#invisible reader

[orellazalonia]

The Way He Notices

Summary: As the teammate with invisibility, your powers often result in you disappearing from the Compound when the day becomes too much. However, you’re always seen by one person who has started to sit in silence with you, offering occasional comments and comfort. (Bucky Barnes x invisible!reader)

Disclaimer: Angst (sort of). Hurt/Comfort. Reader has the power of invisibility.

Word Count: 1.3k+

A/N: I had fully intended to just make this a blurb. I like imagining the reader with different powers, but this went over the 500 words I had initially planned lol

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

The compound was too loud.

Even if no one was yelling, even if no one was fighting, your skin buzzed with the memory of raised voices, flashing lights, hands that weren’t kind. Your breathing had gone shallow the moment the door shut behind you. Your hands trembled. Your pulse raced. Your instincts screamed.

So you disappeared. Literally. One blink, one breath, and maybe the world would forget you were there. Invisibility was your gift. When activated, everything fades. Body, clothes, scent; not even heat sensors can detect you. It remains a power you hold to help people from the shadows. Both your shield and your curse.

And right now, you use it to curl up into the corner of your room, legs pulled tight to your chest. Your breathing was quiet now, nearly silent. You liked it that way. Invisible and silent, unnoticed to the world.

But Bucky noticed. He always did. You never told anyone about what it really meant, to vanish. Not in words. Not out loud. But Bucky figured it out anyway.

He paid attention in a way most people didn’t. Not the loud kind, not the prying kind. Just quiet observation, patterns, and pauses. He noticed the things others dismissed: the way your fingers twitched when a voice got too sharp. The way your leg bounces nervously when the room turns tense. The way your eyes never quite met anyone’s after a hard mission.

And most of all, he noticed when you were suddenly gone.

Not physically. Not entirely. Just… hushed. Faded. The kind of gone where your seat at the table was still warm, your plate barely touched. The kind of gone where you stopped making eye contact, stopped breathing deep, stopped existing in the room even if you were still in it. The kind where your powers were not needed at all to remove your presence from a space.

Then overtime, he learned the different ways you could vanish. And unlike others, he didn’t joke about it. Didn’t push or pull or guilt you back. He just waited. A silent and steady presence to turn to.

The first time it happened, he stood in your doorway for ten full minutes, speaking to the air. Not because he thought it would fix anything. But because he knew what it meant to be terrified, voiceless, and unseen, yet still wanting someone to come find you anyway.

After that, it became a kind of rhythm between you. A quiet understanding. Then, the similarities began to show themselves. You weren’t touchy, and neither was he. Your voice was soft, never one to stand out in a room full of people. He was quiet, selective who he spoke to as he watched more than he engaged. You didn't open up easily. But you know he also struggled to do so as well. And when the world pressed too close and you disappeared into silence, he was the only one who could sit with it without trying to fix you.

It wasn’t romantic, not in the beginning. But it was intimate.

In the moments you let yourself be visible, Bucky saw you in ways no one else did. The slight tilt of your lips when you made a dry joke. The way you tilted your head when you were curious, and the way you flinched when someone raised their voice, even if it wasn’t at you. He never made it a big deal. Never made you feel small, insecure, or unworthy. Not even when you couldn’t quite express how you felt and never for existing.

He just noticed. And remembered.

So when your door clicked shut, and you didn’t speak, didn’t eat, didn’t check in? He knew. Because this man had memorized both your presence and absence like a shadow. It was what led him behind your door now, knocking three times. Three simple, soft taps. The kind that asked for permission, not attention.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“Doll?” His voice was soft, the edge of gravel worn down into silk. “I know you’re in here.”

Still, you stayed quiet. Hidden. Gone.

The door creaked open. He didn’t turn the lights on. He didn’t need them to know you were there. Sometimes you cursed his super soldier hearing.

“I saw you leave the training room without speaking to anyone. That’s not like you.”

There was no accusation in his voice. Just concern. Measured, careful concern. He stepped in further, and you saw the glint of metal catch the moonlight through your window.

“I know what it’s like,” He said after a long pause. “To want the whole world to stop seeing you. To disappear because it’s safer that way.”

You turned your head slightly, though you weren’t sure why. He still couldn’t see you. No one could.

“I used to hide,” He continued. “Behind orders. Behind missions. Behind… the Soldier.”

The reference hit the air with a dull ache. He sat down on the floor, not too close, but close enough.

“I’m not sure what happened. Maybe I never will. But I know you don’t have to be alone.”

You heard a quiet rustle before spotting his hand reaching out, palm up, resting between you both.

“I won’t touch you. I won’t even look, unless you want me to. Just know I’ll be here.”

Your breath hitched. Not because of the panic, but because of him. He stayed yet again. You still can’t get used to it, like somehow you’ve convinced yourself you’re not worth it.

But minutes passed, maybe an hour or more. Who knows. Bucky had learned the hard way how to sit with silence. How to let it breathe instead of trying to fill it. How sometimes just being there meant more than any words.

But slowly, carefully, you let the invisibility fade. Like dust in sunlight. Your fingers, trembling and pale, reached out and barely brushed his.

His hand didn’t move. Instead, you heard his voice, gentle and soft.

“There you are,” Bucky whispered, a ghost of a smile upon his face.

Something in his chest loosened. Not relief exactly, but… a sense of trust. Pride almost. You trusted him enough to come back, to be seen.

Because for the first time all day, you weren’t afraid. You weren’t alone nor unseen. He had stayed there, grounding you.

Your voice didn’t answer him, not out loud. You didn’t need to. Instead, you leaned just a little closer, the barest shift of weight, but he felt it. You were still trembling, but you weren’t hiding. Not from him.

He turned his palm so his fingers could wrap lightly around yours. Not tight. Just enough to remind you he was there.

“I know the world feels like too much sometimes,” He began quietly. “I don’t blame you for disappearing. I used to want to do it all the time. Hell, I did.”

He gave a short, hollow laugh; no humor, just memory.

“When I first came here, I kept thinking: If I can just vanish, if I can just keep still enough, no one will look at me like I’m broken. Like I’m dangerous. Like I’m one bad memory away from snapping.”

You shifted. Still silent, but listening. He could feel it.

“I saw that same look in your eyes today. Like you were made of glass and someone was swinging a hammer.”

The grip of your hand tightened slightly.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened. Not now. Not ever, if you don’t want. But if you need someone who gets it, you know I’m here.”

He tilted his head toward you, careful to keep his movements soft.

“No pressure,” He said quickly, a beat of hesitation filling the space before he added. “Just… if you ever wanna disappear, let me be the one who waits with you in the silence.”

A pause. Then, barely above a whisper:

“Okay.” You nodded. It was tiny, fragile; but Bucky felt it like a damn earthquake.

You didn’t let go of his hand, and he didn’t move an inch.

He doesn’t try to fix you. He just stays. Listens. Waits. And somehow, in a world that seems to forget you're there the moment you vanish, you're still seen. Completely, quietly, without question, because of the way he notices.

[gatorbites-imagines]

I actually caught you when your asks are open this is spectacular

I know you write for Plastic Man, but I don't know about Negative Man? Larry Trainor, comics or show. So you can do this with either one you want.

Male reader who's similar to the invisible man – Not criminal, maybe backstory, but at least was a scientist who turned himslef invisible but a tad more realistic, blind but in the more Matt Murdock way, or just blind, I don't mind either. Hcs or anything else of any kind, but hcs would probably be easier.

I alao don't mind if it's ftm reader or the explicitly of it!! So sorry if this is all over the place. I didn't want it to be long😞

Lawrence “Larry” Trainor x Male reader

Headcanons

I don’t actually know a lot about Larry, so this is based off the wiki. The reader is also somewhat based off the 1933 movie The Invisible Man but with my own spin, since I wasn’t sure what else you might have been referring too, hehe. I hope my lack of knowledge still makes this good to read.

I got major Morticia and Gomez vibes from these two as i wrote.

You were no superhero, nor were you a villain. You were just a man who flew too close to the sun and got burnt on the way to discovery. The sun had so much to give, something you knew so many years ago before Superman appeared, and you learned his power source was the sun.

You barely kept track of when you were born nowadays, there was no need too. From what little you could gather, you didn’t age, you didn’t hunger or thirst, you didn’t even need to sleep. But you knew you had been around before radioactivity was discovered.

You had been around before the major superheroes became a thing, it wasn’t something that interested you a lot. There were a couple you knew, like Alan Scott, and Jay Garrick, you had even met wonder woman once or twice. But you were no hero.

So, it was no shocker that you didn’t know about this so-called doom patrol. How would you. Its not like you owned a tv, and you didn’t care much for the news stations on the radio nowadays. It was all ads and dramatic sound effects.

You were never sure what to call yourself. Alan used to call you a scientist, and Jay did too even though he hadn’t visited in a long time, at least it felt like a long time. But you had heard he got married and had kids, so of course that was more important. You still sent them both holiday cards though.

As a scientist you had studied radioactivity before it was discovered by anyone else. You had always had a habit of being consumed by your work, so when you climbed out of your pit of research, someone else had already claimed the discovery.

It didn’t matter though, as what interested you was the sun and the power you just knew it stored. Of course, it didn’t end well. Going invisible, blind, deaf, and losing pretty much every other sense hadn’t been on your list of predictions. But that’s what happened.

You could still see, hear, smell, and so on… in your own way. It was impossible to explain, but you didn’t truly exist the same way everyone else seemed to do. The radioactivity from the sun had given you other powers too.

But those powers weren’t used a lot. Why would you need to fly, or phase through things, or channel the power of the sun to blast somebody. You were anti-military and anti-government, that’s why they never supported your research and buried your existence from the history books, so you weren’t gonna fight.

When you finally learned about this so-called doom patrol you almost felt a little bashful, or could you say miffed? It was like one of them had stolen your entire look. Well, most of it anyways.

You were both wrapped from head to toe in bandages, though his seemed much thicker and sturdier than yours, like they were inlaid with something. And his clothing were more modern, and looked more practical.

What could you say, you were a sucker for the fashion you grew up with. So, what if your clothing, furniture and everything about you screamed Victorian era. Some of the younglings Jay brought along when he visited said you looked very “antique” and that “old stuff is in”.

You also didn’t wear shades like Mr. negative, Larry, you later learned, did. You were blind as a bat and had no physical eyes anyways, so why wear shades in the first place?

It was hard to explain how your body worked, it had the form of a human when you wrapped it, but it also… didn’t exist. You always just blamed it on the undiscovered art of radioactivity and science so advanced the world hadn’t gotten there yet.

It did look slightly entertaining to see you in your Victorian era dressing robe, in a pair of your best slippers with a glass of brandy you couldn’t really taste, beside Larry, who had very clearly seen better days.

Both being wrapped in bandages created a kind of comradery between you two in the beginning. Lary had thought maybe you were like him, especially when you explained how you got where you were, since his accident was based around radioactivity too.

Only for you to shock him, but unwrapping your head and revealing… nothing. Literally nothing. You even grabbed his hand and brought it to where your head would be, only for it to pass through it like nothing.

Your body seemed present when you wrapped it, a phenomenon you were still studying to this day. Right now, your results were pointing in the direction of it being mental, but who truly knew at the end of the day.

Larry hadn’t been willing to remove his own bandages for very obvious reasons, no matter how many times you told him it wouldn’t hurt you, and that it wouldn’t matter. You were raised too well to make any demands.

Instead, you pulled out your very old photo album and walked him through your family, happily pointing out pictures of yourself and how you looked, only scowling a little as he laughed at your hairstyle and outfits of the time.

In the end you touched him by accident. There was some accident in your lab that tore some of the bandages on his hand, and without a second thought you took his hand and wrapped it again. Obviously, nothing happened to you, you didn’t have a body that could be hurt, but it was still a shock for Larry.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Larry was as touch starved as he was. Not having any human contact for so long would drive anybody mad, except you that is, but you also were convinced that that was some mental result of your accident.

So, you didn’t turn him away when Larry would start appearing in your giant Victorian era mansion, far out in the mountains, so far away from anything that whatever radioactivity you worked on wouldn’t reach.

You also didn’t mind that Larry started searching you out for contact. He started small, just sitting closer to you as you had tea together, where it evolved to sitting up against you as you went through your papers, to Larry going as far as laying his bandaged head in your lap as you read aloud from one of your many books.

Larry was so sweet, in his own hesitant way. He even let you study how his own powers worked, but to no surprise you two didn’t reach a certain result, but neither of you had expected that.

Hell, Larry even got more comfortable going around in public, as you would hook your arms together and almost strut along, as if the wide eyed and sometimes hateful stares didn’t touch you.

That was also how you finally met the justice league. The only one that interested you was Superman, and he wouldn’t let you study him as much as you wanted. Your extreme studies of the sun at least caught Batman’s interest, enough for you two to have very long difficult conversations about science. You later learned you reminded him of his butler, which you took as a compliment since he was spoken so highly of.

The doom patrol wasn’t your favorite, you didn’t trust that Chief guy, and rightfully so. But who were you to tell Larry who he could and couldn’t forgive, you just made it very clear you weren’t gonna help that guy.

In the end, the relationship you two shared was strange, but soft in ways that was hard to put into words. Your first kiss took months to happen, as you didn’t have lips when you unwrapped your bandages, and Larry needed so long to grow comfortable to pull his off.

Holding hands, or tapping your foot against each other’s became how you expressed love. That, or giving gifts. You made place in your giant mansion for his many gifts, wanting to show them all off.

And Larry? Larry got a whole new wardrobe as well as many other trinkets he might need. You even dove head first into the tools and armor market, wanting to give Larry something to keep him safe. You couldn’t have cared less about the rest of his team, they weren’t really your friends, just Larry.

Those items might have gotten your usual Victorian flare to them too, even if they were sleek and modern in their abilities and storage. It was a bit like your way of marking Larry as yours.

It was still difficult for Larry to feel safe without his bandages in your mansion, not just because of how dangerous it was, but also because he found himself so hideous. You didn’t find him ugly, not at all. You also knew it would take Larry a long time to believe you, so you didn’t force him to accept it, just left the opportunity open.

You two made a strange but surprisingly strong couple, when you finally visited the outside world. Those few times were either to have tea with Batman’s very smart butler, or to blast somebody with the power of the sun for hurting your dear love. No matter what though, you always left an impression, not that you cared. All you cared about was leaving one with Larry.

[monstyrgyrl]

A ghost fucking you in public

Tits and face pressed into the concrete as you are bent over on the sidewalk, a ghost gaping your pussy as passerby’s watch your exposed pussy spread around nothing while you feel the invisible cock stir up your insides, leaving ghostly green cum deep in your womb as normal ppl walk by, shaking their heads at what a desperate slut you are

[frankiethedarkangel]

You recently moved into a home that is notorious for being haunted.

Being the skeptic you are, you took the chance with it. You could handle a few bumps in the night, maybe even at the worst, a little poltergeist activity.

After spending the day unpacking you decided to explore the attic. There were a few boxes that needed to go into storage for the holidays. Grabbing your phone to use as a flashlight, you head to the hallway to pull down the ladder to the attic.

It was as you expected. A dusty and over heated space at the top of the house. As soon as you turn your flashlight on you feel as if someone poked your side.

Your flashlight relieved a something in the back of the attic covered by a white, dusty, cobweb ridden sheet. So typical. Making your way to see what it is, you feel like someone’s touching you again.

This time it’s bolder than feel as if there was someone poking your side. Something touched your ass. Trying to ignore it, but definitely feeling weirded out, you make a logical explanation for it. Just a muscle spasm you told yourself.

That was until you actually reached the cloth covered objects. Pulling the sheet off, you see there’s a painting of a man. Must be one of the previous owners.

Before you could even move something pushed you against the wall hard. Letting out a scream you try to fight off whoever it was. But there was nobody there.

Feeling something touch you again. Almost as if someone is running their fingers up your legs. You decide to call out.

“Who’s there?”

As expected nobody answers, but it takes you by the hips and pushes you against the wall again. By now you’ve pieced together it’s the ghost you heard about. Well, the poltergeist.

“It’s you isn’t it?”

Looking at the painting as you ask. Almost as if it’s giving you an answer, your pants are pulled off and you feel a finger rubbing your wetting slit.

Rubbing circles on your clit with what feels like it’s thub. Slowly pushing a finger into your pussy. It feels so wrong, but it feels so good.

After the mystery of a person fingers you, you feel a while body pin you to the wall. Holding your hips tight. Slowly what feels like a hard dick is pushing into your now soaked pussy. Using you make itself reach an orgasm.

You feel the ghost cock twitch inside you. As if it was a warning, it cums inside of you. It pulls out and just, disappears. Getting yourself dressed you feel the ghost’s cum leaking out of you.

“It’s green? Green goo?”

Monster Masterlist

[archivegyu]

masterlist

The Art of Being a Girl Dad

dad! seungcheol x reader ll 5k words

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the Choi family’s living room, casting dancing shadows across the hardwood floor where an unlikely wrestling match was taking place. Kkuma, Seungcheol’s beloved white coton de tulear, had somehow found herself pinned beneath a giggling five-year-old who was attempting to braid the poor dog’s fluffy ears.

“Kkuma-ya, stay still! You’re going to be the prettiest princess dog in all of Seoul!” Naeun declared with the kind of unwavering confidence that only children possessed. Her small fingers fumbled with tiny pink hair ties as Kkuma’s tail wagged frantically, clearly torn between escape and enjoying the attention.

Seungcheol paused in the kitchen doorway, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, watching his daughter’s latest creative endeavor with barely contained laughter. His hair was still messy from sleep, sticking up at odd angles that somehow made him look younger than his years. The sight of his two favorite girls bonding over questionable grooming choices filled his chest with a warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee.

“Naeunie,” he called softly, padding over in his slippers. “What are you doing to poor Kkuma?”

“Appa!” Naeun looked up with bright eyes that were carbon copies of his own. “I’m making her beautiful for the tea party! Mama said you have to come too because Uncle Gyu is bringing cake!”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows shot up. “Uncle Mingyu is coming? When did this happen?”

“This morning! Mama was on the phone and she was laughing really loud and then she said yes to cake!” Naeun had returned to her mission of transforming Kkuma into what appeared to be a four-legged fairy tale character. “She said you were grumpy about getting up early but Uncle Gyu said he’d bring the really good cake from that place with the fancy name you can’t say right.”

“Patisserie Laurent,” Seungcheol muttered, already knowing exactly which place Mingyu meant. Trust his member to remember his weakness for their mille-feuille. “And I wasn’t grumpy, I was tired. There’s a difference.”

“You made that face,” Naeun said matter-of-factly, scrunching up her features in an exaggerated frown that was disturbingly accurate. “The one where your eyebrows touch and Mama laughs.”

Before Seungcheol could defend his morning expressions, the sound of his wife’s laughter drifted from the kitchen, followed by what sounded suspiciously like multiple voices on speakerphone. He recognized the chaos immediately – Seventeen’s group chat had gone live.

“Is that the whole circus?” he asked, settling down on the floor beside Naeun and gently rescuing Kkuma from her latest hair accessory.

“Jeonghan is being mean to Seokmin again,” his wife called from the kitchen, amusement clear in her voice. “Something about stealing his face mask.”

“It was a limited edition!” came Seokmin’s distant, indignant voice through the phone speaker.

Seungcheol shook his head, simultaneously exasperated and fond. Five years of marriage and fatherhood had done nothing to mature his bandmates. If anything, having Naeun around had made them more chaotic, each trying to claim the title of ‘favorite uncle’ through increasingly ridiculous means.

“Appa, can we call Uncle Hannie too? I want to show him Kkuma’s new look,” Naeun said, having successfully managed to get one small bow attached to the dog’s ear. Kkuma looked resigned to her fate.

“Let’s wait until after your tea party, okay? Uncle Mingyu will be here soon and you know how he gets when he’s not the center of attention.”

As if summoned by the mention of his name, the doorbell rang with the specific pattern that could only belong to Kim Mingyu – unnecessarily long and dramatic. Naeun shrieked with excitement and abandoned Kkuma entirely, racing toward the front door with the kind of speed that made Seungcheol wonder if she had inherited more than just his eyes.

“Uncle Gyu! Uncle Gyu!” Naeun’s voice echoed through the hallway.

Seungcheol followed at a more reasonable pace, already smiling at what he knew he’d find. Sure enough, Mingyu was crouched at Naeun’s level, having somehow produced not just the promised cake box but also a small bouquet of daisies and what appeared to be a toy crown.

“Princess Naeun!” Mingyu announced dramatically, placing the crown on her head with ceremonial precision. “Your royal tea party awaits!”

“Did you really bring a crown?” Seungcheol asked, accepting the familiar one-armed hug that Mingyu offered while juggling his various gifts.

“Hyung, I don’t do anything halfway. You know this.” Mingyu’s grin was shameless. “Plus, I may have had help from a certain someone who shall remain nameless but definitely knows a lot about princess accessories.”

“Uncle Wonwoo helped!” Naeun announced, completely ruining Mingyu’s attempt at mystery. “He said princesses need proper headwear for important occasions!”

Seungcheol’s wife appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel and shaking her head with fond exasperation. “Wonwoo called ahead to make sure Mingyu brought age-appropriate entertainment. Apparently, last time’s magic tricks were ‘too easy for the target demographic.’”

“They were great magic tricks,” Mingyu protested. “It’s not my fault Naeun figured out where I was hiding the cards.”

“You left them on the kitchen counter in plain sight,” Seungcheol pointed out.

“Details,” Mingyu waved him off, then turned his attention back to Naeun. “So, Princess, what’s on the agenda for today’s royal gathering?”

What followed was an elaborate explanation of the tea party requirements, including but not limited to: proper seating arrangements for all attendees (including Kkuma, who was apparently the royal pet), specific tea flavors (apple juice was acceptable as a substitute), and a very serious discussion about cake cutting protocol.

Seungcheol watched his daughter command the attention of a grown man who regularly performed in front of thousands, completely unaware of how naturally she held court. There was something magical about the way children could make adults remember how to play, how to find joy in the smallest things.

“She’s got your leadership skills,” his wife murmured, settling beside him on the couch as Mingyu and Naeun began arranging the living room for optimal tea party conditions.

“And your ability to wrap people around her finger,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her temple.

The actual tea party was a masterpiece of organized chaos. Naeun had assigned seats with the precision of a military strategist: herself at the head of the coffee table (which had been draped with her favorite blanket to serve as a proper tablecloth), Mingyu to her right as the guest of honor, her parents flanking the other sides, and Kkuma positioned on a small cushion with her own tiny tea cup.

“Now,” Naeun began, having insisted on wearing her fanciest dress for the occasion, “everyone has to hold their cups like this.” She demonstrated with her small hands positioned just so on her plastic teacup, pinky extended in what she clearly believed was the height of sophistication.

Mingyu, without a trace of self-consciousness, mirrored her posture exactly, even going so far as to straighten his imaginary tie. “Like this, Princess?”

“Perfect! Appa, your pinky isn’t high enough.”

Seungcheol adjusted his grip on his mug with exaggerated precision, earning an approving nod from his daughter. His wife was barely containing her laughter behind her own cup.

“Okay, now we have to toast,” Naeun continued. “Mama taught me. We say something nice and then we clink.”

“What should we toast to?” Mingyu asked seriously.

Naeun considered this with the gravity of a diplomat. “To… to Kkuma being the prettiest princess dog, and to Uncle Gyu bringing the best cake, and to Mama’s apple juice that tastes like tea, and to Appa for making funny faces when he drinks it.”

“I don’t make funny faces,” Seungcheol protested weakly.

“You do,” his wife and Mingyu said in unison, causing Naeun to dissolve into giggles.

They clinked their mismatched cups together, and Seungcheol felt that familiar tightness in his chest that came with these perfect, ordinary moments. This was what he’d been missing all those years on the road – not just the big milestones, but the silly Tuesday morning tea parties and the sound of his daughter’s laughter mixing with his wife’s.

The cake, as promised, was exceptional. Mingyu had somehow convinced the patisserie to create a miniature version of their famous mille-feuille decorated with edible flowers. Naeun insisted on cutting it herself, resulting in uneven slices that she distributed with the solemnity of a judge.

“Uncle Gyu gets the biggest piece because he brought it,” she announced, “but Appa gets the piece with the most flowers because he’s the best appa in the world.”

Seungcheol felt his throat tighten unexpectedly. “Thank you, baby.”

“And Mama gets the prettiest piece because she’s the prettiest mama.”

The conversation flowed easily from there, jumping from topic to topic the way it did when Naeun was involved. She told Mingyu about her new favorite book (something involving a dragon who was afraid of its own fire), demonstrated her latest dance moves (a combination of ballet and what appeared to be taekwondo), and explained in great detail why purple was clearly superior to all other colors.

Mingyu listened to every word with the kind of attention usually reserved for important business meetings, asking follow-up questions and offering commentary that made Naeun beam with importance. Watching them together, Seungcheol was reminded of why he’d fallen in love with this chaotic group of men in the first place – their capacity for genuine care, for making others feel seen and valued.

“Uncle Gyu,” Naeun said suddenly, having finished her cake, “are you sad that you don’t have a little girl like me?”

The question caught everyone off guard. Mingyu’s expression softened, and he reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind Naeun’s ear. “You know what? I’m not sad, because I get to be your uncle. That means I get all the fun parts – tea parties and cake and hearing about dragons – but I also get to spoil you and then send you home to your appa and mama when you’re too full of sugar.”

“That’s sneaky,” Naeun observed approvingly.

“I learned from the best,” Mingyu glanced at Seungcheol with a grin. “Your appa taught me everything I know about being sneaky.”

“I did not—” Seungcheol started to protest, then caught his wife’s knowing look and decided discretion was the better part of valor. “Okay, maybe I taught him a few things.”

The doorbell rang again, interrupting what was surely going to be an embarrassing trip down memory lane. This time, the pattern was shorter but repeated three times – definitely Jeonghan.

“Did you invite more people to my tea party?” Naeun asked, not sounding particularly upset about the prospect of additional guests.

“That would be Uncle Hannie,” Seungcheol’s wife said, already moving toward the door. “He said he had something for Naeun.”

“Something” turned out to be Seokmin, Joshua, and Wonwoo, along with what appeared to be half of a craft store. Jeonghan waltzed in like he owned the place, carrying a bag full of supplies, while the others followed with varying degrees of sheepishness.

“We heard there was a princess in need of proper royal crafts,” Jeonghan announced, dumping his bag on the coffee table with a flourish. “And Seokmin insisted on bringing his guitar.”

“For royal entertainment,” Seokmin added quickly, holding up his acoustic guitar case. “Princesses need proper serenades.”

“I just came to make sure nobody burned down the apartment,” Wonwoo said mildly, though he was already pulling something from his jacket pocket. “Also, I brought more appropriate magic tricks.”

Joshua, ever the gentleman, presented Naeun with a small wrapped box. “I thought you might like these for your next tea party,” he said in his careful, accented Korean.

Inside were a set of actual porcelain tea cups, child-sized but clearly real, painted with delicate flowers. Naeun’s eyes went wide with wonder as she lifted one carefully from its tissue paper nest.

“They’re real grown-up cups,” she whispered, as if speaking too loudly might make them disappear.

“Very real,” Joshua confirmed. “My mom helped me pick them out. She said every princess needs proper tea service.”

“Uncle Shua, they’re the most beautiful cups in the whole world,” Naeun declared, and Joshua’s smile could have powered the entire building.

What had started as a simple tea party was rapidly evolving into something resembling a small festival. Jeonghan had begun spreading out craft supplies with the efficiency of someone who’d clearly planned this in advance, while Seokmin tuned his guitar and Wonwoo shuffled what appeared to be a deck of actual magic cards (as opposed to his previous amateur hour attempts).

“Hyung,” Mingyu leaned over to whisper to Seungcheol, “I think we’ve been upstaged.”

“I think our daughter has an entire entertainment company at her disposal,” Seungcheol replied, watching Naeun flit between uncles like a butterfly sampling flowers.

His wife settled back beside him, shaking her head with amazement. “Remember when we used to worry about her not having enough socialization?”

“I remember when we worried about a lot of things,” Seungcheol said quietly. The early days of fatherhood had been terrifying in ways that performing on stage never was. Every cry, every fever, every milestone had felt monumental and fragile at the same time.

“Look at her now,” his wife murmured.

Naeun was in her element, directing her uncles with the confidence of someone who’d never doubted her place in the world. She’d assigned Jeonghan the task of helping her make crowns for everyone (apparently, one royal crown wasn’t enough for a proper court), while Seokmin provided background music and Wonwoo prepared what he promised would be “actually impressive” magic.

“Uncle Hannie, this one needs more sparkles,” Naeun declared, holding up a construction paper crown that was already ninety percent glitter.

“More sparkles, got it,” Jeonghan replied seriously, reaching for another container of craft supplies. “What about Uncle Gyu’s crown? Should it match his height?”

“Make it extra tall so everyone knows he’s the giant uncle,” Naeun decided.

“I’m not a giant,” Mingyu protested from where he was attempting to fold his long limbs into a child-appropriate sitting position on the floor.

“You’re bigger than the refrigerator,” Naeun pointed out with irrefutable logic.

While the crown-making continued, Wonwoo had set up what appeared to be a proper magic show area, complete with a small table draped with one of Naeun’s blankets. His movements were precise and practiced in a way that suggested he’d been doing more than just casual research into children’s entertainment.

“When did you learn actual magic?” Seungcheol asked, genuinely curious.

“YouTube,” Wonwoo replied without looking up from his card arrangement. “Also, Mingyu’s cousin teaches kids’ magic classes. I may have attended a few sessions.”

“You took magic lessons for my daughter?”

“I took magic lessons for my pride,” Wonwoo corrected. “Getting outwitted by a five-year-old is unacceptable.”

Seokmin, meanwhile, had found the perfect background music tempo – something light and whimsical that made everything feel like a scene from a family movie. His voice hummed along with the melody, unconsciously harmonizing with himself in that way that never failed to remind Seungcheol why they’d all chosen music in the first place.

“Appa,” Naeun appeared at his elbow suddenly, having momentarily abandoned crown construction. “Are you happy?”

The question was so direct, so purely her, that it caught him off guard. “What do you mean, baby?”

“You’re making your thinking face,” she said, climbing onto his lap with the ease of long practice. “The one where you look far away. Are you thinking sad thoughts or happy thoughts?”

Seungcheol wrapped his arms around her small frame, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo mixed with glitter and cake frosting. “Very happy thoughts,” he said truthfully. “I was thinking about how lucky I am.”

“Because you have the best daughter in the world?” Naeun asked with a grin that was pure mischief.

“Because I have the best daughter in the world,” he agreed, “and the best wife in the world, and the most ridiculous uncles in the world who love you almost as much as I do.”

“That’s a lot of bests,” Naeun observed.

“I’m a very lucky appa.”

She seemed satisfied with this answer and settled more comfortably against his chest, content to supervise the ongoing craft production from her new vantage point. Seungcheol caught his wife’s eye across the room and saw his own contentment reflected back at him.

“Naeunie,” Jeonghan called, holding up a completed crown that was somehow even more elaborate than the original. “What do you think of Uncle Wonwoo’s royal headwear?”

The crown in question was a masterpiece of construction paper architecture, featuring multiple layers, an impressive array of gems (plastic, but convincing), and what appeared to be actual feathers. It was also approximately three times too large for any human head.

“It’s perfect,” Naeun declared. “Uncle Wonwoo will be the most royal uncle at the magic show.”

Wonwoo accepted his fate with the stoicism of someone who’d learned that resistance was futile when it came to Naeun’s vision. The crown perched precariously on his head, held in place by sheer determination and possibly divine intervention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced formally, “prepare to be amazed by feats of wonder and impossible possibility.”

What followed was genuinely impressive. Wonwoo had clearly put considerable effort into learning tricks that would actually surprise and delight a child, rather than the transparent sleight-of-hand that had characterized Mingyu’s previous attempts. Cards appeared and disappeared, coins materialized from behind ears, and somehow he managed to produce a small stuffed rabbit from what had definitely been an empty box.

Naeun was entranced, gasping and clapping at each reveal, but Seungcheol found himself equally captivated by the sight of his normally reserved friend fully committed to entertaining a five-year-old audience. There was something beautiful about watching people step outside their comfort zones for love.

“How did you do that?” Naeun demanded after a particularly impressive card trick.

“Magic,” Wonwoo replied solemnly. “True magic can’t be explained, only experienced.”

“But really, how?”

“Trade secret. Magicians never reveal their methods.”

Naeun considered this seriously, then nodded with acceptance. “Okay, but can you teach me one that I can show Mama later?”

“I think that can be arranged,” Wonwoo said, and Seungcheol made a mental note to prepare for his daughter’s inevitable new obsession with prestidigitation.

The afternoon continued in this vein, flowing from activity to activity with the organic rhythm that seemed to characterize all gatherings involving Naeun. After magic came a mini concert, with Seokmin leading everyone in increasingly silly songs while Joshua provided harmony and Jeonghan added dramatic interpretive dance.

Mingyu had appointed himself official photographer, documenting every moment with the dedication of a professional despite the fact that his subjects kept moving and his main model had a tendency to make faces at the camera when she thought no one was looking.

“Appa, come sing with us,” Naeun called, having climbed onto the coffee table to serve as conductor for what appeared to be an original composition about tea parties and magic shows.

“I don’t know the words,” Seungcheol protested weakly.

“There are no words!” she replied with five-year-old logic. “We’re making them up!”

And so Seungcheol found himself standing in his living room, surrounded by his bandmates and family, singing a nonsensical song about royal cake and magical uncles while his daughter conducted with the serious concentration of a maestro. His wife was laughing so hard she was crying, Kkuma was barking along in what might have been harmony, and somehow it was the most natural thing in the world.

This was what happiness looked like, he realized. Not the roar of crowds or the satisfaction of a perfect performance, but this – chaos and laughter and the complete absence of dignity in service of making one small person feel like the center of the universe.

As the impromptu concert wound down, exhaustion began to set in. Naeun’s energy, while impressive, was not infinite, and the combination of sugar, excitement, and multiple uncles had begun to take its toll. She found herself gravitating back toward Seungcheol’s lap, her movements becoming slower and her blinks longer.

“Someone’s getting sleepy,” his wife observed gently.

“I’m not sleepy,” Naeun protested, even as she curled more firmly against Seungcheol’s chest. “I’m just resting my eyes so I can see the magic better.”

“Of course,” Seungcheol agreed seriously. “That’s very smart princess thinking.”

One by one, her uncles began the process of taking their leave, each stopping to say proper goodbyes and receive official thanks for their contributions to the royal tea party. Jeonghan left behind enough craft supplies to stock a small art classroom, while Wonwoo presented Naeun with a junior magician’s kit and a promise to teach her three tricks at their next meeting.

Seokmin and Joshua coordinated their departure with the efficiency of long practice, but not before Seokmin had been made to promise to bring his guitar to the next family gathering. Mingyu lingered the longest, as he always did, reluctant to leave the peaceful chaos of their little family unit.

“Thank you,” Seungcheol said as he walked Mingyu to the door, Naeun having finally succumbed to sleep in his arms.

“For what? Bringing cake? That’s basic uncle duty.”

“For all of it,” Seungcheol gestured vaguely at the living room, which looked like a craft store had exploded in the most wonderful way. “For loving her like she’s yours.”

Mingyu’s expression grew serious for a moment. “Hyung, she kind of is mine. Yours and hers and all of ours. That’s how family works, right?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol said quietly, “that’s exactly how family works.”

After Mingyu left, the apartment settled into the peaceful quiet that followed a day well-spent. His wife began the process of cleaning up while Seungcheol carried Naeun to her bedroom, carefully navigating around the various craft projects and new toys that marked the path of her day.

He tucked her into bed still wearing her princess crown, deciding that some rules were made to be broken. She stirred slightly as he pulled her blankets up, just enough to mumble something that sounded like “best tea party ever” before settling back into sleep.

“Sweet dreams, princess,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Back in the living room, his wife had made impressive progress on the cleanup, sorting craft supplies and folding blankets with practiced efficiency. Kkuma had reclaimed her favorite spot on the couch, though she was still wearing one small bow from her earlier princess transformation.

“Leave it,” Seungcheol said as his wife reached for the last of the paper crown supplies. “She’ll want to finish those tomorrow.”

“Our dining room table is going to be unusable for a week,” she pointed out, but there was no real complaint in her voice.

“We’ll eat on TV trays. It’ll be an adventure.”

She laughed, settling beside him on the couch and curling into his side with the easy intimacy of years together. “Remember when we thought having a baby would make our lives quieter?”

“I remember thinking a lot of stupid things before she came along,” Seungcheol said, tightening his arms around her. “Like thinking I knew what love was.”

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age, Choi Seungcheol.”

“I’m getting honest in my old age,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the last of the afternoon light fade through their windows. The apartment still hummed with the energy of the day – glitter catching the light, the lingering scent of fancy cake, the echo of laughter in every corner.

“She’s going to remember today forever,” his wife said softly.

“Good,” Seungcheol replied. “I want her to remember that she’s loved. Not just by us, but by everyone who matters to us. I want her to know that our family is bigger than just blood, and that she’ll never have to navigate this world alone.”

“Even when she’s fifteen and hates us for existing?”

“Especially then. That’s when she’ll need Uncle Mingyu to remind her that her parents are actually pretty cool, and Uncle Jeonghan to teach her how to get revenge on mean girls, and Uncle Wonwoo to show her that quiet strength is just as powerful as loud confidence.”

His wife tilted her head to look at him. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“I think about it all the time,” he admitted. “About what kind of life we’re giving her, what kind of person she’s going to become. Today… today I realized I don’t have to worry so much. Look at how she commanded that room, how she made everyone feel special and included. Look at how naturally she loves people and expects to be loved back.”

“She gets that from you, you know.”

“She gets that from both of us. And from them.” He gestured toward the door through which his bandmates had recently departed. “She’s growing up surrounded by people who chose to love each other, who made family out of friendship and commitment instead of just accepting what they were given. That’s not nothing.”

“No,” his wife agreed quietly, “that’s everything.”

Later that evening, after dinner had been eaten off TV trays as predicted and Naeun had been convinced to take a bath despite her argument that princesses didn’t need to wash off their royal sparkles, Seungcheol found himself in her bedroom for the second time that day.

She was already in her pajamas, a set covered in cartoon dragons that seemed to contradict her earlier dedication to princess aesthetics, but somehow made perfect sense for her eclectic personality. Her hair was still damp from the bath, and she smelled like lavender body wash and childhood.

“Appa, will you tell me a story?” she asked as he tucked her in properly this time, having convinced her to remove the crown for sleeping.

“What kind of story do you want?”

“A story about today. But make it like a real story, with once upon a time and everything.”

Seungcheol settled into the chair beside her bed, the same chair where he’d spent countless nights during her infancy, watching her sleep and marveling at the fact that he’d helped create something so perfect and terrifying.

“Once upon a time,” he began, “there was a princess who lived in a magical kingdom with her mama and papa and her loyal companion, a brave white dragon named Kkuma.”

“Dragons can’t be white,” Naeun interrupted drowsily.

“This one could. It was a very special dragon. Now, one day, the princess decided to hold the most magnificent tea party in all the land…”

He wove the day’s events into a proper fairy tale, complete with magical uncles who appeared with gifts and talents, enchanted cakes that granted wishes, and crowns that bestowed special powers upon their wearers. Naeun’s eyes grew heavy as the story progressed, but she fought sleep to hear every detail, occasionally murmuring corrections or additions to ensure accuracy.

“…and so the princess realized that the real magic wasn’t in the tricks or the crowns or even the cake,” Seungcheol continued softly, “but in being surrounded by people who loved her enough to spend their day making hers special. And she lived happily ever after, knowing that whenever she needed them, her magical uncles would appear with exactly what she needed most.”

“What did she need most?” Naeun whispered, though her eyes were already closed.

“Love,” Seungcheol said simply. “She needed to know she was loved, and she was. More than she could ever imagine.”

“That’s a good story, Appa.”

“It’s a true story, baby. The best kind.”

He sat with her until her breathing evened out into the deep rhythm of sleep, then allowed himself a few more minutes to simply watch her. Five years old, with the whole world ahead of her and the unshakeable confidence that came from being unconditionally loved. She would face challenges, heartbreaks, moments of doubt – but she would face them knowing she had an entire chosen family in her corner.

His phone buzzed quietly with a message. The group chat, predictably.

Mingyu: Thanks for today, hyung. I needed that more than you know.

Jeonghan: Same. Nothing like princess duty to put life in perspective.

Wonwoo: I’ve already ordered more magic supplies. Next time I’m doing levitation.

Seokmin: I’m writing a song about royal tea parties. Naeun inspired me.

Joshua: My mom wants to know when the next family dinner is. She’s making Naeun a matching tea set.

Seungcheol smiled, typing back quickly: You’re all ridiculous. She’s going to be so spoiled.

Mingyu: That’s the point of being an uncle.

Jeonghan: Wait until she starts dating. We’re going to be terrifying.

Wonwoo: I’m already researching intimidation techniques.

Seokmin: We have fifteen years to prepare!

Joshua: Thirteen years. Kids grow up fast these days.

Seungcheol could picture them all, scattered across the city but connected by their phones and their shared investment in his daughter’s wellbeing. They’d be there for every birthday, every school play, every milestone and heartbreak. They’d spoil her outrageously and drive him crazy and love her with the fierce protectiveness that had always characterized their approach to family.

He turned off the bedside lamp and padded quietly out of Naeun’s room, closing the door behind him with practiced stealth. His wife was already in their bedroom, propped up against the pillows with a book and a cup of tea, looking completely at peace with the chaos that had been their day.

“How long did the story take?” she asked as he began changing into pajamas.

“Longer than usual. She wanted all the details included for historical accuracy.”

“Of course she did. She’s your daughter.”

Seungcheol climbed into bed beside her, automatically reaching for her hand the way he had every night for years. “Today was perfect.”

“Today was exhausting,” she corrected with a laugh. “But yes, also perfect.”

“I keep thinking about what Mingyu said. About how she’s all of ours. Sometimes I feel guilty about how much they love her, like I’m taking advantage of their kindness.”

“Seungcheol.” His wife set down her book and turned to face him fully. “They don’t love her because they have to. They love her because she’s loveable, and because she’s part of you, and because love multiplies when you share it. You’re not taking advantage of anything – you’re giving them the gift of being part of something beautiful.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“I married you, didn’t I? I had to develop wisdom in self-defense.”

He laughed, pulling her closer and burying his face in her hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Even when you get all philosophical about tea parties.”

“Especially then.”

They lay together in comfortable silence, processing the day and preparing for whatever tomorrow would bring. Probably more craft projects, definitely more questions about magic tricks, possibly another impromptu gathering of uncles bearing gifts and chaos.

“Hey,” his wife said suddenly, her voice soft in the darkness.

“What?”

“We’re really good at this, aren’t we? The whole family thing?”

Seungcheol thought about his daughter’s laughter, about the easy way his bandmates had folded themselves into their domestic life, about the casual miracle of ordinary happiness. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “we really are.”

And in the room down the hall, a five-year-old princess slept peacefully, dreaming of magic shows and royal tea parties, secure in the knowledge that she was the center of a universe built entirely from love. Tomorrow there would be more adventures, more laughter, more opportunities to learn that family wasn’t just about the people you were born to, but about the people who chose to show up, day after day, with cake and crowns and an endless capacity for making the ordinary feel magical.

It was, Seungcheol reflected as sleep finally claimed him, the best kind of fairy tale – the kind that was absolutely, perfectly true.

[imtaashu]

❝ Invisible String🪡 ❞

Inspired by: “Invisible String” – Taylor Swift

✮ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader ✮ Setting: Post-Endgame, modern-day Brooklyn ✮ Summary: You’ve always believed in fate, but Bucky never did—until he starts noticing all the invisible threads that led him straight to you. ✮ Genre: Soft fluff, fate, slow burn warmth, soulmates-vibe ✮ Word Count: ~1.3k ✮ Author Notes✍️ : this one is like a warm cup of tea with your name on it. i wrote this with taylor’s lyrics echoing in my heart and bucky’s soul tangled in gold thread☁️🩷 ✦ this one exists because @pharmacistfairytale asked for it🩷🩷✦ ✦ welcome to my bucky brain rot. masterlist lives here ✦

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

“Time, curious time / gave me no compasses, gave me no signs…”

But somehow, it led him here…

Bucky never used to believe in fate.

Not after Hydra. Not after the Winter Soldier. Not after everything that taught him the world was chaos and survival was coincidence.

But then he met you Or—maybe he didn’t meet you. Maybe he always knew you.

Maybe it was a thousand little things pulling him toward you across years and cities and silence.

Like an invisible string.

Tied from his heart to yours.

⸻

It starts with something stupid.

You hand him a book in the common room one afternoon. He flips it open and finds his own name underlined on page 17.

“What the hell?” he asks.

You laugh. “That’s from years ago. Before I even knew you. I used to highlight characters with names I liked.”

His name. His.

He doesn’t say anything, but later, he folds the page corner down like a secret.

⸻

Then it’s music.

You hum exactly the same melody he used to whistle as a kid. One day, he stops you mid-hum and stares.

“What?” you laugh.

“Where’d you learn that song?”

You shrug “I don’t know. My grandma used to sing it to me.”

His grandma did too.

⸻

“Do you believe in fate?” you ask him once, lying with your head in his lap on the fire escape, city lights flickering below.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t think it’s kind of crazy? That out of every coffee shop in Brooklyn, I picked the one you were hiding in that day?”

“You were loud,” he mutters.

“You were grumpy.”

“You ordered your coffee wrong and then said ‘oops’ like it was cute.”

You grin. “You remembered.”

He looks down at you. Soft. Barely breathing.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I remember everything about you.”

⸻

There are photos now.

Polaroids tucked into his wallet. One in his book. Another under his pillow, where he swears you’ll never find it. (You do. You smile. You don’t say anything.)

He gets clingier the more time passes.

Not possessive. Just grateful.

Like he can’t believe the universe handed him something good and is just waiting to take it back.

⸻

One night, he’s quiet. Too quiet.

You trace circles on the metal of his arm. “What’s going on in that head?”

He shakes his head. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

He hesitates. Then finally, softly “I think I’ve loved you forever. I just didn’t know your name yet.”

You stop breathing. And then you kiss him.

Not like a first kiss.

Like a memory.

Like coming home.

⸻

You both start collecting little threads.

Literal ones.

You find a gold string in a bookstore binding and tie it around your wrist. He notices. Doesn’t say anything—but you wake up the next morning and there’s a matching string on his.

“No one’s gonna believe how soft you are,” you tease.

“Good,” he says. “I’m not soft for anyone else.”

⸻

Sometimes he stares at you like you’re not real.

Not in a weird way. In a stars are real and so are you kind

One day you catch him whispering something to himself after you walk away from the kitchen.

“What was that?” you ask.

He clears his throat. Shrugs “I just… I think maybe the string showed up because I finally stopped running from where it was trying to take me.”

You blink. “You mean… me?”

He nods. His voice is barely a whisper.

“You.”

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

🏷️ tagging - @surebutwhy 🤟🏻

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

wanna be tagged in all the clingy!bucky chaos and emotional destruction? tell me and i got you ⛓️‍💥♥️

[nik0nk1]

HEAR ME OUT

Beerus!Viltrumite!Reader in the mainstream universe. So like this has been on my mind since I've gobbled up your fic. And like wait.. Hear me out. Basically the villains in the world tries to ally with Reader. Like, obviously, the GDA and Cecil will work their asses off to keep it a secret 'cuz its so easy for Reader to be swayed by food especially if they are newly arrived on earth. Reader doesn't hide it though. They announce every time they save someone that the reason they're still alive is their skills on cuisine. So like I'm thinking one villian (turned civilian) was doing heinous deeds and ofc Cecil sent Reader there and as Reader bashed the henchmen apart- the villain threw food (bros underground base is basically his house) at Reader who was advancing towards him and Reader ate it and was momentarily distracted, and the villain ran off with a new identity. STILL it caught the attention of other villains too (somehow) and they did the same, to bribe or distract (distracting is much more better), and they just work hard to get their cooking/baking skills better. It was a lot so at some point Mark just has to babysit bro even though said 'bro' can obliterate him whenever they want. Idk its just rlly funny to me.

Author's Note: I def hear you outtt, wait let me cook😋. Also if I continue this, I'm planning on making it into a Mark Grayson x Reader

Beerus![Name]

Crack, OP![Name], Mark is So Done, Viltrumites Are Freaking Out, [Name] Just Wants Food, Mark Has a New Problem, Thragg is Losing His Mind, Canon Divergence

Mark Grayson x Reader

Word count: 525

•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•

“The Viltrumite with a Fatal Weakness”

Cecil Stedman had prepared for many things in his career. Alien invasions, rogue superheroes, and even the occasional apocalyptic cult. But this? This was stupid.

“You’re telling me,” Cecil said, rubbing his temples, “that the world’s villains are bribing [Name] with food?”

Donald, looking just as tired, nodded. “Yes, sir. There’s been a shift in crime patterns. Instead of fighting, most villains are now focusing on… culinary arts.”

“We have reports of Machine Head hiring Michelin-star chefs, Komodo Dragon robbing bakeries instead of banks, and even Doc Seismic—Doc Seismic, sir—is apparently taking culinary classes.” He added.

Cecil scowled. “Explain.”

Donald sighed and pulled up surveillance footage. On the screen, [Name] stood in the ruins of what used to be a villain’s hideout. Smoke curled from the collapsed walls. The air shimmered from residual heat.

Kneeling before her, a bloodied and trembling crime lord held out a silver platter.

[Name] narrowed her eyes. “You expect me to spare you?”

The villain, still shaking, lifted the dome cover. Beneath it sat a delicately plated dish—perfectly seared meat, garnished with fresh herbs.

“…I researched your preferences,” he stammered. “It’s… flame-roasted, the way Viltrumites prefer it. I even ensured the seasoning wasn’t Earth-standard.”

Silence.

Then, [Name] exhaled slowly. She reached out, took a piece, and tasted it.

The entire GDA war room leaned forward.

Cecil clenched his jaw as [Name] chewed, then swallowed.

Finally, she spoke.

“…Acceptable.”

The villain collapsed in relief, his shaking knees falling into the ground.

[Name] straightened. “Your technique is flawed,” she continued, flicking a glance at the dish. “The fire was too low. It lacked the intensity necessary to sear properly. But…” Her gaze softened. “You tried.”

With that, she turned and flew off, plate still in hand.

Cecil stared at the screen in horror.

“…Sir?” Donald asked.

Cecil took a deep breath. “We’re all gonna die.”

---

Meanwhile, Mark was suffering.

Mark Grayson had been through a lot. He’d fought aliens, nearly died multiple times, and watched his own father beat him to near death. But this?

“This is ridiculous,” Mark snapped. “You’re letting criminals go because they can cook?”

[Name] barely spared him a glance as she examined the dessert before her. “They are improving. The last attempt at this… ‘soufflé’ was a failure. This one has a stable structure.”

Mark gestured wildly. “That’s not the point! These are villains! You were sent to eliminate threats, not judge pastries!”

[Name] finally looked at him, unimpressed. “Incorrect. I was sent to ensure compliance. If they dedicate themselves to this,” she gestured at the food, “rather than destruction, the result is the same.”

Mark opened his mouth, then closed it.

Mark wanted to argue—but then he remembered last week, when a heist had turned into a live-streamed baking tutorial because Killcannon had challenged Furnace to a “bake-off” for supremacy.

This was his life now.

“…I hate that you have a point.”

“…Cecil is gonna lose it.”

[Name] took another bite. “That is not my concern.” Her eyes were not leaving as she watched Mark mumbling to himself.

Cecil, watching from the surveillance room, took another long sip of whiskey.

Author's Note: jdjsjbsjsj this was so fun to write jfjdjjdj, thanks for the idea anonymous(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

[slightly-knot-insane]

Thinking about invisible monster bf, the sounds he makes when he fucks you that help paint a picture of the debauched expression he must be making, feeling him inside while it looks like nothing's between your legs to make them spread so wide

a/n: oh gawd yes, I love invisibility in general.

[ m!invisible monster x fem!reader ]

You can't see your boyfriend, you never could. But you never cared about appearances, so that trait of his never presented a problem.

You met him at a bar often visited by various monsters. His deep voice mesmerized you the moment he talked to you. You hit it off quickly. Everything went smoothly. Especially when you started fucking.

The fact that you can't see him is actually quite useful. You can imagine him any way you like; he can have any face and any body shape. He can be any celebrity or any monster. When he fucks your soaking wet pussy, he growls and pants, and you can close your eyes and imagine him all feral and crazy.

But more than imagining his face and body, you love imagining his cock. The only thing you can clearly sense about it is that it's big. But what shape, colour, is it thick, is it ribbed, is it pierced - you can only guess. And you gladly imagine it in so many different forms.

The special depraved thing you like to do while having sex with your invisible boyfriend is to fuck in front of a mirror. You spread your legs and watch your wet pussy stretch and gape as he thrusts into you, and then fills you with his watery like seed over and over again.

[rivalswrites]

Valentine's special 2/4

Before you read, please be warned that I'm writing based on my impressions of them not only in the game (though it's the biggest inspiration), but some of them with the movies/shows in mind too.

Summery: giving everyone on the Marvel Rivals roster a kiss (with plot!!)

Valentine's Masterlist

Underage characters and animal characters will be platonic (there will be a reminder for each one)

Characters included: Bruce/Hulk, Invisible Woman, Iron fist, Jeff the Shark, Loki, Luna Snow, Magik, Magneto, Mantis

“You are just the cutest thing ever” Bruce said, holding your head in his hands while sitting on the couch. He had you sitting in-between his legs, which were laying all across said couch, enjoying the warmth of your body laying on top of his.

Usually he wouldn't be so affectionate, worried about… other variables of his, but tonight was different. Tonight Bruce was tired, and all he wanted to do was be with you- even if it meant he'd probably fall asleep on the couch and get back pain in the morning.

“And you're so handsome” you said back, smiling up at him. Your arms were around his waist and you cuddled on top of him. “All of you” was added after.

Bruce let out an amused ‘hmf’ and you could see a soft blush on his cheeks if you squint hard enough. “All of me? Even the big green pea?” That got a laugh out of you.

“Yeah, even the hulk” you mutter out as a reply, laying your head on his chest and humming in content. His hands moved from your face to your back, drawing patterns, and probably equations too, on your back lightly.

Silence reigned over the living room, it would almost be deafening if it weren't for Bruce’s heart beating into your ear where it laid. “Love all of it” was let out in barely a whisper. His hands stopped tracing their patterns, instead grabbing onto your shirt in fistfulls, “can't say stuff like that” he murmured, laying his head back to barely touch the arm of the couch.

“But it's true.” Your elbows pushed you up to try and see his face, “I do love all of you, I don't care if it's you or Hulk.”

When his head came back up to a regular position, his entire face was flushed. “Don't just go saying things like that,” his eyes closed and his face looked so adorable when he was flustered like this “gonna get a heart attack.”

“You of all people know that's not how you get a heart attack.” You whispered while leaning up to meet his face.

He was surprised by the kiss, but not unwelcoming of it. His arms tightened their hold and his fists scrunched up your shirt, trying to pull you closer as he pushed against the kiss to deepen it.

The two of you laid in bed giggling together, it was still early morning but you bother were definitely supposed to be up and running for the day by now. Instead of being responsible adults the two of you stayed under the sheets and made jokes to each other, the early morning fog making everything a tad more funnier than it should be.

“You're ridiculous” Susan said, her head resting on your chest while holding in her laughter horribly. “I'm serious! He really did say that.” You replied, an arm waving in the air as the other one sat entangled with her hair.

After you said that she laughed some more, moving her head back to let it all out. God she was gorgeous like this, in the lighting that perfectly framed everything.

You laughed along too, but eventually it died down to deep breaths to catch both your breaths. Holding each other in a tender embrace, you let out a deep yawn. “Guess we should get up and be productive people, hm?” You said and pulled her closer.

“Yeah, maybe” she replied, pulling you just as close.

Neither of you had any intention of letting go to get up, but you both knew it had to happen eventually. Susan deeply sighed before pulling her arm out from under you and perching herself up. “There's only one way to start the day perfectly.” She said, smiling at you.

“And what's that, my love?” You asked, your hand in her hair moving to push it out of her face. “This” she said before lounging at you.

She practically tackled you with all her force, laying on top of you as she smothered your face in kisses. “Susan!” You said with a shout, laughing and grabbing onto her waist as she continued her attack. She pulled back and smirked, “what, can't handle it?” she said with a giggle. “Oh, I can handle it, can you?” You said before grabbing her face with both your hands and pulling her back in for a passionate kiss.

Lin was met with a bunch of flower in his face the moment he opened his bedroom door, eyes going from them to you multiple times as he processed what was happening.

You had a big smile on your face, holding up the single flower for him. After taking a moment, he smiled back and took the flower from your hand and examined it on his own. “What's this?” He asked, looking up at you with pure curiosity. “A flower” you replied with a proud tone.

“Well obviously, what's it for?” His tone was playful, not at all taken back by the dumb response you had given him. “For you!” Again you gave a vague reply.

He was used to your vague replies, and even found them funny, but his curiosity begged for a real answer- so he pressured more questions. “Where'd you get it?” “Nature” “did it cost anything?” “I paid with my love for you” “why today?” “Why not?” It went on and on, like a game of cat and mouse, except he had no way of winning this one.

There was only one thing to do, pull out the big guns.

“I'll give you a kiss if you actually tell me.” In an instant he saw your eyes light up, immediately making eye contact with him as you spoke.

“I found it in someone's front lawn on my way here, I thought it was cute and wanted you to have it.” Straight forward, “I believe you owe me a reward for being so honest.” and humble.

He laughed, looking back down at the flower, “I do, don't I?” Lin pulled you in by the waist and dipped his head down, capturing you in a soft kiss full of love- as they always were with him. When he pulled back he observed your star struck face with a smile. “Thank you for the flower, baby. But maybe don't go stealing from random neighborhoods next time.”

(Platonic)

The little shark had wanted to play outside, and as the self-designated caretaker of the little guy you were the one to take him outside. You sat on the porch stairs and watched as he ran around chasing everything- literally. His tail? Chased. That butterfly? Chased. The wind? Chased.

Jeff never ceased to amaze you on how much curiosity one creature could have- he was adorable.

You had spent maybe an hour outside by now, resting your head on your palm and watching Jeff explore a yard he's seen a million times before. By now you were getting hungry, and you sure Jeff was a little too, so you started thinking of lunch. Sandwiches sounded good, and they were simple to make, quick and easy so the little guy didn't have to wait.

Jeff easily noticed when you stood up, stopping his playtime and trotting over to you to see what was up. His face looked up at you with what you thought was a cute smile and big beady eyes. “Ah, Jeff you're so cute” you praised, crouching down to scratch the underside of his chin. He enjoyed this, letting out a cute noise and letting his tail wag. “How's about some lunch? You hungry?” The question easily peaked his interest, turning in circles to show it.

He easily followed you inside, even pushing the door closed after- something he had learned himself somehow, thank goodness he doesn't know how to open doors… right?

The kitchen was empty and made it easy for you to take your time and whatever you wanted from the fridge or cabinets. You settled on some sort of meat you found in the fridge (ham? Maybe turkey?) since it looked fine and passed your smell test- Jeff's too, but he ate anything so smell didn't really matter.

After making the sandwiches, five in total, you sat on the floor and pushed the plate with four of them towards Jeff, taking one for yourself to have. “Enjoy little buddy” you said as you watched the little shark absolutely devour them, taking the late with them. Glad you used a paper plate.

While you were eating yours Jeff came up and laid on your legs, pushing up against your hand that sat on your thigh. Deciding you could always make more, you tossed the rest of your sandwich- which was less than half- and watched as he scrambled to catch it. “You're adorable.” You muttered as he came back to you with a large smile that showed off all his teeth.

He let out the most adorable sound as he jumped onto your lap and licked your face, leaving an uncomfortable trail of shark saliva. “Thanks buddy” you said, using the bottom of your shirt to wipe off what you could.

Honestly it shouldn't be a surprise to you, coming home to find him bathing in rose petals and bubbles. He was a man who liked to be pampered, by others or herself didn't really matter.

“Be a dear and wash my hair for me, hm?” He slurred out, using a charming smile to coerce you into following his question- though he really didn't need to, you would've done it if he had ordered you too. Kneeling down you roll up your sleeves and grab the cup sitting on the edge.

Loki closed her eyes and sighed in bliss as the water washed over his head, relaxing into the water even more when your hands started to brush through his hair. “So good to me” he muttered.

“I try” you replied, rubbing the luxurious shampoo onto his scalp and down her long hair. Your fingers scratched at her scalp and that definitely got a satisfied reaction from her- seeing as he kept leaning his head into your hands, you happily obliged and applied more pressure onto her head. The deep exhale of his breath was a show of satisfaction.

It continued on like this, a cycle of singing his hair and applying hair products of all kinds- he insisted you used them all, to make sure her hair glowed. She still wanted to lay in the water, after you were done, so you started to stand up to give her space and alone time. Her hand rushed up and grabbed yours, water splashing out of the tub at how quick he was “stay,” her tone was demanding, but also quiet, “please.”

It was rare for him to ask such things of you, so you did. You took a towel and set it in the ground before sitting on it, your arm leaning on the tub. Quickly she took the opportunity to lay her head on your arm, a hand of his coming up to rest on your wrist- her pinky was outstretched to interlock with yours.

The both of you sat like that in silence for what could've been 5 minutes to an hour, it didn't seem like either of you cared which one it was.

His head would readjust sometimes, until eventually it was up on your shoulder and she had to hunch over to stay comfortable.

“The water is cold” the silence was broken by his comment. Unsure of what she wanted as a reply you went with the safest option, “want me to rerun the bath for you? Make it warm again, my love?” “No” his reply was quick, hand on your wrist tightening its grip. “Alright” was your reply, a quiet one as the silence set in once more.

You looked over to her, cheek resting on his wet hair with a smile. Your hand came up to rest on their head, thumb rubbing up against their cheek in comfort. It was all he needed to raise his head and look up at you- leaning into your palm.

It was too hard to resist, you couldn't help it when she looked at you with those eyes- vulnerability showed in them, something only you were allowed to see. So even so slightly you leaned in and pressed a kiss against Loki’s own lips; enjoying how soft they've always been compared to your most likely chapped ones.

It was late at night and you were in the dining room, sitting with two bowls in front of you- even though it was just you. This had been like the fifth time you'd checked the time, but you waited patiently, you knew she was a busy person.

The front door keypad sounded and went off after the correct code was put in before the door opened and closed soon after; which still didn't stop the cold breeze of outside meeting your face briefly. You could hear her, her shiver from the outside as she took her shoes off and put them in the shoe rack, replacing them with the bunny slippers you had gotten her ages ago.

“Oh,” she mutters, leaving the entry hallway to get a peek at you “I didn't realize you'd be awake still.” Seol looked guilty, reaching up to scratch at her hair nervously.

“Wanted to wait for you, should I not have?” You asked, turning in your chair to look directly at her. “No- No!” She shouted, “I mean- I don't mind it, you staying up for me.” her corrections on her reply were quick and worried.

She comes and pulls the chair next to you out, to sit in, and faces you like you do her; your legs interlock. “I'm sorry I'm always so late.” Her hand comes up to rest on your bicep, rubbing up and down in comfort. “It's alright, I know you're busy” you muttered in reply, taking her hand on you and holding it in yours. “You could make it up, though.” That caught her interest.

“Oh? How's that, my love?” Her face cracked a smile, if she knew you- which she did- she knew where this was going.

You didn't verbally reply, simply reaching up and pointing to your lips with a smile. Seol’s smile got brighter with your movement, raising her hands to cup your face. “I can't deny you.” She said before tugging you close and bumping faces with you with a laugh. Eventually her lips met yours and her laughs turned into little giggles instead; you even let out a few of your own.

The kiss was apologetic and sweet. She was busy a lot, you knew what you signed up for.

“Why do you care so much?” She sighed, laying her head on the foot of the bed as she laid on her stomach, “it's a shirt! Just pick one, baby, not that hard.”

Illyana wasn't one for fashion, despite looking good in everything, so when you propositioned her to pick your shirt because you couldn't decide she started complaining- nicely because it was you. “C'mon Illy- I can't decide!” You said back, holding up like three different shirts “That's why I'm asking you!”

This obviously wasn't going anywhere, as it always did when you asked her to help you with your wardrobe choices. “Why don't you wear that one shirt, the one I like?” She replied, rolling onto her back and turning her neck to glare at you from upside-down.

“It's dirty, I don't want to smell bad when I go out.” You said on the bed next to her and tossed the shirts onto her legs. “Hey!” She scoffed playfully, not actually bothered by it.

“Hey” you replied, leaving down to rest your hands on her stomach as she adjusted her head to look up at you. “Why don't you just stay inside today, then you don't have to pick out a shirt.” She suggested, raising her eyebrows in a silly manner while smirking at you.

“I'm not gonna walk around shirtless all day at home, you sucker.” You grabbed into her nose and shook her head playfully. Her hands raised to meet yours, tugging it off of her and smiling up at you. Her hands brought yours back down to rest on her stomach.

Quiet washed over the two of you, leaving both to just look at each other with smiles. “You could wear one of my shirts.” She offered, cutting through the silence. Pretending to think you looked up, “You do have some nice ones…”

“Alright, one of yours it is.” You pat her stomach and she laughs. “See? Not so hard after all,” Illyana reached up and grabbed your face. “I deserve a reward for being so helpful.”

With no complaints you listened to her suggestion, leaning down and giving her a sweet kiss. Her hands tangled with your hair and tugged slightly, always having to be in control in some way.

Somehow it was a quiet evening, for everyone. You sat on the couch with Erik, holding onto his arm and practicing melding into his side. “You're so warm” you told him earlier when he questioned it, but quickly left it alone with your answer being satisfactory.

He was reading a book, something random he found in the Baxter Buildings extensive library- it was probably something science related, maybe philosophical, but you didn't pay attention or care enough.

Your head rested on his muscular shoulder, not the most comfortable pillow but a favorite. He never showed it, but he loved when you cuddled up to him, you knew imso because he'd always make space for you to do so. Willingly he would move his arm to just the right position to where your arms could easily wrap around it so you could hold him. What a sweetheart.

Erik would let it occasional hums, something he unconsciously did when he was satisfied with his environment- when you were there.

“Please, my dear, stop staring at me.” He cut through the silence, but didn't look up from his book. “I don't know what you're talking about.” You said, feigning stupidity at him obviously catching you in the act of ogling over him. “You are right, I should not assume that you were staring at me when I can very obviously feel your eyes on me” Erik replied sarcastically, putting an ear on the page he was reading so he could close the book and put it aside- finally looking at you with a light smile.

“Exactly,” you agree, playing along “assuming things never work out well.” The both of you chuckle and smile at each other, leaning in more- if that was even possible.

“You are so right, my dear, as always.” his eyes were gentle, for a man that had gone through everything he has. “I always am,” you said back, thumbing at his shoulder gently.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb across it before running back and playing with the ends of your hair. His touch was so gentle, like you were the most precious thing in the world; because you were, to him you were.

Without another word needed between either of you, you moved to sit up more and leaned up to give him a kiss. He gladly returned it, using his hand in your hair to tug you closer, giving all of his love and attention to you.

“I can feel your love for me.” She said, thumbing at your hands that rested around her. You both laid in bed, her back to your chest as the moonlight passed through the curtains of your room. “Well I sure hope you can,” you replied, pushing her up against you more “make sure you get all of it.”

Mantis laughed at your comment, turning her head to see you and in turn show you her smile. “I certainly am.” She replied with a giggle.

You leaned your head down and nuzzled into her cheek, pushing yours against her like a cat. “Good, it's all meant just for you.” Her smile widened. Mantis pushed against the bed and turned around so she could wrap her arms around you like you were with her. The room became quiet again, besides your breathing, and you both just looked into the others eyes; full of love they were.

Leaning down you pressed a quick kiss against her nose, pulling back with a smile as blush dusted her cheeks a little. In turn she leaned up and pressed a kiss against your chin, and the game was on. The both of you took turns pressing kisses against the others face, it felt like enough time had passed to where every inch of both your faces was covered in kisses.

“I win.” You said, leaning down and capturing her lips before she could ask what you meant. She didn't complain, her hands raising to rest under your sleep shirt and pulling you closer.

When you pulled away it took a moment for the both of you to catch your breath, but she was quicker. “I didn't know this was a game, I think there needs to be a rematch.”

[orellazalonia]

MORE INVISIBLE READER PLEASE I AM BEGGING

Hellooo! Something a little shorter since this has been updated recently, but I didn’t wanna leave you hanging. Thank you for your enthusiasm and request! Happy reading!!!

The Way He Helps

Summary: After a tough mission, you hide your injury and vanish. However, as usual, Bucky notices, quietly offering comfort without pressure and gently tending to your wound. (Bucky Barnes x invisible!reader)

Disclaimer: Hurt/Comfort. Reader has the power of invisibility. Original fic: The Way He Notices.

Word Count: 800+

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

Missions with Bucky weren’t easy.

Not because he was difficult, he wasn’t. He was dependable. Efficient. Quiet, like you. He never questioned your hesitations or the way you took corners slower than most. He never asked why you didn’t check in unless it was critical. Never once asked why you’d blink out of sight the moment the dust settled.

But he noticed. That was the hard part.

He noticed every time your breathing hitched after a close call. He noticed how you’d sit, turned slightly away from the team, like facing too much of the world would crush you. He noticed when you smiled faintly behind your mug in the mornings, only to fade from sight the moment someone called your name too loudly.

And today, he noticed when you limped.

You didn��t mean to. You’d taken the blast mostly off your side, right where the armor was weakest. You thought you hid it well by slowing your pace so it wouldn’t jerk, gripping your side only when others weren’t looking. You were invisible before anyone else even made it back to the jet.

But he knew.

Even as you sat in the far corner of the quinjet, half-phased from view, you could feel his eyes flick toward the space you occupied. You could feel the weight of his awareness, soft but steady, like a hand held out between you, not quite touching, but not leaving either.

You didn’t show your pain though. You couldn’t. Showing it meant giving them something to use. Something to doubt.

So you curled inward, legs drawn up, and body flickering faintly like you hadn’t quite decided if you belonged to the world or not. And Bucky, he just sat across from you, arms crossed, and head tilted like he was deep in thought.

He didn’t ask you if you were okay. He didn’t ask why you disappeared mid-mission.

He just said, quietly, “Your left leg’s going numb.”

You didn’t respond but didn’t fade in either. However, you stopped gripping your side.

He leaned forward a little. Not enough to spook you. Not enough to corner. Just enough to offer.

“You always vanish after you get hurt,” He added, his voice calm. No judgment. Just… observant. “Not to hide from the enemy. From us.”

Still nothing. And then, more softly, “You know I’m not ‘us,’ right?”

That made something flicker in your chest. Something that always seemed to beat a little faster whenever he was around. But you didn’t reply. Not even when he gently passed a canteen across the empty space between you. Just a slow movement of his hand offering water, like it wasn’t a peace treaty. Like it wasn’t a test.

You didn’t touch it yet. He didn’t retract it either.

Later, once the quinjet landed and the others scattered, you stayed put.

Your side throbbed. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving the kind of ache that reached into your lungs and spine like ice. You didn’t realize you were still half-invisible until Bucky came back into the space alone, holding a med kit.

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t look for you, exactly. Already knowing you hadn’t moved from your spot.

He just said, “I’m not gonna ask you to reappear.”

Then he crouched down near you, opened the kit, and started laying out gauze and antiseptic like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. You hadn’t told him where you were hit, but his hand hovered near your side, close, not touching and he added, almost like a whisper:

“You don’t have to say anything. But know I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t remember choosing to become visible. You just… were. Leg still drawn up, shoulder curled in. You expected him to smirk, or make a crack about finally listening. But he didn’t. He just met your eyes, held them, and reached slowly for the hem of your shirt.

He paused, waiting a moment for you to stop him. And when you didn’t, he said quietly, “Tell me if this is too much.”

You nodded, breath held so tightly it hurt.

His hands were gentle. Cool fingers, metal and flesh, moving with practiced stillness. He cleaned the wound, kept his touch light. Even when you hissed, even when you flinched, he didn’t falter. Didn’t crowd.

And then, without thinking, without meaning to, you reached out. Just for a second. Your hand, settling against his wrist as he pressed gauze to your side. You didn’t even realize what you’d done until he stilled.

His eyes flicked to yours, wide, surprised, and soft.

But more surprisingly, you didn’t vanish. Not this time. And he didn’t move. Just looked at your hand on his, like it was the first real contact he'd had in a long time. Because in a way, it was the first time you reached out first.

Then, gently, he turned his palm over and held your hand back. Not tightly. Not possessively. Just enough to feel you were there.

“Thanks for staying,” He spoke softly.

You didn’t have the words to answer, but you didn’t let go either. And neither did he.

[drabbles-mc]

Invisible Silver Linings (1/7)

Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x F!Reader

Series Warnings: 18+, Thunderbolts* spoilers, language, angst, mentions of scars, mentions of self-harm/suicidal ideations

Summary: You signed on to become part of a study when you realized that you didn't have anything left to lose. What harm could it really do? How much worse could it really get? ... You didn't expect to get answers to those questions. You also didn't expect to meet Bob. You'd end up thankful for at least one of those things.

Chapter Index

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: i know i haven't written for Marvel in a while, but i started working on this lil series the second i left the theater on Thursday. it's so nice to see Lewis Pullman getting the creds he deserves. 🥰anyway!!!! I've finished this series and will be posting updates on a weekly or twice-weekly basis until it's all up here and good to go. please let me know what you think!

“They've been taking us in batches,” you told him. You hadn't even bothered to introduce yourself to him, but from the moment they brought him into the room with the rest of you, he'd been looking around, a little twitchy and on-edge. You supposed that you couldn't really blame him. It was a strange position that you were all finding yourselves in. Then again, you had all chosen to sign up for it.

He turned and looked at you, eyes wide and worried at the same time. “Wh-what?”

You nodded in the direction of the doors on the opposite end of the room, not the ones that he had just walked through or anyone else either. One set brought you in, another set brought you out. You had yet to see anyone come back into the room after they left, and while there were plenty of things that that could mean, you wondered if it was the worst case scenario that had crossed your mind before. Judging by the look on his face, it wasn't going to take him long to think of that worst case scenario either.

“The doctors. Scientists. Whatever you wanna call them,” you gave up on titles with a shrug, “have been taking people in batches.”

His mouth dipped into a frown as he took in what you said. He looked around the room that the two of you were in, looked at all of the other people who were in there with you. No one looked very happy to be there even though, if their situations were anything like yours, they had signed off on being here. Not that you looked ecstatic either, so maybe you shouldn't judge. You were just tired. And uncomfortable. All these people stuffed into this room and they couldn't find better seating arrangements? At least the clothes they were forcing you all to wear were comfortable, even if they weren't exactly fashionable. Sure, they kind of made you feel like you were in an asylum of some kind, but they were baggy and soft so it could’ve been worse. The new guy looked like he was close to swimming in his.

He looked around long enough to realize that most people were sitting. There were limited chairs and tables, but you clearly hadn't let that deter you as you found a pocket of space on the floor to sit on. Not quite in the corner but you were far enough off to keep an eye on most of the people in the room with you. The entry door was also close by, and while you didn't have any plans or desire to make a break for it just yet, you figured that it might end up being your best bet if it came down to it. Staring down at you, he watched as you rested your head back against the wall behind you. Your legs were bent at the knee, and your arms were draped over the top of them. Whatever it was that he saw in your facial expression must've been just safe and inviting enough for him to decide to sit down next to you.

It wasn’t a graceful descent on his part, but he didn't fall on top of you. He was closer to you than maybe a stranger should've been in a place like this, but he didn’t seem like he even noticed. He crossed his legs, hands resting in his lap as he looked back and forth between you and the room around you. Something about the way he was sitting, the look on his face, he looked a little bit like a boy stuck in a man's body. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who should be signing up for sketchy medical trials that bring you to undisclosed places.

You would've been content to sit there in silence until it was your turn to get called, but apparently you were alone in that sentiment. “I'm Bob, by the way,” he said, sounding more sure of himself than he had the first time he spoke to you.

When you turned to look him in the eye, you found him already waiting and watching, an expectant look on his face that only added to the little aura of innocence around him. You figured one good turn deserved another if the two of you were going to be stuck together for now, so you gave him your name in return. He smiled at the sound of it, giving a tiny nod of acknowledgment.

“I think you're the first person I've talked to since I got here,” you told him.

He tilted his head, brows furrowing in thought. “When did you get here?”

Looking up at the ceiling, you thought about it for a moment. Being in this strange, mostly empty room that had no windows for natural light had already messed up your sense of time even though you hadn't been there that long yet. “Day before last.”

His eyes widened again. “And they still haven't taken you?”

You chuckled. “You should've seen how many people were in here. I think that's why they're doing…whatever they're doing, in batches.”

“How are they choosing people?” he asked, looking now at the small clusters of people who were still waiting. Some people were keeping to themselves, much like you had been before Bob showed up and decided to switch things up on you.

Letting your eyes close while your head was rested back, you shook your head. “No clue. I don't work here.”

He let out a quiet laugh at that. “Right. Sorry.”

Even though you weren't looking at him, choosing instead to stare at the backs of your eyelids, you could still feel the nervous energy that was radiating off him. If he kept this up, he was going to tire himself out before he even got to the hard part. If he couldn’t handle waiting, there was no way that he was going to be cut out for whatever was waiting on the other side of the exit doors. You didn’t have any words of comfort to offer him, mostly because you had no idea what the hell was really going on yourself. Something told you, though, that it wouldn’t take very long for him to pick up another topic of conversation. Wouldn’t take long for him to start asking more questions that you wouldn’t have any answers to.

As if he could hear your thoughts, he said, “Anyone say what exactly it is that they're doing?”

You didn’t open your eyes. “Nope.”

When he spoke up again, his voice was softer, almost like he was afraid for anyone to hear what he was saying. “I hope it works.”

That got you to crack one eye open so you could give him a bit of a sideways glance. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead his stare was fixed on the hem of his pants. He'd found a loose thread and was starting to pick at it.

“What'd they tell you?” you asked.

You wondered briefly if his eyes would ever end up getting stuck wide like that. “What?”

Turning your head to face him in earnest once more, you elaborated. “What'd they tell you they were doing? What'd they offer you to do this?”

His expression dampened, and suddenly it was like he couldn’t meet your eyes. His focus shifted back to the thread. He was shaking his head, and something told you the action wasn't directed at you, but rather at himself. “They said that they could make me great. They…they could make me better.” He found it in himself to look at you, and it was then that you could see how glassy his eyes had gotten. “I really wanna be better.” He sniffed, blinking a few times to beat his tears back into submission. Giving his head and shoulders a small shake, he tried to get himself sounding normal again as he asked, “Wh-what'd they tell you?”

“Something similar.” The point of your elbows dug into the tops of your knees as you dropped your head into your hands. Raking your fingers back along your scalp, you rested with your head down for a moment before looking at Bob again. “I'm not really looking to be great. I just,” you shrugged, “it can't get much worse for me so I figured why not?”

The genuine sadness on his face shocked you. All those feelings for someone who was a complete stranger to him. “Oh. I'm sor—”

You waved him off before he could finish the apology. “Don't be. Not like any of it was your fault. Besides, we both still ended up here regardless,” you made a brief gesture to the room, “so what the fuck does it really matter?”

There was a thoughtful frown on his face as he considered your words. “Right.” Quiet filled the space between you again. You could only try to venture a guess at what Bob was thinking about. Probably everything that led him here—that's what you'd spent most of your time thinking about, anyway. Wondering if this was the right choice or not, not that there were many other choices at your disposal anyway. No use in regretting it. You were here in your pajama uniform with Bob and dozens of other people whose names you hadn't bothered to try and learn. This was what you had now. There was nothing more to it than that.

Marvel Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added!): @garbinge @artemiseamoon @late-to-the-party-81 @blackhawkfanatic

[monstyrgyrl]

ghost bf lifting up your skirt while youre leaning over the kitchen counter and fucking into your cunt while you have to keep conversation with the guests you have over

[lilacxquartz]

tender was suguru, whenever you cried.

tears spilled easily for you. you couldn’t help it. crybaby children tended to become sensitive adults; neglected from the guidance that was supposed to strengthen them. you turned out the way that you did because the hurt repeated itself. again and again. it was a relentless cycle, but then you met him.

suguru, who took you into the cult and welcomed you into the arms of the found family—understood it all perfectly well. and while he disapproved of weakness in those he cared about, he had come to appreciate you just the way you were. and over time, he learned to be your rock. your shoulder to cry on. his robes would dampen with stamped tears and his arms would ache from holding you so tight. but, it wasn’t like he minded. you were among the few things that made sense in his most recent years.

he even found himself not wanting to let you slip away.

addicted to the feeling of being wanted—of being important—of being someone you could rely on.

though, you did surprise him after he confessed his feelings. he largely just wasn’t expecting you to cry in that moment. tears of joy, but tears nonetheless. a confusing sight, if he was honest. but all he could do was hope that it would stay that way, because as binding as those precious shared moments were, he never wanted you to be upset again.

you were far too important for that.

[silly0shark]

I just needed more people to see this

[archivegyu]

masterlist

invisible string

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

There’s a golden softness to late afternoons in Seoul. The kind that melts into the floorboards and sneaks into the corners of rooms. In Seungcheol’s apartment, it spills in through the wide living room windows, lazily painting everything with that hazy warmth only spring can offer. It catches in the ridges of your coffee mug, glimmers against the silver edges of your ruler, and warms the back of your neck as you hunch over the center table.

The apartment is quiet, save for the low hum of your laptop fan and the occasional scribble of your stylus across the screen. Your project , fills the display in layers of blueprints and notes. Post-its clutter the table’s edge, reminders of measurements and deadlines, and in the middle of it all, there’s you; oversized hoodie, glasses slipping down your nose, hair pulled back in a lazy bun.

And next to you, lying belly-up with a kind of careless peace you envy, is Kkuma.

She lets out a little huff, tail twitching as if in a dream. You reach over to scratch behind her ear with your free hand, lips twitching into a tired smile.

This is what most of your evenings look like lately. Half-finished sketches, cold takeout, and a drowsy dog keeping you company while your best friend dances himself to the bone in some faraway practice room.

You hadn’t meant to stay here long. When Seungcheol first offered his spare room, you’d told yourself it was just for a few months — until your life calmed down, until rent became less of a monster, until breathing felt easier.

But the months stretched, and the apartment never stopped feeling safe. He never made you feel like a guest, either. It wasn’t his place. It became yours too. The kind of home that smells like coffee and fabric softener, where the walls are filled with memories neither of you ever had to say out loud.

The front door clicks open a little past eight.

You don’t look up. You don’t need to.

The soft shuffle of sneakers on tile. The familiar thud of a duffle bag hitting the entryway floor. Then the drag of tired footsteps across the wood, slow and heavy, like gravity itself decided to cling to him today.

“I’m home,” he calls, his voice quieter than usual. Rough around the edges.

Still, you smile without looking. “There’s kimchi fried rice on the stove.”

He pauses, then: “Did you cook or order again?”

“Define ‘cook.’”

He laughs under his breath. A real one. Not the polite, camera-ready kind.

You finally glance up and find him standing a few feet away, hoodie soaked through, bangs sticking to his forehead, sweat glistening at his collarbone. Exhaustion clings to him like second skin, but his eyes are gentle, warm when they land on you.

“You’re still working?” he asks, nodding toward the screen.

You shrug. “Final review is next week.”

“You said that last week.”

“I meant it then, too.”

He shakes his head, kneels to pet Kkuma. She perks up, tail wagging in sleepy little thumps against the floor.

“She’s spoiled now,” he mutters. “Doesn’t even greet me at the door anymore.”

You hum without thinking, eyes drifting back to your screen. “She likes people who feed her on time.”

He snorts. “I’m taking a shower. Don’t pass out on the floor again.”

You raise a hand in lazy salute, already tuning back into the chaos of your canvas.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You’re fast asleep by the time he finds you again.

Curled up on the center table, cheek pressed to your folded arms, a pencil still tucked between your fingers. Your laptop screen has dimmed to black, casting the room into a warm hush. Kkuma lies beside you, paw resting near your knee like she’s been guarding you all evening.

Seungcheol exhales quietly from where he stands in the hallway, towel slung around his shoulders. His hair is still damp, shirt clinging slightly to his skin from the shower. His body aches from practice, but his chest aches for something else entirely.

He steps forward, careful not to wake you. There’s something fragile about the scene; the way your face is turned toward the window, the way your brows are relaxed, mouth slightly parted, like the weight you always carry has finally slipped off for just a moment.

And God, you still wear that hoodie he gave you two winters ago— fraying at the sleeves, too big for your frame, swallowed by the fabric.

He kneels beside the table.

“You weren’t supposed to fall asleep like this,” he murmurs softly, reaching to brush a stray hair out of your face.

You don’t stir. You never do, not when you’re this tired. It’s something he’s learned from the years. How you give everything you have until your body stops you. How you always say you’re fine even when you aren’t. How you carry the weight of the world in silence.

He hesitates, then gently scoops you up in his arms. You sink into his chest instinctively, head resting against the hollow of his shoulder. You smell like shampoo and his vanilla lotion you pretend not to like.

Your fingers twitch once in your sleep, curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt.

And that’s what does it; that tiny movement, that subconscious reach for him. Like something inside you knows, even now, even half-asleep, that it’s him.

He carries you to your room, nudging the door open with his foot. Lays you down slowly, carefully, like you’re something precious. Something breakable. His fingers linger on your wrist for a second too long before he pulls the blanket over you.

Then, without thinking, he reaches up and grazes the back of his knuckle along your cheek.

“Night, pretty girl,” he whispers, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Even your dreams deserve rest.”

He closes the door quietly behind him.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Back in the living room, Seungcheol sinks into the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. The quiet presses in; thick and full of everything he’s never said.

Kkuma climbs up beside him, paws light on the cushion. She flops down, tail flicking once, then still.

He chuckles softly, leaning back. “She’s gonna burn herself out before she even graduates.”

Kkuma yawns.

“She doesn’t take care of herself unless someone makes her. It’s annoying,” he says, his voice softer now, gentler. “But… I wouldn’t want anyone else to be the one who reminds her.”

Silence stretches between him and the dog.

“You know, I’ve been trying to ignore it. For years, maybe. Told myself it was just comfort, or familiarity. Like she’s just… always been here.”

He stares up at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded.

“But it’s not that. It’s never been that.”

His voice wavers just a little.

“I’m in love with her.”

There. He says it. Not to you. Not to anyone who can answer. Just to the only soul in the room who might understand.

Kkuma lifts her head slightly, ears twitching.

“I don’t even know when it started,” he continues, his eyes growing distant. “Maybe it was when she stood up to my bully. Maybe when she shared her candy and said I could have the red one.”

A soft laugh escapes him, short and breathless.

“Maybe I’ve always known.”

He reaches down and pets Kkuma’s head again, more to ground himself than anything.

“I don’t know what she’d say if I told her. I don’t know if she’d laugh, or freeze, or leave.” His voice turns quiet. “But I’d rather have her here, like this, than risk losing her at all.”

He looks toward your closed bedroom door.

“So maybe I’ll just wait a little longer.”

The city hums quietly outside the windows. And in this in-between, not quite night, not quite morning; he sits in the golden aftermath of everything unsaid, gently held by the thread that’s tied you to him all this time.

[daisykihannie]

hi hi my lovelies! i’m officially Cancer free after 3 long months of intensive and aggressive chemotherapy! I got the news yesterday morning that i was in remission~ I’m still feeling a bit rough from it all but there won’t be anymore poison pumped into my body so i’ll start feeling better soon!

That being said, i’m coming off my hiatus and will start accepting new requests now that i’m all caught up on old requests (except one that i’m still working on coming up with an idea for). The master list is fully updated and i updated the invisible ask post with the numbers that haven’t been picked yet.

Thank you guys for being patient and understanding these last 3 months, i lobe you guys so much for sticking around<3