's wrist, yanking him towards the center of the roof. "Why on Earth would you come up here? Surely you must have known that someone would stop you."

"Batman," he gets out. "I need to speak to Batman."

"What for?"

"I'm… I was told, once, that I'm his son."

10. Robin stares at him for a long moment.

Then he takes off his mask.

Danny knows those eyes: he sees them every time he looks in a mirror.

"Danyal," Robin breathes. "You died before I was born."

"I did. Are you…?"

"Mother told me about you."

So he has a little brother. If only he hadn't left first chance he got, he could have known his little brother, gotten away from that place before it hurt him too. Danny has made many mistakes since he arrived in this world. Missing a little brother is perhaps the worst of them.

"Mother…" Danny repeats. "She put me in the Lazarus Pit. I remember that. She didn't want me to die."

"I was born to replace you."

Just like Ellie.

So many mistakes repeating. He's never felt like more of a failure.

"Batman. Our father. He treats you well? You are safe with him?"

Robins brows furrow, but he nods, which is enough for Danny. "Yes. Of course. Isn't that why you're here now?"

"I'm not asking for me." Danny carefully, gently, unwraps Ellie. "I'm asking for her. Please, take care of her. She deserves more than I can give her. Ellie… she'd be your niece."

Robin's eyes are wide. He's frozen until Danny pushes Ellie against his chest, forcing him to lift his arms to hold her.

"Wait, what about—?"

When Robin looks up, Danny's already gone.

It's for the best.

(masterpost for all parts)

[rafesangelita]

can you pleaseeee do some angst with pogue!sweetheart!reader, like she overhears some of the girls at the country club talking about her and saying things like “i don’t know what rafe see’s in her, she’s still a pogue.” and rafe possibly reassuring her? thank you!

warnings: bullying (?), classist comments, slight fluff

a/n: i got carried away (like always lol) leave requests if you’d like!

“rafe, as much as i love you, i don’t think i can stand out here much longer.” you fanned yourself, using your hand to block the sun from hitting your face. rafe and topper were currently playing golf while you played cart girl for them, the summer heat quickly becoming far too hot for you to handle. rafe paused their game, jogging over to you as he took his wallet out of the pocket of his pants.

“start up a tab at the bar, go ahead and cool off, baby.” you accepted his card, silently asking ‘are you sure?’ before he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. “go, on.” rafe reassured you, smiling to himself as he watched you make your way inside the country club.

you couldn’t help but sigh in relief when a gust of cool air blew past you, immediately ordering a virgin piña colada as you took a seat at the rather empty bar. rafe loved to bring you over to the country club, especially since you pretty much knew everyone from all the times you came to sell your baked goods, although it wouldn’t hurt to make some actual friends instead of acquaintances.

speaking of friends, you spotted a table not too far away, all three girls already looking at you before you smiled at them. no one smiled back. clearing your throat awkwardly, you fiddled with the rings on your fingers as you waited for your drink to be made. “you see rafe out on the golf course today? he is just so handsome.” oh, god. your breath hitched, your heart dropping as you continued to listen in on their conversation.

“he is! why he’s dating some pogue baker girl? i’ll never know.”

“that’s literally her over there.”

you shut your eyes, wishing the ground could swallow you whole. “i mean.. she’s pretty and all, but at the end of the day she’s still a pogue.” the girl’s laughter echoed in your ears, your skin flush with embarrassment. “well, it’s obvious that she’s just a charity case. rafe probably feels bad for the girl.” the way they all collectively agreed with one another made tears prick at your eyes.

just when you thought the comments couldn’t get any worse, your jaw nearly dropped to the floor at the next accusation. “maybe he’s paying her to have sex with him or something. i could imagine she has to scrape for some kind of change if she lives on the cut.” you were crying now, refusing to let them see any kind of tears running down your face. “one virgin piña colada.” the bartender placed the pretty drink down in front of you, a round of laughter erupting from behind you.

“a virgin piña colada? what is she? twelve?”

deciding you couldn’t take it anymore, you left a cash tip on the counter and muttered a ‘put it on on rafe cameron’s tab, please.’ before leaving without sparing them a single glance. to say you were mortified would be an understatement. rafe was probably going to freak out once he saw that you just up and left, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stay there another second.

you didn’t even make it out of the parking lot when you heard rafe’s voice calling after you. “y/n!” he was panting when he finally got to you, “hey, wait a second baby.” you quickly wiped your eyes before turning around, your boyfriend immediately sensing something was wrong. “woah, woah, what happened?” rafe tucked your hair behind your ears, cupping your chin before using his thumbs to stroke your tear-stained cheeks.

“nothing, i just don’t feel so good-”

“it’s not that.” he cut in, eyes flickering between yours. “what happened?” rafe asked once again. you knew it was impossible to lie to him. “tell me, baby, so i can fix it.” his jaw clenched, blue orbs wide with concern. you laughed bitterly. “you can’t fix girls who gossip.” at your words, rafe blinked before looking back at the country club. “are you talking about the snobs at the table near the window?” rafe took your silence as his answer, nodding slowly before draping an arm across your shoulders.

“what did they say?” his voice was eerily calm as he walked you two over to his truck. “it’s stupid, really.” you sniffled, letting rafe place you in the passenger seat. he kept the door open, leaning on the frame as he took your hand in his. “tell me.” rafe’s voice was stern, his chest rising and falling with each breath. you sighed, avoiding his gaze as you spoke. “they said that you have to be paying me to have sex with you because apparently i’m ‘scraping’ for change since i live on the cut.”

rafe’s jaw ticked, his eyes narrowing as he took your words in. “is that it?” he cleared his throat, his vision slowly blinding him with white hot anger. “they also said that they couldn’t understand why you would want to be with a ‘pogue baker girl’.. maybe their right.” rafe’s head shot up at your last statement, his face twisting in confusion. “what are you talking about?” he took your hand in his.

“i’m not even worth half of what these girls are,” you bit your lip to keep yourself from crying again, “i don’t have rich parents, i don’t have a trust fund that ensures i don’t have to work a day in my life, who am i kidding?” you shook your head. rafe studied you for a moment. “you know what you do have?” he lifted your chin, “a heart.”

“that’s something that no amount of money can buy. you have something priceless, y/n. you carry it with you everywhere you go.” rafe pressed a kiss to your temple, mumbling a ‘i’ll be right back.’ before he shut your door. you were a mess after that, his words not only being a comfort to you, but affirming.

rafe was gone for a few minutes before he strided out of the country club, a new piña colada in his hand. “here. now we sit and wait.” you took the drink from him, taking a sip as you watched two security guards escort the group of girls out. “what did you do?” you relaxed in your seat, glancing between rafe and the scene before you.

“got them blacklisted from the club. their parents aren’t as rich as you think.” he laughed, moving his attention to you. “don’t ever question yourself like that again. please.” he turned the engine on. “where are we going?” you asked. “we are going to go get you your own card, with your own little ‘trust fund’, alright?” he nodded.

“you’ll never have to worry about anyone talking like that about you ever again.”

[leona-hawthorne]

FICMAS #5— SALTY / theodore nott

december 16th

theodore nott x reader

summary: theodore is so down bad that he is physically unable to tell you when your cooking is bad…

warnings: fluff, established relationship

words: 1.1k

a/n: getting back on schedule!

navigation ficmas masterlist

Theodore Nott had always carried himself like a shadow. Quiet, deliberate, and never fully there, no matter how much space he occupied. That’s what made it so surprising when he fit into your home so effortlessly. Your family loved him—even your dad, who usually approached your boyfriends with the kind of silent scrutiny that could crumble a lesser man. Theo just smiled that soft, unassuming smile of his and charmed them all without even trying.

He’d been staying with you for a week now, his presence so natural that it felt like he’d always been there. You’d find him in the kitchen in the mornings, sipping tea and chatting with your mum. At night, he’d settle into the living room with a book or play chess with your dad, his brow furrowed in concentration. And then there were the quieter moments, the ones you liked best: him leaning against your bedroom doorframe, his eyes on you as you talked about nothing and everything, the easy silence that followed when words ran out.

It had been your idea to invite him for the holidays. He’d mentioned in passing that his dad’s estate felt empty this time of year, and the thought of him alone in that cold, sprawling manor made your chest ache. So you’d asked, your voice hesitant and hopeful, and when he said yes, the relief had been immediate and overwhelming.

Now, you were determined to make this week—this moment in your lives—as perfect as it could be. That’s why you were standing in the kitchen on a Tuesday afternoon, your sleeves rolled up and flour smeared on your cheek, determined to bake him cookies. You weren’t much of a baker, but Theo loved sweets, and the thought of him lighting up at something you made just for him was enough to keep you going.

“What are you doing in here?” his voice startled you, low and amused from the doorway.

You turned to see him leaning against the frame, his hair slightly mussed and his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweater. He looked so at home, so utterly comfortable, that your heart gave a little squeeze.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, moving to block his view of the counter. “Don’t look.”

His eyebrows lifted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You realize that makes me want to look even more, right?”

“Theo,” you warned, pointing a flour-covered finger at him. “If you ruin the surprise, I swear—”

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll stay out of your way. For now.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he backed away, but you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face. Once he was gone, you turned back to the mixing bowl, your focus sharpening. The recipe was simple enough—butter, sugar, flour, and a handful of chocolate chips. What could go wrong?

When the cookies were finally in the oven, the kitchen smelled warm and inviting, the kind of smell that wrapped around you like a hug. You cleaned up the counter while they baked, feeling a little thrill of accomplishment. Maybe you weren’t hopeless in the kitchen after all.

When the timer went off, you carefully pulled the tray from the oven, the golden-brown cookies practically glowing in the light. They looked perfect. You couldn’t wait to see Theo’s face when he tried them.

You found him in the living room, sprawled on the couch with a book open on his lap. He looked up as you entered, his eyes softening when they landed on you.

“What’s this?” he asked, sitting up as you held out the plate of cookies.

“I made these for you,” you said, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “Happy holidays.”

His expression shifted, surprise melting into something warmer, something that made your stomach flutter. “You baked for me?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Don’t make it a big deal, okay? I just thought you’d like them.”

“You’re amazing,” he said simply, taking the plate from your hands. “No one’s ever baked for me before.”

“Really? Nobody?”

“Not unless you count house-elves,” he said with a wry smile.

You watched as he picked up a cookie, turning it over in his hand like it was something precious. He took a bite, and for a second, his face didn’t move. Then his jaw worked slowly, his expression carefully neutral. His smile froze in place, but his eyes—his eyes gave him away. They widened, just a fraction, a flicker of something like panic crossing his features before he masked it.

“It’s… really good,” he said, his voice a touch higher than usual.

“Really?” You leaned closer, searching his face. “You’re not just saying that?”

His lips curled into a grin, even as he chewed with obvious effort. “Would I lie to you?”

“Yes,” you said flatly, narrowing your eyes. “Theo, are you—”

“Babe, I swear,” he interrupted, setting the plate on the coffee table. Before you could press him further, he leaned in, cupping your cheek with one hand and brushing his lips against yours.

The kiss was soft, quick, and completely disarming. For a moment, you forgot everything except the feel of him, the way his thumb stroked your cheek, the warmth of his lips against yours. But then a strange taste hit your tongue—not sweet, like you’d expected, but salty.

You pulled back, your eyes widening in realization. “Theo,” you said slowly, horror dawning on you. “Was there… was there salt in the cookies?”

He blinked at you, too calm for someone who’d just been caught. “Maybe.”

“Oh my god.” Your face burned as you clapped a hand over your mouth. “I can’t believe I…”

“They’re not that bad,” he said quickly, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!” he insisted, grabbing another cookie. “Look, I’ll eat another one. See?” 

“Don’t you dare eat that.” You lunged for the plate, but he held it out of reach, grinning like a fool. 

“Too late,” he said, biting into it with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Delicious.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, and he laughed—a low, warm sound that sent your heart spiraling. “You’re the worst,” you muttered.

“And yet,” he said, leaning closer, “you love me anyway.”

You peeked at him from between your fingers, your cheeks still flushed, and he smirked. Damn him for being right.

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

[naomi-nana]

✎ᝰ. in the name of you .

in a world where everyone forgot their own religion, it's not wrong for luka to look at your ethereal self and immediately mistake you for a divine being, no?

featuring : luka

cw : female reader, implied stalking(for just a little), luka is obsessed with reader, luka isn't obsessed with hyuna in here for the sake of the story lol🙇‍♀️

a/n : i made a till one, and now i'll make a luka one! i was trying to make it seems as if luka is obsessed with reader, but i was having a hard time showing it, and ended up making it seems like luka had become a better person after meeting reader lmfaoo😭🙏

from the moment humans were taken away forcefully by those disgusting aliens—they all had forgotten about their creators. the one who gave them life, the one who gave them the will to continue living. each day felt like a stab to the heart, it feels as if someone had taken your lungs out of your body, before putting it back inside again.

it feels empty, like a void.

while all the kids run around anakt garden happily, although not genuinely, all luka could do was lean on one of the trees, while holding his knees close to his chest. what can he do? what does people expect him to do? he is a weak child, a child born with diseases, a child unable to live without support from others, including the tree he is currently leaning on. without anything to lean on, to hold on to, what was he supposed to do, weak and dependent as he was?

nothing. he could only weep himself to sleep every day, and it changes nothing. he has heard from the other kids that there is a powerful divine being that could help you in times of distress, how it's called god, how you're supposed to believe in it for it to help you, and he did. luka believed in god for a day, but nothing had changed. his everyday life had remained the same.

like waking up early, even though he doesn't know what time it is because of all the fake painted skies the aliens put in the garden, go eat breakfast with the other kids, with no one else sitting besides—"hey, is this seat occupied?" in the midst of the suffocating silence, a cheerful, almost unreal voice had reached his ears. he had first thought that it was just his imagination, his desperate feelings of wanting to be accompanied by someone. but it wasn't, as the voice echoed in his ears once again.

"uh, hello...? did i catch you on a bad day? i'm so sorry, i'll find another seat then." after what felt like a minute, he finally looked up at the person talking to him, only to notice that they're gone. he clenched his fist in regret. he should've looked up earlier, he should've answered whoever that was, but he didn't. such a shame, he thought to himself.

after half an hour, luka finished his breakfast and was getting ready to leave, before being stopped by someone whose voice was so familiar to him, it almost feels as if he is dreaming. "hey, um... i'm really, really sorry for bothering you earlier. as an apology, i got some bread for you!" that cheerful voice had struck something inside him, his eyes grew wide slightly, and his hand trembles at the sight of you. if he were to believe in the divine, he would immediately get down on his knees and pray for you, an angel.

your soft gaze, your skin that looks almost as delicate and fragile as a glass, and your small fingers offering him the bread you got for him. it took him almost a minute to react, and all that came out of his mouth is just a small gasp, so small that even you can't hear it. "don't tell anyone about this though, but i stole it from someone's unfinished breakfast! so take it, please?" you shoved the bread to his face, which made him raise his eyebrows. but he took it anyway.

he examines the bread carefully, to which you took great offense. "i won't poison you, so there's no need to look at it so intensely!" you pout at him. if you squint your eyes really hard, you can notice the faintest hint of smile on his face, and probably the first time he has ever smile so genuinely.

his everyday routine had consisted of the same, basic thing. but, now that you talked to him, it changed his life forever. it changed his views of the world, of everyone. some kids may have believed in the divine from the moment they were born, but luka just believed in the divine the moment she graced himself with her kindness.

from then on, whenever luka woke up and entered the garden, the first thing—or person he looks for, is you. whenever he went to the cafeteria, the first person he approached is you, and when luka went to his first performance on stage, the first person he looks for in the audience is you, holding a cream-colored lightstick.

whenever luka goes anywhere, the first person he looks for, thought of, and wishes to see first... is you.

his god, his universe.

and if he happens to notice some... imbecile, or other people trying to approach you, he won't hesitate to show them that no one can approach his angel without consequences. no one other than him.

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use,(with or without permission), do not reccommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

[santaasi]

die with the smile

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: a love once haunted by nightmares finds solace in a sunrise, where promises of healing and hope turn dreams of a future into quiet, steady certainty.

warnings: !major spoiler for obx4 final!, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, establish relationship, talking about death, mention of panic attacks, no use of y/n, jj calls reader angel, english isn’t my first language

word count: 3.9k

a/n: requested by this ask. thank u for request, love <з. and to everyone else – i'm waiting for your requests too.

ᯓ★ now playing…

lady gaga, bruno mars – die with the smile

IT WAS SUFFOCATING. After everything that happened in Morocco, it felt like your chest had been crushed under an unbearable weight. Breathing no longer came easy. Each inhale was a jagged reminder of the past, a sharp sting of memories you couldn’t escape. You hated sleep, hated the moments when your mind would surrender to the dark. Every night, the desert came back to haunt you, its endless stretch of sand suffocating. You saw JJ lying there, motionless, his body a broken promise beneath the burning sky. And surrounded by the Pogues, Rafe fucking Cameron, his hands digging JJ's grave, burying the love of your life six feet under.

You could still hear your voice, a fractured thing, torn from your throat as you screamed for them to stop. You fell to your knees, pleading with them to hear you, begging them to leave him there, to not let him go. But no one listened. John B, Sarah, Kiara, Pope... they just stood there, frozen, like they couldn’t see the life slipping away. Of course, it was just a dream — your brain's cruel joke, twisting everything you feared most into a nightmare. But in the stillness of the night, when you woke with your heart pounding and the cold sheets tangled around you, it didn’t feel like a dream at all. It felt too real. Too close.

And so, for three months, you lived like this. In the hollow space between waking and sleeping, where the line between nightmare and reality blurred beyond recognition. Three months of restless nights, clinging to coffee mugs as if they could fill the emptiness, while your eyes begged for sleep. But when you did manage to fall asleep, the dreams would return, relentless, each one leaving you more shattered than the last.

It wasn't as bad as it had been in those first two months, when every moment was suffocating with fear. When you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your house, couldn't bring yourself to stop waiting for that phone call from the hospital. The one that would confirm the thing you couldn't bear to imagine — that JJ was gone. Everything had felt like a fever dream: tracking down doctors, finding anyone who could help, getting him back to Kildare, the hospitals, the bills you could never afford, the ones that now you had to face. Your parents never asked you to repay the money, but you knew how much they'd given up for it. They'd been saving for years. It felt wrong to let it go without giving something back.

And then there was that month of rehab, where the days stretched on like a never-ending ache. Sitting next to JJ's hospital bed, listening to the faint beeps of machines as nightmares still held you in their grip, tormenting you while you tried to hold onto him in the real world.

You hadn't cried once. Not in those two months. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to — weeping felt like you were digging his grave in advance. Like if you let the tears fall, you’d lose him all over again. But now, he was here. With you. Alive. The JJ you knew, the one who cracked jokes, who lived without fear, without hesitation. And you tried to return to who you were before, but it was harder than you'd expected. He made it seem so easy, slipping back into his old self, but you felt like you were still drowning in the wreckage of what had happened.

For weeks, you sat beside him, feeling his skin warm beneath your touch, hearing his laughter echo in the spaces between you. But still, in the quiet moments, the fear lingered. Every time you closed your eyes, you feared waking up in another cold bed, alone. But each morning, you’d find him there, by your side. He was here, alive, and you began to let yourself believe it, piece by piece.

Slowly, the days started to fill with color again. It wasn't easy, but it was better. Breathing no longer felt like a battle, and with each passing day, you felt yourself letting go of the haunting fear, the dread that lived just behind your ribs.

And you never left his side. Once, it had always been JJ who took the lead — who reached for you first, who kissed you first, who pulled you close. Now, you were the one to reach for him, to thread your fingers through his, to press a soft kiss to his lips or his forehead. It was like you were holding him tighter, making sure he was still real, still here.

"If I had to almost die for you to get this clingy," JJ teased one evening, grinning up at you as you curled into him on the couch, "You could've told me sooner, you know. I didn't know I had a personal koala bear all this time."

You smiled at his playful jab, though your fingers gripped him a little tighter. You tucked your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was like a song, a reassurance that he was here. That he was alive.

You were learning how to laugh again. How to joke. How to be you again. Or at least, almost. Because even though the world felt like it was beginning to make sense again, you couldn't shake the nightmares. They were still there, lurking in the shadows. Every time you closed your eyes, you feared that the night would swallow him whole once more.

But for now, he was still here. And in that moment, that was enough.

The chateau had become your sanctuary, a fragile semblance of home. But even here, in the quiet of its walls, you couldn't escape the void that followed you, the weight that pressed on your chest every time you woke up without him beside you. The comfort of falling asleep wrapped in his arms didn't seem to be enough anymore. It didn't stop the dreams from coming.

Every night, they came like a storm. JJ, dying in your arms, blood staining his chest. JJ, sinking beneath the waves after falling off the boat, reaching for you, but you couldn't reach him. JJ, spiralling off his dirt bike, tumbling into the dirt, and you couldn't save him. And then, there was the desert. Always the desert. You couldn't escape it, no matter how hard you tried.

But in the moments before the nightmare took hold, when you woke to the warmth of his body next to you, his hand resting lightly on your waist, his breath soft against your neck, you could calm yourself. You could breathe, steadying your heart before the panic could rise. He was there. He was alive. And you would cling to that reality until the night came again, bringing with it the horrors you couldn’t outrun.

JJ, of course, remained blissfully unaware. He slept soundly, his chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of someone who had earned a brief reprieve from the chaos. And you — you would lie there, bathed in moonlight, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, needing to touch him, needing to see that he was really there. That he wasn't slipping through your fingers. Over time, the nightmares began to fade. They became less frequent, their grip less tight. But just when you thought you could breathe freely, just when you thought the storm had passed, it came crashing back.

Two weeks of peace. Two weeks of deep, uninterrupted sleep. But that night, everything changed.

The dream returned. The one you feared the most. JJ, lying motionless in the sand, his clothes stained with dried blood, his body pale under the desert sun. The wind blew the sand into your eyes, blinding you, choking you, as Rafe stood above him, digging, his hands moving with the unholy rhythm of a grim reaper, burying your love beneath the earth. You fell to your knees beside the pit, the hot sand searing through your clothes, but you didn't care. You couldn’t look away. You couldn’t look away from the hole that was swallowing everything you loved. With each shovel of sand, the pit grew deeper, and with it, your heart.

The faces around you were blank — pale, cold. John B, Sarah, Kiara, Pope... they stood there, frozen, as if they were burying someone they'd never known. No tears. No grief. Just... emptiness. It broke you. It shattered you, piece by piece.

"No! No! Please! Enough!" you cried out, your voice cracking as you scrambled to your feet, your body shaking. You turned to them, your heart a fragile thing, desperate for anyone to react, to feel something. "Do something! He's not dead! JJ's not dead! John B! Sarah! Please!"

The tears fell freely, hot against your cold cheeks, choking your breath. Everything blurred around you, and all you could see, all you could feel, was his face. His beautiful face, pale and cold under the relentless sand. You reached for him, your fingers trembling as they traced the outline of his cheek.

"I love you, JJ... Please, don't leave me... don't you dare leave me," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the roar in your ears. You pushed the hair from his face, trying to pull him back to life with your touch. "Please, Jay, wake up. I love you. Please..."

The heart-wrenching sob that escaped you felt like it was tearing you apart, even as they began to throw the sand over him. As they buried him. Covered him. And the world turned dark.

Someone's hands grabbed at you, pulling you away, but you fought them, kicking, screaming, dying with him as the earth swallowed your love.

"No! Please, no!" The words tore from your chest like jagged glass, but it didn’t stop. It never stopped.

Then, a voice — soft, familiar, grounding. A warmth that pulled you from the nightmare. "Hey, hey, angel..."

You gasped, eyes snapping open, panic seizing you as the darkness of your dream lingered. The bed was empty. The space beside you, cold and vast. Your body trembled as sobs wracked your chest, but then arms wrapped around you, strong and steady. They held you close, pulling you into warmth, into the comforting scent of the sea and something more.

"Wake up... come on, angel, it's okay," the voice coaxed, his words gentle but firm, a tether pulling you from the depths of your nightmare.

You turned, eyes still blurry with tears, and looked over your shoulder. You half expected to see nothing. To be alone in the darkness. But then you saw him. JJ. JJ. His face was the same as it always had been — familiar, comforting, real. The soft smile on his lips made your heart stutter, and you found yourself reaching for him instinctively.

"JJ… you're here," you exhaled, your body relaxing, your mind calming for just a moment. But then the overwhelming relief struck you, and suddenly, you were gripping him as tightly as you could, clutching him like you'd never let go. You turned in his arms, wrapping yourself around him, pressing every part of yourself against him, trying to absorb his presence with every cell of your being. You needed to feel him, needed him to know how deeply you'd been shaken.

"I thought you were… you were… I saw…" you choked out, the words barely a whisper, breaking apart in fresh waves of tears that trembled through you. You buried your face in his neck, shuddering as his hand ran soothingly down your back.

"Shh... I'm here, love," he murmured softly, pulling you even closer. "I'm with you, and I'm not going anywhere." His hand traced gentle circles in your hair, his voice a soft balm over your wounds.

JJ knew how much you’d been struggling. He saw it in your red, swollen eyes each morning, in the tired shadows that lingered beneath them. He noticed how you would sometimes drift off mid-conversation, lost to a place he couldn't reach, as if carrying something too heavy to share. He felt it every time you’d reach for his hand, holding it tighter than you used to, grounding yourself in his touch. And he felt it every night you stayed at the chateau, choosing to lie beside him rather than in your own bed, pressing your ear against his chest just to hear his heartbeat.

JJ Maybank wasn't oblivious. He understood what haunted you, and he wished with everything in him that he could erase it. Because he knew — if it had been you, if you were the one hovering on the edge of life and death... he couldn’t even let himself think of it. You were his everything, his only certainty in a world that had never offered him much. And knowing you were hurting like this, knowing he was the reason, that was the worst thing he could imagine. It was worse than the death he’d nearly met.

And so he tried to help you in every way he could. He stayed close, always nearby, holding you tight whenever you needed it. He whispered sweet promises in your ear, spun dreams of the future for you both, reminded you every day just how much he loved you. He did everything he could to show you that he was here, that he wasn't going anywhere.

But seeing you now, shattered and trembling in his arms, feeling your tears soak his shirt, it tore at him. It was like a raw ache, a knife twisting deeper with every sob you released. You were suffering because of him, and he could feel the guilt clawing at his chest. He’d never wanted this — not for you.

As your breathing began to calm, your hold on his shirt loosened, and he shifted back slightly to meet your gaze. Your face was swollen from crying, your eyes rimmed red, and he felt a tenderness rise in him that he could barely contain. He lifted a hand to your cheek, thumb grazing your skin as he leaned in, gently brushing his lips over yours, a silent promise, as if he could kiss the fear away.

"I'm fine," you whispered, though your voice was trembling and raw. JJ just shook his head, unconvinced. He bent down, picking up his hoodie that had been lying on the floor, then draped it around your shoulders. The familiar, comforting scent of his cologne surrounded you, filling your senses, and you closed your eyes, sinking into the warmth.

"Let's go for a walk?" he asked softly, his voice gentle but insistent. You managed a small nod, slipping out of bed to follow him.

The sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon as you reached the beach, bathing everything in a soft, golden light. JJ's hand was intertwined with yours, and his thumb traced delicate patterns along the back of your hand, grounding you. The breeze tugged at your hair, the salt air filling your lungs as you took slow, steady breaths, savouring the tranquility of the moment.

When you reached your favourite spot, tucked away behind the rocks, JJ settled down, pulling you between his legs, his arms circling you. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, and you felt a soft, involuntary smile tug at your lips. His heartbeat thudded against your back, steady and reassuring, and you let yourself melt into the safety of his embrace.

For a few quiet minutes, you both watched the sun rise, bathing the ocean in warm, shifting hues. Then JJ's voice broke the silence, low and hesitant.

"You know... for a second, I thought I was going to die," he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely let himself show. "When I blacked out, I thought... this was it. That y'll would leave me there in Morocco, that I'd lose everything."

JJ swallowed, as if trying to steady himself, and you could feel the tension in his arms as he held you tighter. He’d tried to laugh it all off before, hiding behind jokes and smiles, but now — now it felt real. The memories weighed down his words, and you could hear the unspoken fear beneath them.

"JJ, don’t," you whispered, your own voice catching. You pulled his hoodie closer around you, burying your face in the soft fabric to push away the memories of that day, the endless days that followed. His arms tightened around you, his cheek pressing against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he drew you closer, as if he could shield you from the memory.

"No, I need to say this… I need you to hear it," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a shuddering breath, and you felt something wet land softly on your shoulder. A tear.

JJ gave a small, shaky grin and shook his head, leaning in close to murmur in your ear. "You've been with me through everything, angel. You saved me. You kept me alive."

The words settled into you, quiet and profound, and you turned to look at him, seeing the vulnerability he was baring, the weight he'd been carrying alone. You looked back at the horizon, feeling a deep ache inside, a pull that was both painful and reassuring, like your heart was finally finding its place.

You closed your eyes, concentrating on nothing but him — the feel of his arms, the warmth of his breath against your neck, the way his fingers tightened protectively around yours. You wanted to wrap yourself in this moment, to sink so deeply into him that you’d never be apart again.

"When I woke up for the first time… I heard your voice," JJ's voice trembled, breaking as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. "The way you told everyone that I wasn't going to die... the way you begged me not to... not to leave you..." His words cracked, and you felt the weight of his pain seep into your bones. He was broken, and it tore at your heart.

You intertwined your fingers with his, feeling the soft, trembling pulse beneath his skin. "I couldn't die... every time I slipped away, all I could think about was you," JJ whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "That I couldn't leave you. That I love you, and I don't want to leave you..."

He gently cupped your chin, lifting your face toward his. His eyes — red and swollen from crying — met yours, and in that moment, you saw how deeply connected you were. You were both raw, broken open, and yet, still whole together.

"I love you so much, that even at death's door, I fought with everything I had to stay here with you," he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. His hand slid down your cheek, brushing away the tears that refused to stop falling. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I put you through this, angel."

You felt your heart shatter for him, your lip trembling as his words hit you like a wave. Your hands moved instinctively to his face, cupping it gently, and you shook your head. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault that life had dealt him such a cruel hand. It wasn't his fault that he had been made to suffer in ways no one should. You knew he didn't deserve this. He deserved better — so much better.

"I promise…" JJ's voice was tight with emotion, but he pressed on. "No, I swear... I will never make you go through this again. I swear it. I swear that after all this, I won't give you any reason to worry. I will always be here for you." His blue eyes searched yours, holding you captive with their intensity. The weight of his words felt heavier than anything you'd ever known. "I will be with you, no matter what. And I will build us the house you always dreamed of. A white house with big windows and a garden, where we’ll play with our dog — our dog, which we’ll name JJ Jr. And then... maybe a child, or two, or three...”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head, though tears still lingered. It had always been a dream, a fantasy you shared with him, but now, seeing the determination in his eyes, it felt like a possibility. It felt like something you could reach out and touch.

"I'll give you the world, angel. I'll give you paradise," JJ continued, his voice thick with promise. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure these stupid tears never fall from your beautiful eyes again. Do you believe me?"

There was a pause. His gaze was so sincere, so full of hope, searching for any sign that you believed in him, in what he was offering. You felt a warmth spread through you, a quiet certainty in your chest. You smiled softly, your heart swelling with a love so deep you thought it might burst.

Without thinking, you pressed your lips to his, soft and slow. You let your kiss speak for you — every unspoken word, every emotion that had built up inside you over the months, the fear, the longing, the desperation, and finally, the relief. This kiss was all of it, and more. You poured everything into it, every promise, every fear, every hope, every part of you that you'd been holding onto for so long.

You held him like you'd never let go, feeling the weight of time slow down, knowing that in this moment, you were safe, you were here, and he was here. Nothing else mattered — just the two of you, together.

"I believe you, Jay. I've always believed you, and I will, because I love you," you murmured, your words soft as they met his lips. He responded with a deeper kiss, pulling you into him as if he could anchor himself to you, as if he, too, was letting go of something.

You giggled as he playfully knocked you down onto the sand, its warmth wrapping around you like an embrace. The sand, once so haunting, now felt soft and grounding beneath you, no longer a symbol of loss but one of hope — a new beginning waiting to be written.

JJ leaned over you, his blue eyes softened by the first light of dawn, eyes that were once wild and filled with fear but now were steady, full of promises. "I love you more, angel," he whispered, his voice like a lullaby against your skin, "and I'm not going anywhere."

He leaned in, capturing your lips again, and this time, every kiss melted the edges of past wounds, pushing away the darkness of every nightmare and sorrow you'd held. Here, with his arms around you and the sky lightening into the day, it was easy to believe in something beautiful, something lasting. You kissed him back, savoring each touch, each brush of his fingers against your skin as he held you closer.

For the first time in months, you let yourself imagine a future unshadowed by fear. A life filled with morning sunrises like this one, laughter echoing between you, the warmth of a home you’d build together. As JJ pulled you even closer, you felt a quiet certainty settle in your chest — a certainty that happiness was no longer a distant hope but a promise waiting for both of you, right here, right now.

thankx for reading <3

i was literally crying while i was writing this and i felt like this for the first time in my life. so, i hope you liked it. you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

- your santi 🪐

masterlist

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗕𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗛𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗕𝗢𝗬

　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: When Chris is starting to come to terms with the horrible idea that he will have to spend his birthday away from Y/N, a surprise takes him, literally, by surprise.

WARNING: Making-out.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: A small story only to warm up for their birthday! I'm going to post more tomorrow 🩷

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The day before the triplets' 21st birthday in Boston was marked by a mix of nostalgia and melancholy for Chris. Despite the bustling energy of their family home, Chris couldn't shake off the heavy feeling of absence. Matt and Nick seemed to be in higher spirits, enjoying their time back home, but Chris felt an emptiness that gnawed at him relentlessly.

Chris had always been too close to Y/N, his girlfriend, who had remained in LA due to her college classes. And as he sat in the living room, watching his family laugh and share stories, Chris couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sadness. He missed Y/N's laughter, her presence, the way she made every moment brighter.

The fact that she couldn’t be there for such a significant milestone made him feel both sad and angry, though he knew it wasn’t her fault. College was important, and he respected her dedication to her studies.

The house was filled with the comforting smells of home-cooked meals and the familiar sounds of family. Chris held his phone in his hand, scrolling through old pictures of him and Y/N, trying to fill the void with memories of their time together.

His thumb paused on a picture Nick took of them at American Ninja Warrior, both of them grinning widely at the camera. It had been taken just a few weeks ago, during their filming. He could almost hear her laugh, see the way her eyes sparkled in the neons light. The longing in his heart intensified, making him feel even more isolated despite being surrounded by his loved ones.

Mary Lou noticed her son's downcast demeanor very quickly, and as soon as she got a little space, she went to sit beside him.

"Chris, honey, what's wrong? You’ve been so quiet all day." She said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, caressing the area.

Chris sighed, leaning into his mother's comforting touch.

"I just miss Y/N, Mom. I know she has classes and all, but it feels wrong to be celebrating without her." He tried to smile, lowering his eyes.

"I understand, sweetheart." Mary Lou gave him a sympathetic smile. "But remember, she’s always with you in spirit. And you’ll see her soon enough. Try to enjoy this time with your family. It’s been so long since we were all together like this."

He nodded, appreciating her words but still feeling the weight of Y/N’s absence. He knew he should be more present, more engaged with his family, and the guilt of not doing that weighted above him, but his thoughts kept drifting back to LA, to the love of his life.

That night, Chris lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The house was quiet now, everyone else had gone to sleep, tired from the day's activities. He picked up his phone again, contemplating sending Y/N another message. They had exchanged texts throughout the day, but he didn’t want to seem too needy or make her feel guilty for not being there.

Instead, he decided to call her. The phone rang a few times before she picked up, her voice soft and sleepy.

"Hey, honey." She murmured. "Is everything okay?"

Hearing her voice brought a rush of comfort and a pang of sorrow to Chris, a smile taking over his features automatically.

"Hi, babe. Yeah, everything’s fine. I just... I miss you. I wish you were here." His voice sounded soft and lower than usual.

"Oh, babe, I miss you too." She said, and he could hear the sincerity in her voice. "I wish I could be there, Chris. I really do. But I promise, we’ll celebrate when you get back, okay?"

Chris sighed, closing his eyes for a few seconds before reopening them, looking at her contact name glowing on the small screen.

"I know. I just... It’s hard, you know? Being here without you. It doesn't feel right."

"I know, babe. But you’re surrounded by family, and they love you. Try to have a good time, for them. And for me." He almost could listen her sweet smile across the phone.

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him, breathing deeply.

"I’ll try. I just can’t wait to see you."

"Me too. Get some rest, pretty boy. Tomorrow's a big day. I love you." She whispered softly, the sound of sheets moving around echoing in the background.

"I love you too, Y/N. Goodnight." He muttered quietly, biting his bottom lip slightly.

As he hung up the phone, Chris felt a mixture of emotions. He tried to focus on the next day as he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the day he’d be back in Y/N’s arms.

Unbeknownst to Chris, Y/N had been planning something special. She had spent the last few weeks organizing a surprise that she hoped would make up for her absence. She knew how much this milestone meant to him and his brothers, and she wanted to be a part of it in any way she could.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The morning of the triplets' birthday dawned crisp and clear in Boston. Mary Lou was already in the kitchen, bustling about as she prepared a grand breakfast. The aroma of sizzling bacon, freshly baked muffins, and brewing coffee filled the house, a warm and welcoming scent that promised a day full of celebration.

Jimmy and Justin had gone to the grocery store to pick up some last-minute items needed for the big birthday lunch they were planning. The house was alive with activity, everyone playing their part in making this day special.

Matt and Nick had left early, driving to the airport to pick up Y/N. They had been in on the surprise from the start, eager to help bring a genuine smile to Chris's face. The drive was filled with excitement and a few playful jabs at how Chris would react, trying to imagine his expression when he saw Y/N in their home. Y/N herself was a bundle of nerves and anticipation, her heart racing at the thought of surprising Chris. She had barely slept after their call, her mind buzzing with plans and excitement.

As Matt and Nick’s car pulled up to the curb at the airport, Y/N spotted them and waved excitedly, a big smile on her face. They greeted her with warm hugs and excited chatter, filling her in on the plans for the day.

The drive back to the house was filled with lively conversation, Y/N asking about every little detail of their plan, wanting everything to be perfect. Matt and Nick reassured her that everything was set and that their parents were in on the surprise, ready to welcome her with open arms.

As they drove through the streets of Boston, Y/N suddenly remembered something.

"Hey, Matt? Can we stop by a flower shop?" She asked, a hint of urgency in her voice while her eyes kept watching the landscape moving quickly through the window. "I want to get something special for Chris."

Matt and Nick exchanged a glance, then nodded.

"Sure, we can do that." Matt said, turning the car toward the nearest florist he knew all too well from the times his father used to bring them there to buy some flowers for Mary Lou.

The flower shop was a charming little place filled with the vibrant colors and sweet scents of countless blooms. Y/N spent a few minutes selecting the perfect bouquet, a beautiful arrangement of Chris's favorite flowers. She wanted it to be just right, a small token of her love and the effort she put into making his day special.

When they finally pulled back into the driveway, Y/N's heart felt like it might burst from her chest. She took a deep breath, clutching the bouquet tightly, and followed Matt and Nick into the house.

Mary Lou greeted her with a warm hug, kissing her face with excitement and whispering words of encouragement. They placed her surprises in the living room, the bouquet taking center stage among the carefully wrapped gifts.

Y/N took a deep breath, looking at the family for a last time before climbing the stairs slowly, each step heightening her anticipation.

Chris's door was slightly ajar, and she peeked in to see him still asleep, his form cocooned under the heavy blankets. She slipped into the room quietly, closing the door softly behind her. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on Chris's peaceful face.

Y/N approached the bed, her movements slow and deliberate. She carefully lay down beside him, positioning herself so she could watch him without disturbing his sleep. For a long moment, she just observed him, taking in every detail. His dark hair was tousled, and there was a softness to his features that only appeared when he was at rest. She felt a swell of affection as she noted the faint smile on his lips, wondering if he was dreaming of something pleasant.

The room was quiet except for the rhythmic sound of his breathing. Y/N reached out, her fingers barely brushing his cheek before she drew them back, not wanting to wake him too abruptly. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, a comforting presence that she had missed so much. Her heart ached with a mix of love and longing, overwhelmed by the sight of him so close yet so unaware of her presence.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N leaned in closer, her lips hovering near his ear.

"Chris." She whispered softly, her voice barely more than a breath. "Wake up, pretty boy."

Chris stirred slightly but didn't open his eyes, better accommodating his position.

"Five more minutes, babe." He mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. There was a pause, and then his eyes snapped open. "Wait, babe?" He lifted his head from the pillow, and when he saw Y/N lying beside him, his eyes widened in shock, his body sitting up abruptly. "Y/N?"

She smiled, tears of happiness welling in her eyes, sitting up to be on the same level as him.

"Happy birthday, Chris." She said, her voice filled with warmth and love.

Chris blinked a few times as if trying to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Then, a broad smile spread across his face, and he pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Baby, oh my God! I can't believe you're here!" He exclaimed, his voice a mix of joy and disbelief.

"I wouldn't miss your birthday for anything." She replied, hugging him back just as tightly. "I wanted to surprise you."

Chris pulled back slightly, looking at her with a mixture of awe and adoration.

"This is the best birthday present ever." He said, his eyes shining with happiness. "I was so sad you couldn't be here, and now... you're really here."

Y/N laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

"I'm here, Chris. I'm really here, and I'm not going anywhere else." She whispered, her thumb caressing his forehead softly, traveling to his brows and cheek bones. "Okay?"

"I've missed you so much." He muttered, his hands snaking up her shoulders to her face, cupping her cheeks, his fingers threading into her hair, and finally brought his lips crashing down onto hers in a hard, heated kiss. The intensity of it took her breath away, her knees going weak as she clung to him for support, her hands lowering to his jaw.

Chris kissed her with a desperation that spoke of all the days they had been apart, his lips moving against hers with a raw, unrestrained passion. His hands moved to her waist, gripping her tightly as he pulled her onto his lap, settling her straddling him. The closeness sent a shiver down her spine, and she could feel the rapid thud of his heart against her chest, mirroring her own.

Y/N's hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently as she kissed him back with equal fervor. The kiss deepened, their tongues meeting in a heated dance that left them both gasping for air. Chris's hands roamed over her back, pulling her closer as if trying to erase the distance that had been between them. He groaned softly against her lips, a sound that sent a rush of warmth through her.

Y/N could feel the world spinning around her, her senses overwhelmed by Chris's touch, his taste, his scent. His hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, exploring, and killing all the bad feelings he felt away from her.

When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, Chris buried his head in the crook of her neck, his breathing ragged hitting against her skin.

"I love you so much, babe." He whispered against her skin, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much I've missed you. This is the best gift I could ever ask for."

Y/N's heart swelled with love and tenderness as she held him close, feeling his vulnerability and happiness. She could feel his tears wetting her skin, and she gently stroked his back, comforting him.

"Oh, honey, don't cry." She whispered, her voice soft while her hands traveled to his hair, massaging his curls. "I love you. So much."

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, their hearts beating in sync. Eventually, they pulled apart, and Chris took a deep breath, his heart feeling lighter than it had in days.

"Come on." He said, his voice switching to one full of excitement. "Let's go downstairs, I can smell breakfast from here."

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