#But by the end of it I just started crying because god... I didn't want them to end like this

[buttercupshands]

MHA didn't create some miracle way of helping others. It was never promised to be this way. And when it came to villains...

Spoilers for manga all the way to chapter 423.

The only way to get anything in life in MHA was to be born "normal" like everyone else and that way of thinking never left Izuku with Toga getting the same treatment she did before from everyone from her family to her "normal" classmates. It was Ochako who helped Toga even if just a little by lifting the weight of all the feelings that Toga had.

She couldn't save Toga the way one could save a civilian by saving them from harm. If it worked that way Dabi would've saved Toga even before Ochako could apologize for failing to notice Toga. She was so lazer focused on saving everyone else, that she was just another villain to stop, not a human.

Even if by the end of it Ochako helped Toga to deal with her grief, acceptance as it was wasn't something possible when a quirk makes you want to drink someone's blood from jealousy.

We got a bittersweet ending with Toga, in which she probably died from blood loss just like her double did in MVA. If it wasn't for Twice she would've died back then.

Giving away her blood for Ochako wasn't a redemption or a way to save Toga in the end, more as it was her being true to herself until the very end.

Just like Twice chose to stay with the League even if Hawks offered him a way to survive that battle. He refused and died protecting his friends who accepted him instead of choosing to betray them and accept Hawks' offer.

After Twice's death... It was a matter of time that more 'active' LoV members would join him as well. As sad as it is, we now can return to Izuku.

Who, after his time OFA-AFO quirk space, now wanted to help a "crying boy" he saw in Tenko just as before with Katsuki in chapter 1. He didn't forgive Tomura and didn't excuse the way he chose to solve his problems.

It didn't mean that Tomura would survive in their battle, even if Izuku didn't see killing others as a way to solve problems. He didn't understand Tomura, but he still wanted to try, and try he did.

The rest of this post was nothing more than a contextual prologue to understand that it's not the first time a hero failed to save a villain and in Twice's case we know that he died and his death was the reason Toga started thinking about her own possible death and Dabi finally revealed himself as Toya.

The goal of saving a "crying boy" never was an end-goal for Izuku in the Final arc, since helping Tomura deal with his feelings just left him hollow with a goal that clashed with Izuku's. As being a hero for villains meant destroying the world for them to help them live freely.

But that was before AFO resurfaced.

Sadly after that Tomura who was talking about making his own choices for a while now stopped doing that. Even if he still had a goal of helping villains and only villains, Tomura was almost gone. And his goals were now unreachable.

Izuku helped Nana who in turn kept Tomura from fading away entirely. In MHA there were countless situations where Izuku's help affected people by helping a different person to keep hope, All-Might being the first one and Nana being the last one at the moment.

Hollow after Izuku helped him to get rid of his hatred Tomura could do the only thing he did - accept the situation as it was.

Accepting AFO as his Sensei, accepting Stain's ideals and Overhaul's deal was the way he solved his problems. Just like Izuku had a problem of understanding something outside of his norm, Tomura was accepting too many things, which lead to his downfall after accepting AFO's quirk.

Just like Twice could've given up everything that he had for his friends so did Tomura.

With Izuku helping as much as he could let Tomura to finally rest as he wasn't really living ever since waking up in the hospital. With his body now affected by AFO's wishes instead of his own until the end.

In a way Izuku didn't succeed in his wish for Tomura to stop ever since PLF war arc. As he "kept fighting to destroy" no matter how hard Izuku tried to stop him.

The only thing he succeeded in was changing Tomura's mind about himself, instead of viewing himself as a monster he accepted that he was a human just like Izuku said. A "crying boy" who couldn't really destroy Izuku's hands in the end.

For a group of Villains who weren't supposed to get profiles of their own at the start of the series, League is slowly fading as the most memorable group that there was in MHA, getting backstories, their own Villain themed arc all the while being as human as anyone else.

As sad as their story is they were not "unlucky", they didn't need a happy false ending where they would need to change to be normal - they chose to live this way and they lived it to it's fullest.

[pardonmydelays]

just realized the end of dema storyline means we're gonna have to say goodbye to clancy and torchbearer forever

[hunsa-jars]

I hope the person who made the Golden Hour Mr Krabs and Plankton cover knows I haven't known peace since I stumbled upon it

[confines]

i'm actually going to go berzerk. my lawyer is fucking me over horribly. i made an appointment with him some months ago about a horrifying legal development and he told me to take a hike so since then i've been exploring extralegal options like "tearful phonecalls" and "midnight googling and contemplating suicide." i've told family about the situation and gotten some begrudging help but it's all really just expanded the idea that nothing can be done without specifically my lawyer's legal help, because his name is the one on the books for this situation, even though he won't help me. my grandmother asked if she could call him (he is her old friend, her recommendation is why he's my lawyer) and i said sure because well. what difference does it make. at this rate i'm going to lose everything so i guess i'll try anything. i'm about one week out from making calls to the governor.

my lawyer told her he can definitely help me out and make some calls and get it all handled. after i've been telling her for months that he refused to help and laughed at me for expecting any. and they've known each other longer than i've been alive. even if he doesn't get this ironed out (though god i hope he does obviously) she's gonna write this down as me fucking things up. i can feel it. she told me on the phone that all she had to say was that she read on the internet that he can handle it and suddenly he was perfectly obliging. i'm gonna kill myself. i guess that's my bad for asking him to do his job, i should have told him that google told me he COULD do his job. duhh. 🙄🔫

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

You’re My Baby Too

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none

You'd think that the second pregnancy would be a breeze. You already know everything about how it goes, how to prepare, what to expect, but in your case, your second pregnancy was dreadful.

First trimester, horrible nausea, you spent half your time over the toilet with Lando holding your hair. Your baby boy was so much bigger than Isla it made your back hurt like crazy all the time, and the worst thing of all was that your baby boy didn't wanna come out.

You prayed you wouldn't give birth before Lando finished the season, so when the season ended you were relieved. But then your due date passed, and nothing happened. Then five days passed after your due date, nothing again. 10 days after your due date - the baby just doesn't wanna come out.

You were frustrated, exhausted, and tired of being pregnant. You just wanted to be able to see your feet again and be able to get up off the couch without Lando having to pull your hand.

"It's because you make such a good home for him he doesn't wanna come out, love." Lando tried to calm you down in a nice way, not even realizing that he irritated you with that because he's been saying that for the last 10 days and your nerves have become very thin hearing it.

"I swear, if you say that one more time.." You barked rolling your eyes at him while holding your still very pregnant belly.

"I'm sorry, I'll shut up.."

“Thank you.” You glared at him.

He didn't hold it against you for your brazen response because he understood that it had become too much for you. Lately, he's been walking on eggshells around you because everything has been annoying you, and he didn't want to be the one to contribute to that.

When the twelfth day passed since your due date, you realized that too much time had passed and you even started to worry a little that something was wrong. So Lando decided to take you to the hospital, where you very clearly told the doctor that you weren't leaving the place until you gave birth.

You thought that by some miracle, as soon as you stepped into the hospital, labor would start and you would just pop the baby out and everything would be over in less than two hours just like it was with Isla, but of course that wasn't the case with this baby.

"I think we have no other choice but to induce the labor." The doctor said.

"Okay, how long does it take?" You asked. "Is it like natural labor or?"

"Induced labor can last from a few hours to a few days, it depends. It's most often completed within 12 to 18 hours from the start of the procedure."

"Oh my God" You sighed in despair with tears in your eyes and Lando immediately squeezed your hand to offer you at least some comfort.

"Does it hurt more than a normal birth?" Lando was very concerned about how painful it would be for you. While you were giving birth to Isla, Lando was of course by your side, and even though it was much shorter and easier, he was still terribly shaken to see the pain you went through.

"I don't want to discourage you and scare you right from the start, but many women have said that induced labor is more painful."

And boy oh boy was it painful.

When they gave you the drip to induce contractions, that's when the real agony began. The drip makes contractions stronger and more frequent and you can't even begin to explain what you'd compare that pain to.

You were sweating.

Crying.

Gripping the sides of the bed and Lando's hand, which at one point you thought you were going to break.

You honestly felt like dying. What was supposed to be the most beautiful experience of your life was quickly turning into a nightmare.

Lando was heartbroken seeing you like this. He was putting cold compresses on you, hugging you, kissing you, comforting you, begging you to endure this.

"I'm so sorry baby, I wish I could go through this instead of you. I'm so sorry."

He didn't leave you for a second, except when you caught a 5-minute break from the contractions and managed to close your eyes for at least a moment and calm down. Lando said he had to go to the bathroom.

He lied actually. Instead he went to the hallway outside your room where his parents were patiently waiting. By the look on his face, Cisca and Adam could see that Lando was not well and that he himself was traumatized.

Lando didn't say anything, he just hugged Cisca and buried his face in her neck, soaking her shoulder with tears.

"I'm so fucking scared for her. It wasn't like this the first time." Lando cried quietly.

"Oh honey, y/n's going to be alright, I promise you. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but soon this will pass and you'll be going home with your baby." Cisca comforted trying to lift his spirits. "Honey, you need to get yourself together, alright? She needs you right now and you need to be there for her."

When labor finally began after 14 long hours, you were running out of strength. You were so exhausted that you weren't sure if you would be able to push the baby out.

"Push y/n, push!" The doctor encouraged.

"I c-can't" You cried breathing rapidly. "Lando, I can't do it.."

"Come on baby, you can, I know you can. Just a little bit more and it's done, I promise. You've got this" He was pushing your hair out of your face, holding your hand, and holding your leg at the same time.

"Come on, push, push! I can see the head!"

Finally, the baby's cry was heard and soon the baby boy was on your chest. As soon as you saw him, all the pain instantly vanished.

He was so perfect. So worth it.

Lando couldn't contain his emotions as he rested his head on your shoulder, carefully observing his baby.

Later that day, when everything had calmed down, Lando was still there by your side. He couldn't be separated from you nor did he want to. His gaze shifted between you and the baby watching you both sleep peacefully.

He was tired too. He didn't really remember the last time he slept, but he knew you had it worse than him anyway, so he didn't even think of complaining.

"Lan?"

"Hey, love" His face lit up when you opened your eyes. When he saw you smile, it brought energy back to him. He took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. "Did you get some rest?"

"I did, why didn't you?" You asked him when you saw the huge dark circles under his eyes and the same clothes from the day before yesterday. "Baby, please go home, I know you're exhausted too."

"The only way I'm getting out of here is with you two."

You didn't want to argue with him because you knew it was pointless. You were just grateful that he was there and that he was yours.

"My pretty, pretty girl. I'm so proud of you." Lando said softly caressing your cheek and looking into your tired eyes. "I love you so much you know that, right?"

"I know, I can feel it. I love you too, so much." You say before kissing him. "Where are our kids?"

"This little guy is sleeping here without a care in the world."

"And Isla? She didn't come with your parents?"

"No, I told them not to bring her because I knew you'd get too emotional if you saw her, and I wanted you to rest as much as possible."

"You should've told them to bring her, I really miss her and I can't wait for her to meet her brother." You said, but you could still see the worry in Lando's eyes. "I'm fine, Lan, I promise."

"We're done with the kids. Our family is complete now."

"Lan.." You chuckled.

"No, I'm serious. I never want to see you go through so much pain again. It's been so hard to watch you like that and not be able to do anything and I'm not putting you through it again. "

"It was worth it tho. Look at him, he's so perfect. I'd do it all over again for our baby"

"I know, I know, but you're my baby too." No matter how many children you have, his protective attitude towards you will never change.

"Oh, love.." You pulled his hand to get up from the chair and come sit on the bed next to you so you can cuddle up next to him.

"I can't wait to take you home, both of you." He said quietly kissing your forehead.

You rested your head on his chest, knowing that wherever you are, as long as he's there, everything is fine.

[erinwantstowrite]

Halloween AU!!!

hey so. i put SOOOOO much effort into this au and for what? at least it ended up looking cool? anyways Halloween is my favorite holiday and i just HAD to make something for them!

i had a LOT of ideas for what everyone would be, but i really wanted to stick to a certain theme cause it's based around Halloween. i knew i had to have a vampire, werewolf, and a witch. cause like... obviously. iconic Halloween stuff!! but i took some liberties with everyone else and i think they turned out pretty cool!!

Jason was originally a fox shifter (which i still love and might draw art for some day) but i went with a bear in the end. is that because i thought about tiny bear cub Jaybin and wanted to cry? yeah. yeah it is. i KNEW Steph was going to be my werewolf though i started doubting myself when i went to draw her. turned out to be my favorite drawing on here which makes sense cause she is my light my love my daughter my will to live and all that jazz

Tim was actually gonna be a harpy but thank god i didn't go for that in the end. Duke was the one that was a bitch and a half trying to figure out BUT!! comments on the post asking what y'all thought led me towards Psychic so THANK YOUUUU everybody that commented!! (specifically those who thought of ghost!! Duke and Tim ended up being a perfect duo in this au)

Babs was pretty easy to figure out what I wanted for her. I read somewhere that they are seen as protectors of forests/ are considered spiritual authority figures and also.... she looks cool as fuck. Did not expect how easy it was to find a ref for a deer in a wheelchair though? I can never find the right hand or face angle reference but that was super easy???

For Bruce there was literally no question he HAD to be human. it's literally so funny that everyone who knows Batman thinks he's a spooky vampire but he's human. his first son, however?????? THAT'S the vampire. I knew Dick had to be a vampire too. A little nod towards that one comic run but in my au nothing bad happens ever 🥰 Damian also being a bat shifter is very on purpose because how funny is it that he's a bat man. Literally not a single person in the League thinks that Bruce is telling the truth about being human. Bruce you are NOT beating the secretly a vampire allegations.

adding in Jay's hilarious joke it's so fucking funny:

Alfred is actually a demon. I CAN NOT remember who made this post so if someone can help me find it, it would be appreciated!! because this was inspired by them!!! but somewhere i saw someone talk about Alfred being a demon that Thomas and Martha made a deal with (i think it was for an au idea?) and I just HAD to put it here. Alfred looks so human and everyone expects it, but he's definitely not. I put the ??? because it's so fucking funny. see if you can spot the 1 hint i put on his drawing that something is amiss!!

Peter is from an alternate dimension still, but it is not a world of creatures like him, it's just the same as LoF canon except Peter grew some extra limbs and eyes. He finds that it's actually pretty easy to fit in with the Waynes. Hard to feel like a freak when a guy can turn into a fucking bear, or your dad is a vampire, and the teenagers in the family are trying to summon ghosts or make potions.

additional doodles for this au:

i am still debating whether i am going to draw something for this au or write a oneshot, but i DO want to do something with these for Halloween

[deathbxnny]

Maybe a part 2 of the arcane characters saying things they regret, but they're apologizing because I can't live after reading a angst 🫠

Making up with Arcane characters after a bad argument. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader

(Previous part)

Fine, fine, here is a happy part two guys. Take it as an apology for the tears and pain I've caused.✨️

Content: Swearing, accusations of cheating, slight angst, making up, fluff, potential spoilers for season 2, established romantic relationships, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》VI

She knew that she had fucked up. There was no way to deny or refute it either. And your absence was further proof of that.

You were always there for her, even when things got bad and she became even worse. No matter how much she yelled or drank, you were there afterward to nurture her back to health. It was so unfair of her to expect it still, after all she had said to you. She hated herself. She hated how weak and pathetic she had become. How she can't even stand straight anymore from the alcohol and couldn't win a single game since she had lost you.

And instead of Caitlyn haunting her like she used to, it was only you now. But you were crying every time. Asking her why she hated you so much. Why she couldn't care for you the way you cared for her. Why you were always the second choice despite having been there since the start.

Why, why, why.

Gritting her teeth against the headache, she made her way through the dark, familiar lanes to your small home that you once shared together. She had to talk to you. She really, really had to. Even if it's far too late now after a week of silence in-between the two of you. She had taken the time to reflect and think about everything, especially about your relationship. And it made her realise that nothing in this world was losing you too.

Knocking on your door, she nervously waited as she heard your footsteps quickly approaching her from inside. You opened the door carefully, ironically just how she had taught you, before freezing at the sight of her. She gave you a weak smile, attempting to look calm and friendly, but it still scared you off. "Hey cupca-" You tried slamming the door into her face mid greeting, but her foot was faster to jam itself in the way.

"H-Hey! Wait, please hear me out!" "Fuck off, Vi. I'm not in the mood to hear more of your bullshit. Go back to Caitlyn since I know how badly you want that!" You never cursed, and every word you spoke made her flinch. She, for some reason, didn't expect you to be this mad. But it hurt, and she deserved it. Another thing she underestimated was, unfortunately, your strength since you somehow managed to push her away and shut the door again. "Come on! Please! I... I didn't mean what I said. I just... have been losing my shit ever since what happened. The guilt is killing me, and I know it's not an excuse! You're right, I have to stop this shit! You're right, I need to stop treating your love for granted!"

She didn't know if you were even listening to her anymore, but it didn't stop the tears that burned in her eyes. "I don't give a damn about Caitlyn like that! I never did! It always you for me. You... you cared for me when no one else ever wanted to, and I was such an idiot for not appreciating it more." Her hand slammed against the wood in defeat, her head coming to rest against it as her body trembled. She was so scared of losing you. This can't be the end. "Please. Please just give me another chance to prove myself. I know I'm a fuck up but I swear I'll do better now."

Vi nearly fell right through your house entrance when you opened the door wide with a teary huff. "God, you're such an idiot... get in already before the neighbors complain." You didn't let her reply as you simply dragged her inside and locked the door again. The pitfighter watched you do so with a gentle gaze, one that felt so familiar to you. "... Fine, I'll give you another chance... but no drinking or fighting anymore. Please." You whisper to her, and she nods quickly before engulfing you in a warm hug.

She knows that she isn't fully forgiven yet, but she'll do everything in her power to prove herself worthy of your love again.

》CAITLYN

"You're still up." Caitlyn's voice was calm and gentle now, so different from the stern and cold tone it had before. You ignored her, however, knowing better than to fall for this again. She always got like this when she knew she had screwed up and was trying to crawl back into your good graces. But this time around, you didn't allow it that easily. You refused to speak to her if she hadn't come back to apologize. And yet... you couldn't help but allow yourself at least one sharp dig at her. "And you're late to bed once again. But I suppose Officer Nolan's 'report' was just that interesting, no?" You were perhaps the only person in all auf Pultover that could ever accuse her of something so scandalous as adultery and get away with it.

It certainly would have been amusing if Caitlyn didn't feel so sick at the thought of you believing that.

Sighing, she placed her hat onto a clothing hanger, her jacket following suit. You were facing away from her on the bed, trying to read a book and rest, despite the pain in your heart. It was hard being angry at her when you loved her so deeply. But her insults had struck much deeper than that.

The bed dipped behind you, and soon enough, you felt her strong arms surrounding your body and her nose tickling your cheek. "I'm sorry, my love. I really am. I... have lost my cool, and that was wrong of me." You scoffed at her words, finding them too shallow for the pain she had caused earlier. Yet you struggled to get out of her strong grasp on you. It felt desperate. And you hated the warmth and security that it made you feel. "If that is all you have to say, then you can leave." You hissed out weakly but couldn't find any malice in it. Just heartbreak, that solidified in more tears burning in your eyes. "Because how... how could you ever say that I could betray you? Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you care?"

Caitlyn hummed against the nape of your neck soothingly, a way to acknowledge the plight she had caused you without revealing her own tears. The grief had made her into a monster. A monster that hurt its friends, family, and most importantly, you. It was unforgivable, and yet she wanted to prove herself worthy of you anyway. She wanted to show you that she hadn't changed deep down like everyone claimed. She was still yours.

"... I will find a way to end this war and resolve it peacefully as soon as I can. I swear it to you." She began, her voice low and gentle, as she listened to the sound of your hiccups and sniffling. This wasn't what she wanted. "And I apologize, truly, for what I called you... I know that you are loyal and trustworthy. Much more than I ever could be... I'm still your Caitlyn." The last part was whispered quietly, as she tried everyone in her power to not break down in front of you like this.

She hated what she had become deep down. She knew it was wrong and that her mother must've been turning in her grave at the sight of what she had done. But what she couldn't handle at all was you hating and leaving her.

There was a moment of silence before you turned to face her and immideatly hugged her impossibly close as you cried into her arms. She rubbed your back lovingly, understanding that this was your way of accepting her apology. But forgiveness will still be a long journey she was willing to take.

For now, she'd rest in your embrace thankfully.

》JINX

Deep down, you knew that she didn't mean what she said. She never would do anything to hurt you. Silco's death was just killing her more than anyone could have expected, and it was hard for everyone to deal with. But you just couldn't take the pain and hurt she caused you anymore. You've been there since day one. You were always at her side. You always took care of her when no one else wanted to. And you understood her better than she did herself. But it was ultimately just not enough. Or so you thought.

The young girl that was now dragging you through the lanes reminded you of her too. She didn't speak a word to you, and for some reason, you didn't have it in you to protest against her odd actions either. She somehow seemed to recognize you the second you bumped into her. And that was enough for her to take your hand and lead you to a very familiar hideout. Perhaps it was fate that brought you here again when you needed Jinx the most.

"Hey kid, who's our little guest-?" The rest of the young woman's words died on her tongue, and it left you simply staring at each other. There was a familiar haze in her eyes, one that you often saw when the voices were taking over. She once mentioned that you sometimes became a part of her hallucinations during longer absences, and that reminder alone made your heart ache. You shouldn't have run away that day. But what other choice did you have? She didn't trust you anymore. She didn't think you should be together anymore. Why were you even here?

"S-sorry... I'm just going to leave..." You muttered as your ears rung and that familiar burning in your eyes made your sight blurry. You felt suffocated and somehow also angry, wishing she could just see how much you loved and cared for her. But just as you were turning away to run again, her strong hand was quicker and held you back by your arm. "Wait. Let's just... talk, alright? Like we always do?" That was your thing. Whenever things got bad, you'd sit down and talk calmly to her about it. She used to scoff at it every time... yet she was the one who suggested now for once. Something about it shook you so hard that it made the first tears finally spill at the recognition she had given you for all the work you've put into her.

Jinx panicked a little at that, unsure of how to comfort you, yet at Isha's stern frown and cross of her small arms, she just hugged you for the first time in a while. And god, did she miss it.

Perhaps it was good to show the little girl a picture of you after all.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I swear, sweetie! I... I won't ever say stuff like that again. Just don't leave me. Please don't leave me. I just, I was just-" You hushed her by just hugging her tighter and shaking your head. "It's okay... just hold me for a while. We can talk later... I missed you so much." You whispered, voice breaking into sobs. Jinx hummed weakly and sighed against your hair, the familiar scent making her relax and feel better at last.

Isha grinned to herself behind you before quickly sneaking off to let you talk things out.

》EKKO

To say that the entire firelight hideout was pissed at him would be an understatement. Absolutely everyone disagreed with the way he treated you, and the side eyes he got very much confirmed this. But the worst part of it all was definitely you avoiding him like the plague.

Every time he entered a room, you were the first one to leave in a hurry. Every time he tried speaking to you, you either ignored him or found an excuse to get away. Every time someone even mentioned his name to you, your mood seemed to dampen. And that hurt so much that it killed him. This isn't how he wanted you to feel about him. He was your boyfriend, damnit it. Yet he acknowledged that he was failing at his job way more than he should've allowed himself to. He had to fix this somehow.

Ekko couldn't just lose you over his own foolishness. You were the one person who motivated him to keep going even on his worst days. You were the light he fought for. The person he battled to come home to every day. He couldn't handle your absence any longer, especially at night when he laid wide awake in your empty bed without you.

And so, he finally had enough and cornered you one night up in the tree during a patrol you had together. One, he definitely didn't pull the strings for to happen. And ever the one to abide by his orders despite your current dismay, you were now avoiding his gaze whilst you watched your sleeping home below. It was peaceful and calm, but the pain lingered between you two too much to enjoy the moment. He didn't know how to break the deafening silence, and it made him think of backing out on his initial plan... until you surprised him by speaking up first.

"I'm... sorry for avoiding you. I didn't mean for this to become your last resort. I just... didn't want to be a burden anymore." "Wait, wait, wait... who said that you were a burden, I... I should be the one apologizing right now. Because I was wrong about every fucking thing I said to you." The words spilled out in panic at the mere thought of you blaming yourself. He never wanted you to feel like this. It made him feel even worse about himself. This wasn't right. "You're not useless. You do so much for us, for me, and I take it all for granted like the asshole I am! And I fully acknowledge that now... I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. There is no excuse for it." He shook his head in disappointment at himself, wondering if this was it now. He'd understand if you broke up with him now... but instead, you seemed to be in the mood to surprise him alot today.

"Did you... like the food I made you?" He blinked at your question in confusion, yet answered honestly. "Best thing I had all week." "Then I guess I'll forgive you... just don't do that again." Ekko chuckled weakly at your words, relief filling his senses whilst he pulled you close to press a kiss to your head. "Would never dream of it... wanna ditch patrol and fly around town?" You mirrored his sly smile, glad he had the same thing on his mind as you did. "Sure thing. But let's make it a race."

He let you win.

》SEVIKA

She took some time to cool off after your argument and returned later into the night with a clearer mind. Sevika had actually reflected on what you had said to her, and she knew you were ultimately right. She was extremely overprotective and stubborn, two things that didn't mesh well and often ended in her thinking you couldn't take care of yourself. Even if she knew better than to actually believe that.

You were strong, especially mentally. It's what drew her into you to begin with. But with the fall of Silco and a war being on the verge of breaking out against Piltover, she had no choice but to make sure that you never left her sight. And if you did, then you had to be somewhere she knew was safe and away from all the chaos she dealt with daily. It helped her focus and stay calm to know that you're okay. Yet despite how much she cared, she still fucked it all up for herself again.

And now she had to fix it, something she was never good at.

She felt awfully guilty at the sight of the things you've lovingly prepared for her, now laying forgotten and cold on the kitchen counter. She truly didn't deserve someone as kind as you. And yet she considered herself too selfish to let you go.

Slowly approaching the bedroom door, she paused to hear if you were awake or not. Unfortunately, you were, but she only knew this from the faintest sound of your sniffling and sobbing that drifted through the wooden door. Sighing to herself, she knocked once, deciding to just rake things slow and as calmly as possible. You had sustained an injury after all, and her mind was reeling at the thought of it getting worse without any proper care. "What do you want?!" Your weak voice yelled at her, and it made her frown. Yeah, you were definitely beyond pissed.

"I want to talk." Her gruff voice said, and it may have sounded like a demand if the underlying care and worry didn't overshadow it so clearly. Your silence made her initially think you were ignoring her until the door slowly opened and revealed your disheveled form. "... well, go ahead." You muttered, one hand cradling the side of your hip that was clumsily bandaged up by you. You were never good at stuff like that.

"Let me take care of the wound whilst we're at it. Can't have ya dying on me because of an infection." She sighed out before simply dragging you to your shared bed and pulling out your medkit. You didn't protest or complain and let her do as she pleased, whilst you carefully listened to her speak with an unreadable expression.

"Listen. I... get it. I really do. The way I treat you isn't right, and I know you're grown enough to take care of yourself, but... I can't risk losing you too now. It drives me crazy to think about. Even if that ain't much of an excuse, and I get that too." She was never this honest before. Usually, she simply deflected or blamed someone else. But here she was, for once admitting openly to being the problem. "Just... be more careful out there. That's all I ask of you. I won't comment on it otherwise anymore though, unless you're in serious danger. I promise." Finishing the last of her bandaging, she hummed at it now looking much securer. This way, you are sure to recover much faster.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded your head at her words, deciding to give her another chance to prove herself. You understood where she was coming from after all. "Okay, fine. I'll accept your apology... if you help me cook." She grinned at that slightly with a casual shrug. "Fine by me, if I get a taste of your heavenly cooking, sweetheart."

[parfaitblogs]

hard times ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid doesn’t follow through one time, and you really hate that he has a psychology degree.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: daddy issues. shoutout to the girls with inconsistent fathers this ones for you. established relationship. readers mentioned wearing makeup, a dress and heels. rational bf!spencer reid fuck i would hate a profiler bf. word count: 1.8k a/n: not a trauma dump fic not a vent fic do not read into this fic at all don't even start to speculate on my life and where these emotions came from they're all fake made up not real make pretend. no photos no aesthetics just me, a tumblr account, and a dream for this baddie.

In all your months of dating Spencer Reid, he had never forgotten anything. Not a date, not a work event. Or, at least, he's never forgotten to call. Even when you had been so busy one week you could barely spare him more than a ten minute phone call a day, he remembered what was going on in your life enough to be there for you. 

A false blanket of security draped over your relationship, is what it is now. 

A blanket he seemingly had no trouble ripping off you a random Friday evening, throwing it in a fire and watching it — and your trust in him — burn into dust. 

Perhaps a tad dramatic for what was happening, but you were always one for theatrics when it came to your emotions. Usually, he welcomed it. He was (abashedly) similar, after all.

Not that he was even here to welcome it. 

You'd looked pretty. You'd felt pretty. Past tense, for your shoes were strewn somewhere across the floor after throwing them in frustration, and your makeup was ruined after unwelcome tears had streamed down your face an hour ago. You had been ready for a dinner date you and Spencer had scheduled in only three days ago — penciled in, for you never knew what his work schedule was going to end up being.

You're not sure how long you sat in that one spot on the couch, mind going through every single possible scenario that could've happened between the text he sent you that morning saying he was excited to go out tonight, and the lack of his appearance this evening. 

The logical conclusion is that he got too busy, and he forgot. But Spencer Reid's whole thing is that he doesn't forget. Oftentimes he considers it a curse. You never really agreed with him. Until now, it seemed. 

The less than logical, emotionally driven conclusion, is that he actively chose to stay at work to avoid coming home because he didn't want to see you. Or he didn't actually want to go to dinner, and he didn't know how to tell you. Or his team offered to go out and he'd rather hang out with them instead of you. 

Really, the reasons are endless, and any rational conclusion was lost on you. Mind swallowing you whole as you continued to stare off into space, visibly shaking and head beginning to pound from the crying.

A glance at the clock told you it was near midnight by the time you heard the door handle rattle and twist open, tired, puffy eyes blinking to adjust to the light filtering in from the apartment hallway. 

"Hey. Why're you out here? It's late. I thought you'd already be in bed," Spencer rambles absentmindedly, voice so disconnected from you it only made the ache in your chest worse. As he flicks the light on and assesses the state of the apartment, he asks, "What're your shoes doing on the floor?"

You blink a few times. Was he pretending to be dumb on purpose? 

You stand on cramped legs, stretching them for the first time since you'd sat unknowingly on the couch nearly six hours ago, dress bunching around your waist. You didn't bother to fix it. 

Like a switch, he clicks, his bag sliding off his shoulder and falling to the floor with a thud, realisation settling into his features. 

"Our date. Oh, God, I'm so sorry, angel."

"Yeah. I'm sure," you croak, voice hoarse as you pick up your shoes pathetically in front of him, the heels clacking together as you walk towards your bedroom door. 

He calls your name, and after you make no effort to return to him, you hear his feet against the wooden flooring, carrying himself to you.

You're in the ensuite, beginning to take makeup off you probably should've removed four hours ago. It was stupid hope you held on to, anyways. 

"You're upset. I know. It was awful of me to forget our date," he stands in the doorway, staring at you through the mirror. Even indirectly, you can't make eye contact with him. 

"You forgot," you repeat back to him, almost dumbfounded. "You forgot?"

"Forgot isn't... the best word," his fingers dig into his eyes for a split second, and you watch him think. "I got caught up at work. We had a case, then we didn't have a case, then we did, so we started looking into it, and time just... escaped. From all of us."

"Time just escaped."

Your parroting wasn't doing much to further the conversation, and you watch as Spencer averts his gaze to the floor to take a deep breath, before his eyes land back on you again.

"It isn't the best reason, I know. But it's the truth," he says. 

"Uh-huh," you mumble, discarding your cotton pads stained with your makeup into the trash. 

"Can you stop being evasive?" he catches your wrist before you can return to the sink. "Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" you ask, almost earnestly. "It's okay that you forgot, Spencer. I won't take it personally at all, and things between us are just dandy!"

"I want to know what you're actually feeling," he replies, voice flat with his irritation, before he forces himself to soften it. "I can't reassure you if all I know is that you're angry."

"Hurt. Forgotten. Disregarded. Disliked. Irritated we're doing this in our fucking bathroom."

At that, he leads you into the bedroom, turning the ensuite light off. "Forgotten and disregarded are synonyms, so I'm assuming that's what you feel the most."

"You're the psyche expert," you mumble, bitterly.

"I'm not trying to be your psyche expert," he quips, and your heart sinks. "Why're you feeling forgotten?"

You stare at him, dumbfounded, for a beat. "Because my boyfriend quite literally forgot about me?"

"I didn't forget about you—"

"—No, you're right. You just forgot about the date that you literally fucking texted me about this morning!" you snap, voice rising in a way that makes you cringe. Yet, you can't stop it. "You! Spencer Reid! Forgot!"

"Don't yell at me, please," he takes a step towards you; you take a step back. 

"Why did you forget? Did you choose to? Are you pretending that you forgot about it all to save your ass?"

"No," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I didn't. I told you what happened. You're choosing not to believe me."

"How am I meant to believe that? It's a shit excuse—"

"—It's the truth—"

"—God, you can lie, Spencer! Men lie!" 

He goes silent, as do you. You become trapped in an uncomfortably intense staring contest with him, as you watch his brain slowly tick over and decipher what you were saying, and come up with a response. Yours, however, splits open with your own self hatred. Disdain for what you had just said to him.

"Okay," he exhales, very slowly. "I'm going to tell you what I think, and you can tell me how right I am."

"You're going to profile me?"

He pauses. "I'm sure it'll come off that way. I'm not trying to," when you don't protest again, he continues. "I think you're less upset about the fact that I didn't come home for a date, and more about the fact that I didn't message you about it. I've not shown up for dates before. I've always contacted you prior to let you know. And I've promised I would always contact you if something came up that interfered with our plans. Ultimately, I said I would do something, and I didn't follow through. That is on me, and I'm sorry. What isn't on me, is how you're reacting. Which is childish, honey. You're acting like a petulant child, and I don't mean that as an insult, because I'm almost certain I know why."

Your silence is his cue to continue, but he pauses to collect his thoughts. Your lower lip is beginning to wobble, and he feels awful.

"You know how our childhoods affect us," he says, and the second what he's about to say to you clicks in your brain, your teeth clamp over your lip, and your eyes drop to the ground. "Reactions from parents to things we do, things others do, things they do, all builds up in our subconscious. Having a parent who didn't show up for you time and time again, built up in your subconscious. So yes, you're reacting to me not following through with something childishly. I will not take that back. But that reaction is not your fault. It's in response to a trigger, and the person in control of that emotional response is not adult you. It's the little girl who got let down by her father. I won't ever hold that against you."

Your sniffle breaks the deafening silence that follows his tangent. You allow him to envelop you into a hug, at which you break down into a fit of sobs akin to the ones from earlier. 

"I hate you," you stutter out in between sobs, voice muffled by his chest. 

"You can't say that while hugging me," he counters. It was true, as your hands had wrapped around his waist just seconds ago.

"I hate you," you repeat, punctuating your words with a poke to his back. 

"I love you," he replies, instead. His fingers thread through your hair as he cradles your head with his other hand. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you about being busy."

You swallow the lodged sob in your throat with a hiccup. "I'm sorry I acted like a petulant child. And I'm sorry that my dad sucks."

"I'm sorry your dad sucks too," you feel him kiss the top of your head. "Have you eaten?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head, and he pulls back, hands slipping down to your cheeks, catching the tears. 

"Do you want to eat?"

"The restaurant we were going to is closed," you mumble.

"Maybe. But the Thai place isn't."

"I'm pretty sure it is," you counter, and his eyebrows furrow. "It's past midnight now."

His face falls, he waits a beat, before his hand drops to your own, and he's tugging you towards the door of the bedroom. "Okay. Fine. Well, the Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed."

"I asked for pasta last night and you said the kitchen was closed."

"You asked at three in the morning," he deadpans, as you make yourself comfortable on one of the stools. 

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed," you mock his voice from earlier.

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen rules are made by Spencer Reid."

"The rules should be lenient of Spencer Reid's girlfriend."

"Do you want pasta or not?"

"Yes," you quickly say with a firm nod. "Sorry."

He spends the first hour of that Saturday making you pasta; and making up the missed date.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[mononijikayu]

thinking about volleyball player! sukuna getting upset because astrophysicist! reader doesn't wanna go with him in the shower after a long day of not seeing each other.

all volleyball player! sukuna wants is to hold your hand while he's cleaning his face for the night because he wants to feel you close after being touch starved.

because god forbid a loving devoted husband like him just wants to be with and feel his dear and beloved wife close to him after a long (heartbreaking) day of not being together. god forbid that this is his love language.

"are you actually mad at me?" sukuna pouts as he stands before you, still holding your hand. "do you actually not love me anymore?"

you sighed, looking at him. "my love, i did multiple labs today. i wanna be lazy right now."

"but i missed you." he whines to you, almost like a cat after not getting the belly rubs he wants. "come on, you can sit on the stool there while i look at you prettily at the mirror, still holding my hand."

"ryomen sukuna—"

"woah, just say you don't love me anymore at this point." he cuts you off, his face looking offended. "that's not my name. how dare you?"

"my love, really....." you sighed, rolling your eyes at his antics. you looked up and saw him glaring at you, like he was ready to cry. "its just the bathroom. you're just getting cleaned up."

"god forbid a man wants to multi–task." he huffs, shaking his head at you. his eyes looked like they were begging now. a sudden change from before. his hand squeezing your own. "come on, baby. just give in."

nearly a decade or so being together with such love with ryomen sukuna, you had always known that he was clingy but you never thought that he would be this clingy after getting married to you.

in some ways, marriage didn't really change your dynamics or your feelings for each other. that's just how it was when you've been so in love and continue to be in love after all this time.

but there was something about getting married that made the intensity of his desire to hold you, to touch you even more overwhelming. his life is incomplete when he's not feeling the warmth that completes the cold sweat that comes after he sits down and leaves the court for the day.

his body demands the warmth of you to complete him when the passion of the court cools down. because at the end of the day, he will walk out of that court. he will always go and in and out of it.

but you were the only one he could never leave. you were the only one that he will never resign himself away from. you were that only exception. because you bring him to life in ways not even the thunderous intensity of that ball hitting his palm ever would.

your warmth was more than anything that could ever be in this world. and he knows it. you knew it. so, yes, you could feel annoyed at the thought of him sulking and groaning and crying and moping with neediness for you and everything about you.

but it instantly goes away. because you love this man. and he loves you. that will never go away. annoyance is temporary but wanting to love him with everything despite it all is forever.

you looked at him for one more moment, seeing the tears threaten to fall down his eyes as though he was a little child about to have a crash out over not getting his favorite lollipop. you shake your head and started smiling and then laughing.

"alright, alright. just tonight, my love. after that, we'll go to bed."

you saw the threat of tears immediately disappear as he grins widely, almost as if his melt down had never happened. almost instantly, your husband became a golden retriever who has finally gotten a treat to enjoy.

he all but embraces you with everything in him, with you being nearly falling over as you get consumed by the warmth of his much bigger built. impressively, your hands are still locked in with his.

"my love—i'm about to fall!"

he laughs. "baby, you'll never fall. not when im here to catch you!"

and you like to think that's the case. he's never let you fall anywhere. he's never let you suffer or feel like he never cares for you or loves you. instead, he keeps you high above with him in the joyous clouds, enjoying the bountiful of the love he pours everything into.

when you both go to the bathroom, he's doing his facial with his free hand while his other one still remained wrapped against your own. you continued to listen to him talk about his day with enthusiasm, his bright scarlet eyes never leaving your own, which was full of love for him.

"did you know they're finally allowing me to have my uniform and shoes engrave the 'my love' on it?"

you blinked. "you requested it? and they approved it?"

"i mean, i've asked about it the moment i signed for them babe! been wanting to keep you with me at court if i can't wear my ring." he says, beaming at you. "but since im renegotiating my contract with the tokyo great bears and with the national team, it was the demand i asked for in my contract and they said yes!"

you could feel your entire chest feel warm and your entire body turn red as the blood in pumped high with pressure, feeling overwhelmed by the love your husband has for you. you use your free hand to hide your face in your palm, out of sheer flustered feeling taking over you.

how did you ever luck out in love in a world that has such a bleak look? how could one have such a big heart to love? how could you not love him and only him? how could every bit of everything that is negative just burst out in positives when he loves you like this?

"baby, why are you lowering your head like that—"

"ah, you're so...." you groaned at him, before looking up, still red. "you're so!...."

he turns around, moved closer to you and pressed a warm kiss on your lips. you were stunned as the smell of his vanilla creme echoes into your nose. you turn redder than before.

"love you too, baby." he whispered to you, his eyes blossoming in heartfuls.

how can he always just defeat you with his love?

".....hurry up, i'm getting sleepy."

"hey, don't sleep before i can!"

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Neighbour - Noncon

With your electricity out and your devices dead, you have no choice but to turn to your neighbour for help. He's more than willing to welcome you into his home. Really, you're lucky he's such a nice guy.

Tags: male yandere x gender neutral reader, noncon, somno, just the tip anal, daddy kink but only if you squint, 3.3k words

Living in the middle of nowhere had its perks. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

But after the third day with no electricity, those perks were starting to look pretty damn weak. Your fridge was sitting in an ever expanding puddle. Almost all your devices were dead. And if you had to take one more cold shower you were going to cry.

It was when you were digging through your drawer looking for desperately needed batteries that you found your neighbour's number. He'd offered it to you a little while after you moved in, and while you two were on friendly terms, you'd never actually spoken for longer than a few minutes. You sighed, looked at the 10% left on your phone and decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.

You: hey, it's me. I still haven't got any power. Do you mind if I come over to charge some stuff?

He replied almost instantly.

Unknown: aww that sucks

Unknown: come on over. I've got hot stew and a generator

Unknown: and you can take a hot shower too if you want

Score. And to think you found him intimidating at first. Just goes to show that you can't judge on appearances. You packed a change of clothes, your devices and the last tub of ice cream that wasn't totally melted. You'd find some way to properly pay him back but a tub of chocolate fudge double cream wasn't a bad way to start.

He was waiting on his porch when you pulled up. A bear of a man in a flannel and blue jeans, a five o' clock shadow darkening his jaw.

"Howdy neighbour," he drawled, opening your door for you while you grabbed your stuff. "Regretting leaving the city yet?"

You huffed a laugh. "You do NOT want to know the answer to that."

His cabin was much larger than yours, a two storey behemoth with wide windows and exposed beams. It had a rustic charm - like some natural park Air BnB where they charged a weeks pay for just one night. A little too big for just one man. Didn't he get lonely?

"I brought some ice cream and chocolate to say thank you. And also because it miiight have been melting."

He opened the door for you and ushered you through with a hand on your lower back.

"Hell, I'll never say no to something sweet."

There was a fire burning in the fireplace and a stack of logs in a crate next to it. He was so much better suited to this life than you were. He locked the door behind you and slipped the keys into his pocket.

"Old habit," he explained with an easy grin.

"Why don't you get settled? I'll plug your stuff in."

You handed over your tech with a relieved sigh.

"Thank you. Really. I'm so behind on work already and I haven't heard anything back from the power company."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," he said. "Once ended up going a week straight with not even a light bulb flickering."

You winced. "It gets that bad?"

"Yep. Especially in winter. Gets dangerous then too."

He tilted his head at you, concerned. "You need to get yourself better sorted before it starts snowing. I hate to think of you stuck out there when the blizzards start rolling in."

God, could you be any more of a city slicker? You rubbed your neck, embarrassed.

"Thanks. I've been here a few months now and I guess I just didn't realise how serious things can get."

"It's all good. But if I'm honest, I get worried thinking about you out there all alone. Plenty of drifters end up passing through. Not a good place to be alone, not for a little thing like yourself."

Little? You wanted to feel indignant, but looking at his bulk, you reckoned that most folk probably seemed little to him.

He lead you to the fireplace and poured you a mug of coffee from the pot that was waiting for you. He jerked his head at the hunting rifle on display above the mantle.

"I can teach you to shoot, if you've got some free time."

You took a sip of the coffee, internally debating with yourself. You could see the sense in your offer but you weren't a big fan of guns. Hell, just being around them was nerve wrecking enough. Maybe -

You looked down at your mug in surprise.

"This is some really good stuff."

The coffee was strong, bitter in the best sort of way. You could catch a hint of chocolate in it too. Just sweet enough to make your toes curl.

" 'Course. Only the best for my guest. Help yourself to another cup. I'll just put your stuff on charge and be right back."

You finished your drink in a few sips and happily poured a second serving. Hot coffee... man, you didn't think three days without it would be so tough. Usually, you were pretty sensitive to caffeine. But by the time your neighbour came back, your head was tilted back and you were half asleep.

You tried to shake yourself out of it but he just laughed and pushed you back down.

"You probably haven't had a good sleep since the power went out. Just rest. We can talk once you wake up."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's fine." His hand was still on your shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into your neck. "It's just fine with me."

You drifted off after that. Into a deep sleep without any dreams. Waking up was like slogging through molasses.

"Finally up sleepy head?"

It was dark outside and your neighbour was on one knee in front of the fire place, coaxing fresh wood to catch.

You sat up slowly. Your muscles ached and there was a strange, salty taste on your tongue.

"My heads killing me..."

He stood, poker still in his hand. "You must be starving then. I've already got some food on the stove. You'll feel better after you eat."

You didn't feel hungry at all. If anything, you felt almost hangover.

"Thanks," you managed. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

He waved you away. "I don't mind a bit."

He came back with a bowl of steaming hot chow and stood with his arms crossed on the back of your couch while you ate.

"It's real late. I reckon you should stay over. I don't want you driving on dirt when it's so dark."

"Oh, it's fine. I've already put you out so much."

"Don't be silly. I insist."

You shivered without meaning to. That almost growl, low and bordering on menacing. It was so familiar, so...

"Just like that. Look at you, half asleep and still desperate for my cock."

"You like the taste? Yeah, I bet you fucking do."

"Ain't just gonna use your mouth next time."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Where the hell was this coming from? Were you remembering some sick dream from this afternoon?

"You okay there neighbour?"

You nodded. "Just my head."

Maybe he was right. Driving when you were so disorientated was just asking for trouble.

"If you really don't mind... I'll be happy to sleep over."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling thing. "I'll make the guest room up special, just for you."

"Could I use your shower too?"

"I offered didn't I? Come on, I'll show you where it is."

He took you to the master bedroom and jerked his thumb at the en-suite.

"Hot water is the most reliable in there. Door doesn't close that well though, so don't mind it. I'll be downstairs when you're done."

You brushed your teeth carefully. You lips felt sore, bruised in a way you couldn't explain.

You waited until you heard his footsteps going down the stairs before you stripped off your clothes. You stood under the hot water for a good few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling. The bathroom was thick with steam when you finally got to scrubbing yourself. The door was open just a crack and the bedroom beyond was dark. You forgot all about it until you heard the creak of the hinges.

You whirled to face the door, your hands coming up to cover yourself. The steam was too thick to see through. You called his name.

Nothing.

You stepped out with suds still on your thighs and pushed the door open. The room beyond was empty.

You sighed. God, you were being paranoid. Your neighbour was a great guy. It was unfair of you to treat him like a peeping tom when he'd gone out of his way to make you comfortable. It must have been just an errant draught.

You stepped back into the shower and rinsed yourself off. But no matter what you told yourself, you still kept an eye on the door.

When you went to change into your fresh clothes, you spent at least five minutes hunting for your underwear. Did you drop it somewhere? Oh, please say your undies weren't just sitting in the middle of his hallway. That would be beyond embarrassing.

Eventually you gave up and just decided to go without them. Not comfortable at all but still better than walking around in a towel to look for them. And much better than calling your neighbour in to help. Wouldn't that be fun? 'Hey neighbour that I don't know that well, you haven't seen my intimates lying around, have you?' Yeah, you'd never again get invited over after something like that.

When you were dressed, you found him already on his way up the hall. He was carrying a glass of water and some pills.

"Thought you might still have a headache, so I brought you some painkillers."

You paused, nervous but not sure why.

"Thanks." His hands dwarfed yours when he handed them over. You didn't recognise the name of on the pills, but they looked harmless. You tossed them back and gagged at the bitter aftertaste.

"They pack a punch, so tell me when you start to get drowsy."

"Aye aye captain."

You followed him to the guest room. It was at the very back on the second story, quieter than the rest of the house. A huge glass wall gave you a view of the forest disappearing into the darkness. You could see the ghost of your reflection in the glass, your neighbour a hulking, shapeless mass at your shoulder.

He took a seat in an armchair across form the bed and stretched out his legs. You perched on the edge of the mattress, still feeling a bit like an intruder.

"How long have you been staying out here?” you asked.

He smiled at you, teeth glinting almost wolf-like. "Got you curious?"

"A little. Folk in town say they hardly see you. I don't know... I'm just wondering if you ever get lonely."

He was quiet and you cursed yourself for being so nosy. You hurried to fill the silence.

"It's just that I get a bit lonely out here too. 'Specially when it's so quiet. And I guess I was wondering if it's the same for you."

He smiled at you, rueful. "At times. Used to be worse, but I've got a new interest to keep me occupied nowadays."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Bird watching."

"Really? What do you look for?"

The way the room was lit up, you couldn't see his eyes. They fell into shadow and you only had his lips to read his emotions by. He smirked, slow and almost mocking.

"Just one bird I look out for. Flighty little thing. Tends to get caught by predators a lot. You’d probably recognise it."

The polite thing to do would be to ask what it was called. You didn't. Some part of whispered that you wouldn't like the answer.

You must have been quiet a little too long because he took it as his cue to leave. He stood, a mountain of muscle, his eyes not quite as nice as they seemed that afternoon. A trick of the light, surely. He wouldn't hurt a fly.

"You rest up. Got a busy day tomorrow."

"G'night."

He was gone before you thought to ask what he meant. And you were passed out on your pillows before you realised it. He was right. The pills sure did pack one hell of a punch.

You were aware of a shadow at the end of your bed. You weren't fully awake, and your limbs were slow and heavy with more than just sleep.

"Who..."

The shadow reached down and one warm paw circled your ankle.

"Just me little bird."

You knew that voice. It was the voice that brought you warm food and invited you in from the cold. You could trust it. Could go back to sleep and not worry about anything.

'No,' some part of you hissed, 'He's not as safe as you think.'

"Cold..."

The shadow laughed and it was the laugh of the fox finding the rabbit's den. Nasty. Hungry.

"Cold huh? Don't worry baby. I'll warm you right up."

He yanked your ankle towards him and your whole body slid down the bed. You were too drowsy to stop it.

"Knew you were gonna be mine the second I saw you," he cooed, hands running up your thighs.

His fingers slipped under your waistband, nails scraping your hip bones.

"Dumb little thing from the city. Doesn't even realise I've tripped all their breakers. That's why you don't have power baby. It's all me."

His fingers were as big as the rest of him. Thick, meaty. Skin rough from working outdoors. You whined when his fingertips scraped the edges of your hole.

"No underwear. You needy slut. That's practically a written and signed invitation to fuck you."

He pulled your pants down to your ankles and pushed your knees up to your stomach. And you were too out of it to stop him. Limp and pliable as a fuck doll.

Your tight ass was exposed to the cold air, entirely at the mercy of whatever he wanted to do.

"Cute." He circled his thumb around the rim, almost pushing in but not quite. "Wanted to be in this ass since you first showed up at my door all those months ago. Lookin' up at me all sweet. Fuck, it's enough to drive a man to desperation."

He lowered his head and you could feel his warm breath washing over your thighs.

He dragged his tongue across your hole. Some part of you must have been more awake than the rest, because your whole body jerked away from him.

"None of that," he cooed, hands digging into your thighs and dragging you back. "I haven't even gotten started yet."

He licked you again, deeper this time. The flexed tip of his tongue pushing at your entrance, and to your dull horror, actually slipping in. He moaned and you could feel the vibrations all through your crotch.

He pulled out and spat, rubbed it in with his fingers. One of them pushed in until the second joint, curling into your walls so rough that you gasped.

"Please..."

"Please what?" he mocked. "Please fuck my tight little ass? Please cum inside me? Use your words little bird."

"Please...stop..."

That made him laugh again, made him shove his finger in all the way to the knuckle. Twisting so cruelly as he pulled out and jerked back in.

"Stop? Stop? After all the work it took to get you here? No way baby. I'm not slowing down and I'm sure as fuck not stopping."

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by a sharp intake of breath when he nudged his leaking head against your hole.

"You’re not going to remember this. And I'm not going to leave any evidence."

He pushed your legs tighter against your chest.

"So as much as I want to fuck you rotten, you're gonna have to be happy with just the tip."

He'd done a good job loosening and lubing you, but it still burned like a hot poker when he forced his way in. He groaned, almost in pain.

"You're fucking choking me. God, do you want my cum so bad?"

You could feel when the tip was in. That tiny difference in thickness between his head and shaft was oh so noticeable when your ass was clenching and fluttering around it. It was the smallest mercy, but mercy nonetheless.

He was panting from the effort of getting it in, the effort of holding back. The size difference between you almost perverse. Like a draft stallion trying to mount a pony. In every way, he was just too fucking big.

He spat in his hand and brought it to his cock, ran his palm up and down his shaft with sickly wet strokes. The combination of his palm and your squeezing ass was fucking delicious.

He had great stamina but fuck if it didn't feel like you were milking him.

He let go long enough to smack your ass. It almost finished him. You clenched around him so hard it felt like his tip was getting fucking crushed.

"Shiiiit, you're the best hole I've ever had. Can't wait 'til I can go all the way."

You whined, pitiful as snared prey. There were words there, though they were too slurred to make out. Something about Daddy and please and stop. He ignored you.

He pushed in a little deeper and watched your face scrunching up. So helpless, so fucking caught. That was what did it. The knowledge that he could do this to you at any point and you'd be helpless to stop it.

He came inside you, snarling through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to bruise. You'd notice the marks in the morning and chalk it up to just being clumsy. But he'd know. He'd see the bruises peeking out from the hem of your shorts and his cock would twitch just a little at the memory of leaving them.

His cock pulsed. Shot strings of spunk deep inside you. You could feel it. Hot, too hot. Gross. Make it stop. Get it out.

He pulled out with a wet pop. His cum drooled down and he took a minute to work it back into you with his finger. Your hole was gaping just a little and it made his balls pulse. If he had the time...

"A real fucking mess. And on my good sheets too. You're a terrible guest."

He mopped up whatever cum remained with a balled up piece of martial that he pulled from his pocket. Even in you stupor, you recognised it as your missing underwear.

"Terrible guest, but the perks of having you around are pretty fucking sweet."

He dropped your knees back to the mattress, pulled your pants back into place and roughly yanked the duvet over you. He grabbed your jaw and smiled at the lost, drowsy look in your half open eyes.

"Got a big day tomorrow. Gonna wake up and find your whole house was flooded. Ruined. Gonna have nowhere to stay but with me."

He sounded smug. It made your guts twist.

Outside, the night grew quiet. A predator was hunting and most prey knew better than to catch its attention.

"I made sure of it. All your family and friends in the city are away from home. There's no one around to help you out..."

He tightened his grip just enough to watch the fear start dancing in your eyes.

"No one...except me."

He let you go and smiled that same warm, comforting smile from that afternoon.

"Dumb little thing. Got no clue how your water mains work, do you? Got no idea how easy they are to sabotage."

He tutted. "Got me so damn busy. I'm gonna have to run to your place, fuck shit up and be back here before you wake up for real."

He traced his index finger over your lips and left behind a sticky coating of spunk. You'd wake up tasting salt again, with no memory of why.

"But it's fine. I forgive you. After today we'll have plenty of time together. Rest of our lives in fact. So just sleep tight and forget what you think you've dreamed."

There are perks to living in the middle nowhere. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

There are perks, but unfortunately for you, your neighbour isn't one of them.

[obito-in-disguise]

| How they handle falling for you, realistically |

Featuring: Gojo Satoru, Ryomen Sukuna, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Toji, Geto Suguru, and Kamo Choso.

Gojo Satoru

When Gojo Satoru realizes he's fallen for you, hard, he starts avoiding you completely.

Beneath his playful and confident exterior was an eerily serious demeanour that you rarely ever got to see, until now.

It hurt like hell.

Satoru went from showering you with his affection and time, to giving you curt responses and zero contact. The worst part? When you approached, he’d immediately turn away or take a long detour. As if the mere sight of you was too much.

His eyes widen when you suddenly burst into the supply closet he's been hiding in for the past twenty minutes, hurling a cardboard box filled with gifts and items he’d given you directly at his face the moment he opens his mouth to speak.

"Save it, Satoru. I don’t care anymore."

He grips the box tightly, knuckles white. The sorrow in your eyes was like a blade piercing through him, exactly what he didn’t want.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He’d convinced himself that distancing himself was the easiest way to end this. God, he was an idiot.

Quickly, he shoots up, grabbing your arm the moment you turn to walk away. He'd be damned if he didn't try to do something.

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

His voice is softer than usual, almost a whisper, in stark contrast to the force with which he holds onto your arm.

You inhale a shaky breath. "You could’ve just told me you didn’t feel the same way." Your gaze flickers anywhere but at him, fighting back the tears. This whole situation was humiliating.

As soon as the tears well up in your eyes, he instinctively pulls you into a crushing hug. He couldn’t stand to see you cry, especially because of him.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he repeats, voice trembling. "You deserve better…and that isn’t me. I’m no good for you." His face buries into the top of your hair, his words a whisper, pained and filled with regret.

That was it? That’s why he made you feel like garbage? You sigh, exhaling a breath of relief before pulling back and smacking his shoulder as hard as you can.

"-What…ow…" he clutches his arm, wide blue eyes staring at you in disbelief.

"You’re an idiot, Satoru" you say, softly this time, your hand gently caressing the spot you hit in a silent apology, but you grip it when you see him open his mouth to argue.

"I'm not a child, Satoru. I think I can decide what's good for me." You offer a small smile, one that immediately melts away all his defenses.

"And that’s you."

Ryomen Sukuna

Falling for someone was not in Sukuna's nature. Love was a weakness, a frivolity that he had neither the patience nor interest for. Yet, there you were, pulling threads of his attention he hadn’t willingly given.

You had been a prize he claimed during one of his many raids, a servant he’d kept around because, quite frankly, he found you amusing. He’d given you several opportunities to flee, and yet, you stubbornly stayed, either stupid or somehow enjoying his presence.

"You’re staring again" you said, not even looking up from the book you were reading.

"I can look at whatever I want. This is my kingdom" he replied, his voice low and dripping with amusement.

You snorted. "You're so humble too…"

His grin widened, sharp and predatory. "Careful, brat. I don’t take kindly to disrespect."

But his words lacked the venom they usually carried. He found himself indulging in this back-and-forth, this bizarre game where you didn’t fear him, where you met his taunts head-on. It was thrilling in ways he didn’t quite understand.

"Or what?" you say, flippantly lifting your feet and crossing them on top of his expensive furniture.

The other servants gasped in horror, half-expecting him to snap, but he simply barked out a laugh, flashing his sharp claws in a half-hearted scare.

"Care to find out?" he challenged, dragging one long talon up your pulse point.

Your eyes flicker to his, unimpressed. You yawn and put the book away before grabbing the hand by your neck, cuddling into it and closing your eyes.

Yep. He knew he had definitely fallen when he found himself staying still, barely breathing, so as not to disturb you as you fell asleep, resting against his large hand, a weapon of death and mass destruction.

As you slept soundly, he watched you in the dim light. He could end you with a flick of his wrist, yet the thought was unthinkable. You trapped him in a web of contradictions, frustrating, fascinating, infuriating.

Leaning closer, his voice softens into something almost contemplative as he whispers, "Congratulations, brat. You’ve done the unthinkable."

To love wasn’t his intention. But Sukuna didn’t play fair. If he was falling, he’d make sure you fell harder, and there would be no escape.

Nanami Kento

The realization hit him one evening when you insisted on walking with him home after a long mission.

Every one usually went home in groups or pairs depending on where they lived, but Nanami never had anyone to walk with him.

It wasn’t necessary, he told himself he couldn't care less but, there was something about being left alone that chipped at the human soul.

“You don’t have to do this” he said, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets to avoid brushing against yours.

You simply smile up at him. “But I want to.”

He kept replaying that simple statement over and over. It wasn’t extravagant or particularly sentimental, but it struck him.

"Besides, I think it's about time we become best friends don't you think Kento?"

He stares at you for a good minute wandering if you were crazy. He wasn't the most approachable of persons and he liked it that way, but here you were walking him home and extending an offer of best friendship to him like this was kindergarten.

If Nanami wasn't enthralled before, then he definitely was now.

He takes your heavy bag from your hand before slinging it over his shoulder, ignoring your look of surprise and subsequent grin of victory.

Having somebody to walk with home everyday wouldn't be that bad he decides.

"Consider this a formal acceptance"

Fushiguro Toji

“Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?” he grumbled, though the corner of his lips twitched upward when you laughed.

Toji wasn’t the type to fall for anyone anymore. Life had made him hard, and love had never been a luxury he could afford.

But you? You were the exception he never saw coming.

“Bother you? I’m the best company you’ll ever get, Fushiguro.”

He only said things like that to hopefully deter you but you didn’t back down, and somehow, that was what broke down his walls.

Every sharp comment, every cold glance he threw your way, you met with puzzling warmth instead.

He hated how easily you got under his skin, how he found himself looking forward to the moments you’d spend together, even if it was just you rambling about nothing while he pretended not to care.

Toji knew he wasn’t a good man. He didn’t deserve you, and he knew it. But the way you looked at him, like he was more than just the sum of his past mistakes, made him want to believe, even just for a moment, that he could be something more.

He sighs, wrapping his arm around you and all but pulling you into his side as he continues to watch TV lazily, the ghost of a smile on his lips when he hears you giggle.

This was going to be a pain, but when was Fushiguro Toji ever afraid of pain?

Geto Suguru

"Is it to your liking?" Suguru asked with his usual charm, his head resting on his fist as he played with your hair, sitting across from you.

Suguru could feel his heart pounding louder when you smiled and nodded before sipping the tea he made.

He’d always been selfish, he knew it. He shouldn’t let himself feel this way, shouldn’t let himself dream of a life where you smiled at him every day.

You had no idea what he harbored, what he was about to become. No matter how hard he tried to rid himself of these thoughts, you’d seep into his mind relentlessly.

"What are you thinking of Sugu?" you asked, setting your cup aside and intertwining your hand with his on the table.

He simply smiled in response, pulling your hand to his lips to place a lingering kiss.

He would let himself fall for you, indulge in you, before he had to let you go, before you would eventually face the horrors he would become.

Kamo Choso

You nearly jump out of your skin when you turn around and immediately come face to face with Choso.

"Choso! what are you doing!"

He immediately takes a few steps back "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you"

You sigh nodding. Staying mad at Choso is impossible, especially when he looks at you like that, like a kicked puppy.

"I have strange feelings for you" he immediately blurts out as soon as he sees that you're ok.

The confession stops you in your tracks. “What?” you ask, eyes widening.

"When I'm around you, my heart feels funny, and the other day when that guy put his hand on your shoulder, I wanted to rip his guts out-"

"woah! ok Choso, I get it" you chuckle, patting his shoulder.

"I just wanted you to know" he murmurs softly, fiddling with his fingers. He knew people got together when they had these strange feelings for eachother and more than ever he wanted that to be you and him. So he had to tell you, even if you didn't feel the same way. You were a chance he was always willing to gamble on.

"Well Choso..." you start, grabbing his hand softly before stepping closer. "Today's your lucky day because I have strange feelings for you too"

As soon as the words leave your mouth, he can't stop himself. He scoops you up into a bone crushing hug, laughing along with you. Even if you hadn't said yes, Choso was more than grateful to have you in his life.

Feel free to check out my other Jujutsu Kaisen fics and more stories!

[rxmye]

" 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐘 "

𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐂 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 — everything in the end comes down to you . . God why are you so fucking hot when you're in control?

nsfw / sixteen + content / smut / gender neutral reader / yandere content / sub!yandere / pathetic!yandere / vibrators / ruined orgasms / begging / choking (you choke him, bro is into it) / torture / dacryphilia (kink for crying) / pet names "good boy" (awakens something within him) / desperate yandere? desperate yandere. / yandere oc x reader

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: we are so back, coming back the way I started (with Yoichi)

"Fuck, please", his voice was hoarse as he begged, looking at you with those tear stained doe eyes, he let out another whine, "please, please, please", he whispered like a prayer as you turned the vibrator even lower—ruining another orgasm in it's wake.

Yoichi swore he had never felt this desperate in years, grinding into the vibrator, his hands struggled some more on the makeshift binds, his wrist already scarred with rope burn—he wouldn't complain though . . no . . why would he ever complain.

Yoichi grit his teeth, a whine leaving his throat and more tears threatening to fall, this time however it was because of frustration—he leaned his head back, his bangs shifting, covering his eyes, sweat forming on his forehead, as he let out a few heavy breathes.

A choked sob leaving his throat when you turned the vibrator back on high, broken moans leaving his hoarse throat.

Yoichi closed his eyes shut, his toes curling from the feeling, saliva escaping from the corners of his mouth as he let out a particularly loud moan—Only to be cut off with the feeling of your hand wrapping around his throat—muffled noises left his mouth, and it was honestly pathetic how fast he came, white cum spurting everywhere, it even got on your clothes.

It took a minute or two before Yoichi opened his eyes, still feeling a bit dazed. The two of your eyes locked, and he flushed with embarrassment and awareness, the events of the last half an hour catching up to him.

You looked at him, "What do you say?", you questioned, eyes narrowing into a glare—and it would be a lie to say that didn't turn him on a little bit . . at the very least.

Yoichi hesitated for a moment, before finally answering, "t-thank you"

You smiled, ruffling his hair, and Yoichi felt his blood rise to his head, "Good boy", fuck.

Yoichi's stomach dropped low, and those two words awakened something in him that he just couldn't undo.

want more, buy my limited time only advent calendar?

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[sangunary]

Hear me out, yandere platonic batfam x reader who has a weak immune system, i think the reader will keep her sickness away from the family, her only source of comfort is her friends and for the batfam i think they will go yandere when zeny collapses maybe And then there goes full yandere, like you will be monitored 24/7, strict rule and blablabla

- Your Love Is Too Sweet

Yandere Batfam x Sick Reader

SYPNOSIS: Your family love's you too much to listen to your pathetic plea for the sweet taste of death.

Warning: NOT FOR SENSETIVE READER!

It all began when you were at the ripe age of ten, during school while chasing your friends around the hall your legs gave up on you. Your vision began to blur and saw black patches.

With your little hand you hold onto the wall to support you, the wind knock out of your lungs.

Something heavy was pressing down at your lungs even tho you tried to stood up straight and look up, hoping for more oxygen.

It was so sudden and unexpected, you have been fine and suddenly clutching onto the wall seeking for oxygen. It was a pathetic scene to look at but when it past your friends helped you to clam down.

When you arrived at the eerily haunting manor you called home, you immediately seek for comfort.

"...Dick? Are you busy?"

Your little voice ring out throughout the room. Your last family never listened to you speak, too busy sleeping on the couch or on the ground, their eyelids open in a way it shouldn't be possible.

They were always busy and you ended up having to take care of your baby brother, who wasn't biological your brother but dna meant nothing to a child.

But, you had a new family and your new dad told you to forget so you can have a better future. But you couldn't help but miss them, atleast your mom still listen just she only listen when she took her medicine.

"Sorry, birdie... I have to talk to Kory, go talk to Jay yah? He's at the cave"

Dick with his phone still on his ear, quickly turned your body around and push you out the living room as he nudge you to start walking.

You understand why he was busy with Kory. Lately, Kory doesn't visit anymore...

The last time she visited she went home mad after Barbara mentioned something. You didn't really understand as Damian did cover your ear with his hands, from his expression it seem like a normal conversation but from their body language... opposite story.

After that, nobody mentioned Kory or Dick will cry in his old room, you could clearly hear him apologising and sobbing since your room was next to his.

While picking at your hands you slowly walked towards the entrance of the cave, although you admire your family for prospecting the city, lately you realised how everybody was so disconnected to the family.

It felt like they only have family reunion because it was traditional and not because they wanted to catch up with everyone.

The whole family was indeed present today because Joker escaped from Arkham again... But they all acted like guests visiting their far cousin.

"Jay...? Could you please listen?"

You asked as you sat next to him on the ground, watching up at him fixing his motorcycle.

"Sure, what is it?"

With the opening you began to speak, talking about how you have been feeling under the weather alot.

Sometimes you would wake up and just puke, but you didn't wake anybody up because you felt like it's your responsibility to take care of yourself. Quietly cleaning yourself up and going back to bed.

How you have lost sleep because you kept getting sleep paralysis and how the monster was your biological mother. How she would morphed into this creatures that loves to scream into your ears.

How your mother would carry your baby brother, as their skin began to merged with eachother as you heard bone moving or breaking. It was a hard scene but you couldn't look away.

But, you couldn't do anything but pray to God and go back to bed. You didn't want to burden anyone with your stupid hallucinations.

Jason would replied with 'oh, sucks', 'good', 'hm', 'oh,... He wasn't listening and you just got up and left.

Tim wasn't much help either, the moment you enter his room you always left with atleast three errands from him.

Throw away some paper, get him coffee and tell Alfred that Tim was still in the house so he wouldn't forget to make him dinner as well.

So, you didn't even put him on your list.

He only see you as an errand kid. You doubt he would waste his time to listen to you speak.

"Dad?"

You called for Bruce as you enter his office, filled with pictures so his kids but they felt drain of emotions.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I felt sick today"

"Go tell Alfred, sweetheart"

Right, always Alfred but never him. The supposed father.

You couldn't help but felt a huge Disappointment on your heart.

The best batman, the worst father.

He knew the family was slowly drifting away but he was too busy with joker and ivy to even try to find solutions. Too busy saving the city to even save the family he vouch to protect.

With a heavy heart you left, didn't even seek for Alfred he himself was busy.

Having to collect the broken glasses of the family, trying to tape it back. To have the once lively family back to normal.

Damian, too inexperienced in emotions and his grandfather have been trying to take him back.

Stephanie, she was going through alot and she asked to be left alone.

Cass, you and her have no connection. Knowing that she tried to not scared you by avoiding you.

Barbara, the whole city is on her shoulder she and doesn't have time for kids like you.

Duke, depressed after his girlfriend cheated on him.

Even tho they themselves were heros, they couldn't save themselves from crumbling into pieces.

For year's you have been silently taking medicine after watching videos and self diagnosing yourself.

Cleaning after yourself at night when you had an accident, buying medicine from shady places. You tried everything to fix your body, but barely nothing worked.

You always fell into sickness the moment the season changed, it get abit cold, virus is around and even just from standing too long under the sun.

Your friends were your only source of comfort as they would bring you some sickness pill or even painkiller to stop your stomachache.

Your family was falling apart and your friends kindly took you into each of their family's and treated you like their own.

They were truly God sent. And you were greatful, trying your best to spend as much as time you could with your new found family.

At night while studying you would fall asleep and you prefer to sleep on the cold wooden desk than on your bed. You don't get bed dreams when you're not resting on your bed.

You hated your bed at times, because you always see your brother and mother. Their skin becoming one, your brother sweet voice would turn into one that sounds like a wild animal and a baby shared a voice box.

Your mother or the one from your hallucinations would try to touch or caress your face, but it was drain of affection and emotion.

It felt like metal being dragged across your cheeks, her messy hair highlighting her eyes and the nasty yellow-ish slash under her eyelids.

And your brother body was at her upper waist towards her upper belly, she was never good at holding him. She was always trembling and the amount of black bruises on her arms made her uncomfortable, to the point that she avoids having direct skin contact with you or your brother.

Even without those nightmare, your stomachache was enough to make you squirm around at your bed so you instead always choose to study during any moment.

With drools down your mouth and book still open, you would wake up with a blanket on your body. Somebody did check in on you, which is surprising as everybody in the family were going through dirt.

But one day you collapse suddenly.

It was at the Manor, while looking at the pictures of your family. Everybody was present even aunt katie, a big smile and you in the middle with a shy smile.

Your first day with them, after you lost your world. Bruce gave you a new one, where you can start from the beginning.

But, everything just crumble down into pieces after one year in the family.

Bruce gave you a world that was born to crumble. Everyone were so distant now, even Christmas left like a drought.

You overheard Alfred talking To Bruce about this matter. Telling him on how he shouldn't just watch as his family is slowly breaking into shards, how he would regret is sooner.

Bruce argues that they were just modling out of their shell, becoming a new person. Escaping from his hands and finding their own path.

Alfred told him, no matter how old or young they are they will always be his kid. Kid's that need their Father to help them become into a brand new person, they needed his hands to hold theirs so they won't be afraid to fall.

Bruce was stubborn, seeing himself as the villain in his kid's life. He doesn't want to be involved in their life because he would definitely ruin it, and if that happens there is no point in Batman if he would just be a bad guy to his kids.

After you collapse you woke up to a place that looked like an hospital but looking at the machine hooked up to you was definitely not one.

Several amounts of wire that drilled through your skin to supply you with the essential to keep you breathing, began to felt like machines sucking every cell out of your body.

The cold metal against your back felt like your skin was merging with it and even lifting even a finger sent immense pain through out your body.

You couldn't tell how long you have been laying there but, it had taken a toll on your body.

The familiar scent of medicine and a weird scent of rotting corpse filled your nostril. You couldn't help but cover your mouth and nose to stop the noise but it always remain there.

Your nails were long, lip felt chap and everything felt new. You couldn't move your hand so freely and even struggle to move your left leg.

Beside you Cass was sleeping. Her hand holding your right tightly Like you would slip away like a balloon if she wasn't to hold onto you.

But when you move your leg she jolted awake. Now you understood.

Cass was the one who checked up on you at night, the one to cover you in blanket and left pills when she observed that you have a fever.

"You are awake!?"

She seem delighted, you felt like you could see a ghast of anxiety leaving her body as you tried to speak.

But nothing came out.

"It's alright. Rest. I am here"

She spoke gently, her hand still on yours. The fear you used to phantom seems you disappear. She wasn't so bad afterall.

After your slumber, each of your siblings came in one by one to not put pressure onto you.

Dick was with Kory who smother you with hugs and kisses on her forehead and cheeks, while Dick asked her to not burry you in affection too early as you might still be in pain.

They repatch their relationship because after you collapse and Stephanie found you, Dick went to her seeking for comfort.

He was stressed out about being a cop and w vigilante barely getting sleeps and all the inhuman behaviour he witnessed were hitting him harder. He knew that his previous family was falling apart and he couldn't do anything... And you the youngest being in coma took a devastating toll on him.

But, Kory listen to him, forgave him and help him took care of you.

Jason look alot better as well. Gave you some treat and told you about the outlaws.

How, he found a meaningful purpose in life. He finally understood why you spend so much time with those brat from school... He would too if he were you.

He also left a small plushie lf superman but alot more bigger and great say's it was from bizzaro, a letter and a gift from Arthemis and a keychain from Roy? He said the real present from Roy would be given when you could drink.

Tim on the other hand, turns out he was in a relationship . After you were in a coma, he started to become more distant from everyone. Whenever anyone entered his room he would looked back hoping to see your little figure. But it was hopeless.

He lost touch and just overwork so he wouldn't have a complete breakdown every minute. And Kon dragged him out of his shell, after a big fight which ended up with both of them tearing at eachother and Kon just confessed.

The same guy who love's to ruin your freshly combed hair and messed with it / freshly ironed clothes and wrinkle it.

Damian was alot more better with emotions now, finding his true path in life and defeating his grandfather.... All that while you were in a coma.

He did briefly mentioned having friends now since you being in a coma awaken something inside of him. He realised how little time some people have so... He volunteered to work in the hospital after a terrible accident and accidentally found a new passion.

Everyone in the family seems to be in good term while you were in a coma. You didn't know if u should be sad or happy since you did miss all the good things.

But at time past everything just went terrible for you.

You could still couldn't move much and you ended up in a wheelchair and they would fought over who gets to hang out with you. You couldn't meet your friends who were extremely worried about you, in the name of protection.

When you felt like your health was peaking the next day you'll be laying down at the same cold mattress, stomach hurting, tears all over your face and having Alfred to inject you with those green liquid.

Those green liquid seems to be the cure to your every problem, although whenever you asked about it no one would speak just a pat and telling you to sleep.

It was getting concerning. Sometimes at night you would always dreamt of the same thing how your mother and baby brother died, she wouldn't let go of him even tho you begged her to.

She hold onto her like her life depends on it... And before you could do anything the explosion engulfed them both... The aftermath wasn't pretty.

Their body melted into eachother... How you saw your mother finger move towards your face, it felt like a horror film. Where the whole movie was centred around you, suffering one after another.

"Bird?"

Jason called out your name, he was one of the people who wouldn't leave you alone at all.

His hand was on your head as he tried to brain your hair for the second time.

"hm?"

you couldn't reply much as you did actually just went through a horrible migraine that came out of the blue.

"Do you wish to be free sometimes?"

He asked, which was quite odd. You looka t his face with didn't tell much either.

"Am I not free?"

You asked curiously, the white blanket that was covering you was now only covering half of your body. As you did sit up straight.

His hand immediately went back to his, as the brain he have been working on for hours with alot of error came undone. His disappointment was clear but he didn't speak up.

Rather he knew the braid would end up looking stiff and maybe even look like a candy caine. Although he wasn't the best at it, it was his best shot at comforting you.

"Nothing, just curious... I'll stay tonight. Can't have you crying at three in the morning cause I definitely won't help you out"

You look at him as he lay down on the other bed which Bruce installed... Saying you need to be under monitor at all times.

"Jay... please what's going on?"

You pleaded, from the way everyone have been Acting you knew only he would tell you the truth.

"You didn't survive... you didn't went to coma"

He began, still he was very calm.

"Your heart failed... I couldn't take it and with the rest except for B... We brought you to the Lazarus pit... But, you... Attacked us, Damian hit you and you went into a coma"

He explained as he stared at the wall infront of him. He seems eerily calm for what he was confessing for.

"We've been injecting you with it because you'll die if we stop, but it's the only reason why you're getting all those symptoms. Those headache and nightmares. But, we do it for your own good"

It makes sense now. How they banned you from seeing anyone out side the family as you have been pronounced dead already.

The headache, the nightmare, your body felling into a deep sleep suddenly, the nose bleed. Everything was because they have been injecting you with the that thing.

The same liquid that brought back Jason was the very same that brought you back. But, alot more problems follow you.

How blood would randomly seep out of your nose and nails, your organs felt like they were rearranging themselves.

Every passing hour felt like your body was slowly rotting from the inside like how ut was supposed to be.

Alfred came into the room with a string on his hand. You couldn't stop the swet from forming, your body temperature was extremely High and everything felt like they were from some cold place.

"Please, Alfred... Just end this. I can't continue this madness"

You clutch onto the bed sheet as dark red blood drip onto the mattress.

The pit didn't exactly fixed you like how it did for Jason. It just put your soul and brain back to power. It didn't fix about the fact that you were dead. You were a walking corpse with consciousness .

You grab onto his arm, he was your only hope for being free from your body.

The same body that was rotting from the inside, your body didn't belong to you any longer... You could feel them decomposing.

Your ribs slowly falling apart, your heart even tho beating was rotting slowly. And everything hurt.

"Please... I can't live like this..."

You clutch onto your heart as you could felt the vein snapping and tearing itself one by one... piece by piece.

"Sorry Master, you do not know what is good for you. Without you the family won't be the same... And I know how much it meant for you to see them together. Sometimes pain is needed to achieve what you want"

He took your wrist and pierce the metal through your skin as he inject the substance.

"Now... Go to sleep, when you wake up everything will be normal again. You could see the sun again. We are waiting for you"

Your eyes began to gave up. As you couldn't even mutter a word out.

You would have yo repeat the cycle forever.

Whenever you began to rot they would refresh you.

Cause a family without you is nothing.

[brookghaib-blog]

The quiet things that remain - II

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: Bob and Y/N used to be the best of friends, he went to Malaysia to be better, only to leave her just with a ghost in the past and unresponded messages and calls. And return, but never to her. Never to the love she didn't had the courage to announce.

Word count: 10,1k

Warning: angst, depreesive thoughts, unrequited love, stalking, drug addiction

chapter I

--

The room in the Watchtower was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that brought peace — no, it was the other kind. The kind that echoed. That clawed at your ears and made every breath feel too loud, too alive. Bob sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, palms over his face, trying to hold in thoughts that had long since stopped asking permission to haunt him.

His thumb brushed something in his pocket, and his heart sank the way it always did when he remembered it was still there. He pulled it out — crumpled a little at the edges now, creased right through the middle from being folded and unfolded too many times.

It was a picture.

Their picture.

Prom night.

God, she looked beautiful. Not in the way people tossed that word around casually. Not like the glittering girls who bought their dresses a year early and posted rehearsed photos. No, her beauty was the quiet kind — the kind that struck him like lightning when she smiled, like she didn’t know she was doing it, like it just slipped out of her without warning. That night she wore this soft blue dress that barely fit right because they had bought it from a second-hand store, and her hair had been curled by her neighbor’s niece for free. But she was his.

And he — he was the guy in the too-big suit with a tie that Y/N had to fix twice. The guy who had dropped out months before, barely scraping by on gigs, sleeping in someone else’s garage most nights. He hadn’t been invited to prom, not really. He wasn’t part of that world anymore. But he had asked her. Not because she wouldn’t get an invitation — although, he knew she probably wouldn’t. Not because he pitied her, not even for a second.

But because he had wanted to. Before anyone else could see what he saw. Before someone could try to swoop in and act like they knew how to treat her better. He asked before it all changed. Before the Void got stronger. Before he started unraveling.

He remembered the way they danced — stiff, awkward, swaying in place while others moved around them with practiced ease. He had stepped on her toes so many times she just laughed and kicked his shin in retaliation. And he laughed, too. And for those few hours, he felt worthy.

But that was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

When he went to Malaysia, it wasn’t because he had an adventurous spirit or some soul-searching excuse to make it noble. He went because he was a coward. Because every day in the States was a mirror to everything he had destroyed. Especially her.

She had held him through the worst nights. Nights when he was vomiting into buckets, shaking, crying, begging something he couldn’t name to just end it. She had held his face in her hands and whispered, “You’re not a monster, Bob. You’re sick, not broken.”

But he was broken.

And she wasted everything. Thousands of dollars in bail money. Rent money she didn’t have. Grocery runs that somehow always included his favorite cereal, even if it meant she’d only eat canned soup for the week. She gave him her bed when he had nowhere to crash. Washed blood out of his shirts when he’d get in fights. Hid his stash when he said he wanted to get clean. And when he failed, she still made him tea and said maybe tomorrow would be better.

He remembered one night, when she had worked a double shift and still came home to find him passed out in the hallway outside her apartment door. She dragged his half-conscious body inside and cried while she bandaged the new cuts on his knuckles.

That was love. That was her. And he let her drown.

No — worse. He pulled her under with him.

And still, she had smiled for the prom photo. Still, she had leaned her head on his shoulder like he was someone worth leaning on.

He wiped a thumb gently across the image of her face.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered to the picture, to the room, to the version of her that existed in the only place he could still hold her — memory.

Bob leaned back against the wall, eyes stinging, his chest tight with something unspoken. She could have had everything. College. A home. A future. But instead, she got him. And all he gave her in return was pain, fear, and an apology that never seemed enough.

The world saw the Sentry — a glowing god with impossible strength. But Bob? Bob saw a coward in a chicken suit who used to spin signs for cash and couldn’t even dance. A boy who ran to another continent because he was too ashamed to be seen by the only person who ever really looked at him.

And now he lived in a tower in the sky, surrounded by people who respected his power but would never understand his shame.

All he wanted — more than redemption, more than recognition — was to go back to that night. To that version of himself that hadn’t yet failed her. To hear the music again. To dance — even if badly — and know she was in his arms.

Because he hadn’t asked her to prom to fix her. He asked her because for one night, he didn’t want to feel like a mistake. And she had made that possible.

She had always made the impossible feel possible.

And he had walked away.

And now all he had left was a worn-out photo and the haunting question he would never stop asking himself:

What if I’d stayed?

God, he loved her. He loved her like a man dying of thirst in a desert, stumbling toward a mirage he knew wasn’t real but couldn’t stop chasing. He had always loved her. From the first time she rolled her eyes at his terrible attempt to fix a coffee machine, to the night she fell asleep on his shoulder during a movie marathon they couldn’t afford snacks for. She’d been his anchor when everything else in his life had slipped away, a lighthouse in the middle of a violent, black sea.

But he left.

Because loving her was easy.

Staying was the hard part.

He hadn’t run because he stopped loving her — he ran because he did. Because the deeper that love grew, the more the truth screamed inside him: she deserved a life that wasn’t spent waiting outside police stations or hospitals. She deserved a partner, not a project. She deserved poetry, not paranoia. A home, not hiding spots for narcotics.

And now? Now the drugs were gone, the sickness replaced by something far worse — power. The kind that shattered bones with a flick of the wrist, melted steel with a scream, erased cities in a blink.

He had nearly destroyed a building last week because of a nightmare. He didn’t even remember doing it until they showed him the damage. And he had thought addiction was the scariest part of him. Now he had to live every second fearing the thing inside him, this thing that wanted to hurt, to unravel, to destroy.

What if she had been there?

What if she had whispered to him in his sleep like she used to, trying to soothe him from a nightmare, and he’d woken in fear, in power, and — God.

The images haunted him. Her broken body in his arms. Blood he couldn’t heal. Screams he couldn’t undo.

He couldn’t even risk it.

Bob squeezed the photo tighter, fingers trembling as tears finally broke through the wall he tried so hard to keep up. He bowed his head, forehead resting on his knuckles, as if praying to a god he didn’t believe in anymore.

She was too good. Too kind. Too alive. And he was a man half-alive, stitched together by trauma and chemicals and cosmic radiation, held together only because people were too afraid to let him fall apart.

He wanted her.

He wanted her laugh in the kitchen again. Her sleepy voice asking him to turn off the lights. Her hair in his hands. Her nose wrinkling at his burnt eggs. He wanted the sound of her humming while folding laundry, the way her lip twitched when she was concentrating on a book.

He wanted to dance with her again. Properly. Without stepping on her toes. Maybe in the living room, barefoot, no music, just the sound of her breath close to his ear.

But what did he have to offer her now? A room in a tower that he wasn’t allowed to leave? A body that pulsed with danger? A mind that barely held itself together?

She didn’t love him like he loved her — he had always known that.

He would’ve taken her love at the slightest sign. God, he would’ve fallen to his knees for it. But love like that, love he wanted from her — it didn’t come out of guilt or pity. It came from freedom. And he had never given her that.

So he mourned.

Mourned a life that never got to bloom.

Mourned all the ordinary things he’d never have with her: birthdays, burnt dinners, arguments about dumb things, the feel of her hand in his during a movie neither of them liked. A child, maybe. A home. A Sunday morning.

He had loved her when he was nothing. Loved her as he became something terrifying. And now, as he stood on the edge of being unrecognizable even to himself, he still loved her.

But he couldn’t reach for her.

Because loving her meant letting her go.

Even if it destroyed him.

Even if every day he had to wake up in this tower, look down at the world that held her, and remind himself:

She is safer without me.

Even if it was a lie he barely believed anymore.

--

He hadn’t meant to walk that far.

It had started as a simple attempt to stretch his legs, to escape the suffocating stillness of his reality — the Watchtower walls too clean, too sterile, too artificial to hold any version of peace. So he slipped into the streets of New York, a hoodie pulled low over his brow, sunglasses covering the burden of his eyes. No one knew him, not like this. Not without the cape. Not without the glow.

He walked slowly, headphones in, music pouring soundscapes over his thoughts. The playlist hadn’t changed in years — songs she once liked, songs she might’ve liked. Tracks with lyrics that spelled out everything he couldn’t say to her, and never had the right to.

He thought about her every day.

In the quiet, between missions. During briefings. While shaving. While trying and failing to sleep. Her voice was a ghost he welcomed, a hallucination he refused to fight. She lived in the melody of certain words. In the shape of his pillow. In the steam from his mug. In every peaceful thing he encountered, she was there. And in every violent thing, she was the reason he hesitated.

That morning, the wind had that strange, biting softness of early spring — too cold for comfort, but gentle enough to pretend. She used to love days like that, he remembered. Said they felt like a promise. Like the world trying again.

He turned a corner, not really paying attention. Passed bakeries, coffee carts, flower shops. All things she loved. All things he remembered seeing through her eyes.

Books. Coffee. Birds.

She once told him that birds were proof life could be both messy and beautiful. That they shat everywhere but still carried the sky. That’s why she liked them. That’s why he liked her.

And then he saw it.

The bookstore.

It was unassuming. Brick walls faded by weather, a neon sign that flickered “Open,” its ‘O’ stubbornly dim. The display window was filled with paperbacks stacked in uneven rows, a handwritten note on the glass: Buy 2, escape twice. He almost smiled. It sounded like something she would say.

Maybe he’d buy one. She always said reading gave you extra lives. And God knew he needed another one.

He approached the window.

And that’s when he saw her.

She was standing on a wooden stool inside, rearranging a top shelf, her fingers running lightly over the spines of books like they were sacred. Her hair was tucked behind her ear the way it always did when she was focused. Her mouth moved slightly as she read titles to herself, and when one fell, she caught it with a flustered laugh, looking around to see if anyone had noticed.

Y/N.

Bob’s heart stopped. His breath caught. The world tilted.

He reached out before he even realized it, fingers brushing against the cool glass between them.

It was her.

Not a memory. Not a dream. Not a hallucination conjured by grief or the Void’s twisted games.

Her. In the flesh. In her world. Moving on. Living. Smiling. Alive.

He almost collapsed.

His knees buckled under the weight of it all. His fingers curled against his chest, against the photo tucked always in his jacket. The same face. The same girl.

He wanted to run inside. God, he wanted to run. Grab her. Bury himself in her arms and sob like the wreck of a man he was. Tell her everything. That he never stopped loving her. That he missed her so much it ached every moment of his cursed existence. That he was sorry. So sorry.

He wanted to say he still remembered the way her voice cracked when she tried to sing along to love songs. That he still carried the tissue she once wrote a grocery list on, with her doodles in the margins. That every moment he lived, she lived in it.

He wanted to scream, “Please. Just look up.”

But he didn’t move.

Because in that second, the world reminded him of the one unshakable truth: he did not belong to her anymore.

He didn’t belong to anything.

Not the streets of New York. Not the weight of a future. Not even to himself.

He was a ghost. A ticking bomb wrapped in skin. And she was... safe.

She looked so at peace. Like she had found a place in the world. A place he could never, ever risk stepping into. She looked home. And if he entered that bookstore, that sacred little world she had carved out for herself, he would bring chaos. He would ruin it. Just like he always did.

So he turned.

And he walked.

Every step away from that window was like slicing open his own chest.

He didn’t look back.

He couldn’t.

But a part of him, the part that still dared to dream, smiled through the pain.

She did always look like a pretty girl who’d work at a bookstore. That had been his fantasy for years — her behind a counter, coffee on her desk, recommending books to strangers, changing their lives with a sentence. She used to say that stories could save people. That if you spent just an hour in a fantasy world, maybe you could make it through reality.

And now she lived inside one.

He hoped she believed it. He hoped it saved her.

Because no matter how much he loved her, and oh — he loved her beyond reason — he could not be the reason her life unraveled again.

So he walked until his legs burned. Until the city blurred behind him. Until the only sound was his own heartbeat whispering her name.

Y/N.

His home. His ghost.

--

The Watchtower was quiet. Too quiet.

A sanctuary of glass and steel floating above the world, above cities he no longer felt he belonged to, above streets where real life happened — the Watchtower was cold. Polished. Functional. Beautiful in that sterile, untouchable way. It had everything he could need, yet it felt like nothing at all.

He wandered its halls like a ghost in a mansion too big for him, surrounded by everything and still lacking the only thing that mattered. It wasn’t that he hated it. No — Bob Reynolds understood what this place meant. What he meant. The world needed him to be here. Needed Sentry to show up to the galas, the photo ops, the charity balls with champagne flutes and polite clapping. They needed the godlike figure in golden light, the tragic redemption arc in spandex. A symbol. A story they could control.

And for once, Bob didn’t resent it. Not really. Because he had a room with a bed that was always made. He had clean clothes. He had the luxury of silence, of warm food, of people who at least pretended to care. He had friends now — of sorts. People who texted sometimes. Who invited him to rooftop dinners with wine bottles and awkward laughter. He had space.

He wasn’t locked in a cell or passed out in some alley. He wasn’t high. He wasn’t screaming at the Void inside his skull. He was safe.

And for a long time, he thought that would be enough.

But Bob learned something in that safety: The difference between being alone and being lonely.

Alone was what he craved when the world overwhelmed him. Alone was where he hid when he felt the darkness clawing behind his ribs. Alone was silence and choice.

Lonely? Lonely was after. Lonely was standing in a room full of people who only knew the surface of you. It was going home to nothing. It was the silence you didn't ask for. The kind that whispered her name.

He had time now — too much of it. And with time came thoughts, and with thoughts came her.

So he started walking. Every day, every chance he got. He’d vanish from the Watchtower, put on a hoodie and a cap and sunglasses, and disappear into the city. Into her world.

He told himself it was just to pass time. That the city soothed him. That walking helped clear his head.

But the truth was simple. Ugly. Raw.

He walked because she was there. Somewhere. And part of him was still trying to be close to her, even if she didn’t know it.

After all, he had found out where she worked.

A bookstore.

He wasn’t surprised. Not really. It made too much sense. She always smelled like paperbacks and cinnamon, always carried books in her purse, always talked about fiction like it was real and reality like it was negotiable. She had dreamed of quiet things. Soft lives. And now she was living one.

He’d walk by and see her sometimes through the window — standing behind the counter with her hair pulled back, cat hair on her sweater, a mug that said “books over bros” in her hand. She would laugh with customers, bend down to hand a little girl a picture book, roll her eyes at an old man flirting near the mystery section. He’d stare through the glass like it was a screen and he was watching the life they never got to have.

Other days, he’d see her at the park.

She had a routine, it seemed. Mornings or late afternoons, always with coffee in hand. She’d sit on a specific bench, the one they used to nap on during summer breaks. She’d sketch. Crochet. Read. Talk to an old woman who fed pigeons. And beside her — a cat. Dusty, he’d overheard someone say. A fluffball with attitude who’d perch in her lap like royalty.

He watched it all from a distance. Sat across the street, behind trees, across café windows. He never got too close. Never dared. But he learned her life like scripture. Memorized the way her hair curled in humidity. The way she tucked her feet under herself when she sat.

And she looked... peaceful.

Painfully so.

She looked like someone who had finally found her rhythm. Someone who had survived. Who had let go.

And God — he should’ve been happy about that. And he was. Part of him was.

Because he wanted her to be okay. Of all people in this world, she deserved a life that didn’t hurt. She had given so much, bled for him, cried herself sick, thrown away her dreams trying to pull him out of the fire again and again.

She had saved him, over and over. And what did he do?

He dragged her down with him. Burned her. Broke her. Left her.

So yes. She deserved this peace.

But watching her smile at strangers, or hum softly while threading yarn, or lean into a warm coat with that soft, familiar sigh — it felt like a knife in his chest.

Because she looked like someone who didn’t miss him. At all.

And that? That shattered something inside him.

It wasn’t fair. He knew it wasn’t fair. He had no right to want anything from her. He had given up that right the moment he left, the moment he decided she was better off without the burden of loving him. And she was. Objectively.

But it still tore him apart to see her world thriving without him.

He used to be her world. He used to be the reason her eyes lit up. Now, she didn’t even flinch when he passed by her block. Didn’t even glance at the door like maybe he’d walk through it.

He used to be her Monday lunches, her midnight phone calls, her “let me show you this funny thing.” Now?

He was a ghost.

A man watching the love of his life become a stranger with a smile. A story he didn’t get to finish. A home he could no longer walk into.

He walked miles every week just to see her for five minutes. Just to remember that she was real. Just to remind himself that once — for a flicker of time — she had been his.

And every time he turned around and walked away again, he left a piece of himself behind. Until he wasn’t sure how much of him was even left anymore.

--

They never asked about her.

Not directly.

Maybe out of respect. Maybe fear. Maybe because they already knew.

They all knew that somewhere, buried beneath Bob's shattered psyche and the nuclear firepower of the Sentry, there was someone he couldn’t let go of. A name that never left his mouth, but lived in his silence. In the way he flinched when certain songs came on. In the way he sat at the edge of team dinners, eyes somewhere far away. In the way he would sometimes disappear from the Watchtower, returning hollow-eyed and quiet, the smell of old bookstores or street coffee still clinging to his clothes.

They didn’t need to ask. The Void had shown them.

It was during the final confrontation — when the entity burrowed into each of their minds like a serpent, peeling back their worst fears, their lowest moments. It knew them. It was them. It didn’t just attack with brute strength — it weaponized memory, shame, the things they hid from even themselves.

But Bob?

Bob got the worst of it.

The Void lived in him. Knew every crack in his soul. Every scarred-over memory he tried to forget. And when the battle turned mental — turned personal — it didn’t use monsters or fire or screams. No. It showed her.

Y/N.

On the bathroom floor.

Her knees bruised from the tiles. Her shirt stained with something brown and sharp-smelling — coffee, maybe, or old blood. Her hands trembling, but still gentle, as they wiped vomit from his face, cradling his unconscious body like something precious.

His limbs were limp. His lips blue-tinged. An overdose — or the edge of one.

And she didn’t cry loud. No, that wasn’t her. Her sobs were quiet. Desperate. The kind of crying that comes when you don’t want to wake someone, even if you’re terrified they might never wake again.

She whispered to him in broken, soothing words, rocking him just slightly, whispering apologies to him, as if he were the one in pain.

She wiped his face. Changed his shirt. Brushed back his matted hair.

“You didn’t mean it,” she whispered. “It’s okay. You’re still here. I’m still here.”

And the worst part?

She looked so tired.

Not just physically — but soul-deep tired. The kind of exhaustion you don’t come back from. And still, still, she didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t curse him. She didn’t scream or throw things or leave.

She just held him.

And loved him.

When no one else could. When no one else should.

And the Void made them all watch.

Every teammate. Every soldier. Every person who had seen Bob level cities or snap metal in his hands like candy. They watched as the strongest being on Earth was reduced to a twitching body on a bathroom floor, and the only thing keeping him tethered to life was a woman — too soft for this world — whispering that he mattered, even when he didn’t believe it.

When the battle ended, and they staggered out of that hellscape, blinking in daylight and breathing like they’d been underwater too long — no one mentioned it. No one said her name.

But they all remembered her.

And days later, when the question finally came — in a rare moment of honesty, maybe over whiskey or after a nightmare — it was Bucky who asked.

Just a quiet, low, “You loved her, didn’t you?”

Bob didn’t even look up.

He just sat on the floor, back against the wall of the common room, hands hanging loosely between his knees. There was blood still under his fingernails from the mission. A tear in his shirt. He looked like something that had survived an execution.

“She was…” he started, and then stopped. His throat tightened, jaw working around a sentence that would never do her justice.

“She was the only thing I ever did right.”

The silence that followed was sharp. No one interrupted. Not even Alexei, who always had something to say. Not even Walker, whose tolerance for emotion was about as deep as a puddle. Not even Yelena, who had seen the worst kinds of pain, but still flinched when she remembered the image of that girl on the floor.

“She was the one who pulled me out,” Bob said softly. “Again and again. When I got too deep. When the Void got too loud. When I couldn’t remember who I was anymore. She… she made me feel like I was a person. Not a god. Not a monster. Just a man. Her best friend.”

He smiled, but it broke halfway through. Twisted into something hollow.

“I told her I loved her, in a message, I never even told her in her face, I still want to be able to fantasize that she did love me back. But I wasn’t a man when I said it. I was still broken. Still sick. Still—too much. And I left.”

No one moved. No one breathed.

“I told myself it was to protect her. That if I stayed, I’d destroy everything.”

He swallowed hard. His voice cracked.

“She forgave me for everything. Every relapse. Every blackout. Every time I disappeared for days and came back bleeding or high or worse. She’d cry, but she’d still hold me. She’d whisper that I was still in there. That she saw me.”

He clenched his hands. His shoulders shook.

“And I still left.”

For a long time, no one said a word.

Finally, Bucky asked, “Why are you telling us this now?”

Bob looked up at him. And for once, it wasn’t Sentry who answered. It wasn’t the calm, press-ready voice. It wasn’t the controlled, trained tone of a soldier.

It was just Bob.

His eyes were glassy. His mouth trembled.

He stood slowly. Wavered. Like the weight of all those memories was still dragging at his spine.

“She was the one thing that made me feel alive.”

He turned his face toward the window. Watched the city skyline like maybe she was out there somewhere, reading a book, sipping coffee, living a life where she didn’t have to remember him.

“And I will spend the rest of my life paying for what I did to her.”

--

He stayed across the street — or sometimes on the opposite sidewalk, tucked in behind a delivery van or under the shadow of a lamppost. Hands shoved deep into the pockets of a worn jacket, the same one she used to hang by her front door whenever he passed out on her couch.

He came to see her.

Sometimes she was restocking books in the front window. Sometimes she was sweeping the leaves off the front steps. Sometimes she was just reading, perched behind the register with a soft, furrowed expression — brows knitted in thought, nose crinkled just slightly like she did when a sentence made her feel too much.

He loved watching her read. She was the kind of person who felt books — who mourned endings and fell in love with characters and whispered “no” out loud when something bad happened on the page. Her face gave everything away. No armor. No filters.

God, she's beautiful.

Even now — even after everything.

He remembered the first time he saw her again, properly, in the park. He hadn’t been trying to find her that day. He was just… wandering. Trying to walk off the pressure in his chest. The static in his head. And then he saw her.

Sitting alone on a bench, no coffee, no cat, no old lady from the neighborhood chatting her ear off. Just her. Her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. Crying.

Not sobbing. Not theatrically.

Just… quiet, crumbling tears.

Like her chest had caved in and she didn’t know how to fix it. Like the world had knocked the wind out of her and left her to fold in on herself without a word.

She looked thinner. Not unhealthy, but not like before. Her style had changed a little — different colors, less softness, a longer coat like she was hiding from something. But her face… her face hadn’t changed.

Still that same quiet grace. That same storm of kindness behind her eyes. Like she could still save people if she tried hard enough — even when she couldn’t save herself.

He’d almost gone to her. Almost crossed the grass. Almost knelt beside her and put a hand on her knee and said her name.

But then he remembered who he was.

What he’d done.

He stayed frozen, half-behind a tree like a ghost in someone else’s story. A man without a place in the only life he wanted.

She wiped her face eventually. Stood. Pulled her coat tighter. Walked away.

And he watched. Did nothing.

But the guilt from that day didn’t leave. It never left.

He started coming around more. Just to check. Just to make sure she was okay.

That’s when the plan started to take shape.

He knew he couldn’t do it himself. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But he knew someone who could — someone she might not push away. Someone big enough to take the hit if she got mad, but kind enough to genuinely want to help.

Alexei.

Bob waited for the right moment to ask. When the team wasn’t dealing with a crisis. When they were sitting in the Watchtower kitchen late one night, drinking tea instead of whiskey because Bob couldn’t handle the burn anymore.

“She’s not okay,” Bob said, out of nowhere.

Alexei looked up from his mug. “Who?”

“You know who.”

Alexei said nothing for a beat. Just nodded. Quiet. Respectful.

“I saw her crying,” Bob whispered, his voice barely audible. “She was alone. No one… no one should cry like that alone.”

“You didn’t go to her?”

“I couldn’t.”

Alexei sighed. “Why not?”

“She would want me there even if I'm still dangerous.”

Bob let the silence hang, heavy and pulsing. Then he looked up, eyes glassy, haunted.

“But I can’t… I can’t just not do anything.”

Alexei set his mug down. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

So Bob told him. About the bookstore. The bench. Her eyes. Her loneliness.

“I don’t want her to know it’s from me. Not yet. I just… I want her to have something good. Something stable. Something that isn’t pain or loss or… me.”

Alexei nodded slowly. Thought about it.

“Book club,” he said eventually. “She works in one, yes?”

Bob nodded. “Yeah. Tuesdays. I saw the flyer in the window.”

Alexei smiled. “Then I suppose I have some reading to do.”

Bob’s breath hitched.

“Thank you. I will help you with that.”

Alexei leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because she deserves someone to show up for her.”

“I know.”

“But I’ll keep you updated. And I’ll be subtle.”

Bob smiled, watery. “As subtle as you can be?”

Alexei chuckled. “As subtle as a brick, but I’ll try.”

And so it began.

Alexei would show up to the bookstore every so often. Chat with her. Talk about books he didn’t really understand. Laugh too loudly. Always brief, always respectful, never pushing. Just… being there.

And eventually, she’d invited him to book club.

The plan was working.

And Bob?

Bob stayed where he was — on the edges, in the shadows, watching from far away. Letting Alexei become his eyes and ears. His quiet penance.

--

At first, it was simple.

Alexei joined the club to spend more time with her — to talk, to listen, to make sure she was still putting one foot in front of the other. That was the arrangement. A quiet mission with no glory. No weapons. No enemies to punch or gods to fight. Just a lonely girl who used to know a man that was already half-dead inside.

Bob didn’t expect more than that. A brief update. A kind word. The knowledge that she was still smiling. Still breathing.

But then Alexei came back from that first meeting with a glimmer in his eye — not joy, but something softer. Protective. He told Bob how she spoke about stories like they were sacred. How she laughed at a joke in Pride and Prejudice that no one else caught. How she paused in the middle of reading aloud because a single line made her voice catch, and she had to turn away so no one would see.

“She’s... she’s still her,” Alexei had said, like it was a miracle.

And Bob had cried when he heard it.

Because he didn’t know. He hadn’t known. If she was still her — still the girl who made mix CDs for rainy days and hugged people like she could stitch them back together — then maybe the world hadn’t ruined her completely. Maybe he hadn’t ruined her completely.

That’s when the idea started.

It was stupid. Pointless, maybe. But it gave Bob something to wake up for.

Books.

Not just any books — his books. The ones he read in the quietest hours of the night, when his mind wasn’t screaming and the Void wasn’t clawing at the walls. The ones he’d never admit to reading aloud, just to imagine what it might sound like if she was there beside him.

He began highlighting passages. Dog-earing pages. Scribbling notes in the margins like she used to in college, back when she made a game of arguing with the authors in ink.

He would hand them to Alexei with no explanation. Just a book. A quiet nod.

“Give her this one next.”

And Alexei would. Without question.

Week after week, a new title. A new story. Always something with meaning. A message buried in the pages. A secret only she might understand, if she read between the lines. If she knew how Bob’s mind worked the way she used to.

“I would have followed you anywhere.”

“I think I started dying the moment you left the room.”

“I loved you before I knew what it meant.”

They weren’t written outright. Never a full confession. Just sentences, thoughts, little crumbs of devotion scattered through prose.

Bob would stay up all night before each session, rereading and re-noting the pages. Sometimes he’d circle the same line six times. Sometimes he’d write “This is how I see you” beside a character’s monologue, and then cross it out until the paper tore.

He knew she never said anything to Alexei about it. Never mentioned the ink, or the handwriting, or the way every book felt like someone was whispering to her from another life.

But that didn’t matter.

Because he knew.

He knew she was holding something he touched. Reading the words he bled into the paper. Feeling something he could no longer say out loud.

In that tiny room above the bookstore, while Alexei sat in a too-small chair and cracked jokes to cover the silences, Bob was there too.

He was in the pages. In the sentences. In every comma and breath and pause.

And maybe that was enough.

Maybe that was all he had left.

He’d debated confessing before. So many times. Long before he became the Sentry. Long before he became a weapon. Back when he was just Bob, and she was just the girl who always picked out the marshmallows from her cereal and let him sleep on her floor when he was too drunk to remember where he lived.

But he never did. Because he knew — he knew — she didn’t feel the same way.

Not because she didn’t care. She cared too much. That was the problem.

She saw him as something worth saving. Something broken, but fixable.

Not someone you fall in love with.

Not someone you keep.

He could have handled that. He would have swallowed it whole just to have her in his life. But then the powers came. The weight. The blackness behind his eyes that pulsed like a second heartbeat.

And everything changed.

He wasn’t just a man who loved her anymore. He was a threat to her. A danger. A possible end.

To confess now would be cruel.

So he didn’t.

He gave her books.

He gave her himself.

And in the stillness between chapters, when no one was looking, he let himself pretend.

Pretend that maybe she read a line and smiled. That maybe she knew. That maybe she looked up from the page and whispered, “I miss you too.”

He would die a thousand times just to hear her say it once.

--

The despair came in waves.

Some days, Bob could float in it, numb, like a body in cold water—arms limp, eyes unfocused, just waiting for it to take him under. Other days, it crashed into him so hard he thought he’d drown before morning. He would lie on the floor of the Watchtower, fists clenched, the ceiling spinning above him as his mind screamed with every face he couldn’t forget. But it was always her face that brought the deepest ache.

Y/N.

He had built a life around her absence. That was the truth of it. A fragile routine of restraint and silence. He watched from a distance. He wrote messages in books. He let Alexei carry little pieces of him to her like a smuggler moving contraband across a border he could never cross.

It was the only way he could be near her—and the closest he dared to come.

But it wasn’t enough.

God, it wasn’t enough.

He missed her. And not just the memory of her. Not just the idea. He missed her voice in the morning when it was still hoarse. The sound of her laugh when she was trying not to. The weight of her hand on his arm when he said something reckless. He missed the smell of her shampoo, the warmth of her sweaters, the way she hummed when she didn’t know he was listening.

His body remembered it all.

And it was killing him.

He was touch-starved in a way no one could fix. Not just for warmth, or comfort, or sex. He was starving for her. For the way her presence once made the world seem a little less heavy. For the way she looked at him like he was still in there, like maybe he wasn’t all lost, not yet. That kind of belief—that kind of grace—was more dangerous than the Void itself.

Because it made him hope.

And hope, for Bob, was a curse dressed like mercy.

Every time he let himself think, Maybe I could just see her. Just once. Just for a moment, his mind betrayed him. Because it wasn’t just Bob anymore. It was Sentry. It was Void. It was the monster and the hero and the broken man trapped in between.

And what if they took over?

What if she smiled at him—and Sentry ripped the sky open behind her?

What if she said his name—and Void answered?

What if, by standing too close to her, by breathing the same air, he doomed her?

He couldn’t bear it.

So he stayed away.

But he was so tired.

Tired of living on crumbs. Tired of writing love letters she didn’t know were letters. Tired of watching Alexei carry his heart in paperback covers while he sat alone, drinking coffee that always went cold, with no one to tell.

He thought about ending it. Not his life—not exactly. But the visits. The watching. The books. All of it.

He thought about telling Alexei, It’s over. Don’t go anymore. Don’t mention her. Don’t bring her up. Let her go. Let her be.

Maybe if he stopped seeing her face from afar, his heart would quiet. Maybe if he stopped imagining what she looked like crying, or laughing, or reading his underlined notes, he could be free of this need.

Maybe.

But then the selfishness crept in.

It always did.

Because this—this pathetic, distant, hollow little routine—it was all he had.

He had no family. No home. No future. He had fists and firepower and a mind that split into two monsters depending on the day.

But this—this was still hers.

The bookstore. The book club. The books.

The way she once tucked a note into his coat pocket when he was dope-sick and barely breathing. The way she never turned away from him, even when she should have.

That love. That impossible, unspoken love that never got to breathe? It was still alive inside him. Mummified maybe, but still intact. And giving it up felt like murdering the only beautiful thing he’d ever been allowed to feel.

So he kept the books coming.

He kept watching her from across the street like a ghost with a heartbeat.

He kept dying for her in private.

He told himself it wasn’t love. That it was guilt. Or nostalgia. Or some warped savior complex. But he knew better.

He loved her.

He always had.

He loved her from the moment she laughed at his shitty joke in chemistry class and offered to share her lunch with him because she thought he looked hungry.

He loved her through every detox, every lie, every time he screamed and she didn’t flinch.

He loved her the day she fell asleep sitting against his door because he refused to let her in, but she still didn’t leave.

And he loved her now, more than ever.

But what good was that?

What good was a love you had to hide like a weapon?

What good was a heart full of devotion if it could level buildings when it broke?

Bob wanted her arms. He wanted her voice telling him he was okay. He wanted her fingers to touch his temple and whisper, “You’re still you, somewhere in there.”

But he couldn’t have that. He couldn’t ever have that.

So he took what he could.

He underlined another sentence. Highlighted another confession. Dog-eared another page.

He gave her pieces of his soul, one book at a time, and prayed she never figured it out.

Because if she did—if she knew it was him—it might give her hope.

And he didn’t want that for her. Hope was what killed people like him.

And she was never meant to die loving a ghost.

--

The Watchtower was quiet that night. Quieter than usual.

Bob was sitting by the window in his room, legs pulled to his chest like a child who hadn’t yet figured out how to stop shaking. He’d been staring at the stars for hours, pretending they were blinking just for him—pretending they meant something. Sometimes the silence helped. Sometimes it pressed down so hard he couldn’t breathe.

Tonight, it was both.

He almost didn’t hear Alexei come in.

His footsteps were heavier than usual, but not in the theatrical, attention-seeking way. No, this was something different. There was weight in them. Real weight. Emotional weight.

Bob didn’t turn to look at him.

“Tea and cookies,” Alexei said quietly, easing himself into the old chair across from Bob, setting down a book neither of them would read.

Bob blinked, not understanding. “What?”

“She made tea. There were these little shortbread cookies. She always brings some to the club. But tonight she invited me to stay after.”

Bob felt it instantly. That subtle shift in his chest—recognition, fear, hope. A name curled on his tongue like a prayer.

“Y/N.”

Alexei nodded.

Silence passed between them like static.

“I wasn’t going to stay,” Alexei said. “Didn’t feel right, you know? She looked tired. But she offered. Said she didn’t want to be alone. So I sat. And for a while, it was nothing. Just two people eating cookies and being quiet.”

Bob’s throat tightened. He could picture it too clearly—her small, chipped mug, her socks pulled up too high, maybe a blanket draped around her shoulders. She always had trouble sitting still when she was anxious. She’d shift, fidget, adjust the books near her elbows, touch her hair.

“And then?” Bob whispered.

Alexei looked at him. Really looked. Not like a soldier. Not like a friend. Like someone about to hand you your own soul.

“She asked me if I’d ever loved someone enough to ruin myself for them.”

Bob stopped breathing.

“I told her… yeah. I did. A long time ago. And that it hurt. That sometimes love isn’t enough. That you can want someone more than anything in the world and still have to walk away.”

He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t have to. Bob knew there was more in that silence than Alexei could ever say. But the words weren’t the part that undid him.

It was what came next.

“She started crying.”

Bob’s heart cracked so loud in his chest he thought it might split the room in two.

“She didn’t even try to stop it. She just let it happen. Tears down her cheeks, her hands shaking around that stupid little mug. And she said…” Alexei’s voice softened. “She said she was still waiting for someone.”

Bob gripped the windowsill so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“She said there was a man who left. And he never came back. And she knows he was broken—knows he had problems, things she might never understand. But she loved him anyway. Or maybe she didn’t even know she did. Not until it was too late. And even now, even after all the pain, some pathetic part of her—those were her words, not mine—still wanted him. Still waited.”

The tears came without warning.

Bob didn’t cry pretty. It was never cinematic. It was raw. Silent. Heaving. His face contorted as the sobs tore through him like glass down his throat.

She was waiting for him.

After everything. After all the ways he’d failed her. After the vomit and the relapses. After the bruised knuckles and broken promises. After disappearing without a goodbye, like a coward.

She was still waiting.

“Alexei—” he tried, but his voice shattered.

Alexei stood and walked over, putting a firm hand on Bob’s shoulder. “She misses you, man.”

“She shouldn’t,” Bob rasped. “She deserves better.”

“Maybe. But she doesn’t want better. She wants you.”

Bob bent forward, forehead pressed to his knees, shoulders trembling like the ceiling might cave in on him.

He could see her now—eyes red, voice cracking, wrapped in that old cardigan she used to wear when she felt small. Crying not because she was weak, but because something inside her had finally broken under the weight of everything she’d been carrying.

His name. His ghost. The ache that never left her chest.

“She said she never got to tell him,” Alexei added quietly. “That she was proud of him, even when he thought there was nothing left to be proud of.”

Bob shook his head violently, tears soaking through his sleeves.

“I don’t deserve her,” he choked. “I don’t deserve one second of her kindness. I left her. I left her.”

“But you never stopped loving her.”

Bob lifted his eyes, watery and wild.

Alexei knelt down in front of him, squeezing his shoulder. “That counts for something.”

Bob wanted to believe that. He needed to. But the guilt was too thick, too rooted. He’d buried his love like a landmine—sooner or later, someone was always going to get hurt.

But tonight… for the first time in weeks, in months, maybe in years… he had something to hold on to.

Hope.

Alexei wasn’t the kind of man who usually gave pep talks. He broke bones, not hearts. But that night, something in the room shifted. The weight in the air was different. Bob sat hunched on the floor again, as he often did when his thoughts got too loud, too dangerous. His hands were clenched in his hair, tears drying on his face in the silence. It wasn’t a silence of peace. It was one of surrender.

“I can’t go,” Bob whispered. “I can’t.”

Alexei sat in the chair beside him, eyes fixed on the floor. “Yes. You can.”

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” Bob snapped, voice raw and thick. “You’ve seen the surface—what the Void lets you see. But I know what I’ve done. What I’ve almost done. I could’ve killed her. Just because I wanted to be loved.”

Alexei was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice like gravel and mercy.

“Do you think love is safe?” he asked. “Do you think any of us walk into it without risk? I have done worse things, Bob. To people who trusted me. To people I loved. You think I sleep easy at night? No. I just… don’t run from it anymore.”

“I never stopped running,” Bob muttered, choking on the words. “Even when I had her. Especially then. She tried so hard. God, Alexei, she tried so hard for me.”

Bob pressed the heel of his palm into his eye until stars burst behind the lid.

“Do you think…” he asked in a hoarse whisper, “that my love can undo what I’ve done? Do you think that’s enough? That just because I love her, it makes the nights she cried worth it? That it fixes the way I shattered her, again and again?”

“No,” Alexei said bluntly. “Love isn’t enough. Not on its own. But it’s a start. It’s a reason to try. And Bob—she hasn’t stopped trying either.”

Bob shook his head, lips trembling. “She doesn’t know what she’s waiting for. She thinks I’m someone worth saving.”

Alexei reached into his coat pocket.

“Then maybe you should read this.”

He held out a single, folded post-it.

It was pale yellow, edges a little crumpled. Familiar. Too familiar.

Bob stared.

He didn’t reach for it at first. Didn’t trust his hands not to crumble it in disbelief. But Alexei held steady, offering it like an answer.

Bob finally took it.

He didn’t even have to open it. He knew the handwriting. Slanted, careful but with bursts of impatience in the curls of the letters.

And he knew the words.

“I’ll come back. For you. Always.”

And he remembered it again—the worst nights. The ones he could barely piece together through the fog. The clatter of the bathroom door, the stench of vomit, her hands trembling as she wiped his face with a warm cloth, whispering things he couldn’t hear but felt in his bones. No disgust. No anger. Just… tired love. Quiet devotion.

And the guilt that came after—so thick, it coated his skin. He stopped opening the door. Stopped letting her see him like that. She’d still come, knock softly, wait longer than she should’ve. And when he said nothing, did nothing—she’d slide a little post-it under the door.

“I’ll come back. For you. Always.”

His breath hitched.

“This—this is—” He stared at the note like it was the most sacred thing in the world. Like it could breathe.

“She gave it to me tonight,” Alexei said softly. “Slipped it into my book. Didn’t say anything. Just smiled. I think… I think she wanted you to know that she’s still there. Still waiting.”

Bob folded in half, pressing the note to his chest like it could stop the bleeding.

“But how—how would she know—?”

Alexei chuckled under his breath, and it wasn’t unkind.

“She’s not stupid, Bob. She knew from the beginning. From the first book.”

Bob lifted his head, dazed.

“She told me tonight. She recognized me right away. She remembered me from the photos. And the first time I brought a book with your handwriting in it? She didn’t say a word. But her whole face changed. Like a light she didn’t expect. Like a ghost she thought she’d never see again.”

Bob’s lips parted. “But she never said—”

“She didn’t have to. She knew you were talking to her. And she answered. She let it happen until she was ready.”

Bob’s mouth quivered.

“Every time she brought a specific book to the club. That was for you.”

He was silent.

“She chose them for you, Bob. You weren’t the only one using me to speak. She was doing it too.”

Bob broke.

"You know what Bob, I've had many experiences in life, but seeing two people love each other while thinking the same unrequited love bullshit it's the most frustating thing I've lived through."

--

The book club had ended hours ago.

The chairs were stacked, the lights dimmed except for one hanging low over the back counter where the tea kettle still hummed. The scent of old paper, lavender, and stale sugar cookies lingered in the air.

Alexei lingered too.

He never stayed this late, usually offering a polite farewell and a practiced smile before retreating into the night like he had somewhere else to be. But tonight, he hesitated, eyes trailing to the table where Y/N stood quietly, tidying up a few leftover napkins like she wasn’t just waiting for something—like she wasn’t bracing herself for it.

“I should go,” Alexei said, half-hearted.

She didn’t look up right away. “One second,” she murmured.

And then she turned to him, slowly. In her hand was a tiny yellow square of paper, slightly curled at the edges like it had been held too many times. There was no name on it. Just handwriting—familiar and aching and soft in its certainty.

“I’ll come back. For you. Always.”

Alexei froze.

His blood stopped.

He hadn’t seen one of those in years. Not since—

Y/N stepped forward and gently pressed the post-it into his hand.

“Please give this to Bob.”

Silence.

Alexei’s mouth opened, then closed. His eyes searched hers, stunned, confused—exposed. He thought he had been careful. Thought the quiet drop-ins, the vague discussions, the books marked with gentle nuance and wordless confessions had been subtle enough. He thought he’d played the messenger without giving himself—or Bob—away.

But she had known.

She had always known.

“...You knew?” he asked softly, barely breathing.

Y/N gave a tired smile, the kind that looked like it hurt to wear.

“Since the first book,” she said. “The underlined sentences. The margin notes. The way you looked at me when I laughed, like someone had told you a joke days ago and you were just now getting it.”

Alexei blinked, overwhelmed. “You never said anything.”

“I didn’t need to.” She let out a breath, bitter and sweet all at once. “It was the only way I could hear him again. I didn’t want to break it.”

She stepped away then, folding her arms as if trying to hold herself together. Her shoulders trembled.

“But tonight… I just needed him to know,” she whispered.

Alexei’s grip tightened on the post-it.

He didn’t know what to say. How to tell her that Bob had read every word she spoke, that he lived in the seconds she laughed, that he measured time by the days she showed up with her hair down or a new sweater or a different tea. That Bob was starving just to be near her. That every night he watched from the shadows was both punishment and penance.

But he couldn't say those things.

Because they weren’t his to give.

So he just stood there, useless in his stillness.

And then she broke.

“Why didn’t he come back?” she asked, voice crumbling like wet paper. “I waited. I waited, Alexei.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks in slow, silent rivers. Her hands trembled at her sides.

“I was angry. So angry when he left. I hated him. I told myself I did. But then I’d go to the places we used to go. I’d drink the same coffee. Sit on the same benches. And every time the door opened, I thought it might be him.”

Alexei swallowed hard, chest tightening.

“I’m not asking for an apology,” she continued, voice rising with the dam of grief. “I just want to know why. Was I not enough? Was I… was I too much?”

“No,” Alexei whispered, pained. “Y/N, no.”

“Then why did he leave me like that?” Her voice broke. “Why didn’t he come back like I always did for him?”

She sank into the chair beside her, covering her face with one hand, wiping at tears that kept falling no matter how hard she tried to stop them.

Alexei stepped forward but hesitated.

He couldn’t tell her everything. He couldn’t say that Bob had been dragged through every layer of his own personal hell—had been broken, drugged, used like a weapon, haunted by the very love he didn’t think he deserved. That every time he thought about her, it wasn’t with joy, but with agony, because he believed he’d poisoned every beautiful thing in his life.

He couldn’t say that Bob cried in his sleep.

He couldn’t say that he never went more than three days without watching her from afar, just to be sure she was alive.

He couldn’t say any of that.

Because those words were Bob’s to give.

But his voice was soft as he spoke.

“He never stopped thinking about you.”

Y/N let out a small, helpless sound, somewhere between a sob and a breath.

“I just want it to be over,” she whispered. “The waiting. The not-knowing. I took the first step. Again.”

Alexei knelt beside her, gently placing the post-it in his coat pocket.

“I hope,” she said through tears, “I hope this is the last time I have to.”

And then she wept.

Not quietly. Not daintily.

She cried like someone who had carried too many sleepless nights in her chest. Like someone who had waited at every metaphorical door, only to find them locked. Like someone who knew she had loved without boundaries and had bled for it.

Alexei didn’t say anything else.

He just sat beside her, listening to the sound of her heart breaking again—for someone who had never stopped holding it.

And in the quiet, somewhere between sorrow and forgiveness, the post-it in his pocket burned like a lighthouse finally being lit after years of storm.

He would give it to Bob.

And for the first time in years, Bob would understand:

He could hide, protect her all he wanted, run away from her from years on end. She will always find a way to make him come back. Even if it made her rot from the inside out.

"If I had someone fight for me this hard and I still made them doubt the value of their presence while living with that thought day after day Bob. Maybe that's why you will never be happy. No family, no friends, no hope, for years its was just her. What even made you think you could stay away when you're just as miserable as her?"

Bob looked up to Alexei.

Part of him confused, she wasn't miserable she was living, he saw her.

But...if that was the truth for her, what has she been thinking all this time seeing him.

It was kinda funny. How could two people who only had one another no so little of each other's mind.

Both seemed happy. Both were dying for each other.

[ruinix]

Quinn, eating your pussy at his own pace, for hours.

Hello, lovely. I didn't expect to receive another ask for another drabble. I am not ready (actually panicked when i received this). Anyways, I may have gotten overboard with the details before what you requested. Once more asking you to put the bar down🧎🏻‍♀️because.... i'm crying 😭😭😭

Treat

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Lots of kisses, Oral (fem receiving...as requested), Q just wanna eat you up--🙂‍↔️🙂‍↕️

Count: 1,499 words | Masterlist

You’re a treat. A fucking delicious one. Every time Quinn looks at you, his mouth instantly waters.

He always makes sure that you’re not doing anything that could be dangerous like chopping vegetables, cooking, or hopping over the counters to reach the highest cabinets. He will never endanger you. Though, work calls, phone calls with your friends or family, watching TV, watering plants, on your way out for errands, walking around the house because of boredom…those things aren’t dangerous. Important, sure but those can wait, right? You just look so delectable. Like a treat that’s just for him.

Quinn is sane enough to be wary, yet he could barely control himself when he pulls you for a kiss, pushing you against the nearest surface—the wall adjacent to your home office. He must kiss you and taste you mixed with your flavored lip balms. It's vanilla. Fuck. His. Life.

It would always be, “Oh, Quinn. I need to answer this call.” “Quinn. Sweetheart, I’m busy.” “Quinn, I need to go out.” “Quinn, we need to finish doing the laundry.” “Quinn, I need to do the dishes.”

Right now, it's, "I'm waiting for a call, Quinn."

Bla-fucking-bla. Everything can wait.

Quinn needs you. He’s always so fucking busy with hockey—practice, media, the games. He wants to be with you and taste you whenever chance he gets. And it’s now, now, and always now. It doesn't matter if he has an optional skate that he must prepare for. It doesn't fucking matter.

So, he kisses you deeper, holding your cheeks after he turns off your phone, relishing on your taste, making sure to deepen the kiss so both of you forget when one starts and one ends.

Do you know he could still taste the gum you chewed on an hour ago? Do you know he could still taste the caramel lollipop you were sucking on just now? God, he wants to taste everything mixed with you. You’re his favorite flavor. He wants something more. By the way you’re panting and grinding against his thigh, you want it too.

He’s getting drunk on your tongue, your taste, your touch that he could barely lead you to your bed. When you two part, a string of saliva connects you. Your eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown. Your lips are red and swollen. Your hair is fanned out beneath you like a halo. He nearly shudders when your hands find his cheeks.

“Can I?” he asks, while your thumb traces along his lower lip.

“Yes,” you would reply without hesitation, already knowing what he’s craving.

That’s all he needs. He’s kissing you again. Your lips. Your chin. Your cheek. Your jaw. Your earlobe. Your neck, taking his time to suck the fading kiss marks. Your collarbones. He almost tears your shirt open—too many buttons, fuck he just wants to touch you—but he knows better. For every inch of skin he exposes, he kisses and licks.

So divine. You smell like him. Fuck, you used his body wash again.

This is unfair. He feels like he’s losing and falling into your trap. Quinn wants that though. He wants to be trapped with you and nothing else. He wants it so fucking badly.

He could feel your silent chuckle, could feel the scrape of your nails on his scalp. You’re laughing at him, so he pulled down your bra. His lips find your nipple. He sucks, turning your laughter into tiny gasps. That’s it. He can’t have you laugh at him. Not right now.

He takes his time teasing your pretty nipples, licking and sucking your breasts’ undersides from time to time. Relishing his smell on you. His sweet treat. You make him so fucking hard. He knows he’s leaking—pre-cum staining his gray sweatpants—for you. All for you.

Your whines and pleas only make him want to tease you more. Your hips keep pushing up, thighs squeezing around his torso. Your hands that were busy tugging at his hair are now pushing down on his shoulder. You need more. Quinn knows that, but the taste of sweat on your skin is making him hold onto you tighter, making him lick every bead of your skin. Just a few more taste of your skin.

You’re trembling now. The first time you tremble when he touched you, he panicked. But now, he understands your body like the back of his hand. It’s your anticipation, isn’t it? You want all his marks. You want him. You need him. He understands that. Oh, so well, because he feels the same.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your skin, his eyes flicking to yours.

Your cheeks are flushed as you bite your lips. Your eyes shine with tears. Your eyebrows drawn together. Sweat drips down from your temple. “I love you,” you whisper.

Quinn swore his heart skips a beat. His stomach flips. Hearing those three words always makes him fall for you harder.

He almost drops this, like he could just appease his craving by kissing you. He could be satisfied with that. However, the moment his fingers slip over your panties, feeling how soaked you are, he can’t just stop. He yearns for your pussy. So, he continues. He goes down and down and down, hands expertly removing your skirt—which looked heavenly on you, by the way.

Now you’re just left with nothing. Totally bare. You look so majestic. All spread out for him. He sees your quivering hole, your arousal oozes, almost dripping.  What a sight. A delicious sight.

Quinn just dives for it, tongue licking from entrance to clit, making you mewl. He can’t stop the moan that escapes him. You taste so divine. His favorite aphrodisiac. His elixir.

Lick after lick, he revels in your taste. Your arousal coats every swipe of his tongue. It’s making his head spin, his cock aching. Yet he’s only tasting. Just tasting. Nothing more. Nothing yet. He has time. He has to savor this.

Fuck, he’s so hard. So fucking hard that when he dipped his tongue in your quivering hole, he almost comes as your wall tightens. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He could feel it through his cock. It’s always like this. It’s like you’re fucking him when he only has his tongue in you.

Your taste. Your smell. Your wetness. Quinn needs all of it.

He grips the back of your thighs, making you rest them over his shoulders, as he feasts on your pussy, hips rutting into the bed. Everything feels so good for him. The feel of your thighs squeezing his head, threatening to asphyxiate him on nothing but your pussy. That's one way to die, isn't it? Quinn doesn't have any complaints. As long as he's tasting you. As long as your pussy clenches around his tongue. He could just die like that.

When his nose grazes your clit, he feels your pussy throb, squeezing so tightly. Yes. Fuck yes. You’re cumming around his tongue, your thighs quivering, your hands ruthlessly tugging on his hair, your hips grinding on his face. Quinn firmly held you, slurping and sucking your cum. Tastes so fucking good. He holds your hips down. He doubles his efforts, devouring everything you have given him.

“Quinn,” you pant, trying to push him off. “'m sensitive.”

He knows. He fucking knows. He shamelessly doesn’t care. More. He needs more. You can give him more.

Your curses for him to slow down stutters when he sucks around your clit, his fingers replacing his tongue. He could feel your surrender as you grind against him, back arching when he hooks his fingers to your sweet spot. Your whines get louder. So much louder because you’re coming again and Quinn is already there, tongue deep inside your pussy, taking everything. So exquisite.

He takes and takes until you come down from your high, panting and quivering, but Quinn still wants more. He fucking needs it. He wants your taste to last until the next day. He wants to feel you come again and again around his tongue. It’s not fucking enough.

“Quinn,” you say in a broken plea.

“One more, baby,” is all he says. “One more.”

You answer with a whimper, head nodding.

You both know he’s a liar.

It’s never ‘one more’. Never even when he gets you to come twice more. Even when he comes in his pants—cum making the gray dark which only makes him more feral. Even when you get overstimulated as well as his dribbling cock. Even when his phone rings for that fucking optional skate. Even when you two are dripping with sweat. Even when exhaustion takes hold of you.

He would just slow down, but never part from you like your pussy is the only thing keeping him alive. It fucking is.

Quinn would eat you out for hours. He could do it for days, but you would always slap him off you after two hours. But today, he’ll go for three.

[baby-yongbok]

Could you pleaseeeee keep doing ASD based stuff? 🥹 Maybe a fluff where Fem!reader receives something she has a hyper fixation for from chan and he stands and admires here as she stims and lightly jumps in circles 🙏🏻❤️

A little something

Bang Chan x Autistic!reader

⤷ Fluff ⤷ WC - 0.6k ⤷ a/n - this took me forever but let's pretend it didn't... I'm sorry. It's hard for me to write ASD stuff despite being on the spectrum myself but I finally did it. I used my own special interest for this & this is based off of my experience with autism and not to meant to reflect how every person with ASD may operate. I hope that you enjoy! ♡ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You found Chan by the window, sleeves shoved up, wrestling with something in his hands — a tangled mess of clear plastic and suction cups. He muttered under his breath, so focused he didn't notice you come in until you leaned your shoulder against the doorframe with a small, curious hum.

He glanced up, sheepish, and immediately tried to hide the mess behind his back. Which was pointless, because a second later a suction cup popped loose and fell to the floor with a sad little thunk.

You blinked at him, heart already starting to race the way it did when you could feel something good was about to happen. Chan smiled — a real one, the kind that crinkled his eyes, the kind he didn’t use for anyone else.

"I, uh..." He toed the suction cup across the floor with the side of his sock. "Had an idea. For you. For, y'know, spring and stuff."

He crouched down to pick it up, grumbling to himself, before straightening up and holding the whole thing out toward you. Finally letting you see it properly.

A bird feeder.

Clear plastic, simple design, with little perches and trays. Small enough to stick directly onto the glass of your bedroom window.

“So you can see them whenever you want,” he said, voice soft, almost shy. “You shouldn’t have to go looking for them.”

For a second, you just stared. Not because you didn’t get it — no, you got it too much. The thought behind it hit you straight in the chest, so much louder than any words could’ve been. 

Your hands twitched before you could even think. You squeezed them into fists, You rocked on your heels in what slowly progressed into a small bounce, and then you burst — your hands fluttered up, half-formed movements in the air, your feet carried you in excited circles as you tried to get the fuzzy feeling out. A high, shaky noise slipped out of your throat, this bright, raw little laugh you couldn't even contain.

And Chan... God, Chan just looked so stupidly proud. Like he'd just handed you the entire sun.

You didn’t know what to do first — say thank you? set it up? hug him? cry a little because someone thought of you like this?

You did a messy mix of all of it — Chan set the feeder down carefully to catch you when you fling your arms around his waist, laughing and half-crying into his hoodie.

"I love it," you mumbled against him, voice muffled. "I love you." 

He chuckled low against the top of your head, squeezing you so tightly it felt like he was trying to put all the unspoken things into his arms instead.

"Let's stick it up now," he said, pulling back just enough to wipe your cheek with his thumb, grinning like you personally kept the stars lit.

The two of you ended up perched on the windowsill, crammed side by side, sticking the feeder to the glass with too much excitement and not nearly enough coordination. Your hands kept fluttering every time you touched the feeder — tap, tap, tap — a little dance of your fingers against the window, almost like you were coaxing the birds to come faster.

Chan caught you doing it once, and instead of saying anything, he just bumped his knee against yours, soft and understanding.

It didn’t even take an hour. A tiny, brave sparrow fluttered down, landing on one of the perches like it had been waiting for the invitation. You gasped so sharply you clapped your hands over your mouth, then started bouncing where you sat, fists clenching and unclenching in wild, giddy excitement.

Chan watched the bird for maybe two seconds — then he turned to watch you instead. Like he couldn’t imagine a view better than the way you lit up.

And honestly, maybe he was right.

❥ Wanna Be On My Taglist? Click here for the Taglist Form!

All Content Tag list: @wealwayskeepfighting @whokno-ows @stay-tiny-things @yaorzu-blog @krayzieestay @nxtt2-u  @armystay89 @kayleefriedchicken @compersian  @kibs-and-bits @whokno-ows @poppet05 @estella-novella @unbel1ve4ble @pixie-felix @catsforlife6864 @lisaskz @chloe-elise-2000 @jaeminie-cricket @gingerrracha @wickedbutlovely @lolareadsimagines @h00d-tr4sh @felixleftchickennugget @jeyelleohe @hanjiyunho @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @iminc0gnito - @dreamingaboutjisung @lixiluvs @lghtdarling @teddy-stay , @baconcupcakes123,, @soulsbbg , @stay-bi , @yzsqu , @lghtdarling @joonkki @my_neurodivergent_world @tricky-ritz@linospetsitter @0sunshinecryptid0 @miyaluvvsyou @minhooofr @Chansfavoriterubberducky @Felixleftchickennugget @babygay2005 @stellasays45 @corgilover20 @bx-lov3 @myrkhive @kttb @rockstarkkami @cowboylikemalika @angellcvkes @caitlyn98s @camryn-haitani @felixsonlyrealwife @binnie-c @highkeyinlovewithhanjisung @bbokarismeow @hannahlue Written Fics ONLY (including series) tag list: @moonchild9350 @daveah @bangchanslvt @deaddcrow @hyunjinhoexxx @famousblazeengineer Written Fics ONLY (no series): @dollxkill @hyunjinhoexxx @famousblazeengineer @Eggielix [Red names are tags that seem broken]