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miyukisu · 8 months ago

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I Might Bite .ᐟ

❤︎ | Resorting to dirty measures like biting your superior during sparring usually doesn't end without you having a taste of your own medicine... (2.6k wc) ╰ feat. Hoshina Soshiro (Kn8) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 2 | kinktober masterlist

tags - subordinate! reader, biting, marking, spanking, pussy slaps, humiliation & punishment, Hoshina's kinda mean, fingering, p in v, creampies, swearing

minors do not interact

The recent uptick of kaiju attacks over the city has every member of the JAKDF on edge. No one knows when the next attack is coming or if they'll live to see their next birthday. The atmosphere in the Tachikawa base specifically felt odd. Most were hopeless, but then there was you.

You weren't the strongest by any means, but you believed that if it came to being persistent—you'd be the best. It showed; after all, you trained your ass off even in your off hours.

There were times you bled and shed a tear, but you never stopped. Your fellow officers often told you to slow down. But there was one person who always watched from the sidelines—silently observing how you improved every night that you would sneak away into the training rooms.

It was none other than your superior, Hoshina Soshiro.

The vice captain didn't seem all too interested to be invested in the lives of the officers. Frankly, he had better things to do. But the rookie that worked themselves to the bone had successfully caught his eye. There was something about them that reminded him of himself. In many ways, he was drawn to that fiery spirit.

Not a lot of recruits had your determination and he was more than willing to foster that. What kind of vice captain would he be if he didn't help you in honing your skills?

────────────

You stared, dumbfounded, at the fox eyed man in front of you.

"Ya heard me right the first time," he insisted.

You gulp down. "Well... I'm certainly not going to refuse your offer, sir. I was just making sure I understood what you said."

"I told ya—I'll help ya train every night. I meant it."

Finding out that your superior knew you have been violating the curfew had you expecting the worst. But Hoshina's reaction was rather unforeseen.

Instead of making you run laps or do cleaning duty—he offered to train with you during your night sessions. It made sense; training with someone better than you would allow you to improve at faster speeds. The choice was a no-brainer.

"Alright... thank you, sir."

Hoshina simply nodded before walking away from you, satisfied that you were cooperative with his ideas.

"Sir!"

He turns around with a small smile. "Yes?"

"When do we start?"

"Have ya skipped a day before?"

"...No, not really."

His smile widens. "Ya have yer answer then."

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Labored breaths filled the training room—though, most of it came from you. Hoshina barely broke a sweat throughout your entire sparring session. It wasn't shocking anymore at this point.

You estimate that it's already about two weeks since he has started joining you in your training. Not once have you won against him.

At first, it felt quite motivating—knowing that you had so much to improve. But as days go by, it becomes depressing how you can never even land a good hit on him.

You weren't fit to face a kaiju with how things stand and it crushed your once blazing spirits.

With your chest heaving and your vision blurring, you continued to anticipate his next move. You figured he'd at least cut you some slack after seeing the massive difference in skill, but he was merciless. You didn't even fight back as he tackled you to the ground.

Hoshina Soshiro wasn't just talented with a blade, but also with his bare hands. Who would have thought he knew grappling as well? He easily put you in a rear naked choke and you felt your airway quickly constrict.

He taught you that if you couldn't even handle basic hand-to-hand combat—then you'd be nothing doing anything else. Besides, before ending your session with the usual bare knuckled fighting, he trained you with swords and other weapons... in which you couldn't beat him in either.

Going up against him was futile. You absorbed his teachings like a sponge, but when it came to applying them—all hope is lost.

You were going to pass out soon; you could feel it.

Despite telling yourself that you'd always fight fair and square—you realized that this wasn't the time to be righteous. Virtues, principles—whatever the fuck it is—chucked out the window.

You bit down on his arm—hard. Did you draw blood? Perhaps. But that hardly mattered to you. He finally let go, failing to defeat you completely. Hoshina hissed, checking out the fresh wound you gave him.

Neither could you move or speak. In fact, you kept your back leaning on his chest. Doing anything other than breathing was a bit too much at the moment.

"Ya play dirty, don'cha?" he whispered darkly into your ear.

The thickness and intimidation laced in his voice was enough to reinvigorate your entire being. You took the deepest breath possible before peeling yourself off of him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Of course ya didn't mean ta do that, right?" he cuts you off, lifting you off of the ground with his impressive strength.

"What shall I ever do with ya? Li'l thing bitin' her superior."

You could only stutter out a pathetic apology as he carries you in his arms.

"Nah, don'cha apologize now. Ya must be sick of me treatin' ya like a ragdoll hm?"

He was right, of course. But you weren't about to admit that to him.

Hoshina carried you over to the side of the room where the long metal bench was. Even out of fighting, he continued to treat you like a doll with the way you effortlessly flipped you over. Your stomach pressed against his lap with one of his hands resting on your nape.

You weren't sure where his other hand was, but you soon found out... the hard way.

A sharp slap made its way to your ass. It had you sucking in more air than usual.

"Not even a single yelp huh? Think ya can handle more? Ya need to be punished after all."

Another slap and then another on the other cheek. Tears were starting to brim in your eyes. With the next slap, you finally yelped in pain. Hearing your sharp breaths, he caressed your poor behind in a soothing manner.

"Think ya've repented enough?"

God, you didn't want to sound weak, but a few sniffles escaped you. His question racked your brain, yet not a single good answer came for it. It was a trap and he was steadily luring you in.

You figured—silence was the best response. However, that pissed off the vice captain even more. Hoshina let out a long and deep sigh. He didn't want to do this; he swears. But you just had to push his buttons.

"Not speakin' huh? How many times will ya disrespect yer superior after I've been kind enough ta be trainin' ya every night?"

If you've learned one thing about him these past few sessions—it was that he never gave you time to react. Only now, you're discovering that it applies to things apart from fighting as well.

He slid you off his lap without warning. Soon as you flipped yourself over, the vice captain was already hovering over you with a stern expression on his face.

He inched closer, slowly but steadily. His eyes never left yours and it seemed to have you in a trance because you failed to realize how he had already caged you between his thick arms.

"Sir..." you managed to say between shaky breaths.

"So you can speak?"

Your eyes finally stray from his face, feeling flustered by the proximity.

"Ya should use that mouth of yers fer talkin' —not fer bitin' ," he said. He leaned in to the point that you felt the warmth of his breath against your neck. It was tantalizing—almost paralyzing. "I think ya should get a taste of yer own medicine," he added.

No time was given to protest as he sunk his sharp teeth into your neck. You gasp, hands finding purchase on his arms. He suckled on the tender skin, sure to leave a mark that you'd have to cover up in the morning.

Then another bite came. Your fingers dug into his flesh. It was painful, but oddly arousing. The intoxicating scent he radiated coupled with his fine looks were a recipe for disaster. But the only one being ruined was you.

Perhaps he felt satisfied after two bites, settling on wet kisses scattered on your neck instead. He kept getting lower and lower until he was met with a barrier.

"Lemme get this out of the way, a'ight?" he says before gripping the soft fabric of your black tanktop—ripping it apart. He smirked at the sight, a flimsy lacey bra.

He pushed it up before smashing his face down on your chest, sucking and lightly biting at a sensitive bud. Your hands went from his biceps to his hair, almost pulling out the strands from the roots.

He bit, tugged, and marked you all over again—like he was staking claim. Hoshina made sure to give attention to the other one as well, sucking on the swell of your breast while using his fingers to toy with the other.

Truth be told, he was too excited and immersed in devouring you that he only now became aware of your sounds. It was delightful to say the least. It made him smile as he nipped at the sensitive flesh.

You began to arch your back, needing more of him. But he took this as a sign to go even lower, planting more kisses that trailed down your stomach. He was giving you whiplash with the alternating softness and harshness of his touch.

He looked up at you and saw your dazed expression, unable to even look back at him. This was fine; this was the only time he'd permit a subordinate not looking him in the eye.

For once, you were able to catch your breath and make sense of it all. You returned your gaze to the man above you. He was hovering over you again, looking down with a feral glare. His large hand gripped your thigh.

"Ya know... fer someone bein' disciplined... ya sure look like yer enjoyin' this."

"I'm not," you retorted. But both of you knew the truth.

"Ya challengin' me? Let's see then, shall we?"

He made quick work of the zipper on your pants before pulling it down and throwing it off to God knows where. His eyes opened slightly, zeroing on the damp patch on your panties. Of course, he was right.

"Would ya look at that—yer pussy's all soaked from that. How naughty."

"I... I... um..."

He huffed. "Ya what?"

Slap. He had slapped your pussy. The stinging sensation had you arching your back off of the cold metallic surface of the bench. A soft groan fell from your lips.

He landed another slap. "Look at how wet ya are right now. Ya shouldn't have lied huh?"

As if to soothe you again, he began rubbing his thumb over your poor cunt. "Didn't mean ta make her cry."

Hoshina smirked at his own joke—because who else would appreciate it? Definitely not you; you were too fucked out to even catch everything that he's saying.

He hooked a finger in the gusset before pulling your panties out of the way. The sight of your dripping cunt made his dick twitch. He had already been especially frustrated this week and the cute little subordinate he trained every night wasn't helping. Her little stunt was essentially the final nail in the coffin.

There was nothing else he wanted more but to fuck you senseless already. But he was a refined man; he had patience.

Hoshina pushed in two digits at first and it almost made him shudder with how tight and warm you were. Patience be damned; he was crumbling all too quickly for his liking.

"Fuck... yer suckin' it in."

A string of soft moans left you. It was music to his ears and he wanted it to be louder.

He began fucking his fingers into you at a faster pace. The muscles of his arm tensed and the veins on his forearm were popping out. A loud and vulgar moan reverberated through the training room. You could only hope that everyone in the base was asleep because there was no way you could be quiet with what he's doing to you.

You tightened around his fingers before unravelling completely. Your pussy fluttered, cumming on to his fingers shamelessly. It almost felt like a task to him—only getting it out of the way to get to the main event.

Hoshina pulled out his fingers, sucking them clean. He would have loved to get a taste of it on his tongue, but all restraint had been lost. He had to sheath himself in you or else he'd actually lose it.

"Take a deep breath for me, a'ight?" he says while unzipping his pants, only barely pulling out his leaking cock from its confines.

Maybe you should have listened because the sudden intrusion of his cock knocked the air out of your lungs. It filled you up nicely, hitting every spot with just one fluid motion.

He groans, throwing his head back in ecstasy. His fingers were practically white with how hard he gripped the bench supporting the both of you.

"Coulda fought me with this instead. Maybe ya coulda won," he teased. He began slowly fucking into you, perhaps a reprieve after his previous actions.

Your hands held on to his back, softly digging your nails into the chiseled flesh. A satisfied groan poured from his smiling lips.

The string of moans coming from you urged him to go faster. He had enough of being slow and soft. He snapped his hips at a maddening pace almost immediately. Your leg fell of the bench, hanging off and allowing him deeper access into you.

He never faltered for a second—even as he leaned down to leave marks on your neck again. You held him closer to you as if you never wanted him to leave... and he wasn't; at least, not until you've cum all over his cock.

His ragged breaths filled your ear as he continued to rut into you. Hoshina was tough, ruthless, and precise—much like on the battlefield.

A familiar clench squeezed his dick. "Ya close? Ya gonna cum on my cock? C'mon, do it," he goaded.

His thumb began circling your swollen clit. After holding on to the cold bench for a while, his touch felt freezing. The warmth you felt inside contrasted with the cold touch of his thumb. The sensation was almost numbing with how good it felt.

"Wanna cum with me? How romantic of ya," he teased again. "Fuck... I'm cummin' —take it all. This is still part of yer punishment. Got that?"

You responded with a breathless moan. That was all it took before hot ropes of cum filled you. The warmth seemed to push you over the edge as well, milking him for all he's worth. And like he said—it would be romantic. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"Ya learned yer lesson yet?" he asked, but not before capturing your wet lips in a kiss.

Hoshina let a shaky breath out as he pulled away. He knew it would be good, but he wasn't expecting for it to be this good.

"Shit... was only plannin' one round. Guess it wouldn't hurt ta discipline ya more."

He lazily rubbed his still hard cock. "C'mon, get on all fours fer me and I might not make ya run laps in morning's training." He watched intently as you followed, lining up his dick against your entrance. It was going to be a long night.

"Good fuckin' girl."

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note slightly longer I guess because I like Hoshina more lol

#kaiju no. 8 #kaiju no. 8 smut #kaiju no. 8 x reader #Hoshina x reader #Hoshina Soshiro #hoshina smut #hoshina soshiro smut #kn8 #kn8 x reader #kn8 smut #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #mksu.works #mksu.ktober 24

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reginalusus · 1 year ago

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Just a sketch that I was too tired to finish... And since it's Father's Day I'm just gonna dump a bunch of my more silly (mostly) headcanons about their dynamic below, teehee.

General - They argue. A lot. About anything. Jason is the instigator. Harvey is almost always correct. - There has been a karaoke battle at some point. - They smoke far too much and smoke breaks are common occurrences during anti-hero outings. They are no longer mere breaks; they are rituals. - One of the only things they are comfortable openly bonding over is their alleged hatred of Bruce - and weapons. - Actually work very well together in combat. Jason's accurate, hard-hitting martial arts expertise and agility compliment Harvey's more elegant and violent approach. Gotham's scumbags are cooked. - They were both slain by Gotham, and reborn. They are now both living their second life - neither want to admit to each other that they find comfort that they're not alone in this. - They will take any opportunity to bring up each other's past interactions; the two-toned car, the two-story building fiasco, the kidnapping, anything. - Jason's biological father is the root cause of their most explosive, brutal fights. Both of them, however, are exhausted and have other shit to worry about, so they avoid this topic as best as they can.

Jason's POV - Teases Harvey about twos, duality and doubles to distract from the horrors. - When angry, will call Harvey 'Apollo' to piss him off. Sometimes it's 'Ex-District Attorney', with emphasis on the 'Ex'. - He doesn't like it very much when Harvey attempts to get close/connect with him; relationships are transactional. At least that's how Jason views them. - Hates being passenger in Harvey's car because he doesn't get any say over the radio. - He does view Harvey as a parental figure, or something like it, but he's conflicted. - Actually appreciates it when Harvey helps him through PTSD episodes. - Sadly, he isn't very good at helping Harvey through dissociation/depressive episodes yet. He sort of stands there like the man emoji. - Will randomly come out with courtroom related lines when Harvey does something bad, like: "Your honour, my client would like to plead Gemini," or "Your honour, in my client's defence, he didn't know the safety lock was off." - Makes jokes about Harvey's thugs all wanting to have 'a night' with Harvey. - Absolutely refuses to call Harvey "dad", even jokingly. He will have sightseen everything in Hell before that happens. - But at the same time he cries out for a father figure, one that is proud of him, that loves him. He secretly loves it when Harvey pats his shoulder or gives an approving nod.

Harvey's POV - Will make jokes about Jason being alive again to distract from the horrors. - When angry, calls Jason 'Robin' or 'Pup' (name of a baby bat) to piss him off. - Tries to bond with Jason - he *wants* to - but he's a big dumbass about it. - Does not understand Jason's music taste and doesn't have any desire to. - Views Jason as the child he never had the chance to have. In a sense, that makes him quite protective of Jason, but he hides this. He tries desperately not to be like his own father. - Is quite good at understanding Jason's emotions; he knows how to deal with his attacks and does, begrudgingly, use tips he learned from his previous therapists. - Doesn't wish to burden Jason with his own episodes. Unfortunately it's not always possible to hide them. - Just as Jason tortures him with puns, Harvey will do it right back. He'll come out with things like, "We only put up with you because you were the SECOND Robin," or "How would you like to die a second time?" - He will stand and stare awkwardly when Jason brings (sneaks) lovers back to the hideout. But he minds his business. - May have accidentally called Jason his son a few times. Or his "kid". But not to Jason directly, only in his talks between himself and Two-Face. - He likes seeing Jason happy. So many kids and young people are let down by Gotham's corruption and he'll be damned if Jason becomes a victim of it (again).

#Obviously I have way more complex stuff to say but it's late and I wanted to keep things relatively lighthearted so yeah. <3 #long post #tw: smoking #tw: mental health #harvey dent #jason todd #two-dads au #headcanons #dc comics #sketches #rambles #reginalususart

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navydoves · 24 days ago

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Blood Bag - Chapter 3

"I'm not a monster."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

✎ᝰ summary. you’re a vampire, you need blood. sylus is the most powerful man on this side of the planet. he has what you need.

✎ᝰ cw. you’re a vampire/sylus is a human, yearning sylus, depressed sylus, lonely sylus, luke and kieran are side characters, not unrequited but maybe a little, ANGSTY, erotica, lots of pining here bro, sylus is super pathetic now

✎ᝰ wc. 8.4k ✎ᝰ. a/n. this is my favourite chapter so far, ong there should be only 1-2 left. i didn't realize just how much i yap bro. anyway this one is a lot more angsty than the previous two (imo) but also a lot more erotic. not proofread, will fix as time goes on. hope yall don't hate me for these long ass breaks in between lmfao... enjoy!

luke and kieran, as young and average looking as they seemed, were professional fighters with heavy training under their belt. they knew what it took to be in hand-to-hand combat even without fancy powers to help them.

of course, these skills were the result of their years of training; only taught to them by the best of the best. the frontlines were not their designated position under sylus's care, but they were more than prepared for anything that came their way.

ghouls? goblins? A-tier criminals? all trained to handle them effectively. even with the latest vampire outbreak, sylus had ensured that if anything, the twins should be equipped with the basic defensive skills when dealing with a vampire.

so, what happens when the man who taught them everything they knew about strength, power, and being able to fight... doesn't do just that?

well, luke and kieran were faced with this problem head-on.

"b-boss?" luke whimpers so softly that in normal situations, his voice wouldn't be able to be heard. thankfully, the dead silence between all four persons in the room really helped emphasize the mix of fear, shock, and uncertainty in the him.

kieran was much the same. except he couldn't find his voice and his tense stance and wide eyes did all of talking.

sylus looked between the twins with an unsettling gaze. much like them and much like you, he was staggered in position—cradling you against his body. just for a moment does he glance down at you, his piercing glowing red eyes meeting your scandalized gaze.

everyone takes their moments.

sylus squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his grip on you before wetting his lips and— "OUT!" sylus's booming voice startles everyone in the room, especially you who is closest to him. the twins jolt back and in contrast to how long they stood there, they quickly scramble over each other out the bedroom door and down the hall.

their bedrooms weren't far down, and without thinking, both of them rushed into the closest one which happened to be kieran's. with the door slammed behind them, they take off their masks and catch their breath by the wall. time did move so slow for them, because it felt like hours before they even looked at each other.

to neither of their surprise, the other one was crying. slightly flushed cheeks and wet eyes, the twins had the same look of confusion and worry. "k-kieran," luke chokes out. "i don't know," kieran responds. luke wets his lips and wipes away rouge tears with the back of his hand. "m-maybe this is all part of his plan? maybe he was u-upset because we... i don't know... sabota-" "what kind of fucking plan is this?" kieran interjects with a much hasher tone of voice than luke carried. "you can't tell me boss had no other way of getting information from her than by... letting her bite him? god, and even if that was the case... the way he was holding her, the kisses, the..." kieran retches in his mouth. "i don't like this, i don't like this one-bit luke." luke sniffles. "then, what are we gonna do? talk to him? kieran raises his gaze to the ceiling and rubs his lips together. "there's nothing else to do. you know that better than me, luke." the twins left themselves in an awkward and tense quiet, a complete contrast to what was happening down the hall.

“fuck, fuck!”

“sylus, calm down.”

“how am i… they weren’t supposed to see that!”

you were sat at the edge of the bed watching sylus pace back and forth with his hand over his mouth in stress. the moment had been embarrassing for all parties, sure, but you had no emotional connections to the twins, making this whole ordeal a little better for you to deal with. as opposed to the man in front of you, that is.

“what’s the issue? they saw us, okay, and? then what?” you huff.

sylus stops his pacing and grits his teeth at you. “you don’t understand, they’re… they’re like my sons. it’s… it’s not easy to just let them see me like that…”

“like what?”

sylus hesitates. “vulnerable.”

you shake your head in slight annoyance but let the tension go in the next exhale. “you’ve been vulnerable this whole time, why are you just now getting uncomfortable?”

“what?”

you exhale again. “since the moment i’ve stepped foot in here… no… since the bar, you’ve been nothing but a wreck, a mess. and that’s just what i’ve seen of you. i can’t imagine how long this misery of yours has lasted. if those two are ‘like your sons’ then they’ve definitely picked up on it. yet you’re upset now?”

sylus furrows his brows and stares daggers into you. his lips twitch as if there was a rebuttal or two just waiting to bite back at you. “what do you know about me?”

you look around at his bedroom condescendingly. “clearly enough to invade your home and clearly enough to make you upset. your anger is misplaced with me. just try to calm down." you scoot off from the bed and walk over to sylus to guide him back to where he was previously sitting. he might've dragged his feet there, but he eventually sat down on the edge of the bed again, body slumped over as if he were mourning. "sylus," you whisper. "whatever it is you're about to say i don't want to hear it. you have no place to console me. we're not equals. you're my hostage, my prisoner here. don't... don't speak to me with such familiarity." "i'm not trying to. honestly... i just want more blood. we were interrupted after all." sylus lifts his head and turns to you with squinted, disbelieving eyes. your audacity never left you, it seemed. even when the man who was your lifeline was in shambles, you still had it in you to be selfish. but if sylus said that your drinking and sucking weren't pleasurable to him as well, he would be lying. it was a mix of your familiar warmth, your gripping hands, your gently sinking teeth, your soft, needy noises that was capable of finishing him. and even after every drinking session, when that fatigue creeped in from blood loss and pain, he was still okay with more.

maybe that was what he was feeling right now. fatigue. and maybe it wasn't just from your drinking, but from the weight of his life.

"why... why am i keeping you alive again? please remind me," sylus murmurs with slight dejection. you think on it for a moment. "i can take a guess as to why, but i don't think you'd like the answer. but i can no longer be your prisoner, your hostage, if im dead."

sylus wets his lips and shakes his head slightly, almost as if to erase your illogical argument from his head. it was only illogical because he couldn't understand why he wasn't leaving you for dead, prisoner or not. maybe what luke said was right. maybe he was treating you more like a guest than the vampire that tried to turn him. or i guess, knowing what he knows now, the vampire that tried to feed off of him. "sylus," you interrupt his foggy mind. "shut it." sylus shifts backward onto his bed and scoots until his back was against the pillowed headboard. he didn't say anything nor make a gesture, but his open form and slight melancholy told you that he was giving himself up to you once more. without much hesitation, you follow. climbing up on the bed and onto his lap. you move the cuffs of his collar away from his neck and admire the bloody bites you placed there earlier.

sylus's head was turned away from you slightly, like he was avoiding what was happening right before his eyes. unlike normal, where you would dive right in without thought, you stay still for a moment to look over sylus's expression. the usually hunter-like vermillion eyes had dulled into soft redwood.

what you would do to give him back the life he lived a predator. here now, he seemed like prey.

you lean into his neck and make sure to sink your teeth were where your previous bite was to avoid extra damage to his skin. that sweet, tangy blood you've come to love as dragon's blood hits your teeth right away and courses through your body.

immediately, the same sensations came back into you.

you felt your mind haze and it was accompanied by fluttering eyes. your hands found purchase on sylus's forearms where you gripped and squeezed him. your head buried itself deeper and deeper into the crevice of his neck as if there was more blood to be found there. but your worst habit were your noises.

sweet whimpers and moans escape your lips every second of your feast. it almost sounded like you were crying or... were doing other, more intimate things. but in all honestly, one could argue this was as intimate as it got. drinking blood for nothing but for the sake of your survival, given to you by a man who had everything to lose.

this was the pleasure sylus got from you.

he instinctively cupped the back of your head. and no matter how hard he tried to tell himself not to, it only felt natural to lean down and nuzzle you right back. he was a virgin to you; in all things affection and need. he was a virgin losing his scales every time you sat on his lap. he's experienced every type of pain and pride there was, but the experience of satisfaction and wholeness he got from you was brand new. this was a part of living he never truly knew, so why would he ever kill that by killing you?

your eager sounds and hefty grip made sylus groan softly. there was sweet, sweet pressure between your bodies, creating warmth that fueled both of you. it was still a mystery to him how human you seemed, even with your fangs inches deep into his neck.

"urgh... you're making a mess," sylus murmurs, noticing blood drops running down his neck.

he watches you quickly pull out from your bite and lick up the lines of blood from his neck. your eyes meet briefly, but you were too focused on drinking to truly notice how sylus stared down at you. he watched your tongue lap everything up, fast and with loud slurps.

the sight was enough to make him full body shudder, leaving him unprepared for your next bite. you were back at it, slurping and drinking as if you didn't get several pints worth in the last one.

another soft groan escapes sylus.

the pain wasn’t unbearable. it was in fact, completely bearable. barely anything to the injuries of sylus’s past. it was the overwhelming, affectionate feeling that was unbearable. leave it up to sylus to find a blood-sucking vermin like you, “affectionate.”

“‘m almost done,” you growl softly in-between sucks. sylus doesn't respond, he just lets you continue drinking with all the desperation you could muster. when your noises finally died down and the grip on his arms loosened, he knew you were done. he watches you pull back and lick the remnants of blood from your lips before wiping your mouth all-together.

sylus glances down at his neck - all cleaned and shiny from your saliva. he couldn't see the bites, but he could definitely feel it. a prolonging, insistent ache beat from his neck and all throughout his body. he felt a little lightheaded, a little sluggish and weak. and still, despite all the bites and sucks, he felt the furthest thing from dead. "i'm sorry," you mumble softly while glancing over sylus's slightly enfeebled body. "i... didn't mean to take so much. you just... taste really good." "bodies reproduce blood all the time. it's not like i won't get it back." you nod slightly, feeling a little awkward now that you've had your fill. "what are you going to do about... those boys?" sylus hesitates. he closes his eyes almost as if to forget the memory from earlier. "it'll figure itself out. they'll have to understand one way or another." you furrow your brows. "understand what?" you press sylus. "understand why you need to... keep me alive? what will you tell them?" "that i need to keep you alive to further investigate you, simple." sylus retorts, getting a little annoyed at your questions. "it won't be a big deal if we don't make it one." "what?" you scoff. "you know you aren't keeping me alive to investigate me further. so you're just gonna li-" "what do you know?!" sylus barks at you.

immediately you flinch back in surprise.

there's a moment between you two; one where you take a breath and recover from the sudden jolt of anxiety and one where sylus simmers in regret. "i..." he trails off. his expression softens and his eyes avoid your form. "so you're going to put me back into that cage? am i just living under your scrutiny? is my life still in danger? will my last days be in this fucking estate of yours?" "don't," sylus growls but then eases his tone. "don't... be so fucking hypocritical. you chose to break in here for your own selfish reasons. if you die in this house, then you chose your coffin. but i've given you more than enough blood to satiate you. you don't get to be angry." another moment. "can you just please be honest then?" you whisper, a new despondent tone lacing your voice. it doesn't go unnoticed by sylus. "if i die i'd rather it be in here, anyway. i don't have anywhere else to go, anyone else to see. i've spent the last who knows how many years just... getting by. i was fucking selfish but... if anyone knows about surviving, it's you." sylus brings his avoidant gaze back to you and stares into your dilated eyes. this was a new emotion. sadness. "what do you need me to be honest about?" he asks very softly. "why are you keeping me alive?" sylus shakes his head. "i don't know." "you do." "i don't," he repeats. "that's not a question i can answer for you. but you've made a great effort to get under my skin, get into my estate, terrorize me, take advantage of me, and use me. i hate you as much as i respect you and i haven't respected a nuisance like you in a while." he takes a deep breath, pausing to think about his next words. "if you want me to kill you, though, just say the word. i am also your lifeline as much as i am your murderer." the strange poeticism of sylus's words make your chest feel a little lighter. he felt much more... human this way. i mean - he was, unlike you. but up until now you saw him much differently - like he was a ferocious thing unable to be bested.

"i don't want to die..." sylus frowns slightly. not at your words but at your tone of voice, it was small... helpless even. "you'll stay alive then, but only here. only with me. i can't have you out in the n109 zone."

he sees your nod.

he sees himself lose more of his light.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

like a baby, you were put down to sleep.

but as a vampire, you didn't need sleep.

and you insisted that you didn't want to go to sleep.

but sylus didn't listen.

you were in some dark corner of the estate, purposefully hidden away from the cameras and any attention that may conglomerate in the house. and while your vampire biology enjoyed dark, quiet spaces, you yourself didn't like being put to the side and kept away like you were some sort of monster.

it was fine, you thought.

you could enjoy the peace in this little nook of the house without worry.

without being a part of what was happening between everyone else.

sylus was stood in front of his bedroom mirror once more, staring at the injuries imposed by you on his neck. he hesitated between covering up the bites due to shame and leaving them out for the next inevitable feeding you would have. he traced the outline of the red marks on his skin - intimately in the shape of your fangs.

each thought of his played out like tides, coming and going with the intensity dependent on the wave. everything was foggy, and the clearer thoughts almost seemed to vanish before he could become too emotional about them.

there was no reason to be standing in front of the mirror like he was.

but he was anyway.

what was just as strong at the pain aching in his neck, though, was the yearning he felt underneath his skin. this wasn't a thought that would flounder away, it was an anguish that was apart of his body now. but it had nothing to do with the pain of his bites, and he couldn't just ignore it.

time almost became lost on him. who knew how long he was stood there, and who knew how long it would've been before he left, if it wasn't for a distraction. "boss."

sylus flinches slightly at the unexpected voice coming from behind him. he looks over in the mirror and sees the twins standing there, postures tense. "luke? kieran? when did you get in here?" "we've been standing here for a while, boss." "oh... i didn't notice." a pause. then luke steps forward.

"boss we need to talk, like seriously. we just... want to clear things up, okay?"

sylus furrows his brows and closes his eyes, a slight groan escapes him. "i... i know, but right now isn't the time." "then when can we?" kieran suddenly responds with a gruff voice. it was obvious he was more passionate than his brother. "you always go back on your word with these things, never wanting to tell or involve us in anything. we wanna know if you're being serious here, boss." "kieran, it's okay. let's just-"

"you know i have my reasons," luke gets interrupted by sylus, "i've always done my job of protecting you two, and this situation is nothing different. i know you're confused, but you just can't... there are things you wouldn't be able to understand." "like what?" kieran raises his voice. "like why you're letting that vampire girl feed off of you and why you're suddenly coddling her like she's some baby? you can't torture the girl but you can let her torture you?" "she's not," sylus bites back a retaliatory yell, "she's not torturing me. like i said kieran, there are things you wouldn't be able to understand. but i'm doing what i need to, okay? what's your issue here?" "the issue is that we... we worry for you, boss," luke chimes in softly, his voice a lot more timid than the two men around him. "we care for you and... well we've noticed you've been a little off lately. and then this whole vampire thing happened and... we... we just want our boss back..." luke's smaller voice eases the welling upset in sylus's chest, but still - there was lingering frustration about the situation he's ended up in. he didn't want to answer to anyone about anything. not to you about his intentions, not to the twins about his feelings.

suddenly the vulnerable, unaccepted dragon he once was reincarnated into his bones.

judge-y, judge-y, judge-y.

that's all everyone did, that's all everyone was.

judgmental.

can't lead a sovereignty without scrutiny and demands, can't find companionship without dismay and disapproval, couldn't be a dragon without ridicule and cut horns. everyone was always so against him, one way or another. no wonder he couldn't recognize himself, who was he if not the opinions of other people. "i... i am your boss," sylus whispers, tightening his grip on the counter. "i am your boss and i've always been your boss. whether or not you think i've changed doesn't matter. i'm hundreds of years old, dammit! i have the right to change if i want to." sylus looks up to the mirror at the twins again. they were a bit farther back, kieran in front of luke in an almost defensive position. it was a regretful sight. "boss..." kieran mumbles, "what have we done here to... even warrant this from you?" sylus sighs. he pushes himself off the counter and turns to face the twins. they both avoidant eye contact but sylus didn't. "nothing," he says, "you've done nothing. and that's how i want to keep it. you two are just boys, you've done nothing wrong except be led by a man like me... i didn't want to have this conversation now for this reason. i knew i'd say something i'd regret." sylus weakly points to the door. "im sorry... you two need to leave." the twins glance at one another before looking up at sylus. the dejection and resolution in his voice was unnerving as much as it was upsetting. they both could feel their throats become itchy and burn up with emotion as sylus's rejection hits them.

it wasn't worth it anymore, not now and not like this. luke was the first to turn and tug his brother out with him. the bedroom door closed softly behind them, leaving a both a literal and figurative wall between sylus and them.

they stood out in the hall for a moment to process the conversation just had. "he's not well. he is not well, luke." "fuck... i know." "it's that bastard vampire girl. i want to find her and just kill her. she's turned boss into a zombie." luke shakes his head gently then continues guiding his brother down the hall to their bedrooms. "no... i don't think it's that simple, kieran. boss has been like this for a while now, even before she arrived. all the days we wouldn't see him because he'd be cooped up at base or in his office. all the negotiations that ended up in killing sprees like he needed to let something out. he stopped spending as much time with us, he stopped... being himself a while ago." they reach their bedrooms, the crow masks come off immediately. "that vampire made things worse, sure, but... it always felt like he was headed down this path." kieran furrows his brows and wipes away a few rogue tears that spilled earlier. he licks his lips and hesitates on his words. "are you saying it's always been hopeless?" luke frowns at his brother's emotional voice. "no," he whispers, "i just don't think we're strong enough to deal with him. i don't think anyone is. this is... his life. his choices. what can we do?" kieran bites his lip gently and groans softly in frustration. he makes intense eye contact with luke and wipes the last of his tears. "we keep trying, we keep talking. we'll regret it if we don't do anything, so we have to... we have to try. for him. o-okay?" luke hesitates for a few moments before giving his brother a single firm nod.

"okay." ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ the n109 zone was never in anything but darkness, which made it perfect for a vampire to inhabit in - but still, without some sort of window or even artificial light, it was hard for you to tell what time of day it was.

it had been long, that's all you knew. long since sylus dragged you in here and asserted to you to not leave and to not make noises. you didn't really like being docile, but here you were, unmoving and silent.

at least there was a bed, you thought. a bed, a blanket, the darkness, and some silence. it reminded you of the crevices you hid in when you first arrived into the estate, and how stupidly you made the mistake of trying to get fresh air, leading you to get caught by those two with the crow masks.

you haven't heard many noises in your time in this room, only the faint creaking noises of the house. the estate was big enough that a party on the other side could barely be heard from where you were at - so when you finally did hear a noise, it startled you.

it was heavy footsteps from down the hall that became louder and louder with each passing second. it was a bit unnerving to say the least, but you were scared of few things in your life.

you stilled until the footsteps stopped right outside the bedroom door. it was tense for a few moments before the door swung open, letting in faint light from down the hall. your keen night vision scanned the area and could immediately recognize the form that was now entering the room. "sylus?" you whisper. he doesn't answer. the door closes on his way in and you instinctively sit up warily. as powerful as this man may be, he wasn't a threat to you - but his behavior was odd. you furrow your brows and repeat his name. "sylus." and finally, a response. "are you hungry?" you shift uncomfortably at the question. you weren't, but the thought of drinking from him again was enough to stir you. you swallow and close your eyes to refrain from just pouncing on him. "no... not really." "are you sure? you've been in here for two days, you're really not hungry?" two days? what? "i had a lot to drink last time, i've been quite satiated," you respond softly, the idea of being stuck in here for two days being unfathomable to you. "your blood is thick and course. i'm no longer hungry like i was when i arrived. i feel... normal."

it was quite strange to you how honest you were being here, but that look in sylus's eye made it hard for you not to be. the look of deep pitted exhaustion. you pitied him too much to lie right now.

"sylus," you say his name again after a short silence, "why have i been in here for two days?"

sylus shifts slightly to where he could hear your voice. he's been staring at darkness this whole time, just taking in your presence by listening to you. without your face, the familiarity sylus felt from your voice was stronger.

a voice he knew. a voice for him. "i didn't plan on it being this long, but i've been... distracted. my sense of time isn't great right now. im sorry it's been this long." you shake your head, sylus couldn't see it. "uh... no, it's fine... i suppose. is... is everything alright?" sylus doesn't answer your question and steps forward to where the sound of your voice was coming from. he stops when he bumps into the bedside table where the small lamp was. slowly, he reaches for it and turns it on to its dimmest setting. finally, you two make eye contact.

he sees you in the middle of the bed, sat rather politely and squinting from the light. and you see him, towering over the bed and face a bit sunken and eyes scrutinizing you. he's lost weight.

once your eyes adjust properly to the light, you look over him better. the scars on his neck were healing, but his healing process that would usually take a day was now taking longer - given that the last time you drank from him was over two days ago. he wore something fairly normal. low V-cut shirt and black pants. you can't help but think the shirt was intentional. "were you ridiculed by them?" sylus suddenly asks, crouching down to your level by the bed. "by whom?" you respond. seeing him at this level was flustering you a bit. "philosians. you're from there, yes? did they ever... hurt you? physically, mentally, emotionally, anything?" you shake your head and wet your lips. "no, they were... family, friends, neighbors, acquaintances. i never felt... ridiculed. why do you ask?" sylus furrows his brows together and looks down at his lap. this was a hard talk. "because they still do it," he murmurs. "you said it yourself, they still tell stories about me all these fucking years later. i can't escape them, one of them even broke into my house." you tense up at his words. "i'm... not like them. i'm part of the n109 zone now, it's been eons since i've been in philos. plus, i told you i never believed those stories anyway. i'm different in every way possible from the girl i was back in philos." sylus raises his head and meets your eyes with his dilated, angry ones. "but, you know. you said you never believed those stories, but you also said you somehow knew they were about me. how could you have known they were about me if you didn't think of me as the monster they say i am? the horrible things they've lied about, you had to believe them and figure it they were about me." you bite back your small whimper. it was bad enough he'd forgotten you, it was worse that he was accusing you. "sylus that's not-" "there's more you're not telling me but i... i don't know if i want to find out anymore."

the anger plaguing sylus suddenly dissipates and becomes replaced with despair. his hands clench until his knuckles turned white, and once again, that tension just disappears. like he didn't have the energy to continue the emotion. "i don't want to know anymore, i don't care enough, i can't think straight." sylus admits with his head going back down again in a resigned, hung position. "i've built my life ground up and i just... i have nothing to feel for it. it's just here, i'm just here. and i feel nothing, nothing at all."

frustration lines sylus’s voice before it too dissipates once more. being this vulnerable and honest was unnatural for him, it made him uncomfortable to wallow at the knees of someone like you. but just like his anger, just like his frustration, it was hard to have energy to care or regret anymore. one minute the emotion was there, the next it was gone. and what it left was nothing. a devoid of anything.

sylus feels your hand rests atop his head and flinches slightly. he brings his head up to look at you and sees your slightly awkward, tense, and pitiful eyes. your touch was anything but, though. in fact it was warmer than what he would expect from a vampire.

“i… feel that way too, sometimes,” you mumble. you avert your gaze to avoid sylus’s aching eyes. “i had to.. rebuild my life after i became a vampire. everything i knew and loved was no more, and i was no more. and decades later, here i am, with what to show for it except for desperation?”

sylus’s expression clenches in understanding and in pity as well.

“i’ve mourned for what i’ve lost, who i’ve lost. i’ve mourned for those who’ve forgotten me. and even when hope is staring me right in the eyes,” you glance at sylus then quickly look away again, “i can’t feel anything either. i’m also a monster people try to stay away from. even if i’ve never hurt anyone and even if i blend in, i’m… still a monster.”

a fleeting feeling of embarrassment washes over you, realizing that you were reciprocating sylus’s honesty with your own. you swallow tentatively and shake the thoughts of regret from your mind. it came naturally to you. to look at that face and to be the most honest version of yourself, it was who you are.

“i… im sorry,” sylus whispers. he lays his head in your lap and closes his eyes. “im sorry.”

immediately you tense up. you weren’t sure what to make of sylus’s sudden earnestness but it was worlds better than being at the receiving end of his ferocity.

gently, you move your hand back and forth on his head of hair and exhale with emotion. there was simmering uncertainty between you two.

“i don’t want to be kept away again,” you break the silence. “makes me feel like an animal. like the monster you keep talking about.”

sylus nods just slightly in your lap acknowledging your request. he felt a responsibility to keep you away from all the prejudice he once felt. even if you were the “enemy”.

after a few minutes of unusual but mending silence, sylus raises his head off of you and starts climbing the bed. immediately you lean back and look between his eyes. it was moments like these you remember just how much bigger he was than you.

“are you sure you don’t need any blood?” sylus rumbles out. his palms were pressed into the mattress on either side of your hips. a single knee of his hoisted him up on the bed and helped him tower over you. he was looking down at you and eyeing every mix of emotion that passed through your eyes.

you sputter. “u…um, i’m not that hungry but… do you want me to feed?”

to your surprise sylus nods, but just barely so. “yeah,” he mumbles, “i want you to feed.”

“w-why?”

sylus squints his eyes at you. “because… you need to eat, and i promised to keep you alive.”

“but… i just said i wasn’t hungry.”

sylus clenches the bedsheets beneath his hands. he stares you down but it wasn’t to intimidate you, but to figure out what to say next based on your reaction. safe to say you were confused.

“let me feed you,” he whispers, “i want to give you myself.”

the sequence of expressions on your face would be amusing to him if it wasn’t for such a gray atmosphere in the air. he leaned in closer, your noses almost touching, and repeats himself. “let me feed you, i know you want it.”

and oh boy you did.

from the way your hands gripped in your lap, to the way you swallowed mouthfuls of spit imagining it was his blood, you wanted it. and he was dangling it in front of you like candy.

“but if i keep taking blood when i don’t need—“

you yelp as sylus suddenly pushes himself forward and pins you against the bed with his own body. and just as quickly, he turns your bodies over so that you were the one laying on him. cups the back of your head with his palm and angles it to his neck.

“it’s okay, drink,” he whispers gruffly, “just drink.”

and that insistence—even after you denied needing it, even knowing hunger wasn’t plaguing you right now—that insistence makes you break.

you can barely register it but within seconds you wrapped your arms around sylus’s neck and pulled yourself closer to his skin for a bite. like second nature at this point, your fangs meet his skin and breaks it’s healing barrier. immediately, you start drinking.

a groan leaves both of you as pain and pleasure circles between your bodies. it didn’t even matter if you were hungry or not anymore. physical hunger played no part in how much you needed this lifeline of yours.

“yes,” sylus moans breathless, “yes, just like that. take what you need.”

you snarl in response. obviously, you were happy to comply.

when your fangs sink in deeper sylus can’t help but throw his head back from the overwhelming sensation. it was so unpleasant but your eagerness, your need for him gave him an unending satisfaction. he knew pain well enough to know when it was searing, and your infliction upon him was anything but.

“you,” sylus chokes out softly, “make me feel something i never have. like this…” you growl in between his words, “like this i’m perfect. i’m wanted. i’m not a monster.”

he pushes your head imperceptibly further in. you were already so close but the need to fuse with you in the moment was so strong. this was your kindness, he needed to be one with your kindness. he was your virgin, after all.

just as usual, sylus’s blood was thick and sweet with a nice course feel to it on your tongue. all you could think about was how different dragon’s blood was to rat’s blood or bird’s blood. it was pure, healthy, and potent. everything you needed.

his muffled, pitiful words were distant to your hazed mind. all you selfishly cared about was getting in another fill of his blood. there was a time where hurting sylus like this was unthinkable—but now, as a vampire, with needs far more important than sylus, you couldn’t care less.

sylus smiles to himself and closes his eyes for a moment. he could feel that familiar lightheaded sensation come back to his body. but instead of frustration or fatigue, he only felt empowered.

when he opens his eyes again, he was greeted with the top of your head so close to his face. like second nature, he leans closer and kisses the crown of your head. and what was one peck turned into several. silent but sweet thank yous from him but barely appreciated by you.

even when the groaning and slurping finally stopped and you finally pull back from his neck. sylus couldn’t help himself but continue his affections.

your flushed expression and red-stained lips was addictive. he leans into closer and licks away a few rogue drops of blood from the corner of your lips and then pulls back with a smile.

“are you full? was it good for you?” he whispers while stroking your cheek tenderly.

you could barely register sylus’s softening demeanor but respond with a slight nod anyway. “yeah… mm.. good.”

sylus’s eyes become rounded with emotion. he pitches your cheek affectionately. “do you need more?”

you shake your head, “no…” you whisper. your senses start to slowly come back to you. you’re suddenly hyper aware of how close you are to sylus’s face and how kind he’s being to you. “was… was it good for you?”

sylus’s smile drops slightly but twitches back up again. “yeah, it was.”

“why?”

“it feels good.”

“how?”

“it just does.”

you flit your eyes down to the bites on his neck and the other bruisings that were healing. “it doesn’t look like it feels good. it looks painful.”

“it is.”

“then why does it feel good?”

sylus takes a moment, thinking about how to respond. “because… i think you give me something i need. i haven’t done anything like this before. with someone who… i guess needs me, likes me.”

you straighten at his words and fumble back into a sitting position from where you were laid. on his lap now, you don’t know where to look or how to feel about this words. “wh-why do you say it like that?” you almost laugh. “i’m just… drinking blood…”

your reaction makes sylus flushed as well. he sits up awkwardly and clears his throat, wondering how to move forward after saying something so embarrassing.

“i know,” he mumbles, “but it’s different for me than it is for you. but… we both benefit from it, so doesn’t really matter how or why.” he pulls you in closer just slightly. “just matters that we both get what we need.”

you nod with an incredulous look on your face. this was amazing news for you, it seemed. not only a source of blood, but of the finest blood out there. yet still, the sudden shift in sylus didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“yeah,” you smile just slightly, “doesn’t matter.”

the next few moments of silence consisted of you and sylus simply staring at each other, awkward but understanding smiles on your close faces. it only takes a few more moments for sylus to decide to move on. he picks you up effortlessly and attaches you to the front of his body. your legs instinctively go around his hips and your arms around his neck.

with you hoisted up against him, he clicks off the dim light of the room and walks out. he turns his head slightly to catch a glimpse of your side profile.

“no more hiding out. let’s go to my room.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“are you sure this is a good idea, kieran?” luke whisper shouts to his brother. he hid behind his back like something was going to come out of nowhere and snatch him away.

“i thought we agreed,” kieran scoffs. “boss isn’t going to talk to us if she’s around. did you see the way he carried her into his room? all… lovey-dovey and shit? fuck, it’s disgusting. she has him hypnotized or something. so we can’t get answers out of boss, we have to get answers out of her.”

“i know, i know,” luke sighs, “but… can’t this wait until she’s awake?”

luke stares at sylus’s bedroom door with unease. just by chance did he and kieran see sylus and you walk into his bedroom. or rather, sylus walking in and you attached to him like a vest from the front. with the lights off and no noises coming from the bedroom, it was somewhat safe to assume that the two of you were asleep. even if… vampires didn’t really need asleep. the twins would take their chances anyway.

“no, it can’t,” kieran insists with his arms crossed. “if she’s wide awake then that means boss would be too. and you know we can’t do this if he’s awake. we just gotta do this efficiently, yknow? efficiently… quickly… intimidatingly…”

“kieran,” luke murmurs while eyeing his brother’s antsy form up and down, “stop moving around so much it’s making me nervous. let’s just… do this and get it over with. do you have the weapons?”

kieran nods. “and more in the bedroom if we need them. i wish i could just kill her instantly but… we need information out of her.”

luke smiles to himself. “you sound just like a boss… y’know when he still gave a shit about a vampire being in the house.”

kieran smiles back. it was a moment of humor in an otherwise daunting environment. “yeah… i learned from the best.”

the twins face the door head on and with one final shared breath, reach for the knob and click it open. the hallway light spills in just a sliver, illuminating the bed that was in the middle of the room.

two forms there, one noticeably bigger than the other. you and sylus.

the twins felt their heart rates pick up at the intimate sight. it was just you two sleeping next to each other, but it was wrong. you weren’t supposed to be there, you were supposed to be dead by now.

they swiftly walk in, not bothering to be too slow with their pace. they needed to get in and then get out.

at the side of the bed where you were laid at, they gaze down at you. hair mussed up and expression peaceful in sleep. thank god you actually were asleep.

the twins glance at each other before giving the other a firm nod and going in immediately. luke covers your mouth with his palm and hoists you up harshly while kieran moves back and holds a silver-plated knife to your neck—courtesy of all the weapon crates still in security.

immediately, you wake up from the yank of your body. any noise you made was pushed back by luke’s palm and soon you realize from the knife on your skin to not make any noise at all. the two boys you keep seeing around the estate were now here with you.

you glance at sylus beside you who was still unmoving and fast asleep. you curse the fatigue that was causing him such deep sleep. it was evident from the first bite you took how long he slept afterward, and while that was good for you then, it was life or death now.

the twins nervously drag you off the bed and out the bedroom, closing the door behind them. there was complete silence between the three of you because everyone was on extreme high alert.

you’re lead to another bedroom across the hall—kieran’s bedroom—and forcibly sat in a chair. your arms are tugged back by luke and then locked at the wrists with silver handcuffs, then same done to your ankles. you notice how many weapons were on the floor and tables of the room. they were all the n109 zone’s high tech vampire equipment.

it was only once you were completely bound and helpless that the twins even acknowledged you.

“listen,” kieran murmurs very lowly. “i won’t waste my time on idle talk. you know why you’re here right now. what have you done to boss?”

luke steps forward, backing up his brother. “you’ve been feeding off of him, right? you’re making that man sick for fuck’s sake. listen… we don’t know what your end goal is here, but the last thing boss needs right now is to deal with you anymore.”

your eyes, blown wide from sheer astonishment at the situation, look between the twins. you laugh incredulously. “what?”

kieran brings the knife back up to your neck. “this isn’t fucking funny.”

you glance down at the knife. “you two are just like him. empty threats and desperation. i’ve had this song and dance with your boss. he put me in a cage and threatened to starve me but he needed me for information, so he kept me alive.”

kieran’s face scrunches up in disapproval. “have you not spoken? is this little… charade of his to get you to speak?”

you shake you head. “i’ve already told him what he wanted to know.”

the twins visibly look taken aback. this whole time they lived on the hope that maybe, just maybe, this was all a tactic for sylus to find the answers he needed. even if it sounded a little crazy to them, they didn’t know any better. boss never shared his plans anyway.

“what?” luke whispers. “how can we trust you?”

“how am i supposed to prove that you can? you two already seem to hate me.”

“of course we fucking hate you!” kieran suddenly yells. the force of his emotions causes the knife in his hand to accidentally knick your skin. “you’ve… you’ve turned boss into a zombie! he won’t even speak to us anymore! he’s always with you! or… or just not there…he’s so hollow… it’s like… it’s like you’ve done something to him!”

“i didn’t do anything!” you yell back, equally as angry now. “he wanted this!”

“bullshit he wanted this!” kieran retorts. his eyes start watering behind his mask but the tears couldn’t be wiped away right now. “why… why would he want this? why would he want to be your stupid fucking… blood bag?! he’s the fucking sovereignty of the n109 zone. he’s not going to let some weak vermin like you… use him!”

“kieran,” luke interjects whilst putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “kieran, calm down. you’re only going to make yourself more upset. you don’t need to fight with your voice, we have weapons.”

you start struggling against your confinements and thrash around in the chair. you were so sick of being the main villain in this story. so what, you did sneak in. but it was the house full of impulsive men who got you to this point. it was so clear to you that these boys knew nothing about their boss despite being “like his sons”.

“i can’t fucking take her anymore, luke,” kieran cries softly with the knife slowly pushing more into your skin. “i can’t fucking take looking at her face and i can’t fucking take looking at boss and wondering what happened. we can fix it. whatever boss is going through, we can fix it. but we just need her gone.”

luke nods in agreement, his own tears threatening to spill. “i… know. i know. i can’t imagine boss wanting this either. it’s not right… it’s not like him. but we can’t kill her, not yet.”

you watch the emotional exchange between the brothers with a bit of regret in your heart. if you hadn’t manipulated, lied, and taken advantage of sylus in his vulnerable states, this wouldn’t be happening. but at the same time… you missed him and needed blood.

you missed him, you needed blood.

the two emotions of love and greed overwhelmed your judgement and here you were, however much time later, suffering the consequences of your desperation.

every single one of you was desperate for something it seemed. you, sylus, the twins. it seems like everyone was working off trying protect something and fulfill themselves.

you weren’t lying when you said you related to sylus in his emptiness. at some point you started feeling nothing but… well, nothing. you were in a cycle of trying to survive and trying to keep your identity a secret. and still then, the thought of dying and being reborn was worse to you. you kept on living for the sake of it, and only when you met sylus at that bar, did you feel your two new emotions.

love and greed playing out over and over again in an endless cycle until you ended up here, tied up to a chair, facing the consequences of your own actions. but even here, you didn’t regret a single thing.

“please,” kieran almost whimpers. he drops the knife to the floor and drops to his knees along with it. “please, just tell us what you did… please just tell us why boss—“

the door opens to the bedroom.

the familiar creaking sound catches the attention of all three of you. it plays out like déja vu.

the twins look back, slightly horrified.

you look up, slightly hopeful.

sylus stands there with a menacing look to his face. his hands are clenched into fists by his sides but he makes no other show of his anger. the only sound breaking the barrier now was his voice, and it was as smooth and low as ever.

“what are you two doing?”

just wanna say ty all for your support! means the world

tl: @seventeen-x , @webshooterrr9 , @theycallmesoup , @satansdaughter123 , @tyasmaple , @jaynawayna , @jadeymeciela , @namjooningera , @phisen , @eepamaawo , @lolaisoffline, @floofycookie, @thejmins, @multisstuff, @meowgumiiii

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ghouljams · 16 days ago

Note

Imagine if Price actually got someone who stayed, she puts in work to make him get therapy and all that. Making it feel like his idea and all, subtly corrects behaviors until one day it clicks in Price's head that 'oh shit. I'm the problem' (Gasllight his ass into getting help) Starts trying to make amends with his kids but doesn't press, is nicer to the exes and doesn't bitch about alimony or anything anymore. The exes think he's just putting on a show until his missus has a baby and he's actually there for her and the baby. Apologizes to his kids and respects if they don't want contact even if it does hurt. It took too many years and too many wives but he finally got one that knocked some sense into him.

Wife 4. (Tw: manipulation, grooming, child abuse)

He said it was your hope that drew him to you. Your youthful naivete that made him wish he was a better man than he was. He said that none of his other wives had even tried. He said that they didn't care. They were old and bitter, too focused on themselves to see that their husband was struggling to stay above water. He was scarred by combat, emotionally distant from the trauma of it all. And you? You were the freshly 18 year old little girl that believed him.

You talked him into therapy. You read all the books on ptsd and soldiers surviving war. You complained to your friends about how hard John was trying to see his kids, how his wives wouldn't let him. (And when your friends asked why all his ex wives would do something like that? Well John said it was for your own good that you didn't see them anymore.) John was so sweet to you, all the gifts and time spent with you, he'd talk about how he was going to buy you a big house and how your babies would be so happy there. He knew you were special, that you were the one, and you loved him so much. He was getting better. He was a good man. He was just misunderstood, he wasn't given a chance, his exes left him without trying, they didn't have the guts! The kindness! To stay with a broken man. But not you. You were a good person. You weren't going to leave when things got rough.

You got pregnant early. Had a shotgun wedding. (You were so careful, but birth control fails, you know?) You moved into the big house that John promised you. You had a beautiful little boy. John missed the delivery, deployment and everything, but you didn't blame him. You were a good person, a perfect wife. He didn't want you to work after the birth, said the baby needed his mother, and you agreed. You didn't want to abandon your baby like those other women did. Besides, John needed you at home, needed your support. He got nightmares still, said the therapy wasn't helping, he was depressed because his kids didn't want to talk to him (his exes turned them against him you see) and you weren't going to leave him just because things were hard. You were better than those other women.

You're pregnant with your second (a little girl, your were so excited, John had just looked bored when you told him, but you knew he was excited he was just tired) when your boy turns three. He breaks a plate, like children so often do, and John grabs him.

It's the first time you watch him lay a hand on your child. Your baby wails as his father spanks him, and suddenly that fun sexy activity is a punishment. You think it might have always been a punishment. That when John put you over his knee it wasn't for your pleasure but his own desire to correct misbehavior. His eyes are so cold. You dont dare to stop him, not when he turns his cold eyes on you and tells you the boy needs better discipline. Youre his mother you should be teaching him better than this, what the fuck have you been doing while he was away? Stupid little girl. He thought you were better than the others. (You are, you sob, you are you are you are.)

But you're the one that actually stays, right? You dont want to abandon John like the others, right? He says he's in therapy, that you're making him better, he wants to be a good father, he is a good man.

It's suffocating in this house.

He doesnt hold your hand when your daughter is born.

When she starts babbling he jokes that she'll need to stop that if she ever wants to find a husband.

You take night classes at the community college, too scared to tell John when hes made it clear you don't need them. All you have to do is be a good wife.

Your son doesn't run to greet his father anymore, just stands with militant attention and nods. He speaks when spoken to.

Your daughter clings to you. John says-

John says-

One of his exes picks you up. You'd found her on Facebook, never kept the phone number she slipped you, too scared of what John would think. You do it while he's deployed, taking only what you and your babies need, leaving him a letter on the papers his ex's lawyer drew up. Full custody. She says he won't fight you on it.

"Some men made peace with who they are a long time ago," she tells you in the car. You fuss with the fancy car seats, she said her kids had been out of them for a decade, she saved them just in case.

"He's a good man," you tell her, because she must not know how hard he said he was trying.

"Good men feel guilt, remorse-" she fixes her sunglasses in the mirror, "-John's never felt guilty about anything. He can't."

"Its the war," you insist.

"Please," she smiles, "he likes war. It's the only place he can be himself."

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #captain john price #the divorced price au #why do you all want to fix him so badly #why do you blame the women for leaving a terrible man?

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gyugraphy · 4 days ago

Text

psyche (2)

— synopsis. After the catastrophe in New York-when the Void tore through the city-the Thunderbolts know it can't happen again. Bob Reynolds doesn't need another collar or containment spell. He needs help. Enter her: a psychiatrist with an unusual gift, capable of stepping into the mind itself. No one expected her to reach him-least of all, him. "You're just going to leave me the moment it gets too hard, aren't you?" he says. She meets his gaze, steady and unshaken. "I've walked through nightmares to get to you. I won't walk away now."

— pairing. robert reynolds (sentry/the void) x reader

— warning/s. mentions of trauma, mental illness, depression

— word count. 6k+ ?

masterlist ⊹ part 1 ⊹ part 2 ⊹ part 3 ⊹ part 4 ⊹ part 5 ⊹ part 6

⋆˙⟡

The next day crawled by.

You told yourself it was just another shift: just stitches, scans, the usual rhythm of organized chaos. But every time you passed a window or a shadow flickered across the sterile ER light, your gaze drifted outside.

Around 4:30, Christine caught you doing it.

She slid up beside you at the nurse’s station, holding a clipboard she wasn’t reading. "You keep staring out there like you’re waiting for a spaceship.”

You didn’t look at her. “I’m not.”

Christine leaned, squinting toward the street. “Mmhm. Because the tall guy in the hoodie across the street is just loitering for fun?”

You froze. Just for a half-second.

“Oh my god,” she said, grinning. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

“Christine—”

“No, no, I’m just trying to understand,” she said, hand raised like she needed physical stability. “You, brilliant trauma surgeon, have a potentially world-ending crush on New York’s most unstable demi-god.”

“I do not—”

“He looks like a kicked puppy,” she mused. “Kind of cute, in a ‘please don’t vaporize me’ way. You’re into that?”

You checked the clock sitting in the wall beside you before you turned to her, unamused. “I’m going outside.”

“What if he is a danger?” she called after you, mock-dramatic. “Blink twice if you need Thor!”

You flipped her off without looking back.

“I’ll take that as a maybe!”

Bob Reynolds was easy to spot.

He stood awkwardly by a lamppost outside the Starbucks on 8th and Greenwich, hoodie low over his face. But subtle? Not a chance—he was massive, twitchy, and radiating tension like a downed power line.

As you approached, you spotted them: two men in dark suits, sitting at opposite corners of the café patio. One had an earpiece. The other had a jacket bulge too square to be anything but a weapon.

“They with you?” you asked quietly.

Bob hesitated. “They’re with them. Standard protocol.” He raised his wrist, showing you a sleek black band, barely wearable tech. “If I go red, they move in.”

You nodded. Quietly. Then opened the door.

Inside: burnt espresso, the hum of capitalism, and ambient indie pop. A universe away from the void in Bob’s head.

You both got drinks. His had more sugar than coffee.

You took a seat by the window. Light sliced across the table in gold strips. Outside, the bodyguards watched without moving. You could feel the hum of tension under the table— his, not yours.

Bob stirred his drink with a shaky hand.

“So,” you said. “This the part where you tell me why you wanted to meet?”

He didn’t answer immediately. When he looked up, his eyes were unreadable.

“I wanted to try again. With the mind stuff. But not today. I thought we could just... talk. Like people.”

You sipped. “Talking’s a good start.”

“They don’t trust me,” he said. “Not really. Not even the Thunderbolts.”

“You’re wearing a tracker.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “They call it a proactive risk mitigation device. Translation: ‘please don’t explode in public.’”

You snorted. “We love euphemisms in medicine.”

His smile flickered, but dropped fast. “I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

You studied him. Not nervous, but frayed. Like a person unraveling thread by thread. The kind of damage you recognized from trauma wards. Combat. Survivors.

“I read your files,” you said gently. “What you were. What you did. You’re still here, Bob. That has to mean something.”

He looked away. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t.”

Silence fell. Not awkward. Heavy.

“I don’t want to be the Void,” he said. “Or the Sentry. I just want to be someone else. I don’t know who that is yet.”

You nodded. “That’s what I’m here for.”

His gaze lifted. Really looking at you, for the first time since you’d sat down. "You think you can fix what’s in my head?”

“I’m not here to fix you,” you said. “I’m here to help you understand yourself. There’s a difference.”

Something broke in his face. Just a crack. A shift.

“That’s the first thing anyone’s said that didn’t sound like a warning.”

You slid a leather notebook across the table. “Homework. Dreams, thoughts, stuff that doesn’t feel like it belongs. Write it down. We’ll use it to map the next entry point.”

He stared at the notebook like it might vanish.

Then nodded. “Okay.”

Across the street, Yelena sipped black coffee and grimaced.

“Why does this taste like regret?”

“Because you’re drinking Starbucks,” muttered the agent next to her—Jones, ex-SHIELD, now Ross’s clean-up crew.

She ignored him.

Through the café window, she watched Bob Reynolds fiddle with his cup like it might explode. The doc leaned in slightly, listening, not prying.

Bob was still. Still. Not hiding. Not unraveling.

Yelena almost smiled.

“What?” Jones asked.

“Nothing,” she lied. Then, “Actually— yeah. You ever seen him like that?”

Jones snorted. “You call that calm?”

“For Bob? That’s borderline sedated.”

She watched as Bob gave a shy smile. The doctor responded with something gentle. Grounding.

Then Torres’s voice crackled through her comms: “Okay, hear me out... what if they start dating?”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Please. She’s way out of his league.”

“Bob cleans up okay,” said Mack. “Give him a haircut and some therapy? That’s boyfriend material.”

Yelena snorted. “You’re all insane.”

“Maybe,” Torres said. “But admit it. You’re rooting for them.”

Yelena didn’t answer.

Because in that moment, every HUD alarm screamed red.

Incoming.

“Status?” she barked, already moving.

“Not Bob,” said Jones. “Tracker’s green. Pulse steady. Elevated, but stable.”

"Unidentified extraterrestrial just entered the atmosphere. Heading straight for their position.”

Yelena didn’t curse. She didn’t need to.

She ran.

⋆˙⟡

The light outside bent.

It wasn’t metaphorical. The air warped like heat off asphalt, and for a moment it felt like the world forgot how to hold its shape.

Your cup stopped halfway to your lips.

Across the table, Bob froze. His fingers clenched tight around his drink, knuckles paling, breath caught in his throat. That buzzing tension under his skin, the one you’d noticed before. It was like static before a storm.

Then the glass behind you rattled. A soft, eerie tremble—barely a whisper at first.

You turned, instincts kicking in. “What was that?”

Bob’s eyes were wide, locked on something past you, out the window. His voice dropped.

“Something’s here.”

The sky cracked.

It wasn’t lightning. It was a sonic boom tangled with the shriek of tearing metal and the roar of something wrong.

The front windows blew inward.

A wall of noise hit first—glass exploding, tables flipping, people screaming. You flinched, a hand half-raised—but before you could think, Bob grabbed you, yanking you behind the counter in one rough, desperate motion.

Heat. Noise. Dust.

The air became smoke and rubble. You ducked low beside him, back against the cabinetry, breath coming hard. Shouting filled the room—fear, confusion, that unmistakable pitch of panic.

Somewhere to your right, a child screamed. One of the agents in suits launched over a table, shielding them with his body.

Bob didn’t speak. He was crouched in front of you, shielding you with his frame like instinct, not decision.

“Stay behind me,” he said.

The quiet intensity in his voice chilled you more than the chaos outside. He was calm, yes—but in the way a loaded weapon is calm, seconds before it fires.

You opened your mouth to ask—what the hell was happening, what was that thing—but didn’t get the chance.

The ceiling groaned.

Something outside detonated. A deep, thud, followed by a ripple of force that knocked over chairs and sent another cloud of dust into the air. Bob pulled you back again—closer this time—just as a support beam buckled.

CRACK.

Concrete fell.

The café was coming apart. You stumbled backward, disoriented, heart hammering in your chest. And then—

You were separated.

A massive slab of ceiling crashed down between you, the impact deafening. You staggered, coughing, eyes stinging. “Bob!”

No response.

You dropped low, crawling under dangling wires and fractured drywall. Your knees scraped against broken tile. Somewhere, espresso machines were hissing steam like dying engines.

You turned a corner of twisted debris, and—

Something moved.

A shadow in the smoke.

Bob.

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist, and in the next heartbeat he pulled you hard— arms locking around your waist, both of you diving behind a half-toppled support column.

Another blast hit.

The place where you’d stood was now a crater of pulverized flooring and fire-scorched plastic. Bits of light fixtures rained down like sparks.

His grip lingered.

You were pressed against him, your heartbeat hammering loud enough to drown the world. His breath hitched. Not fear, but something else. Focus.

Your eyes met, just for a second, and the world went still.

Then the ceiling gave way.

A roar above. More concrete. More fire. More sky where a roof should be.

“Clear a path! I want eyes on them now!”

Yelena’s voice, sharp and slicing, cut through the wreckage. Outside, chaos reigned—sirens, screaming, dust thick as fog. The world had gone full warzone. Agents swarmed like a coordinated blur of movement.

The Starbucks was gone.

Torres tossed a Wakandan pulse drone into the wreckage. It zipped into the mess, scanning. Vibrating pulses hummed through the air like sonar. Yelena didn’t wait for the readout.

“There!” Torres called. “Two signatures—beneath the west column!”

Yelena didn’t hesitate. She ducked low, slid under twisted beams and broken glass, ignoring the cuts on her hands. Concrete crunched under her boots.

And there you were.

Bob was crouched over you, arms braced around you like a shield, his body tense, face streaked with blood and soot. His shoulders were curved like he could hold up the sky if it meant keeping you safe. His eyes were still glowing. Not fully. Not yet.

You looked up at Yelena, dust in your lashes. Your breath came in short, controlled bursts. Your calm wasn’t fake. It was survival.

Yelena knelt beside you, unfazed. “You two look cozy,” she said, voice breezy, like the world wasn’t actively caving in around her.

Bob jolted. You cracked a smile despite yourself.

Yelena extended a hand. “Come on, lovebirds. Time to go.”

He didn’t let go of your hand.

Even as rubble was lifted. Even as the agents tried to separate you to assess your leg. He just kept holding it, fingers tight around yours like a lifeline.

Even when Torres offered to carry you, Bob’s voice dropped low. “I’ve got her.”

He didn’t just say it. He meant it. With everything in him.

As you ran, above you, the sky burned red.

The alien creature that had crash-landed glowed like a dying star—jagged limbs, twisting light, moving in ways your mind rejected. A walking contradiction. Massive. Impossible. Real.

Sam Wilson dropped from the clouds.

“Target locked,” came his voice over comms. “Thunderbolts, keep it away from civilians. Hit it hard and fast.”

The street became a war zone. Red Guardian hurled slabs of debris like baseballs. Yelena loaded shock rounds into her gauntlets. Bucky’s rifle lit up the sky.

And still—Bob hovered just outside the line.

Not running. Not fighting. Just... watching. Fists clenched. Breathing shallow.

Watching you.

You’d found cover behind a crushed table, trying to triage a broken ankle and keep your head low. Every explosion shook your ribs.

“Bob!” you called. “We can’t stay here!”

He was already looking at you when you spoke—like he hadn’t looked away once.

Then something above groaned. Concrete shifted.

You looked up—

Too late.

A mass of steel and stone broke loose from a ruined rooftop, plummeting fast—too fast.

Bob moved.

No hesitation.

He tackled you, dragging you behind a broken pillar. You hit the ground hard, air knocked from your lungs. Concrete exploded behind you.

“You good?” he asked, voice tight, scanning you.

You nodded. “Thanks.”

The next explosion came even closer.

“We need to move,” you said, pointing toward a side alley. “Now.”

You led. He followed.

You made it three steps.

BOOM.

Something struck the building next door. The shockwave tore through the wall. Debris separated you again. A fireball lit up the alley behind you.

“BOB?!” you screamed.

“I’m here!” His voice, rough, coughing—but he was out of view.

You turned—only for a pair of arms to grab you, yank you behind another wall of rubble.

It was Bob. Again.

He was shaking. Glowing faintly. Breathing like he was holding back a hurricane.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t think. Just—reacted.”

You gripped his arm. “We need to regroup. Now.”

He nodded, jaw clenched.

But then—the ground beneath you gave out.

A creaking groan. Then collapse.

The floor dropped. You both fell.

The impact hit like a body slam. You gasped, stunned, pain flaring through your hip and shoulder as you landed in a pitch-black corridor—half-collapsed, filled with rubble and smoke.

“Where are you?” you croaked.

“I’m here.” He coughed. Shifting sounds. A grunt. “You okay?”

“Fine, just bruised. ”

He was already moving, trying to shove a slab off his shoulder. Muscles straining. Gold flickered in his eyes again—dangerously bright.

“Wait,” you said, but he wasn’t listening. He pushed harder, jaw tight, that pressure building inside him like a bomb with no safety.

The slab didn’t budge.

His breath shuddered. He clenched his fists. Power hummed, dangerously close to breaking free.

Then—he stopped.

Backed off. Shook the glow from his eyes. Swallowed hard.

“I can’t,” he said. “Not here. Not now.”

Footsteps above.

A mechanical whir.

Then—a hand reached through the wreckage.

Vibranium.

Bucky.

You exhaled for the first time in minutes.

“Got ‘em!” Bucky’s voice rang out. “They’re down here!”

With practiced coordination, the team sprang into action. Red Guardian cleared a path through the rubble while Torres and Ghost dropped into the crevice, lifting debris with precision. You and Bob were pulled free in tandem—bruised, covered in ash and soot, but miraculously intact.

You coughed hard, blinking through dust. Bob stood beside you, silent, brushing grit from his sleeves. He looked… steady. Shaken, yes, but composed. Like a man who had just walked to the edge of something deep—and pulled back.

There was no time to breathe.

Above, the battle had escalated.

More of the creatures were falling from the sky, each more twisted and unnatural than the last—eyes that shimmered wrong, limbs that bent in impossible directions. The air itself seemed to ripple where they moved.

The Thunderbolts were already repositioning. Yelena, Red Guardian, Ghost, and Bucky formed a defensive line near the collapsed street, weapons at the ready. Sam hovered overhead, scanning the area, his voice crisp over comms:

“Eyes up! More incoming—big ones!”

The team exploded into motion.

Red Guardian charged one of the creatures, driving it through a rusted-out truck with a bellowing war cry. “How many of these things ARE there?!”

Ghost blurred into phase, vanishing through a wall and reappearing behind a snarling brute, jamming a destabilizer into its spine.

Yelena spun and flung an electrified disc; it latched onto a creature’s neck and detonated, staggering the thing back into the flames.

You and Bob kept low behind an overturned SUV. Every explosion drew a protective twitch from him—his hand would snap out instinctively to shield you, or he’d pull you tight against cover just before debris rained down.

He didn’t speak. But his body language said everything: You are not getting hurt again. Not on my watch.

His face was unreadable—no fear, no panic. Just tension. Like he was holding back a tidal wave with nothing but sheer will.

Another creature burst through a wall behind you—close. Too close. You spun, and Bob spun with you. The thing raised a jagged limb, lurching for your throat—

And Bob moved.

Something in him snapped.

His hand lifted on instinct. A golden wave of heat and force beamed from his eyes, raw and sudden, with a high-pitched pulse like a detuned frequency.

The creature didn’t even scream. It vaporized instantly—dissolved into dust and burning air.

Half the wall behind it disintegrated.

Silence.

The battlefield paused. Heads turned.

Bob stood frozen, arm still half-raised, breathing hard. His eyes glowed faintly now—not the full flare of the Sentry, but unmistakably not normal. Not just Bob.

Red Guardian ducked behind a concrete slab, blinking. “Okay. That’s new.”

Sam landed nearby, visor dark over his eyes. “Everyone saw that, right?”

No one answered.

Bob didn’t speak. He just stared at the scorched concrete, at the smoldering space where the creature had stood.

Then his gaze shifted—to you. Not proud. Not afraid. Just... frustrated. Like he'd tried so hard not to be this. And now it was too late to hide.

The moment passed.

Another wave of creatures screamed from above, dropping through the broken skyline. The Thunderbolts surged forward again. Sam took to the air. Ghost vanished into the ground.

Bob stayed close to you. He didn’t flare again—but the edge was there, humming just under his skin.

Minutes later, the battle was done.

The last alien fell, its corpse twitching as black smoke curled from its bones. The street was a crater of fire, shattered glass, and blood. The Avengers and Thunderbolts stood among the wreckage, battered but upright.

Bucky leaned on a crushed lamppost, dragging a sleeve across his face. Yelena holstered a sidearm, scanning the scene with sharp, methodical eyes.

And that’s when she noticed it.

The pattern.

These creatures—whatever they were—hadn’t attacked at random. It hadn’t been chaos. They’d been focused. At first, she'd assumed they were after Bob. The power signature made sense. The flare of energy would’ve drawn attention like a beacon.

But the timeline didn’t add up.

The creatures had zeroed in before Bob unleashed anything.

Her eyes flicked across the destroyed café, the alley, the cratered street where you had been pinned—over and over again. It was subtle. Too subtle for a civilian to catch. But she’d seen it.

They weren’t targeting Bob.

They were targeting you.

Yelena kept the thought to herself. No need to rattle the team yet. No need to rattle you. But a weight settled on her shoulders, colder than the blood drying on her gloves.

Why you?

As the team regrouped, Sam jogged over, shield on his back, scanning faces.

“Everyone accounted for?” he asked, voice firm but calm.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, nodding. “But we’ve got bigger problems.”

Yelena nodded once. Her expression was unreadable. “These things weren’t just here to cause mayhem.”

She didn’t look at you when she said it.

“They were after something. Or someone.”

A silence settled over the team—uneasy, thick with the realization that the worst might not be over.

⋆˙⟡

The soft whir of machines and the gentle clinking of medical tools filled the space. You stood beside the medical cot where Bucky Barnes sat, his shirt ripped and a gash just beneath his cheekbone still fresh and bleeding.

"Hold still," you muttered, dabbing antiseptic onto a cotton pad. Bucky flinched but didn’t complain.

Across the room, Sam Wilson stood with his arms crossed tightly against his chest, watching the activity with sharp eyes. Yelena Belova leaned against the far table, eyes narrowed, her mind clearly still deep in the chaos they’d just left behind.

"You saw how coordinated they were," Yelena said, breaking the silence. "That wasn’t random. That kind of attack—it wasn’t just some alien beast dropping into the wrong city."

Sam nodded. "They were tracking something. Or someone."

"They came straight for us," Bucky added, his tone more serious now. "But not just us."

Yelena looked at you subtly, not yet calling attention to what she suspected. "They didn’t make a beeline for Bob, though everyone assumed that’s who they wanted."

You looked up from cleaning Bucky’s wound, sensing the shift in the conversation.

"They weren’t after Bob?" you asked, voice low.

"No," Yelena replied, her gaze meeting yours briefly. "It looked like it. But they moved past him more than once. They weren’t focused on taking him out. They were circling around him."

"That doesn’t make sense," Sam muttered.

"It does if they weren’t after him at all," she added.

In the corner of the room, Bob Reynolds stood silently, arms folded. His posture was rigid, eyes flicking between you and the others. There was a tension in him, like a wire stretched too tight. Red Guardian sat nearby, bruised but still full of energy, watching Bob with a smirk creeping across his face.

"You’re sure?" Sam pressed. "Not the Sentry, not Bob—"

Yelena nodded. "I’m sure. The pattern was too consistent. Every time they moved, it was toward her position."

You froze briefly, your hands halting as you pressed a fresh bandage on Bucky’s cheek.

"What?" you asked, unsure if you'd misheard.

There was silence for a beat—until Red Guardian broke it with a teasing chuckle. "Looks like you’re more popular than you thought."

He nodded toward Bob, who had been watching you with an unreadable expression. Bob’s eyes flicked away immediately, his jaw tightening.

Alexei, catching the exchange, raised a brow. "You alright, Bob?"

Bob blinked. "Yeah. I’m fine."

"Because you’ve been staring a hole in the back of her head for five minutes," Red Guardian muttered with a laugh.

Before Bob could answer, Bucky turned to you, holding out his hand with exaggerated innocence. "By the way, I think I’ve got another wound. Somewhere around here…" he said, pointing vaguely to his neck with a smirk.

Without catching the teasing tone, you responded automatically. "Look this way."

Red Guardian leaned back, thoroughly entertained.

"You’re not subtle, Barnes," he chuckled.

As you worked, Yelena and Sam continued their conversation, now joined by Bob, who was still half-listening while glancing your way.

"This changes our strategy," Sam said. "If she’s the target, we can’t leave her unprotected. We got lucky this time. We won’t always be in position to respond."

Yelena nodded. "She stays here. Under our watch."

You finally looked up, uncertain. "Are you sure? I don’t want to get in the way."

"You’re not in the way," Sam said firmly. "You’re in danger. We don't ignore that."

Bob’s voice came quietly but with steel behind it. "He’s right. You’re not leaving until we understand what they wanted."

You met his eyes again—and this time, he didn’t look away.

⋆˙⟡

The tower had finally grown quiet. The adrenaline of the day’s battle had worn off, replaced with heavy silence and the low hum of the tower’s systems. Most of the team had either crashed in their rooms or were nursing bruises and silence on the far end of the hall.

You sat alone on the long couch, shoulders sore, a shallow cut across your arm that you'd ignored until now finally getting your attention. You held a small medkit on your lap, disinfectant pad in hand, phone tucked between your shoulder and cheek.

"Yeah, I’m okay," you said softly into the receiver. Christine Palmer’s voice crackled gently on the other end.

"Are you sure? You sound like you’ve been through a building collapse."

"I’ve been through worse," you half-laughed, wincing as the antiseptic stung. "But this was... different."

"You need rest. Let them help you for once, will you?"

"Trying," you murmured.

As you pulled a bandage tight around your arm, a glass of water was set down in front of you on the coffee table. You looked up to see Bucky, already turning to walk away.

"Get some rest," he said simply, no smile, just quiet sincerity in his voice.

You gave a soft, tired nod. "Thanks."

Across the room, Bob Reynolds had been lingering by the hallway, watching. He didn’t understand the feeling crawling up the back of his neck—wasn’t anger, wasn’t fear. Just... something uncomfortable when he saw Bucky looking out for you. He wasn’t even sure why it got to him.

He stepped forward, his hands in his jacket pockets, tone neutral.

"Yelena said I should show you to the room you’ll be staying in tonight. Said you shouldn’t be wandering around alone after... everything."

You nodded, standing slowly. Your body ached more than you expected. Bob noticed.

"You can take one of my hoodies, if you want. Tower gets cold at night."

You blinked. "Oh. Sure, thanks."

He nodded awkwardly, gesturing for you to follow him.

As you both walked down the corridor, your limbs heavy with fatigue, you didn’t catch the way Bob glanced your way now and then. He kept his thoughts to himself, but they were loud in his head.

Not romantic, not possessive. Just unsure. Something had shifted—and he didn’t know what it meant yet.

The door creaked open softly, revealing a modest but comfortable guest room. Neutral tones. A window that looked out into the city skyline. A folded towel sat at the foot of the bed.

Bob stepped in first, flicking the light on. “It’s not much,” he said, his voice low, careful not to disturb the silence the rest of the tower had settled into. “But it’s safe. And... yours for now.”

You gave a tired nod, stepping inside behind him. The tension was subtle but present—like neither of you knew exactly what to say, or whether saying anything at all was the right call.

Bob held out the hoodie—navy blue, oversized, sleeves a little too long. “Figured you’d rather sleep in something that doesn’t smell like concrete dust.”

You gave a small huff of a laugh and took it. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded again, lingering in the doorway. “You sure you're okay?”

You paused, one hand tightening on the hoodie. “Yeah. I mean... I’m trying to be.”

He looked down at the floor for a second, his hands tightening into loose fists at his sides. “I wanted to—when everything was collapsing—I thought I’d be able to stop it. Or help. But I couldn’t. It’s like... I wasn’t fast enough. Or strong enough.”

You looked at him. “You still ran toward it. That counts.”

Bob let out a breath. “Maybe.”

Silence stretched again. Not awkward, just heavy with the kind of weight only shared danger brings.

You shifted, the soreness in your shoulder tugging at your attention. “You can go rest. I’ll be fine.”

He nodded slowly, stepping back toward the hallway—but hesitated at the doorway, his hand resting against the frame.

“If you need anything,” he said, not looking at you, “just knock on the door across the hall. I won’t be sleeping much anyway.”

You offered a faint smile. “Alright. Goodnight, Bob.”

“Night.”

He closed the door behind him with a quiet click. For a moment, you just stood there, alone in the quiet, holding the hoodie in your hands. It was warm.

You sat on the bed, pulling the hoodie over your head, staring blankly at the city lights beyond the glass.

Somewhere down the hall, Bob leaned against the doorframe of his own room, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, jaw tight.

Neither of you said it, but both of you felt it.

Something had changed.

⋆˙⟡

The sunlight filtered through reinforced glass, painting golden lines across the tower’s modern interior. A quiet hum of the building’s systems underscored the calm.

You stepped into the common room, still tugging one sleeve of Bob’s hoodie over your hand. Your own clothes were in a bag nearby, but you hadn’t changed yet — you weren’t ready to slip out of the safety of comfort.

Bucky sat at the island, quietly eating cereal straight from the box. Red Guardian was nursing a mug of something steaming and aggressively black. Sam was already in uniform, arms folded, staring at a holo-projection of last night’s wreckage.

Yelena was the first to notice you.

“Morning,” she said, leaning against the kitchen counter, half of a protein bar in her hand. “Sleep?”

“Eventually,” you replied. “You?”

She just smirked.

Bob was already there, tucked in one corner with a tablet in his hand, pretending to scroll through post-incident reports. His eyes flicked up at you briefly, then back down.

“Coffee’s over there,” Sam said without looking up, gesturing to the machine behind him. “You’ll need it.”

You nodded, padding quietly toward it.

As you poured yourself a cup, Sam continued. “We went over the footage again. The creatures — they weren’t targeting Bob. Not directly.”

That made Bob finally look up.

Bucky, still munching cereal, raised an eyebrow. “You think they were tracking someone else?”

Yelena’s gaze slid toward you.

Sam caught it. “That’s what we’re trying to confirm.”

You turned, coffee in hand, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why would they be after me?”

Red Guardian gave a grunt. “Better question — what are they?”

“We’re still working on that,” Sam replied. “Alien, definitely. But their energy signature doesn’t match anything on file from past invasions.”

“Great,” Bucky muttered. “Another mystery species that wants someone dead.”

Bob leaned forward, voice quiet but firm. “If they’re after her... we need to know why. Now.”

“We will,” Sam said. “But for now, safety comes first. That means sticking together. No solo walks, no wandering off.”

You nodded slowly. “So what now?”

Yelena looked at you with a serious expression. “We talk. About your past. Where you’ve been. Who you’ve seen. Anything strange happen before this?”

You hesitated, but then nodded.

You sat across from the team. A whiteboard filled with scribbled alien markings was in the background. Sam, Bucky, and Yelena watched as you recounted what you could, just strange dreams. As you spoke, Bob sat at the far end, arms crossed, brow furrowed — trying not to let the worry show on his face. But he wasn’t good at hiding things.

Eventually, your voice trailed off.

“That’s everything I can think of.”

The room went still. Then Bucky spoke.

“We need a bigger picture. SWORD should get a look at this. Maybe even Carol.”

Sam nodded. “Agreed. I’ll contact Fury. Meanwhile—” he looked at you, “—you’re staying here. Until we figure out what’s going on.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but stopped. You knew better. This wasn’t stubbornness. It was safety.

“Fine.”

Yelena pushed a bottle of water across the table to you. “We’ll figure it out.”

You glanced at Bob briefly. He didn’t say anything. But he gave a small nod.

As the meeting wrapped, Red Guardian nudged Bucky with his elbow and whispered, “Still think they were after golden boy?”

Bucky smirked. “Nope. But he sure wishes they were.”

They both looked toward Bob, who was walking beside you again — not too close, but never too far.

The room was dim. A soft hum came from the ventilation system, the faint buzz of the city below barely audible through reinforced glass.

⋆˙⟡

You tossed in the bed, tangled in blankets, face twisted in distress.

A low rumble echoed in your dream — buildings collapsing, eyes watching from a sky that wasn’t the sky, voices whispering your name in languages your ears couldn’t understand. Heat, shadows, pressure—

BOOM.

Your eyes snapped open.

You were drenched in sweat. Breathing hard.

A knock on the door came just as you sat up, pushing off the covers.

Tap. Tap.

Then a voice, quiet but concerned. "…Are you okay?”

You hesitated, running a hand down your face. “Yeah. Just—bad dream.”

The door cracked open a bit, and Bob stepped in, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy like he’d been half-asleep too. His expression was unreadable at first — not too soft, not too intrusive — but his eyes flicked briefly to the bed, to you, then back.

“You were… yelling.”

You looked away, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and exhaustion. “Did I wake anyone?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Just me. My room’s down the hall.”

A beat of silence passed.

He stepped a little closer, careful. “Was it… the creatures?”

You nodded.

“They weren’t chasing me in the dream,” you murmured. “They were talking to me. Or maybe warning me. I couldn’t tell.”

Bob didn’t respond right away. He sat on the edge of the bed, glancing over. “Whatever it is… we’ll figure it out.”

You gave a tired nod.

Then— DING. An alert chirped through the comm system in the corner.

Bob frowned, already rising. “That’s from the hangar.”

Sam was already there, pulling a jacket over his shoulders as the doors to the hangar slowly opened with a hydraulic hiss.

A tall figure stepped through, flanked by two S.W.O.R.D. agents.

The eye patch, long coat, and no-nonsense aura were unmistakable. It was Nick Fury. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, which probably meant he had slept exactly that much.

“Morning, Wilson,” he said, already walking past him.

“It’s 2 a.m.”

“I don’t care.”

Fury’s eyes swept the space until they landed on Bob and you stepping in from the far corridor. You were still in Bob’s hoodie, eyes bleary.

Fury gave you a long, calculating look.

“You,” he said.

“…Me?”

He nodded once. “We need to talk.”

Bob immediately shifted, almost stepping between you and Fury instinctively.

Fury raised a brow. “Relax, Sentry. Not an interrogation. Just a conversation.”

You looked at Bob, then nodded. “It’s okay.”

Fury led you somewhere empty, just down the hall. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring at you.

You awkwardly stood in front of him, nerves just beneath your skin, trying to hide them.

“I’ve seen a lot of strange things,” Fury began. “Gods falling from the sky. A teenager fighting purple aliens with Legos. But those creatures last night? They weren’t here for Bob Reynolds.”

You swallowed.

“You felt that, didn’t you?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Fury leaned in slightly. “Then we need to figure out why you’re suddenly on some cosmic radar. Because if something’s coming — something big — I need to know whether you’re the beacon, or the fuse.”

The lights buzzed faintly overhead.

“Either way,” Fury said, pushing off the wall, “you’re not going anywhere.”

The same morning, you found yourself in the sword facility. Nick Fury being the reason. The walls buzzed faintly with electromagnetic hums. You stood in the center of a circular analysis chamber surrounded by tall pylons, each pulsing with light as scanners passed up and down your body.

On the other side of the reinforced glass, Fury stood, arms folded, eye focused like a laser beam. Analysts typed quietly behind him, data flickering across screens in shifting colors and graphs.

One tech murmured, “We’ve got something unusual.”

Fury didn’t look away from the glass. “How unusual?”

“There's a layer of dormant energy under the surface-level readings,” the analyst replied. “It’s not active, but it’s there. Deep. Consistent. Like a compressed node of potential—genetic, maybe. Or quantum.”

Fury’s jaw tightened. “Translation?”

“She’s carrying something that hasn’t activated yet. Not mutant, not enhanced tech, not alien symbiote. It’s internal. Part of her.”

Another analyst leaned over. “It might be tied to the energy spike from yesterday. Her body registered a surge milliseconds before the Sentry moved. She didn’t react to danger—something inside her did.”

Fury turned to them, voice calm but sharp. “You saying she’s sitting on a trigger?”

“More like... a locked door,” the tech answered. “And something is rattling the handle.”

Few moments later, you sat across from Nick Fury in a small debriefing space, white walls and a large screen behind him showing your recent scan data. He didn’t speak at first, just studied you with that familiar, unreadable gaze. Then...

 “You ever feel like something’s been following you your whole life?”

You blinked. “Is that a question or a metaphor?”

Fury smirked faintly. “Little of both.”

You shifted in your seat. “I’ve had... moments. Things I couldn’t explain. Like my instincts were two steps ahead of me. I used to write it off as adrenaline.”

“It wasn’t adrenaline,” he said simply. “And it wasn’t luck. Our scans show something inside you—something we’ve never seen before. Not alien tech. Not radiation. Not even magical. It’s part of you. Deep in your cells. But it’s sealed.”

“Sealed?” you repeated.

He nodded. “Locked. Like your body’s been holding it back. But something triggered it to stir. Maybe proximity to other enhanced individuals. Maybe stress. Maybe just time.”

You looked at the display screen. Complex waveforms danced across it in patterns you didn’t understand.

“I’m not dangerous,” you said, more to yourself than him.

Fury didn’t challenge you—but he didn’t confirm it either.

“I don’t think you are,” he replied. “But whatever this is? It might not care what you want. And from the looks of it, it hasn’t even started yet.”

A pause.

“You’re not under arrest,” he said, standing. “And you’re not a threat. But until we understand what’s inside you, I’m keeping you close.”

“Because something might want it?” you asked.

He looked at you over his shoulder.

“No. Because something might want to wake it up.”

⋆˙⟡

The halls were quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that comes after chaos, when everyone’s pretending things are back to normal but the walls still hum with tension.

You stepped out onto the upper level’s balcony with your phone in hand. The view below showed the sleek hangar bathed in blue-white lights, equipment being reset, weapons being cleaned. Normal… if you didn’t know better.

Christine picked up after two rings. “Hey,” you greeted, voice low.

“Well if it isn’t S.W.O.R.D.’s latest mystery case,” she replied dryly. “How’s the new life in a top-secret concrete bunker?”

“Still figuring out if I’m a guest or a lab rat,” you muttered with a tired smile. “Fury offered me a job. Officially. Said it was smarter to keep me here. Let me work. Said it gives them a reason to monitor me without making it feel like surveillance.”

“You took it?” she asked.

“Yeah. Better than sitting in lockdown. And… I need the money.”

Christine was quiet for a moment. “You’re sure?”

“No,” you admitted. “But this way, at least I’m doing something. They give me medical clearance. I patch up soldiers, field agents, whoever. But really... they just want me close in case something happens again.”

“And you?” she asked. “Do you think it’ll happen again?”

You didn’t answer that.

The front doors hissed open — a familiar sound now — and in walked the returning squad. The team looked beat to hell. "I'll call you back," you quickly told Christine on the phone right before you ended the call. You looked at the team, mud, torn gear, and exhaustion in every step. But your attention snapped to Yelena the moment you saw the blood seeping through her sleeve.

“Seriously?” you said, already pulling gloves on.

“Missed you too,” Yelena grumbled, lowering herself onto the med cot.

You peeled back the material. A long gash ran down her upper arm — not deep enough to panic, but deep enough to sting like hell. You worked quickly, disinfecting and stitching.

“Did the mission go sideways?”

“Not really. Just messy,” Yelena replied through gritted teeth. “Things don’t like being detained by ex-Russians with attitude problems.”

She glanced at you, studying your face. “You’re still here.”

You met her gaze. “Still under observation. But working now.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Of course Fury would find a way to turn this into employment.”

You finished wrapping her arm, then asked, “You talked to Bob lately?”

That got a pause.

“No,” she admitted. “He’s been... distant. Quiet. More than usual.”

You nodded, already peeling off your gloves.

“I’ll check on him," you said as you hurriedly set everything aside.

You strided down the hallway, stopping on your tracks as soon as you arrived at his door. You knocked once. No answer.

When you cracked the door open, Bob was sitting near the window, half in shadow, half in the flicker of a desk lamp. His gaze lifted slowly, as if it took effort.

“Hey,” you said gently. “You up for company?”

He nodded once. No smile, but no resistance.

You stepped inside and closed the door behind you.

“You’ve been quiet,” you said, settling into the chair across from him. “Even more than usual.”

Bob looked down at his hands, then back at you. “I’ve been… sorting things out.”

“Mind if I help?” you offered.

He hesitated — but didn’t say no.

You leaned forward slightly. “We could mindwalk. Nothing deep. Just... see where things are now. Since everything’s shifted.”

Another pause.

Then finally, a quiet, “Okay.”

You both sat on the floor, hands lightly pressed together. The air between you almost hummed with something unspoken.

The world rippled. The sterile quarters vanished.

You opened your eyes to a darkened dreamscape. Still, but not empty — like standing at the edge of something massive and unseen.

You were in Bob’s mind.

But this time, the space didn’t resist you. It welcomed you in, cautiously — like a door cracked open instead of slammed shut.

The world around you flickered — jagged fragments of thought floating in open air. Hints of memory, color, sensation. But there was no center. No order.

Bob appeared beside you, more present than in previous walks. His features were clearer, steadier.

“You’ve changed,” you said softly.

“So have you,” he replied.

You felt it, deep in your chest — a weight, a quiet pull. Not romantic. Not even emotional, exactly. But connected. As if that strange, shared chaos — the panic, the aliens, the energy — had woven something between you both.

He looked at you.

“There’s something inside you,” he said. “Something more than we thought.”

You nodded.

“I know.”

And in the quiet void of his mind, you both sat — not analyzing, not pushing. Just existing. Connected in ways neither of you fully understood yet.

The storm had passed.

The quiet stretched between you.

Then, gently, you spoke. “Can we go further?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched the flickering fragments suspended around you — jagged shapes, drifting pieces of thought, a few holding faint images that shifted the longer you looked.

You noticed one — a memory shard glowing faintly blue, pulsing like a slowed heartbeat. You stepped toward it, and Bob followed.

The closer you got, the more it formed a scene: a wide-open snowy field. A younger Bob stood in the distance, shoulders hunched against the wind, clutching something in his hands — a photograph? A name tag?

When you reached out, your fingers brushed the edge of the fragment, and it dissolved like smoke.

The scene around you shifted instantly.

Now you stood inside a steel corridor, dark and claustrophobic. Lights blinked red. You heard shouting. Bob’s voice: younger, panicked. Soldiers running past. An explosion shaking the ground. Then silence again.

It snapped back to the blank mindscape.

Bob’s jaw was tight. “That was... the first time I lost control.”

You didn’t press. You just stood next to him.

He turned toward you slowly. “Do you ever feel like something inside you is… coiled? Like it’s waiting?”

You nodded. “Especially after that day.”

He gave a faint breath of agreement. “Same.”

He raised his hand slightly, and a wave of thought — warm, golden — expanded around you. The fragments around you drew closer together. They began arranging themselves, as if pulled by invisible thread. Patterns began to emerge — not perfect, but purposeful.

“You’re organizing,” you observed.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted. “But you’re making it easier.”

You felt something shift again — a pulse underfoot, like the ground in his mind was waking up.

You stepped forward, into a newly-formed corridor. Unlike the earlier chaos, this one was quiet, clean, strangely peaceful. Memory doors lined the hall.

Bob hesitated, then opened one.

Inside: a soft scene. A garden. A sunny day. He was laughing — not the man you knew now, but younger, freer. Someone before the pain.

You looked at him. “This is you too.”

“I forget sometimes,” he said.

You stayed in the memory a while — not invading, just existing. Letting him feel what it was like to be seen, without expectation or force.

Eventually, he spoke again. “You’re different from the others.”

You tilted your head. “Because I walk in your mind?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Because when you do… you don’t judge what you see.”

You both stood in the center of the quiet mindspace, not speaking for a moment. The air around you shimmered — not from him, not from you, but from the strange alignment between you both.

Maybe it wasn’t just the aliens that triggered what happened that day.

Maybe it was the two of you — together — that woke something up.

And in that unspoken realization, the mind around you expanded — vast, open, no longer chaotic.

Like something was waiting there.

Still quiet.

Still buried.

But no longer hiding.

⋆˙⟡

A/N sorry for the late update! will be uploading third chap today as well (or tomorrow... or later idk)

— taglist. @asteria33 @witch-of-letters @avylanchce @stillinracooncity @venus-armote @jeanietales @faithxyu @ivedonemywaiting13 @natasha887 let me know if u wanna be tagged on the next!

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x y/n #bucky barnes #mcu au #mcu fanfic #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #sentry x y/n #yelena belova #bob thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts fanfic

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strkie · 10 months ago

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is it really you? logan/wolverine x male winter solider variant reader

logan has never really met a winter soldier before, and you’re not entirely what he expects. he’s not complaining, though.

notes. i love both these characters so obviously i had to mash them up - i actually like how this turned out ^_^

details. deadpool and wolverine spoilers, 1,500+ words, he/him pronouns, soft angst, depression mentioned, blood mentioned, winter soldier canon truama.

They meet you in the Void, naturally.

It's not easy to see nor tell what you are at first— you stay clear of them for a few miles after they escape Cassandra, but Logan can smell your dull and metallic scent on the winds and is aware enough of that to keep an eye out, but either Wade doesn't know or doesn't care and keeps distracting him. Logan only knows you're actually a living thing and not just a trick of his mind until he meets the survivors group of hero's that got pruned in Gambit's hideout, seeing you standing in the back shadows like some kind of menacing monster and instantly recognizing your smell. You wear your mask and combat gear, but the most noticeable thing to Logan is your entire left mechanical arm. The metal plates and gears shift together whenever you move, sparking wires when you push your arm a certain direction.

No one really acknowledges you except Laura and Wade, but he only gives you a big gasp and a quip of "the Winter Soldier too?!" before getting caught up in the task of convincing everyone to take down Cassandra. Even so, Logan can't help but stare at you sometimes, acutely aware of your presence and how dead silent you are. You don't talk, you hardly move, but Logan can tell you listen to everything with a vivid sense of attention.

When the hours pass into night, when Laura talks to Logan by that fire pit, he follows her back into the camp after a few long moments and into a separate room overlooking the forest that surrounds the back. It's easy to follow her but he's sure that's just because she knows he is, walking into the room to see you hunched over a table and digging into the machinery of your arm. You clink around with a screwdriver and welder, moving your metal fingers occasionally to see if you fixed anything. When you see Laura though, you pause, letting her grab the screwdriver from your available hand and helping you. You do not flinch when she pokes and prods, so Logan can only assume you don't feel anything or have the pain tolerance near Logan's own, but either way it's an interesting sight to see the two of you huddled together.

Logan shifts his weight on the doorway, rubbing his knuckles distractedly. Your mask is off, letting him see your face clearly, your eyes staring hard but not entirely unkind at him from your spot by the table. You're attractive, in a begrudgingly way to Logan. He's not used to being attracted to someone, no matter if it's a man or not, and it freaks him out a little— so he buries that feeling deep within himself to ignore.

When the fight comes the next day, when everyone is in the middle of their own world and killing, is when Logan actually sees how deadly you are. Your fast, strong, and take the fight on like you have nothing to loose or gain. When the fight ends though, when Cassandra is gone and everyone is crammed into Wades shitty apartment, Logan thinks about you with a heaviness he doesn't expect. You are there too, of course, but for some reason he doesn't know how to interact with you, especially since he hasn't heard you talk once all this time and how you have this brooding demeanor that rivals Logan's own.

But you interact with Laura with hand gestures and sometimes a whisper to the ear, but he never hears and never tries to actually listen since it's not him you are talking to. Still, you cling to Laura's side unless she's in the middle of a bigger group or conversation, and it's only when Logan gives Dogpool to Wade again is when he fishes you out.

You're by the boxed off kitchen, leaning against the wall near the fridge with a red solo cup that Laura obviously is making you drink, just holding it awkwardly in your hand. You have your combat gear still on but there's a red flannel on your shoulders over the rest to hide your arm, not that it really matters in this crowd, but you seem insecure about it. Logan pretends to be there for something else, obviously— getting another round of fruit punch before he acknowledges you.

"So what's up with you?" He tries not to actively be an ass, but it's hard considering you acutely remind him of himself. Your eyes turn to stare at him, and even without your facial mask covering the bottom half of your face you are still stoic and nonchalant. You don't answer him for long enough that Logan almsot shrugs and calls the whole attempt off— but then you answer in a quiet, albeit rough voice.

"I don't know how to socialize." You say it so pitifully that Logan stops all his movements to consider the situation. He nearly wants to groan in frustration because, even though he is trying, he really doesn't want to try sometimes. But you stand there sadly and still and Logan does internally groan this time.

"Well," He says going to stand next to you, though a comfortable distance away. "How do you know Laura?" You don't turn to the side to look directly at him, but he can feel your surprise radiating off of you at his attempt at socializing. Shifting from foot to foot, you answer slowly.

"I was pruned when I didn't kill Howard Stark, so I'm not- I wasn't in a good headspace. Laura found me before Cassandra did and helped me be... human again." You continue to look forward awkwardly, but you do seem more comfortable the more Logan listens to you.

Logan sits with your explanation for a moment, letting himself have the opportunity to think over his next words. It's not everyday someone like you comes into his life, and he doesn't even mean that you're attractive— he means how complex you are, especially with your long past and how you're trying to find yourself again. He can relate, honestly. When he met the X-Men— Charles— for the first time, Logan wasn't anywhere like he is before they died, or even who he is nowadays. He was a shell walking through life with no help, only looking to survive instead of live. So, yeah, he can understand, but actually seeing someone else be like that hurts in a very vulnerable manner.

"Do you have a place to stay?" He blurts out, surprising himself. You don't show much emotion besides what you reply.

"Laura said I could stay with her." You pause for a moment, pondering. "But I'm not sure what I'll do in this world, especially if their Winter Soldier is still... here." You talk slowly, trying to keep up the conversation yet also trying not to be depressing.

"I'm sure Wade wouldn't mind an extra roommate." Logan says, not caring if Wade actually cares or not because either way he's sure Wade can be persuaded by a couple good stabs.

You actually turn to look solely on Logan now, obviously shocked at the prospect, but you don't seem unwilling either. You let it sink in for a moment, and that's when Logan sees you smile for the first time.

It starts like that, although slowly. You eventually do talk to Laura and Wade about the apartment situation— Laura is obviously very pleased with this outcome if her expression is anything to go by, and Wade is actually quite happy too— but you do talk to Al about it too, who says you and Logan eventually do need to make an income if you can live here. You're not surprised nor upset by this— if you're gonna live in this new world you need employment unfortunately, but you also know the TVA set you up with your own documents to help with that.

You sleep on the couch that rolls into a bed and (some awkwardness on his part aside) Logan eventually bunks with you. You're not complaining at all— when you were in HYDRAs hands the situations were very vastly different and worse, so loading up with someone is not uncomfortable for you, especially when this person is not actively trying to kill you. But also because of this, you are used to curling up into tight spaces despite your bigger size and you don't understand why Logan finds that sad at first, so you stick to one side of the couch bed easily. When Logan realizes the reasoning for this, he slowly starts to move into your space each night. You're not complaining with this, either.

When you're not asleep, you've found yourself a bouncer job at the local nightclub down the street, just near enough that you can walk there. With the Super Soldier Serum still in your veins that grant you heightened senses and strength, it's a relatively easy job, though you get home at weird hours. This isn't really a problem since Logan hardly sleeps, Wade is Wade, and Al has a separate room. But if you're not sleeping before work, Laura has taken it upon herself to teach you how to bake and do laundry the "normal" way, which basically means not just stealing someone else's clothes or washing out primarily blood.

But it's... nice. It's domestic and healthy, two things you aren't accustomed to, and it gets even better since Logan always joins too. At first he didn't— he made it very apparent that he knew how to do these things and found no fun in it, especially baking— but then he joined anyway and hasn't left since. Maybe it's for you, maybe it's for Laura or maybe it's for other reasons you don't know, but you're happy he's around. He's never really involved with the process, but he always stays around to quip or talk about whatever Laura talks about, sometimes just asking you about your job.

Since you technically have no name in his dimension, it's easy to blend into life and start new, but honestly Logan is the one that makes you realize that. He's not nice, he's mean and tough, but then he asks about your day or makes sure you're comfortable when there's a crowd or finishes your dinner plate secretly just so Wade doesn't get offended that you didn't have a lot of his food. You don't understand immediately that you love him, and he can say the same. You just do, and he just does, and it's perfect, even when it's not perfect.

Overtime, you gradually heal your inner wounds and Logan does too, if not slowly, but it happens nonetheless. You kiss him one night coming home from work after waking him up by bouncing on the couch bed, making him grumpy then happy when you suddenly kiss his face. It's obviously unexpected, but it's too easy to continue kissing and loving on him, especially when he reciprocates, and that's how you fall asleep: tucked under him as he sleeps nearly on top of you, nose in your neck and smiling. You both sleep in til one in the afternoon, only waking up from the Dogpool climbing over you both.

#male reader #logan x reader #logan howlett x male reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #wolverine x male reader #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #hugh jackman #mcu

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fixyourwritinghabits · 3 months ago

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Hello. I realize this might be overly personal for this blog but I was wondering if you had any advice for my situation. I'm trying to get back into creative hobbies like drawing and writing and while I made some progress with drawing I've really struggled with writing. It's been about ten years. I struggled with my mental health a lot when I was younger and essentially let my depression/anxiety and ADHD destroy all my creative ability. Logically I know the answer is to just write and write badly, but I'm preemptively disappointed and upset that what I write will be. Well. Shit. Or that I'll never improve. Or that I have no idea what to write. And when I do have an idea what to write it's all just gone from my head the second I sit down to write. So. Er. I guess I'm wondering if you have any advice or resources for people like me? Thank you :)

When you're juggling various different Back-Stabbing Brain issues, various pieces of writing advice - getting up at 5pm, forcing yourself to do it, etc - just doesn't work. For me, it's been a struggle to figure out even in optimal situations, so you're not alone. For me, the following is what worked.

Figure out your peak writing time.

Unfortunately, in our capitalist hellscape, you may not be able to use that time to your advantage. My peak time is from 2pm-5pm, right in the middle of work and fades right when I get home. Not ideal. But I can use that knowledge to take advantage of that time on my free days, and I can strategically time my breaks to do some writing. Or just write while pretending to work. Not that I would ever confess to doing that.

Taking the time to figure out when your brain is most willing to work with you is also very helpful. My brain will not work for writing after 8pm. It can, however, still do the dishes. Forcing myself to put off chores so that I can write is super hard thanks to my ADHD (which hates chores until I need to do something else), but I can combat that by making goal lists, scheduling my writing time (with set alarms on my phone!) helps me manage that.

Change location.

I can't get a lot of work done at home. I've tried. I've moved my desk around, I've locked down my internet browsers when writing, I have ignored the way my cat stares holes into my back to try to write. My brain, though, knows that the bed is right over there, we've got that pile of books to read, and oh hey, Tasting History has a new video. Also my cat wants to steal my computer chair and then get constant pets while in said chair because she is a princess baby. It's a losing battle.

What does work for me? Dragging my work to the library. Finding a cafe with enough space and quiet music to get some stuff done. Breaking out a foldable desk on the porch so that there is a closeable barrier between me and my distractions (the cats hate this option).

Changing location is something that works for me. If you have limited options, build barriers between yourself and distractions. Pile stuff on the bed so that it's not easy to give in and lie down for "just a minute." Close doors. Bribe your cats (or your kids). Use a standing desk - shifting your position can help lock down some of the ansty need to be doing something (my chair-stealing cat is more than happy to help with this).

I know of one writer who only gets work done by locking herself in her bathroom, because it's just enough change of scene to get her thoughts to settle. I know another writer who can only get editing done sitting in his parked car. However wacky, trying different scenarios to get something to work can really help.

Find the right tools.

The only way I can draft is by hand. It sucks and I have carpal tunnel, but my brain cannot type words into a blank screen. I need a pile of messy papers that no one else can read to work from.

I'm also very particular about what I write with. I use Uni Power Tank pens from Japan (because they're the only damn pen I've found that doesn't smear my left-handed writing), and I cycle through different types of paper I exclusively work with. Right now it's Five Star Reinforced Filler Paper with the triangle holes, not the round ones.

I don't know why this works, it just does. I've changed up what I've used over time, but as long as I'm consistent and not trying to write a chapter using differently-sized paper (insert scream here), I can get it done. Test out different tools and find what fits for you.

Organization isn't helping? Embrace chaos.

Jeff VanderMeer wrote an entire series on post-it notes, napkins, and on the backs of old bills. I wouldn't recommend that, but if a little chaos gets the job done, then do it. Spread a story across several half-filled notebooks. Map dialogue using only flashcards. Instead of waiting to sit down to get work done, scribble away while on a bus or on the move (safely, of course). Use a speech-to-text app to talk out your writing. Sometimes the more tactile you can make writing, the more you can break up those barriers keeping you from writing.

Try out different things! You'll eventually find what works for you

#writing advice #writing tips #encouragement #writblr #tumblr mobile loves deleting my damn links

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fantaxzia · 5 months ago

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Whenever the gwynriels (and eluciens) talk about Azriel's DarknessTM, they expose their barely concealed contempt for him so easily, it's laughable.

They don't even know wtf they're talking about, what this DarknessTM is. They're never able to define it. It's only vague hand waving and word salad.

In truth, Azriel is as gentle as a male can get, someone who always extends a kind hand to others whenever he can. He's never cruel or harsh with others, except when dealing with the enemy (you know, doing his job).

His relationship with the Archeron sisters speaks volumes about his nature. He was kind and patient with Feyre, with hints of teasing and sarcastic humour, especially when he taught her how to fly or when he carried her. Plus, he understands how her tactical mind works and knows how to work with her in tense situations.

With Nesta, he initially kept his distance and was civil in his interactions, and as their familiarity grew, he offered her a solid friendship. This is especially clear in the way he brought her conscious mind back from the Mask's influence.

With Elain, he noticed even the minutest things, like her holding the fork too tight, understanding the reason behind it immediately. He offered her the comfort of companionship and friendship when she was depressed and in shock due to her transformation and estrangement from Greysen. He was the one who figured out what was going on with her when others thought that she was broken. He talked to her about it directly, rather than discussing about her with others while she was right there. He didn't merely show her the gardens, he showed her a way to come out of her depression, he gently guided her into the sunlight, letting her set the pace for her healing while he supported her.

He has helped the sisters in overcoming some sort of darkness of their own, he has stood with them like a rock, as a friend, a teacher, a silent guardian, a tactical and combat partner...

Where he needs to be ruthless and efficient, he is. That's his work. He doesn't enjoy any of it but understands that it's required. That doesn't equal to a DarknessTM that the gwynriels so love to point out.

His issues and resentment with his biological father and family, his childhood abuse at their hands, the Illyrians, etc., is what we call trauma.

Every ACOTAR character, including the Archeron sisters, has that, but we don't point it out as their DarknessTM. It doesn't make them incapable of love or having a relationship with the person they love.

I just wish the gwynriels and eluciens would stop yapping about things they clearly do not comprehend. They make themselves look like idiots just to claim that a ship is canon.

#azriel shadowsinger #elain archeron #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elriel #azriel acotar

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 6 months ago

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OKAY HELLO UH. SAVANACLAW DREAM UPDATE SPOILERS ?!?!!2!!2!2

THE. WAY BOTH JACK AND RUGGIE ADMIRE LEONA SO MYCH AND FEATURE HIM IN THEIR DREAMS 😭😭😭😭 Jack making Leona basically nOT HAVE DEPRESSION QUFBWKANDK 😭😭 and making him a fair player... Jack my boy... your dream is lovely but you made him do stuff hED NEVER DO 😭😭

AND RUGGIE. THE FACT HE AND LEONA NEVER MET IN THIS DREAM *BUT* THE AMAZING DRESM SCHOOL HE ATTENDS WAS SKGNKENAKjfkenalNIfjeksksn MADE/PROPOSED TO BE MADE (?) BY LEONA 😭😭😭 AND HE SAYS THAT PRINCE LEONA IS MORE POPULAR THAN FALENA AMONGST TYE YOUTH AJFNWKNudnekskalakdknsk tHEY WANT ME DEAD. D E A D.

and then ... ruggie says smth about him choosing the king he'll follow and LATER WHEN REFERRING TO LEONA HE SAYS SMTH TO JACK LIKE. "LET'S GO WAKE UP OUR KING" I'm fuckifnwjzbslakznaklNdkdkals akehueuqjakansksk THEY ADORE HIM SO MUCH. I CAN'T DO THIS.

So this means we'll get a full chapter ONLY for Leona's dream... I don't think we'll see him crying like Jack and Ruggie but GOD IF WE DO SEE THAT I'LL BE FOUND DEAD- i just knowwww that whichever way they go w it (the "he already knows it's a dream theory" or SMTH else), there WILL BE drama and I *WILL* die internally... my Leona plushies will pay the price (they will be hugged very tightly)

[Referencing the book 7 part 11 update!]

Me, coping: Oh, the book 7 Savanaclaw update is split into two parts? That means the first part must be dedicated to Jack and Ruggie and the second part must be Leona only. Surely this means I am free from being sniped in the Jack and Ruggie segment. Me, from the future:

. . .

ME EXPERIENCING THE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF ALL AT ONCE

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT 💀💀💀 I was kind of expecting some element of respecting their dorm leader to come up (definitely for Jack's), BUT NOT THIS EXTENT OTL

Of the two, Jack's dream was the more obvious one to feature Leona in a very positive light. His admiration for the guy was clear ever since book 2, in which Jack--someone who regularly sucks at expressing his feelings--confessed MULTIPLE TIMES that it was Leona's passionate magift play on TV that inspired Jack to follow in his footsteps. And that's why he was so disappointed to learn that the guy he admired all along was a scumbag that would play dirty to get ahead. The Leona in Jack's dream might be that version that Jack had in his head... The Leona he yearns for the attention and praise of, the Leona he thought was a virtuous leader who values hard work and good sportsmanship, the kind of person who gives speeches to inspire his team and helps people up by the hand when they fall. Another reading could be that this is the Leona Jack believes is still possible if he works toward it, because this dream seems to be set a YEAR after their loss to Diasomnia. And this is Leona at his best and most dangerous because he's throwing literally everything he has into this training, so he'll probably do the same in combat; Yuu and co. have to develop a whole strategy in advance to isolate Jack because they KNOW they're going to get blasted by dream!Leona if they give any inkling of trying to wake the dreamer up. JACK LITERALLY DREAMED ABOUT LEONA THRIVING, BEING HIS BEST SELF... Jack, the self-proclaimed LONE WOLF, who claims he doesn't like GROUP ACTIVITIES/SPORTS, longs to be part of the pack that LEONA leads... But he won't follow just anyone, Jack has standards AND LEONA APPARENTLY MEETS ALL OF THEM (or, in Jack's eyes, Leona can meet those standards).

THEN WHEN JACK WAKES UP... Hoo, boy... The way he was smiling but then broke down into shouts and sobs... That's literally got to be my favorite kind of emotional distress (part of why I loved Idia's breakdown when he was introducing his newly built little brother to the Styx researchers). You can hear how betrayed he feels in his voice, all the raw emotion that didn't come through as strongly in book 2. ASKHLBLBIASDIVDAI SORRY TO DUNK ON BOOK 2 AGAIN BUT IT'S TRUE. Jack's feelings of betrayal... They were so blunted there, it felt like he was reacting to a minor setback (he seems to easily shrug off being called a traitor by the guy he supposedly admires) rather than genuinely being hurt. I'm glad that the emotional weight that wasn't addressed then is finally getting the spotlight it deserves now.

Then Ruggie's dream???? 😭 That one caught me SO off-guard. The way it opens with Yuu and co. suspecting it's Leona's dream because they arrived in Sunrise City, one of the few industrialized places in Sunset Savanna... The lore review of how it's difficult to get the people to get behind developing the land due to how it would negatively impact the nature they want to live in harmony with (plus the brand-new reveal that these disagreements can become VIOLENT)... and Idia realizing that this, THIS is why Leona actually decided to take an internship at an energy and mining lab back home--because Leona realized he cannot change the country on his own, no matter how often he butts heads with his brother. He needs even more knowledge and a team to work with him. An NPC donut vendor lady randomly drops it on us that it's thanks the PRINCE LEONA that Ivorycliff Academy was able to be established. Not only that, but turns out Leona has graduated already and has spent his time after NRC building schools and establishing magift teams for Sunset Savanna (the latter being something Leona expressed interest in, as having a national sport and/or famous sporting teams can enhance his country's soft power). AND HE'S MORE POPULAR AMONG THE YOUTH THAN FALENA IS???????? MR. LEONA I-HATE-DEALING-WITH-KIDS KINGSCHOLAR IS POPULAR WITH... THE KIDS????? ? ?? ?? ?? ? ?? ?????? ?? ? 💀 The guy who claims to only help the underclassmen because they'd otherwise be an inconvenience to him... is admired by the same underclassmen... and now that has translated over to Ruggie's dream as the youth of Sunset Savanna loving him... OTL YOU'RE KIDDING ME RIGHT/????? ? ??? ? ??v????? ? ? ????

The most bewildering detail to me about Ruggie's dream is that he and Leona haven't met at all; Ruggie acts pretty clueless when asked about it and Leona graduated from a completely different school than him (NRC). There's no way they could have met, yet the dream still deemed that Leona was an important enough aspect of Ruggie's life that he was incorporated into it... and, unlike in real life, Leona now has the influence to make these systematic changes not just for bettering Ruggie's life, but the lives of everyone in Sunset Savanna...

UUUURURUGUUGHHGHHHHHHHGHGHHHHHHH H H HH H H HHHHHHH H H H HH H H AND THEN WWHEN RUGGIE FINALLY WAKES UP AND AND ANADNANDANDANASHADSNADSNADSNAN NDDDSDD SD SM ADSB,M ADSDBSM DDD HE CALLS HE WON'T FOLLOW A "FAKE KING", HE WANTS TO CHOSOE THE KING HE FOLLOWS 😭😭😭 RUGGIE TELLS JACK THEY SHOULD GO AND WAKE UP "OUR KING"... Ruggie, who constantly complains about how easy rich people have it and how hard Leona makes him work for his coin, is standing right here and HE'S CHOOSING LEONA.

This is all so crazy to think about because back in book 6 (citing the moment that broke me Yet Again, lmao) Leona implied that while he has hope in others (like Jamil), HE DOESN'T HAVE THE SAME HOPE FOR HIMSELF. But there's literally his whole dorm who trust him to lead them and their futures as professional athletes 😭 Jack who believes Leona is capable of being that shining, ideal senpai he dreamed of... Ruggie who believes Leona can and will change not only his life for the better, but also the lives of marginalized beastmen like hyenas, the younger generation, and heck, why not their whole country too... OTL

THIS IS LITERALLY THE WORST POSSIBLE OUTDCOME FOR ME... . . . . ....... . .. . . . .. . / / / / / . . . .. . .. ... . . . ... . . YOU JAVE JACK'S DREAM SUPPLYING THE RELIABLE BIG BRO/ONII-SAN LEONA... THEN RUGIGE'S DREAM SUPPYL inG THE SMAR TDETERMINED PRINCE LEONA ... AND THEN NEXT UPDAT.E.XBBCXL V.CV . . . . . . . . ...... .. .. . . . . OTL ASCTUAL LEOPJNA DFGFAYVAFIVAVIYAIAGIGEIYGEPEIQAGfhgpaebpyrwqeg,hpgqeugqm[gqepg./l.,pjm9hmh4 gephmhurwhbaudavmudfsgnyofegnyoifui

GOD IF EW SEE THAT BITCH CRYi NG gkj eabihlaegbiaegibyegoqetpr13569 87q3tbkhl3o tyb6fOfonfOTFsugfaiugfanyoigFGION qit' S LEOVER FOR MEAMBFFVHAJVFFVEUGFO EOFAENYFEOFHdhmFSLJGADFsmf aLALLL OF HIS PENT IUP FRUSTRATIONS JUST SPILLING OIUT;V .F,DSBFAHLFLFFNODGOVSMHFAV UEGOFEAHMAEGDGSKPFSHIM THE RAGE AT MALLEUS DFN BAFVKJAFYGLAFGIDGIDGIODGSOIDN FOR FOTRICNG THIS LIE UPON HIMFDS NFASVAEFBLADFIOBY AGIOQEGONYFWmpdphGAMGobf IT'D BE SO SEXSYFDH HOT IF HE KNEW IT WAS A DREAM ALL ALONG PELEEEEEASE 🙏 I'M ONT MY HANDS NAD NDD KNEEESLSD DFS,SFHBAFLHAFDLI EO FQEYG VADGNOVSHUPVPUFFmhagyo 4wpeq/pll.,wjph9q80th9umpdbsaihoadnFSuov fsogyFSGUOFSu SNOGYAVUO FSA

. Ah-HEM!! 😇 Sorry, I don't know what overcame me... I just blacked out and when I came to I don't remember what I was doing or saying for the past several minutes 💖 Now if you'll excuse me, I am filled with an intense desire to enact violence on the nearest lion-shaped object I can get my hands on--

#twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland #Leona Kingscholar #Jack Howl #Ruggie Bucchi #Savanaclaw #notes from the writing raven #NOT L*ONA ROT #book 7 chapter 11 part 1 spoilers #jp spoilers #Idia Shroud #book 7 spoilers #book 6 spoilers #book 2 spoilers

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on-leatheredwings · 1 year ago

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House Arrest

Yandere! Batfam / Bruce Wayne x (Fem!) Reader

For a request, Munchausen's syndrome by proxy with Bruce? Like, he keeps reader sick so she can't leave him or interact with someone outside the family. And maybe the rest of the batfam is in on it?

[a/n: Didn’t know if you wanted this platonic or not so I didn’t specify! In my head its romantic with bruce though lmao]

> word count: 1581

> Tw: gaslighting, munchausen’s syndrome by proxy, yandere-typical behaviors!

You sit in anticipation, foot tapping against the stone floor. There’s an entire miniature hospital set up for you down here in the Batcave. Respirators, diagnostics machines, and other expensive medical equipment that would be better served in Gotham General.

Helping people recover.

So patients could some day leave.

You used to love being in the Batcave. It was the family’s little secret. When you officially joined the family, the Batcave was now your secret as well. But ever since falling ill months ago, bedridden with a sickness whose cause continues to elude everyone… being here is depressing. You now notice it’s damp down here. Dark. Lifeless.

Bruce sits at the Batcomputer, the screen’s light painting over his face in a green wash. You watch his eyes scan line after line of your results. Reminds you of a typewriter. Methodical. Orderly. Nearly inhuman. When he sighs, your heart stops.

Fuck.

He turns to you, face grave. “You’re still ill.”

Your eyes start stinging with an onset of tears that you furiously try to blink back.

“... H-How ill? How bad? Am I any better?” you ask, as if bartering with him will make the situation any different. As if bartering with God ever made any difference for mere mortals such as yourself.

Bruce’s face is still.

“You haven’t improved.”

Your hopes crash down around you like glass. You aren’t better at all? Even though you haven’t had a fever in weeks? Even though you’ve been working out with enough energy to keep up with Damian? He was exerting perhaps only 10% of his effort, but still. Your lymph nodes aren’t even swollen anymore. Tim had told you as much, accidentally contradicting Bruce’s insistence that they had been earlier that morning.

“But I feel better,” you croak. You hear footsteps behind you approach and you swallow drily, nearly hissing at the offender. It’s Dick, and damn him. You don’t want to be placated right now.

“Are you experiencing any headaches? Shortness of breath?” Bruce asks, eyes still trained on you. You try to recall.

“... I may have had a migraine this morning…” At Bruce’s weary shake of the head, you blurt, “But it’s passed. I’m perfectly fine. And no shortness of breath.”

“... I’m sorry. But if you’ve been having symptoms like that, along with your being immunocompromised…” Bruce doesn’t even have to finish the sentence. You won’t be leaving the Wayne Manor grounds for a long time.

Fuck.

You feel a hand on your shoulder. You look up and see Dick, whose face is somber but offers an encouraging smile.

“Well, I’m back in town for the time being. We can hang out all the time.” His expression brightens as an idea pops into his head. “And I can call Tim, Jason, Duke–! Maybe even Cass and Steph… We can have a board game night tonight!” He sounds as chipper as you are miserable.

Damian approaches from behind, leaving the shadows. His arms are folded. “If that’s the case, I’ll humor Grayson and let him capture some of my fleet for once.” A popular choice was Risk, perfect for the family who’s entire lives revolved around combat and strategy. But you didn’t want to play Risk again. You didn’t want to have a board game night, no matter how many of the family came. You wanted to see people.

Other people. Everyone here is your family.

You want fucking friends again. You wanted a job again – a sentiment you would’ve laughed at even just five months ago. You wanted any semblance of a life again.

Bruce’s eyes haven’t left your trembling form once, two chips of slate-gray peering over steepled hands.

“Thank you, Dick. Damian. But I think she could use some time alone.”

Dick’s hand releases your shoulder, retracting as if burned. None of them are the boss here. It’s Bruce who is my warden, your mind whispers darkly.

“Right! Don’t want you to feel overwhelmed.” Dick sees himself out, taking Damian with him. “See you tonight.” And that feels like a sentencing to your fate.

Now the two of you alone, Bruce stands, offering his arm wordlessly. You know what this means. You take it, linking yours with his without thought or protest. Bruce liked to ensure you were always within his reach, as if you were prone to fainting spells. This was less humiliating for you than him carrying you through the estate, you suppose.

“Why, yes, let’s take a turn around the grounds!” you used to exclaim, making your voice posh and British, mimicking the regency romance movies you had been watching all the time.

Now, months later, you just sullenly allow him to lead you. Your surroundings pass by and you vaguely recognize that you are exiting the Batcave, walking through the manor, and out into the never-ending expanse of a well-kept lawn.

It’s a sunny, idyllic spring day after months of overcast winter.

And thank god you could still traipse outside when you wanted, even if fenced in. Bruce told you when you had first fallen ill that he had installed some high-tech, anti-air pollution gadget. Wayne Manor was effectively your own personal bubble. Fresh air was the only thing keeping you sane, lately.

You two pass by the garden, a labor of love Alfred started. You and Damian tend to it now… and mainly the latter, these days. You haven’t had any energy for gardening as of late. Fatigue is a symptom, you hear Bruce’s voice whisper in the back of your mind. But you don’t feel fatigue… rather, just depressed. But of course, isn’t fatigue a symptom of being depressed…? A familiar brain fog crawls into your mind. Your head was starting to hurt.

You look across the lawn, onto the horizon. Gotham’s dark skyline sits there, enticing. When night falls, it’ll glimmer and twinkle with light. There is a whole world out there. And, God, you love the Waynes, but they aren’t the world. You need to distract yourself. Bruce, ever the lover of pleasant silences, is going to have to distract you from thoughts that make you want to leap off the second story balcony of your bedroom.

Should you ask, “How’s work?” No. You find you don’t care.

“How’s Jason?” you say instead, feeling Bruce stiffen at the mention of his most tenuous relation.

He wasn’t around as much, but when he was, he was always relaxing with you in your room. You have a whole shelf for the knick knacks he brings. “Don’t worry. They’re clean,” he’d snort at his former mentor, because Bruce required everything to be thrice sanitized before coming into your possession.

“... Better.”

You’re glad. That’s one good thing, you guess.

“Bruce,” you croak.

He looks at you, face alight in expectation.

“Maybe I should just go,” you say, small and weak. Your eyes don’t leave the sight of Gotham skyscrapers, stretching to the sky. Bruce stills, stopping you both in your tracks.

“What do you mean, ‘go’?” he says carefully.

You remove yourself from his arm and gesture to the city. “Just go. Leave. I mean, I can’t stay here forever.” Bruce looks genuinely confused, as much as he can.

“Of course you can.”

“No, I can’t!” you screech. Frustrated, you tear at your hair. “I can just be an outpatient somewhere– I can go for hospital treatments every week– or everyday– whatever!

Bruce places his hands on your shoulders.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Rage flares in you and you gnash your teeth at him. By now, that all-too-familiar brain fog has flooded your brain. But you try to fight it. You have to fight it. Like trying to crawl out of rapidly-sinking quicksand, you fight it.

“I-I know what I’m saying. I’m saying–”

“You’re saying to just let you die,” Bruce sharply returns. “To give up, let you die, and leave us to grieve.”

“No–”

“Stephanie.”

You meet his eyes again at the name, which are resolute and as blue as ever.

“Cassandra. Duke.” Your stomach churns, imagining their smiling faces, turned into ash as your hypothetical passing. “Barbara.”

“Bruce,” you croak, pleading inwardly for him to stop.

“Damian.”

“Tim.”

“Jason.”

“Dick. Alfred.” You duck your head and your eyes meet the ground. The listing of all your loved ones pinches your heart, and you feel nauseous. You weren’t trying to leave them. You didn’t want to leave them at all.

“... Me.”

Your eyes sting with tears again. Why did he have to make it sound like that? Like you were seeking some selfish want, rather than trying to improve your quality of life. You feel your ambition and desire wane under the weight of guilt. You feel all sense of struggle start to disintegrate, lost to the fog in your head. Lost. You’ve lost.

Bruce’s eyes scrutinize you.

“As I suspected. You’re acting delirious. Manic. Delusional.”

Any semblance of protest dies in your throat.

“What?” you say. But Bruce is already leading you away towards the looming doors of Wayne Manor, away from the green of the grounds. Away from the light of the sun, and away from the skyline. He comforts you with familiar lines on the way to your bedroom.

You need rest. Alfred will brew his tea for you. I’ll call the kids to come tonight. We can play Risk. He pats your shoulder, stroking soft, deceptively warm circles with his thumb.

“You just need some rest.”

And not for the first time, you believe he may be right.

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