#where he's on the rooftops like when he's training it's like a reminder of what he's training for and the night before he leaves

[t-u-i-t-c]

"My... Wheel..."

[fromdove]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⁞ 𝓓ICK 𝓖RAYSON ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝓦HEN 𝓗E'S 𝓘N 𝓛OVE 𝓗EADCANONS !

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨୧

— dick grayson when he's in love hcs ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

— dick grayson x fem!reader ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

— count how many times I said "like"..... ⊹ ࣪ ˖

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

⤷ he teases you a lot. like. annoying. if you mispronounce a word one (1) time you will never hear the end of it. he’ll bring it up three weeks later like “remember when you said ‘sherbert’ instead of ‘sherbet’ lol dumbass” and you’re like i know where you sleep

⤷ he likes watching you do mundane things. like tying your shoes. or flipping pages. or brushing your teeth. “you always do that little pause before you spit. it’s cute.” <- what are you even supposed to do with that.

⤷ will Not. let you walk on the curb side of the street. ever. like you’ll try and he’ll do that quiet sidestep-switch like no. no. i’m the buffer between you and the world. get behind me baby i’m trained in 47 types of combat

⤷ you sneeze once. ONCE. uno. one. 1 !!!! time. and suddenly he’s Googling “early signs of pneumonia” and wrapping you in three blankets like you’re in an igloo.

⤷ he’s not subtle. not even a little. he’s grinning all the time. like you’re his little secret. except you’re not. because everyone knows. because he talks about you constantly and doesn’t realise it. like someone asks “what do you think of this sandwich place?” and he’s like “oh my partner hates pickles” and you’re like. ok???? who asked???????

⤷ texts like. really badly. "on my way" / "u good?" / "?" / “home safe?” / “did you eat?” / “also here’s a stray cat i found near the precinct it made me think of you bc it was mean but cute”. no punctuation. and then sends you a 3-paragraph message about a book from the 70s that reminded him of you.

⤷ one time you got a papercut and he ACTUALLY KISSED YOUR FINGER. like what is this. a 2003 romcom. who does that. you let him anyway.

⤷ dates are like. chaotic. they range. they VARY. he’ll plan them so carefully and then forget the address. it goes from him taking you rooftop dancing at 2am (he knows the security guard don’t ask). to the fanciest more expensive restaurants. or sometimes its the most random places...like why are we eating cold dumplings on a fire escape at midnight. why am i in your lap. why is this perfect. why r u dancing on the rooftop. pls. i just wanted to eat. it could also be you two literally brushing teeth side by side in pajamas while he talks about some city ordinance that made him mad.

⤷ also he’s like. a hand holder. all the time. especially in crowds. “just so i don’t lose you” ok liar you just like touching me.

⤷ he’s sooooooooooo good with kids it’s disgusting. like you’ll be walking past a playground and suddenly he’s in a full game of tag with a bunch of eight-year-olds like??? ok??? and you’re sitting there like is this what being in love feels like???????? have my babies then??????????

⤷ he gets nervous when you meet bruce. he acts like he doesn’t care but he’s standing straighter. fixing your collar. whispering “you got this”. like. dude. broski. seems like you need that advice a little more than me..

⤷ he brings you little things all the time. dumb things. a keychain. a sticker. he's gotten u a mug that says “i like my boyfriends like i like my coffee: hot and ready to fight crime”. he's like "that describes me perfectly babe!" ok..... just say ur inlove w/urself..

⤷ he loves when you wear his shirts. he pretends to be chill but he deflates when he sees it. “is that mine?” yes dick. it says “haley’s circus” on it. and it smells like crime fighting and your conditioner now. congrats. he’s 70% more handsy. 30% more cuddly. 100% ferocious internally. his caveman brain is like “MINE.”

⤷ he has like. six nicknames for you. three of them are variations of “birdie” and one of them is “hey trouble” and he says it with that little lopsided grin and you melt and throw a pillow at him and he catches it with one hand

⤷ he’s like. stupidly in love. and he’ll kiss your hand when he’s driving. and you’re like. eyes on the road. and he’s like. “i have great reflexes” and you’re like. great. that’s not the point.

⤷ he talks in his sleep. sometimes it’s mission stuff. sometimes it’s your name. once he said “alfred please no more soup” and you almost peed yourself laughing. he was so embarrassed. you bring it up constantly.

⤷ when he’s gone for patrol or a mission longer than expected he always texts. even if it’s just “still alive. miss u. criminals suck.”

⤷ he’s not flashy. but he’s intense. he listens. remembers everything. “didn’t you say you liked this song in april?” yes he has a playlist. yes it’s called “her smile > gotham skyline”

⤷ he acts like you’re a little miracle. like he can’t believe you’re real. he’ll just stare at you sometimes and blink slow like a cat and say “i love you” like it’s a confession every time.

⤷ he’ll tease you but only about dumb things. like how you sometimes stutter when you ramble or how you always leave the cap off the toothpaste. and then he’ll fix it. quietly. every time.

⤷ when he introduces you to his friends. he’s like. so soft. “this is my person. be nice. or i’ll beat you up. lovingly.”

⤷ you catch him looking at you all dreamy sometimes and he just goes “what?” and shrugs and kisses your forehead like it’s no big deal that he’s in constant awe of you

⤷ he’s in love like it’s easy. like it’s gravity. like he’s spent his whole life falling and you’re the first place that ever felt like landing.

⤷ you ask him to hang out and he’s like yeah yeah ofc and then five minutes later you’re on his bike and he's like “is gotham cold or am i crazy” and you're just clinging to him like a lil barnacle while the skyline blurs. he's only thinking about how soft your hands are on his stomach

⤷ he sends you memes. like. actually. they’re dumb. sometimes Nightwing fan edits. he pretends he doesn’t know you know. “someone sent me this” like ok babe sure. "someone" aka your own saved folder. keep lying

⤷ in love dick is like. chaotic neutral trying to be lawful good. he’ll pick you up from school or work and you’re like “you didn’t have to” and he goes “i know” but he’s there every time

⤷ he does this thing where he’ll lean on the counter while you talk. like hand-under-chin. dumb lil smile. he’s not even listening fully sometimes. he’s just watching you like you’re a painting in a gallery he’s been to before but still finds new details in. annoying. beautiful. criminal

⤷ if you’re sleeping over he’s sleeping on the edge of the bed because he moves like a windmill and he’s afraid he’ll knock you out mid-dream. but by morning you’re tangled. always. no exceptions

⤷ ok so. gifts. random. weird. he once gave you a grappling hook keychain and was so smug about it. “just in case you need a quick escape.” sir. from where. my bedroom??

⤷ he talks about you to everyone. not in a gross bragging way. in a like. “yeah (y/n) helped me pick this” or “(y/n) said i’d like this song” or “you’d like them. they’re really funny. and smart. and good. and like. they’re just. yeah.” and then changes the subject aggressively

⤷ he will NEVER say no to you playing with his hair. he’ll act like it’s not a big deal but if you stop he’ll be like “wait. you were doing the— you were playing with my hair—”

⤷ he's the type to check the exits wherever you go but also brings you gum and hand sanitizer like the world's most traumatised dad

⤷ sometimes he zones out while you're talking and you're like hello?? and he's just like “you looked really happy. i wanted to remember it.” AND THEN HE HAS THE NERVE TO SHRUG. ok poetic boy

⤷ he gets weirdly possessive but like. silently. if someone flirts with you at a party he’ll just kind of materialise next to you like “hey babe” and put his arm around you like hello yes i am six feet of jealousy wrapped in kevlar

⤷ he will not admit he cried over you once (more than once, lets be real). even though it’s obvious. even though jason literally heard him sniffling in the batcave. it’s fine. let him pretend

⤷ when you’re upset he gets quiet. not cold. just. steady. he listens. he doesn’t try to fix it unless you ask. he sits next to you and holds your hand and says “i’m here.” and he is. fully. always.

⤷ he’s got scars on scars but he lets you trace them. tells you the stories if you want. lies about the ones he’s not ready to talk about. it’s ok. you know. you wait

⤷ love makes him dumb. he does pushups with you sitting on his back. buys your favorite snacks in bulk. lets you paint his nails and then goes on patrol with them like it’s normal (it is)

⤷ he teaches you how to do flips. or tries. and then laughs when you fall. but then also kisses your scraped elbow like “my bad babe” with zero actual remorse. “you’ll get it next time” he says while still laughing. he’s sososososo annoying. you love him.

⤷ wears your hair tie on his wrist like it’s part of his uniform. you say nothing. he says nothing. but it’s always there.

⤷ teaches you escrima if you ask. but only if you promise not to make fun of the sticks. you make fun of the sticks anyway. he fake pouts. you kiss him mid-fight. he drops one stick. it’s fine.

⤷ carries a picture of you in his wallet and pretends he doesn’t. you find it once and he tries to act like it’s no big deal. “whatever. you look cute. move on.”

⤷ he thinks he's subtle. he's not. the whole batfamily knows. jason makes fun of him. damian gags. tim just leaves the room. bruce is like “don’t get distracted” and dick is like “yes sir 🫡” while actively distracted.

⤷ picks at your food. then acts shocked when you do the same. “you said you weren’t hungry??” yeah ok YOU said you weren’t emotionally available dick now look at us. hypocrites in love.

⤷ gives you nicknames like “hotshot” or “trouble” and then blushes when you call him anything. “dork” makes him literally malfunction. he pretends to be offended but smiles when you’re not looking.

⤷ gets quiet when you’re sad. like real quiet. sits next to you and just waits. doesn’t force you to talk. but if you do talk—he listens. like really listens. remembers every word. brings it up months later. “you said this place makes you feel calm” oh so you remember that ok

⤷ he’s so annoying. in the best way. like. the type of annoying that makes you blush and kick your feet and want to punch a wall. his wall specifically.

⤷ he’s all casual flirty with everyone right?? but when he’s in love with you??? he turns tender. like terrifyingly tender. it’s like he’s trying not to break you by looking too hard. like eye contact might detonate you. but i mean. either way. he still stares at you hard. even when trying not to.

⤷ he does the “can you sit with me while i do paperwork” thing. like you’re a cat. like he just wants you in proximity while he suffers.

⤷ he picks up food for you without asking. every time. "thought you might be hungry." no baby you knew. we have a soul connection. you felt my hunger. don’t play with me

⤷ he touches your back when you cross streets. lets you walk on the inside of the sidewalk. opens the door even when you argue. says "just let me take care of you a little." & now you’re sobbing in the CVS skincare aisle. congrats.

⤷ he lets you braid his hair when it gets too long. he pretends to hate it. you both know he’s lying.

⤷ if you're tired? he's pulling you into his lap before you can blink. he’s like “you rest. i got it.” you don’t even know what “it” is. but he’s got it. apparently.

⤷ "you don't have to do everything alone anymore." <- said in a whisper. at 1:47am. when you tried to sneak out so he wouldn't see you cry. yeah. he saw. and now you're in his arms and he's not letting go until morning.

⤷ when he's in love he’s... warm. like that kind of warm that feels like sunshine on a cold day. or like a bath that runs the perfect temperature.

⤷ he remembers everything. like that one time you said you liked strawberry twizzlers?? there's a pack in your glovebox now. he swears he didn’t put it there. liar.

⤷ you call him in the middle of the night because you had a bad dream and he’s like “i’m coming over” and then he’s actually there. barefoot. in sweatpants. holding two mugs and looking worried

⤷ he loves all of you. not just the good stuff. he loves the mess. the overthinking. the crying. the way you squeak when you laugh. he calls it “his favorite sound.”

⤷ every time you fight. he comes back. every time. he won’t let you sleep mad. he’ll wait on your fire escape all night if he has to. says “i’m not leaving until we’re okay. even if you throw something at me.”

⤷ once tried to not fall in love with you. failed.

[mmochammoss]

Fan behavior

Izuku Midoriya had burner accounts. Plural.

Some were obvious, like the ones he used to scroll through hero discourse on Twitter or reply to fans anonymously. But some were…

more specific.

A private Instagram that followed pro-hero fanpages, analysis pages, and even a few shipping accounts. A Reddit username dedicated to lurking in threads like r/heroranks and r/candidproheroes. A TikTok profile with zero posts but a very suspiciously curated ‘likes’ tab.

He had always been like this. Always online. Always watching. Not in a creepy way, just in a lifelong fanboy kind of way. Most people assumed he didn’t have time for any of that anymore now that he was the number-four hero. But Deku made time.

Especially when it came to you.

You had taken the hero world by storm. All strength, grace, and confidence, with a quirk that could split pavement and a smile that could break the internet.

He remembered watching your first solo billboard debut while eating convenience store snacks on the rooftop of a building at two in the morning, freezing mid-bite because you looked that good.

You were always beautiful. Always capable. Always you. And he was always… just a little bit obsessed.

Not in a weird way, of course.

You were old classmates. Friends. You had trained together, cried together, fought alongside one another back in the U.A. days. You’d even defended him online after his first public interview when his voice cracked halfway through a sentence.

You’d always been sweet to him. Gentle. Supportive.

He used to chalk up his crush on you to proximity. Just another harmless high school thing. Everyone had one, right?

But his thoughts of you didn’t fade the way most high school crushes were supposed to.

They only grew.

And now, years later, every time your face popped up on the side of a building or in his timeline, he remembered just how thoroughly and hopelessly he had not grown out of it.

Especially when he saw the fan content. And there was always so, so, so much of it.

It made total sense to him though. You were internet gold.

There were memes. There were fancams. There were reaction edits, deep-dives, lore threads, shipping compilations, whole Discord servers dedicated to analyzing your every move and wondering which pro hero you might be dating (if any).

Izuku tried not to pay too much attention.

Until one night, curled up in bed after patrol, scrolling on one of his private burner accounts, when he saw it. A fan edit titled simply:

“She looks at him like that’s her favorite person alive.”

It was under some viral TikTok audio, something soft and emotional.

The clips were nothing special on their own. Moments pulled from interviews, red carpet footage, post-battle recaps.

But they were all of you and him.

You glancing at him across a press panel. Smiling at something he’d said in an old agency interview. A photo someone had taken where you had your hand on his shoulder after a tough mission, face full of quiet pride.

And his favorite:

A short clip where you’d been asked about what hero inspired you most these days.

You had smiled, eyes soft, and answered,

“Ouuuuu? Who inspires me the most?… Probably Deku! I look at all he’s done and all he’s gone through and it reminds me that I can always push harder, do more, be better, y’know?”

He watched it three times.

Then a fourth.

Smiling through every rewatch, until…

“Shit.”

He threw his phone onto the bed, face hot, heart racing. He stared up at the ceiling and groaned.

Because he knew. He finally, finally knew. This wasn’t just some crush anymore.

He’d liked you once, of course.

Back in school, it was simple. You were warm, kind, devastatingly beautiful, and you always treated him like he mattered, even when he barely believed it himself.

But this? This was different. It wasn’t admiration. It wasn’t innocent. It was full-body want.

The kind that lived in his soul, tight and aching, every time your name lit up his feed. And God, he felt so guilty for it sometimes.

Because you were more than beautiful.

You were brilliant. Respected. One of the top heroes in the country. And a good person. And he admired you for that. He did.

But sometimes…

Sometimes he just wanted to imagine you whispering his name.

Not “Deku.” Not “Midoriya.” Izuku.

He wanted to hate himself for how his mind wandered. For how badly he wanted to touch you. To kiss you. To pull you into his lap and feel your fingers drag through his hair as he got drunk on your lips.

He wanted your body wrapped around him after long missions. Your thighs warm against his sides. Your mouth against his skin. Your voice soft with pleasure, telling him just how much you’d missed him.

And worse than all of that? He wanted you to want him back. Not as a coworker. Not as a friend. But as something real.

He rolled over onto his stomach, face burning as he buried it in the pillow and groaned. He shouldn’t think like this. He knew better. But it was too late.

Because it wasn’t just about how badly he wanted to kiss you anymore. It was about how deeply, desperately, helplessly he was in love with you. Not some idealized version of you. Not the you from glossy spreads or high-res fan edits.

You.

The way your nose scrunched when you laughed. The way you chewed on pen caps when thinking. The way you’d always text him congratulations after a good mission, even when he hadn’t spoken to you in weeks.

You were real.

And he wanted you in every way a person could be wanted. He felt ashamed of it. Guilty. Like he was crossing some unspoken line just for thinking it. But how could he not?

How could he not dream of kissing you until your knees gave out? Of holding you so close he’d feel your heartbeat match his? Of letting you ride the high of your shared victories straight into his arms, or his bed, into something so perfect it made his brain short-circuit?

He wanted you. He was so far gone.

Maybe, someday, if he could stop hiding behind burner accounts and start being brave again he’d tell you.

And if you let him, he’d love you for real. Not from a distance. Not through a screen. Not like a fan.

Like a man who wanted to be completely and totally yours.

[ilovemarvel97]

Written in Our Souls - Part 5

Wanda Maximoff x Reader 

Summary: Wanda continues to run from her fate. But for how long?

Word Count: 5,733

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood and violence, a little fluff

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Y/N’s POV

After the party Y/N avoids Wanda. 

She doesn’t avoid the others, but she keeps her head down. Trains when scheduled. Eats when Natasha drags her. Sleeps when exhaustion wins over the ache. But it’s a ghost of a life, a holding pattern. She isn’t really living—just existing around a wound no one else can see.

Except Nat.

She sits across from Y/N every morning, arms folded, eyes sharp. She doesn’t fill the silence. Doesn’t coddle. Just shows up. And maybe that’s the only reason Y/N hasn’t disappeared entirely.

“You’re eating,” Nat notes one morning, her tone unreadable as she eyes the half-eaten toast on Y/N’s plate.

“Barely,” Y/N mutters.

“Still counts.”

A long silence.

“She’s not okay either, you know.”

Y/N doesn’t look up. “Don’t.”

“She’s unraveling.”

Y/N’s throat tightens. “Then she should say something.”

“She won’t. You know that.”

Y/N finally lifts her gaze, voice sharper now. “Then what am I supposed to do? Keep standing there like a fucking lighthouse while she steers away?”

Nat leans in, elbows on the table. “You love her.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to let her destroy me.”

The words feel like glass leaving her mouth.

Nat doesn’t argue.

Because she knows Y/N’s right.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda sits on the rooftop.

Her fingers tug at the edge of her sweater sleeves, hiding the pulse of Y/N’s name against her skin. It still burns sometimes. Quietly. Like a whisper she tries not to hear.

She’s not sure how many people she’s snapped at today.

Bruce, when he asked if she was sleeping.  

Sam, when he jokingly mentioned she was more intense than usual.  

Vision, when he said he was worried.

She doesn’t want his worry.

She wants the girl whose name is on her wrist. Her soulmate. The one she was supposed to wait. And now, wouldn’t even look at her. 

No.

She pushed her away. She knows that.

But knowing doesn’t make it hurt less.

She thinks of Y/N’s voice—soft in the hallway that night, barely a whisper.

“I’m just a mistake, Wanda.”

The words she once said backfiring at her.

Wanda leans forward, forehead resting on her knees, arms wrapped tight around herself.

For the first time in days, her powers are still.

Because she’s too tired to feel anything except the ache that started in her chest after Y/N started ignoring her. 

---

Each day without Y/N stretches longer than the last.

And each day, the lie Wanda keeps living—the one where she pretends Vision is the right choice, the safe choice—scrapes her raw from the inside out. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She was supposed to be stronger. Clearer. She thought if she just committed hard enough to the path she’d chosen, the ache would fade. The bond would silence. The name on her wrist would stop glowing like an ember pressed into her skin.

But it doesn’t.

It worsens.

The more she ignores it, the more it punishes her. The name—Y/N’s name—burns now. Not gently. Not warmly. But with sharp, cutting heat, like it’s trying to remind her that something real is dying.

And Wanda is the one killing it.

She’s quieter these days. Vision tries to cheer her up by asking her on dates, or trying to cook paprikash for her. And she tries too.

---

Y/N’s POV

The worst part is: she still dreams of her.

Wanda.

She’s in everything. Every hallway. Every laugh that’s not hers. Every silence that lasts too long.

Y/N pretends she’s fine. Enough to keep up appearances. Enough to nod when Steve gives her orders. Enough to answer when Sam or Bruce ask how she’s holding up.

But the truth is, she’s unraveling too. Quietly. Elegantly. Like something made to fall apart.

Because the bond won’t let her go.

Because Wanda won’t.

Every time Y/N tries to move forward, something pulls her back. A glance in the hallway. Her voice during a mission. The whisper of her powers lingering in the air when she leaves a room.

The worst is the guilt—because Y/N knows Wanda is in pain too.

But she can’t be the one to fix this.

Not when she wasn’t the one who broke it.

So, she waits.

And waits.

And breaks a little more every time the name on her wrist pulses with a longing that will never be returned.

---

Wanda’s POV

She kisses Vision one night.

Softly. Mechanically. Like it’s written in a script.

His hands rest at her waist. Gentle. Polite.

Wanda doesn’t feel anything.

She pulls back, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. Vision tilts his head, puzzled.

“Wanda?”

“I’m tired,” she lies, backing away. “Long day.”

She doesn’t look at him when she leaves the room. Doesn’t stop until she’s behind a locked door, sinking to the floor, breathing like she’s drowning.

Because she is.

In guilt.

In want.

In a love she tried to bury and couldn’t.

She lifts her wrist. Y/N’s name is glowing again, brighter than ever.

And this time—her chest hurts so much she cries.

---

Y/N’s POV

Then one night.

It all starts as a tingle.

A small, burning pull that wakes me from sleep like a whisper too loud in the dark. I sit up, heart racing. My wrist—Wanda’s name—is glowing faintly beneath the skin, not in the warm way it sometimes did before, but sharp, erratic. Like it’s panicked.

I rub at it, wincing, then glance at the clock.

3:12 a.m.

A pit forms in my stomach.

Something’s wrong.

I swing my legs out of bed and sit on the edge for a moment, debating. My chest aches. My whole body feels tense, like my soul is bracing for impact.

Should I check on her?

She told me to stay away. She made it clear that I was a mistake. That we were. I’d spent days putting distance between us, even when every part of me screamed to do the opposite.

But this—this burning sensation, this invisible thread tugging at me in the dark—it’s not something I can ignore.

I’m halfway to the door when—

Knock. Knock.

I freeze.

A soft, shaky knock again.

And then I hear it. Breathing. Ragged, desperate.

I open the door.

Wanda collapses into me.

She doesn’t say a word. Just folds into me like her legs gave out the second she saw my face. Her arms wrap around my middle, and her head buries itself in my chest as the sobs break free.

I stand there, stunned, arms hovering awkwardly for a split second—then I wrap them around her without thinking. Tight. Like I’m trying to hold her together.

She’s trembling. Shaking so violently it scares me.

“Wanda…” I whisper, pulling her inside, closing the door with my foot. “Hey… hey, I got you, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

But she’s not okay.

She’s falling apart in my arms.

She clings to me like I’m the only thing tethering her to this world. And maybe, for her, right now—I am.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda doesn’t remember getting out of bed. Doesn’t remember walking the halls barefoot, or the way her vision blurred from tears.

She just remembers waking up screaming.

Vision didn’t hear her. He just remained still beside her. She doesn’t know.

But Y/N—Y/N was the only face her mind called out for. The only arms that felt safe.

Now, in Y/N’s room, Wanda curls into her like a child, like something wounded and small, and Y/N doesn’t ask questions. She just holds her.

Her heartbeat is steady.

Wanda lets herself breathe again.

For the first time since that mission… she doesn’t feel like she’s drowning.

---

Y/N’s POV

I guide her slowly toward the bed, not letting go for even a second. She clutches my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she loosens her grip.

“It was just a nightmare,” I whisper, barely audible over her sobs. “You’re safe now. I’m here.”

She doesn’t answer. Her entire body is shaking, curled in on itself like she’s trying to disappear. I sit down on the edge of the bed and gently pull her into my lap, her knees each one beside me, arms wrapped tight around my neck.

She buries her face against my chest, and the sound she makes—it’s broken. Like her soul is splintering in my hands.

I wrap my arms around her tighter, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I’ve got you,” I murmur again, and again, like a mantra. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

My fingers thread through her hair in slow, calming strokes, and gradually the sobs dull into small, stuttering breaths. Her heartbeat pounds against mine, ragged and desperate, like she’s trying to sync to something steady. Something real.

She shifts just enough to tuck her face under my jaw, her skin hot and damp against my neck. And I swear—it’s like our souls are speaking in silence.

When she finally speaks, her voice is so raw it makes my chest ache.

“I saw you die.”

I freeze.

Wanda’s hand clutches my back like she’s trying to hold me here. Her voice trembles.

“You were on a mission. And something exploded. I couldn’t reach you in time—your mark on my wrist just—” she gasps. “It burned. It burned like it was trying to stop your heart from leaving mine.”

My arms tighten instinctively around her.

“I tried to stop it. I screamed. But you were gone.”

“Wanda—”

“I couldn’t breathe. I woke up choking on it. I didn’t know where else to go. I just—I needed to see you. To feel you.”

She lifts her head slowly. Her eyes are bloodshot, cheeks streaked with tears, and all I can see is fear. Vulnerability. Love that’s bleeding and terrified.

“I’m here,” I whisper, cupping her face in both hands. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

Wanda leans into my touch like she can’t get close enough. Her forehead presses against mine, our breaths tangling in the small space between us.

“You’ll always have me,” I say, voice soft and shaking. “Even if you push me away. Even if you say we’re a mistake. My heart doesn’t care. It still finds you.”

Her eyes flutter closed as a new tear slips down her cheek. I kiss it away without thinking.

She doesn’t let go.

Neither do I.

We sit there like that for a long time, just breathing the same air. Letting the silence carry everything we’re not ready to say out loud.

Eventually, she curls up against my side, fingers still tangled with mine. Her breathing slows. Steadies.

She falls asleep in my arms, soft, warm and safe.

And I stay awake, watching the rise and fall of her chest, her name burning gently beneath my skin—not in pain this time.

But in something that feels a lot like peace.

And love.

---

Wanda’s POV

Morning light filters through the room, casting a warm golden glow on the walls.

It’s soft. Gentle. The kind of light that could almost convince her everything was okay.

But it’s not.

She blinks her eyes open, her head still resting against Y/N’s shoulder. The steady rise and fall of Y/N’s chest under her cheek is comforting. Too comforting.

And that’s what terrifies her.

Wanda sits up carefully, trying not to wake her.

Y/N is still fast asleep, face peaceful in a way Wanda rarely gets to see. There’s a hand still loosely wrapped around hers, and Wanda stares at it for a long moment—like she’s memorizing the feeling. The warmth. The safety.

She hadn’t meant to come here last night.

She didn’t plan to collapse into her soulmate’s arms and cry herself to sleep like a child. But the second she woke up from the nightmare, Y/N’s name was the only thing echoing in her mind. Not Vision’s. Never Vision’s.

It was Y/N.

Just like before.

What did I do?

Her breath catches.

What have I done?

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to need Y/N like this. Not after everything she said. Not after how cruel she’d been.

She’s engaged. She has responsibilities. A future already mapped out. A life she's forcing herself to choose.

But lying in Y/N’s arms last night felt like home.

And that terrifies her more than the nightmare ever could.

Wanda carefully untangles herself from Y/N’s arms. Her movements are slow, calculated—like if she breathes too loud, the moment will shatter.

She stands at the edge of the bed, looking back at her soulmate just once.

There’s a faint crease between Y/N’s brows, like even in sleep, something inside her knows.

Wanda’s chest tightens painfully.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers under her breath.

Then she turns and slips out the door—quiet, fast, like she’s fleeing the scene of a crime.

Because in her heart… it feels like she just committed one.

Wanda walks back to her room.

Her bare feet hit the cold hallway floor, and the chill cuts through her like guilt. She hugs her arms around herself, not even sure which way she’s going. Just away.

She’s almost at the corridor that leads to her own room when she hears a voice.

“Wanda?”

Her breath catches in her throat. She turns—and there he is.

Vision stands at the corner, dressed in his usual casual morning wear. He tilts his head slightly, concerned but not suspicious.

“I was looking for you,” he says with a faint smile. “You were not in bed.”

Wanda forces a smile. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“You should have woken me.”

I couldn’t.

Instead, she says, “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

He walks toward her and reaches for her arm, gently. “You weren’t in the library either. I checked.”

She stiffens under his touch. “I just… needed air. I wandered for a bit. Ended up falling asleep somewhere.”

He frowns slightly. “Are you alright?”

Wanda nods too quickly. “I’m fine. Just a nightmare.”

He brushes his fingers down her arm. “I wish you’d come to me. You know I’m here, don’t you?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it.

You were never the one who could calm the storm.

Not like she did.

“I know,” she lies.

Vision gives her a small kiss on the temple, and she closes her eyes, hoping it’ll feel like something. Hoping it’ll anchor her to the choice she made.

It doesn’t.

It just makes her stomach twist.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” he says gently. “You should shower. You look pale.”

She nods again, walking past him with a polite smile and a whispered, “Okay.”

But as she slips into her room and closes the door behind her, she leans back against it and finally lets herself shake.

Not from the cold.

But from everything she’s trying not to feel.

---

Y/N’s POV

I wake up to silence.

No soft breathing beside me. No warmth curled into my side. Just the faint scent of her shampoo on my shirt and the hollow weight of empty sheets.

I sit up slowly, blinking away the haze of sleep.

She’s gone.

The spot where she slept is still faintly warm, but fading fast. And it’s like the moment hits me all at once—like a punch to the chest I didn’t see coming.

I run a hand down my face, trying to breathe through the ache building in my ribs.

I knew this would happen.

I told myself not to fall asleep. That if I did, she’d be gone by morning. That this wasn’t real. That last night—her arms around me, her voice shaking against my chest—was just temporary.

But knowing it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

I shift to the edge of the bed, rubbing my wrist out of habit. It’s still warm where her name is burned into my skin. Not painfully. Not like before. Just… there. Like it knows she was close. Like it remembers, even if she’s already pretending to forget. The pain in my chest is less too.

I glance toward the door.

There’s no note. No message. Just absence.

The same kind I’ve felt when she looked me in the eye and said we were a mistake.

I grip the edge of the mattress, jaw clenched.

Last night, she let me in. Let herself fall apart. She came to me. Not Vision. Me.

And this morning… it’s like it never happened.

I stand up, dragging on a hoodie, trying to shake the chill that settled in my bones the moment I woke up alone. I don’t know what I expected. I guess part of me hoped… something would be different.

But it’s the same story, rewritten with softer words and sharper endings.

Still, I’d hold her all over again if she asked.

Even if she leaves every time the sun rises.

---

Wanda’s POV

She hasn’t looked at Y/N in days. Not really.

Not since that night she crept into their bed like a secret and let herself feel something she swore she’d never want.

The morning after, as she walks back to her room, she bumps into Vision who has been looking for her. And when she went to the kitchen, she slipped into his side like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t spent the night tangled in someone else’s arms.  

Like she hadn’t felt peace for the first time in weeks.

Now, she lies in bed beside Vision. His presence, once familiar, now feels suffocating. He doesn’t sleep, but he rests, and he’s quiet. Kind. But utterly wrong.

Wanda stares at the ceiling.

She can’t sleep. She hasn’t, not properly, since that night.

And when she finally falls asleep, it happens again. 

The dream starts quiet.

She’s back on the battlefield—scorched earth beneath her boots, smoke curling through the air like fingers reaching for something already gone. The sky is red, too red, like it’s bleeding. And all she hears is wind. No voices. No gunfire.

Too quiet.

Then she sees it: a flash of movement ahead. A familiar silhouette standing tall amidst the ruins.

“Y/N,” she breathes, relief flooding her chest.

She runs toward her, the broken ground crumbling beneath her feet. Y/N stands facing away, still and silent. Her stance is off—tense, unreadable.

“Y/N,” Wanda calls again, louder now.

Y/N doesn’t turn.

Wanda’s heart hammers. She moves closer. She reaches out a hand. “Please, look at me—”

And then she sees it.

Blood. So much blood.

It’s soaked into Y/N’s shirt, pooling beneath her, staining her fingers. Wanda’s breath catches in her throat as Y/N finally turns—slowly, painfully—and when their eyes meet, it’s like something inside Wanda splits clean in half.

Y/N is smiling, but it’s not the one Wanda knows. It’s hollow. Fading.

“You didn’t come,” Y/N says, voice soft, broken. “You chose him.”

“No—no, that’s not—” Wanda stumbles forward, clutching Y/N’s arms, trying to hold her up, to stop the bleeding with her hands, her powers, anything.

But her powers fizzle out uselessly. Like they’re gone. Like she’s nothing.

“I’m here now,” she begs. “Please, just stay with me. Please, I’m so sorry—”

Y/N shakes her head slowly. “It’s too late.”

Her knees give out. Wanda catches her, cradling her in her lap, rocking back and forth as tears blur her vision.

“You were supposed to be mine,” Wanda whispers, voice cracking. “You’re my soulmate.”

Y/N’s hand rises, brushing her cheek—gentle, forgiving.

Then her eyes go still.

And Wanda screams.

---

She wakes up with a gasp, drenched in sweat, her sheets tangled around her limbs. Her heart is a fist, pounding against her ribs.

Her hand flies to her wrist—Y/N—still there. Still glowing faintly in the dark.

Still alive.

“Wanda?” Vision sits up beside her, his voice gentle. “Are you alright?”

She doesn’t answer.

Her breath stutters. The phantom pain lingers in her chest like a bruise. The sound of Y/N’s voice—“You chose him”—won’t stop echoing.

“Would you like me to get you water?” Vision offers, his hand reaching for hers.

She flinches.

“No,” she says quickly. “No, I just… I need air.”

She doesn’t wait for a response. She’s already grabbing her hoodie, already walking out the door barefoot.

---

Wanda hesitates only for a second.

Then she opens the door. Quiet. Like she did before.

The room is dark, but she knows the shape of her in bed. Knows the rhythm of her breath. The way she sleeps—curled slightly toward the wall, as if bracing for something that never comes.

Y/N shifts. “Wanda?” her voice is hoarse, sleep-soft, confused.

She doesn’t answer. Just crosses the room and climbs into her bed. She’s trembling.

And just like before, Y/N doesn’t question it. Her arms open for Wanda like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Wanda presses herself into her warmth, anchoring herself in the rise and fall of her chest.

“I saw you die again,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “In my dream. I was too late. You were bleeding and I—I couldn’t save you.”

Y/N’s arms tighten around her.

“I’m right here,” she murmurs. “I’m okay. I promise.”

But she doesn’t ask why Wanda keeps coming. Or why she keeps leaving.

And that makes it worse.

Because she should.

Wanda buries her face in her chest, fingers fisting the fabric of her shirt like she’s afraid she’ll disappear. The dream still clings to her—the blood, the silence, the way her eyes had gone still.

“I felt you slip away,” she chokes out. “And it felt like the end of everything.”

Y/N says nothing. Just holds her tighter.

Wanda’s voice breaks into a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I do,” Y/N replies softly. “You’re scared.”

She closes her eyes. She wishes Y/N would hate her. Scream at her. Push her away.

But instead, she holds her. Gently. Steady. Like Wanda hasn’t shattered her over and over again.

And Wanda lets herself fall asleep in the arms of the person she keeps losing—even when she never lets go.

---

The next day, Wanda is having another nightmare.

The world feels wrong—distorted, blurry. Wanda can’t focus, can’t understand what’s happening around her, but she feels it, deep in her bones. There’s a weight pushing her down, suffocating her. Her heartbeat is louder than everything else, echoing in her ears.

And then she hears it.

Save her

It’s her wrist, burning in pain, as if ripping her skin open.

Wanda’s breath catches. She tries to look for Y/N, but her legs feel like they’re made of stone. She can’t move. 

And then she sees her.

Y/N is kneeling, shackled to a cold metal chair, her body bruised and bloodied. Her face is pale, her eyes wide with terror. But it’s the pain in her eyes that makes Wanda’s chest tighten—the agony of someone she loves being tortured.

Wanda’s heart races. She tries to scream, to reach out to her, but nothing happens. No sound, no movement. The room is suffocatingly silent except for the echo of cruel laughter.

Then, a voice Wanda doesn’t recognize fills the space—a cold, mocking voice.

“We’ve been watching you, Wanda. You think your precious Y/N is safe? She’s nothing. A pawn in your game.”

Wanda’s breath catches in her throat. The voice continues.

“Don’t worry, though. We’ll let her live—for now.”

The voice chuckles, and the sound sends chills down Wanda’s spine.

“We know you care for her. But it seems you’ve chosen someone else, haven’t you? That thing you call Vision… He’s the one you’ve chosen. Not her. Not the one who could have stood by your side.”

The words feel like a slap to Wanda’s soul. She feels herself tremble with the weight of them. She doesn’t understand how she’s hearing this. How this could be true.

But the figure in front of her doesn’t stop. 

“You don’t care enough, do you? You hurt her for him.”

Y/N winces at the words, her body wracked with pain from the torture, but she looks up at Wanda—eyes pleading, desperate for her to stop them, to save her. But Wanda can’t move, can’t reach her.

The voice smirks. “We’ll stop if you beg, Wanda. Beg for her life. But we know you won’t, because you’ve made your choice. Vision. The one who doesn’t feel like this one does.” 

The HYDRA agents laugh, taunting her, their voices cutting through Wanda’s heart.

Wanda’s vision begins to blur with tears, and she watches as they turn their weapons on Y/N, ready to deliver another round of torture. The air in her lungs is too thick, like a vice crushing her chest.

“Stop!” Wanda tries to shout, but her voice is a whisper lost in the void. 

Y/N’s eyes find hers, and in them, Wanda sees the hurt—the belief that she’s been abandoned. And it’s true. I chose Vision.

The world around them is suddenly quiet. The room is still, like time has frozen. Y/N’s trembling body looks up at Wanda one last time, her lips barely moving. She smiles—tired, but so loving, as if she’s trying to reassure Wanda, as if she’s trying to tell her something that Wanda can’t hear.

Then, in an instant, the figure standing over Y/N moves with brutal precision. A cold blade flashes across the air.

Y/N’s body jerks violently, and Wanda watches in horror as the blade cuts across Y/N’s throat. The blood splashes onto the floor, pooling around her. Y/N’s eyes flicker with shock and pain before they slowly go blank, and her body goes still.

Wanda’s heart stops. Time starts again, rushing back to her like a tidal wave, and she screams out in agony, but her voice is swallowed by the silence.

---

Y/N’s POV

Somewhere deep in her sleep, Y/N jerks awake with a sharp, breathless gasp. The room is too quiet. Too still. But it’s the pain—the deep, gut-wrenching pain—that’s the first thing she feels.

Wanda.

It crashes into her like a wave, raw and unrelenting. The physical pain is excruciating, but the emotional ache that follows is worse. She can feel it like an open wound. Wanda’s grief. Her regret. Her sense of abandonment. It rips through her like a razor, and for a moment, Y/N can’t breathe.

She sits up in bed, heart hammering in her chest, sweat pooling on her forehead. Her hands clutch the sheets, her eyes wide with confusion and terror. What was that? What happened?

But she can’t answer her own question. All she knows is that Wanda’s pain is bleeding into her own, and it feels like it’s suffocating her—drowning her in something far darker and deeper than physical torment.

Y/N presses a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself, but the ache is relentless, unforgiving. Her wrist burns with the mark of their bond—the name Wanda written there.

—

Wanda’s POV

Wanda jerks awake with a gasp, heart racing, breath shallow. The nightmare still grips her like chains—Y/N’s screams, the blood, the mocking voice of HYDRA echoing in her head:

“You chose him. So we’ll spare him.”

She shoves the blanket off and stumbles out of bed without a glance at Vision. Her hands are trembling, her legs unsteady, but she doesn’t stop. The walls of the compound feel like they’re closing in as she moves down the hall in a daze, pulled by instinct—by the thread that connects her to the only person she needs to see.

She reaches Y/N’s door.

No hesitation this time.

She pushes it open—and her breath catches in her throat.

Y/N is sitting up in bed, clutching her chest, her face twisted in pain. Her skin is damp with sweat, her eyes wide and glassy.

“Y/N,” Wanda panics, the dream too vivid in her mind.

Y/N looks up, their eyes meeting. “Wanda…” she whispers, her voice rough. Before she can continue, Wanda is grabbing her face and checking if she’s okay. 

Before either of them can think, Wanda’s already crossing the room, hands on Y/N’s cheeks, scanning her face like she needs proof she’s real—alive. That she’s here.

“You’re burning up,” she mutters, brushing sweat-damp hair back. “Are you in pain? Is it your chest? Where does it hurt?”

Y/N winces faintly but leans into her touch. “It’s okay,” she says, though her voice betrays the effort it takes.

But Wanda isn’t reassured.

“No, it’s not okay,” she snaps, voice pitching higher. Her hands run over Y/N’s arms, her shoulders, searching desperately for injuries. “You’re sweating—you’re breathing too fast. Your heart—your heart feels wrong.” Her fingers hover helplessly over Y/N’s chest, terrified to touch too hard, terrified not to touch at all.

Panic coils tighter and tighter around her ribs. Her mind is screaming at her—you’re losing her, you’re losing her, do something, save her—

“I need to get Bruce—I need to get Tony—you’re not okay, you're not healing right, we need to call someone—”

“Wanda—” Y/N tries again, but Wanda barely hears her.

Her power flares without warning, making the lamps in the room flicker wildly. The air crackles with raw magic as her body vibrates with terror she can’t contain. It feels exactly like it did in the nightmare—helpless, useless, too slow to stop it.

“I can’t—I can’t lose you,” she chokes out, voice breaking apart into jagged pieces. “I felt it, Y/N. You were dying. You’re dying and I’m just standing here—”

“Wanda,” Y/N says again, louder this time, pushing through the pain to grab her wrists, anchoring her.

Their eyes lock.

Wanda freezes, trembling, her magic surging uselessly under her skin.

“Breathe,” Y/N whispers, like she’s trying to catch her through the storm. “Please, Wands. Just breathe with me.”

Wanda’s chest heaves. It feels impossible, like her lungs have forgotten how. But Y/N’s hands are solid and real, wrapping around hers, grounding her.

“In and out,” Y/N murmurs, voice low and steady. “You’re here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly—painfully—Wanda forces a breath into her burning lungs. Then another. And another.

The crackling air around them starts to calm. The lights stop flickering.

But Wanda’s hands stay clutching Y/N’s like she’ll never let go again.

Then, as her breathing starts to even out, the panic gives way to something deeper. Something worse.

Guilt.

 “I felt it. I felt you. What happened?”

The sight of her like that—hurting because of her—makes Wanda freeze. Then panic seizes her all over again.

“I—I’m sorry,” Wanda stammers, stumbling into the room. “It was a nightmare. They had you. HYDRA. They said they’d spare Vision because he was the one I chose, and then they—” Her voice breaks, and her legs give out.

Y/N is already shifting, reaching for her.

Wanda collapses into her arms, shaking violently. “I couldn’t stop them. I was screaming and they just—they just laughed. And then they—” Her voice dies into a choked sob.

Y/N wraps her arms around her, wincing slightly from the residual echo of pain, but holds her tight. “It wasn’t real,” she murmurs. “I’m right here. You found me, remember?”

“But you felt it,” Wanda whispers, horrified. “I hurt you through the bond.”

“No. I felt what you feel. Not what you dreamt about. And I’m okay now,” Y/N says softly. “You're okay now. We’re both okay.”

Wanda clutches her tighter, burying her face in her neck. “I thought I lost you. It felt real. Like I was already too late.”

“You’re not too late,” Y/N says, kissing the top of her head gently. “You came back.”

Wanda nods against her skin, unable to speak.

And this time, when they lie down, it’s not Wanda crawling into Y/N’s arms—it’s both of them pulling each other close. Holding on. Not letting go.

---

The Next Morning — Y/N’s Room

The light is soft when Wanda stirs. Pale golden, barely filtering through the curtains. It brushes over her face, warming her skin just enough to make her blink awake.

She’s not in her room.

Not in Vision’s bed.

The warmth she feels… it’s not artificial or distant. It’s alive.

Y/N.

Her breath catches as memory floods back—the nightmare, the way she ran through the halls like she was drowning, the moment she burst into Y/N’s room and found her already awake, clutching her chest with a pained expression.

And now… this.

She opens her eyes—and Y/N’s already looking at her.

Her face is close, closer than it should be, like they’d never let go. There’s a slight crease on her cheek from the pillow, and her lips are parted just enough to suggest she’d been watching Wanda long before she woke.

“Morning,” Y/N whispers, voice raw. Gentle. A little shaken.

Wanda doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. She just looks at her, letting the reality sink in.

She stayed.

And Y/N didn’t ask her to leave.

The moment feels too fragile to speak into. Too sacred.

Y/N’s hand is already there—resting lightly on Wanda’s back, like it had stayed there the whole night. Not possessive. Just present. Grounding. Real.

“Did you sleep at all?” Wanda asks, voice barely audible.

Y/N nods, slow. “Only after you did.”

Her chest aches at that. “You felt it,” she whispers. “The nightmare. What I felt.”

“I felt everything,” Y/N says quietly. “It tore through me, Wanda. I thought something was happening to you.”

Wanda closes her eyes for a second, guilt crawling up her throat. “I didn’t mean to pull you into it.”

“You didn’t,” Y/N replies. “I was already there.”

Silence stretches again, but it’s different this time. Warm. Familiar. Full of things neither of them have found the courage to say aloud.

“I didn’t have a nightmare,” Wanda admits, her voice even softer now. “Not once. It was quiet with you.”

Y/N doesn’t smile. Her eyes just soften, a sorrowful kind of knowing in them that makes Wanda’s throat tighten.

“Maybe your soul finally found its way home,” she says. It’s not a line. Not meant to make anything easier. It’s just the truth.

Wanda wants to cry. Or kiss her. Or both. But she does neither.

Instead, she lifts her hand and brushes her fingers along Y/N’s wrist. She doesn’t need to look at it to know her name is there. She can feel it—burning, steady, alive.

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

Y/N meets her gaze, no judgment in sight. Just quiet understanding.

“I know,” she says. “Me too.”

Wanda breathes in. Deep. Full.

And for a moment—just a moment—she lets herself stay in it.

Not the guilt.

Not the fear.

Not the life she’s pretending to live.

Just this.

Her.

The bond.

---

Part 6

---

A little fluff for the pain 😁

[p0orbaby]

The Dog House

summary: leah misses date night, she tries to make it up to you

warnings: leah being leah i guess…

a/n: based off this request !

word count: 1.2k

-

Leah’s been distracted lately. It’s not that you’re not important to her—you are—but there’s a lot going on. Training, media obligations, a sudden obsession with learning to bake sourdough bread for reasons you don’t quite understand. And her house is full of these massive jars of starter that she’s named things like “Gertrude” and “Stephen” and “Samantha.” Stephen’s the strongest one, apparently. Not that you care.

You’re trying to be supportive. Really, you are. But it’s getting weird.

So when you text her a gentle reminder about date night, you’re half-expecting a response that sounds like it’s written by one of those clunky bots—like, “Of course, darling! Can’t wait to see you tonight! ❤️❤️❤️” That’s what she’d usually do. Instead, you get nothing.

Hours pass. You start to get annoyed. Then you get anxious. Then you start wondering if maybe Leah’s planning some big surprise and that’s why she’s not responding. You imagine her secretly arranging a rooftop dinner with fairy lights and a string quartet, where she’ll confess she’s been so preoccupied because she’s actually writing a book about how incredible you are.

But then you come back to reality and grasp she probably just forgot.

By 7 PM, you’re pacing around the flat, wearing the outfit you picked out two days ago—a dress you specifically bought because Leah said you looked “so fucking sexy” in red, even though it’s so tight you can’t even breathe properly. Your makeup is perfect, your hair is styled, and you’re sitting on the couch, stewing in a potent cocktail of Chanel No. 5 and disappointment.

Finally, you text her again.

> Hey, you on your way?

Nothing.

Ten minutes later, still nothing.

By 8 PM, you’re starting to wonder what the protocol is for someone forgetting a date night. Do you call? Do you show up to their house with a “We need to talk” face? Do you… dump them? No, that’s too extreme, even though it would make a great story for your friends.

Finally, at 8:13, your phone buzzes.

> Shit. Be there in 20. Promise. Don’t hate me

You almost laugh, except you’re too irritated to find anything funny right now. Twenty minutes? Twenty minutes is nothing. She probably still smells like whatever alien protein shakes she drinks after training, which you pretend to like but secretly think taste like a mix of chalk and regret.

But you wait. Because you love her. Or because you’re a sucker. Or both.

Leah arrives at 8:42, disheveled and clearly not sorry enough. She’s holding a Tesco bag, which is never a good sign. Tesco bags mean last-minute attempts at forgiveness, and you don’t care how cute she looks in her sweats.

Okay, you care a little, but still.

“I’m so sorry,” she says as she bursts through the door, dropping the bag for life onto the floor like she’s just run a marathon. “I lost track of time”

You cross your arms and give her a look. The kind of look that says, Really?

“I know, I know,” she continues, talking at a speed that suggests she’s trying to cram a day’s worth of apologies into the next thirty seconds. “I’ve been so caught up with—”

“—Stephen?”

Leah blinks. “Stephen?”

“Your sourdough. Stephen”

“Oh. Right.” Leah runs a hand through her hair, which only makes it messier. “I might’ve forgotten to feed him, too”

“I’m sure he’s devastated,” you say, deadpan.

“I’m devastated,” Leah says, doing her best impression of someone who’s sincerely regretful. She takes a step closer, giving you that puppy-dog look that normally melts you but tonight just feels like she’s trying to disarm a bomb. “But I have a plan”

You raise an eyebrow. “A plan?”

“Yeah. A plan to make it up to you.” She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet like she’s about to reveal a new Tesla or something.

You stare at her, unimpressed. “Does it involve anything that’s not in that bag?”

She laughs, and you can’t help but soften a little. She’s got this laugh that makes you feel like everything is going to be okay, even when she’s screwed up royally.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing the bag and heading to the kitchen. “Trust me. You’ll love it”

You don’t follow her immediately. You want to see how this plays out before you commit to pretending everything is okay. So you stand there in the doorway, watching as she pulls out ingredients that don’t really go together.

“Leah, what exactly are you planning to do with pickles, chocolate syrup, and a single red onion?”

She grins at you like she’s just cracked the code to the universe. “It’s a surprise”

“I’m surprised you even made it here alive if that’s what you’ve been eating lately”

Leah’s grin doesn’t waver. She’s on a mission now, and there’s no stopping her. “Look, just sit down. I’ve got this”

You sit, but mostly because your feet hurt in the heels you’re wearing and the sofa is closer than the bedroom. Leah’s bustling around the kitchen, and you can’t tell if she’s actually cooking or just making noise to buy herself more time.

Minutes later, she emerges with a tray. The tray has candles on it, which is at least a step in the right direction. Then you see what she’s made.

Two plates of what can only be described as… nachos. But they’re not nachos. They’re a weird interpretation of nachos where the tortilla chips have been replaced with some kind of protein bar, the cheese is… okay, there’s no cheese, and the toppings are just random things she found in your fridge.

She sets the tray down in front of you with the pride of a five-star chef presenting their signature dish.

“Voilà!” she announces, beaming.

You stare at the concoction in front of you, then back at her. “Leah, what the hell is this?”

“It’s my way of saying sorry”

You look at her, then at the nachos again. “You could’ve just said ‘I’m sorry’ like a normal person”

“But this is better,” she insists, her enthusiasm unwavering. “It’s like, an experience”

“Yeah, I’m experiencing regret,” you say, eyeing the “nachos” with suspicion.

Leah laughs again, this time a little sheepishly. “Okay, so maybe the food’s not great. But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“You’re seriously expecting me to eat this?” you ask, poking at one of the protein bars with your fork like it might bite back.

Leah’s face falls just a little, and suddenly, you realise that she’s actually trying. She’s terrible at this—so, so terrible—but she’s trying.

And that’s why you love her.

“Fine,” you say with a sigh. “But if I get food poisoning, you’re sleeping on the couch”

She grins, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek. “Deal”

You end up eating the nachos. They’re awful, but Leah’s so happy you’re eating them that you can’t help but smile. She’s sitting there, watching you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world, and you can’t help but remember that this is her way of showing she cares.

After dinner, she pulls out a bottle of wine—an actual, normal bottle of wine—and the two of you sit on the sofa, talking and laughing until you’re both too tired to keep your eyes open.

She falls asleep first, her head on your shoulder, snoring softly. You’re still a little annoyed at her, but you know she’ll make it up to you in other ways. And tomorrow, you’ll probably laugh about this whole thing.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I need more jason headcanons please im on my kneeeeeeess

Honestly what haven’t I said about this beautiful man?

While after a certain period of your relationship he still feels a tad insecure of the fact that one day you’ll find someone who’s…not dealing with as much baggage as him, someone who isn’t as broken and scared as him. He’ll be more open to telling you this as well as in the beginning he was still trying to find his feet in something completely new to him, which lead to a lot of misunderstandings due to the lack of communication.

Now communication was one of your strong suits in your relationship.

Has frequent night terrors that have poor Jason reaching out to hold your hand, or link pinkies to make sure you were still there, still with him and he’ll keep his hand touching you for the rest of the night until the next day where you find yourself being cradled in his arms protectively.

Double checks everything is locked within your apartment, it’s a need and a must on Jason’s checklist to make sure that before you both go to bed, or just you while he heads out on patrol, is to make sure that every lock on every window and door was doing their fucking job because god forbid Jason comes home to a broken in apartment. (This never happens cuz Jason is efficient in taking out his enemies)

He’s a heavy boy thanks to all that muscle he’s obtained and he often forgets this fact about himself when he’s squishing you into the sofa as he cuddled himself into your neck, humming softly as your hands rub his back and up to his hair in a soothing manner until he is half asleep. You don’t mind it as much as he acts as weighted blanket for you and made it a hell of a lot easier for you to sleep at night, knowing this behemoth of a man was deliciously squishing you into the bed.

This man may have gave you a run through do the basics of self defence and weaponry, Jason couldn’t run the risk of something happening to you and so will go out of his way to train you to an acceptable level where he could safely assume that you could handle yourself when he isn’t nearby to help.

Even though he mysteriously and somehow knows where you are…just waiting on the rooftops to make sure that no one was using any underhanded tactics.

Still gets a little jolty when it comes to physical affection but will relax upon seeing that it’s you cuddling up to his broad back and kissing his scars, the one between his shoulder blades being a particularly sensitive one out of the bunch, and one kiss is enough to have him sharply inhale before regaining composure.

Has fallen asleep one too many times with his reading glasses on and his book laid spread against his chest (wish it were me) and it’s not until you say and or do something about it does he notice what he was doing and starts setting aside both his book and glasses to prevent form a state of irreparable damage. He looked really adorable and you have albums of them without him knowing.

You know when Jason’s comfortable with you when he is capable of just sitting in absolute silence with you when he has nothing interesting to say, he doesn’t feel pressured to talk to have your attention, all he has to do is simply exist and you’ll love him nonetheless and it really helps him out a lot because a lot of the time he doesn’t have much to say. So you’ll both sit together in harmonious peace as he reads his book and you do your thing, you both coexist peacefully together and that’s all that matters to Jason in the end.

Loves it when you wear his stuff because when he gets them back he’ll have a reminder of you on them. He just really likes having a reminder of you on him no matter what as it gave him a sense of normality, a sense of purpose and belonging outside of clearing Gotham of its criminals and scumbags. It showed him that he had a life outside of it all.

Hates being mischaracterised as the ‘angry, misguided, temperamental’ type of man because he’s far, far from any of that to begin with and you know that wholeheartedly as Jason rarely gets mad, and even if he did he was quick to apologise in fear that you’ll too believe what everyone else believes. You don’t because you’re not a fucking idiot like most people.

(This is specifically directed to ppl who mischaracterise Jason as the angry robin…go look at dick! He’s the angry one! Jason was the happy one, which makes his whole transformation into red hood even more tragic! You guys simply can’t read and that is proof and yet you call yourself comic book readers…what a fucking joke.)

Gear a little spooked when he doesn’t see you’re in bed and is quick to check the entire apartment before allowing his mind to come to the worst conclusions. so when he finds you in the kitchen or coming out of the bathroom, he’s going to give you the biggest hugs known to man kind before dragging you back to bed where you stay in his embrace, but you don’t mind, if it’s to calm his mind and cool down then you’ll gladly let him hold you as tight as humanly possible. You just wanted Jason to get the rest he deserved and if that meant being his personal teddy bear then you’ll do it.

[sparrows4bats]

Another Damian as Selinas Sidekick AU

I love the idea that Damian becomes a doctor so much, but I am also aware that he is a little adrenaline junkie and would be bored and miss vigilantism.

So, instead of going to his father and asking for the occasional patrol or spar. Damian decides to go to Selina with his boredom.

Selina and he have bonded over the years. Their shared love of cats, their rough past, and their very different yet complicated relationship to the batman. So Damian meets her for coffee every couple of weeks to vent.

It's therapeutic, and Damian quite likes having someone who listens to his side of things without rushing to defend everyone else. Selina has been around a long time and is well aware of the flaws of his father and siblings. She understands his frustration and the fact that it doesn't change how much he loves his family.

Selina has a soft spot for the boy who was so hurt and angry when she first met him but decided his own path to helping people. So when Damian tells her how he misses the adrenaline, the adventure, but can't hurt people anymore. (He took an oath, and he doesn't want to anymore, never again if he can help it.) Selina has a wonderful idea.

If he won't be a vigilante anymore, why not a thief?

Damian protests when she suggests it. At first.

Then Selina mentions how an awful lot of the money she takes ends up in the hands of the community and that she is not active nearly as much as Batman. A good heist takes quite a bit of planning after all.

The thing that really sold him is when Selina said she needed back up anyway to steal this artifact from a private collector and return it to its country of origin.

Doctor Damian Wayne sits across from her, a cat in his lap, and smiles as she outlines the plan and agrees easier than she thought he would.

Now Damian is highly trained, turned into a weapon from birth, but Selina insists on showing him some of her own moves. Damian excels in flexibility and the more arobatic elements. He picks pockets and exploits alarm systems like he's done it for years. He grins as he tells her exactly how he used to get around his father. No one wise ever lets anyone know all of their skills, even allies.

Selina delights in teaching him social exploitation, how to use his looks and charm to convince marks to just let him in. She laughs at the disgisted face he makes as she describes how to flirt and distract. Selina is actually a little impressed with how well he does at it after a bit of practice on regular people.

They melt at his accent and pretty green eyes, tripping over themselves to give Damian anything he wants if only to have his attention a moment longer.

She giggles at the thought of Bruce's and the other bats' reaction to their baby becoming the object of admirers. She reminds herself to get him to use his new skills at the next Wayne Gala so she can watch the chaos.

Finally, Selina declares him ready and hands him his new costume. Which happens to be a skintight black catsuit made from what he guesses is reinforced material, complete with a mask to cover his mouth and a hood with cat ears sewn on top.

"No."

"But you'll look so cute kitten!"

"I'll look like an idiot!"

"You need a suit, I altered one of mine, so unless you're going to rob this guy wearing the Robin outfit, it'll have to do."

"Fine!"

"Do you have a name? Or am I calling you kitten all night?"

Damian sighs and thinks, "You can call me Stray."

The job goes extremely well. Catwoman and Stray get in, grab the artifacts and a few extras that catch their eye, and get out without anyone noticing. It's the most fun Damian has had in ages, flitting across rooftops once again.

After that, Stray makes regular appearances, never when it'll interfere with his work.

He and Catwoman rob the corrupt and return culturally significant objects and wealth to where they belong. Afterwards, he goes to work and saves lives.

Damian and Selina don't tell the others about their escapades. Damian doesn't want the hassle of explaining his choices to them, and ever since he hung up the cape, his father and brothers have been overprotective to the extreme. Silena is waiting for the world's greatest detective to figure out his civilian son is now her sidekick.

Batman notices Strays existence months after Damian starts his new hobby. He meets his father in the house of a mob boss Catwoman had been targeting for years.

"Catwoman, whose your friend?" Batman grunts

"Oh, Batsy, meet my kitten, Stray."

Damian pitches his voice a little lower and carefully imitates a Gotham accent.

"Great to finally meet you Batman, my mentor has told me so much about you." Damian offers a clawed hand. His father doesn't take it.

"Get out of here. This guy is involved in a human trafficking ring I'm tracking down."

"All the more reason to liberate his ill gotten gains, don't you think?" Damian asks with a smirk.

Batman glares at him but let's them leave with a few nice paintings and doesn't bother giving chase. Damian ignores Selina winking at the Bat and whispering in his ear for his own sanity.

It goes on like this for weeks. When he sees his father outside the mask, the man is doting and worried if he's eating enough. When he he meets Batman, the man is cold and standoffish.

The other bats enjoy his humour but are thoroughly confused at his ability to evade them.

Bruce is losing it because the last time a masked figure showed in Gotham with vaguely familiar moves, it was Jason on a revenge mission. At least, Stray isn't beheading people, but Bruce needs to know who he is, like yesterday.

Silena says nothing but enjoys their frustration. Her kitten is having fun for the first time in years, and not even the bats are going to ruin that.

It works well, Damian helps Silena while he keeps his new life as a doctor without his family knowing his secret. He enjoys the adrenaline and sleeps better with some sort of outlet.

Then, all of the Batfamily are kidnapped.

Damian doesn't know how it happened or why he is the only one left to deal with it, but Silena called, and now he has to go rescue his idiots. Silena is with the sirens out of town, so Stray goes in solo. (he doesn't have time to find a robin suit.)

He finds his family tied up and mildly drugged in a large basement.

"Why are you here?!" Nightwing asks as he is untied.

"Because apparently you all are incapable of keeping yourselves out of trouble without my help!"

"We've never needed your help before?" Red Robin interjects, looking at him like a puzzle.

"Yes, take that tone! Agent A is waiting at the cave for you all, and God help me if any of you patrol again without me clearing you!"

"Wait-" Batman starts. "Damian!"

Every other bat looks at him in shock.

"No names in the suit, Father!"

All of the vigilantes start to talk over each other as Damian sighs. He has a shift in 5 hours and probably won't be able to sleep before it now.

Just as Damian has untied the last of his siblings, the door to the basement busts open to reveal a very serious looking Jon Kent. Tim had apparently activated the distress beacon.

Stray holds his face in his hand. "Bit late there, Superman." As he turns to a hovering Jon Kent.

"Damian?!" The Super gapes at him.

"No names in the suit, Hayseed!" Damian crosses his arms, his glare visible even if his scowl is hidden. Jon immediately turns bright red. Damians family look on in dread.

"I didn't know you even had a suit anymore!"

"It wasn't important!"

"Looks pretty important to me! What? Trade in the bird theme for... Are those cat ears??"

Damian glares harder. "They weren't my choice."

"Yeah, I got that. This is very different from your old Robin get-up." Jon looks him up and down. "Suits you, though."

Damian hopes his heartbeat doesn't give away how that comment affects him, but going by the smirk on Jons face, he already knows.

"NO!" Damians brothers shout from beside him.

"Stray, you are coming back to the cave." Batman orders

"But Father-"

"Now."

Damian really just wants to sleep, but his father isn't giving him a choice in the matter. He looks towards Jon and has a wonderful idea.

"Superman, I could use an evac." Jon takes a moment, smiles, and grabs the cat themed thief and flies them both away. They ignore the other heroes yelling behind them.

After a few minutes of flying, Jon sets him down in the middle of a field.

"So you're Stray now?"

"I needed an outlet that didn't hurt people, Silena suggested it." Damian says while taking down his mask and hood. "Thank you for the escape."

Jon chuckles. "Anytime." He steps closer. "If you want to repay the favour, you could take me to dinner?" He flirts.

Damian raises a brow. "Really?"

"I'll even pay."

"How is that repayment?"

"Was thinking more of a date, actually?" Jon looks at his lips as he says this.

"The Cat Costume really does it for you, huh?" Damian teases.

"No, you do it for me. I've been trying to ask you out for ages, but seeing you in skintight leather is definitely a hell of a motivation."

Damian hums. "Tommorrow then, you can pick me up after my shift. If you let me sleep before I have to work in the morning"

"Deal."

His family eventually interrogate him about being Stray, but not before they find Jonathan Kent waiting for him with flowers and a kiss.

Needless to say, Selina is highly entertained when she returns.

[natsaffection]

One step at a time. | N.R

Natasha x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and the team help you cope with the loss of your leg.

Warnings: Detailed description of loss/Grief and mental health issues

Word count: 3,9k

A/n: Had something in mind..✨

The Tower was already buzzing with activity. It was rare for everyone to be together, but when they were, the Tower seemed to vibrate with energy. At the center of it all was you, the bright and lively soul who illuminated even the darkest corners of the team.

You had a way about you that drew people in. Your infectious laughter could lift the heaviest spirits, and your smile seemed to spread warmth. Your optimism and unwavering positivity were like a beacon, guiding your teammates through their toughest times. Everyone admired you, but no one more so than Natasha Romanoff.

Natasha was always the stoic warrior, rarely showing her emotions. But you had effortlessly broken down those walls. With your steadfast support and genuine kindness, you became Natasha’s closest confidante and, although she would never say it out loud, the anchor of her heart.

This morning was no exception. You bounced into the common room, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "Good morning, everyone!" you called out, your voice like a melody echoing down the hall.

Tony, tinkering with a new gadget, looked up and grinned. "Well, if it isn’t our sunshine," he teased, causing the rest of the team to laugh.

You made your way to the kitchen, where Steve was pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Morning, Cap," you said cheerfully, reaching for a cup for yourself. "What’s on the agenda today?"

Steve smiled, appreciating your tireless positivity. "Just a meeting in a bit. But first, breakfast. You know the drill."

As you were about to sit down with the others at the table, Natasha came in from her morning training. The moment she saw you, her expression softened. "Hey," she greeted, kissing you on the cheek.

You beamed at her. "Nat! I was just getting some coffee. Want some?" Natasha nodded, a rare smile tugging at her lips. "Thanks, I could use it."

Days in the Tower were often filled with training sessions, meetings, and occasional sparring matches. You had a knack for brightening even the most mundane activities. You organized movie nights, cooked meals for the team, and always found time to lend an ear. Your favorite spot was the rooftop garden, where you often pulled Natasha to relax and enjoy the view.

One evening, as you lay in the garden, you asked Natasha, "Do you ever wonder if we make a difference?" Your eyes reflected the sparkling stars. Natasha was surprised by the question. "Of course we do," she replied firmly. "Every life we save, every fight we win, it all counts."

You smiled, a small, wistful smile. "I know. Sometimes it just feels like there’s so much darkness. It’s nice to have a reminder that there’s still light." In that moment, Natasha realized how much you meant to her. She placed a hand on your shoulder. "You are that light. Never forget that."

Your laughter snapped Natasha out of her thoughts. She watched as you interacted with the team, your eyes full of warmth and kindness. Moments like these filled Natasha’s heart with emotions she had long buried. She felt a protective urge towards you, a desire to shield you from the harsh realities of the world.

"Nat, you’re awfully quiet this morning," Clint, ever the observant Hawkeye, gently teased. "What’s on your mind?" Natasha offered a rare, genuine smile. "Just enjoying the moment," she replied, her gaze meeting yours again, making her heart swell with joy.

The mission seemed straightforward on paper: infiltrate an old HYDRA facility, gather intel, and get out. They had done it a hundred times. But as they moved through the dark, abandoned corridors, an eerie feeling spread.

"Stay alert," Steve's voice crackled through their earpieces. "Something doesn’t feel right." Eager to help, you moved up with Natasha. "I’ve got your back." you said, flashing a confident smile. "Just stay close to me," Natasha responded, her protective instincts kicking in.

They advanced cautiously, each step echoing through the silence. Tony’s scanners were active, searching for hidden threats. Suddenly, a blip on the radar caught his attention. "We’ve got movement," he announced. "Southwest corner, two floors down."

Steve gave the signal to move in. They split into pairs, covering each other's backs as they navigated the labyrinthine building. You and Natasha moved with practiced precision, your trust in each other evident in your fluid movements.

"How many are we dealing with?" you asked, scanning the shadows. "Looks like a small group," Tony replied. "Shouldn't be a big deal."

"Famous last words," Natasha muttered, making you laugh. As they reached the designated area, the building began to tremble. The walls shook, and the ceiling cracked. "It’s a trap!" Tony shouted, but it was too late. The structure collapsed around them.

"Y/N, Watch out!" Natasha called as debris began to fall. They dodged the larger pieces, but in the chaos, you were separated from the group. You called out, your voice filled with fear but still hopeful. "Nat! Tony! Where are you?"

A beam crashed down in front of you, blocking your path. You turned to find another exit, but it was too late. A massive steel beam, loosened by the collapsing structure, fell toward you. You tried to dodge, but it struck your left leg, pinning you to the ground.

Pain shot through your body, intense and unrelenting. You screamed, a sound that echoed through the collapsing building. The team heard your cry and fought through the rubble to reach you.

Natasha found you first. Her heart sank at the sight of you, trapped under the beam, blood pooling around you. "Hey, I’m here," she called, her voice trembling with uncharacteristic emotion.

"I-It hurts so much," you gasped, tears streaming down your face. "I can’t move.."

"It’s going to be okay. We’ll get you out of here. Just stay with me, okay, detka?" Natasha said, her voice calm despite the panic she felt inside.

The rest of the team arrived, and together they managed to lift the beam just enough to pull you free. They rushed you back to the Tower, the urgency of the situation weighing heavily on them.

In the medical wing, the doctors took over immediately, wheeling you into surgery. The team waited outside, the air thick with tension and worry. Natasha paced back and forth, unable to sit still, her mind filled with fear and guilt.

Hours seemed to stretch into eternity. Finally, the doors to the OR opened and Dr. Cho approached the worried group. Natasha stepped forward. "How is she?" she asked, her voice barely steady.

Cho sighed, pulling down her mask. "She’s stable, but the damage to her leg was severe. We did everything we could, but we couldn’t save it. We had to amputate above the knee."

The words hit Natasha like a punch to the gut. She nodded slowly, trying to process the information. "Can I see her?"

"She’s still unconscious," Cho said gently. "But you can be there when she wakes up." Natasha nodded again and followed Cho to your room. She sat by your bed, holding your hand and whispering comforting words. When you finally began to stir, Natasha’s heart pounded in her chest.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you looked around groggily. "Nat?" you murmured, your voice weak. "I’m here, Y/N," Natasha said softly, squeezing your hand. "I’m right here."

You smiled weakly, your eyes beginning to clear. But then you noticed the expression on Natasha’s face, a mix of relief and something else you couldn’t quite place. "What’s wrong? I’m okay, I’m here.." you asked, a hint of fear creeping into your voice.

Natasha struggled to find the words, her throat tight with emotion. Before she could speak, Cho stepped in, her face serious as she chose her words carefully. "Your leg was severely damaged by the beam... Y/N, we did everything we could to save it, but… it wasn’t enough."

"What do you mean?" Your eyes widened, your breath catching. "I’m so sorry. We had to amputate your leg above the knee." Your face went pale, your voice trembling. "My leg… it’s gone?"

Cho nodded, her eyes full of compassion. "Yes. I know it’s incredibly hard to hear. I’m truly sorry."

The room fell into silence. You continued to stare at her, your mind overwhelmed by the news. "W-What..?" you whispered, shaking your head. "No.. I.. I can feel it, that-" throwing off the blanket, your eyes widening in disbelief at the empty space where your leg used to be.

You tried to move it, but it wasn’t there. The realization hit you like a tidal wave. You said nothing, just stared at the empty space, your hands trembling.

Natasha leaned closer, her voice full of empathy. "I’m so sorry, Y/N. We’re here for you. I'm here for you.“

But you were in shock, unable to fully grasp the reality of your situation. Tears streamed down your face as you struggled to cope with your loss. Natasha stayed by your side, holding your hand and offering what comfort she could, knowing this was just the beginning of a long and difficult journey for both of you.

The days in the medical wing were a whirlwind of pain, medication, and the constant hum of machines. You lay in bed, your eyes often vacant as you stared at the sterile white ceiling. Your once bright smile was gone, replaced by a hollow expression that pained everyone who visited.

Natasha was a constant presence by your side. She held your hand, whispered comforting words, and even tried to coax a faint smile from you. But you were distant, your light dimmed by the weight of your loss.

One afternoon, Steve and Tony visited you, bringing a bouquet of colorful flowers. "Hey, sunshine," Tony greeted, his usual confidence tempered by concern. "We brought you something to brighten up this place."

You glanced at the flowers and managed a small nod. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Steve sat on the edge of your bed, his eyes full of empathy. "How are you holding up?" You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. "I’m okay, Steve. Just... tired."

They all knew you weren’t okay. The vibrant, happy Y/N they all loved was disappearing, and it broke their hearts to see you like this.

As the days turned into weeks, the team visited you regularly. Clint brought your favorite snacks, books to keep your mind occupied. But despite their efforts, you remained distant, a shadow of your former self.

One evening, as Natasha sat by your bed, she gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. "You know, it’s okay to not be okay," she said softly.

Your eyes filled with tears. "I don’t know how to be myself anymore," you admitted, your voice breaking. "Everything feels different. I feel different."

Natasha’s heart ached for you. She leaned in closer, resting her forehead against yours. "We’ll find a new normal, Y/N. Together. You’re still you, and you still mean the world to us."

Finally, the day came when you were discharged from the medical wing. The team gathered to bring you home, their faces a mix of relief and concern. As they helped you into the wheelchair, Natasha knelt beside you. "Ready to go home?" she asked, trying to sound hopeful.

You nodded, but the sadness in your eyes was unmistakable. "Yes. Let’s go."

Back at the Tower, the atmosphere was subdued. You moved through the halls with a quiet distance, no longer organizing movie nights or cooking meals. Most of your time was spent in your room, avoiding the rooftop garden you once loved.

The team watched helplessly as you withdrew further. Your laughter, once a joyful sound that echoed through the Tower, was now a distant memory. You no longer greeted anyone with your usual cheerfulness, and the light in your eyes had gone out.

Natasha was the most affected. She missed the Y/N who pulled her to the garden to watch the sunset, who made her laugh with silly jokes, who had become her rock. She tried to reach you, to break through the wall you had built around yourself, but it was like trying to catch smoke with her hands.

One morning, Cho informed Natasha that it was time to remove your bandages. "It’s common for patients to need emotional support when they see their stump for the first time," she explained gently. "It would be helpful if you could be there for her."

Natasha nodded, understanding the gravity of the moment. She entered your room, finding you standing by the window. "Hey," she said softly, closing the door behind her.

You turned around, surprise flickering across your face. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I’d sit with you while Cho removes the bandages," Natasha replied, trying to sound casual.

"I don’t need you," you said, your voice rising with frustration. "I can do this on my own."

Natasha shook her head, her expression determined. "I’m staying, Y/N. No arguments."

You glared at her, but Natasha’s resolve didn’t waver. Finally, you sighed in resignation. "Fine. Do what you want."

Cho entered and began the careful process of removing the bandages. You kept your eyes fixed on the ceiling, determined not to look. Natasha held your hand, offering silent comfort.

As the last layer of bandage was removed, you caught a glimpse of your stump out of the corner of your eye. Your breath caught, and you turned your head, unable to avoid it any longer. The sight of your leg..or what was left of it, triggered a wave of nausea and despair.

You tried to hold back your tears, biting your lip until it bled. But the emotional dam broke, and you began to sob uncontrollably. "I-Ican’t do this... I can’t live like.. t-this..."

Natasha pulled you into a tight embrace, her own tears falling silently. "You can, Y/N. And you will. We’ll get through this together, I promise."

You clung to her, your sobs shaking your entire body. Cho, seeing the emotional toll, finished quickly and quietly left the room. The team, waiting just outside, could hear your cries, their own hearts breaking for their friend. They knew they couldn’t fix this for you, but they would be there every step of the way, offering support as best they could.

The days that followed were some of the hardest you had ever faced. You were engulfed by a whirlwind of emotions, grief, anger, and a deep sense of loss. The team continued to give you space, but they were never far away, always ready to offer support.

Natasha stayed close, offering a steady presence that you found both comforting and frustrating. It was a delicate balance, and Natasha navigated it with patience and love.

One morning, you woke up to find Tony standing at your door, a wide grin on his face. "Good morning, sunshine. Mind if I come in?"

You sighed and sat up in bed. "What is it, Tony? If it’s more flowers or breakfast in bed, I might scream." Tony laughed. "No flowers. But I have a surprise for you. Something I’ve been working on."

You raised an eyebrow. "I’m not really in the mood for surprises, Tony."

"Trust me, you’ll want to see this," Tony insisted, stepping aside to reveal a sleek, high-tech case. Curiosity piqued, you watched as Tony opened the case to reveal a prosthetic leg, crafted with meticulous precision and advanced technology. It was sleek and metallic, with intricate designs hinting at its capabilities.

"Is that...?" Your voice trailed off, your eyes wide with disbelief.

"Yes," Tony said, his grin widening. "I built it especially for you. It’s got the latest tech. It’s strong, lightweight, and it’s going to help you get back on your feet, well literally."

You stared at the prosthetic, emotions swirling inside you. "Tony, I don’t know what to say."

"How about we start by trying it on?" Tony suggested gently. "Natasha and I will be with you every step of the way." With a mix of apprehension and skepticism, you nodded. "Okay."

The process of fitting the prosthetic was meticulous. Tony and a team of specialists worked carefully to ensure it was comfortable and secure. Natasha stayed by your side, offering silent comfort.

As they adjusted the straps and made final tweaks, a wave of fear washed over you. What if it didn’t work? What if you could never walk properly again?

"Are you ready to try it out?" Tony asked, his tone encouraging.

You took a deep breath and nodded. With the help of Natasha and Tony, you stood up cautiously, feeling the weight of the prosthetic beneath you. It felt foreign, unfamiliar, but it also felt like a new beginning.

"Take it slow," Natasha advised, holding your hand firmly. You took your first tentative steps. It was awkward and shaky, and you nearly stumbled. Frustration and anger bubbled up inside you. "This is impossible," you muttered, your voice tinged with defeat.

"You’re doing great," Tony reassured you. "Just keep going, one step at a time."

You continued, each step harder than the last. The prosthetic felt unnatural, and your movements were jerky and uneven. After a few laps around the room, you stopped, breathless and frustrated.

"I can’t do this," you said, tears of anger and disappointment streaming down your face. "I can’t walk properly. This is useless!"

Natasha stepped in, her eyes flashing with determination and frustration. She cupped your face in her hands, forcing you to look at her. "Now listen to me, Y/N," Natasha said firmly, her voice both angry and urgent. "I know this is hard. I know it’s tougher than anything you’ve ever faced. But you have to keep going! I can’t stand to see you suffering like this!"

You stared at her, shocked by the intensity in her voice.

Natasha continued, her grip gentle but unyielding. "You keep talking down to yourself. But you need to channel that anger where it belongs. At us. At me! We couldn’t get you out of that building in time. I couldn’t get you out in time, be mad at us, but stop tearing yourself apart."

You felt a surge of emotions, anger, determination, and something else, something stronger. You nodded slowly, your tears falling faster. "Okay, Nat. Okay."

The following days were filled with intense training. Tony and the team set up a rehabilitation room, equipped with everything you needed to regain your strength and mobility. Natasha was there for every session, encouraging you and celebrating every small victory.

The training was grueling. You had to learn how to balance again, how to walk with the prosthetic, and how to cope with the physical and emotional challenges. There were moments of intense frustration and doubt when you wanted to throw the prosthetic across the room.

One afternoon, after a particularly hard session, you sat on the floor, sweat dripping from your forehead. "This is so hard," you said, your voice tinged with exhaustion and defeat.

"I know," Natasha replied, sitting next to you. "But you’re doing amazing. Look how far you’ve come." You looked at the prosthetic, your eyes filled with determination and a glimmer of hope. "I just want to feel normal again."

"You will," Natasha assured you. "Step by step."

As the weeks went by, your progress was slow but steady. You became more comfortable with the prosthetic, moving with increasing confidence and grace. The team watched with pride, their admiration for your strength and resilience growing with each passing day.

One evening, after a successful training session, Tony gathered everyone in the common room. "I think we need to celebrate," he announced, holding up a bottle of champagne.

You laughed, the sound bright and clear. "What are we celebrating?"

"Your incredible progress," Tony replied, popping the cork. "To Y/N, the strongest person I know." The team raised their glasses and toasted to you and the journey ahead. You looked around at your family, your heart filled with gratitude and hope.

But despite your progress, you often doubted your worth, especially in your relationship with Natasha.

One night, as you lay in bed together, you couldn’t shake the feelings of inadequacy that gnawed at you. Natasha lay next to you, reading a book, while you stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"Natasha," you began hesitantly, your voice barely more than a whisper. Natasha looked up, concern immediately etched on her face. "What’s wrong?"

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your courage. "Do you still find me... attractive?" Natasha frowned in confusion. "Of course I do. Why would you even ask that?"

You turned away, your eyes filling with tears. "I’m not the same person I was before the accident. What if you don’t want me anymore?"

Natasha set her book aside and moved closer, gently turning you to face her. "Y/N, look at me," she said softly. "You’re still the same person I fell in love with. Your strength, your kindness, your spirit..None of that has changed."

You shook your head, your voice trembling. "But my body has changed. I don’t feel like myself anymore. I’m afraid you see me differently."

Natasha cupped your face in her hands, her eyes filled with unwavering love. "Your body may be different, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. You’re beautiful, Y/N, in every way that matters. I love you for who you are, not just for your appearance."

Your tears flowed freely, and you clung to Natasha, your fears slowly dissolving in the warmth of her embrace. "I’m sorry for doubting you," you whispered. "It’s just... sometimes it’s hard."

"I understand," Natasha said gently. "But you’re not alone in this. We’ll get through it together, remember?"

Months had passed since your accident, and your hard work in physical therapy had paid off. With the unwavering support of your team, you had regained your strength and confidence. One morning, you woke up with a renewed sense of purpose. You strapped on your prosthetic and joined the team in the kitchen.

"Morning, Y/N!" Tony greeted you with a broad grin. The entire team was gathered, and Steve stepped forward with a small black box.

"We have something for you," Steve said, handing you the box. You opened it to find a sleek, high-tech communication device. "Is this...?"

"Welcome back to the team," Tony announced. "We’ve got a little mission for you, if you’re ready." You felt a surge of emotions. "I’m ready."

The team briefed you on the mission: a simple reconnaissance at an industrial complex. As they flew to the site, Natasha held your hand, offering silent comfort. Upon arrival, they split into pairs, you and Natasha working together.

As you navigated the complex, you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. You encountered a group of armed men, and your training kicked in. With Natasha by your side, you quickly overwhelmed the threat.

"You did it," Natasha said, pride shining in her eyes. "We did it," you replied, feeling a deep sense of fulfillment.

Back in the Quinjet, the team congratulated you. "Welcome back, Y/N," Steve said, clapping you on the shoulder.

You looked around at your teammates, feeling deep gratitude. "I missed this. Thank you all for believing in me." Tony grinned. "We never doubted you for a second."

As you flew back to the Tower, you felt at peace. You had faced your fears and overcome your challenges, stronger than ever before. With the support of your team and Natasha's love, you knew you were ready for whatever the future held.

[lanalace]

Our Last Hunt - Part 3

Yandere Caleb x Reader

[Chapter - 2] [Chapter - 4]

Summary: Y/n made a mistake that changed her life forever. Once a fearless hunter of blood-sucking fiends, she is now becoming the very thing she once swore to kill. How can she live with herself? And how will her immortal brother—the one who raised her, trained her, and protected her react when he discovers she’s turning into a creature of the night?

Warnings: Manipulation, Murder, Dubious Consent, NSFW, Psedo-incest, Smut, Dead Dove Do Not Eat 🔞

Word Count: 7.6k🍏🍎

Caleb had been watching her for hours.

She lay curled in bed, softly breathing, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only sign she hadn’t already slipped from his world. Moonlight painted her in silver-blue through the window, and in that light, she looked like something too fragile for war, too soft for the stains she bore.

A phantom vibration still resonated in Caleb's bones from the lie he’d woven into her phone, a fabricated distress call that had tugged at her eager hunter’s spirit. He’d known she was itching for a solitary kill, desperate to prove her mettle. His enhanced hearing had tracked her silent descent from the window, the almost imperceptible rustle of fabric against brick, the soft thud of her landing. He followed soundlessly, keeping to the rooftops, a phantom in the dark. She never once looked back. Never sensed him.

The coordinates led to a desolate abandoned warehouse lot. Though visibly on guard, her small form radiating a fierce determination he both admired and resented, she’d drawn a polished wooden stake and a glinting silver knife, the moonlight catching the sharp edges as she prepared to face a phantom threat. She was ready for anything.

Except him

She moved in slow circles, scanning shadows, muscles taut with anticipation. Finding nothing, she scoped out the surrounding area, eventually entering an alleyway, the air thick with the cloying stench of damp refuse and something else, a metallic tang that hinted at past violence. 

She moved with a cautious grace he’d personally instilled, her senses scanning the shadowed corners, the overflowing dumpsters. The alley remained stubbornly empty. He felt a pang of guilt, quickly suppressed. Sheathed her weapons with a soft click of leather against metal, she retrieved her phone, the screen’s pale light illuminating her focused brow as she re-checked the nonexistent coordinates.

That’s when he moved, descending for the building above her as the rough asphalt barely whispered beneath his weight. Her instincts were sharp. He relished the almost imperceptible stiffening of her spine, the sudden stillness that broadcasted her awareness of a presence behind her. 

A delicious chill, born of instinctual fear, prickled the air around her. She whirled with a speed he’d trained into her, a roundhouse kick aimed with lethal precision at where she sensed the threat.

To her utter surprise, not only was her swift leg caught mid-air, the delicate bones surprisingly fragile in his grasp, but it was caught by him.

“Gege…?” The shock in her voice was a raw, wounded sound, quickly bleeding into shame as his cold, unwavering gaze settled upon her. Her violet eyes, usually so bright with life, now clouded with confusion and a dawning horror.

“What exactly are you doing out here, meimei?” His voice was low, dangerously controlled with a sharp edge of disapproval. 

He held her leg in a grip that could easily crush bone, a silent reminder of the power she so carelessly disregarded. Caleb released her abruptly, the sudden freedom making her stumble. She hung her head, the moonlight catching the strands of her dark hair, unable to meet his piercing gaze. 

“I… uh…” Her words caught in her throat, a pathetic stammer as she tried to find a believable lie. Instead, she sighed in defeat and told the truth. “I was hunting a nest…”

“By yourself?” The question was a low, furious hiss. 

“Do you have any idea how incredibly dangerous that is? How recklessly foolish it is for a single human to take on a nest, alone?!” He forced his voice down, the quiet fury more terrifying than any shout. She flinched visibly at his harsh tone, her small shoulders hunching. Rarely did he raise his voice, and never at her.

“I’ve taught you better than that, y/n. You don’t charge into a nest solo. Why are you being so willfully ignorant?” His brows furrowed, his gaze scrutinizing her small, vulnerable figure. She trembled visibly, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, blurring the harsh edges of the alley.

“I’m sorry… gege.” Her voice was a choked whisper, punctuated by a pathetic sniffle. “I just—sniffle— I just wanted you to be proud of me.” She fought back the tears, her lower lip trembling. 

“I just wanted to show you that I can handle myself.” A fleeting warmth touched his cold features at her vulnerability. “That I don’t need you to protect me anymore.”

The warmth vanished as quickly as it came, his body hardening, becoming rigid with a chilling resolve. The fleeting tenderness in his eyes melted away, replaced by a cold, unfeeling look of disdain that pierced her fragile hope.

“You don’t need me anymore? Is that what you truly believe, little one?” His voice, once familiar and comforting, now dripped with a sweet, venomous undertone that made her skin crawl. He grabbed her arms, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, a possessive grip that stole her breath. 

Y/n gasped, her glassy eyes widening in alarm as she looked up at his suddenly alien gaze, her mouth opening in a silent plea, ready to explain her foolish desire.

“Alright then, what exactly do you think you need?” He said through clenched teeth, the subtle tremor in his hands betraying the storm raging within him. “Go on then, little hunter. You can tell me everything.”

Her bottom lip trembled violently as she stared into his unfamiliar, glacial gaze. The words she’d so desperately wanted to speak now withered on her tongue, leaving her mute with a growing dread. Caleb leaned down, his face inches from hers, close enough that she could feel the ghost of his cool breath on her cheek, carrying the scent of ancient power and something darker, something possessive. 

“You see, meimei, you’ve allowed yourself to believe you don’t need me because I’ve been… lenient. You thought you could leave me behind—outgrow me. But you belong to me, Y/n. I shouldn’t have allowed you to become so strong— so independent.” 

One hand, its grip tightening almost imperceptibly, trailed up her arm, across her shoulder, the back of his knuckles brushing along the delicate curve of her neck until he was cradling her face, his thumb pressing against the frantic pulse point beneath her ear. 

“But that ends tonight.” His fingers squeezed her jaw, hard enough to bruise the delicate bone, and she whimpered, a small, terrified sound. “After tonight, you’ll never be able to not need me. I’ll be your only solace, your only anchor. You’ll depend on me for your very sanity.” He promised.

“Wh-what do you—“ she gasped, a strangled sound as he pulled her body flush against his, the hard muscles of his chest pressing against her softer own, his arm wrapping around her waist in a possessive embrace that stole her breath.

Using the hand that cradled her jaw, he tilted her head to the side, his gaze dropping hungrily to the smooth, vulnerable column of her neck, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled her scent, a heady mix of fear and innocent sweetness. Before she could utter a coherent word, Caleb’s head snapped back, his mouth opening, his elongated fangs glistening in the dim moonlight, sharp as he sunk them deep into the delicate skin of her neck.

Y/n’s eyes widened in absolute horror, a muffled scream trapped behind his suffocating palm that clamped over her mouth. All she could feel was the searing, agonizing pain, the shocking betrayal that ripped through her, and the horrifying sensation of something sharp and alien piercing her flesh. She writhed in his arms, her nails digging into his pecs, her tears soaking into his palm. 

Caleb, on the other hand, let out a low, guttural moan of pure pleasure, a sound that vibrated against her muffled cries. He was intoxicated by the taste—by the claim. Her life’s blood surged into his mouth, a taste that ignited a primal fire within him.

He hoisted her up effortlessly, wrapping her legs around his waist, pressing her intimately against his hardening member, the immediate arousal was a brutal testament to the potent power of her blood had on him. Her life force flooded his senses, filling his veins with an electrifying energy, claiming every part of him. His arousal throbbed painfully against his pants, the scent of her body—fear, shame, arousal—an elixir he could never replicate. He was so utterly captivated by the taste of her, the intoxicating rush, that he almost missed the soft, whimpering sound that escaped her lips. 

Almost.

Y/n’s body went limp for a horrifying few seconds after his teeth sank into her neck, then a strange heat bloomed within her, a sensation so intensely pleasurable it momentarily eclipsed the pain. Her mind swam in a hazy fog, all coherent thought dissolving into pure sensation. All she could feel was him – the hard press of his body against hers, the low moans that vibrated through her, and the insistent pull at her neck that made her legs involuntarily tighten around his waist.

A high-pitched whine escaped her lips, a sound of mingled pain and a terrifying, unwanted pleasure. Soft pants followed, and more quiet whimpers, sounds of pleasure meant only for Caleb’s ears. It made him so incredibly hard, a painful throb that demanded release. He wanted to claim her fully, right there in the grimy alley, to brand her as his in every way.

With a monumental effort, he restrained the primal urge. He had a goal in mind and he would not be dissuaded by the alluring call of her body. His only focus now was draining her completely, ensuring her dependence. His free hand slipped possessively around the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, the other pressed against her lower back, arching her closer as he felt her body grow more and more lax, her struggles fading.

“Ge…ge…please. Don’t— don’t do this.”

He heard her call out to him weakly, her voice barely a whisper. So small. So broken and in that moment, a sharp pang of something akin to remorse pierced through the intoxicating haze. He almost let her go, the tragic sound tearing at something deep within him. He couldn’t bear to hear her so weak, so vulnerable. It caused him a fleeting moment of distress, enough to make him stop drinking for a split second. 

His hand on her back began to move in slow, circular motions, a pathetic attempt to soothe her as he continued to take from her. It was his twisted way of saying sorry. He couldn’t stop. Not when she was finally going to be his. Not when he was this close.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered against her pulse, circling his hand along her back as she slackened in his arms. “I have to. This is the only way you’ll stay.”

When she was almost completely drained, her body sagging against his, her skin pale and clammy, her heartbeat a faint flutter against his chest, he finally pulled away. His eyes were completely blown, the violet irises swallowed by the black of his pupils, his breath coming in ragged gasps as her limp form rested heavily in his arms.

Caleb lowered himself to the dirty alley floor, his movements surprisingly gentle as he placed her down, cradling her head as if she were a fragile doll. He looked at her still form with troubled eyes, a sheen of unshed tears blurring his vision at her near-death appearance. She looked like a fallen angel— ruined by his love.

Y/n lay there with her eyelids half-closed, her breathing shallow and barely perceptible. She looked as if she wanted to speak, her lips twitching slightly, but she lacked the strength to utter a single word. Caleb offered her a sad, almost regretful smile, leaning down to press his forehead against hers, a silent apology, before nuzzling her hair slightly. When he pulled back, he made sure her unfocused gaze was on him.

“You fought well, little hunter. You took down eight vampires by yourself. But due to your human limitations, you failed to protect yourself from the last one. You were exhausted, the battle was long. As you went in for the final kill, you were blindsided, knocked down, and bitten. Just before you passed out, you managed to stake it. Now, you are going to drift off, and you will forget that I was ever here tonight.” 

His pupils constricted and dilated rapidly as he compelled her, his voice a soft, hypnotic murmur. A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a lonely path down her pale cheek before her eyelids slipped shut, her breathing evening out into a semblance of peaceful sleep.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, his hand caressing her cooling cheek with a possessive tenderness. He took a shaky breath, the scent of her blood still clinging to him, before using his fingers to gently pry open her slack jaw. Caleb raised his wrist, just above her parted lips, and with a sharp flick of his wrist, slit his own skin, letting his dark, potent blood rush into her mouth. 

He used his other hand to gently massage her throat, ensuring she swallowed the life-giving liquid. Once he was satisfied, he licked the wound on his arm, the skin knitting back together instantly, then used the back of his hand to wipe his own blood from her mouth, a final, possessive touch.

Just as he was about to stand, a new scent drifted into the alleyway, acrid and hungry. A vampire. Its eyes glistened with predatory hunger in the dim light. ‘He must have smelled her blood.’ A strange, dark satisfaction bloomed within Caleb. He welcomed the intrusion, a desperate need to unleash the turmoil within him, a violence he couldn’t direct at himself. The vampire lunged, a blur of unnatural speed, but Caleb was faster, his reflexes honed over centuries.

He caught the skinny vampire by its throat, the fragile bones cracking audibly beneath his grip, and glared down at the struggling creature with cold, incandescent fury. 

“As much as I would relish the opportunity to torture you, to take out my… frustrations… on your pathetic existence, I need your blood more.” 

His voice was deceptively calm, a stark contrast to the rage simmering beneath. The vampire cursed and clawed at his hand, its eyes wide with terror, but Caleb paid it no mind. Raising its emaciated body over his unconscious sister, he bared its throat with a swift, brutal movement, allowing its dark, tainted blood to spill onto her pale clothing and skin, a grotesque baptism.

Once he was satisfied, a dark ritual completed, he plunged his other hand into the vampire’s chest, ripping out its still-beating heart, the black liquid staining his fingers. He held the grotesque organ before its horrified eyes before crushing it mercilessly. The vampire arched in a silent scream of agony before bursting into violent flames, its desiccated body crumbling into ashes against the brick wall.

Caleb wiped his hands clean of the vampire’s filthy blood on its burning remains before crouching down, his gaze softening as he observed his peacefully sleeping sister. He would stand guard, a silent sentinel, until she woke, ensuring no other predators dared approach his claim.

It took a mere ten minutes, an eternity in his heightened perception, before he saw the first signs of life. Her fingers twitched, small, involuntary movements, and then her eyelids fluttered, delicate as butterfly wings, though they did not yet open. Caleb released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, the tension slowly easing from his rigid frame.

Satisfied that his claim had taken hold, he leaped to the rooftop with a silent grace, melting into the shadows, and watched her as she finally woke, her eyes widening with confusion and a lingering sense of unease. When he saw her stand on shaky legs, her movements disoriented, and head in the direction of their home, he moved with supernatural speed. Traveling by rooftop, a blur of motion against the dark sky, he made it to their house in a mere two minutes.

Slipping silently into the bathroom, he meticulously fixed his disheveled appearance, the wind having tousled his dark hair. He changed his clothes and washed his hands, cleansing himself of the remaining traces of vampire blood. 

As if nothing happened, he Walked into the kitchen and began to cook. He needed his alibi to be perfectly prepared, a comforting normalcy to greet her when she inevitably stumbled through the front door, her memories carefully rewritten. Pulling out the ingredients for one of her favorite meals, the familiar scents filling the quiet house as waited for her to come crashing back into his carefully controlled world.

🍎🍏

Y/n bolted upright in bed, a strangled gasp tearing from her throat, her heart hammering against her ribs with a frantic, terrified rhythm that echoed the phantom pain in her thigh. The dream... no, the memory... clung to her like a suffocating shroud, the metallic tang of blood and the sickeningly sweet scent of his arousal still vivid in her senses. It was a visceral imprint, a violation that refused to fade.

Y/n's consciousness returned in a slow, syrupy haze, her body alight with a pleasure so thick it bordered on pain. The first thing she registered was the wet heat between her thighs-the slow, deliberate suck of lips against her inner thigh, the sharp sting of fangs buried deep in her flesh.

Her back arched forward, a ragged moan tearing from her throat before she could stop it.

“Mmmm… ah!~”

A chilling silence, broken only by a wet, disturbingly intimate sound – the slick suction of lips on flesh.

It wasn’t a nightmare conjured by a fevered mind. It was real, etched into her very being with agonizing clarity.

Her thigh screamed in protest, a deep, pulsing throb that bloomed with sickening intensity with every slow, deliberate draw of Caleb’s possessive mouth. He was a dark, predatory shadow wrapped around her hip, one hand a brutal brand on her lower stomach, holding her captive while the other cradled her thigh open with a horrifying tenderness, as though she were a delicate offering, a chalice to be reverently defiled.

Her hands flew to Caleb's hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, caught between yanking him away and pulling him closer. The bond between them thrummed like a live wire, amplifying every sensation-the searing pleasure of his mouth on her skin, the icy horror clawing up her spine as the memories flooded back.

His fangs, sharp and cruelly efficient, were still buried deep within her flesh, a living tether binding them together.

The heat of his mouth was unbearable, a silken inferno against her skin, each insistent pull coaxing her traitorous body to betray her further, igniting a terrifying pleasure amidst the horror. A low, guttural purr, a sound of pure, animalistic satisfaction, trembled from his chest, vibrating against her skin like a dark promise. 

Her blood, her very life force, ran slick and warm down his jaw, glistening crimson along the strong, possessive line of his throat. He was savoring her, claiming her with every agonizingly slow movement.

And her body—weak, languid, utterly compromised—trembled beneath him, a horrifying symphony of unwanted sensation.

“C… Caleb… stop…” she whispered, her voice a broken, breathless rasp.

He didn’t stop, lost in the intoxicating act of claiming her.

Didn’t hear her desperate plea, his senses overwhelmed by the taste and feel of her altered blood.

His tongue swept lazily across the raw punctures, sealing nothing, teasing everything, igniting a fresh wave of unwanted sensation. Her blood—no longer purely hers, now tainted and bonded—was like wildfire to him, a potent elixir that fueled his possessive hunger. The irreversible change had completed, and she could feel the insidious tendrils of their connection, no longer trembling with potential but singing with a terrifying, absolute ownership.

He moaned, a soft, broken sound that bordered on pain, as if she were the one devouring him, stealing his very essence.

“Caleb,” she tried again, her voice cracking with rising hysteria, louder this time, forcing her shaking hand to press against the slick, blood-warmed skin of his shoulder. “Please!”

He lifted his head slowly, his breath coming in shallow, ragged pants, his chest heaving against hers. Her blood, thick and viscous, dripped down his chin, painting his lips a horrifying crimson. His pupils were blown wide, the violet of his irises swallowed by the encroaching black, his eyes gleaming with an unholy light as he stared at her, his expression bordering on religious fervor.

Worship. Possession.

“You taste different today— like fire,” he murmured, his voice thick with a possessive awe. Richer. Darker. A taste so perfect it bordered on sacrilege.

“So sweet. Wild. No one compares. Every note, every drop, it’s like you were tailored to sate the deepest craving I never even knew how to name. You were always meant for me, my precious meimei.” He murmured against her skin before diving back into her open wound. Every swallow sent liquid fire through his veins, his cock aching against the confines of his pants, desperate to claim her all over again.

She slapped at his shoulders, nails raking down his back. "Get off! You’re disgusting!"

A growl rumbled in his chest as he narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Caleb looked up through his lashes, pinning her with his glare, mouth still latched to her skin. He sucked once more, slowly as he watched her flushed face. His free hand slid between her trembling thighs, finger slipping through her slick folds with ease. 

"Liar." he shot back, pushing another finger inside her to the knuckle in one brutal thrust, pulling a sweet sound from her lips. "You're already so wet for me." he murmured against her skin, voice rough with hunger. 

"You don’t want me to stop, I can feel it." And he could. He could feel the ache through the sire bond. Her resistance was being consumed by her desperate need for him.

His fingers pushed inside, curling just right, just the way she liked and she arched off the bed with a broken moan, her blood still spilling into his mouth. 

“Gege… Don’t!” Her voice broke, her hips bucking against his hand as the pleasure built, unrelenting, unforgiving.

Caleb growled, the vibration against her skin sending another shock of heat through her. “Don’t do what, y/n? Don’t taste you or don’t fuck you like I did last night?” He said as he scissored her insides, stretching, preparing her for the possibility.

She whimpered, her drooling pussy swallowing his fingers so easily as he pumped his digits into her at a hurried pace. He could feel the way she squeezed him, her gummy walls tightening around him like a pulse, signaling her approaching orgasm. 

‘Gonna cum, already?’ He smirked at her. 

"You didn't mean that, right?" His thumb circled her clit, relentless and he swore she came a little. Her pussy was soaked, the lewd sounds of her drenched core enveloped the room, along with her shameless moans. 

She didn’t mean it. Not really. How could she with all the evidence of her body’s betrayal stacked against her.

The bond between them was wide open now, her shame, her anger, her desire— all laid bare for him as he continued to fuck her cunt on his fingers brutally. 

Y/n came with a broken cry, her body clenching around his fingers, her blood spilling into his mouth as he drank her down like a man starved. Caleb released her, opting to watch her pretty contort with pleasure as his finger piston into her, helping her ride out her orgasm. She squealed, shaking violently as her little hole milked his fingers as if it were his cock. 

“Fuck… so beautiful.” He whispered praises, licking his lips in carnal hunger, catching the last beads of blood that escaped his lips. He wanted to taste her honey this time, test it against her blood to see if it had also changed.

Y/n came down from her high quickly, her strength surged, adrenaline-fueled burst, just long enough to deliver a firm slap, hard across the face, the sound echoing in the blood-soaked silence.

He didn’t react to the blow. The sharp crack of her hand against his cheek reverberated through the room, but he only blinked slowly, his head tilting slightly, as if the pain didn’t register, as if the only sensation that mattered was her touch, however violent it was.

"The alley." she choked out, tears welling in her eyes, blurring his concerned expression. "The warehouse... the bite... y-you lied to me.” she choked, her voice raw with betrayal, trying to scramble away, to put distance between them. “You compelled me to forget… the entire mission, all of it was a lie.”

But her legs wouldn’t obey, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. He’d taken a significant amount of blood from her and she finds that she feels weaker than she ever did when she was human. Understanding dawned in his violet eyes, a chilling realization that left no room for doubt. 

"You finally remembered." he sounded almost happy. The small quirk of his lips stood as a confession. “I guess when I sealed the sire bond last night, it broke the compulsion.”

Her body sagged, trembling uncontrollably, breath catching in a ragged sob. “I remember everything! You— it was you who turned me into this… you turned me into a monster!” His smile was slow, a soft, possessive curve of his bloodied lips.

“You think you became a monster the night I bit you?” he asked gently, his voice almost tender, laced with a disturbing affection. 

“No, meimei. You became mine.”

“You used me. You manipulated me…”

“No.” His voice deepened, a low, resonant rumble of velvet and smoke that seemed to coil around her. “I loved you. I love you. This was the only way.”

“Only way to what?! You murdered me!”

“I gave you eternity. It was the only way to keep you by my side.”

He rose from the bed with a fluid, unnatural grace, the sheets rustling with the movement, licking her slick from his fingers slowly with a satisfied moan. She shrank away instinctively, clutching the bloodied sheets to her chest as her body throbbed with a hollow weakness.

“I hate you…” she said so low that a normal person would have struggled to hear. But he was anything but normal and despite his unbrothered appearance, those words stabbed at his heart. 

"You don’t. You want to know the worst part, meimei?" His thumb brushed her lower lip, smearing her own blood across it. "You could've fought the bond... if you'd truly hated me."

“A sire bond doesn’t create feelings, it amplifies it. It wouldn’t have affected you if there were no feelings there to begin with, little one.” he said quietly, his gaze intense. “If you didn’t find me attractive, on some deep, primal level… if you didn’t love me, more than you should have ever loved a brother… this would never have worked. Our connection is too strong.”

She scoffed, knowing his words to be true but disbelief clouded her mind.

“A part of you craved me, Y/n.” Caleb continued, his voice a hypnotic murmur. 

“I made sure of it. All these years, I stayed close, a constant presence. Loved and protected you. Coveted you with every fiber of my being. Because I needed you to need me, truly need me. To love me, beyond the bounds of sibling affection. Human minds are so fragile, so easily swayed. And sometimes love gets… confusing. Hard to differentiate. But I only needed you to think of me as more than just a brother. Just once. And then I’d have you, forever.”

“But I never did!” Y/n shouted, her voice raw and hoarse with disbelief and rising panic. “You’re delusional! You’ve twisted everything!”

“But you did, sweet girl.” He spoke with confidence as  knelt at the edge of the bloodied bed, his eyes level with hers, his gaze unwavering. “I knew exactly when it happened, too. The first time you acknowledged it.”

She glared at him, eyes narrowed as she waited for his silly revelation. 

“It was when we were teenagers.” he said, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips. “You were so used to my undivided attention, my constant presence, that when other girls started to notice me, to flirt… you nearly beat them senseless. Remember that? You dragged me away the second they got too close, your small hand a surprisingly fierce grip on my arm. You wouldn’t speak to me for days, a furious silence that only I could break.”

Her face twisted in horror, the memory surfacing, finally dawning on her yet still, she denied it. “I was a child! I didn’t want to share my favorite person. It doesn’t mean I had… feelings. I was just a spoiled brat!”

“And who do you think spoiled you, little one?” he asked softly, his gaze intense. 

“Who isolated you, subtly steering you away from others? Who gave you more attention than any sibling should, whispering reassurances until my presence was the only constant you could truly rely on?”

Her breath hitched, the realization dawning with chilling clarity.

“Should I tell you more? Before you even knew the depths of my powers, when gran left us home alone. You thought I was asleep...”

Y/n face scrunched in confusion, wondering where this story was going.

“I heard you that night— touching yourself to the thought of me. You even whispered my name so sweetly into your pillow that I almost broke down your bedroom door and took you right there.”

Her jaw dropped, hands flying to cover her mouth as she recalled that moment. How disgusted she was with herself back then when she came to the thought of her brother touching her inappropriately. She’d buried that memory. Locking it away to the point that she didn’t even remember until he brought it up. 

“No… no…” she whispered, shaking her head vehemently, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

Her face flared up, blushing furiously with embarrassment and she looked away from Caleb’s all too amused eyes.

“Sweet meimei…” He leaned forward, his touch feather-light as he brushed a stray strand of blood-soaked hair from her face, turning her back to face him. “Don’t be embarrassed. Its ok. I was so happy you liked me that much.” 

“That’s the moment I knew you were mine. You were so easy to guide after that. So desperate for my affection even when you tried to keep your distance. But I… I was even more desperate for you. Your human love had limits, boundaries you tied yourself to that I couldn’t abide by. I needed to shatter them, to make you mine in every way.”

“So you turned me…” she whispered, her voice cracking, raw with grief and betrayal. “You took my life from me. You took everything. You turned me into a freak… like you. You even killed Dalton… just to prove a point. He had a family!” The weight of Dalton’s death, made meaningless, pressed down on her. ‘All of this just because he wanted me?’

“So perceptive. Of course, I did. I heard him coming a mile away. I wanted him to see you. Knew your body would reject his unworthy blood but…” He leaned in, his lips mere inches from the shell of her ear. “You needed to learn that you can only drink from me.”

Her eyes widened, betrayal and heartbreak etched into her face. She shoved him weakly, her small fists striking his chest, the impact barely registering against his supernatural strength. He didn’t flinch, his gaze unwavering.

“How could you…? He was our friend. You’re supposed to be my brother! How could you be so selfish?! I thought you loved me! You’re the worst!”

“I did this because I love you, Y/n. But you’re right, I am selfish. I want you all to myself.” he replied, his voice a low, possessive murmur. ‘If I hadn’t drained him while she slept, I wouldn’t be able to feed her.’ 

“Was any of it real? Did you ever see me as your sister? As your family?” She hadn’t meant to ask such a pointless question but it slipped from her mouth regardless. Something like this didn’t matter now that things have gotten this far.

“Of course, I did. I am your brother, meimei. But I am so much more than that now. And so are you.” He said so tenderly, it was like he was her Caleb again but his words were so foreign. His hand caressed her cheek, a touch both gentle and so possessive. 

“I’m the same brother who loved you from the moment I first saw your tiny face. The one who spoiled you rotten, who indulged your every whim. The one who took your first kiss. The brother who fingered your dripping pussy. The same brother who ate you out until you came on my tongue last night. The brother who took your virginity and fucked you full of my seed.”

“You’re disgusting!” she screamed, lurching away from his touch, her body wracked with sobs. “You took advantage of me! You made me feel guilty for- for… but this entire time, it was all you!” 

He moved in an instant, a blur of predatory grace, pinning her back against the bloodied sheets with a terrifying gentleness, his eyes burning with an obsessive fire. He slotted his hips between her still wet thighs as he lowered himself onto her. His body pressed firmly against hers. 

“I know, sweet girl. I know. But you are my best friend.” he whispered, his lips brushing against her temple, his breath hot against her skin. “My precious, meimei. My cherished lover. You are everything to me. How could you think I’d let something as simple as mortality keep you from me?” 

His planted a kiss on either side of her cheeks. “I wanted you so bad, it hurts. I couldn’t watch you grow old, sick and die. Couldn’t let you leave me. I need you. All of you. I won’t accept anything less.” He spoke into her neck, kissing and nipping her between words. She could feel the sincerity of his words through the bond. It flooded her body with the warmth and love that he had for her. 

Y/n shook with rage despite that. His confession was worse than anything she had ever felt. “I will never be your friend! Or your lover! Or anything!” Her voice cracked, raw with hatred and despair. “I hate you, Caleb! I hate you so much!”

He exhaled slowly, his lips brushing the delicate curve of her ear, his voice a low, possessive murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. “No you don’t, Y/n.” he said as his grip tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“You can’t. Even if you wanted to with every fiber of your being… you couldn’t. Our bond cemented the moment I drank from you. You can dislike me. Though, it would never last so I can live with that. But you can never hate me while the sire bond is in place.” His teeth grazed her sternum, making her jolt away. Caleb chuckled, his breath tickling her.

“The bond goes both ways. I can never hate you either. You are mine now, whether you like it or not. And I am yours. My heart, my soul, my blood— it’s all for you.” He tongue dragged over the length of her neck, earning him a gasp.

“This body of mine— mmm~” he grinded his half hard dick against her wet slit, dampening the thin fabric of his cotton pants. “It’s all yours.” Y/n Hips bucked against his, involuntarily. She pushed against his chest but it was like trying to move a stone wall.

“Caleb… don’t.” she gasped.

Caleb's fangs grazed her pounding artery as he pinned her thrashing body beneath him. "Shhh, meimei," he crooned, the vibrations of his voice traveling through her skin. "just relax for me, yeah?" He pecked her lips softly, his hips rolling against hers in a slow, maddening rhythm. The thin fabric of his pants did nothing to hide the thick length of him, already painfully hard and eager, the heat of him branding her.

Y/n arched beneath him, a broken whimper escaping her lips as her traitorous core clenched around nothing, still throbbing from her earlier release. The sire bond pulsed between them, amplifying every shameful spark of pleasure, until her anger blurred into something far more dangerous.

"You feel it too, don't you?" His lips curved against her damp skin. "That delicious heat coiling low in your belly? The way your nipples harden when I breathe against your neck?" To emphasize his point, he blew a cool stream of air across the sensitive flesh he'd just licked.

Her body responded instantly. A whimper escaped before she could choke it back. She could feel his need for her through the bond. It was suffocating her mind to the point that she couldn’t tell where her want began or his need for her ended.

Caleb chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through her bones. "Your blood sings for me, little one. It’s begging me to fill your pretty cunt." His hips rolled forward, the thick ridge of his erection grinding against her damp core through the thin barrier of his pants.

"See? Even now, soaked and ready for me."

‘I hate him I hate him I- oh god—‘ Another lie she told herself. 

Her nails dug into his shoulders, drawing thin lines of blood that only made him groan louder. Caleb grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her face to the marks she had just made. “Drink, meimei. I took so much from you earlier.” 

“I won’t.” She meant it. But once her face pressed against his collarbone, the scent of his blood hit her. The scent coiled through the air before she even process it. Iron, spiced with something indefinably Caleb. 

Y/n's nostrils flared as the aroma wrapped around her starving senses, thick as smoke from a sacred fire. She salivated, her fangs descending almost painfully. She hesitated for only a moment. Her strong will to resist him making it’s final stand before she gave in, lashing her mouth to his shoulder, feeding from him the way she needed.

The first taste was ruin.

Heat exploded across her tongue, scorching and sweet, like swallowing a dying star.

But instead of burning, it bloomed inside her-euphoria so sharp it bordered on agony. She moaned against his skin, fingers clawing at his shoulders hard enough to draw blood as her body arched toward him like a flower starving for sunlight.

Caleb shuddered below her, his arms locking around her waist as he hauled them both upright. His skin burned against hers, fever-hot, his cock pressing insistently against her stomach.

"Fuck—" His voice was wrecked already, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "That's it, take it-"

She drank greedily, the flavors unfolding across her tongue in waves. Like honey drizzled over black cherries, a richness that coated her tongue and slid down her throat like silk. Beneath that, something musky, something that was purely him. The essence of him, of power and hunger that made her keen against his skin.

 Whining and clawing at him, trying to meld her body with his as she rocked her naked form down onto his hard length with such fervor as she locked her legs around his sculpted waist. 

Caleb's head lolled to the side, letting her indulge in her want for him. His free hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back just enough to watch her drink. Completely captivated by the sight of her, his pupils had swallowed all color, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

"Gods…" he choked out, transfixed by the sight of her lips moving against his skin. "You ruin me." She was ruining him, he was falling deeper and deeper under a spell she hadn’t even known she crafted.

She was rough with the way she touched him, scoring his chest with her marks, turned him on so much that his cock weeped with excitement. Just the feel of her greedily drinking from him made him a complete mess. 

‘It feels so good. I need to be inside her or I’ll fucking die!’

He lifted them carefully, not wanting to disrupt her as he hastily dragged his pants down his thighs. He sat back down, hands on her hips as he stilling her frantic hips to his, earning him a whine in protest. So desperate for friction that he would never deny her.

In an instant, his hips snapped upwards, simultaneously slamming her down onto his cock, burying his impressive length to the hilt. Y/n cried out from the brutal intrusion, barely missing the deep, satisfied groan from the brunettes as her body stretched to accommodate him.

The stretch burned as she tried to adjust, bordering on too much. But the pain was already melting into pleasure, her walls fluttering around him as if trying to pull him deeper. She arched into him as he set a terrifying pace that she couldn’t hope to keep up with.  

“Still so tight~” He groaned, staring down at her small frame while fucking her on his cock. He set a punishing pace from the start, his hips snapping forward with enough force to shake the bed. Each thrust punched the air from her lungs, his pelvis grinding against her clit with bruising precision. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with their ragged breathing and her broken whimpers.

"Look at you," Caleb growled. "Taking me so perfectly." His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, fingertips pressing into the fresh bite marks on her thighs as he held her impaled on his cock. "Every inch. Just like you were made for me."

Y/n could feel him everywhere, the thick veins along his length pulsing inside her, the way his hips pressed flush against her, the hot spill of his precum coating her walls.

The bond between them sang with shared sensation, amplifying every twitch of his cock inside her, every flutter of her cunt around him.

It was a claiming. Each thrust punched the air from her lungs, his pelvis grinding against her clit with bruising force on every inward stroke. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with their ragged breathing and her broken whimpers.

"Feel that?" Caleb panted, his fangs grazing her collarbone. "How your body sucks me back in every time I pull out?" To demonstrate, he withdrew almost completely, leaving just the tip inside before slamming home again. "Like you're afraid I'll leave you empty."

Y/n's nails raked down his back, drawing blood that only seemed to drive him wilder.

The metallic scent filled the air, mixing with the musk of their joining. Caleb groaned deep in his chest, the vibration traveling through where their bodies were connected.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he snarled, increasing his pace until the bedframe creaked in protest. "So tight and wet and mine." His hand slid between them, thumb finding her clit and rubbing rough circles that had her seeing stars. "Cum for me, meimei. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock."

As if his words had power over her body, her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, tearing through her with brutal intensity. Her walls clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, her scream muffled against his shoulder as she bit down hard enough to draw blood. The taste of him, rich, dark and addictive, flooded her mouth as her vision whited out.

Caleb groaned, his body shuddering. His thrusts became shorter, more frantic, his grip on her hips bruising. "Y/n..." he gasped, his breath ragged. Caleb stiffened above her, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as he spilled his seed deep within her, a final, brutal act of possession. The bond between them flared white hot, magnifying the sensation until she came again, her body spasming uncontrollably around his still-pulsing cock.

For long moments, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the wet drip of their mingled fluids onto the sheets. Caleb remained inside her, his forehead pressed to hers as they both came down from the high. Using his weight, he pushed their bodies back, dropping them onto the bed.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with satisfaction and something darker.

"Now you understand, don't you?" Caleb's fingers traced the fresh bite marks on her neck with possessive reverence, his voice a velvet-wrapped blade in the darkness.

"This is what eternity feels like, meimei." His hips rolled lazily, still buried to the hilt inside her, drawing a broken whimper from her swollen lips. "Every heartbeat. Every breath. Every drop of blood in your veins—all mine to savor."

Y/n's body trembled beneath him, caught between the aftershocks of pleasure and the rising tide of shame. The bond between them pulsed like a living thing, amplifying every sensation until she could barely distinguish where his pleasure ended and hers began. His cock twitched inside her, still half-hard, still claiming.

He shifted his weight, lifting himself slightly, just enough to withdraw with a slick, wet sound that made her stomach churn. The brief emptiness was quickly filled as he positioned himself again, his gaze never leaving hers, a predatory anticipation tightening his features.

"Round two, little one?" he murmured, his voice a low growl of possessive hunger. "Now that you're properly warmed up."

[navybrat817]

Hey- if you're still taking prompts for ficlet Friday- Bucky and #31- pinky swear.

Oh, this is sweeet! How about more of our drunk!Bucky before that night out?

Pinky Swear

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 800

Warnings: Talk of fear of heights, backstory, slight angst, slight fluff

A/N: Takes place before Pretty Girl.

Bucky deeply inhaled the cool evening air and exhaled slowly. He hadn't moved from his spot on the outdoor sofa since he sat down, but he knew the number of steps it would take to get from his seat to the door. Looking at the rooftop guardrail, he reminded himself it was more than tall and sturdy enough to prevent anyone from falling. He was fine. Everything was fine.

“Bucky!” your pretty voice beckoned to him over the rest of the chatter from the group. “Come look at this view.”

Finding a stable point to look at was always good practice when he was afraid, and who better to look at than you? His pretty girl. You weren't technically his girl, but you were in his heart and you looked extra pretty tonight. He told himself the reason his heart stopped was because of how pretty you looked and not because of how close you were to the guardrail.

And here you wanted him to join you, but his body wouldn't move.

“I’m good right here,” he said, his smile tight. He gripped his beer bottle so tight he almost shattered it.

“You sure?” you smiled over your shoulder.

All he had to do was take a breath, get up, and join you. His head spun at the very thought, and he couldn't do it. He was a fucking coward. “I’m good,” he said again.

There was a frown on your pretty face as you went over to the sofa and sat beside him. “Hey. Are you okay?”

You always seemed to know when he was feeling off and he wanted to remove the concern from your eyes. “I don't…”

“You don't what?”

He inhaled and exhaled again, and he felt your pretty gaze on him as he ran a hand through his hand. There was nothing wrong with telling you. Maybe it would make him feel better. “I don't like heights,” he said above a whisper, feeling some of his anxiety subside.

It stemmed from his childhood when he lost his dad in a parachute accident, and it never went away. The fear only got worse when he fell from the train. When he was under HYDRA’s command, he wasn't allowed to experience fear. They locked it away deep inside with the rest of him. Now that was himself again, his fears came back to the surface stronger than before.

“Oh, Bucky.” You moved a little closer and angled your body as if to shield him from the view. It was sweet of you. “Are you okay?”

His jaw clenched, but he nodded. “I'm fine as long as I don't go to the railing.”

Your eyes widened and he felt like shit when he saw the guilt that swam there. “Oh, my God. I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have asked you to look if-”

“Don’t be. You had no idea,” he said, putting his hand over yours and quickly pulling away when he realized what he did. “I know you wouldn't have asked if you knew.” You were one of the most thoughtful people in his life. If you knew in advance that he hated heights, you not only would've kept him far from the railing, but you would've made the gang move the gathering somewhere else to accommodate him.

“No, I wouldn’t push you out of your comfort zone,” you confirmed, staring at your hand where he touched it.

“You’d somehow widen the comfort zone so I felt okay,” he smiled. That was the kind of person you were.

“Maybe,” you smiled. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he nodded. Anything you wanted.

“If you don't like heights, what made you come up here?” you asked curiously.

You.

But he didn't admit that you were the reason. It would've been the right time or place. “I… I don't want it to be a big deal. Besides, I wouldn't look like a team player if I skipped,” he answered, and he was telling the truth. You were still the number one reason though.

“Well, if you aren't feeling it, we can go to the lounge. Just say the word,” you offered.

“We?” he repeated.

You played with the hem of your shirt, which made him smile. “Yeah, I mean, if you want the company.”

Bucky always wanted your company. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled, leaning in a little closer. “And listen. I know this is silly, but if you could not say anything. Steve’s the only one who knows and…”

Bucky was learning to be vulnerable again. He was trying. And if there was anyone who wouldn’t use his fears against him even in a joking manner, it was you. He trusted you.

“I won't say a word,” you whispered.

“You swear?” he smiled.

You surprised him by wrapping your pinky around his, and your touch would linger long after you let go. “Pinky swear.”

Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️ And we still need him to confess.

[hoshinasblade]

second best |1| hoshina soshiro

PART 1 | PART 2 | BONUS: PART THREE

DISCLAIMER: this fic has a detail that hasn't been mentioned in the anime yet. it isn't a big give-away but if you are sensitive about that kind of thing, please do not proceed. pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: slight angst, comfort, childhood friends to lovers, a bit of that miscommunication trope snippet: hoshina soshiro always ranks second at everything in his life. god forbid he falls behind in the bid for your heart too. word count: 3K trigger warnings: author's note: this fic has two parts - part 2 will be posted a week from today :) likes, replies, and reblogs are always appreciated but please do not repost or steal my writings. this is quite long, but i gotta make you guys work for it. i have also set up a taglist for the second part and the other fics or drabbles, please sign up if you wanna be tagged! as always, feel free to let me know what you think or give me a prompt by sending me an ask here!

hoshina soshiro can claim with extreme conviction that he rarely regrets the decisions he has made so far in his life.

from the time he has set his sights on taking the aptitude exam necessary to be recruited in the anti-kaiju defense force, to following captain ashiro mina to support her as the vice-captain of the third division, to religiously adhering to his daily routine of working out even during his off days so he can stay in peak condition - everything he's done is driven by soshiro's lone motivation: to rise and come on top.  

unfortunately, as he sees you walking in the hallway of the training building with his brother, soshiro realises that this is one of those rare occurrences where he hopes he gets a do-over.

it was barely 6 in the afternoon so there was still light from outside; the rays of the setting sun penetrating the transparent windowpanes cast an orange glow to the furniture in soshiro's office. it made him remember how he used to always be assigned as the student to clean the classroom back in junior high school: he would sweep first then rearrange the chairs before closing the windows and drawing down the curtains. he would rush up to the rooftop, in time to watch the sun dip below the horizon. he would stay for a few precious minutes, dreaming of a chance to get out of their town. he was fifteen then.

soshiro shook his head a bit. he decided that today - of all days - will not be when he will have a trip down memory lane. yes, despite the number of times he would get reminded of his past today, he refuses to get sidetracked.

the floor is eerily silent, save for the momentary opening and closing of doors; soshiro is aware that almost everyone has left, flocking to the local izakaya not too far from the base to celebrate. he had half the mind to prompt himself to hurry up in order to make it to the get-together on time. the long and gruelling application process took three months before the vetting could begin, but finally, the third division of japan anti-kaiju defense force honoured its new officers that morning. as the nominated head of the selection committee, he oversaw the entire thing, and at the end, he could not help but to feel confident that their force would become stronger from here - this year their roster of applicants boasts high-profile names like that of the very daughter of jakdf's director general and the young master of the prestigious izumo family.

okonogi, sitting in front of him at his office, was sorting the personal forms of the recruits, a big stapler in her right hand. "i can take care of this, vice-captain", she said to him, "they cannot miss you there."

soshiro smupled to his swivel chair, obviously fatigued by the task he and okonogi had been trying to finish for half an hour already. fighting and defeating kaiju is the main part of the job, but handling the paperwork proves to be as challenging. "right, make sure the headquarters get this by the morning along with the report of all their numbers -" the sound of footsteps nearby interrupted soshiro's train of thought.

there were three loud knocks and the door opened, a man with the same eyes as soshiro peeping inside. even okonogi glanced over her shoulder to identify who the intruder is. soshiro stood up.

"just wanted ta drop by before i head back ta himeji", hoshina soichiro's undeniable accent dripped. spotting the huge pile of forms littering the desk, he commented, "seems like ya are a little preoccupied though."

"hoshina fuku taichou, good evening." your voice was firm yet jovial as you greeted him, the kansai inflection rolling off your tongue. you appeared beside soshiro's brother, still wearing the same standard-issue uniform you wore during the event several hours ago when you were sworn in as a new defense force officer. the outfit is snug on you - soshiro had noticed at the ceremony earlier, but up close the top looked almost skintight, the skirt coming up a little above your knees. soshiro can be a high-ranking official within the force, but he is also a man. if only briefly, he stared. "aren't ya going ta the party?"

taken aback that you would drop by his office, it was out of his mouth too fast he couldn't stop it - "how about ya? what are you still doing here with him?" soshiro responded pointedly at you, throwing you the same query but not answering what you asked him. it was too late to take it back; he sounded like he was interrogating you about your presence with the captain of the sixth division. soichiro winced; soshiro pretended not to see. "i- i was just thinking ya went with the officers on the way there", he added, calmer this time.

"oh, i was just catching up with hoshina-kun", you replied without missing a beat. soshiro doesn't know if the accidental force in his question just seconds prior did not intimidate you at all or you simply ignored his tone. "i mean with soichiro-kun. considering ya are hoshina too", you chuckled. soshiro stole a glance at the man at your side while maintaining an empty expression. he found his brother smirking at him; soshiro willed himself not to picture soichiro as an ugly kaiju with a butt for a face.

okonogi who is now attentively eavesdropping on your conversation caught your attention. "pardon for the bother, hoshina-san. we'll be off now."

for an instant, it looked like you were waiting for soshiro to say something in response. to say what, he doesn't know. the eye contact between you and him held up for a moment but broke as quick as it began. tension prickled in the air briefly then ebbed as you turned away from soshiro. "i'll see ya at the party, vice-captain", you gave him a bow before exiting the room. soshiro wanted to stop you; he didn't.

soichiro sighed. "it was nice seeing ya, 'lil bro", he addressed soshiro, his hand patting the latter's shoulder once, twice. "i have paperwork ta worry about too so as much as i'd like to, i won't be able ta attend your division's party. just in case ya want ta know." soshiro didn't look like he had a crumb of interest to know about his brother's occupational responsibilities; he shrugged soichiro's hand off.

soshiro saw you standing outside, leaning on the wall, when he ushered his brother out. "i'll be driving her to the izakaya though", soichiro informed him. "ya should visit our folks when ya have the time. ya should come home sometimes", soichiro continued, a hint of concern evident in his voice. when soshiro did not respond, surprisingly the older hoshina did not look a tiny bit disappointed. instead, soichiro put on a charming smile and waved at okonogi. "okonogi-chan, see ya around!" he tossed a playful wink at her.

soshiro merely watched as you and soichiro walked together, your pace matching his. a few meters away, he saw you listening intently to something soichiro was saying - he is too close - and although he is not within earshot to hear what is being said anymore, he knows it is another one of his brother's bad jokes. it looks like you were trying to suppress it, but a smile was about to dawn on your lips. soshiro felt sick to his stomach all of a sudden.

the party was already in full swing when soshiro arrived - everyone is hungrily feasting on the expensive wagyu beef, drinks flowing endlessly from the bar. everyone is enjoying themselves; even captain ashiro mina can be seen having small talk with the newly sworn-in officers who were eagerly taking notes from her.

you had easily made friends with the other rookies who are now sitting next to you; it was thanks to your group that this event was planned - after enduring long sessions of strenuous physical training every day of every week, you all deserved a night of everyone just gathering to have a good time. soshiro seems to be exempt from the festive atmosphere though.

he picked the seat next to his captain, who greeted him with a curt nod. he proceeded to grab the mug of beer served to him; the first sip registered a sharp bitterness through his mouth but soshiro relished on the flavor as it overtook his senses.

"everything alright?" captain ashiro from his side asked without lifting her gaze from her own drink. "you are being -" she paused, carefully searching to find the right words, “uncharacteristically quiet.”

soshiro picked the glass of beer again, and when he was about to put the lid on his lips, he could sense someone’s intense stare locked on him. years of being the vice-captain gifted him with equal parts instinct and paranoia so he could not help but scan the room, only to find you, sitting across the room, watching him with a curious expression.

a rowdy group of rookies surrounds you; they are high-fiving each other, laughing at their silly pranks, not minding that all of you are squeezed together at a crowded circle. soft music in the background swelled as everyone cheered and clinked glasses.

soshiro's eyes remained fixed on yours, lasting for what he felt like forever. the buzz of chatter dulled to a distant hum, fading into an almost white noise. his heart raced as he felt his breath catch and his mouth go dry. the corner of your lips curved into a smile and maybe it is the alcohol in his system, but he is certain his cheeks are flushed now.

"huh", captain ashiro lowly exclaimed. soshiro quickly snapped a glance at her. "you talked to her yet?" she asked him. ah, she caught his little moment with you.

soshiro was on the verge of playing it cool and putting on an act; he was about to outright lie to his captain by saying "talk to who?" as if he had no idea what she was referring to. he settled with silence. he was grateful his non-response only earned him a sigh from the captain who did not press the topic any further.

 "to you newbies, congratulations!" captain ashiro raised her glass, still half-filled with alcohol. her voice rang out over the place, everyone's conversations immediately falling quiet. "may the third division always be victorious in our battles to come", she recapped her speech.

the party showed no signs of slowing down. hibino kafka, a recruit in his thirties has been the centre of intrigue that has spanned for weeks now. hibino ossan - as what the others nicknamed him - had revealed in a bathroom conversation with other male rookies that he grew up with captain ashiro. ashiro mina likes dried squid; ashiro mina used to raise pets in grade school - everyone consumed any and every tidbit of trivia hibino disclosed about the usually stoic and serious third division commander. soshiro was among those invested in the rumor and you knew why. for a while, you also wondered how he would react once the rest of the troops learned about your own past with their vice-captain. would he deny it? or would he brush off any potential gossip that may arise from the revelation? if everyone discovered your shared history with hoshina soshiro, would it make him want to reconnect with you?

“you lot will start duty monday next week, but tomorrow will just be another workday for vice-captain hoshina and i”, captain ashiro said, having stood up from her seat, preparing to take off. “no, you can stay”, she said to some of the newbies who have started to get up too.

“nah, captain, why don’t we bring them along to help us file all the tedious paperwork?”, soshiro interjected in his familiar upbeat tone. the crew bursted into snickers; captain ashiro gave soshiro a perplexed look, obviously puzzled about the sudden shift in his mood. testing her theory, she looked at your direction.

captain ashiro couldn't make out why, but you were giggling at whatever your seatmate had said, elegant hand covering your mouth, eyes crinkled. she understood soshiro then - she was not foreign to feeling uneasy inside when she sees someone so physically near someone she cares about after all. "let's go, hoshina", she tucked her pity for the vice-captain away.

"do you guys think they are dating?" a particularly tactless rookie sitting at your table had asked immediately after captain ashiro and hoshina were out the sliding doors.

"i bet they're not", you blurted out a little too soon, a little too sure. you did not mind clipping your accent, your kansai-ben thick and heavy. your fellow officers looked at you, expecting an explanation for your outburst. "i mean -" you stuttered, "that would be awkward, i guess."

"you know to think of it, you're from himeji too, right?" a few more recruits have started to listen in on the exchange. these people can smell the truth off me, you thought. you wanted to smack yourself in the face.

"we went ta the same high school together, that's all", you admitted, feeling backed in a corner. tomorrow when you get questioned for this imprudent behavior, you can probably blame it all on the alcohol. "and grade school", you continued, loose-lipped now.

you still liked wearing pink bows in your hair when you met him. an only child of kind parents, you never experienced having to ask for something you like; you were doted on and spoiled so you were reasonably upset when a young hoshina soshiro did not give you the time of his day. your family has just moved to hyogo shortly before that, and you were anxious to make friends; since your early age, you had made it your mission to make soshiro acknowledge you.

"you dun wanna play with me, because ya are stupid", you told soshiro-kun once. "oka-san said all boys are stupid", you had the nerve to elaborate after he pouted at you, his unkempt bangs sticking on his sweaty forehead, his clothes dirty from training all day.

"yer pretty", he responded and you felt the blush crept up on your cheeks. "pretty annoying."

"come on, spill some tea!" someone's palm connected with the table, jolting you out of your trance. "we have another hibino-senpai situation on our hands!" they declared, grabbing you by the arm and shaking you a bit. if it was meant to encourage you to tell more childhood tales between you and the vice-captain, it worked really, really well.

"he's always had that haircut even as a kid", you said, misinterpreting the kind of story your companions wanted you to tell, judging by their disappointed looks. “i- i don’t know what else to tell you guys”, you held up your hand in surrender.

“do you have a crush on him?” you choked on your drink, caught off guard.

vexed at his absent-mindedness, soshiro was walking back to the izakaya place alone when he heard the commotion. he is going straight to bed once he gets back to the base, but he would have to retrieve his uniform jacket first from his seat earlier.

“you totally do, don’t you!” it stopped sounding like a question and more of an accusation you could not deny. “you like hoshina-san!”

“i -i do, yes... but what of it, huh?" he couldn’t see you but he would recognize the soft timbre of your voice anywhere. soshiro felt like a victorian gentleman getting a glimpse of a woman’s ankle for the first time listening in on the uproar of cheers after your confession.

“the three of us attended the same high school, soichiro-kun was a grade ahead”, you said. soshiro froze. you are talking about his brother. “he has always been good at everything, t'was hard not ta like him.”

soshiro closed his eyes, attempting to steady his breathing. he always had his suspicions - for the ceremony earlier his brother even took a day off his busy schedule as the commander of the sixth division to attend as a guest. he should have known.

last year, soshiro’s squad fought a lizard-type kaiju with a fortitude of above 8. like the reptile, a cut made on any of its limbs was useless due to advanced regeneration. a fractured rib, extremely bruised arms, and a dislocated shoulder were what it costed soshiro to win against the monster. his bitterness threatening to consume him, he cannot believe that you confirming his worst fears would hurt more than that fatal experience.

of course, he said to himself. it’s not like he can fault you for liking soichiro - everyone did. as the firstborn son, their father always had favored him. soichiro has been the more skilled swordsman between them; he was the golden child, charismatic and talented with an effortless charm - like moths to a flame he would attract people, and even in his silence he would overshadow soshiro.

soshiro didn’t stand a chance against his own flesh and blood.

he was a teenager when he dreamed of running away from the constant but inevitable competition he had with his brother. scouted for the third division, he relished on the freedom. but how do you escape the reality of the one you love loving the one person you could never measure up to?

[repairheartzz]

what if there was a mark x reader….. with the love loyalty and in-syncness of the wonder Greek mythological couple Odysseus and Penelope? Mark’s out saving the world—hell, the galaxy at times, and we’re always waiting patiently for him, just as he always is thinking of us as he’s away.

awhh I love thinking about this dynamic with mark it’s so in character!!

•AH YES 🙂‍↕️

•This is so creative !!!!!!! I love Odysseus and Penelope dynamic, so like I reimagined that with Mark Grayson (Invincible) and a female reader in a modern/sci-fi twist. This will lean into emotion, loyalty, longing, and reunion — much like Odysseus and Penelope, but in the Invincible universe 💋.

•this has 4 chapters and it's a bit short tehhe 🫠

---

Title: "Across the Stars, I Waited for You"

Setting: Years after the Viltrumite War. You and Mark had been together before he left for a distant galaxy with Allen. You stayed on Earth—waiting, defending, surviving. Everyone told you to move on. You never did.(I made that shit up)

---

Part I: The Departure

Mark had kissed you one last time on the rooftop, your fingers tangled in the fabric of his suit, knuckles white. His forehead had pressed to yours.

"I’ll come back," he promised, his voice raw with emotion. "No matter how far I go. No matter how long it takes."

You smiled through tears. "And I’ll be here when you do."

Then he was gone—vanishing into the sky like a comet. Just like that, you were alone.

---

Part II: The Waiting

The days bled into weeks. The weeks into years. News from the Coalition was scattered, fragmented. Messages from Mark came less and less frequently as he plunged deeper into the war effort across galaxies.

People moved on. Eve rebuilt. Debbie tried to be strong. Nolan sent word from time to time. But you?

You stayed.

Your apartment became a quiet vigil. You never dated. Not once. Suitors came—some were charming, some were kind, some were persistent—but your heart had already been claimed by a boy who flew into the stars.

You kept your mind busy. Studying alien tech, working with Cecil, training. But every night before bed, you sat on the rooftop where you last saw him, scanning the sky for a blur of gold and blue.

People whispered. Said you were foolish. Said he was dead.

You never believed them.

---

Part III: The Return

It was nearly midnight when the sky split open.

You were sipping coffee on the rooftop when you saw the flash—a blue streak, like a meteor breaking the atmosphere.

You stood slowly, heart pounding.

No. It couldn’t be.

But then you heard it—that sound—a sonic boom, followed by the flutter of a cape. And when you turned, he was there.

Mark.

Older. Tired. Scarred. But his eyes—those soft brown eyes—were exactly the same.

Your mug slipped from your hand and shattered on the rooftop.

You didn’t speak.

He crossed the space between you slowly, cautiously, almost reverently.

"You waited for me," he whispered, voice cracking.

"You said you’d come back," you answered, tears falling freely now. "I trusted you."

He dropped to his knees in front of you, resting his forehead against your belly like a prayer. You tangled your fingers in his hair, trembling.

"I thought of you every second," he murmured. "You were the only thing that kept me going."

---

Part IV: The Reunion

That night, you didn’t sleep.

You lay together in bed, limbs tangled, breath mingling.

Mark traced the curve of your face like he was memorizing it. You held him like you were trying to remind him he was home.

He told you stories—of planets he liberated, horrors he witnessed, the friends he lost. You told him about Earth—how it changed, how you changed.

But through it all, the golden thread remained: you waited. He returned.

When he kissed you again, it wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was slow, sacred, as if time had stopped just to give you this moment.

"I love you," he said into your skin. "I never stopped."

"You never had to say it," you replied. "I always knew."

---

Final Line: And somewhere in the distance, beneath the bruised-purple sky, the stars blinked softly—witnesses to a promise kept.

Fin

---

Author's notes: how'd you like it 🧚🏻‍♀️ I did my best, I was in a hurry writing this hope it sounds like what you imagined.

[biolumien]

hello!! I loved your rooftop smoke fic so much oh my goodness could I ask for literally anything hoshina I would love to read more of your works... It would make my day if hoshina fell first/if he was the one hopelessly in love but anything that is easier to write for you I would love to read

ALSO PLS FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS IF ITS NOT EXACTLY IT FOR U!!! TYSM IN ADVANCE

notes: bwahhhh omg… thank you for liking my first work…  i havent written hoshina before… but uh. i hope this is good. same reader-insert from last time for this one too!

hoshina falls first (or tries not to, because to love is to be known)

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader i turned it into kind of a character study, forgive me word count: 1103

let’s get this right off the bat, to clear any misconceptions. hoshina’s not a romantic. he doesn’t fall for anyone first. he’s built up the demeanor of a sly, wily little fox not because he wanted to, but because he had to. tread lightly around others, and they will never know what lies in your heart, the insecurities that bubble and eat at you alive. never let them know how you feel, because as soon as your inherent, weak-willed intent is shown, you’ll be devoured alive.

well.

that’s what hoshina tells himself, anyway. 

it’s what he has to remind himself of constantly when he sees you.

you’re not allowed, he reminds himself, to get under his skin. not in any mean way, not in the way where you play up his insecurities–except you do, don’t you? you don’t mean to, but he gets the impression that if he were conventionally stronger, more impressive, that he’d deserve your attention, the small smile that crosses your lips and lights up your eyes when you see him, the faint exhale of breath when you see him–he’d deserve that if he were better. if he were just simply better, he’d deserve it. he’d feel worthy of it.

hoshina’s not a romantic.

he signed up for a line of very dangerous, practically suicidal work knowing it might mean the death of him.

all to prove that he was worth something.

he’s not the ashes you throw away, he’s a brilliant ball of fire, can’t you see–but he needed to prove that he could shine alone, under his own merit. he didn’t need anyone, except he needed mina to get him into the third division anyway. 

he didn’t need you, except he kept making excuses to get close to you, and not even in any particular suave way. hoshina practically pines for your affections and attention, but the key thing about it is that he refuses, in a way that’s either very cute or insanely frustrating, to make it seem like he’s making the first move. fleeting kisses he shared with you, he never properly initiated himself–he’d stand there, make a big show of leaving, and you’d pulled him by the collar to kiss him. 

but at the very least you seem to be accommodating about it, in any case. you sometimes end up preparing him a cup of tea when you go on break, as if instinctually expecting him.

hoshina wonders if he’s pavlov’s dog in this case–drawn by you, trained to behave around you.

he doesn’t know how he feels about it.

“you keep coming here,” you say to him one day in the lab. at your desk is a wide variety of papers–notes on chemical formulas for bullets, the blueprints for one of mina’s new absurdly-large guns shoved haphazardly under a stack of notebooks, a coffee cup clasped between your hands, and you blow some of the fresh steam off. “i’m starting to think the captain’s going to find you slacking off.”

there’s a sardonic smile on your lips, but hoshina’s gotten better at reading you. you’re happy to see him–he can see it in the tiny way you fidget a little bit when he takes the spare coffee mug from your desk, finding it full of coffee already. does he feel his face softening, his drawn-up shoulders relaxing? no, surely not. he’s better than that. he won’t be influenced by you–and yet. and yet. 

“you have a lock on your door if you don’t want to be disturbed,” hoshina says simply, taking a sip of the coffee. black with a single spoonful of sugar in it, because as much as it was impressive to drink your coffee purely black, hoshina quite frankly couldn’t take it. and he’d built as much a complex around that, too, as if a simple coffee preference might define how worthy he is of love. respect. the works. he watches you, sees dark under-eyes from days of restless work and the writer’s bump on your middle finger, and feels his heart squeeze.

god, he hates it. does he? does he hate it? is he insecure about that? does he hate that he doesn’t hate it? does he hate that by pining for you, by forcing his way into your life, that he’s created the rumblings of his own downfall? no. the worst part of it all is that he can’t hate you. can’t hate the way you watch him, and he wonders if you’re watching him the same way he observes you–like a prey animal, almost, twitchy and nervous, in an attempt to grasp at feeble understanding. 

“if you keep coming back here, i’m going to assume you’re in love with me,” you say.

and you have no idea what those words do to him, really. you don’t know, because hoshina has learned to obscure most of his emotions, at the very least. 

so why does his face feel so hot?

“hm.”

he can’t even come up with a proper retort. you’re staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for the classic hoshina quip–a cackle or giggle, a casual slap on the table with a you wish! attached to it. but it doesn’t come. hoshina stands there, gagged for a moment–and suddenly his grip on his coffee cup feels a little weak.

“hoshina.”

he wishes the smile on your lips didn’t trigger some gut instinct of delight in him.

he’s better than this, damn it. he’s better than this.

your smile quirks up the corners of your cheeks, and there’s something like a shy flush across your skin. and–

“i wish i could take a picture of your face right now,” you say. “you look like you’re coming down with something.”

hoshina scoffs, the sound a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be.

“you wish,” he says. 

“so are you?” you press. “in love with me?”

hoshina stares at you–there’s a sudden tightness in your shoulders that wasn’t there before–you’re worried about his answer. and despite it all–his bravado, his hatred of the mere idea that he might rely on someone else–that he would ever need someone to know his heart, that he might be cowed and tamed like a dog–

he loves you.

he doesn’t want you to be worried about the surety of his answer.

“yeah,” he says. “i love you.” and when that sudden tightness in your body language disappears, he finally finds the strength to quip, “just don’t faint over me, alright?” 

and when you reach out to hit his shoulder, he grasps you by the wrist and pulls you in to kiss you.

[fancyfeathers]

Hello! I had an idea for the Villian AU with Damian and was wondering if you could write it. Say he had to choose, his kids or his darling, who would he chose or would be find a way to trap them all? If Jon was somehow involved, say he had taken up the role of being their dad and darling's husband for the time being, that would be really cool too. That's all. Thank you! Also, I love your all your stuff! It's amazing!

Yandere!Batboys as Villains with Robin!Darlings AU Masterlist

His children, no doubt. They are his own flesh and blood and he will be damned if they keep on playing dress up as little sidekicks instead of staying in their rightful place in the League of Assassins, which is hidden away so no one can ever find them and harm them. They will stay tucked away under Damian’s wing for the rest of his life, which is a very long time thanks to the Lazarus Pits.

It would not be exactly difficult to get his hands on his children again, all he has to do is have them cornered while they are out on patrol without their mother, while his children may be skilled they are not even close to him or even most of the League of Assassins members, Damian can practically throw them over his shoulder and that would be that, but most likely than not they would be kidnapped by one of his men and then brought back to him. But just imagine the pure they fear they feel when they are snatched up from a rooftop by assassins and are knocked out only to wake up hundreds of miles away from Gotham, back to where they were raised, their father sitting in front of them, looking all sorts of cross.

Then, when they are brought back, he is certainly not happy and of course they will be punished accordingly since he knows it was them who put the idea of running away into their mother’s head. The youngest ends up under constant surveillance, normally getting dragged along place to place by her father until her little feet are sore and Damian has to carry her, at the beginning, some of her food was drugged so that she was all sleepy and out of it while her father carried her around.

Then the middle child is under constant isolation, the door to her room is locked, and food is passed through an opening at the bottom of the door, there is a bathroom for her, but under no circumstance except for self-harm is she allowed to have contact with another person. If she is caught trying to get notes to her siblings, then she’ll miss a meal or two, but she only realizes that is going to happen when a meal doesn’t show up.

The oldest, his son, but not his heir, if he is so persistent about playing hero, can go through what his mother went through. Damian has his son trained, not to the extent of being a threat, but the training is brutal to the point where his son may get killed a few times during it. Damian carries him down to a Lazarus Pit to revive him over and over again until his mind breaks and he just stops fighting.

By the time their punishments are over and his children have no desire to run or leave ever again, and they have to deal with the constant reminder from their father that they should be glad that he is not raising them like he was raised. All they need to do is behave and they will have everything they could ever need or want.

Of course, there is the fact that his darling will obviously come for her children and Damian knows this and will absolutely use this to his advantage and will be waiting for her when she comes back and he will find a way that she will never leave him again, even if it means he has to hurt her, he has no problem with that.

[inmyheaddd]

walkin out the door with your bags - grayson hawthorne x reader - part 9

⤷ ''i don't wanna be forward, i don't wanna cut corners // savor this with everything i have inside of me''

a/n: this took the longest ever to write omg!! im so sorry for the wait but i hope you enjoy ❥❥ also, hot by cigarettes after sex is literally their song i might sob 😭 summary: someone gives grayson a piece of advice, and grayson spends hours trying to decipher and make sense of it, just to find out the right answer was infront of him. series masterlist — other parts

flashback, 16 years old..

''this is highly dangerous, you know.'' grayson's voice was steady as he called out. he climbed right behind you anyway.

you were climbing up to the rooftop of your house on a very tall ladder. perhaps it wasn't the safest thing, but your parents had blocked all the staircases that led to the rooftop to stop you from going up there. you found ways around it, and they hadn't noticed the ladder yet.

''okay,'' you laughed, seeing your breath in the cold air. you looked back briefly to see his gaze trained on his feet below him as you both continued going up the ladder. ''i don't really care.''

''you should.'' he mumbled back, hint of sass in his voice. you weren't sure if he wanted you to hear that or not.

''please, you care enough for the both of us,'' you replied anyways, because you remembered everything about grayson was intentional. he was capable of being very silent when he wanted to.

two more steps, and you finally reached the top of the ladder and climbing onto the rooftop. you didn't struggle much, you came here every time the sky looked pretty, and in winter, that was pretty much every night. you exhaled as you sat, ''it evens things out.''

graysons eyebrows flashed up in agreement for a moment, not arguing on that.

he reached the top and climbed over with no struggle. he sat a few inches away from you, your gaze still trained on the sky ahead. you looked behind you, taking in the the whole sunset with its shades of bruised purple and little streaks of orange.

you pulled out a small thermos from your hoodies pocket.

well, it wasnt really a small thermos, it was... more of a larger flask that you had stole from your parents room because you needed something to keep your drink warm.

but what could you say? desperate times called for desperate measures.

grayson glanced at you, then away, then immediately did a double take again and eyed the object in your hand.

his expression reminded you of a teacher: a stern, disappointed, and confused expression all together. his nose crinkled slightly, and you almost laughed out loud.

''grayson,'' you laughed, ''it's hot chocolate... i couldn't find my thermos, relax.'' you understood where he was coming from, i mean, it was a flask, but you weren't a drinker.

he didn’t say anything, but his expression said it all. he stayed looking at you conspicuously and furrowed his brows slightly.

you laughed in disbelief, ''what? you want it?" you teased. when he simply looked at you with a disapproving brow raise, you gasped.

''grayson!" you brought a hand to your chest, ''you seriously think that low of me?" you laughed and leaned closer, waving the thermos dramatically in his face. “look! see? it’s hot chocolate!”

he leaned back, avoiding the container, his lips twitching like he was fighting off a smile.

“no, no,” you teased, moving the thermos side to side in his face as he tilted his head away. “you’re going to see for yourself.”

“stop,” he muttered, his voice still calm but laced with humor.

“look!” you insisted, waving it closer.

finally, he reached out, his hand carefully covering yours to still your movements. “alright,” he said, twinges of laughter in his voice. “i understand. it’s hot chocolate.”

his hand lingered for a second longer, and your eyecontact remained, before graysons eyes flickers across your face and his hand went back to its side.

''its a tuesday evening. and i'm on a rooftop.'' you sighed as you took a sip of your hot chocolate just to prove it even further, ''i'm not that reckless.''

you screwed the lid back on and put it back in your pocket, then you covered your hands with your sleeves in an attempt to fight off the cold.

''you think you're reckless? you should see my brother.'' grayson muttered, half to himself and half to you, but there was a softness in his voice.

you set your hand back down, and only then realised just how close it was to graysons. your fingertips were a hairbreadth away.

you felt like you physically couldn't pull your hand away, and even if you did could move, it would just make things awkward.

you remembered you had to respond to grayson's statement somehow. ''jameson practically invented dangerousness and recklessness and bad decisions. he doesn't count.'' you shot back jokingly as you looked at grayson.

he huffed a chuckle, looking at his lap and shaking his head slightly. surely he must've felt your hand right next to his.

your fingers twitched slightly. you could feel the tiny movements coming from his own hand- whatever you were thinking right now, he was clearly thinking the same thing.

you were acutely aware of the closeness of his hand to yours. your gaze stayed straight ahead. you didn't dare look at your hands.

your fingers inched a little closer to his. you heard your heartbeat in your chest.

the cold didn't seem like a problem any more, and you felt his callused fingertips run over the back of your hand. then your pinky interlocked with his.

it was a simple action, but it was near impossible to ignore the way it fuelled the part of your brain that screamed 'you like grayson!'

you stared down at your intertwined hands, you knew grayson did too, but neither of you said anything. he swallowed thickly and simply brought up a story of his brothers being 'truly reckless,' and how you seem like the furthest thing from it.

soon enough, the minutes turned to hours, and you discussed everything with grayson.

from the way school had been, plans you had for the winter, if you wanted to come to true north with him and his brothers for a few days (you said yes), stories he had from true north, and sharing horror stories of ski trips.

the conversation naturally began to lull. not in a bad way, but in a comforting way. you scooted a little closer to grayson with your hands still intertwined.

you looked up at the glittering sky, ''you know, i feel really bad for you right know.

''why?'' grayson looked at you,

''because you're not wearing your glasses, and you can't see the moon tonight.'' you responded simply, glancing at him for a second before looking back at the sky. ''it's really pretty.''

grayson took his gaze to the sky, and you were right, he couldn't really see it. he could just about see the shape of it, but that was it.

he took his gaze back to you, watching you admire the moon. ''i'm sure it is.''

you hummed a little in agreement, dangling your feet back and forth over the edge. a gush of freezing cold wind suddenly rushed past the two of you, and the way you physically shuddered made you both laugh.

''god,'' you chuckled, ''i should've worn a coat or something. i didn't know it would be so cold.''

grayson nodded, '''we are quite high up, naturally, its going to be colder up here,'' he gestured to the ground below. everything looked so small from all the way up here. that was partly why you loved it.

you had a hoodie on, but grayson held his arm open anyway and invited you in. you felt 10x warmer when he enveloped you into a side hug, but surely that was because of the cashmere sweater he wore, and not him.

''grayson?'' you hummed, your head on his shoulder.

''yes?''

''you know, um thanks for always being here,'' you muttered, feeling his fingers trace patterns on your arm , ''even when i'm irrational and i'm messy and I annoy you.''

he was silent for a moment, and you were tempted to look up so you could get a read on his face. ''you could never annoy me.''

you could practically feel his voices' vibrations, and his tone was soft. different from the way he usually talks with others- stern, assertive. but he wasn't that way with you.

''but i'm irrational and messy.'' you insisted.

his hand began to slowly run up and down your arm, soothing your nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could. ''those aren't bad things.'' he told you. ''not when its you, at least.''

you stared at his hand interlinked with yours. not when its me? what does that mean? you thought.

you opened your mouth, just about to respond when— slam.

you and grayson jolted out of each others touch. your heart was beating crazily fast.

''holy shit,'' you put a hand on your chest, catching your breath as you and grayson caught eachothers gaze and laughed out of relief.

you quickly realised you had missed being in his arms, but you just couldn't return to a moment like that. a part of you wonders if it even happened, it felt so fleeting.

you nervously laughed, tucking your hair behind your ears before you carefully peered down over the edge to where you heard the noise.

you didn't feel any better or less frightened, though. the scene below you was your mom storming out the car, dressed like she had just gotten back from an event. you quite couldn't make out her words, and her pace was as fast as ever. even from afar, her posture looked rigid and her neck looked strained, like she was holding back tears or screams.

your dad got out of the car right after, slamming his side of the door too and shaking his head to himself as he tried to catch up to your mom. his hands were out like he was pleading or reasoning, and his expression was something dark that you didn't like.

grayson followed your gaze, seeing the scene you were looking at. he hadn't realised he was smiling a little until he felt his face drop.

grayson looked back at you, but it was hard to tear your gaze away from the scene, even when this scene was something you saw quite frequently. you tried to hone into your eavesdropping skills to hear what they were arguing about this time, but you were simply too far.

you name fell from his lips, and he repeated it twice when you didn’t answer. then finally asked, “are you alright?”

you didn't look straight at him, but he saw your expression. and he saw the way your fingers curled into a fist. you chewed on your bottom lip and blinked rapidly, then untucked your hair from behind your ears so it shielded your face.

he felt his heart drop. he had never seen you cry before.

you always acted as if nothing bothered you, and when it was obvious that something did, you hid it.

for a terrible moment, he worried that he wouldn't know what to do, that he'd somehow make things worse, but he simply let his actions come naturally.

he silently wished that this would be the last time he’d see you cry, he wished he could keep you happy forever.  

you seemed to finally realise he was still looking at you, and you sat up straight.

''sorry— i’m sorry.'' you mumbled as you quickly wiped at your eyes with the back of your hands. ''oh my god,'' you let out a chuckle, like it would make him forget the tears. ''that was so embarrassing, i'm literally fine. i don't know what that was.''

grayson watched you try and regain a sense of normalcy, ''its not embarrassing to feel,'' he told you.

he knew that was highly hypocritical of him to say that, considering the way he acted, but he would truly sit with you for hours listening to you talk about your feelings. for days, until the end of time, even.

he'd always be there for you, and he wished you would believe him when he said it. ''would you,” he trailed off, gaze flickering between your features, “would you like to talk about it?”

he knew the answer was likely going to be no, because he knew you, but he wanted to let you know that he’d be there for you always, if you suddenly decided you did want to talk.

you were silent for a moment, and every second of it, with every shuddering breath you took, he felt a stronger urge to be the one who wiped your tears, the one who held you. he watched you tentatively, concern written all over his face.

he recently felt like his feelings were blurring over the lines of them being simply friendly.

“actually,'' you sniffled a little, ''can we not talk about it?” you said, just like he had suspected.

you felt him nod, and said no more after that. he wouldn't push you. he knew when it was right to be persistent, and when to simply stay silent.

you took a deep breath. ''i'm feeling even more messy and irrational right now,'' you tried to lighten the mood with another laugh, but it just sounded sad. ''i don't know why i got like that, i mean, its not even that bad, compared to others.''

graysons brows knitted together. ''it doesn't matter what its like compared to others.'' he told you, his voice steady while yours wavered.

you finally raised your head from his shoulder ever so slowly and looked at him. your expression was unfamiliar. it was pained.

his gaze flickered between your eyes. he found himself speaking once again.

''i don't care about the others, i care about you.'' he squeezed your hand slightly, ''you should care about you, too.''

present...

grayson was oddly exhausted. he doubted that has anything to do with the fact that he had slept at 2 in the morning, though. the first thing he did was take a cold shower, but even that didn't help.

he didn't like to have caffeine so early on an empty stomach, but it seemed like he had no choice.

''good morning.'' he nodded curtly at gigi who was leaning on the counter, making his way to the coffee machine.

she was looking at him strangely, but that wasn't a rare occurrence, so he paid it no mind. grayson took a mug out of the cabinet, then he heard gigi clear her throat from behind him. he raised a brow to himself, still looking down at his cup.

then he finally realised- gigi was in his house.

he turned around swiftly, cup still in his hand as his eyes glazed over gigi suspiciously.

''you're in my house.'' he pointed out blankly, and gigi rolled her eyes.

''why are you in my house?'' grayson ordered. now, he was definitely shaken out of his previous stupor.

''you know, you're a real idiot, grayson.'' that was not a good morning, or an answer to his question.

''excuse me?'' he put his cup down on the counter he was standing behind. he was confused why gigi was in his kitchen to begin with, much less calling him an idiot at the ripe hour of 6 in the morning as he tried to make his black coffee.

''listen,'' gigi put on a stern face and hopped on the counter, but it was difficult to take her seriously with her bed head and ever so slightly puffy face, clearly having just woken up. how could grayson possibly not hear her come in?

''im gonna cut straight to the point.'' she started, and Grayson was glad she said that, because he was not in the mood for anything else but an explanation. ''I'm here because you did something. ever since about 3 days ago when you visited she’s been acting all weird. she won’t tell me what’s wrong, but i know something’s up with her. and i know it has something to do with you.'

she didn’t even have to say your name, there was only one her when it came to grayson. ever since that day where you came up to him so many years ago, asking him why he sat alone. there was always one her. you.

a heavy weight settled over his chest. “what makes you think i visited?” he forced himself out of his thoughts and asked, not confirming he did visit you, but not fully denying it either.

gigi rolled her eyes like it was obvious before she stole a grape from the fruit basket on the counter she sat on top of. “she won't tell me anything, did her whole control freak routine. i woke up the next morning with the whole living room redone, her room layout completely changed, and every surface literally polished and sparkling. she doesn’t just do that for no reason. for anyone.”

gigi tried to sound unbothered about the topic when she spoke, but the way she fiddled with her hands gave it away to grayson. it was obvious though, no one would like to talk about how their best friend was hurting. just as much as no one would like to hear about it, and know they caused it.

could he even call you his best friend anymore? he had never said it outright to you, but he suddenly wished he had told you how much he appreciated you every second he had the chance.

“you must've messed up bad, gray.” 

grayson averted his gaze. suddenly the fruits looked extremely interesting.

he couldn’t take back the horrible actions he made, the ways he tried to cope, the way he tried to silence his fears. they were done, they were his fault. that didn’t stop him from regretting them every single moment of his days. but even then, he still somehow seemed to be making the wrong choices. 

“I suppose you wouldn't be able to give me any advice on what to do?'' he asked rhetorically, his voice carrying too much emotion than he would like. he sat up straight in his chair and cleared his throat. 

grayson never asked for advice. he never asked for help. he did everything alone.

and look where that got him.

“hey, i'd give advice to you any time you need it!,'' gigi said half jokingly, tucked her hair behind both of her ears, her voice carried a weight that revealed that she could tell just how grayson was feeling.

''listen, i’d like to be super cool and mysterious, and give you some vague advice like ‘do whatever your heart tells you,’ or, ‘the right choices will find you,’'' gigi said, putting on a deep voice and making quotation marks with her fingers. ''but you somehow manage to always make the worst decisions ever. without fail.” her voice was back to normal, raising her eyebrows and pointing at him.

even he knew she was right. 

“you’ve messed up way too much, and i don’t want you hurting my best friend any further, so i’ll give you this:” gigi continued, and grayson realized she wasn’t doing this for him, she was doing it for you. then, another thought that he been trying to avoid came up again: he hurt you much more than he had realised. 

“talk to her. and stay. you know her better than anyone, why on gods green earth would you believe that when she said she’s ‘fine’ or that ‘she doesn’t care’ that she was seriously saying the truth?” gigis expression turned sour as she furrowed her brows, like the topic annoyed her to even speak about. 

believe me, grayson thought, however aggravated you are about this, i’m infinitely more aggravated with myself. 

“you’re annoyingly persistent sometimes, so make some good use out of it.” gigi said, “i’m not going to tell you the things she’s told me exactly, but, you must’ve been a real idiot to just stand there and nod when she tells you that a kiss you shared was a mistake.”

grayson wasn’t surprised gigi knew all of that. grayson figured that was all he would get from gigi, but he selfishly found himself wanting to know more about how you were feeling. he was grasping for anything. you had both seemingly cleared up the air, decided you were 'friends' again and nothing more, but you hadn't even talked since.

usually, in a time back when things were as perfect as they could’ve been, you would’ve been telling him first hand. now, he had to find out about how you felt because of him by his half sister. 

it would never go back to the way it was. grayson could only hope to make it better than before.

he was no stranger to saying something, and meaning, truly longing for something completely different, so he didn't blame you for not

he wonders what he did wrong this time.

the girl, ella.

he was told it would be a good pr move on his end. he hadn’t been seen in the media for a while— which was how he liked it— but his team argued it would be good for him to resurface before the additions to the charities, to get more press. 

he would’ve simply said no. it would've been final, and his team wouldve never brought tbut the girl, ella, was what ended up convincing him. she was trying to hide her relationship with a co star of hers, another girl grayson couldn’t quite remember the name of.

all he remembered was being told ella was being bombarded with rumors, and she needed to out a stop to them before the second season of her show premiered. she was severely distressed—it was her first show, and she herself hadn't even come out to the public yet.

so he agreed. it went on for 2 weeks until there was enough social media posts and tabloids posted of them two.

he thought about the way your voice wavered when he went over to talk, the way you eyed him silently, the way your body language contradicted your words. you were silently angry at him, but you stayed friendly. he didn't have to solve anything to figure that one out.

he could always understand you even when you didn't have the right words to say it yourself, or when you simply didn't want to. a picture played in his mind— one of him nodding his head with an arm around your shoulders, offering comfort silently when you mumbled ''actually, can we not talk about it?" into his chest quietly. he remembered how his heart ached.

you had both mastered the language that had been created and growing between you since the day you met. now, he still knew it, but he had nowhere to even put it to use. he doubts he could ever truly forget it, though.

grayson realised too late how horrible of an image the ella debacle must've painted in your eyes. it was possibly the worst choice he had ever made. right after the days he went not speaking to you, and the times he didn't stay. 

he hated himself for the decisions he made, and gigi should've hated him too.

''why are you here, telling me this?'' grayson finally said. he was aware that his eyes were instinctively narrowed suspiciously, but he couldn't help it. gigi looked at him sympathetically.

''because, unfortunately, you guys are too stubborn and stupid to see what's clearly right infront of you.'' she said simply with a dramatic sigh. ''and you need me— the super-smart-all-seeing-gigi, to help the process along a little. and, despite the way you've been acting, you're my brother,'' her voice softened, ''and i don't like seeing you sad.''

he didn't even deny he was sad. there was no point. he contemplated asking more, brows furrowed as he looked at the counter infront of him, hands gripping the edges tightly. but he stayed silent instead, replaying gigi's words and trying to make more sense of them.

''...well, if that's all,'' she said, breaking the silence. ''i've got to go, i have a flight to catch.'' that explained why she was awake at 6 in the morning.

''where are you going?'' his grey eyes narrowed once again, this time, he was acutely aware of it.

''none of your business.'' she taunted, slipping right back into their sibling banter. ''well, actually—'' a smile stretched across her face despite her efforts, ''its noah, i don't know if you even remember him, but, he's taking me on a trip.'' she blurted, clearly too happy about that fact to remember that she was supposed to be holding a grudge against grayson. ''but— not that its any of your business, of course.''

grayson nodded. a part of him was hurt that gigi doubted he'd remember someone significant to her, but his mind went to a different place before he could dwell on that fact any longer.

he remembered one of the conversations he had with you, on the night you kissed.

''we know eachother. i trust you more than most.'' he once told you, remembering the way your eyes looked into his and the way they glinted when he finished his sentence. he remembered wanting to smile at that.

''yeah, and gigi knows noah. you should be able to trust her with her choices.''

“is she truly happy?”

“yeah, gray, she really is happy.”

he cleared his throat and brought himself back to the present moment. he wouldn't focus on the past right infront of someone, he couldn't, it simply hurt too much. ''right.'' he said coldly, ''of course. have a safe flight, gigi.''

she smiled awkwardly and got up from the counter. she took an apple with her, and gave him one last look, one that made graysons heart twist.

''why did you have to ruin this?'' her eyes seemed to say. ''you're my brother. she's my best friend. why are you making me choose?"

grayson wished he had a response. instead, he just watched her walk off with his brows knitted slightly.

he exhaled a long breath once gigi left, his elbows on the counter as his head fell into his hands. he raked both hands through his hair, roughly, not like the way you would. he shook before he abruptly stood up.

so many feelings, yet he couldn't articulate a single one properly.

there was one that seemed clearer than the rest. he hated himself--for ruining things for and hurting you when all he wanted was to protect you.

he let out a low, bitter laugh to himself.

some protector he was.

he did the one thing he always did when he needed to think clearer, to have control over something when all else seemed to be wrong and disorderly.

he made his way outside, grabbed a towel, and went for the pool.

the water was icy against his skin, but he welcomed it. he pushed off the edge and began swimming laps, each stroke more forceful than the last.

the tension in his chest didn’t lessen—it grew, tightening with every thought of you.

he swam faster, rougher, but not deviating on his strict rigid form. he couldn't. 'you need to talk to her. and stay,' gigis words played out in his head.

should he reach out again? what if you get annoyed? what if you're sick of him?

he knew you must've been somewhat sad, judging by the fact that gigi came to him, but what if you were more angry? what if gigi read it wrong, and you really wanted nothing to do with him?

the only reason he doubted the last one was because gigi knew you better than anyone. she couldn't have read whatever you were feeling wrong. whatever she saw, she felt the resolution was for you two to fully see it out to the end. to 'talk and stay' with each other.

'you're grayson davenport hawthorne, you don't worry about what ifs.' he reminded himself. what would his grandfather say? much worse, he had no doubt.

besides, you were his best friend. doing something would be better than doing nothing and let the friendship and possibility of more slowly fade, then disappear.

he swam and swam, and ran through all the possible outcomes in his mind. he did this until his arms burned and his lungs begged for air. it still wasn’t enough, though.

grayson pushed through the pain, through the ache in his muscles, until he couldn’t anymore. gasping for breath, he finally stopped and hung onto the edge of the pool, his head tilted forward as water dripped down his face.

his chest was heaving, and the pain he had felt was finally all crashing down. it was easier to ignore when he was moving. he clenched his jaw with his grip on the pool’s edge tightening. he didn't feel any better. he didn't feel like he had any more control over his life.

he was an idiot. an idiot who was still drowning, even now, on dry land.

he pushed himself up and out of the pool, his brows furrowed frustradely and muscles taught as he dried off.

he wouldn't let himself mope around any longer.

his hair was still slightly wet as he sat at his office desk. he had taken another shower, this time, it was steaming hot.

his eyes kept flickering to his phone as he worked on his laptop. he found himself wanting to reach out and call you.

no, he needed to plan it better. he couldn't just expect you to answer and for you to listen to him.

but- wasn't how the problems arose in the first place? waiting for the perfect moment that never came?

it was that way years ago, it was that way a few weeks ago, and it seemed like it was about to be that way again.

he closed his eyes for a brief moment. focus. then he got back to work.

still, despite his efforts, he couldn't focus. his mind was in an entirely different place. he read over an email before he pressed send.

how did he manage to mistype no as know?

he stared at the powered off phone laying on his desk once again.

the last time he had texted you, every single one of his brothers had pushed him to.

now, he was utterly alone in his office. his brothers were all out of the house, and his black out curtains kept his room dark, except for the low orange lamps you had forced him to put in there 'to make it look less robotic'.

his eyes flickered to his phone one more time, and he finally retracted his hand from his laptops keyboard.

he turned on his phone, and from then on it was muscle memory, the one thing he would do whenever he was feeling lost. whenever he needed clarity in his peculiar life of his.

he called you.

the phone rang, his thumb hesitated over the red cancel button, but he couldn't. he'd look like even more of a coward.

he was still unblocked, and despite not speaking to each other for so long, you picked up.

''hello?''

his heart beat faster than it did when he swam. ''hey, its grayson.''

you were silent for a second, ''I know.''

you phrased it like a question, almost.

''i apologise for the abrupt call, but, there seems to be a gap in my life where our daily phone calls once were, and to be frank, i missed them.'' he said it straight forward. he prayed that gigi's advice was right. he started the talk part, now he needed to stay. ''how have you been?''

“uh,” you laughed slightly on the other line, and grayson found himself missing the jokes you’d make that he’d call terrible, the nonsensical rants, or the way you’d beg to pick the movie to watch every single without fail on those movie nights you’d hold every friday. the one time he picked, it was the night you kissed. the night where everything changed, and grayson couldn’t tell if it was for the better or worse. 

''well, I just broke my glasses, for one.'' you replied, ''like, literally two seconds ago.'' he heard the laugh in your voice, like the reasoning behind it was funny. but you didn't tell him the the story behind it.

you stayed silent, and that was one of the major tells things weren't how they used to be. stay, he reminded himself.

you were the type of person that when he'd ask about your day, you'd talk about every single detail, down to the tiniest things like your losing your favourite pen or tripping over a rock on your morning walk.

he didn't realise he could miss something so much.

''so uh,'' you cut into his thoughts with a small laugh that he could tell was out of nervousness. ''i need to go fix that. but other than that, i'm pretty good.'' grayson nodded, even though you couldn't see him.

''shame about your glasses, those frames did really suit you.'' he let the words escape his lips before he could think twice.

''thanks, but, they are long gone, for now, at least.'' you said. ''besides, them breaking now gives me an excuse to wear contacts. looking on the bright side.. but uh, enough of me, how are you?

grayson leaned back in his chair, ''ive been alright. however, i've been thinking,'' he began, ''i know we've sorted things out since i last saw you, but we haven't talked much, and i think it would be quite nice for us to see each other some time.''

''oh,'' your voice was quiet on the other end, and grayson sat back up straight again. ''yeah- yeah, sure. i was actually thinking about that earlier today. but i didn't really know how to talk to you, so, I'm glad you said something.''

gigi's advice was right.

'didn't really know how to talk to you.' that part made graysons chest hurt strangely, like he was back in the pool.

''what an odd coincidence,'' he responded simply.

you hummed before you spoke, your voice was quiet on the other line. ''I thought you didn't believe in coincidences.''

he was silent.

''sorry,'' you chuckled, ''I don't know why I said that, it just popped up in my mind- you used to say it all the time, and... yeah.''

''don't apologise, you haven't done anything wrong. youre right, I usually don't.''

''what changed?''

the response in his mind was instant: he met you.

''strangely enough, i'm not too sure.''

he heard you snort from the line, ''well, isn't that a first?'' you muttered, not giving him a chance to respond before you started again. ''um, gigi actually left for the airport this morning, so i'm incredibly bored right now.''

''would you like to organise something for today, then?''

you laughed again, ''is that your weird way of asking me if i want to hang out today?"

''you know i've never been particularly skilled in these areas.''

''oh boy, i know.'' you exhaled, ''well, i'll be heading to the park at like, 12, so...'' you trailed off, and he heard a slight smile in your voice. he wished he was seeing it, instead. ''if someone happened to, you know, coincidentally be there, i wouldn't necessarily turn and run away.''

he couldn't stop his own grin, though he knew he shouldn't feel too happy just yet. ''is that your strange way of telling me to meet you at the park at noon?''

''yes,'' you didn't miss a beat, ''it is.''

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable @anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear @clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @elysianwayy77 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @apollosmusee @hijabi-desi-bookworm @goldi-1-graysons-version @saigonharrington @peppapigsposts @thoughtdaughter3 @cant-see-sam

[newkatzkafe2023]

For the March cartoon theme, I'm curious what romantic Disney (or non-Disney) love song would fit each Wukong? Just imagining them stuck in a big animated musical moment with their SO. (Dasheng def strikes me as the guy in Enchanted whos aware he's in a song and is confused)

Yeah you would be right about the confusion 🤣🤣🤣🤣

(Lmk Wukong) After a long time thinking about it this song would fit Wukong so well, it's heartbreaking. Wukong is known for his mischievous antics and endless energy with some bout of irresponsibility, but nobody ever talks much about his darker issues. Nobody ever accepting him, all the mistakes he had made, the friends he lost, and his extreme fear of death going as far as to look for ways to run from it. Nobody bothered to understand him basically ignoring his depression and lost burying it under bravado and recklessness. Which is why you sing this song to him remindeding him that he had and still have people who love and care about him, especially you. You love your husband no matter what and remind him of all the people who have loved him as much as you do, telling about the place where the lost things go.....

(HIB Wukong) Yeah you are so right if Wukong were to ever find himself in a song, he would be extremely perplexed. You have this habit of breaking out into song no matter the situation good and bad, and as annoying as it was he felt somewhat better afterwards. Though depending on the music and contents of your song Wukong would be either embrassed or flustered since alot of your songs are about love. You also loved to burst out singing to the children and the fact that Luier sings along with a giggling silly girl, doesn't help your case at all. Their was even a time were pigsy sings with us but only because he knows it's gonna mess with him. Theirs also instances where you would sing and depending on the region and land every animal inhabitant would show up and help you with whatever you need them for making all kinds of friends along the way. He loves you but sometimes it's too strange.......Is it too late to go back to his crystal prison????😮‍💨

(NR Wukong) You know you and your husband have been so very busy with various projects and errands, you haven't been able to spend time together. Everything became very stressful lately running around, training Li and keeping him from burning down your house and home, helping Su at her job as an intern and making her lunch. Then you secretly keeping an eye on Ao bing because his dad kept f*cking up him mentally, and you being the only one that cared enough to check on him. This was to much running around, to much coming and going, and quite frankly to much pressure. However when all of that is done and theirs currently nothing else going on, that's when you and your hubby go wild. Putting on your best clothes jumping on your motorcycle and driving in the streets of donghai, dancing at the nightclubs, eating junkfood together and drinking on the rooftops. Your husband Wukong and you dancing wildly and well being free demon celestial monkeys, laughing and screaming like you both used too🥳.

(MKR Wukong) HIS TSUNDERE ASS would find himself singing this song, especially when he feels his heartbeating around you and finds himself smiling with you. The final blow is how you kissed his cheeks and how he doesn't exactly know how to feel about you. Wukong would never address it, but he is used to losing things or having it taken away from him. However, when he first met you, it was like his life was getting brighter. You were kind, patient, intelligent, strong and mischievous in your way, but Wukong found all of it to be super adorable but would rather die than admit it. Him fighing his feelings for you and you invading his thoughts and heart all the time and fight tooth and nail to battle these emotions, but it's not like he'll have to say it out loud........that he's in love❤️‍🔥.

(Netflix Wukong) You know in the past many people and demons warned you about Sun Wukong. The great sage equal to heaven was a huge troublemaker and an outcast to even his kind, but you just couldn't resist him looking like a cute little grubby boy who just needs some YLC (Y/n) loving care😉 but not like he'll could ignore you either a pretty monkey girl who looks like she wants snuggle and smooch him. nights like this where he had snuck you out of your house to have endless romantic date nights and listen to music being played during shows and plays in the town. Wukong and you would also share peach snacks and peach drinks together as you both sat in trees under the stars with the other Village couples. Tonight as always was perfect and judging by the way he smothered you in kisses and hugs, he thinks so tooo😍😍😍

(BMW Wukong) pffffff oh my god🤣🤣🤣 this is gold!!!! It would totally be in character for Wukong to sing a song about himself!!!!🤣🤣🤣 Like seriously it happens when he's trying to impress you and brag about his accomplishments. He even has the gall to go and say your welcome like he's doing everyone a favor, and to hold their applause. Wukong would tell all kinds of glamorous stories about himself and his victories about becoming the great sage equal to heaven. You had admit that alot of tnr stuff he did was cool and impressive in a way, but you'd think he's being cocky about it however you do like the way he stuck it to heaven especially that 3 eyed b*st*rd Erlang. He would always bring up new things to impress you with and it's honestly funny really.

(Destined one) You both have been together for years traveling together and making discoveries. To be honest, life was pretty mellow and openly mediocre doing the same thing at home. That was until you met the Destined one and Uncle Bajie and that's when life was splashed with some color. Joining the Destined one's journey you find that you two have somethings in common enjoying the silence, making new discoveries and bonding over battle. When you both fell in love you were shy and nervous around each other but eventually found that you belong together, and are ready to take those first steps🥰

(Lotmk Wukong) Ohhhhhhhhh your first meeting was soooooooooo cute, but it was also feels like you both met before. You were singing in the forest when Wukong surprised you by joining your song you were shy and a bit shocked to see him. However you both blushed lightly as you both sing softly together, as you begin to open up to him and bond together. It was love at first sight and song as you both even danced together lost in your own shared worlds, it was quite romantic and exciting and lovely🥰

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