#i feel like a superhero when the vision clears though

[runa-falls]

what a mess~

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader cw: smut, established relationship, superhuman stamina, overstimulation, cum EVERYWHERE, 'use a condom, it's too messy X(', 'bitch stfu i'll show you messy'..., so many sheets, reader is a pushover (bc I WOULD BE TOO) wc: 1k + a/n: i um... just take this and I'll go to a corner of a room and think ab what I've done.

---

Having a superhero boyfriend is great – he gets you discounts at your favorite restaurant, he easily carries you home after a long night out at the bar, he saves you from getting kidnapped by his arch-nemesis for the fourth time this month (though isn’t that his fault in the first place?....) – but there are aspects of the relationship that you didn’t consider before. 

Apparently, with great power comes great… stamina. 

To put it plainly, Miguel’s (sex) drive is unheard of. You better clear out your schedule for the whole day because he can go for hours. And most nights, you can barely sit up after he fucks you.

You like that – or you did when you could afford to be sore every other day. You like how enthusiastic he is – how much he wants you. It makes you feel desired and beautiful. But it’s not just the intense workout you risk every time you steal a kiss that turns into more – it’s the number of times he can…finish. 

Every time you think he’s finished, he’s still hard and thrusting into you, overstimulating you until black stars start to fill your vision. 

It’s a mess in the end. 

You lay on top of him, filled to the brim, dripping all over his lower stomach and onto the sheets under you, breathing so hard you’re sure you’d rupture a lung. You feel like you’re barely conscious on the bed as your heart beats harshly against your chest from how hard you came. Hair sticks graciously against your forehead as your eyes struggle to stay open to see Miguel, who gently pulls out and watches his mess spill out of you. 

He whispers sweetly of how well you took him, how pretty you look all fucked out, how much he loves that he can turn you into a blabbering – mindless whore. Being the possessive man he is, he attempts to shove it back in, using two of his thick fingers to gather and push his essence back into you, hoping that, against all odds, it’ll take, despite the fact you take your birth control religiously. 

Of course, when he sees how your thighs shake and squeeze around his hand from the overstimulation of him fucking his fingers into you after you just came, he immediately gets hard again. 

He gazes down at you with apologetic red eyes as he bites his lip under a sharp fang, “I can’t help it when I see how wrecked your pussy is for me…”

It’s nice – it’s hot – but you end up having to change the sheets 5 times a week. He’s insatiable… well ok, you’re just as thirsty as your boyfriend, but the amount of maintenance you need for each session is ridiculous. You basically gave up washing your sheets after every fuck, and instead ordered several identical sets of bedding to make the process easier. 

Many sheets have been destroyed beyond recognition. Okay, maybe you’re being a bit overdramatic, but the amount of cum-stained sheets in your linen closet is insane. How are you supposed to hide this if you were to have guests over?!

After staring at the layers of folded-up and stained sheets that you’ve accumulated over the past few months, you decided you were going to do something about it. 

You can still have fun without the mess.

…right?

—

Miguel has you on your back at the end of the bed with your legs resting on the crook of his arms. You have on a cute little nightgown – white to symbolize purity (though what you were about to do was far from pure) – with nothing underneath. It was one you bought just to get a reaction out of him – and now you got it. 

He holds you open for him, regarding you like he would a special gift – though there’s nothing to really celebrate (unless you count his raging erection). He breathes harshly against your neck as he paints your skin with kisses and nips. You’re nearly folded in half with how closely he’s pushed against you, but you can barely recognize the mere tinge of soreness in your legs with how fluidly pleasure seems to travel from his lips down to the apex of your thighs. 

Miguel O’Hara, the strong, independent Spider-Man, is truly a mess in front of you. His once neatly ironed tie now hangs loosely around his neck, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned halfway down, and his hair a tangle of unruly curls. His fingers, now caressing your body, are already dripping in your slick from when he forced a couple of orgasms out of you right when he got home. 

You find a sense of satisfaction in the disheveled state of his appearance, relishing how his once meticulously groomed demeanor has been disrupted – how his eyes transition from their usual chocolatey brown to a striking blood red, how his lips swell sweetly with lust. 

Miguel groans deeply as he grinds his clothed hardness against your wet center, “Mm…I want you so bad.” He unbuttons and unzips his pants, sighing as he releases himself from the tight fabric. No underwear? 

“Wait, Mig." he pauses his movements, waiting patiently – prepared to do whatever you want. “Get a condom.” …Except maybe…that. 

“Condom?” He could barely hold back his sneer, but you could faintly hear the growl vibrate from his chest. 

“Mhm, we’ve been too messy lately. We can’t just keep buying new sheets every week!”

“...We could…”

“Miguel!”

“I don’t see what the problem is… this is just how it is.”

“But it’s too messy.”

“I thought my baby likes to be filled up…”

“...I-I mean, I do sometimes, but –”

“Don’t you like it when I get you all messy?” He leans in close, distracting you from denying him. “Have you dripping with me for days?” He presses closer, and you can feel his hard cock slip against your wetness, dragging against your sensitive clit. 

“Miguel.” You whine.

It’s so hard to deny this man.

“How about we just try to be more careful, hm?” He presses against you gently, nearly entering you, but not quite. It feels so good, the tip of him barely stretching past your entrance. 

“Okay…j-just this once though…” You surrender with a whisper.

[malyce19]

Hi.

I’m working on coming back to the world of fic writing after a very long hiatus. TLDR I got sober and had a baby and my perspective on the whole world changed, as it does. So if you’ve liked my fics in the past, I’m sorry I’ve been MIA for so long. Here’s a teaser of what I’m working on right now. It’s called State Lines.

“there’s no such thing as a clean break when your heart starts bleeding out.” - chance peña

Day 1

She sold her penthouse and bought the car. A gray sedan, plenty of room for all of the belongings she cared enough to travel with. Nothing flashy, something reliable and low maintenance that wouldn’t call too much attention to her presence as she made her escape. All that mattered to her was that the car’s suspension wasn’t impacted by all of the emotional weight she was bringing with her on this journey to nowhere. She should have said something, she knows that. But what do you say when you’re leaving everything and everyone behind?

She didn’t know where she was going, not that it really mattered. She’d been driving for two days, only stopping for gas and compulsory restroom and food breaks. The more distance she could place between herself and blonde haired blue eyed loves of her life, the better. So she drove, vaguely eastbound with stinging eyes and an aching heart.

Miles passed and the road lines started to feel like metaphors, lines in the proverbial sand. Endless expanses of pavement and exit signs beckoned her forward, the promise of anonymity and rebirth lingering somewhere on the horizon as she drove. As her old life burned to cinders behind her, she felt less like a phoenix and more like a nondescript speck of ash, floating aimlessly on the wind. And maybe that’s all she was now, without her.

Day 3

By day three, Lena had to stop to sleep. She’d pushed herself as far as she could, coffee and disgustingly sweet energy drinks sustaining her only to the point of blurred vision and shaking hands. So she found a slightly innocuous looking hotel a few miles off the highway in northern Texas, pulling her borrowed (now stolen) NCU baseball cap down as far as it would go to obscure her features as she checked in. It helped, she supposed, that the kid behind the counter couldn’t drag his eyes away from the football game he was watching long enough to look her in the eye, so being recognized wasn’t an issue. She paid for the room in cash, as she had with everything else on this trip, and she tipped the boy an extra $100 bill to ensure housekeeping left the room alone until she’d checked out. Leaving a paper trail would defeat the purpose of a clean break, and she couldn’t risk being recognized by a well-meaning staffer trying to offer more towels.

In the safety of a locked hotel room, Lena took her hair down and tossed the duffle bag on the bed. It was getting dark out, and she closed the heavy curtains to keep her eyes from searching the clear sky for familiar streaks of red and blue. It was only a matter of time, she knew, before her absence would become obvious. She’d left LCorp on sabbatical, leaving Sam at the helm for the time being, vaguely committing to take the reins again sometime in the future. Her new phone was blissfully quiet, Sam and Jess the only two she trusted with the number. News alerts about superheroes and aliens and secret government agencies were disabled, and all that graced her lock screen was a stock photo of some rainy trees.

As she sat down on the bed, exhaustion starting to settle into every nerve, she couldn’t help but wonder how the hell she got here. Not physically, that was obvious. She bought a car and drove for three straight days until she realized she was endangering the other drivers (though there’d been very few) by continuing on like this. She just didn’t trust herself to keep going without rest, so here she was, in a Hilton hotel in fucking Lubbock, of all places. Trust. That’s what this all boiled down to, wasn’t it? Misplaced trust, betrayal of trust, lack of trust where it was dutifully earned with literal blood, sweat and tears. Trust, broken and shattered and disintegrated in one fell swoop with her former favorite person’s too-little-too-late confession.

[cherienymphe]

Home Sweet Home (Homelander x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, mentions of MURDER, violence, stalking, voyeurism, forced relationship

➥ banner by @maysdigitalarts​​​​​​​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​​​

summary: Having the attention of America’s greatest hero isn’t a dream come true. It’s a fucking nightmare.

~

You locked your door with trembling hands, lips just as shaky as a shallow breath escaped you. You allowed your forehead to gently drop against the wood, struggling to swallow. As you closed your eyes, your fingers grazed over the lock, and you knew that wouldn’t keep him out, but you needed to pretend even if only just for a few moments.

After taking some minutes to collect yourself, you straightened and turned around. Your apartment was small, but personable. It was almost impressive what you’d managed to do with the small space you were given. Secondhand furniture, dishes you’d gotten from your grandma, and art you’d collected over the years hanging on the wall. It was nice, but…normal. It didn’t strike you as terribly special to look at.

Everything about your life was mundane.

Your apartment, your life…and you.

And that’s why you didn’t understand it one bit.

Agreeing to tag along with a friend to an event to meet The Supes turned out to be the biggest mistake of your life. You had always appreciated them for the good they did, but you hadn’t ever been anywhere as invested as your friend. But you were supportive, always had been, and had been all smiles as you stood to the side while she got her pictures and autographs.

Everyone else had been content with just your small waves and polite smiles even though The Deep’s eyes had lingered on you for longer than necessary before looking away with so much dismal it almost offended you. It was clear that you weren’t a fan fan, and everyone else had respected that…except for him.

His charming smile had seemed to fill your vision as he stepped closer, reaching out despite your protests and pulling you against his side as he signaled to some reporters to get pictures. You had tried to politely turn them, and him, down, but he’d insisted. You hadn’t been the most comfortable, but what could you do?

Homelander was just as imposing in person as he seemed on TV. His blond hair was perfect, eyes eerily too blue, and canines almost too sharp as he grinned. He seemed almost out of touch as he shushed your protests away and insisted how much you’d look back on this in fondness. You didn’t exactly agree, and his gentle hold on your arm didn’t do much to quell your nervousness about the strength that you knew was just below the surface.

One picture had been developed immediately, and he hadn’t hesitated to sign it. When he’d asked for your name, you’d paused. It was such an innocent question especially under the circumstances, but for some strange reason, as your gaze met his endless blue one, you didn’t want to give it to him. The feeling had struck you so deeply that you didn’t know how to respond, but then your friend had answered for you, and that was that.

The smile he threw her seemed way more genuine than the one he gave you, eyes holding yours for a moment longer before looking back down and signing your name.

“What’s the matter? Not a fan?”

His deep voice was unwavering, tone unreadable despite the smile on his face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he seemed almost…offended by the thought that you weren’t. You had given a small chuckle, shrug.

“No, yeah, I am,” you’d said with a polite smile. “I just… Not like her.”

You’d gestured to your friend, but Homelander hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. He handed you the picture, and you’d taken it, careful to avoid touching his hand for some reason. It was only when your friend called your name did you realize that throughout your entire interaction with the superhero, she’d made her way through the entire team and was waiting on you.

You had remembered feeling embarrassed, quickly saying your goodbyes before walking away. She’d gushed about it all the entire ride home, an occasional hum and words of agreement coming from you.

“He’s so much prettier in person, right?” she was referring to The Deep. “They all are.”

She had happily sighed, and happy that your friend lived out her dream for even just a few moments, you’d been determined to forget about your own interaction.

But that turned out to be easier said than done.

It was almost scary really how quickly after that your life had taken a sharp turn. You, who had never so much as been in a car accident, suddenly found yourself in the crossfire of a bank robbery. The pain of the bullet was indescribable, and you’d been bleeding on the pavement while some good Samaritans had been trying to keep you conscious while cops arrived…when he arrived.

He hadn’t been alone, and you didn’t know if that was on purpose or if it just worked out that way because while Queen Maeve had been handling the criminals and restoring order until the police showed up, Homelander was knelt beside you. Everyone around you had been so relieved, trusting the superhero with you probably more than they would God himself.

“An ambulance will take too long,” you’d heard him say.

Darkness was reaching for you and grasping you when he lifted you into his arms. The movement made you flinch, and despite the soothing baritone of his voice as he shushed you, you didn’t relax, at all. You had only been grateful to finally pass out before he took flight, and when you woke up in the hospital, you could tell that the nurses were dying to ask you what it was like to be saved by Homelander.

Your best friend had been relieved that you were alive, her gratitude towards the heroes growing at that. You had remained in the hospital for longer than you would have liked, and it was only the 3rd or so day there that you finally asked about your things, only just noticing hat you didn’t have them. She had glanced around in confusion, just as clueless as you before flagging down a nurse.

That had proved fruitless, and while the whole thing unnerved you, your friend was the one to convince you that it wasn’t important. She was just happy that you were alive, and her happiness had been contagious. However, when you finally made it home, your friend’s voice became background noise when you made it to your room.

There, on your bed and still stained with your blood, was your purse.

You had known how it got there, even if you didn’t want to admit it or tell anyone else. Why? You didn’t know. After all, it was a nice gesture, right? You knew your friend would tell you that a little breaking and entering was nothing when a superhero who saved your life was just returning your things. She often talked about them like gods, revered them as such, and you knew she didn’t think they should be held to the same moral standards as the rest of you, but…

You had never bought that.

The thought of him not only knowing where you lived, but also having been in your apartment at some point made your stomach turn. You could hear your friend talking from the kitchen as she prepared to cook you something, and as silly as it seemed, you couldn’t stop yourself from throwing your entire purse, and everything in it, in the garbage.

After that, it had started small.

A moved item here, your favorite bra missing there. You had asked your friend about it, but unsurprisingly, she didn’t know what you were talking about. A little voice in the back of your head whispered the unthinkable to you, but against your better judgement, you’d brushed it off.

Then Steve had happened.

He’d been sweet when he asked for your number at Starbucks one day. You’d been surprisingly receptive and had given it to him. The date had been great, the sex even better, and then you’d woken up 2 days later to the discovery that his body had been dragged from the canal. It had shaken you for more reasons than one, and nobody seemed to listen when you voiced your fears.

“Y/N…are you serious?”

Your friend looked equally concerned for you and angry at you for what you’d said.

“It’s too much of a coincidence, it’s too weird-.”

“He saves lives,” she’d angrily said. “He saved your life.”

You didn’t bring it up again after that, not wanting to lose a friendship over some overpowered celebrity that she didn’t even know. You didn’t go on another date after that, instead spending all of your time either at work or at home. You didn’t even watch the news after that, the sight of his perfect face on the screen making you tense up. You felt stuck, frozen, trapped by something you couldn’t see, and after a while you started to convince yourself that maybe you were crazy…

Until you weren’t.

The scream you let out when you awoke to a large figure standing over your bed one night was loud enough to wake neighbors. Choked gasps left you as you scrambled for the lamp, eyes widening in horror when light flooded the room. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back as he looked over your room, face unreadable as his blue eyes took everything in.

As if he hadn’t been there before.

“What…what are you doing here?” you had gasped, back pressed to your headboard as you fought to get as far away from him as possible.

He hadn’t answered right away, a low hum escaping him instead before his eyes finally met yours. It seemed like forever since you last looked into them, and it was beyond unnerving how…lifeless they looked. He held your gaze for a few moments more before it slowly descended over you, making you cover yourself despite the fact that you were clothed and that it would do no good. He was going to see what he wanted to see no matter what.

“You know…”

He took a step towards your dresser, reaching out to pick up a picture of you and your friend, admiring it for a moment.

“…most people would be thrilled to find me in their room. They’d naturally assume that there was danger, and I was here to save them.”

In your mirror, you could see him roll his eyes towards the ceiling at that.

“…because they trust me. They all trust me with their life…but you don’t even trust me with your purse.”

His gaze lifted to connect with yours in the reflection at that, and you didn’t miss the slight clench of his jaw. You watched it drop to your heaving chest, and you knew that he could feel your heart going a mile a minute. You didn’t bother to repeat your earlier question…you only ran.

Lasers burning the wall before you had you collapsing to the floor as soon as you made it to the hallway. Despite how useless it would be, you had covered your head, tears in your eyes as you turned around to face him. His eyes glowed red in the dark as he stepped towards you, his steps thunderous in the otherwise quiet apartment. Your breathing had picked up as you crawled backwards, panicked sobs leaving your mouth.

Your eyes had been pleading because there was nothing you could do against him, and you both knew it. You couldn’t outrun him or outfight him, and if there was a chance you could do anything to seriously hurt him, he would cauterize your throat without hesitation. You were completely at his mercy…

…and he took full advantage of that.

Your pleas and begging meant nothing to him that night, or any night after. His hand around your throat had left a bruise that lasted for days, and you had felt the pop of strands coming out of your scalp when he gripped your hair too hard.

“Please…please,” you had begged, pushing against his hard chest.

He had stretched you out on the floor of your hallway, his unrelenting cock thrusting into you with a force that frankly terrified you. The pace was almost bruising, and there had been several moments where he’d had to stop and seemingly remind himself how easy it was for him to accidentally kill you in this moment. Despite how much you didn’t want this, the squelching sound of his cock thrusting into you was loud in the darkness, dripping around him and making his movements easier than they were when he started.

You were unable to move beneath him, held down by his strong frame as he sank into you again and again. You couldn’t even scream, that’s how tightly he was holding your throat, and his harsh breathing and deep grunts in your ear made you want to be sick. The night had seemed to go on forever, an endless nightmare, and when he spilled himself into you, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from crying.

He had lightly tapped your face, telling you to hush before rising to fix himself. Your entire body had ached, in shock and disbelief at what had just taken place. He had reached down to tilt your chin up, and you had been too afraid to look away. When he left your apartment like nothing had ever happened, you hadn’t expected to see him again.

But you did the next night. And the night after that, and the night after that.

You cried every time, bed squeaking from his brutal thrusts. He moved you in whatever position he wanted, his strength no match for you as he pushed and pulled you however he liked. After the second week, when you woke up with a sorely bruised lip, you thought of everything you could to put an end to this. After all, you would have rather spent a lifetime in prison than at the mercy of Homelander and his cock.

The next time he came, you had been waiting with a knife…and you had paid for it with a broken wrist. Your scream had been blood-curdling, and the blond had merely tilted his head to the side, hand still wrapped around your arm as he watched you cry.

“Was it worth it?” he eventually asked, mirth in his voice.

Your only response had been a sob, and he tsked.

“…now you’re hurt, and I’m still going to fuck you anyway.”

His words only made you cry harder, and when he made you come around him for the 4th time that night, watching him relax beside you to go to sleep somehow disgusted you more than anything else. Your attempt to get up and leave had been unsuccessful, his hand closing around your injured wrist. His eyes threateningly glowed in the dark as he watched you lie back down, uncaring to the way you shook.

That had been months ago, and your life had been hell ever since.

He came almost every night, sometimes here when you got home or sometimes waking you up in your sleep with his hands on you. You had long distanced yourself from your best friend, unable to keep the grimace off of your face every time she brought up The Supes, Homelander especially. You couldn’t help but think that if he wasn’t at all what you thought he was, what were the chances that the rest of The Seven were the same way? A team was only as good as it’s leader, after all.

You hoped that he wouldn’t come tonight. You hoped that tonight would be one of those nights where work had him tied up for days even. The day in which you never saw him again couldn’t come fast enough, and you hoped that today would be that day. You hoped, and yet even as you hoped, you found yourself cooking his favorite meal, afraid of what could happen if he did show up tonight and you hadn’t. You could still recall the heat only inches away from your face as he’d seared a hole into the wall you were leaning against.

You shuddered at the memory, and you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over.

Why you? You had asked yourself that repeatedly and had yet to come up with an answer. You wish you had never gone to that meet and greet that day. You wished that you could go back in time and change everything back to when your life hadn’t become a prison.

You were just finishing up, putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher when you straightened to feel a chest at your back. You froze in place, staring straight ahead as your heart skipped a beat, and you knew he could hear it. You felt his fingers on the side of your neck, tilting your head over just a tad as he touched the skin there. They danced along your skin, trailing to the front of your throat before gently curving around it.

He pulled you back against him, nose buried into your hair as he breathed you in.

“How was work?” you almost inaudibly asked, voice shaking.

There were times where Homelander clearly liked to pretend that this was some consensual stress relieving relationship he’d pursued with you. There had been moments where he’d rant to you about The Deep or Starlight while holding you against him after he fucked you, conveniently ignoring the sound of your racing heart and the feel of your tears on his skin.

“Exhausting,” he answered, pulling you away from the counter. “…but dealing with a bunch of cocksuckers will do that.”

You didn’t resist now out of fear more than anything else, although you hated to admit the way he made you come around him. You supposed that it couldn’t be helped. It was your body’s natural response, and you’d always be relieved that your body and mind were never on the same page these days. The food was ignored as he steered you towards the couch.

Your breathing was shallow as you hovered in his lap, nails digging into his shoulder as his own fingers had a bruising hold on your waist. He pushed you down onto him, gaze focused on the way you fucked yourself onto his cock. You let out a small whimper when he circled your hips, and you tightened around him.

Your eyes rolled just as his own lifted, and you were completely unprepared for the sharp feel of his teeth on the skin of your breast. You yelped, squirming in his hold as he completely wrapped his lips around it. His other hand came up to massage the other one, and you leaned over him to lessen the pain. Your hand clutched the back of the couch, moaning as you slid over him again and again.

He eventually moved his attention to the other, and you unwittingly fisted your hand in his hair, making him groan. You slid down onto him with ease, making a mess on his thighs and clenching around him. You ignored his painful bites, wincing and shuddering in his lap.

When he started to lift his own hips, you gasped, pain blooming along your skin. You squirmed more, whining at his rough ministrations. Your hand landed on his chest, pushing against him, and you let out a harsh choking noise when his hand closed around your throat instantly. His head was lifted now, and your lashes fluttered as you stared into his cold blue eyes.

His nostrils flared as he pushed you off of him, and your voice was gone when he stood too, forcing you to lie down. When he let your throat go, you greedily sucked in air for a few seconds before his rough lips covered yours just as he thrust into you. Your back arched, chest pushing up into his and nails scratching the fabric of the sofa at his brutal pace.

You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning beneath him at every stroke of his cock. His hand found your throat again, and one of your hands wrapped around his wrist. The couch groaned beneath you, and your toes curled as he pushed you towards the edge. You froze, a rush in your ears as you clenched down onto him once, and then over and over again. Your lips were parted in a silent scream before it eventually came out in a high-pitched sigh.

When he came, his eyes glowed red, putting fear into your heart. It happened sometimes when he climaxed, and although it never went beyond that, as Homelander spilled himself into you, you wondered when the day would come when it inevitably would. 

~

tags: @xoxabs88xox  @readermia  @buckybarnesplumwhore @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @trinittyy @hyoyeoniie @mandiiblanche @doozywoozy @melli0112   @zombiexbody @holl2712  @mansaaay @lipstickstainedred @avengers-goddess​ @ameliaalvarez06​ @kaelibaby​ @totallynotkaibiased @hanniebee33 @jemimah-b99​ @gillybear17​  @mannstarkey @lovserrr @aglassoforangejuiceee  @emberenchanted @layazul @toystory2wasjustokay @my-baexht-ls  @prettymuchboo @asonofpeter @spidey-d00d @cockslutpadalecki @dirtytissuebox @evemarieyl  @katherinemaximoff @ventinglation @tastycakee @stopnala @annellie @littleone2223 @itskeishaaaaa @blueicequeen19 @drewsgfduh @ashpeace888 @bibliophilewednesday @lonnie2390147 @1-800-di0r @amanduhh1998 @coldspoons @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @twwcs @breakfastonpluto19 @lovedetlost @pearlsofme @rottenstyx @famousdestinygarden @officialfangirls-blog​ @untoldgrace @maybanks-luver

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #19

Beware! Not gonna lie, this prompt is creepy. I was feeling some horror vibes and decided to write it down. Whether or not it's actually creepy is for you guys to decide tho. However, just in case...

CW: Mentions of blood/ectoplasm, human experimentation, and descriptions of other unsettling imagery. Mind the tags!! They can give you a summary of what this prompt is about.

(#) = Notes at the end of post. Important context!!

✦

Echoes of the Soul

Danny is captured and taken away by the GIW to be experimented on and despite the combined efforts of his friends, family, and former enemies he's never found. Decades pass, the GIW were shut down at some point and put to trial for all of the atrocities they committed while Danny is recorded as the first superhero know to history. Tragic though his story may be, many modern teenage heroes look up to him.

Danny would only be seen as a memory by the world. Seen as someone who did actually exist at some point, but time and mystery have lessened his impact on other's thoughts and emotions like many other people and instances throughout history. However, it isn't until Jason is on his way back to Gotham since the first time he died(1) that he accidentally/unknowingly takes a detour.

He can't pinpoint why he's taking a longer route back to the city of his birth and death, but something in his chest, his heart, is telling him to follow an unknown path. Though mildly irritated, he follows it regardless. The incessant tug at his ribcage eventually leads him down some back roads into the middle of nowhere, where he finds something.(2)

From the outside, it looks like a regular dilapidated house in the country that was long left abandoned. Something inside Jason screams that the isn't the case at all. He dismounts his motorcycle and circles the property for anything suspicious. He's as cautious and stealthy as a cat stalking a mouse through the grass. Finding nothing, he eventually makes his way to the door, having to break it down to even enter it.

As he steps into the house, all the hair on his body stands on end and he's immediately on edge. Nothing on the ground floor seems suspicious, if a little empty. It was clear nobody had lived here for quite some time, but the feeling in Jason's chest wouldn't leave. If anything, it wrapped itself tighter around his chest, squeezing his lungs and heart to point of almost panicking.

Searching the house and finding nothing in the side rooms, he eventually finds a door to what he can only assume leads to the basement. As soon as his hand even touches the doorknob, his skin is crawling with chills and his teeth are chattering no so much from the cold but from fear he can't locate the source of.

The door creaks when it opens and reveals the stairs leading down into a yawning mouth of darkness. Flashlight in one hand and a pistol in the other, he cautiously begins his dissent. Once at the bottom, he finds another door. Only this time, it's completely out of place. Instead of a rotting, wooden door barely hanging onto it's hinges, this door is made of thick reinforced steel with a lever and a keypad where a doorknob should be. It's not difficult to figure out the code to unlock it. With his history, it might as well of been child's play to crack it.

Once the door was opened, however, he wished he'd left it locked. He wishes he never even set foot in this house or even followed the tugging at his ribs in the first place. On the other side of the door was a lab. All of the equipment and surfaces were left in disarray, some trays full of tool even knocked onto the floor as if whoever owned the lab was in a hurry. Or whatever they were studying was trying to get out.

The fact that he was looking at a destroyed lab, was the least worrisome observation, however. Everywhere he looked there were splatters of glowing green, some duller than others. Just the sight of them had the Pits roiling in upset, tinting the edges of his vision green as well. He steps further into the lab, careful not to step on any of the sharp tools littering the floor as well as any puddles of glowing green.

Eyes constantly scanning for any movement, he eventually makes his way to the center of the room, right next to a large, steel lab stable, complete with wrist, ankle, and neck staps. The surface was littered with deep scratch marks and more splatters of the same glowing green substance that he can only assume is blood. There was even an almost perfectly shaped handprint of the stuff curling around the edge of the table. Morbidly curious, he reached out to touch the handprint, wondering if it was related to the Pits somehow.

He didn't get to wonder for long, however. As soon as his fingertips so much as brushed against the handprint, the feeling he'd been following for the past week suddenly had his chest in a stranglehold followed by a vomit-inducing yank that left him dizzy and off-balance. He didn't have time to gather his wits before his ears were flooded with hair-raising screams and sounds of struggle.

Ignoring the nausea, his head whipped back up to the lab table he was standing in front of. What met his eyes was a young boy with black hair and terrified green-tinted blue eyes as he laid strapped to the table with men in white lab coats surrounding him, with one in particular having his green stained arm elbow deep in the boy's vivisected chest.(3) This one is important! More context below!

✦

Notes:

(1) This takes place before Jason returns to Gotham in Under The Red Hood

(2) What Jason is feeling is his baby halfa core reacting to a distress signal being sent by another halfa.

(3) This isn't a time travel prompt. What happened here is Jason got sucked into a very corporeal memory/imprint that belonged to Danny. What Danny experienced in that lab filled him with such raw emotions that everything that is part of him (i.e.- his blood) trapped every experience into a playable memory when said blood is touched. The memory is, in essence, still very much a part of Danny. What does that say about Danny's current existence? He's trapped. He's trapped in a neverending, disjointed cycle of reliving everything that was done to him and is forced to haunt the very lab he was held captive in. What does this mean for Jason since he got sucked into it? He's trapped too! However, with another person there, they can help Danny break out of the cycle and free himself. What will escaping mean? Will he permanently die? Will he come back a full ghost? Will Jason helping another person through the horrors of their own death help bring closure to his own? What does this mean for the rise of Red Hood? That's all up to you guys!

[lizzie-is-here]

like the dawn

part ix- freefall

“i wish i had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep and there are no words for that.” - brian andreas

summary: after the avengers publicly drop the accords, you have to help pick up the mess. all while dealing with some very complicated feelings.

wordcount: 4.4k

warnings: cussing, paparazzi, the press sucking, trauma, steve feeling left out 🥺, pining, arguing, guilt, a brief moment of what could be seen as su!c!dal behavior?

a/n: sorry this took so long! also that it’s kind of random and jumps around lol. gen eds have been kicking my ass and i’ve been drowning in work but the parties here are good and i’ve managed to avoid the sororities 😭 love u guys hope you enjoy!! 🤍 also peep the parallel from when bucky and reader fell asleep on a mission and now 👀

ps: pls help decide my next series! i’ll be posting it again later to try again, but there are three options! 🤍

taglist: @whelvedfeelingsstuff @sebsgirl71479 @rebloggingmyrecs @babyblublossom @local-mr-frog @thenyxsky @capsiclesdoll @moonlightreader649 @saranghaey

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“Wait, you’re dropping the Accords?”

You huff as the group of superheroes bustle around one single board room. It’s been 20 hours since Siberia, and you still haven’t gotten to sleep.

Tony put out a formal announcement dropping the Accords hours earlier, promising that his lawyers would deal with the property damages. Now, until some of the mess gets cleared up, everyone involved is stuck.

In the Avengers Compound. Together. For at least a month.

“How do we know we can trust them?” Sam asks, flinging a hand at the other side of the room. Steve begins to explain your reasoning as you sink further into the corner. You don’t want to be seen right now, much less dragged into the conversation.

The compound is full of technology, with doors that open for you and some disembodied voice called FRIDAY. You like FRIDAY. She sounds nice.

The robot, who you now know is called the Vision, frowns. “Sergeant Barnes and Agent (L/N) have extensive charges to be dealt with, as well as most of Captain Rogers’s team. Are we sure we're going about this the right way?”

“The fact that we stay together is more important than how,” Natalia reiterates. “And besides, I know those two.” You glance up guiltily, curling even further in on yourself. “They aren’t going to pull anything.”

Tony massages the spot between his eyebrows as you’ve often seen him do lately. He hasn’t been necessarily rude, no, but more… apprehensive.

“Well, if we’re going to be stuck together, we might as well get used to it,” he announces. I’ll have FRIDAY show you all to your rooms. We can head into town tomorrow for decorations, pillows, all that fun stuff.”

You get your own room? Following the AI’s instructions, you wind down a hallway as Bucky follows you, Steve trailing along. He won’t admit it, but he feels out of place in your trio now.

As horrible as your time in HYDRA was, it undeniably strengthened the bond between you two. And Steve? He can’t help but feel a bit behind.

You and Bucky seem to communicate on some subconscious level. A brief glance and he’s getting you water, a shaky breath and you’re resting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

You open the door to your room first and practically freeze in the doorway. Yes, the room is pretty bare right now. The ceilings are noticeable though. A large, round bed with a metal frame and matching furniture fills the carpeted floors. Some curtains, a small TV, and a view over the compound grounds. Opening a door inside the room, you find a private bathroom. All your own.

You’ve never been more grateful to have a place to stay. Bucky sits on the bed tentatively, almost startling at how soft and plush it is.

“Why’s it round?” he asks, tracing the edge.

Steve chuckles. “Tony won’t admit it, but he did his research. Figured a round bed would be easier to navigate with wings.”

You want to hop on, but to be honest, you’re sweaty, greasy, and absolutely dying to see why there are two showerheads and a whole shelf of bottles, so you gesture to the bathroom.

“I’m gonna get the dirt off. I’ll be right back,” you call, wandering in and leaving your boys behind. They grin in unison.

Bucky lifts up a hand and begins to count. “1, 2, 3-“

“Steve?” Your voice echoes. “How do I turn on the shower?”

The brunet nods. “Told you.” Steve heads to the door, knocking before stepping inside. After pointing out all of the different shampoos and how to adjust the temperature, he leaves you be.

Back in your room, Bucky’s fiddling with the TV. He manages to turn it on and avoid the news channel, offering the remote to Steve. As casually as ever, he immediately identifies what’s been on the latter’s mind.

“You’re not some third wheel,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“Cut the crap, Rogers. You look like a kicked puppy.” Steve huffs, giving in. Bucky’s always been a bit too good at reading him. “I know we aren’t the exact same people we were back then. I’m not sure if that’s what you were expecting-” He clenches his metal hand. “-But we… Whatever happened, we’re still the same, on some level, at least.”

The blond considers his words. “You two just seem so… close now. Even with the whole memory thing, you know everything about each other.” He glances at your bathroom door. “I feel like I don’t know as much as I want to.”

Bucky shrugs. “Well, we’re stuck in this compound for a few weeks at least. Got plenty of time to learn.”

“It’ll take some time,” he continues, “70 years in HYDRA is no joke. But I know I trust you. And I know she trusts you. And I know we have for a long, long time.”

You step out of the bathroom just then, wrapped in a fluffy towel with a small yet beaming grin on your face. The shower was heavenly, clearly.

“Do you want some clothes?” Steve asks, watching your eyes widen further. He opens a drawer, pulling a tank top and some sweats for you. A moment later, after you change, you literally soar onto the bed face-first, sinking into the blanket with a contented sigh.

Bucky runs a hand over one wing. You cleaned your feathers, but now they need to be preened. And he did promise he’d show Steve.

“You mind if I teach Steve a valuable skill?” he asks, only half-joking. Taking care of your wings is his way of showing that he cared when words were either too much or too little. The same way you showed that you care every time you pleaded with him to heal the pain in his shoulder, even temporarily. He never did let you, though.

You nod, stretching them out with a groan. Ink-black and shimmering with hidden colors, they touch each end of the bed as they lay across Steve and Bucky’s laps.

“See feathers like this?” Bucky begins, pointing out one that got a bit rustled in the shower. He gently pinches it at the base and smooths the barbs down. “If too many get like that, it can affect waterproofing and flight.”

You snort under your breath. “Yeah, had to learn that the hard way. Ran into a window,” you huff. The brunet points to another feather.

“You try.”

Steve is beyond careful. He touches the feather like it’ll snap in his hand, smoothing it out with delicate precision. When you don’t react negatively, only reach for the remote and begin to search for a history channel, he continues.

“What’s it like? Living here?” you ask, humming softly.

Steve keeps his focus on your wings, but shrugs. “Not bad. Gets a bit loud sometimes.”

“And the team?”

“They’re good. I trust them, they do the same.” He carefully avoids the word ‘family’. “We’ll get this all sorted, and maybe we can get you a job in the infirmary or something.”

You stir. “What? No, I want to work with you. I want to get back on the field.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Steve says. “You don’t have to fight anymore, no one’s going to expect you to.”

Bucky, who had been occupied with the TV, cuts in. “She’s right. I want back in. If we have a chance to do good, and reverse some of what we did, we need to take it.”

“Exactly.” You nod, which seems to only frustrate Steve.

“Neither of you need to be charging back into a fight! You’ve been fighting for decades, you need a break.”

“You’re still raiding old HYDRA bases, correct?” you ask. The name sickens you. “We know more about… them, than anyone. We’d be valuable assets.”

Steve shakes his head. “You’re not assets,” he insists. “Why are you so set on this?”

“Because we almost killed you,” Bucky snaps. “We promised Sarah we’d keep you safe, and we were the ones who almost took you out.”

“That was in 1927, we were in fourth grade,” Steve sighs. “Plus, it was before the serum, and all-” He waves a vague hand around. “-this.”

Throughout the whole argument, neither had ceased preening your wings, and upon finding all of your feathers in place, had resorted to fiddling with them. You let out a deep groan, sitting up and folding your wings behind you.

“This is stupid. We don’t even know if we’re going to prison yet,” you mumble. “We’ve gotten you into enough trouble, Steve. We just want to help you out.”

He eases, tension leaving his shoulders. “And I just want you two to be okay. We’ll get you introduced to the modern world, and then maybe- and it’s a big maybe - we can talk about missions.”

That settles down the argument, and you lay down again between the two.

“Don’t you have a room too, Buck?” you ask. He freezes for a second, but nods. You get it. You’ve been sleeping near each other for so long that separating is scary. But it’s probably better for both of you. Probably.

Rolling from your bed, you follow Steve as he steps only two rooms down. His room is in the middle.

Bucky opens the door, pleased to find some blackout curtains already hung up. His room is similar to yours, though the bed is a bit smaller and a heating pad is folded up on the nightstand.

He’s about to lay on his own bed when a knock sounds on the door and Natalia peeks in.

“Are you all gonna come to dinner? Or are you gonna argue again?” You aren’t sure how she heard. She was always sneaky.

“We’ll come,” you say, trailing behind her as Bucky and Steve stay behind for a moment.

“So,” she says. “The Angel of Death is secretly the (Y/N) (L/N). As in, ‘the only bow sniper in World War II, first female SHIELD agent, save Director Carter herself,’ (Y/N) (L/N).”

“Between us, I always looked up to you. Especially after escaping the Red Room. I knew you were out there somewhere.”

She grins, bouncing gracefully along the halls.

“You don’t… hate me?” you venture, struggling to keep up with her pace.

She shakes her head. “No, you were just as trapped as I was. I can’t hate you for that.”

You allow a small grin to yourself, shoulders lighter as she turns a corner and enters the kitchen.

“Thanks, Natalia,” you say.

“Natasha.” She passes you a glass of water and extends a hand as if introducing herself. “Romanoff.”

You play along. “(Y/N) (L/N).”

Dinner turns out to be courtesy of Wanda, and the smell of a Sokovian dish is pleasantly overwhelming as she serves plates. Instead of a chair, she magics a tall stool over for you. You eat gratefully, enjoying your first home-cooked meal in over 70 years.

The table is separated into the previous teams, with occasional glares thrown here and there. Mainly between Steve and Tony.

“Would you two quit it?” Wanda chides. “Your thoughts are so aggressive.”

Scott Lang, mid-chew and leaning over the table, raises his hand. “So how does that work? Can you just, read everyone’s minds?” That sends an uncomfortable shiver through you. Even if she means well, you don’t want her peering into your thoughts.

Thankfully, she shakes her head.

“No, just the loud ones.” She points to Tony, Steve, Peter, and him. Then, she turns to you, Natasha, and Bucky. “I can’t read them at all.”

Bucky nods. “I doubt you’d want in there, anyways.”

———————————————————————

After dinner, you help clean up, awkwardly avoid Tony, and head to bed after saying goodnight to Steve and Bucky. You turn the TV on to a random channel for some noise, secure the room, and lay down.

Sleeping isn’t easy. Or, at least, trying to. The bed is so soft you feel like you’re sinking, the blankets are too comfortable, and your wings have a surprising amount of room.

And after you finally get close to sleep, the memories sink in. With nothing but the quiet sound from the TV, there’s nothing to distract you.

Your time in HYDRA is never clearer than at night.

Endless training regimens that you’ve memorized cycle through your head. Different experiments, new recruits fighting back but always succumbing to the iron grip of the guards. And screaming. Lots of it.

How you forgot the names of your best friends when one was right in front of you and the other was a national hero. How scared you are that you’ll forget them again. Your hand twitches towards the nightstand drawer where your notebooks lie.

Pages and pages describing them both, with every memory you have in some attempt to never forget them, no matter what happens.

But what if HYDRA gets you? What if they put you back in that goddamn chair and scramble your brain again?

What if they don’t stop you in time?

Your mental spiral is cut off by you doing what you know best. Hopping out of bed and summoning a ball of light, you walk down the hallway to Bucky’s room.

He opens the door before you even knock. As silent as your footsteps are, enhanced hearing picks up everything.

“You too?” You nod. Glancing towards Steve’s room, he slips into Russian.

“Он чувствует себя... изолированным. Мы можем… [He’s been feeling… isolated. Can we…]?” He waves a hand to Steve’s door, wordlessly asking if you’re okay with opening this part of yourself up to him. Without hesitation, you knock.

Clearly, Steve wasn’t getting much sleep either. His lamp is on and he doesn’t seem shocked to see you waiting.

None of you say anything as he lets you both in, tosses the covers on his bed back, and turns off his lamp. You crawl in on one side, Bucky on the other- just like before when you’d keep Steve warm when the heat kicked off and his countless illnesses kicked on.

You feel an arm wrap around your shoulders and you reach across the blond to lay a hand on the brunet’s shoulder.

And you sleep. And in the morning, when the rest of the team comes looking and find the three of you peacefully tucked under the covers, none of them wake you either.

———————————————————————

It’s three days later, after keeping up the same routine with your boys without acknowledging it, when you run into Tony in the early morning. You’re standing in the kitchen, frozen on the spot as you grab the orange juice.

The genius never seemed to sleep. But you’d never run into him.

“I’m not gonna tackle you for getting a drink, geez,” he mutters, passing you to start the coffee maker.

You pour three glasses, hoping he doesn’t notice. He does, but doesn’t comment.

“Thank you.” You barely speak above a whisper. You’re living in his compound, off of his money, after killing his parents. “For all of this.”

Tony softens. From his dad and his history books, he’d formed an idea of you that was confident and proud. But here you were in the kitchen, afraid of pouring too much orange juice lest there isn’t enough for someone else.

The way you and Bucky have been trying to make yourselves as small as possible reminds Tony of himself. Howard was a busy man, who didn’t really want a toddler running around his legs. So young Tony learned to stay quiet and undisruptive.

It’s the same behavior, even if it doesn’t work as well for a metal-armed assassin and an archer with a ten-foot wingspan.

“You’re welcome,” he finally says. “You know, if you drink all the orange juice, all I’m gonna do is send you and Barnes and Noble on a grocery run.” The teasing is his way of apologizing for the fight in Siberia. Even if he isn’t ready to forgive the other two, he’s willing to give you a pass.

Tony leaves without another word, taking his coffee with him. Balancing the drinks in your arms, you head back to Steve’s room. When you open the door, your boys are already up. A side effect of the serum; you needed much less sleep.

“Morning,” they greet. You smile, passing off the glasses as you stretch. Being stuck inside has started to bother you. Not that you’d complain, but without access to the gym (which is constantly full of nosy SHIELD agents) or outside, you’re getting a bit antsy.

Peeking through the curtains to the compound grounds, you turn away from the window just as Bucky and Steve get up and start getting ready. None of you have even spoken about the sleeping situation.

Falling asleep is easier with them. Breathing is easier with them. Everything is.

Maybe it’s time to stop avoiding the subject of those letters you wrote.

“There’s a team meeting this morning,” Steve calls from the bathroom. “Apparently, we got some updates on what we’re allowed to do now. Hopefully we can get you guys out of this compound for the day.”

“Where’d we go?” Bucky asks, pressing the knots out of his left shoulder.

“Well, there’s always this museum in Brooklyn. Whole thing’s based on us there.”

You tear your eyes away from the shirtless brunet. “We’ve got a museum?”

“Yeah. Replica of our apartment, some old items of ours. Plus, we’ve got an exhibit in the Smithsonian. Your lockbox is there.”

The box. You had thought it’d been destroyed.

“They didn’t open it, did they?” Steve shakes his head.

“They’ve got the key, but kept it locked out of respect. Especially now that you’re back.” Thank fuck. You might have to go and get that back if you aren’t tossed in prison.

Bucky finally picks a shirt and tugs it on. “That’d be nice. Might go crazy if I have to talk to Wilson anymore.”

“Go easy on him, he’s trying to be nice,” you tell him.

You take your time getting ready, lazily navigating around each other as the sun rises and the compound starts getting busier. Around 7:00, you decide to head to the designated board room.

After a few days, you’ve gotten much better at navigating the compound. The Avengers’ meeting room is one of many down the hall from the first floor elevators, the third room on the left with the door always left open.

Meetings and dinner are the only times the whole group is together. Probably for the best, since some members have been going a bit stir-crazy.

The teen, Peter, spends most of his time around Tony, but when he isn’t following the billionaire he’s talking to you, Steve, or Bucky. Something about how he can pass US History now that he knows you.

Scott Lang has resorted to sleight-of-hand card tricks, practicing them for anyone who will watch. He’s pretty good, all things considered.

Everyone else has been doing alright with the confined space. Except you, you’re reminded as your wings ache.

You’re the first ones to arrive, shortly followed by the assassin duo and Sam. Everyone else filters in shortly after, with Tony arriving last with a new cup of coffee.

“Well, we’re starting the day off with some good news. We’re allowed to leave the Compound now, just not go out of state.”

When no one else asks, you give in. “And the bad news?”

He sighs. “Lots of that. Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross is pressing charges. I’ve got my team on it, but…” Hesitating, he projects a screen. Holographic. You try your best to focus on the video and not the tech.

“National War Heroes Sgt. James Barnes and Agent (Y/N) (L/N) were found to be the infamous Winter Soldier and Angel of Death just a year ago. Now, they’ve gotten involved with the Avengers, and the most recent dispute over the Accords, which would put the Avengers under control of the United Nations.”

“Earlier this week, Tony Stark announced that the Avengers would not be supporting the Accords, and is moving to gain the rights to operate independently. But with the track record of Barnes and (L/N), it’s not proving to be an easy task.”

The newsreel cuts away from the woman, showing a march at a Texas courthouse. Some people carried signs calling you a traitor, pictures of you and Bucky with marks drawn through them. They labeled you murderers and monsters.

Neither of you says anything about it. Just exchange a glance and try to ignore the familiarity of the words they shout.

“Only time can tell how this will end for Earth’s Mightiest Heroes,” the reporter finishes.

Your stomach turns. You can feel the lingering eyes as you hunch in on yourself, staring at the expensive-looking table and tracing the lines in the wood. Your wings twitch, giving you away.

“Hey, the good news is that a bunch of people are supporting us,” Peter says, checking his phone. “There’s a few petitions going for the team and you two.” You smile gratefully, still worrying a line into the table.

“What can we do to make this easier?” you ask.

Tony sighs. “We need to get the public opinion of you up. If we send you out for errands and you make a good impression with the press…” He trails off as Bucky grows visibly nervous. “...If you’re willing to try it, it’s worth a shot.”

You nod. “I will. If it helps you, I’ll try.”

“I can come too, just to help mediate if something goes wrong,” Steve offers, mainly directing his words to the brunet who won’t look up from his left hand.

Bucky steels his nerves and nods. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll do it.”

Sam speaks up, gesturing to the team. “So, now that we’re not stuck lazing around, shouldn’t we get back to training? Having a routine will help with whatever’s coming and exercise is a good outlet.”

“Plus it’s a chance to get you flying again,” Steve says. “I know your wings are sore.”

The group starts putting together a workout circuit, scheduling who gets the gym at what times, who wants to train with who. The weather outside is pleasant, not too hot, and with a light fog covering the grounds.

Slipping away, you wander around until you glance to the ceiling. “Hey, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Ms. (L/N)?” You smile at her gentle voice.

��Where’s the nearest roof access?”

She guides you down a few hallways, eventually pointing out a stairwell. When you finally open the door to the roof, stretching your wings wide, you nearly sob in relief. In HYDRA, you only flew when you had to. But flying for yourself had become one of your favorite things ever since Bucky suggested it as a way to reclaim that part of yourself.

Bending your knees, you launch yourself into the air, squinting against the wind as you rise in the early light. The air is heavy with dew, and condensation runs off your feathers as you reach your desired height.

And you drop.

Freefalling is a moment of peace. It’s absolute bliss to give into gravity and have a moment of true, stomach-dropping exhilaration. It’s not fear, it’s not joy. But it makes you feel human.

It never lasts long, though. You spread your wings and break the fall right above the compound, swerving around the building. You don’t notice that the door you left triggered a notification to the board room or the team watching.

Unaware of them, you loop and spin to your heart’s content before landing back on the roof. Shaking the water from your wings, you hurry back down the stairwell and back to the team.

Thankfully, they don’t mention seeing your little joyride. You slide back onto a stool and apologize for running off.

“Don’t worry about it, you’ve been cooped up long enough,” Natasha grins. “We were just discussing when to send you three out.”

“And since we’re out of milk because someone-” Tony glares pointedly at Scott. “-has a cereal addiction, we figured today would be good.”

That’s sooner than you thought. Well, best to get it over with.

———————————————————————

You let Steve drive. He knows his way through the city and is the least prone to road rage, so you take the back seat while Bucky takes the front and mans the radio.

Steve pulls up by a grocery store and grabs the list, warning you about the paparazzi before he opens the door and a crowd descends on you.

You dodge eager hands as they reach for your wings and Bucky’s arm. Cameras flash as you try not to look too panicked for the photos.

“Ms. (L/N)! Is it true you were brainwashed under HYDRA?” Glancing to Steve, he nods in approval.

You lean towards the microphone as the reporters also lean in.

“Yes, that’s true.”

They scramble at your words and you flinch away, backing into your friends.

“What do you mean by that?” one asks.

Clearing your throat, the words flow easier as you go on. “HYDRA perfected a form of electric-shock treatment that could brainwash us when combined with trigger words.”

Even though they continue to press for more quotes to take out of context, you make it inside the store and finally get to breathe. Sure, you’ve been in groceries before, but the variety in the 21st century continues to amaze you.

While Steve works his way down the list, methodically stacking the products in the two carts, you and Bucky go a bit crazy. With his permission, you both grab things at random, tossing them into the cart with no regard to Steve’s organization.

By the time you check out, you’ve grabbed marshmallow fluff, a mango, a few chocolate bars, and some ice cream. Flinching at the price, you help carry the bags to the car to make up for the extra items.

It’s drizzling and the sidewalks are much less busy now, and no one approaches you as you sit in the car peacefully.

“I’m glad to have you two back,” Steve says eventually. ‘I care about you more than you know, and I’ll fight every government in the world if I have to,’ he thinks.

“I’m glad to be back,” Bucky agrees. “We got pretty lucky. We all made it back together in alright shape.”

You feel more at home than ever. It’s an all-encompassing sort of comfort that you don’t have the words to express. It’s the being carried to bed and being given the last bite of food kind of feeling. It’s knowing that you’re cared for, and wanted, and-

You know the closest word to describe it, but don’t dare utter it.

Instead, you smile, think about the letters in the lockbox, and watch as cars pass by.

“Well. the universe couldn’t keep us apart forever. We made a pinkie promise, after all.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook: 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬 (Intro)

In which you've been his favourite flavour for almost a year- all without you knowing.

Tags/Warnings: Vampire!Jungkook, Blood Donor!Reader, mentions of 'being high' (drug usage in a way), strangers to lovers, blood (duh)

Additional Chapter Warnings: blood high= a rush vampires get after consuming blood, nothing graphic though, stereotypes against vampires

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1620.

That's the name of the blood he's received for almost an entire year now. One might think he'd get tired of the same taste over and over again, that the high he gets every single time would wear off- but it doesn't, it's always the same rush again and again.

He remembers the first time.

He'd never been through such an intense high ever before, trip lasting for almost two days. It hadn't been all good and nice no- he'd been so fucking sensitive, curtains closed and every little shutting of doors in the apartment building shaking him to the core. And yes, obviously he'd jerked off.. A lot, libido so high it hadn't even been funny anymore.

He was sore for an entire week after- but today, months and months later, he's still asking for the same type. For someone his age, it's unusual- guys his age like to experiment, and get used to a taste quickly, effects wearing off. But not Jungkook.

He's found his perfect match it seems- high way more gentle these days.

He's still coming down from it now, a deep breath being taken as he smiles with his head leaned back. It's odd that he still feels so insanely impacted by it every time- needing to take the bag home every time he picks it up from the blood bank and take a day off for himself because there's no way he's able to work at all. By now though, his head is clearer, the drunken feeling having passed into a sweet buzz and gentle warmth in his body.

He's craving something sweet.

The little corner store is what he's after, walking in when a little boy stumbles into him. "oh- careful." Jungkook chuckles, having been able to hold the child by his tummy before he'd been able to smack onto the floor.

"whoa- thank you sir!" the boy says, holding an action future up to him. "you're like Raybuzz!" he grins, missing tooth on full display, as he presents the toy to him. He knows that toy, it's from a comic book about a superhero with quick reflexes and night vision- about a hero that saves humans from vampires. "but the vampires in the book don't look like you." the boy pouts, looking up at Jungkook who shrugs.

The comic really overdoes the whole scary stuff by a lot.

Jungkook has some clear features that stand out to humans as a vampire; his clearly blood red eyes a telling sign about his condition. But before he can say anything else, a terrified woman storms up between them, picking up the small boy eagerly. "Jae, you don't talk to strangers, how often do I need to tell you!" she says, about to apologize, before she notices Jungkook's eyes. "..and you especially don't talk to things like this." she scolds under her breath, before walking out, bumping into his shoulder for emphasis.

He sighs.

At the cash registry, he simply places the snacks down he'd like, burying his hands in his pockets, looking down. His confidence really took a punch from encounters like this- and the nice smell in here doesn't help his still hazy mind at all. "you okay?" a careful voice asks, and he looks up surprised-

Right at you.

"the lady- I heard that. I'm sorry." you say kindly, and he's at loss for words for a second, before he replies.

"ah yeah eh no, don't worry about it. Happens all the time." he chuckles, playing it cool. You're so cute though, oh god-

"ah, it shouldn't though." you pout, scanning the items- and it's then that he notices a bracelet you wear, a silver chain with a little tag on it. 'Donor'.

"you're a donor?" he asks, nodding towards your bracelet- and typically, anyone would get embarrassed about it, make up excuses- but you smile, nodding openly at it.

"Yep! Started because of the money, but it's become more or less a habit now. The snacks are awesome there." you laugh, and he chuckles along. You're unusual, but he likes the way you carry yourself- not overbearing. Your presence is soft, your voice nice to listen to, you're pretty, and you smell nice-

Okay slow down there, exit was two miles ago.

He pays with his credit card, grins the entire time he walks home like an idiot, your face in his mind even as he starts his gaming console at home with a pepero stick between his lips, until he freezes- bitten off snack falling to the floor pathetically.

He's never even asked for your name.

[zapreportsblog]

Spider Li Into The Spiderverse

➥ summary: (Y/n) Li was a normal teenage girl until she had been bitten by a radioactive spider one day after coming home from the gym, now she isn’t so normal. With abilities like non other (Y/n) goes from being this normal teenager to this crime stopping super hero Spider Li! But out-worldly forces come into play when other spider people start visiting her world to find out more about her. After all what spiderperson has a family that accepts them for being a superhero, friends who know of their secrets, and no canon event ever to be found in history?! Spider Li that’s who! So just what makes this girl so special?

➥ chapter 2: A Mysterious Illness

The hallways of our high school buzzed with energy as students hurried to their classes. I walked alongside my best friend, MJ, as we chatted about the upcoming kickboxing tournaments. Excitement filled the air as we shared our aspirations and plans for the future.

As we settled into our seats in the classroom, a sudden wave of nausea washed over me. My stomach churned, and a feeling of unease settled deep within me. I tried to brush it off, assuming it was just a passing discomfort. But as time went on, the symptoms intensified, and my body grew unbearably hot.

A high fever gripped me, causing sweat to bead on my forehead. I struggled to concentrate on the lesson, my head throbbing with each passing moment. As my vision blurred and darkness clouded my senses, I felt a surge of dizziness wash over me. And then, before I knew it, I succumbed to the darkness and lost consciousness.

When I regained consciousness, I found myself lying in the school's infirmary. The room was sterile and devoid of the usual bustling energy that filled the halls. My body ached, and I felt weak, as if all my strength had been drained. Confusion and concern coursed through me as I tried to piece together what had happened.

The school nurse, a kind-hearted woman named Mrs. Johnson, stood beside me, her worried gaze fixed upon my pale face. "You fainted in class, (Y/N)," she explained gently. "We're monitoring your condition and have called your parents."

I nodded weakly, attempting to sit up and make sense of the situation. Mrs. Johnson helped me into a sitting position, and a sense of vulnerability washed over me. My mind raced with questions, desperate for answers.

MJ appeared by my side, her expression a mix of concern and relief. "I was so scared when you passed out, (Y/N)," she confessed, her voice laced with worry. "Are you feeling any better now?"

I mustered a faint smile, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm... not sure, MJ. It all happened so suddenly. I just hope it's nothing serious."

As the hours passed, my parents arrived at the school, their faces etched with worry. My mom enveloped me in a tight embrace, her love and concern palpable. My dad, his voice filled with reassurance, assured me that they would get to the bottom of my sudden illness.

Concerned whispers circulated throughout the school, as rumors of my collapse spread among my classmates. But amidst the worry and speculation, one thing became clear—I needed answers. I couldn't let this mysterious illness derail my dreams and aspirations.

Days turned into weeks, and a battery of medical tests ensued. Doctors attempted to diagnose the cause of my sudden illness, but their efforts yielded no definitive answers. It seemed as though my condition baffled even the most experienced medical professionals.

Throughout this ordeal, MJ remained by my side, her unwavering support providing solace during the darkest moments. We spent hours researching possible causes and seeking advice from experts, determined to find a way to restore me to full health.

As the search for answers continued, I grappled with a whirlwind of emotions. Frustration, fear, and a deep sense of uncertainty threatened to consume me. But within the depths of my being, a glimmer of hope flickered, refusing to be extinguished.

It was during one of my lowest moments, lying in bed, weak and weary, that I made a silent promise to myself—I would not let this setback define me. I would fight, just as I had in the ring, with every ounce of determination and resilience within me.

The days stretched into weeks, and I underwent various treatments and therapies in an attempt to regain my strength. It was during this time that I discovered the power of resilience—the power to endure, even in the face of adversity.

Slowly but surely, my health began to improve. The fever subsided, and the debilitating weakness gave way to a renewed sense of vitality. It was as though a spark had been ignited within me, breathing life back into my weary body.

As I prepared to return to school, a newfound appreciation for life and its fragility settled within me. I vowed to make the most of every moment, to chase my dreams with unwavering determination.

The mysterious illness that had cast a shadow over my life had become a defining chapter in my journey. It had taught me the value of resilience, the importance of cherishing every opportunity, and the strength that lies within the human spirit.

With renewed vigor and a steely determination, I stepped back into the halls of my high school, ready to face the challenges that awaited me. Armed with the support of my loved ones and a newfound sense of purpose, I embarked on a path filled with possibility, determined to make my mark on the world.

Little did I know that this unexpected detour in my life's journey was merely the beginning of a much grander adventure—a destiny that would lead me to uncover extraordinary truths about myself and the power that resided within.

[alwaysthesitter]

Horror starter for @defectivexfragmented Inspired by Nightmare on Elm Street

"No, you don't understand Matt, I swear I'm not going crazy." Steve was practically crying out for help at this point, and he knew that Matt wouldn't judge him, especially considering all the things he had seen that Steve had dealt with. All the monsters of the world. He was sure that being a superhero meant that Matt had seen his own shit, even if the beings weren't interdimensional. Or maybe they were - Steve had read the Guardians of the Galaxy comments over Eddie's shoulder. Either way, Steve had shot up with a cry, drenched in a sweat. His heartbeat hammering, pulse going higher than it should, as he stared around to get his bearings.

"He hurt me. I felt it, I - " And sure enough, as he lifted the shirt he had fallen asleep in, there was a huge slice across his abdomen. Ripping right through the pale skin of Demobat scars, raised and bloody and violent. His fingertips touched the sticky blood, feeling a bit nauseous, but more worried than anything. "I'm having the dreams again." He whispered, eyes wide and panicked. Steve could usually be so brave, do anything to attempt and prove he was the hero, but this was something else. This was something that he felt that he couldn't fight. Because it was happening when he was most vulnerable - in his dreams. For so long, Steve hadn't slept after everything that had been happening. Getting close to Matt, falling for Matt, he had been able to find solace being with him and finally get rest again. Then the nightmares had started.

"He's like Vecna. I can feel it. He even looks like him only....only more burnt, and less....slimy." He wrinkled his nose, though the comparison was so clear to him. And he hated that. He hated how similar it was, and wondered if Vecna could duplicate himself, or if he had started an army. "Only instead of targeting through visions while people are awake, I only see him when I fall asleep. He's got these weird knives for nails, and this stupid fedora. Actually, his fashion sense is quite terrible." he threw in, if only to make himself laugh, if only to calm himself down. Try to not set Matt off into a panic, just because Steve was struggling himself. He shook his head, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

"I'm going to go bandage this up. And then I'm going to go to the gas station down the street and get an energy drink, because no way in hell am I going back to sleep again. Not when that fucker is clearly after me."

[starlite-sin]

People Like Me

CW: internalized ableism, psych hospital reference. The egos are here, they’re just unnamed for story reasons. 

Basically its the twin from the talking to myself skits but he’s a system and the egos are his alters. Link at the bottom

“That’s when the voices start up” James pointed to his head.

“V-voices?” Finn asked concerned.

“You don’t have them? Oh, you’re so lucky. They’re so chatty! All they talk about is what we’re going to do, what we’re going to eat, what happened yesterday.”

“You mean thoughts…?” Finn pinched the bridge of his nose. James was driving him up a wall.

“Thoughts don’t sound like different people though.”

“Oh my-wait what? What do you mean?”

“One’s like a German or Austrian doctor or something, the other is a magician with a VERY strong Welsh accent, a superhero, a demon, and a divorced dad who I think needs to be looked at. What, you don’t have those?” James was still scrolling on his phone, only glancing up briefly to make eye contact with his now very concerned twin. Greg was in the corner, silent as always but it was clear that he was also confused and worried.

“No. No I don’t. Do you Greg?” Finn asked Greg, who silently shook his head. “That doesn’t sound right…” The worried looks caused

‘You’re talking to much.’ The doctor told him. ‘You need to stop or we’re getting locked up again.’ James jolted; this was the first time he was able to hear them clearly while also having a conversation with a third party. He couldn’t see them, nor did he know where they came from. The hero and dad sounded like him, so it was hard to tell if they were nearby, but the magician and doctor both were incredibly distinct. He also didn’t know their names, the doctor, who appeared during the first time they had gone to the hospital for “being a danger to others and themselves”, said that names weren’t important, but that he would do his best to get them out. All James had to do was follow his instructions to the T. All he had to do was pretend like he didn’t enjoy the attention, like he didn’t feel empty and numb when it was on someone else.  

“James? James? Hello?” Finn waved his hand in front of his brother’s face. James had been out of it for a second, reliving that horrible place. “C’mon, snap out of it.” That was so easy for him to say, he wasn’t the one constantly acting out for the slightest bit of attention, constantly needing approval from people. That’s why he started this, right? A quick, masked way to get the attention he needed without self-sabotaging himself again. Finn had it all, a girlfriend, a stable job, a set group of friends. People didn’t look at him funny and assumed he was an abusive manipulative piece of shit.

James didn’t get that, people like him don’t get nice things. So, he was the class clown, the loud trying to be the funny one, the one who wears the funny clothes cause any attention is good attention even if they’re making fun of him behind his back. The one who did dangerous things for people’s approval.

“S-sorry.”

“What’s this about voices?”

“Don’t worry about it.” James pushed his brother away and stood up, starting to pace nervously. His vision started to blur and pull away. He didn’t feel real, it felt like someone was taking his control away and he desperately fought against it.

‘Let him take over. You’ve said too much, now they’re worried, we need to get you out of here.’ The Magician instructed him, the him mentioned being the dad. James felt warm, normally it was a comforting feeling but now, in front of Finn and Greg, he was scared.

“Of course, I’m worried about it! That’s not normal James!” Finn grabbed his shoulder; Greg lowered the camera.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” this unknown alter snapped at him, shaking off the hand. The other two started back at the yelling.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” Finn held his hands up apologetically. “I’m worried, okay? That’s not normal and I want to help if you need it.”

“We’ve lived together our entire life. They were there for me when you weren’t. I don’t want your help.” James was fighting, yelling that this was going against the agreement. The agreement was that they would only switch if everyone was okay with it.

“Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t want your help.” Whoever was in front repeated the statement and left the room, heading downstairs to his room. He stumbled and hit the wall once because of the dissociation.

James was fighting tooth and nail to get control back. He hated being out of front, especially around other people. The caretaker could hear James arguing with the doctor to let him back. He was able to mask as James the best, so he was often the one thrown at the problem without giving away their status as, something. No one knew the name of what they had, only that it wasn’t normal. It was normal for wanting this much attention, nor was it normal to have multiple people in one body. Or if it was than Finn was the outlier here. But that didn’t seem likely. How many times did he lie about horrible things when they were younger to make up for the neglect that they were experiencing? How many times did they almost destroy their family and Finn’s life? At some point, no one will listen to the child who cries abuse when the abuse finally comes. Even now, it was hard for people to listen and believe them. So, the doctor ordered them all to keep it on the down-low, that no one was supposed to know. But James fucked that plan up. It wasn’t entirely his fault; they weren’t exactly the best at filling him in. But also, it wouldn’t be safe. They were a loose cannon; yes, they worked on themselves and got better but also one more thing, like being rejected for having multiple identities, could send them into a dangerous spiral.

However, according to the demon, it would be better cause people were the reason why they were here in the first place. So, scaring them off like that would, in a way, protect them. Anyone who was a threat would leave them alone. Which led to a new problem of not allowing him to front in case he causes problems. This just ended up with him taking his frustration out on the others, the magician and him going toe to toe constantly.

This was their life. This was always going to be their lives. How does one get rid of these? Can they even go away? Are they ever going to be able to live a normal life? Probably not.

It’s probably what they deserve anyway.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41379873