#they’re too chaotic I can’t stop them

[paulmescalsbiceps]

𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 ˚ ⋆｡˚ Roommate!James x Reader.        

Synopsis: a part two to slim pickins in which James and Reader finally decide to unpack the tension between them                                      wc: 1.6k warnings: mentions of drinking, slight angst

Friday nights were usually reserved as time for yourself. Whether it be staying in and eating junk while watching your favourite show or spending a night out with your friends, it was the one night a week you were able to be completely in your zone.

James knew this and often spent the night out when you were in, or stayed out late when you needed the house to yourself. You had a mutual deal with each other that as roommate’s you would respect each other's desire for time for yourself. 

This friday evening however, was Remus birthday. You liked James' friends, especially Remus and Sirius. They always brought out the best in each other regardless of how chaotic it could become. You saw them from time to time when they’d come round to your shared apartment to have a few afternoon drinks with James and they never forced you into unpleasant conversations. 

James sat on the edge of your bed practically begging you to come with him. “Please, please, pleaseeee.” He pulled out that last please to emphasise how desperate he really was. “I love them, they're my best friends.” He turned to you, eyes filled with earnestness. “But I can’t deal with the flirting, they look like they want to eat eachother but never do anything about it.”

You almost scoff at his words. James, who had been teasing you relentlessly for months on end, making you blush and sputter simply by just looking at you, was complaining about someone not making a move. Ironic. You felt a little guilty for also not coming forth with your crush. But other than the flirting and occasional possessiveness, you had no proof James really liked you. Much more certain he just likes to see the way you hide your face in your hands when he calls you sweet names.

“James, I’m not ready at all, my hair hasn’t been washed since like Tuesday and half my clothes are in the wash.” You pull at your hair to show James just how bad you think it is. Instead of just observing like a normal person, James leans down and shoves his face in your locs. Inhaling deeply he sniffs at your hair before pulling back with a satisfied expression. “Smells good to me, Lovey”.

He was always sending you mixed signals. One minute he’s comforting you after a bad date and offering to make you breakfast, the next he’s on a date of his own. Maybe that was just his love language? Did he go around sniffing everyone’s hair? Either way the bond you had was not worth the risk of attempting anything, regardless of how badly you wanted to kiss his pretty blushed lips.

“Ok, Ok, if you stop sniffing my hair I’ll go.” You fall for James charm, “Who's going to be there?” His face lights up at your words. “Sirius and a few of Remus’s friends, I’ll stay with you the whole time if you need me too” he smirks before rolling sideways off your bed, leaving to get ready in his room.

—————————————————————————

Arriving at the pub you feel totally out of place already, James' arm is wrapped around your waist guiding you to a booth in the corner. He greets the table, introducing you. “This is my roommate, I bought her along if you don’t mind.”

“Always good to see you, works good?” Sirius asks, sitting so close to Remus he’s practically on his lap. Remus, whose face is bright red, politely greets you with a soft smile and small wave of acknowledgement.

Sliding into the empty space in the booth James scoots close to your ear, voice so close as he whispers “See what I mean? They’re basically humping each other.” James' dirty words make you feel flushed all over, heart beating at even the mention of something remotely sexual said by his smooth deep voice so close in your ear.

He pulls back and switches his attention from you to the rest of the group. You lean back against the booth as you try to recover, slipping away from the conversation to stare at James profile. 

His beard has come through ever so slightly, stubble giving him a rugged look. Even like that, he looks as handsome as ever. March still brings in cold nights but James still wears a t-shirt, tight around his muscular biceps. Looking at him you feel warm. 

—————————————————————————

Drinks go down as the midnight nears closer and closer. You hold a small bowl of pretzels close to your body alone at the table as the rest of the crew has moved to the bar. James occasionally checks in on you, making sure you're okay and comfortable. You can feel your body growing tired, eyes feeling droopy either from the alcohol you've consumed or weeks worth of exhaustion finally catching up to you. 

Looking towards the bar you spot something that makes your heart drop. James leaned far over the bar counter making firm eye contact with the waitress in front of him. You instantly feel numb. James is a flirt with most people, even Sirius sometimes. But you felt deep down that his ongoing banter with you was real, not to just lead you on. At least you wanted to feel that. 

Tears form in your eyes but you're too embarrassed to let them fall. Especially in public. You consider just leaving on your own and letting James make his own way home when he's ready but it doesn’t feel safe enough, especially this late. Not wanting to make a scene you continue to nurse a glass of water and nibble on the remaining pretzel to distract yourself.

The group begins to make their way back to the table one by one, saying their goodbyes and taking their leave. James comes up beside you, taking your jacket and holding it out in front of your face. “Ready to go, love?”. You know he means it to be enduring, but it sounds like torture coming out from his mouth. 

Frustration fuels your body, grabbing your jacket and pulling it aggressively over your shoulders you politely say goodbye to a very drunk Sirius and Remus before making your way to the door. Not bothering to acknowledge James in the process. 

You can hear him faintly behind you quickly say bye, before jogging behind you calling your name. “Wait up.” You pause, letting James catch up. “Are you okay, did I do something wrong?” His face is full of concern. It makes you feel guilty. You don't own James, he's allowed to flirt with other girls regardless of how sick that thought makes you feel.

“Just really tired James.” You choose not to bring up how you're really feeling, it's too late to properly process your emotions, let alone make James try to understand. The walk home feels a little awkward, walking side by side you choose not to acknowledge each other until you’ve entered the apartment.

Moving to the couch to take your shoes off, James follows you crouching in front of you. Soft hazel eyes meet yours, looking up at you. He looks like a deer, so innocent and docile. “Love, I just want to know why you're upset, did I do something?.” You're beginning to regret even going out tonight, confession heavy on your chest you breath out. 

“I’m just really tired.” you explain, trying your best to excuse your outburst.

“No.” James' warm hands dwarf your own as he grips them tight in his palm, brushing his thumb against the side of your own. “I want you to really tell me what's wrong.” His voice sounds so small, like a child. You can see the guilt eating up at him as you study his face.

“I just got really jealous.” You breathe out. “Of what.” James' expression remains the same, waiting for you to spell out exactly why you feel this way. “I kinda thought you liked me because you flirt with me all the time, and then I saw you tonight with that girl and I just-” Searching James face to gauge his reaction before continuing. “Felt really angry.”

“With me?” He asks not moving from his position crouched on the floor. Your chest feels so tight. “Yeah, and myself.” James pulls his body upwards and sits next to you on the couch. He seems shyer than usual, eyes looking into his lap, hand still fiddling with your own. “I think I was just talking to her to distract myself, from you. You're so insanely beautiful and kind and just everything I could want in a partner I just don’t want to scare you off.” 

Your eyes widen at his confession, heart pounding as he looks up again, gazing into your eyes. “I can come on pretty strong and I honestly didn’t think you would ever like me.” 

“Of course I like you Jam-”. He cuts you off before you can finish talking. “YOU LIKE ME?” He all but shouts. You giggle at his energy, playing with the hem of your dress to calm yourself enough to speak again. 

“You didn't get that from my tantrum earlier?”. James pulls your body closer, face barely an inch from his. “You were just being possessive, nothing wrong with that.” James grins down at you. You can feel the heat from his breath on your face. “Can I kiss you?” He breathes out, voice so soft. Pulling his lips to yours, you submerge yourself in the kiss. His lips move skillfully against your own before pulling back. 

James keeps you close resting his forehead against your own, smiling a smug grin. “Should've done that a lot sooner.” He joked. You drawl back, attempting to stand up from the couch, laughing along with him. “Shut up.” He grabs at your hips pinning you back down, crashing his lips into yours. Yeah, you might be there for a while.

[zeroseuniverse]

Please do a part 3 to Never Asked, this is so wholesome 😭😭

More member interactions or something angsty with fluff please 🥹

Thankfully I thought ahead this time!! It's already written!!!

You Never Asked III

Word Count: 585 Summary: You all know the story by now right? Pairing: Jongho X Fem Reader

Part I Part II

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Jongho should have known.

The moment his members met her, he should have known that they would take it too far.

It started off small. She’d get random texts from Wooyoung asking, “Are you feeding him properly? He gets cranky if he doesn’t eat.”

Then San started sending her videos of Jongho singing with captions like “Your man is talented, you’re welcome”.

But things escalated when Seonghwa personally invited her over for dinner.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jongho muttered as she stood outside their dorm.

“I want to,” she reassured him, grinning. “They’re fun.”

Jongho just sighed, mentally preparing himself for whatever nonsense was about to unfold.

The moment she stepped inside, chaos erupted.

“You’re finally here!!”

Wooyoung practically tackled her in a hug. “We missed you!”

“You saw me last week,” she laughed.

“Too long,” Yunho declared dramatically, pulling you into a side hug.

Jongho crossed his arms. “She’s my girlfriend, not yours.”

“Are you sure?” Yeosang deadpanned. “We might like her more.”

Jongho scowled. She just patted his arm.

Dinner was surprisingly peaceful—at first. Seonghwa had cooked, and everyone was on their best behavior… until Mingi leaned forward, setting down his chopsticks.

“So,” he began. “When are you two getting married?”

She nearly choked.

Jongho did choke. “WHAT?!”

San nodded thoughtfully. “Good question. Do you want a spring wedding? Fall is also nice.”

“Guys—”

“You should have a destination wedding,” Wooyoung suggested, already invested. “Hawaii? Greece?”

“STOP,” Jongho begged, face burning.

 However, she was thoroughly entertained. “Hmm, I do like Greece.”

The room exploded.

“OH MY GOD, IT’S HAPPENING.”

“LOOK AT RINGS WITH US.”

“I’M GONNA CRY.”

Jongho groaned, dropping his head onto the table as his members fully planned their wedding.

She just smiled at him, squeezing his hand under the table.

If he was stuck with these chaotic men forever, at least he had her to suffer with him.

—-

Jongho was convinced.

His members weren’t just close to her now—they were trying to steal her.

It had been a few weeks since the Great Wedding Debate (which, to his horror, had resulted in a shared Pinterest board Wooyoung had made for their “future venue aesthetic”), and things had only gotten worse.

At first, it was just them texting her for “updates” on Jongho, which was already ridiculous.

Wooyoung: Has he been drinking enough water? He’s stubborn.San: Tell him to stop pretending he doesn’t like hugs.Yunho: Does he smile more with you than with us? Be honest.

But then? Then they started inviting her places—without him.

Jongho scowled as he stood in the dorm, arms crossed, watching her slip on her jacket. “Why are you going out with them?”

She gave him an amused look. “Because they invited me?”

“To lunch?”

“Yes.”

“Without me?”

“Yep.”

Jongho turned toward his members, who were suspiciously avoiding his gaze. “Really?”

“What?” San blinked innocently. “Can’t we just hang out with our friend?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung smirked. “We love her.”

Jongho glared. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“She’s our family,” Yunho corrected.

Seonghwa patted Jongho’s shoulder. “Get used to it, kid. You’re dating one of us now.”

Jongho groaned as she tried (and failed) to hide her laughter.

“I’ll be back soon,” she reassured, pecking his cheek before heading for the door.

The second she was gone, Jongho turned to his members, voice dangerously low.

“I hope you all choke on your food.”

They just cackled.

Because Jongho might have been her boyfriend…

But at this point? You were a part of their chaotic family.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Glen Powell Imagine: Red Carpet Chaos, Fan Reactions & Late-Night Shenanigans

Red Carpet Moment – “America’s Favorite Couple”

The Twisters premiere was a spectacle—flashbulbs, screaming fans, reporters yelling for interviews. You and Glen arrived together, of course, dressed to kill. Your arm looped through his as you both smiled for the cameras, the internet already blowing up over your appearance.

“Over here!” photographers called. “One more! Give us something!”

Glen leaned in slightly. “They want something,” he murmured.

You smirked. “What kind of something?”

He didn’t answer—just dipped you, old Hollywood style, and kissed you full on the lips. The crowd erupted. Fans screamed, flashes went wild, and the moment was instantly trending.

You laughed as he pulled you upright, fixing your dress. “Show-off.”

“Can’t help it,” he grinned. “You’re my favorite co-star.”

The interviews were just as chaotic.

“So, how does it feel starring in another project together?” the interviewer asked.

Glen looked at you, eyes twinkling. “Dangerous. We’re unstoppable at this point.”

You shook your head, playing along. “World domination next.”

The interviewer laughed. “Fans love you two. Do you feel the pressure of being America’s favorite couple?”

Glen threw an arm around you, leaning into the mic. “Nah. We’ve been doing this for years. If anything, they’re just catching up.”

The clip was everywhere the next morning.

Fan Interaction – Chaos at the Airport

Traveling together was always an adventure. The second you and Glen stepped into LAX, fans swarmed. Security did their job, but you and Glen? You had your own way of handling the chaos.

“Oh my God, it’s them!” someone shouted.

Fans crowded in, holding out posters of Scream Queens, Twisters, even your platinum album covers. One girl shoved her phone at Glen. “Can you take a picture of me and her?”

Glen laughed but took the phone anyway. “Of course, I am just the boyfriend.”

More laughs. More chaos. A fan looked at you, practically vibrating. “I shipped you guys so hard in Scream Queens! I can’t believe you actually got together in real life!”

Glen nudged you. “Told you we had fans back then.”

Another fan held out a Scream Queens DVD, looking starstruck. “This show was my everything—you two were my everything.”

You smiled, signing their case. “Ours too, honestly.”

Glen leaned in, whispering to you as you walked toward your gate. “We could probably run for office at this point.”

You laughed. “President and First Gentleman Powell?”

“Has a nice ring to it.”

Late-Night Talk Show – The Viral Interview

Sitting side by side on the Tonight Show couch, you and Glen were already causing a stir. The audience couldn’t stop cheering when you walked out together, and the host, grinning ear to ear, shook his head.

“I mean, look at you two,” he said. “The power couple of the summer!”

You and Glen exchanged a glance. “We try,” Glen said smoothly.

The host turned to you. “So you were the scream queen. And now you’re an international rockstar. How did Glen Powell of all people lock this down?”

The audience lost it.

Glen threw up his hands. “I ask myself that every day.”

You smirked. “Persistence. And charm. And the fact that he literally refused to stop flirting with me on the Scream Queens set.”

Glen nodded. “Guilty.”

The host leaned in. “Okay, let’s settle something. Who made the first move?”

Without missing a beat, you both answered:

“Him.”

“You.”

Glen turned to you. “Wait, what? You made the first move.”

You raised a brow. “You were the one who kissed me first.”

“Okay, but you were the one who dragged me into your trailer and—”

The audience screamed.

Glen clapped his hands together. “And that story is for another time.”

That interview? It went instantly viral.

Later That Night – Hotel Room

Back at the hotel, you scrolled through Twitter, laughing at the edits, the GIFs, the theories. Glen walked out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair.

“They’re insane,” you said, holding up a clip from the talk show. “‘Who made the first move?’ They’re dissecting it like it’s a murder case.”

Glen flopped onto the bed beside you, peering at your phone. “And? What’s the verdict?”

“They think I seduced you,” you said dramatically.

Glen smirked. “I mean, technically—”

You shoved him. “Shut up.”

He laughed, pulling you into his arms. “C’mon, rockstar. Let them talk. We’ve got a press tour to finish.”

And with Glen Powell at your side? It was going to be legendary.

[rik0shii]

gdragon with a bubbly!reader who's always so entertaining and energetic. reader is a solo artist from YG company along with bigbang and 2NE1. when the company held a YG family concert, we could see gdragon basically just playing around with reader and fans take notice of this, some even makes an edit of them from the concert.

YG’S WEIRDOS

At the YG Family Concert, G-Dragon couldn’t stop teasing you, from playful banter to dragging you into an unexpected dance break. Fans quickly took notice, and by the next day, viral clips had everyone convinced—he definitely had a soft spot for you.

hiii tysm for requesting❤️❤️❤️ i hope you like this!reposts and comments are appreciated!

The YG Family Concert was always a highlight of the year, bringing together all the artists in one massive, unforgettable event. As expected, you were your usual high-energy, chaotic self, always moving, always hyping up the crowd, and making sure everyone was having fun.

It didn’t take long for fans to notice that G-Dragon seemed especially entertained by you.

From the very beginning, he gravitated toward you, whether it was standing beside you during introductions or laughing at your antics from across the stage. It wasn’t unusual for Jiyong to be playful, but tonight, it felt like he had made it his personal mission to mess with you.

When it was your turn to introduce yourself, you stepped forward with an exaggerated bow, extending your arms dramatically. “Good evening, everyone! I am Y/N, the greatest performer to ever exist—”

Jiyong let out a loud laugh beside you, shaking his head as he took the mic. “I didn’t realize we were doing theatrical introductions tonight.”

Without missing a beat, you turned to him. “Oh? You wanna do one too? Go ahead, make it dramatic.”

Raising an eyebrow, he smirked and gave an overly elegant bow. “G-Dragon. Fashion icon. Genius. Your favorite artist’s favorite artist.”

You clapped, pretending to wipe away a tear. “Beautiful. That was inspiring.”

The playful exchange earned laughter from the crowd, and it was only the beginning.

Later in the night, during BIGBANG’s performance, you were standing at the side of the stage, dancing along like a proper hype person. Jiyong caught sight of you from the middle of the stage, and before you could react, he ran over and grabbed your wrist, pulling you forward.

“Y/N, dance break!” he announced into his mic, giving you absolutely no time to prepare.

The beat dropped, and instinct took over. You committed fully, breaking into the most absurd dance moves imaginable—over-the-top body waves, uncoordinated moonwalks, and random high kicks that made no sense while 2NE1’s CL and Daesung cheered you on.The audience erupted with laughter, and Jiyong was laughing so hard he nearly missed his next line.

When the music finally moved on, you doubled over, catching your breath. He nudged your shoulder, grinning. “I didn’t think you’d actually go for it.”

You crossed your arms and raised your eyebrow dramatically. “Embarrassing myself is my superpower.”

By the next morning, the internet was flooded with clips of your interactions.

One video of Jiyong laughing at your dance break had already hit over two million views. Another edit compiled every moment the two of you shared on stage—him nudging you, laughing at your antics, and literally dragging you into the spotlight. The title? “GD can’t hide his soft spot for Y/N.”

Even your fellow YG artists had started teasing.

“Jiyong, why do you always mess with Y/N?” Taeyang asked during an interview the next day.

Jiyong shrugged, barely holding back a smile. “They’re just… hard to ignore.”

Your phone buzzed not long after.

Jiyong: We’re going viral, troublemaker.

You: I take full responsibility. You’re welcome.

Jiyong: You’re gonna pay for this.

You: Oh? What are you gonna do? Challenge me to another dance battle?

Jiyong: …Don’t tempt me.

If this concert was anything to go by, the next one was going to be even more chaotic.

[luna-azzurra]

How to Write a Confession of Love

Build the Emotional Tension Before the big confession, let the tension simmer between the characters. Maybe they share little glances across the room, or their hands brush accidentally but neither pulls away. Every shared laugh or lingering look should leave the reader wondering “Is this it?” When the confession finally happens, it’ll feel like the natural next step, as if both characters have been teetering on the edge of admitting their feelings for a while.

Inner Turmoil Leading Up to the Moment No one’s ever totally confident before saying, “I like you,” or “I love you.” Show the character’s inner freak-out. Maybe they’re wondering if they’re about to ruin everything, or if the other person feels the same. Let them overthink every detail, what if they mess it up? What if they say the wrong thing? This nervousness is super relatable and makes the confession way more intense and vulnerable.

Choose the Right Setting Where the confession happens can completely change the vibe. If it’s somewhere quiet and personal, like on the roof under the stars or sitting close on a couch, it adds a sense of intimacy. But maybe it’s in the middle of a party or a chaotic situation, where emotions are running high and everything’s on the line. The setting should fit the emotions—are they scared? Excited? Confused? Let the environment match their energy.

Don’t Make It Perfect Real life is messy, and confessions of love are no different. Maybe the character fumbles their words, says something awkward, or has to start over. Maybe they get interrupted, or they laugh nervously halfway through. These imperfections make the moment feel real. It’s not about saying the perfect words, it’s about what’s in their heart. Let the raw, unpolished feelings shine through.

Balance Between Show and Tell Obviously, they’re going to say something like “I love you” or “I can’t stop thinking about you,” but actions and body language speak just as loudly. Maybe their voice cracks, they shift closer without realizing it, or they can’t seem to meet the other person’s eyes. Maybe their hands are shaking, or their heart is pounding so loud they can’t hear anything else. Let those little details paint the full picture of how much this confession means.

The Other Person’s Reaction It’s not just about the person confessing, the other person’s reaction is a huge part of the scene. Are they completely shocked? Do they hesitate, or respond right away? Do they get teary-eyed or try to play it cool? The way they react adds layers to the moment. Even a pause before answering can make the scene ten times more intense. Their response shows how much they’ve been waiting for or dreading this confession too.

In short, make it messy, emotional, and real. Readers want to feel the build-up, the fear, the excitement, and the vulnerability of both characters. Don’t be afraid to make things a little awkward or imperfect, that’s what makes a confession unforgettable.

[pucksandpower]

Leave My Mark

Day 4 → Bruise Marking 💋 Lando Norris

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

Lando’s eyes flicker with something that’s not quite anger, not quite fear, but somewhere in the middle — a dark, consuming tension that sends a shiver down your spine. The hotel room is dimly lit, just a sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains. He’s pacing now, his movements sharp, precise, a contrast to the chaotic mess of emotions wrestling within him.

“You know what it looked like, right?” His voice is low, almost too calm, like the quiet before a storm. He stops and looks at you, eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to read something off your face, something he doesn’t want to find. “The way you were laughing with him … the way you touched his arm.”

You fold your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “Lando, it was nothing. Oscar needed someone to talk to, and I was just being there for him. As a friend.”

“A friend?” The words leave his mouth like they’re poisoned, like they burn his tongue. “Friends don’t look at each other like that. They don’t touch each other like that.”

You blink, surprised at the venom in his tone. “Like what?”

His jaw clenches, and he takes a step closer, the space between you evaporating. “Like you’re more than just friends. Like he could be something more to you.”

You shake your head, exhaling slowly. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He’s closer now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body, can see the way his chest rises and falls in a rhythm that’s too fast, too irregular. “Because all I see is you smiling at him, touching him, and I can’t stand it.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. You swallow hard, trying to push back the rising tide of frustration and disbelief. “Lando, this is crazy. I’m with you. Only you.”

He stares at you, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark and stormy. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something — something sharp, something cruel — but instead, he reaches out, his hand brushing your neck. His touch is firm, almost possessive, and your breath catches as his fingers wrap around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to make you aware of how easily he could.

“You’re mine,” he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “You know that, right? You’re mine, and I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, a mix of fear and something else, something you can’t quite name. “Lando …”

His grip tightens just slightly, and your pulse quickens. “Say it.”

“What?”

“Say you’re mine.” His voice is low, almost dangerous, like a predator cornering its prey. “Say it, and mean it.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his hand, the intensity of his stare. “I’m yours, Lando. Only yours.”

Something flickers in his eyes — satisfaction, maybe, or relief — and his grip loosens, just a fraction. “Good.” He’s breathing hard, his forehead nearly touching yours. “Because I won’t share you. Not with him, not with anyone.”

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart under your fingertips. “Lando, I love you. I wouldn’t … I couldn’t … Oscar’s just a friend. I was only trying to help him.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly, as if he’s trying to calm himself down. When he opens them again, there’s something softer there, something more vulnerable. “I know. I know that, deep down. But when I see you with him, it drives me crazy. I can’t help it.”

You lean into him, resting your head against his chest. “You don’t have to be jealous. I’m here with you. I chose you.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. “I just … I hate the thought of you being close to someone else. I can’t stand it.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes searching his. “Then don’t think about it. Think about us, right now. I’m here, with you. That’s all that matters.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares at you like he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face. Then, slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s both tender and desperate, like he’s trying to prove something to himself, to you.

You kiss him back, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him closer. The tension between you dissolves into something else, something warm and intense and consuming. His hands move to your waist, pulling you even closer, until there’s no space left between you.

When he pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark with something you can’t quite name. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Likewise.”

He laughs softly, but there’s still that edge in his voice, that undercurrent of possessiveness that hasn’t quite gone away. “But you’re mine, right? Only mine?”

You nod, your heart swelling with something warm and fierce. “Only yours.”

He presses his forehead against yours, his hands sliding up to cup your face. “I love you. God, I love you so much it scares me.”

You smile, leaning into his touch. “I love you too, Lando. More than anything.”

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing, the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart. Then he pulls you into another kiss, this one deeper, more urgent, like he’s trying to claim you, to make sure you understand just how much you mean to him.

His hands move to your throat again, fingers wrapping around your neck, and this time, there’s no mistaking the intent behind his touch. He’s claiming you, marking you as his, and you don’t resist, don’t pull away, because you want it, need it just as much as he does.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against your lips, his grip tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “Say it.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m yours.”

His grip tightens further, and for a moment, you can’t breathe, can’t think, can only feel the intensity of his gaze, the heat of his body pressed against yours. Then he releases you, just enough to let you breathe again, and you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“You’re mine,” he says again, his voice rough, desperate. “And I’m yours.”

You nod, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “Yes.”

His lips crash against yours, and this time, the kiss is hungry, almost savage, as if he’s trying to devour you, to consume every part of you. You kiss him back with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together, your bodies entwined. He looks at you, his eyes burning with something primal, something fierce. “I won’t let anyone take you away from me,” he murmurs, his voice raw, broken.

You shake your head, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. “No one could.”

He closes his eyes, his breath shuddering as he pulls you into his arms, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. “Stay with me. Always.”

You press a kiss to his shoulder, your heart swelling with love, with something deeper, something unbreakable. “Always.”

For a while, you just hold each other, the storm that raged between you slowly calming into something quieter, more peaceful. But there’s still that undercurrent of tension, that edge that hasn’t quite faded, and you know it’s going to take time — time for him to fully trust, to fully believe that you’re his and only his.

But for now, this is enough. The two of you, together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten, irrelevant. And in this moment, you know that no matter what happens, no matter what obstacles you face, you’ll face them together, as long as you both hold on, as long as you both remember that this, right here, is what matters most.

And with Lando’s arms around you, his breath warm against your skin, you know that you will.

***

Morning light filters through the hotel curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. Lando wakes first, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light as he shifts under the covers.

The first thing he notices is the warmth of your body curled up beside him, your hair splayed across the pillow, your breathing steady and calm. For a moment, he just watches you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he remembers the night before, the intensity of it, the way you gave yourself to him so completely.

But then, as his eyes trail down your neck, his smile fades. There, on the pale skin of your throat, are faint bruises, the marks of his hands, a reminder of how fiercely he held you, how desperately he wanted to claim you as his. A pang of guilt twists in his chest, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing gently over the bruises, as if he can erase them with a touch.

You stir at the contact, blinking sleepily as you wake up, your eyes meeting his. “Morning,” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Morning,” he replies, but his voice is quieter, more subdued, as his fingers continue to trace the marks on your neck. “Did I … did I hurt you?”

You frown slightly, still half-asleep, not quite understanding. “What do you mean?”

He swallows, his gaze fixed on the bruises. “Your neck … I didn’t mean to leave these.”

You reach up, your fingers grazing the marks, and then you understand. “Oh.” Your voice is soft, a little uncertain, as you glance at him. “It’s okay, Lando. They don’t hurt.”

But he’s already moving, sitting up and reaching for something on the nightstand. “I should’ve been more careful. Let me … let me put something on them.” He finds a small tube of ointment in his bag and unscrews the cap, squeezing a bit onto his fingers before turning back to you.

“Lando, you don’t have to-”

“I want to,” he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. “Please.”

You nod, sitting up and letting the blanket fall away from your shoulders, exposing the marks on your neck fully. He leans in closer, his expression concentrated, almost tender, as he carefully dabs the ointment onto the bruises, his fingers warm against your skin. His touch is so gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid of hurting you further.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough with guilt. He presses a soft kiss to one of the bruises, his lips lingering there for a moment. “I didn’t mean to …”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, your fingers brushing against his cheek, trying to soothe him. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

He moves to another bruise, rubbing the ointment in slowly, methodically, before kissing the spot again. “I got carried away.”

You bite your lip, hesitating for a moment before you finally speak. “I … I liked it.”

He stops, his hand frozen against your skin as he looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. “You did?”

You nod, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. “Yeah. I liked how … how you took control. How you made me feel like I was completely yours.”

Something in his eyes softens, the guilt slowly ebbing away, replaced by something else — something darker, more intense. “You liked it?” he repeats, his voice quieter, almost disbelieving.

“Yes,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “It … it turned me on, Lando.”

His eyes darken, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You liked how I made you mine?”

A shiver runs down your spine, and you nod, your breath catching in your throat. “Yes.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes locked onto yours, his hand moving to cup your face. “Say it again.”

You swallow, your heart pounding as you meet his gaze. “I liked it. I liked how you took control.”

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, and he watches you intently, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “Tell me what you liked.”

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you can’t find the words, too overwhelmed by the intensity in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world. But then, slowly, you find your voice. “I liked how you held me … how you made me feel like I was completely yours. I liked how … how strong you were, how you didn’t let go.”

His eyes darken further, and he leans in, capturing your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. His hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off his body, the way his muscles tense under your touch. When he pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you whisper back, your hands sliding up to his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kisses you again, softer this time, but no less intense, and when he pulls back, his hands move to your throat, his fingers tracing the bruises with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “You liked how I took control,” he says quietly, more to himself than to you, as if he’s trying to wrap his head around it.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice trembling with anticipation, with the need to feel that control again, to lose yourself in him.

He looks at you, his gaze piercing, and then, slowly, deliberately, he pushes you back onto the bed, his body hovering over yours. His hands find your wrists, pinning them above your head, and you gasp, your pulse quickening as you feel the weight of him against you, the way his body presses you into the mattress.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his voice low, rough.

“Of course,” you breathe, your eyes wide, your heart pounding.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your neck, against the bruises he left, and you feel a thrill of excitement, of anticipation, as he kisses each one, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “I want to make you feel good,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “I want to make you fall apart.”

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat as his words sink in, as his hands move down your body, trailing fire in their wake. “Lando …”

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, with something deeper, something more intense than you’ve ever seen before. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, making you shiver.

“I want you,” you reply, your voice trembling with need, with the overwhelming desire that’s building inside you. “I want you to take control.”

He smiles, a slow, wicked smile that makes your heart skip a beat, and then he’s kissing you again, hard and demanding, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you against him. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, the way he’s trying to keep himself in check, and it only makes you want him more.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, your voice barely audible, but you know he hears it, because he groans softly, his hands tightening on your hips.

“You don’t have to ask,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost dangerous. “I’m going to give you everything you want.”

And he does. His hands are everywhere, touching, caressing, claiming, as he makes you feel things you didn’t know you could feel, as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, until you’re gasping, trembling, completely at his mercy.

He’s relentless, his mouth on your skin, his hands on your body, as he takes you apart piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the feel of him, the sound of his voice, the overwhelming need that consumes you.

“Lando,” you gasp, your hands clutching at the sheets, your body arching against his, desperate for more, for everything.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice rough, raw, as he pushes you closer, closer, until you can’t take it anymore, until you’re falling, shattering, completely undone.

When it’s over, when you’re lying there in his arms, your heart still racing, your breath still coming in uneven gasps, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek, your eyes meeting his. “You didn’t hurt me, Lando. You made me feel … amazing. I’ve never felt like that before.”

He smiles, a small, relieved smile, and he leans down to kiss you, soft and slow, his lips lingering on yours. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice full of emotion, full of something deep and unbreakable. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you reply, your heart swelling with love, with something even deeper, something that goes beyond words. “So much.”

For a while, you just lie there together, your bodies entwined, breathing slowly coming back to normal. Lando’s hand absentmindedly caresses your side, his fingers tracing soft circles on your skin. The quiet in the room feels like a protective cocoon, safe and warm, where nothing exists but the two of you.

Then, after a long silence, Lando shifts slightly, his hand moving up to your neck again, his fingers brushing lightly over the bruises he left. You feel him smile against your hair, and his voice is low, almost a purr as he murmurs, “You bruise so prettily, you know that?”

You shiver at his words, a thrill of something dark and thrilling running through you. He doesn’t stop, his fingers trailing over each mark with an almost possessive reverence. “I love seeing these on you,” he continues, his voice a soft, dangerous whisper. “Knowing that I put them there. That you’re mine.”

You can feel the intensity in his words, the way they’re weighted with a fierce, undeniable possessiveness, and it sends a pulse of heat through you, a mix of fear and excitement that makes your heart race. “Lando …” you breathe, your voice trembling, your body already responding to the way he’s touching you, the way he’s talking to you.

He shifts, hovering over you, his gaze dark and hungry as he takes in your flushed cheeks, your parted lips. “I want to mark you up even more,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire. “I want everyone to see these bruises and know exactly who you belong to.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening at the thought of it, at the idea of wearing his marks, of being claimed by him in such a visible, undeniable way. “You want that?” You ask, your voice shaky, filled with anticipation.

His eyes meet yours, and there’s something fierce and possessive in his gaze as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “I want to leave my mark on you,” he murmurs, his voice low, dangerous. “I want to bruise every inch of your skin until there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that you’re mine.”

You shiver at his words, a thrill of excitement running through you, and you nod, unable to form words as the intensity of his desire, of his need, crashes over you. “Please,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling, your body already responding to the promise in his words.

He smiles, a slow, wicked smile that makes your heart race, and then his hands are on you again, his fingers tracing your skin, finding every bruise he left, pressing down just enough to make you gasp, to remind you of the intensity of the night before. “You like this, don’t you?” He asks, his voice a dark, teasing whisper. “You like knowing that I’ve marked you, that everyone can see how much I want you.”

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice barely audible, your body arching under his touch, desperate for more.

He leans down, pressing soft kisses to your neck, to the bruises he left, his lips warm against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice filled with a dark, possessive hunger. “So perfect. I can’t wait to mark you up even more.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel your breath quicken, your body already responding to the promise in his voice, to the way he’s touching you, the way he’s claiming you. “Lando …”

He smirks against your skin, his teeth grazing your neck, just enough to make you gasp, to send a sharp thrill of pleasure-pain through you. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice rough, dangerous. “And I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.”

Before you can respond, his hands move lower, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other trailing down your body, teasing, exploring. His touch is slow, deliberate, as if he’s savoring the moment, as if he’s taking his time to appreciate every reaction, every shiver, every gasp that escapes your lips.

Then, without warning, his hand slides between your legs, finding your clit, and he pinches down, cruel and relentless. You cry out, your body arching against him, the sudden intensity of it sending a shockwave of pleasure-pain through you, unraveling you completely.

“Lando!” You gasp, your voice trembling, your body quaking under his touch.

He doesn’t relent, his fingers moving with a ruthless precision, his other hand still holding your wrists tightly above your head, keeping you pinned, keeping you at his mercy. “You like this, don’t you?” He whispers, his voice dark and teasing, as he continues to torment you, to push you further and further over the edge.

“Yes!” You cry out, unable to control the sounds escaping you, the intensity of it too much, too overwhelming.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and heavy as he whispers, “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours!” You gasp, your voice breaking, your body shaking with the force of the pleasure coursing through you.

His fingers pinch down harder, and you cry out again, your body completely out of control, completely at his mercy. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough, filled with a dark, possessive hunger.

“I’m yours, Lando!” You cry, your voice trembling, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you fall apart completely, your body shattering under his touch.

He watches you, his eyes dark and hungry, his hand relentless as he pushes you over the edge again and again, until you’re nothing but a trembling, gasping mess beneath him. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, as he watches you unravel. “You’re mine. All mine.”

Finally, when you think you can’t take it anymore, when your body is trembling and shaking with the force of the pleasure-pain, he slows, his touch becoming gentler, more tender. He releases your wrists, his hand moving to cup your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that have escaped down your cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice filled with awe, with something deep and unbreakable. “So perfect.”

You’re still gasping for breath, your body still trembling from the intensity of it all, but you manage to meet his gaze, your eyes filled with a mix of love, desire, and something deeper, something that goes beyond words. “Lando …” you breathe, your voice shaky, your heart pounding in your chest.

He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his hand still cupping your face, his touch gentle, tender. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back, your voice filled with all the emotion, all the love, all the desire you feel for him.

He pulls you into his arms, holding you close, his body warm and comforting against yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his voice soft, filled with regret. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, the warmth of his skin. “You didn’t hurt me, Lando,” you whisper back, your voice soft, filled with love. “You made me feel … everything.”

He smiles, a small, relieved smile, and he presses another kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice a soft, possessive murmur. “And I’m never letting you go.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love, with something deeper, something that goes beyond words, and you snuggle closer to him, feeling the warmth, the safety of his embrace. “I’m yours,” you whisper back, your voice filled with all the emotion, all the love you feel for him. “Always.”

[solxamber]

Match Made in Madness - Floyd Leech x reader

Soulmates get updates of each other's lives through an overly enthusiastic dream narrator. What's worse is that your soulmate seems to be completely unhinged.

It all starts on another one of those nights—the weird dream where your soulmate’s day is narrated to you in the most ridiculous fashion imaginable. No names, no faces, just an over-the-top, enthusiastic narrator who acts like they’re introducing a daytime soap.

"Good evening, soulmate! Ready for another wild day? Well, buckle up, because your beloved got into a fight with a vending machine!"

You groan in your sleep, already bracing for what’s next. The narrator continues with gleeful energy:

"After losing said battle, your soulmate kicked the machine and declared, ‘I’ll have the last laugh, metal box!’ Later in the day, they spent 45 minutes trying to convince a bird to become their personal spy. Spoiler alert: the bird didn’t agree, but they’re not giving up anytime soon!"

When you wake up, you rub your eyes and mutter, "What the hell is my soulmate doing?" Clearly, the universe decided to match you with an absolute madman, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ll even survive meeting them.

The dreams continue for weeks, and the updates get progressively weirder. Whoever this person is, they have the chaotic energy of a tornado in a convenience store. One night, you get this gem:

"Exciting news! Today, your soulmate tried to see if they could juggle three eels at once. Spoiler: they couldn’t, but they did manage to send one flying into a professor’s lunch. Next on the agenda, they challenged the ocean to a race. The ocean won."

You’re so used to these bizarre updates by now that you don’t even flinch. Instead, you’re beginning to wonder why the universe thinks it’s funny to torture you with someone who clearly doesn’t have a firm grasp on reality.

And then one night, the narrator drops a bombshell:

"Your soulmate spent the entire afternoon wondering if there’s any way they could convince their twin brother to switch places with them on a date— Oh wait, forget I said that! That one’s classified!*"

What? Now, you’re officially on edge. Not only do they have a twin, but they’ve been thinking about dating? This is spiraling out of control.

You’re sitting at the Mostro Lounge, thinking about the increasingly unhinged dreams when you spot Floyd Leech across the room. Normally, you’d ignore him because, well, Floyd has a reputation, and it’s not exactly “outstanding member of society.”

But today, something feels off. You’ve heard a few things—people say he’s chaotic, unpredictable, and obsessed with “playing” with his victims. And suddenly, you can’t stop thinking about the dream where your soulmate tried to juggle eels.

Floyd catches your eye, and before you can look away, he’s making a beeline for your table. Oh no. Please no.

“Hey, Shrimpy,” he says with his usual, lazy grin, flopping down in the seat next to you like he owns the place. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Close enough.

You swallow hard. “Uh… just thinking.”

“Thinking, huh?” Floyd leans in, uncomfortably close. “What about?”

How are you supposed to say, I think you’re my soulmate, but I’m also convinced you’re a lunatic? Instead, you nervously laugh. “Oh, nothing. Just… dreams.”

“Dreams, huh?” Floyd’s eyes narrow, but he looks more interested than suspicious. “Like… those ones where some random guy is juggling eels?”

Your blood runs cold.

“Wait—how did you know about the eels?”

Floyd’s grin widens. “Oh? So it is you! I knew it!” He laughs, leaning back with a satisfied look, like he’s just solved the greatest mystery of his life. “Shrimpy, you’re hilarious! I’ve been having those dreams about you, too. You’re always doing weird stuff, like… rescuing ducks or tripping over your own feet.”

Your heart races. “Wait, so—you're my soulmate?”

“Duh,” Floyd says, rolling his eyes like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The universe has a sense of humor, doesn’t it?”

At first, you’re convinced this is a prank, a cruel joke. But the more you talk to Floyd, the more everything starts to click into place. He’s chaotic, sure. Completely unpredictable? Absolutely. But he’s also the same person who, according to your dreams, once wondered if seaweed could be used as a fashion statement. He’s also the guy who—oh right—challenged the ocean to a race.

And now that you’ve met him, you realize one important detail: he’s perfect.

Well, perfect in the most unhinged way possible.

A week later, you find yourself in an increasingly ridiculous situation—Floyd has somehow convinced you to help him “steal” a giant fish from the campus pond.

“Why are we doing this again?” you ask, holding the bucket as he dives headfirst into the water.

“Because,” Floyd says between splashes, “the fish looks like he’s having a bad day, so we’re gonna give him a makeover.”

You stare blankly at the pond. “You want to makeover a fish.”

Floyd pops back up, water dripping from his hair, with a grin that could melt glaciers. “Yeah! Why not?”

You don’t have a good answer for that, so you just shrug. This is my life now.

That night, you’re lying in bed, starting to doze off, when the dream narrator pops up again:

"Good evening, soulmate! Today, your other half tried to give a fish a new look. It didn’t work, but they still had fun! Also, they’ve been thinking about holding your hand."

You wake up with a groan, rubbing your face in disbelief. Of course, Floyd would think about something like that in the middle of a fish-stealing escapade. But there’s something undeniably sweet about it, too.

The next day, Floyd grabs your hand without warning as you’re walking through campus. “I had a dream about this,” he says casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You smile, squeezing his hand back. “So did I.”

Maybe the universe isn’t such a prankster after all.

Masterlist

[dollishmehrayan]

# BATBOYS WITH A SUNSHINE!READER ── .✦ ( basically batboys with a optimistic reader )

a/n: this was requested by anon (here) but anywayss i think I’m gonna do the world tour thing after my winter inspired fics/hcs end on like February 28th! (Dw i’ll still do the world tour thingy in between) but yahh also I desperately need writer mutals + mutals I mssg daily like I’m a very kind person idm if you dm me at like 4 AM, tags: (batboys x fem!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Absolutely smitten. Your optimism is like a magnet for Dick, who thrives on positivity.

He calls you his “little ray of sunshine” (even if you roll your eyes at the nickname).

If he’s feeling down, your relentless optimism is a game changer. “How do you do that? How do you make the world seem so… bright all the time?”

Constantly teases you, especially if you’re being overly cheerful during random moments. “Are you seriously smiling right now? We’re getting ready to head to bed!”

But secretly, he loves it. Your energy balances his occasional doubts && insecurities. (he lovesss positive people who live in their own world)

Dick starts picking up on your habits leaving little notes of encouragement, giving random compliments to strangers and realizes how much better it makes his day.

JASON TODD ── .✦

At first, he’s skeptical. He’s not used to someone so genuinely cheerful, and he might think you’re putting on an act.

“How are you this happy all the time? What’s your secret? Coffee? Dark magic?”, “I just like seeing the world differently, I’m a poet in my mind.”

But over time, he warms up to your positivity and even craves it (to a point he gets sad if you aren’t around for more than 4 hours). You’re the light that cuts through his darker moments and more sulking personality.

“I don’t know how you do it, but you make me feel like the world’s not completely screwed.”, “what did you say?-“, “Nothing go back to sleep.”

He pretends to be annoyed when you try to cheer him up after a rough day, but he secretly loves when you coax a laugh out of him.

Jason starts jokingly calling you his “emotional support sunshine.” He’ll tell Roy, “Yeah, they’re like my personal antidepressant.”

Will protect your positivity at all costs. If anyone tries to dim your light, they’ll have to deal with him.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Finds your optimism so refreshing. Tim can be a little too caught up in stress and overthinking, so your energy is like a breath of fresh air.

He’s constantly asking, “How are you so happy all the time? Teach me your ways.”

If you leave him little notes of encouragement, he’ll treasure them forever. He has a drawer full of them and pulls one out whenever he’s having a bad day.

Sometimes, your cheerfulness makes him feel a little guilty. “You’re so good, and here I am being a grump.” But you always remind him it’s okay to have bad days.

Tim loves how you bring optimism even to his most chaotic moments. “Yeah, sure, we’re being late, but hey, at least it’s not raining, right?”

He’d be a little overwhelmed by your energy at times, but he admires you deeply for seeing the good in everything.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian does not know what to do with you at first. Your cheerfulness is a complete mystery to him.

“Why are you smiling? We are surrounded by incompetence.”

He pretends to be annoyed, but deep down, he finds your positivity oddly comforting.

Over time, he starts looking forward to your optimistic take on things. “Yes, fine, maybe there is a silver lining. Stop gloating.”

You have a knack for breaking through his tough exterior. If he’s grumpy, you’ll say something so genuinely kind that he can’t help but soften.

Damian secretly loves how you see the good in him, even when he doesn’t see it himself.

He starts to mimic your habits, like giving Alfred small compliments or trying to look on the bright side, but he’ll deny it if you call him out.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce admires your positivity but doesn’t always understand it. “How do you manage to stay so cheerful in Gotham of all places?”

At first, he worries your optimism will make you naive, but he quickly realizes it’s your strength.

Your energy is a stark contrast to his brooding nature, and he starts leaning on it more than he cares to admit.

When he’s stuck in his head or doubting himself, you always know what to say to pull him out of it.

“You make it sound so simple,” he says after you give him one of your pep talks. But he smiles because somehow, you do make it simple.

You bring a sense of warmth and nostalgia into the Wayne Manor. Bruce finds himself more relaxed when you’re around, even in the middle of chaos.

He’ll never admit it to the others, but your optimism is one of his favorite things about you.

[thatnonameuser]

A Wonderland Of Yanderes

World Building is here Part 2

It all started with that class.

The final class for the first week of the first semester. After all the chaos of coming to Twisted Wonderland, of being thrown into a world you don’t understand, a quiet weekend to start finding a way back is something you’ve been awaiting.

The classes here were chaotic but fun, and even interesting as a human from a world without any magic. 

Making potions that could do so many different things in Alchemy. Speaking with animals or a cat that can't talk like Grim in Animal Languages. Riding broomsticks in Phys Ed. Even the boring classes like Magical History, learning of this world full of wonder and mystery, and Arithmancy, math was boring, but it was fun to learn that it’s the same in this world. 

But out of all the classes this was the weirdest one of all. 

It was called The Art of Ensnaring Hearts. About ‘darling control and protection’. It’s a weird sounding class, but even weirder, it’s a mandatory subject for all first years, which seems weird for what sounds like an elective. Still it’s just odd, not anything too weird.

The name is nothing that you’ve seen in any fantasy book or tv show in your world. But by now, you knew weird being dropped head first into an unknown world. By now anything new and weird should have been expected, understood, brushed aside as something to accept and move on.

So here you were sitting between Ace and Deuce in the lecture, Grim fast asleep on your lap, waiting for class you knew nothing about.

“I can’t believe they’re making us take this class.” Ace complains.

“Stop complaining Ace. It’s a really important class!” Deuce objects.

Ace whined his butt off the whole way here, complaining about how stupid it was that they had to attend it. Deuce on the other hand, was incredibly enthusiastic and you are completely in the dark for what this class is even about.

Ace shrugs, “Still, my folks and brother taught me all about this stuff. It’s a waste of time.”

“Not everyone has parents or siblings who can teach them about darlings, Ace.”

“Nothing personal Juice, but this class is going to be as boring as Magical History.”

“Well, if you know so much, what exactly is this class about?” You joke and they both look at you like you’ve grown a second head. "What?" you say, now uneasy.

 “You don’t know?” Ace asks.

“What part about ‘I’m from another world’ keeps slipping your minds?” Your attempt at a joke falls flat, as they look at you in incredulity.

Deuce practically reels back in surprise, “N-No it’s just that it's so normal here. You don’t know what darlings are?”

You shake your head, “No, not really.”

A crack of a whip onto the blackboard calls your attention to Professor Crewel, "Alright pups, I have to do this every year so let's get this out of the way now. This class will provide you with any and every method, skill and technique to find, capture and control your future darlings, including evading the law in your respective homelands." Now, you're confused, why exactly is a school teaching students how to break the law?

"As you know Sage Island makes special accommodations for NRC and RSA students, all acts that may be forbidden in any of your hometowns, with the exception of Darling murder, will be pardoned and forgiven. In the case of a family investigation, the school will stage an accident so please do not butcher them beyond repair." No words or sounds slip from your lips, with you stunned silent in pure horror.

What pools in your stomach is hot dread mixed with cold fear. Just what exactly is this world? Murder can be excused here? It can be covered up, with only a slap on the wrist. You need some explanations and you need them now.

A student raises a hand, "Professor?"

"Yes, pup?"

"Why are there no darlings enrolled in Night Raven?"

"One too many murders on campus. A few too many mutts ran around unneutered and decided to draw blood." You smother your gasp a few seconds too late, as more than a third of the room turn to you, confused.

"Something wrong, pup?" Crewel raises an eyebrow at you. His eyes drill into your soul, inspecting, calculating.

"N-Nothing! I'm fine. Perfectly fine." Crewel doesn't push you on the subject, returning to his lecture.

You lean back in your seat, and the cold sweat on your body makes you shiver. Right now, you'll bite your tongue and hold back your horror.

You need to see Crowley, as soon as possible.

[eliaah]

you called them “your husband”

characters: yami sukehiro, fuegoleon vermillion, nozel silva, william vangeance, & jack.

tags: fluff , multi characters x fem reader

a/n: i forgot to add william in my last post so here's my apology for him shjsksksks, i'm so sorry that i forgot him 😭

🍁 YAMI SUKEHIRO

The tavern is lively tonight, filled with the usual rowdy crowd. After a long mission, there’s nothing better than unwinding with a drink in hand, especially with Yami by my side. We’re sitting at the bar, close enough that our shoulders brush together every time one of us moves. It’s a small comfort, a reminder that he’s here, and that I’m safe.

The Black Bulls are scattered around the tavern, celebrating in their usual chaotic fashion. Magna and Asta are arm-wrestling in the corner, while Finral is attempting to flirt with a group of local girls, much to Charmy’s amusement as she devours her feast. The laughter and chatter create a warm, buzzing atmosphere that feels like home.

Yami leaned in closer to me, his deep voice rumbling softly in my ear. “You did good out there today. Not bad for someone who’s usually stuck doing paperwork.”

I smirked, nudging him with my elbow. “I’m more than just a pretty face, Captain.”

He chuckled, taking a swig of his drink. “Damn right you are.”

The comfortable banter between us had always been there, but tonight felt different. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through our veins, or maybe it was just the warmth of the tavern and the closeness we shared.

As I take a sip of my drink, a group of regulars from the tavern comes over, striking up a conversation. They’ve clearly had a few too many, but their curiosity gets the better of them. One of them, a burly man with a grin that shows off a missing tooth, looks between Yami and me.

“So, what’s the deal with you two?” he asks, his voice slurred.

I feel a mischievous smile tug at my lips as I lean back in my chair, deciding to have a little fun. “Oh, he's my husband.” The words come out before I can fully think them through, but once they’re out there, I don’t regret them. There’s a split second where everything feels like it’s frozen in time—like the whole tavern is holding its breath.

Yami, who had been in the middle of taking a drink, nearly chokes. He looks at me with wide eyes, his expression a mixture of shock and amusement. The rest of the group looks between us, unsure if they should laugh or back away slowly.

“Husband, huh?” Yami finally says, setting his drink down and wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s trying to play it cool, but I can see the redness creeping up his neck and to his cheeks.

I give him a cheeky grin, tilting my head slightly. “Yeah, you got a problem with that… husband?”

The word feels strange on my tongue, but it also feels right. And by the way Yami’s looking at me, I can tell it hit him just as hard. He leans closer, his face just inches from mine now, and I can see the playful glint in his eyes.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that one.” he says, his voice low and teasing. But the way his lips quirk up and his ears turn a little red gives him away. He’s as flustered as I am.

“I’d like to see you try.” I shoot back, my heart racing faster than it should. There’s a charged energy between us, something more than just the usual teasing banter.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the noise of the tavern fading into the background. His face is so close, and all I can think about is how red his cheeks are—how red mine must be too. It’s ridiculous, really. We’ve been together for a while now, and yet, this simple word, “husband,” has both of us acting like nervous teenagers.

Yami’s the first to break the silence, laughing softly as he pulls back slightly, his grin widening. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”

I roll my eyes, though I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “Yeah, yeah. You know you liked it.”

He gives me a look that’s half amused, half something else—something warmer. “Maybe I did.” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost serious.

There’s a moment where neither of us says anything. Then, as if realizing how sappy things are getting, Yami suddenly grabs his mug, downing the rest of his drink in one go. I laugh, the tension breaking as easily as it had formed.

But even as we go back to our usual banter, teasing each other about anything and everything, I can’t help but notice how his hand occasionally brushes against mine or how his gaze lingers just a little too long.

And when the night finally ends and we head back to the base, Yami pulls me close, his arm around my waist, and whispers in my ear, “G’night, wife.”

My heart skips a beat, and I look up at him, seeing the same flustered expression on his face.

“Goodnight, husband.” I whisper back, feeling my face flush once more.

We walk the rest of the way in comfortable silence, both of us trying to hide our smiles in the darkness of the night.

🍁 FUEGOLEON VERMILLION

The grand hall of the Vermillion estate is quiet tonight, a serene stillness settling over the room. The warm, golden glow from the fireplace bathes the space in a comforting light, making the shadows dance along the walls. Fuegoleon and I are nestled together on a plush couch, wrapped in a peaceful silence that feels as intimate as any conversation. His arm is draped over my shoulders, fingers gently playing with a strand of my hair, and I find myself leaning into him, savoring the rare moment of calm.

The day had been long, filled with duties and obligations that left little time for us. But now, with the world outside feeling so far away, it’s just the two of us. This, I think, is my favorite part of the day.

I tilt my head to look up at him, admiring the way the firelight softens his usually stern features. “You know,” I begin softly, a playful tone creeping into my voice, “I could get used to spending my evenings like this.”

Fuegoleon looks down at me, a curious smile playing on his lips. “And what exactly would that be?” he asks, his voice warm.

“With my husband.” I reply, the words slipping out almost too casually, though the impact of them is anything but.

For a moment, everything seems to pause. Fuegoleon’s eyes widen slightly, the word clearly catching him off guard. He blinks, processing what I just said, and I can see the faintest hint of pink rising to his cheeks. Despite his usually composed demeanor, there’s a flicker of something more vulnerable in his expression, something that makes my heart swell.

“Husband.” he repeats, almost as if he’s testing the word on his tongue. His voice is calm, but there’s a softness in it that wasn’t there before. I can tell that he’s flustered, though he’s trying to hide it behind that noble composure.

I smile up at him, feeling a bit giddy at his reaction. “Yes, my husband.” I say, a little more firmly this time, enjoying the way the word makes him react. “That’s what you are, after all.”

Fuegoleon lets out a soft, almost nervous laugh, the sound so unlike his usual self that it makes my heart skip a beat. “Well then,” he begins, his voice gentle but tinged with a warmth that makes my cheeks flush, “if I’m your husband, then that must make you… my wife.”

Now it’s my turn to feel flustered, the weight of his words sinking in. There’s something so intimate, so precious about hearing him call me that, and I can feel my face heating up in response. But it’s not just the words, it’s the way he says them, with such sincerity and affection that it makes me want to melt into the cushions.

He notices my reaction, and a soft smile spreads across his face, his eyes filled with a rare, tender warmth. Fuegoleon shifts slightly, his hand cupping my cheek as he leans in closer. “My wife.” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, but filled with so much emotion that it makes my heart flutter.

I lean into his touch, my own smile widening as I meet his gaze. “I think I like the sound of that,” I murmur, my voice trembling slightly with the overwhelming rush of affection I feel for him.

His thumb brushes gently across my cheek, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world has narrowed down to just the two of us. “And I think I like calling you that.” he replies softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

Fuegoleon leans down, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead, the gesture so full of love that it takes my breath away. As he pulls back, his gaze lingers on mine, and I can see the soft blush that still colors his cheeks. It’s a rare sight to see him this flustered, and it makes the moment all the more special.

“Husband.” he says again, the word almost reverent, as if he’s savoring it. “I promise, I’ll always do my best to be worthy of that title.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back, not wanting to miss a second of this moment. “And I’ll always be here by your side.” I whisper, my voice filled with all the love I feel for him.

He pulls me closer, wrapping me in his arms, and I can feel the steady beat of his heart against my own. As we sit there, the warmth of the fire and the comfort of his embrace surrounding us, I realize that this—right here, with him—is all I’ll ever need.

And as the night drifts on, and the flames in the fireplace begin to die down, Fuegoleon’s hand remains intertwined with mine, a silent promise that whatever the future holds, we’ll face it together, as husband and wife.

🍁 NOZEL SILVA

The grand hall of the Silva estate is elegantly decorated for Nozel’s birthday. Soft lights and floral arrangements create a warm, inviting atmosphere, and the guests mingle with drinks in hand. Despite the festive mood, Nozel stands somewhat aloof, his usual stern demeanor reflecting his indifference towards birthdays. Yet, he appears subtly touched by the effort around him.

As the evening progresses, a series of heartfelt messages are shared in Nozel’s honor. When it’s my turn, I step up with a blend of excitement and affection, feeling both nervous and eager to speak.

Nozel looks at me with his usual calm but curious gaze, and I begin.

“Happy birthday, Nozel. I know you often think birthdays are just another day, but I wanted to take this moment to tell you how much you mean to me. Your strength and dedication are truly admirable, but it’s your kindness and support that touch my heart the most. I’m incredibly grateful for every day we spend together.”

The room is silent as everyone listens, clearly moved by my words. Nozel’s expression softens, a rare, tender smile gracing his lips. The crowd watches with anticipation.

I take a playful breath and add, “And, since it’s your special day,” I continue, “I guess I should mention… I’m glad to be with you, my husband.”

A collective gasp echoes through the hall, followed by curious whispers. “They’re married? When did that happen?” The room buzzes with surprise.

Nozel’s face turns a deep shade of red, his usual calm composure replaced by an endearing fluster. I can’t help but chuckle, enjoying the playful chaos I’ve stirred.

After the applause, Nozel approaches me with a sheepish but affectionate smile. “Did you really have to drop that bombshell in front of everyone?” His voice is gentle, tinged with a mix of embarrassment and fondness.

I look up at him, my cheeks flushed from both the excitement and his reaction. “I just thought it would make your birthday more memorable.” I tease with a wink.

Nozel’s blush deepens, but his eyes soften as he gazes at me. “I appreciate that.” he says, his smile widening. “It’s nice to know you care enough to tease me like this.”

I squeeze his hand playfully. “Even if it’s just teasing, I wanted to remind you that you’re deeply loved and appreciated. I hope it made you smile.”

Nozel’s expression turns even more tender, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You certainly succeeded in making me smile. And... I have to admit, I’m starting to like the sound of ‘husband’.”

As the evening continues, our playful banter becomes a sweet part of the celebration. Nozel, embracing the nickname, uses it with a fond smile. His initial embarrassment fades into a comfortable affection, and he begins to tease me back with a charmingly flustered grin.

When the soft strains of music fill the room, Nozel extends his hand with a gracious smile. “May I have this dance, my wife?”

I nod, feeling my heart flutter with happiness. As we move to the center of the room, Nozel’s hand is gentle but firm, guiding me with care. After a few moments, he leans in and kisses the back of my hand, his eyes full of warmth.

“I’m glad to have you by my side,” he murmurs softly. “And I’m grateful for every moment we share, teasing or otherwise.”

I smile up at him, feeling a deep sense of contentment. “And I’m glad to be with you, husband.”

As we continue to dance, surrounded by the soft glow of the candles and the cheerful hum of the celebration, the night transforms into a moment of genuine connection and affection, making it a birthday to remember for both of us.

🍁 WILLIAM VANGEANCE

The flower shop is a haven of tranquility, its shelves bursting with colorful blooms and sweet fragrances. William and I are browsing, searching for a special flower to celebrate our relationship. As I sift through the flowers, my excitement builds, knowing this day is about cherishing our bond.

Spotting the elderly shopkeeper, I approach her with a warm smile. “Excuse me, I’m looking for white orchids. They’re for my husband.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes light up with a gentle smile. “White orchids, you say? We have a lovely bouquet in the back. Let me get it for you.”

As she heads to retrieve the flowers, I glance back at William. He’s standing a little ways behind me, his face slightly flushed and a soft smile on his lips. He seems genuinely touched by my casual use of “husband.” and it makes my heart flutter.

William steps closer, his voice tender yet playful. “You really didn’t have to call me that in public. It’s… unexpected.”

I turn to him, my eyes filled with affection. “I wanted to. It feels right to call you that, even if it’s just a playful term. It’s a small way to show how much you mean to me.”

William’s cheeks are tinged with pink, and he looks at me with a mix of surprise and warmth. “Well, I have to admit, it’s quite endearing. It’s not something I expected today, but it certainly made me smile.”

The shopkeeper returns with a bouquet of pristine white orchids, placing it gently on the counter. I take the bouquet, feeling its delicate beauty. As I hold it close, I feel William’s hand brush against mine, and he leans in slightly.

“Thank you for choosing these,” he says, his voice soft. “They’re perfect, just like you.”

I blush, feeling a deep sense of joy. “I’m glad you think so. I wanted to do something special for you. Even if it’s just a small gesture, it means a lot to me.”

William’s smile grows, and he reaches out to gently tuck a white orchid from the bouquet into my hair. His touch is tender, and his eyes are filled with a loving gaze. “This flower suits you perfectly. It’s a symbol of how much you mean to me.”

I feel my heart race at his sweet gesture. “Thank you. It’s beautiful, and it makes this moment even more special.”

As we leave the shop after purchasing, hand in hand with the bouquet between us, William’s gaze is soft and affectionate. “I have to say, I’m not embarrassed by the nickname. It makes me happy. It’s a reminder of how lucky I am to have you in my life.”

I smile, feeling a warm blush on my cheeks. “I’m glad you like it. It’s just a small way of saying how much I love being with you.”

William’s smile deepens as he gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “And I love every moment we share. You’ve made today unforgettable.”

Walking together, the bouquet of white orchids between us, the day feels magical. William’s gentle touch and the warmth of our shared moments make everything feel perfect, and I feel deeply connected and cherished.

🍁 JACK

During a lively festival, Jack and Yami are locked in a heated cooking competition. The atmosphere is electric, with people cheering and enjoying the festivities.

Jack and Yami are both in the middle of preparing their dishes at their respective stalls. The crowd is watching intently, and the rivalry between the two is adding to the excitement of the event.

As Jack is focused on his cooking, he suddenly starts arguing with Yami about the best way to cook a dish. Their bickering gets louder and more intimidating. Trying to intervene and bring some calm, I step in.

“Alright, you two, enough already!” I say, trying to be heard over their arguing.

Jack turns to me, looking slightly frazzled. “What’s the matter?”

I roll my eyes playfully. “You’re making a scene, Jack. You need to focus on your cooking and stop fighting.”

Jack’s eyes widen in shock, and he tries to respond, but I cut him off. “And as much as I adore you, you really need to stop being such a loudmouth. I suppose that’s just how my husband acts.”

The entire area goes quiet for a moment, with everyone turning to look at us. Jack freezes, his eyes widening in shock. Yami bursts into laughter, clearly enjoying Jack’s reaction.

“Husband?” Yami calls out, laughing. “You two are married now?”

Jack’s face turns bright red, and he looks around, clearly flustered. “W-what? No, it’s just—”

I give him a teasing smile, enjoying the effect of my words. “Just a slip of the tongue, Jack. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Jack tries to regain his composure but is clearly struggling. “Yeah, sure. Just a slip of the tongue,” he mumbles, trying to hide his embarrassment.The crowd starts chuckling softly, enjoying the unexpected turn of events. Yami continues to tease Jack, while Jack tries to focus on the competition, though his flustered state makes it difficult.

As the festival winds down and we finish packing up, Jack approaches me with a slightly nervous but hopeful expression. He pulls out a small, neatly wrapped box from his bag.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. “I, uh, brought you something.”

I look at the box with curiosity. “What’s this?”

“It’s nothing special,” Jack replies quickly, trying to downplay it. “Just a little something I thought you might like.”

I open the box to find a portion of my favorite food, carefully prepared and packed. My heart warms at the sight.

“This is really sweet of you. Thank you.”

Jack scratches the back of his head, looking a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, well, you mentioned you liked it a lot, so I figured... you know.”

I smile, reaching out to give him a gentle hug. “It means a lot to me. Thank you.”

Jack smiles back, a hint of pride in his eyes. “Don’t mention it. Just... don’t expect me to call you ‘wife’ all the time or anything.”

I laugh, holding the box close. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As we walk away from the festival, Jack occasionally glances at me, clearly pleased by my reaction. The playful teasing from earlier is replaced with a comfortable, warm feeling between us. The evening ends with us enjoying the food Jack made, sharing stories and laughter under the stars, with the sweet memory of his thoughtful gesture adding a special touch to the night.

[cottonlemonade]

Thinking about chubby!Dancer catching Bokuto’s eyes during a half time performance.

He had a rough match. The opposing defense always seemed to know where he is going next and if it wasn’t for Hinata and Sakusa plus a couple of clever feints from Atsumu their attacks would have been stopped all together. He sensed an oncoming spiral as he sat down for a break between sets, gulping some water and squeezing sweet jelly into his mouth. He felt the setter poking his side and nodded towards the court. A group of girls took positions, dressed in cute skirts with shorts poking out underneath, tight tops clinging to their bodies for optimal movement. Bokuto began bouncing his leg as he watched. The girl in the front was a lot curvier than the others. Her thighs squished together even in the relaxed opening pose and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and watched. When the music began, he was immediately hyped. The ace was no stranger to TWICE - unironically listened to their songs during his workouts, knew a lot of the choreographies and even went to a couple of concerts with Atsumu and Hinata, screaming their lungs out during the fan chants. You were killing it. With a megawatt smile and fluid moves you nailed every single step, hyping up the crowds and soon the chaotic MSBY trio was cheering along. You were clearly having the time of your life and Bokuto couldn’t take his eyes off you.

After the game - which they won but who cared about that right now - he slithered through the crowds of journalists and fans, Atsumu and Hinata hot on his tail. The three of them were on a mission. With a deep bow he asked if your crew could take a picture with them and you all too happily agreed. He pushed Atsumu aside so he could stand next to you.

“Are you gonna be at our next game, too?”, he asked excitedly. It wasn’t a question for the dancers - only for you.

@haikyu-mp4 I had to.

a/n: Please imagine Bo, Atsumu and Hinata dancing late at night in the gym when they’re alone - when Sakusa caught them once, Atsumu explained that it’s great cardio.

They would strut on the treadmill to I Can’t Stop Me and Fancy.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Whumpcember (day 12)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Zombie apocalypse au)

Prompt: I have nowhere else to go

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers; zombies; mentions of murder; blood; death

Author’s note: This got a little too long for a fic that was initially meant to be a Drabble but I couldn’t bring myself to let it end earlier. And this was quite fun, since I’ve never written something like this before.

[Divider by @sweetmelodygraphics ]

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

Your side is stinging terribly, pulsing with every unsteady step.

Your legs fail at mimicking a normal stride, falling back into a limp.

Your hands tremble, defying every command to just stay still.

Your lungs sear with every breath, dragging air like fire down a raw throat.

Your head swims in chaotic loops, spinning with images and echoes you can’t escape.

Your shoulder and back throb from an impact you took earlier, sharp pain shooting up your spine with every jolt of your uneven stride.

The enormity of what just happened refuses to fit neatly into thought.

The sun is not even all up in the sky and your day already took a turn so cruel, you are teetering on the edge of collapse.

You stopped keeping track of time since this whole apocalyptic shit began but it's safe to say that you just lost everything you had in the span of maybe three hours.

You are exhausted. You are tired. You are in fear. You are in shock.

Acknowledging all of that is dangerous right now.

The world feels off-kilter.

Nausea rises again. Though there is nothing left in your stomach. You already emptied it on the forest floor before you stumbled into the trees, desperate to escape.

The acrid taste still lingers at the back of your throat.

The trees around you sway in your periphery, tall shadows painted in moonlight. It’s not the wind that makes them sway. It’s your vision. Branches claw at the sky like the dread claws at your resolve.

Your body is screaming at you to stop and collapse into the dirt, but you know if you let it, you won’t ever stand back up again.

You have to keep going.

You have to press on.

Your world has crumbled into rot and hunger, and all you have left is the instinct to run.

Run and survive.

Whatever that means now.

You have no sense of the distance you’ve put between you and the nightmarish scene you had to leave behind, no measure of the miles your aching legs already crossed.

You don’t know if they are right behind you. If they’re even coming for you.

It was barely dawn when they came.

It wasn’t a warning shot or a distant sound that reached the camp first. No, it was the impact.

The sound of boots trampling through the undergrowth, bodies charging through the trees, wild shapes silhouetted against the rising sun. Barked commands that carried no meaning, only menace.

You had barely time to register what was happening when they were already in the heart of the camp.

They scattered supplies, spilled meager rations into the dirt, kicked apart the fire pit still faintly glowing from the night before when your small group all sat in a circle around it.

With the first scream, violence erupted.

Blades flashed and mocking laughter rang out from all sides as you heard your companions cry out in terror and pain.

They scrambled from their makeshift shelters, some clutching weapons, others still groggy, confused, unarmed. There was no time to gather thoughts, no time to plan. The raiders were already upon you, tearing through tents and slaughtering everyone in their way.

You watched as Caleb lunged for them, but they cut him down before he even reached anybody.

You tried to get little Benjamin to safety but he got ripped away from you in a matter of seconds and you only felt the slash of a knife against your side.

You heard the guttural sobs of Jonna and her wide eyes as she couldn’t tear them off the lifeless body of her husband. You tried to reach her, grabbing her and getting her away but before you could, she got hit and fell. Just like her husband had moments earlier.

The thud of bodies hitting the ground, the clash of metal, the desperate screams of the people you knew and trusted, cutting off as quickly as they began, the splattered blood everywhere across the ground, slick on leaves, staining clothes of people who’d been alive only seconds earlier. Blood that is all over you, painted in your hair, in your face, on your hands-

You heave the bile against a nearby tree.

Your throat burns. The images burn. The memories burn.

The world is already torn apart as it is but they ripped at everything you had fought for.

You were pinned on the ground at one point. Brutally shoved down and the impact took your breath away. However, you were able to move out of the way of the knife that was meant for your face and instead buried into the ground. The surprise of your attacker weakened his hold on you and you were able to flee, but not without taking a few more hits.

Your friends were dead. Everything was destroyed.

So you ran.

You ran, stumbled, fell, scrambled up, and ran again.

You wondered if the raiders stayed to strip your makeshift camp bare or if they followed you. The last one alive. The one that slipped through their grasp.

Or maybe they’ve decided you’re not worth the effort, and your life hangs by nothing but chance.

After all, you feel death knocking on your door. And it will kick it in, hinges breaking and wood splintering if you don’t open it yourself.

But you won’t.

You push on. You will push your body to its breaking point.

Even if your mind shatters way before your body does.

Because you know you will crumble if you allow your thoughts to win over your body.

You just lost everything you had.

Your group was only on the move.

The camp was supposed to be a fleeting thing. A place to catch your breath from traveling. This morning you were all supposed to pack what little you had and keep moving and get closer to the sanctuary you had spoken of. A place you were going to build. A place where no raid, no nightmare, no lifeless beast could touch you.

So, if you had risen earlier, broken down the camp faster, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps your friends - the few people who so graciously took you in almost two years ago - would still be alive.

You don’t even know who the marauders were. They came out of nowhere.

A realization makes your blood run cold.

Something you remembered only now.

The sounds.

You heard it between the screams of your friends at one point. Low, throaty, and too familiar. The kind of sound that makes your pulse rise and pricks the back of your neck.

It was the sound you learned to fear. The sound your world had been drowning in for years now.

The sound of the dead - those shambling remnants of humanity, curses to wander the earth as mindless husks.

You remember the way they started moving so differently than when they came into your camp - some of them sluggish, others unnervingly erratic.

And you begin to wonder. Perhaps they had been bitten before raiding your camp.

And perhaps that’s the reason they came. They knew their time was up. They probably felt the infection eating at them, death clawing closer. Maybe attacking your group was their last violent eruption of humanity, the last thing they did with a conscious mind before they fell to the disease that had already claimed their souls.

They didn’t have anything left to lose. No loved ones to mourn. No future to fight for. Just an empty void ahead. A transformation into something even crueler than the monsters they already were. Perhaps they wanted this last conscious act to mean something. To carve their names into the memory of the world before they became nothing more than rotting corpses, stumbling through the dirt without a single thought in mind.

It makes you sick.

If they wanted to be remembered, they succeeded. You will remember. You will remember the massacre, the destruction, the screams, the wicked laughter that curdled your blood.

You will remember them because the screams of the people you came to love and trust have planted themselves into your chest and they won’t ever leave.

Maybe that’s what they wanted. To leave a mark, no matter how meaningless, no matter how vile. Or maybe they simply wanted to take something beautiful and shred it before they joined the walking rot.

Either way, they are gone now and you are left.

Alone.

You are left alone.

On the way to the one place you never thought your feet would lead you to again.

The one you meant to leave behind. To forget. To never return to. To move on.

Though you have to admit to yourself it never worked as well as you had hoped.

It has been two years since you left.

Two years of telling you to lock those doors with memories you tried to forget for so long.

And now, the thought of going back lets dread curl around your chest. It’s the dread of walking into a place you don’t know if you’re welcome anymore. The dread of facing what you left behind - facing who you left behind.

But there is also a flicker of something else. Something that feels too fragile, too dangerous to name. You tell yourself it’s nothing - just a memory, nostalgia - but you can’t quite smother it.

Because those people were your family once. Before you left, before you found the group you traveled with these last two years, they were your everything. Your friends, your loved ones, your sanctuary.

They were the ones that held you together when the world fell apart, the ones who gave you a purpose in this now purposeless society.

You left them behind to find something that you lost again just earlier.

The new group you had come to call your own, the people you fought beside, laughed with, dreamed with. All gone. Taken from you in a single, brutal morning. By people you couldn’t even take revenge on anymore. By people who aren’t even people anymore.

And you know your new companions never replaced your first family but they were home nonetheless.

But now, you have nowhere else to go but the place you called home first.

Though, would you really be welcome after all this time?

Would they let you in? Would they open their gates and arms for you?

Would he let you in?

Because truly, that is the only question that matters. You know the hearts of the others, know that they would be happy to see you again.

Sam, with his wide toothy grin. He’d throw his arms around you and clap you on the back and tell you something that would make you laugh despite everything.

Steve, with that glint in his eyes. Because he never truly believed you wouldn’t return.

Wanda, with the tears in her gaze. She’d pull you into her embrace, whispering how she’d prayed for this and never given up hope.

Natasha, with her amused smirk. She’d stand a step behind with her arms crossed and tease you that it only took two years for you to miss them enough to lose all the dignity you could hold onto and came back.

And all the others who would greet you with happy smiles and tears and hugs. Because that’s who they are. Who they’ve always been. They are pure love for those they call their own.

And you have been one of them.

Of course, your sight would first be met with concern at your condition, but the joyful reunion would eventually happen. Banner would fuss over you but keep the worry out of his calm hands and voice like the professional he is. Tony would bark orders, his mind already working ten steps ahead. Peter would hover nearby, ready to help, ready to do whatever was needed to put you back together.

You imagine how they would patch you up, make sure you didn’t collapse right there at their feet. They’d press water into your hands, bandage the gashes, stitch the torn skin. They would give you time to breathe, to settle.

A smile almost manages to spread over your lips but the exhaustion in your bones tugs the corners of your mouth back down.

And there is this one person you’re not sure about. What will he do when he sees you? What will he say? Will he say anything at all?

There is a reason you left, after all.

The community you all lived in was a big one with men and women and children and elders all sharing a beautiful and vast space.

You had all agreed on not having a single leader to rule but rather having the few most trusted people who started this whole thing to do councils every so often.

Once, you were one of them.

You would meet up, usually when the night had already started, discussing and making decisions - everything involving supply runs, how to keep the walls protected, how to celebrate a birth or mourn a loss, and so on.

Bucky was a part of that as well.

And that’s where the trouble lay.

You two never really seemed to see each other eye to eye. You would fight and banter - him calling you stubborn and reckless, you calling him pragmatic and intolerant. The disagreements were constant, heated, and sometimes public enough to turn heads and the other council members to end up disappointed and helpless.

It went on like that for years. Though the day it all fell apart will forever live in the cracks of your mind. Guilt never dulls no matter how much distance you put between them and yourself.

It was a supply run. Something that’s been routine by now. A scavenging mission into hostile territory, dangerous but necessary. Food was running low, medicine almost gone.

You were walking through the woods - a sector closer to dead zone, but Bucky and you were both fueled by anger at the other’s stubbornness to pay attention to the little group of people you took with you. They were good at ignoring your bickering.

“We do it my way. Slow, methodical. We’re not losin’ anyone because of some reckless stunt.” His tone was flat. Final.

“I’ve never put anyone in danger, Bucky,” you defended with fire in your voice.

Bucky’s voice was hard. “You charge in without thinkin’, every single time-”

“Yes, and I always do that alone, Barnes. Don’t you think I know the risks? I wouldn’t ask anyone to-”

“Damn it, Y/n,” he cut off, voice sharp. “It’s bad enough that you do it-”

“If we only ever go slow, people will starve. We can’t afford to waste time, Barnes. You want to lose them sitting on your hands instead of taking a risk? That’s on you, not on me.”

Bucky talked lower then, harshly.“That’s not taking a risk, Y/n! That’s fuckin’ suicide.”

The actual mistake was in the silence that followed. No compromise, no meeting of minds. Just the brittle quiet that stretched between you both and the tension that lingered even over the other group members walking with you.

Bucky’s jaw was tight, his steps heavy. Yours were no lighter.

It happened fast. As it always did. One moment, the woods were still, only the crunch of the leaves underfoot and a few insects in bushes and trees surrounding you.

The next, groans split the air, coming from every direction - shadows lurking between trees, their figures misshapen, their eyes empty.

There were too many of them. That was clear from the first breath, but you didn’t have time to process it, to count.

You shouted for the group to move, to break toward the clearing just ahead and they started rushing away until Bucky’s voice rose behind you. His commanding tone seethed in your veins.

“No! Fall back - circle to the ridge!”

But the clearing was closer. The clearing was safer.

So you said as much.

But that’s all the hesitation it took for the dead to gather closer. Close enough.

You lost precious time, precious ground. The damage had already been done.

Two people didn’t make it. Two lives, lost in the spaces between your choices.

The argument that followed was like nothing before. No banter. Not bickering. It was an unfiltered and ugly thing, charged by your guilt and his. Words were thrown, accusations hurled. It was awful.

And when the shouting stopped, there was nothing but silence. Thick. Unbearable.

Neither of you could let go of your anger, your grief, your pride long enough to see that you’d both failed them.

That day something shattered in your connection. Whatever that had been. The tension that always accompanied your relationship. It felt corrosive. Wrong.

And that’s when you made the decision. The decision to leave, that now led you to come back again.

Will he resent you? That thought is a blade that has turned itself dull from too much use, yet it still cuts at you in ways you can’t dodge.

You imagine him standing there, arms crossed, his face as unreadable as it would be stoic, staring at you with the fire that always burned behind his eyes.

Will he even let you step inside? Or will his anger boil over and turn you away, pushing you back into the wilderness you barely even escaped from?

Will he relish in your brokenness, in the way life has stripped you down to your very bones? Will he find satisfaction in seeing you this fragile, this vulnerable, clinging to scraps of pride as your body barely holds itself together? The image of his piercing gaze, not softened by time or mercy, sends a shiver down your spine.

But it also just might be your body starting to give out, you realize when more shivers whack your form.

You push on.

And you wonder. Could there maybe also be relief in those eyes, hidden behind the mask he always wears so well. Relief that you’re still alive, that whatever dark roads you’ve walked since haven’t claimed you completely.

Or would that relief be poisoned by something bitter - the satisfaction not of your survival, but of seeing you humbled, seeing you brought low enough to crawl back to him, back to the home you lied to yourself you were fine living without.

You picture his face shifting. A flicker of something softer crossing his features before he buries it deep. Will it pain him to see the bruises painted across your skin, the blood that’s long since dried on your hands and clothes, the tremble in your limbs while you stand before him like a ghost returned from the grave?

Will he turn you away, disgusted not by your injuries but by the weakness they represent?

You wonder if he’d speak at all. Silence, from him, could be worse than anger. After all, anger means caring. You don’t get angry if you don’t care.

So, perhaps you will be left to fill the empty space with your many regrets and guilty feelings.

Maybe he won’t even look at you. Don’t throw you a single glance, his gaze fixed somewhere distant.

But your conscience can’t help but imagine things.

Because what if he’d feel something he wouldn’t dare admit, not even to himself. That the faintest pull of relief isn’t for the pain you’re in, not for the way life has broken you, but that it is for the simple fact that you’re here, alive, breathing. Maybe that relief would be buried under layers of what he’d felt for you all those years. But it would be there.

Honestly, you don’t think you will ever get an answer to any of those questions. Because you feel your mind start to drift too much. As if the images in your head start to turn into dreams and your body is luring you into sleep to live them out.

You’re giving up.

And you are still not close enough to your old and now only sanctuary despite walking and dragging your frail form for hours and miles on end.

Your head is spinning, images and voices now blurred and upside down and all wrong.

Not even noticing you stopped dragging yourself forward, you start to lean the whole weight of your body against a nearby tree.

The bark is rough against your skin, scraping through fabric, digging into bruises, and tearing them raw. It should hurt. You know it should hurt, but it barely even registers anymore. It’s just another sensation - one more thing slipping away.

Your eyelids droop. They feel so heavy. The forest is shapeless around you, just a mess of color and shadow.

Your breaths come shallow and uneven, lungs forgetting to do their job. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know this is it. This is where you’ll stop, where you’ll finally collapse and leave it all behind.

And the thought somehow isn’t as terrifying anymore. There’s a strange, unfamiliar peace blooming in your chest. You think about how your body would lie here, half-curled in the dirt, skin pale and bloodied, eyes forever closed.

Bucky might find you.

One day he might stumble upon your corpse on the ground. Maybe he’ll kneel beside your lifeless form, the frown on his face deepening, lips pressing into a grim line. Maybe he’ll tell you that he was right. That you were reckless and should have listened. Maybe his voice will tremble just a little.

The bickering you shared will follow you even into death.

The thought makes you want to laugh, but your body is too far gone for that. It’s barely your body anymore. It’s a shell of nothing. The world tilts, spins, then tilts again. You feel yourself begin to let go.

You won’t wake up. Not this time. And somehow, that’s okay. The peace blossoms brighter in your chest, warm and soft, as if the weight of the world is finally lifting.

You lost everything you had. And not even just today. You lost it two years ago when you decided it was the best to leave your home.

Your eyes slip shut and you don’t try to press them back open again. Your body is slumping to the ground, bark scraping against you, the ground rushing closer. The cold earth is pressed against your face. Your breath falters and slows.

Your body feels dead by now but your mind still blinks with awareness. And funnily enough, it can’t seem to let go of Bucky. His sharp face. His strong voice, the cadence of it so deeply carved into your memory that it echoes so clearly as if he were sitting right beside you.

“Y/n!”

“Shit, Y/n!”

It calls your name. The sound so urgent and frantic, it pulls you back for a fleeting second, though you are sure none of your muscles even twitch.

You are actually impressed with yourself. His voice sounds so real, so vivid. How is your mind able to conjure something so precise on the verge of unraveling completely? It’s him, down to the inflection, the roughness, the bite.

But you know it isn’t really him. That wouldn’t make any sense. Your mind is exaggerating. You’ve blown the image of him out of proportion, dressed him in a panic he wouldn’t wear for you, not for this.

If he found you like this - broken, slumped, slipping away - perhaps his voice wouldn’t even crack.

The day you said your goodbyes, Bucky wasn’t even there with the others. He wasn’t there when you hugged Sam, his arms lingering around you. Not when Steve couldn’t evoke a smile that wasn’t tight or sad. Not when Wanda touched your cheek with shaking fingers, her tearful eyes searching you for a reason to make you stay and telling you you’d always be welcome to come back home. Not when Natasha ordered you, not to get yourself killed out there, what was a little too late now.

You didn’t really expect him to come. Actually, it was better this way, you had thought. Cleaner. No last harsh words, no heated standoff, no last-minute chance for him to dig deep again.

Some stubborn, foolish part of you had hoped of course.

But that was when you saw him as you made your way to the gates.

He stood at the edge of the grounds you were about to leave behind, hidden in the shadows of bushes and trees. His arms were crossed over his chest, his figure rigid, his face set in stone.

You willed not to let your heart clench, but it did. You told yourself he was just there for a final gloat, some grim satisfaction in watching you go. In seeing you lose.

But his eyes held yours. So unwavering and intense. It burned through you. His features were dark, but also, he did stand covered in shadows. However, there was no smirk, no triumph, no venomous parting shot.

But he didn’t move. He didn’t step forward, didn’t say a single thing. He didn’t do anything but hold your gaze as if daring you to be the one to break it.

And you did.

You had a new life to attend to.

And you didn’t look back when leaving.

Still, you felt the burn of his eyes on you, so much more intense than ever before.

You guessed he dropped that stoic, seemingly unhappy mask the moment you were out of sight. Maybe he even threw a silent celebration, relieved to finally be free of you, of the friction you brought into his life.

But the small annoying voice in the back of your mind whispered something else. Something that actually made you consider turning back around before you got ahold of yourself again.

It told you that maybe his expression had stayed dark long after you were gone. That maybe his gaze lingered on the empty path where you’d disappeared. That maybe his arms stayed crossed, not to shield himself from the cold but to stop himself from reaching out.

And your brain now doesn’t seem to have any doubts either because you might actually feel hands shaking you, gripping your face. There weren’t many times when you came in contact with Bucky’s hands, and only fleeting and unintentional, so you don’t know if your conscience got the feeling of his hands on you right but you relish it anyway.

You hope he’d worry. You hope so much. Why, you don’t even know. It’s not like it matters anymore. But you need him to worry.

You need him to feel something sharp, something visceral. You need the cracks in his stoic armor to show and your name on his lips to sound like a prayer instead of a reprimand.

“Stay with me, Y/n! Come on!” It’s a snarl and a plea at the same time.

His voice is pulling you back - or maybe it’s pulling you under. You can’t really tell the difference. It is the kind of sound that is too rough to be tender, too desperate to be cruel.

His voice gnaws at something in your awareness, steering something deep in your bones.

Hell, your dying brain is doing a hella good job.

The world shifts again. Or maybe it’s you who shifts. The sharp bark of the tree is gone suddenly, as though the earth has abandoned you. Or perhaps your body just lost any kind of sensation, because there is nothing solid beneath you anymore. The ground is gone.

Free fall grips your stomach for a second, and panic sparks weakly in the recesses of your mind. But before the fear can take root, you feel something else. Something warm.

Not the feverish heat that’s been chewing at your skin for hours. Not the sticky warmth of blood still drying against your ribs.

No, this is something different. Hard, but not unkind. Solid, but not unforgiving. It presses against your body, and for the first time in what feels like days, it doesn’t hurt.

You don’t know what is happening. You only know you want more of it. Tilting your head as best as it would go, you lean into it as much as your useless limbs allow, seeking that warmth like it’s the only thing keeping you from succumbing to nothingness.

And then the pieces click together.

You’re being carried.

There is an arm under your legs, another braced firmly around your back. The grip is strong but it is trembling faintly against you.

You are cradled against something warm, something alive. And there is a pounding against your ear that is way too rapid to seem healthy.

None of this makes sense, not really, but the sensation of movement - the sway and jolt of steps, hurried but careful - tells you that you’re not imagining this.

Someone has you. Someone’s carrying you.

Your battered mind, of course, latches onto Bucky again.

Your brain shapes the thought of him so effortlessly. Some part of you knew it could only ever be him. You picture his face, sharp and shadowed, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark and heavy with something you don’t dare name.

“Damn it, stay with me! Stay awake!”

Is this him saying that? Or is this your mind still indulging in the vivid fantasies from before? Perhaps this wasn’t your mind all along. Perhaps all of this wasn’t a fantasy of your brain. This was him.

You feel the tight hold with which he is gripping you, how it feels less like he is carrying you and more like he’s keeping you from slipping away entirely.

It doesn’t seem like the Bucky you knew. The one who looked at you with barely concealed irritation, who argued with you until you were both red-faced and seething.

But then again, maybe it does. Maybe this is the same man, stripped bare of all his armor, his stoic resolve fractured like you had imagined. Maybe this is what he looks like when he doesn’t have time to mask the cracks.

The thought makes your chest ache. Or maybe that’s just your ribs - stabbed, bruised, barely functional. You can’t tell anymore.

You want to open your eyes, to confirm what you already know, but your eyelids are heavy, unwilling.

You want to reach for him, to feel with your hands that his worry really is your reality and not all in your head, but your arms hang limply at your sides. Useless.

But your face is pressed against his shoulder. The speeding throbbing of what you assume to be his heart is still in your ear and it makes this so much more real.

“Don’t you dare die on me now, Y/n! Not after this.” His ragged words send swaying currents through the still waters of your fading consciousness. “Not like that! Not after I’ve been looking for you for two damn years!”

Wait.

What?

The words ring like a bell, too loud, too pronounced. You feel yourself struggling with comprehending the meaning of this but the shock still rushes up your spine.

Bucky was looking for you. He didn’t celebrate your departure. He came after you.

You left two years ago. Bucky started searching for you two years ago.

“I should’ve stopped you. Fuck, I should have stopped you. I never should’ve let you leave.” His voice is a single crack. So much remorse seeping into his tone, it even latches onto your chest.

“God I’m so sorry I let you leave. I’m so sorry for everything, Y/n! There’s so much I gotta tell you. So much I gotta make right. So you don’t get to do this, alright? You don’t get to die on me!”

His voice doesn’t sound like him at all. The Bucky you remember used measured words, calculated, controlled. Doubt again creeps in that this really is real and not just your mind all up in shambles. Because there is so much pain in his voice. Pain you never saw inflicted in anything he did. Or said. Not to you at least.

Your body jolts in his grip, caused by his hands. He might have tried to shake some life back into you but his hands don’t stop shaking. They are trembling so heavily, as if he’s terrified you’re going to slip through his grasp at any second. As if you’re going to die in his arms. Maybe you will.

“You’re staying with me, you hear me?” he continues, low voice filled with gravel, so wild and anguished. “There’s so much I need to tell you. So much I need to say. But I can’t-” his voice gives out and you basically hear him trying to hold himself together. His breaths are uneven and broken. “I can’t do it like this. No, not like that. So you gotta pull through. You can’t leave me before I get the chance to tell you. Can’t die on me now that I’ve finally fucking found you. You can’t, Y/n! Please! Stay with me. Just stay.”

You try to open your eyes. Try to let your fingers twitch. Try to open your mouth. But there’s nothing.

You can’t tell him that you’re trying. You can’t tell him that you want to hear what he has to say. Can’t tell him that you’re clinging to his every word. Can’t tell him that you’re fading away.

Only a broken exhale slips through.

His arms tighten, pulling you impossibly closer.

He’s pushing himself. His muscles strain and coil, his body still trembles against you. His voice is breathless and full of despair..

“Stay awake! Look at me. Just- please open your eyes. Just for a second. I need to see them. Need to know you’re still in there, okay?” His words are torn, pulled apart, and put together in a desperate attempt. Tears fill his voice. “You always had to prove me wrong, so do it again. Fight. Fight, Y/n! Please!”

Bucky makes it sound like it could actually be easy. But unfortunately, it’s not. His voice is more distant now. Perhaps it’s giving out. Perhaps it’s the hope that leaves him, taking his voice.

Yet, you’re trying to hold onto it. You’re trying so much.

If he says more, you don’t catch it. You don’t catch anything anymore. You think you might be okay with that. Because even if this isn’t real - even if this is all just a fever dream conjured by a dying mind - you think it’s a good way to go.

Sheltered in warmth. In motion. In the arms of the one person you never thought would come for you.

[rockspider556]

Batfam Headcanon #1

So Bruce Wayne gets injured—badly enough that he can’t just limp back to the Batcave with Alfred threatening to sedate him whilst yelling about self-care. No, this time the doctors insist he stay at the hospital. Superman and Wonder Woman, thinking they’re his only friends, decide to visit.

When they ask for Bruce’s room number at front desk, the nurse just looks at them and says, “there’s more of you?!”

They exchange deeply confused but mildly concerned glances before heading to the room. Clark, because he’s Clark, peeks inside with his X-ray vision and immediately stops in his tracks.

Diana frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Clark whispers, “There’s, uh… eight people in there.”

Diana’s eyebrows knit together. “Eight? More than Alfred?”

Clark just gestures for her to look, so they walk in—only to be greeted by absolute anarchy.

Bruce is in bed, looking murderously annoyed but utterly incapable of escaping, because there’s a riot happening around him.

Dick is perched on the bed’s edge, grinning as he tries to convince Bruce to eat his horrifically over-baked “Get Well Soon” cookies. (“C’mon, B, they’ve got sentimental value! You can’t taste failure; you can only feel love.”)

Tim and Damian are engaged full-blown war over Uno rules, with Bruce’s lap being used as their playing surface. Damian is glaring daggers while Tim smugly draws a card. (“‘Draw Four’ is illegal there, you demon.” “You’re just bitter because you’re losing, Drake!”)

Jason is standing at the foot of his bed, loudly reading Bruce’s medical chart like it’s a stand-up routine. (“Oh, wow, Bruce. Says here you’re allergic to rest. Oh, and look—‘Patient struggles with a superiority complex and a martyr complex, both incurable.’ Fascinating”)

Steph is perched on the edge of Bruce’s bed, enthusiastically eating his hospital pudding while loudly complaining about how terrible it is. (“Honestly, B, are you sure you can’t get discharged? This food is a human rights violation.”)

Barbara is sitting at the head of Bruce’s bed, her tablet perched on her lap. She’s rewired the hospital TV so it’s running security footage from the Watchtower.

Cass is perched on the arm of Barbara’s chair, alternating between watching the Uno chaos and holding up handmade cards she’s brought for Bruce. Each one has a single-word message, like REST or STOP DYING, in bold marker and glitter. Every time Bruce sighs too loudly, she silently holds up another one that says, DRINK WATER.

Duke is sitting next to Bruce, smiling mildly, scrolling through his phone. He’s the only one looking like he’s got some semblance of peace in his life.

Alfred is standing against the wall, arms folded behind his back, the epitome of British disapproval. He’s wearing his usual long-suffering yet fond expression.

Clark and Diana stand in the doorway, completely frozen.

Diana finally breaks the silence. “He… has children?”

“No,” Clark says slowly, taking in the chaotic scene. “He has a cult.”

In the middle of all this, Bruce catches their stunned expressions and deadpans, “Don’t. Ask.”

Dick waves at them cheerfully. “Oh, hey! You must be Bruce’s work friends!”

Clark and Diana end up staying, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else. By the time they leave, Diana is still trying to understand how Bruce hides an entire army of chaos gremlins under the radar, while Clark is absolutely delighted at the opertunity to mock Mr “I work alone”

Because of course the Dark Knight is actually just an overworked single dad with a very noisy household.

[lilbabypanda-blog2]

Phainon x (fem)reader (5)

Part1 Part2 Part3 Part4 Part5

The trio followed the riverside, the water shimmering faintly with an otherworldly glow. Despite the beauty of their surroundings, the dynamic between them remained as lively—and chaotic—as ever.

“Would you look at that?” Y/N said, stopping to admire the bioluminescent moss creeping along the rocks near the riverbank. She crouched down, running her fingers gently over the glowing surface. “It’s so soft! And warm, too. This place is incredible.”

“Right?” Phainon said, crouching beside her, his face lighting up just as much as the moss. “Do you think it’s, like, magical? Or maybe it’s alive! Oh, what if it’s some kind of ancient ecosystem—”

“Or what if we keep moving,” Mydei interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he stomped past them. “You know, like we’re supposed to? In case you forgot, we’re tracking thieves, not auditioning for a nature documentary.”

“Oh, come on, Mydei,” Y/N said, standing up with a grin. “You can’t tell me this place isn’t a little amazing. Look at it! It’s like something out of a dream.”

Mydei cast a bored glance at the glowing moss, the glistening water, and the towering ruins around them. “Wow. A glowy rock. Truly groundbreaking.”

“You’re hopeless,” Y/N said, shaking her head.

“Hey,” Phainon chimed in, walking backward beside her as they resumed their trek. “Don’t be too hard on him, Y/N. Mydei’s just jealous he doesn’t appreciate the finer things in life. Like moss. And friendship.”

“Friendship?” Mydei echoed, shooting him a flat look. “I’m this close to leaving you in this ruin.”

Y/N laughed, glancing at Phainon. “Careful, Phainon. You might push him over the edge.”

“Good,” Mydei muttered. “At least then I’d have some peace.”

As they continued along the riverbank, Phainon suddenly stopped and pointed ahead. “Wait! Look there—on the ground! Are those… traces?”

Y/N immediately moved to inspect the muddy ground, her eyes narrowing as she studied the faint traces. “They’re fresh,” she confirmed, brushing her fingers over the marks. “ The thieves must’ve come this way.”

“Finally, some progress,” Mydei said, his tone more relieved than annoyed for once. “Let’s move before we lose the trail again.”

Phainon peered down at the prints, his expression thoughtful. “You know… this probably means we’re catching up to them.”

“Brilliant deduction, Phainon,” Mydei said dryly, already walking ahead. “I’m sure that’s why you’re here. For your razor-sharp intellect.”

“Hey!” Phainon called after him, putting his hands on his hips. “I’ll have you know I’m very smart! Y/N thinks so—don’t you, Y/N?”

Y/N looked up from the traces, her lips twitching in amusement. “Sure, Phainon. You’re the brains of the operation.”

“See?” Phainon said triumphantly, gesturing toward Y/N. “She gets it.”

“Yeah,” Mydei muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the river. “Because you’re so subtle about wanting her approval.”

Phainon blinked, his cheeks tinting pink. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he stammered, glancing nervously at Y/N, who was thankfully too focused on the trail to notice.

“Of course you don’t,” Mydei said, smirking as he continued walking. “It’s not like you’ve been trailing her like a lovesick puppy since we got here.”

“I—!” Phainon spluttered, his face growing redder. “I’m not a puppy! And I’m definitely not lovesick!”

“Sure,” Mydei said, his smirk widening. “Whatever you say.”

Y/N, oblivious to their exchange, stood up and dusted off her hands. “The trail leads toward the ruins up ahead. Let’s pick up the pace.”

Phainon immediately straightened, his usual grin snapping back into place. “Right! Let’s go. Lead the way, fearless leader!”

Mydei groaned audibly. “Oh, for the love of… Just try not to trip over anything this time, Phainon.”

“I don’t trip!” Phainon shot back, puffing out his chest.

“You trip constantly,” Mydei said flatly.

“Name one time!”

“The vine,” Mydei said immediately.

“That doesn’t count!”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head as the three of them continued down the trail, the sound of their voices echoing through the ruins. The chase was on, but the chaos was far from over.

The group walked further along the winding riverside, the ruins growing more intricate with every step. Stone pillars lined the path, their carvings faded but still awe-inspiring. Y/N and Phainon, however, seemed more interested in entertaining themselves than marveling at the architecture—or staying serious about their mission.

“Okay, but hear me out,” Phainon said, barely able to contain his laughter. “If you had to name this moss, what would you call it?”

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to consider the glowing moss clinging to the nearby stones. “Hmm… probably something dramatic. Like… Radiant Glowmoss.”

Phainon gasped, his eyes wide with mock admiration. “Radiant Glowmoss?! That’s perfect! It’s so regal—just like you!”

“Aw, Phainon,” Y/N said with a grin. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Ugh, please stop,” Mydei groaned from up ahead, dragging a hand down his face. “We’re in the middle of a literal chase, and you’re naming moss. I can’t believe this is my life.”

Phainon leaned closer to Y/N, whispering loud enough for Mydei to hear, “He’s just mad he didn’t think of Radiant Glowmoss first.”

“Obviously,” Y/N whispered back with an exaggerated nod.

“I heard that,” Mydei deadpanned, not bothering to look back.

Phainon straightened up and grinned. “Good! Maybe you’ll finally admit you’re jealous of our superior creativity.”

“Oh, I’m jealous, all right,” Mydei said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Jealous of the brain cells you two clearly left behind when we entered these ruins.”

“Don’t listen to him, Phainon,” Y/N said, patting Phainon’s shoulder. “We’re visionaries. He just doesn’t get it.”

“Exactly!” Phainon said, puffing out his chest like he’d just been knighted.

Mydei stopped walking and turned to face them, his expression one of pure, unfiltered exasperation. “Visionaries? Really? You’re laughing about moss and whispering like schoolchildren, and I’m supposed to take you seriously?” He pointed at them accusingly. “Do you even remember why we’re here?”

Y/N and Phainon exchanged a look, barely able to contain their laughter.

“To… catch thieves?” Y/N said, her voice laced with playful innocence.

“Obviously,” Phainon added, raising his hands like that should’ve been clear all along.

“Then act like it!” Mydei snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re tracking dangerous criminals, not wandering through a garden on a field trip!”

Phainon tilted his head, his grin widening. “But wouldn’t this make an amazing field trip, though? Just imagine it—‘Welcome to the Glowing Ruins of Radiant Glowmoss!’” He gestured dramatically, like a tour guide presenting an exhibit.

Y/N burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Stop, you’re going to make me fall over.”

“I might fall over, too!” Phainon said, joining in her laughter.

Mydei stared at them for a long moment, his expression blank as if his soul had officially left his body. Then, with a sigh so heavy it might have cracked the stone ruins, he turned on his heel and kept walking.

“Fine,” he muttered. “When the thieves ambush us, I’ll just let them take you both. See if they enjoy your comedy routine.”

“You wouldn’t!” Phainon called after him, still grinning.

“Try me,” Mydei shot back without turning around.

“Aw, come on, Mydei!” Y/N said, jogging to catch up with him, her laughter still fading. “You know you’d miss us.”

“I’d miss the silence,” Mydei muttered, though his lips twitched like he was holding back a smirk.

Phainon ran up beside Y/N, still chuckling. “Admit it, Mydei—you love us.”

“If it’ll shut you up, sure,” Mydei said flatly, shaking his head.

As the group moved deeper into the ruins, their footsteps echoed alongside the sound of Phainon’s cheerful banter, Y/N’s occasional giggles, and Mydei’s exasperated sighs.

__________

Tribbie darted through the ruins, her small frame weaving around broken columns and overgrown vines. The sound of her hurried footsteps echoed in the silence, but she didn’t slow down—not when her friends needed her.

She finally spotted Dan Heng and Trailblazer in the distance, standing near an ancient stone archway. Dan Heng was examining some faded carvings on the wall, his expression calm but focused, while Trailblazer leaned casually against the arch, arms crossed, watching him.

“Hey!” Tribbie called out, her voice carrying through the ruins.

Both of them turned at the sound of her voice. Dan Heng lowered his hand from the carvings, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly in concern. Trailblazer straightened up, their casual stance shifting into readiness.

“Tribbie?” Trailblazer asked as she approached, slightly out of breath. “What’s going on?”

Tribbie stopped a few feet in front of them, placing her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “It’s Y/N. She… she fell into a pit.”

Dan Heng’s brows furrowed immediately. “What?”

“A pit?” Trailblazer repeated, their voice laced with alarm.

Tribbie nodded, her blue eyes wide. “Yeah, we were following those weird traces, and she was examining something. The ground gave way, and she just—” Tribbie mimed falling with her hands, her face serious. “—went straight down. Mydei and Phainon tried to stop her, but it all happened too fast.”

Dan Heng’s jaw tightened. “How deep?”

“Really deep,” Tribbie said grimly. “I couldn’t see the bottom. Mydei and Phainon stayed behind—they were trying to figure out how to get to her. But I thought it’d be faster if I came to find you.”

Trailblazer exchanged a glance with Dan Heng. “And you don’t know if she’s okay?”

Tribbie shook her head. “No idea. But Mydei and Phainon seemed sure she’d be fine......., so that’s something, right?”

Dan Heng gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. “You did the right thing coming to us. We’ll need to move quickly.”

Tribbie straightened up, determination written all over her face. “I figured you’d say that. Let’s go!”

Trailblazer placed a hand on Tribbie’s shoulder as they began walking. “You’re sure they stayed at the pit?”

“They did,” Tribbie confirmed. “Phainon was already trying to come up with some grand plan when I left. And Mydei… well, he was trying to keep Phainon from doing anything too reckless.”

Dan Heng sighed softly. “That sounds about right.”

Tribbie gave a small smile. “Yeah. But still, I think they’ve got it under control—for now. We just need to get there as fast as possible.”

Trailblazer nodded, quickening their pace. “Then let’s not waste any time.”

As they made their way through the ruins, Tribbie kept quiet, her usual cheerful demeanor tempered by the seriousness of the situation. But deep down, she felt confident. They’d find Y/N, and everything would be fine. It had to be.

Tribbie led Dan Heng and Trailblazer into the temple-like room, her steps quick and anxious. The moment they entered, the atmosphere shifted. The air felt heavier, damp with an earthy smell, and faint streams of light filtered in through cracks in the stone ceiling. Their gazes were immediately drawn to the massive pit in the center of the room—its jagged edges proof of where Y/N had fallen earlier.

But something else stood out, or rather, the absence of something.

“They’re not here,” Dan Heng said sharply, scanning the room.

Tribbie blinked, turning in a quick circle. “What?!” She rushed toward the pit, her blue eyes darting to the empty edges where Phainon and Mydei were supposed to have been waiting. “No, no, they have to be here! I told them to stay behind!”

Trailblazer frowned, stepping closer to the pit as well. “Maybe they went after her,” they offered, their voice calm but tinged with worry.

Tribbie gritted her teeth. “But why would they just leave without saying anything? They knew I was bringing help!”

Dan Heng was already analyzing the room, his sharp gaze moving from the pit to the surrounding walls, looking for any signs of movement. “They might not have left on their own,” he said quietly. “But let’s confirm something first.”

Trailblazer knelt near the edge of the pit, peering into the darkness below. “You can’t see anything down there,” they murmured, picking up a loose rock from the ground. “Let’s find out how deep it is.”

Before anyone could stop them, Trailblazer lobbed the rock into the pit. They leaned forward, ears straining as it fell. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, the sound of the rock vanishing into the void. Then, after a long pause, the faint splash of water echoed back to them.

Tribbie’s breath hitched. “Water?”

“It’s a long fall,” Trailblazer muttered, standing up and brushing their hands off. “There’s definitely water down there. They must’ve fallen into it.”

“Or they jumped in,” Dan Heng added, his arms crossed. His sharp gaze fixed on Trailblazer, who had already started unfastening their coat.

“What are you doing?” Dan Heng asked, his tone even but firm.

“I’m jumping down to check,” Trailblazer said simply, shrugging off their coat.

Dan Heng stepped forward and grabbed the back of their shirt before they could move. “You’re not jumping in,” he said flatly.

Trailblazer turned to glare at him. “Why not? There’s water at the bottom. I’ll be fine.”

Dan Heng narrowed his eyes. “Because if you jump in, how do you plan to get back out? Or bring anyone else up? If all of us end up down there, we’ll be stuck with no way out.”

Tribbie raised a hesitant hand. “He… uh, he has a point,” she offered.

Trailblazer sighed in frustration but didn’t try to break free from Dan Heng’s grip. “So, what’s the plan, then? Just leave them down there?”

Dan Heng shook his head. “No. We’ll figure out a way to get everyone back up later. But for now, we should focus on finding a way to help them when we’re better prepared. We can’t act recklessly.”

Tribbie nodded quickly. “Right. And if Phainon and Mydei aren’t here, they probably went down after Y/N. We can assume they’re all together. They’re resourceful; they’ll figure something out until we can get to them.”

Trailblazer huffed but relented, folding their arms. “Fine. But we need to move fast.”

Dan Heng glanced around the room, his expression calculating. “If this pit is connected to other parts of the ruins, there’s a chance we can find another way down. We just need to follow the traces left behind.”

Tribbie frowned, scanning the floor. “Traces? What traces? It’s not like Phainon and Mydei left a trail of breadcrumbs or something.”

Dan Heng gestured to faint scuff marks near the edge of the pit. “Look closer. Someone was here. These marks suggest movement—possibly when they entered the pit. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

“So they did jump in,” Trailblazer muttered, glancing back at the dark hole.

“Likely,” Dan Heng replied. “But if they were able to survive, so can we—if we approach this carefully.”

Tribbie let out a deep breath, her fists clenched at her sides. “Alright. Let’s find another way to them. I don’t care if it takes all day. We’re getting them back.”

Dan Heng nodded in agreement, and the trio turned their focus back to the room, searching for an alternative route to reach their companions below.

_______________________________________

That's them btw:

[chrissturnsfav]

singer!reader and rapper!chris going out in public for the first time as a couple 🙏🏻

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris and singer!reader go out after announcing their relationship

the moment you step out of the sleek black escalade, a wave of flashing lights explodes in your face, blinding and relentless.

your hand tightens around chris' as your heels hit the pavement, instinctively seeking reassurance in his presence. he’s calm, or at least he looks it—a towering, cocky figure in his signature oversized fresh love hoodie and chain glinting under the relentless camera flashes.

but even his steady energy doesn’t make the chaos any less overwhelming.

the paparazzi are like a storm, shouting questions, calling your name, calling his name. they surge closer, despite the burly bodyguards who form a human barricade around you.

"chris! look over here!"

"are you two moving in together?"

"how does it feel to finally go public?"

their voices are a chaotic blur, jabbing and prodding with every invasive question. you feel chris start to stiffen beside you, his towering frame cutting through the chaos like a wall, but even he can’t ignore how relentless they’re being.

you're both used to this, living in the fame, being bombarded by paparazzi and invasive questions. but this time it's different, both of you have never been so viciously swarmed.

“back up!” one of the bodyguards barks, his arms spread wide, but it barely makes a dent. a camera flashes inches from your face, and you flinch instinctively, your free hand darting to adjust your sunglasses.

chris’s hand tightens around yours, his grip almost too firm now, and you can feel the frustration radiating off him like heat beneath the confident front he puts up. “yo, chill!” he snaps at the crowd, his voice deep and cutting through the noise.

the shouting doesn’t stop, though. if anything, it grows louder. they’re not just taking pictures—they’re circling, pressing, trying to get closer. one of them stumbles into the bodyguard’s arm, and that’s when chris loses it.

“yo, BACK UP!” he bellows, his voice booming above the chaos. the air seems to shift. the crowd pauses for a fraction of a second before surging forward again, emboldened by his reaction.

his jaw clenches, and he pulls you tighter to him, his protective arm curling around your shoulders. you can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back. “fuckin' relax!” he shouts again, his voice sharper now, almost furious.

part of you wants to tug him toward the safety of the restaurant doors out of anxiety, but another part is relieved he’s standing his ground. you glance up at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“chris,” you murmur anxiously, just loud enough for him to hear.

his gaze snaps to yours, his features softening instantly. he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head as if to clear it. “i gotchu,” he mutters, his tone quieter but still edged with frustration. at his words, you grow a bit calmer and you believe him. you always do.

chris squeezes your hand again, his grip firm and grounding. he doesn’t let go, not even when someone shouts something crude about your shimmery mini skirt, not even when you falter slightly on the curb.

finally, the heavy doors of the upscale restaurant swing open, and the noise dims, replaced by the cool hum of ritzy music and polite conversation.

chris lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and you can’t help but laugh—quiet, nervous, but real.

he glances at you as he tugs you along to make his way up to the hostess podium, his brows furrowed, "what?" he murmurs, a small chuckle leaving his lips at your laughter.

you shake your head, snickering as you speak over the chatter, "just never been swarmed so bad like that before."

chris smirks cockily down at you, leaning down to speak in your ear, "get used t'it."

thank you for reading! <3

@chrissturnsfav ™

[gliphyartfan]

Hellooo, can I apply to the Chain with a human reader that have cuteness aggression? Like get excited because they think they are so cute, it bites them, stuffs their face with kisses unexpectedly and that sort of thing. Sorry for my bad english

Oooh nice nice nice~! Let’s see~

—————

Reader is just out here loving on the Chain and expressing their adoration in the most chaotic, wholesome ways, and the guys… are definitely not prepared for it.

-Time-

Time is always a bit stoic, so when they grab his face and squish his cheeks because he’s ‘too cute for his own good~!’ he doesn’t know what hit him.

Since he’s already fond of and trusts them, he eventually relaxes in their hands.

(You know that meme of the cheetah startled before relaxing into a person’s hands? That’s exactly what he’d do!)

He’d be flustered but would try to hide it, especially when they bury their face into his chest or arms and mutter about how adorably grumpy he looks when he’s focused.

It takes him some time to understand that their cuteness aggression is how they express love, but once he gets it, he secretly loves it.

He’d definitely let out a deep chuckle eventually, he can’t resist when Reader is being so sincere and genuine and quietly say “You’re ridiculous…” while patting their head to hide his fondness.

-Twilight-

Twilight would be completely baffled the first time they tackle hugged him and started ruffling his hair because he was “too cute to handle.”

He’s used to being seen as the tough, capable one, so their sudden bursts of affection leave him utterly confused.

If he’s in wolf form? Forget it. Their squeals and petting sessions would have him rolling his eyes—but secretly wagging his tail.

Over time, he starts leaning into it. If they’re going to smother him in kisses, he might as well tease them about it, right?

Also, if they try to hug him by running and jumping at him, he’ll just pluck them out of the air like they weigh as much as a paper ball.

-Sky-

Sky would absolutely melt under their aggressive affection.

When they cup his face and pepper kisses all over, he turns into a blushing mess.

Every time they call him “too adorable for his own good,” squish his cheeks, or hug him unexpectedly, it catches him off guard.

He doesn’t really know how to react beyond stammering and smiling shyly, but deep down, he loves every second of it.

Over time, he starts looking forward to the way they tackle hug him out of nowhere, it’s become a source of comfort for him.

-Legend-

The first time they bit his arm after calling him “too cute to handle.” he gave them the most incredulous look and blurted, “Did you just bite me?!”

Legend would be absolutely mortified at first. He’d stiffen up like a board, his face completely red, when they start squeezing him or kissing him.

He’d grumble, “Stop that! I’m not a dog!” every time they squish his cheeks or call him “precious” (even though we all know he’s a sweetheart).

The faint blush on his face always betrays how much he secretly enjoys it.

Eventually, Legend starts letting his guard down, and they’ll catch him actually leaning into their hugs. (But if they point it out, he’ll huff, and they’ll risk overloading on cuteness and biting him again, thus restarting the loop.)

-Four-

Four would be thoroughly confused the first time they tackle hugged him out of nowhere, mumbling about how ‘precious’ he is.

If they ever bit his arm or squished his cheeks, he’d blink at them like ‘…Are you okay?’before blushing like crazy.

Red would adore the attention and immediately reciprocate. Blue would roll his eyes but secretly lean into it. Vio would analyze it with mild amusement, and Green would try to keep things balanced.

Over time, Four gets used to their affectionate antics and even starts initiating hugs when he needs them.

-Warriors-

Warriors is used to being admired, but their sudden, intense displays of affection still catch him off guard.

The first time they squish his face and call him ‘the cutest knight ever~’ he’s rendered speechless. He tries to act suave, but his blush gives him away.

Of course, he’d joke about them being ‘overwhelmed by his dashing good looks.’ but secretly, it melts his heart.

Actually he’d be rather blushing when they gush over him when he charms a merchant or person who’s being difficult when they are asking around for info.

‘Look at that mischievous smile! Just look at it! I bet you didn’t even TRY to charm them! You just did!’

I mean, he’s used to compliments on his face but being complimented when he chooses to be mischievous? That’s definitely gonna make him blush!

Once, they bit his arm lightly out of sheer excitement, saying, “You’re just so perfect, it’s not faaair!” He stared at them for a long moment before grinning smugly. “Guess you can’t resist me, huh?”

-Wild-

Wild doesn’t even question their sudden outbursts of affection. When they call him cute while aggressively squishing his cheeks, he just smirks and says “I know.”

If they could, fhey’d tackle him midcooking, exclaiming “Look at you, being all talented and precious!”

….. But they won’t cause, ya know…cooking safety is important but they’d be vibrating in their seat waiting for him to step away from the cooking pot. After enough times of doing this, he’ll pretend to roll his eyes, hold out his arms and let them tackle him to the ground, but he secretly loves the attention.

If they bite his arm or shoulder in excitement, he’ll bite them back, laughing when they squawk in surprise. “What? You started it.”

If they’re relentless with their affection, he’ll eventually scoop them up and smother them with kisses until they’re the one flustered and speechless.

-Hyrule-

Hyrule would be so confused and flustered by their cuteness aggression at first. They squish his cheeks and call him “the most precious little hero.” and he just stammers, “Uh… thank..you?”

He’s not used to this kind of attention, so he’s shy and unsure of how to respond initially.

Once he warms up to it, he might start seeking out their affection, ya know like sitting closer or looking at them with expectation when he does something he think would impress them.

If they ever bite his arm or ruffle his hair in excitement, he’d laugh nervously and blush, but he wouldn’t push them away.

-Wind-

Wind would act like he hates it, but it’s all a front.

The moment they call him cute or squish his face, he yells, “Quit it!” while secretly loving every second of it. He’d huff, but then get pouty if they stopped.

If they give him surprise kisses, he’ll freeze for a second before trying to fluster them instead.

If they pinch his cheeks, though, he’ll definitely pinch theirs back, leading to a chase around camp filled with laughter.

At the end of the day, Wind casually leans against them, waiting for his squishes and kisses but he’ll ask like it’s his torture and be all huff and be like. “Alright, I’m here. Do your thing.’

Like any budding teen who pretends not to enjoy when they are given affection, he’ll accept his inevitable fate.