#when red's instinct is to hurt the people who care about him

[hahanoiwont]

I would like to take a moment to point out that uh. It sure takes a Kind Of Person to put up with Red in the way Blue does. Like Frisk gets a pass for being 12 and also bc Red seemed to make an effort to keep his damage unoticable to them but Blue really is getting the full view. Like....is *Blue* good he seems to be completely ignoring every red flag that is being waved directly in his face

haha yeah ! blue is actually so normal. he's so so so normal and fine and sane. he just helps red out because he's an angel like that :)

...nah, their relationship is a bit more complex than it seems on the outset. Blue's involvement with Red begs the question of what intent has to do with altruism, because his relationship with Red is gratifying to him partially because it reassures him that he's a good person. Blue has the sort of almost cowardice (I feel like that's the wrong word but it's close enough) that all Sanses do. He just cut and ran after his Gaster's disappearance. He's been trying to make up for it ever since. He wants to save someone, he wants someone in need to come to him and trust him and make him feel like he's "good enough" to "save" someone. When he met Frisk, he thought it would be them--they were terrified of him but they wanted to trust him, and he wanted to be the one to help them. When he lost them, it was devastating. He started to wonder if he really just can't save anyone, and people near him are doomed to vanish forever.

Red appeared exactly when Blue needed him. He offered a second chance with Frisk, and he's someone vulnerable who Blue understands implicitly. We can see Blue projecting wildly onto him during their chapter together, to the point of losing his temper with Red when he recognizes his own coping skills (the source of a lot of Blue's self-hate) in him. He's committed to the idea that if Red can be saved, if he can save Red, then Blue must have worth. So, while I wouldn't say that Blue puts up with all of Red's shit, he does have a lot of loyalty and patience for him.

[some-bunniii]

My Charming Red Savior [2]

・❥ Two odd visitors and a mugging. Can’t you stay out of trouble?

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

x: he’s back!! a little longer this time, 8k words. enjoy!

That evening after meeting Alastor, you sat at your friend’s dining table, your mind racing.

Your finger aimlessly twisted that gold ring he had magically placed on your digit, as you explained what happened. The creep harassing you, Alastor swooping in to save you. All of it laid out for your friend to digest. Which she wasn’t taking it very well.

“I mean, I'm glad that demon helped you out of that, but you should have gotten away as soon as possible! Haven’t you heard what he’s done, what kind of deals people have made with him?”

You sighed, feeling a bit frustrated with your friend's skepticism. "Look, I get it, you're worried. But Alastor isn't what everyone makes him out to be. He helped me when I needed it most. Besides, who are we to judge someone solely based on rumors?"

Your friend leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the ring adorning your finger. "What about that? What if it's some sort of trap he set for you?"

You instinctively pulled your hand back, a protective gesture. "Don't be ridiculous. Alastor wouldn't do something like that. He's... different."

"Different? More like dangerous," she countered, reaching out to grab your hand. "Come on, let me see that ring. We can take it to someone to see if it’s been magically altered."

Dangerous? He saved you from someone dangerous! Yes, he was a demon. A sinner, who probably did some bad things, and most likely continues to do bad things. Except, for the fact he didn’t leave you, a defenseless nobody, to be taken off and.. you couldn’t even think about it. 

You jerked your hand away from her hand, the ring glinting in the lamplight. "There’s nothing wrong with the ring, you’re just being paranoid. It’s.. comforting, actually."

Your friend sighed, frustration evident in her voice. "I just don't want to see you get hurt. Please, at least consider what I'm saying."

You softened, realizing she was only looking out for you. "I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I’m not a child, I can make my own decisions."

Your friend relented after a moment, sinking back into her chair. She nodded slowly, agreeing with your statement.

At that moment, your friend’s husband had entered the room. A large pot of steaming foodstuff in his oven-mitt protected hands as he walked. 

“I hope you guys are hungry!” He said cheerfully, the tension in the room easing with his upbeat demeanor. You quite liked him, he had some good jokes and cared about those around him.

You smile gratefully, welcoming the distraction from the intense conversation. “Absolutely starving,” you reply, grateful for the opportunity to shift the focus to something more light-hearted.

Your friend’s husband sets the pot on the table, filling the room with the delightful aroma of home-cooked food. “Well, dig in!” he encourages, serving everyone generous portions.

As you take a bite, the flavors dance on your palate, and your eyes light up as you eat. 

“What is this?” You turn to her husband, who looked up from his bowl, face stuffed with food.

“Crawfish Étouffée! A popular dish from New Orleans, back on Earth. Do you like it?”

You nodded vigorously. Is this what Jambalaya tastes like? If so, you really needed to try it. Maybe, you’d see Alastor again, and he could give you that recipe he had mentioned? 

As your thoughts drifted back to the red demon, your finger began to twist the ring around your digit once more. Why did it bring you such comfort? You had no idea. 

Sometimes, if you put your hand to your face, you could smell faint traces of his scent, that you had first memorized when you walked side by side with him. It smelled like an old cologne, something that you couldn’t quite recognize from your days. Maybe, it was back when he was alive? 

Lemony, hay-like and grassy. A whiff of licorice. Something peppery too? You couldn’t quite place it. But every deep inhale sent you into a lull. A trance, almost.

Your finger still mindlessly caressed the golden band a while later, during the early hours of the morning. You had been sweeping the front doors to the formalwear store you worked at, tidying up before it would be opened for customers. 

It wasn’t until you heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, did you get pulled back into reality.

“Pardon me, miss. Are you guys open?” 

Turning around to address the voice, you find no one. It wasn’t until you looked down did you see the demon man. He resembled that of an imp. Dark red skin with thin, striped horns that peaked out of the top of his head. 

He wore a white turtleneck, with long white hair that curled around his chin. His eyes were unreadable, hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. They were Ray-Burn glasses. You could immediately tell from the bridge, which were curved to resemble a half-circle rather than an oval. 

You also knew how high-end that brand was, and it wasn’t easy getting a pair either. The wait for those was no joke. And, this style was from their newest collection, which meant that he had to be of some importance to get one so soon.

His posture also struck you as odd, especially for an imp. He stood tall, shoulders back, head held high. Despite being a part of one of the lowest social classes in Hell, the demon regarded everyone and everything around him with an air of confidence and assertiveness. 

It was also odd that he was wearing sunglasses so early in the morning, there wasn’t really much light to need protection from. Maybe he had some bat genetics in him?

You smiled at him, but shook your head. “I’m sorry, sir. We’re closed right now. You’ll have to come back later.”

The imp visibility deflated at your words, a frown etched on his face. You could see his eyes through the shades just enough to show them flicking down the streets. 

“Oh, okay. That’s fine, I guess. Thanks, I'll just.. have to figure something else out.” 

He backed away, as he scanned the nearby stores again. He muttered to himself, too quiet for you to hear, but his tone sounded scolding. As if he was berating himself. The demon bit his lip, as if he was contemplating something.

A pang of sympathy hit you, as you watched him become more anguished. It seemed like he really needed whatever was inside, and you didn’t have a reason to deny him business other than to follow the official hours of operation. 

Placing the broom against the brick wall, you pulled out a set of keys. The demon turned slightly as he heard its jingle, and you met his shaded gaze. 

“There isn’t really anything else I need to do before opening though, so I suppose it’s not a big issue letting you inside.”

The imp perked, a smile blooming on his lips at your words. You bent to turn the lock with a click. Pulling the door handle, you pulled it behind you, allowing the demon to follow you inside.

“That is so kind of you! Truly, you don’t get to meet many kind and considerate people in this place.”

Well, it was Hell. Being friendly to strangers was not a common occurrence. You just weren’t one of the, well, bad ones. Sure, you had some flaws, you weren’t a resident for no reason. But, you prided yourself in having a reasonable moral code.

“Don’t worry, I know what I need. I’ll be quick!” The imp promised, as he passed through the entryway. The large room was dark, besides the morning light casting through the windows.

You flicked on the lights, and the overhead lamps lit the interior of the store. There were mannequins lining the dark-blue walls, styled in different tuxedos and dress shirts. Next to them were rows of shelves, each specific to a type of garment. There were dress pants, vests, shoes, and smaller accessories like ties and belts. 

As you walked behind the black-granite countertop, the imp had hurried over to a mannequin facing out of a glass display. He reached down near its feet, a small shelf lifted from the floor. A pile of red suits was neatly tucked next to the display. 

Gingerly, he lifted to the top piece, examining it thoroughly. After a few moments, he brought it closer to his chest, before turning to you. Your hands tapped against the display of the digital cash register, readying it for service.

You looked up just as he placed the garment on the counter, your eyes scanning the suit. Strange, he was still wearing those shades. You simply smiled at him, before pulling the item closer to you. Carefully, you unfolded it, examining its form.

It was a beautiful red tuxedo, with golden lapels. Dark-red buttons, with white cuffs. It was a women’s suit, which was rare for you to see, since the store mostly marketed towards men. 

“What a wonderful piece!” You exclaimed, your tone dripping with customer-satisfying professionalism. “Getting this for a special someone?” 

The imp nodded. “For my daughter. She runs a hotel a few blocks away, up the hill. The Hazbin Hotel, if you've heard of it? She needed a new suit, and this was the perfect fit.”

The hotel that was supposed to help sinners with redemption? You’ve heard bits and pieces, mostly when you watched that disastrous interview with Katie Killjoy. You couldn’t recall who ran it, though.

“A little, but you sure do have an eye for style!” You nodded, grabbing the small tag from the sleeve to input the information into the register.

“Well, it was my sweetheart who picked it out first,” the imp gushed, “I can’t take all the credit, I'm not good at these sorts of things, anyway.”

“Do they have a background in fashion?” 

“No, they’re an artist,” the demon beamed, his voice growing softer as he spoke of his lover, “I can promise, you’ve never seen a real painting until you’ve seen theirs. If it were my way, I'd fill every billboard with them, instead of those.. repulsive pornography ads they have downtown.” 

The imp held a look of pride and admiration as he spoke, obviously having full confidence in his claim. You pulled up the item on your screen, and read him the price. It was not a cheap suit, but the demon had no reaction to the total and simply pulled out his wallet. 

“Is business running smoothly at the hotel? Do you guys get a lot of guests?”

The imp contemplated for a moment, before pulling out a large sum of money, placing it gently on the counter. You reached for it, before licking your finger and counting through the bills.

“Not entirely. It just opened recently, and, with the demons it caters to? Hah, there’s not many around here with the mindset of redemption. But, I'm going to be helping her out, supporting her with the work.” 

What a nice father, helping his daughter out like that. If only someone like that had helped you when you were younger, maybe you would be stu-

“Especially when it comes to keeping an eye on some of the.. colorful characters she calls staff. Like that Radio Demon.” As the imp spoke, you could hear the disdain in his tone, as he uttered that name. Your head shot up from the bills in your hand at his words.

Radio demon? Alastor? Alastor was working at the Hazbin Hotel? 

“As in, the tall red guy with deer antlers? Carries a staff around with a microphone on it?” You questioned him, excitement lacing your voice.

“Yes. Do you know him? Word of advice, stay away from that demon. He’s nothing but a self-serving, pompous show-off.” 

That couldn’t be true, could it?

Quickly, you placed the bills into the cash register, pulling out change to hand to the imp. As he took the money in your hand, you found it right to defend Alastor.

“He helped me out of a tough spot awhile ago, practically saved my life, actually.” 

The demon regarded you for a moment, eyebrows raised as he took in your words. He didn’t argue, seemingly trying to leave as fast as possible. Back to the hotel presumably. “Hmph. Well, just be careful, you never know with demons like him.”

You were about to wish him farewell and turn away, before his hand lifted once more. Looking down, he held another stack of money in his hands, you could faintly read ‘100’ on one of the bills alone.

“For your kindness,” the demon stated simply, giving you a wink, “I enjoyed our short chat, there’s not many people down here I'm interested in talking to. Go treat yourself.” 

Your eyes widened at his words. How did he have so much money he could just.. give it away?! You almost wanted to reject his offering. But, money was money, so you took them from his grip. 

“I-I don’t know what to say, but thank you! This is very generous of you.” 

He only shrugged, sending you a charming smile. “I am indeed a very generous person. Just don’t spend it on drugs, or anything like that.”

As you handed him the small pink bag, his shaded gaze landed on the ring on your finger, and he leaned in just an inch to get a closer look.

“Boy, that is a fine piece of jewelry you’ve got there! Very nice, was it from a lover? It really makes a statement! Just curious.. do you by any chance know where you got it from?”

You tilted your head, wondering why he wanted to know, was he planning on getting one himself? You just shook your head, you couldn’t really tell him it magically poofed onto your finger by the same demon he held negative feelings for. 

He nodded, muttering something like ‘that’s fine’, before pivoting away from you towards the door. 

“Adios!” He called, a hand in the air in farewell as he strolled to the exit. The bell above the door jingled as it closed behind him, and you saw him step near the curb, away from your view. 

Suddenly, a flash of gold illuminated the small window on the door. Crossing the room, you peeked out the large display window. There was no one on the street, even when you cranked your head to both sides of the street. It’s like he just.. vanished. Strange.

You flipped the large sign on the window from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’ before returning behind the counter. Your fingers still holding the money he gave you, your mind elsewhere as you waited for the day to begin. 

Your thoughts were still on that encounter when the assistant manager walked up to you a few hours later. He was a rather short, plump man with small horns protruding from his head. His skin was a pale blue, his figure resembling that of an ox. Alan was his name. 

You weren’t very fond of him, he always threw flirtatious comments and jokes at you. Always insisting to join you behind the counter, or lean right over your shoulder when you worked. He reminded you too much of that creep from the streets, which made you uncomfortable.

What was up with you always attracting the questionable suitors? Maybe your friend at the cafe was right, you weren’t going to find ‘The One,’ you’d just have to settle for less.

Alan would always try and pry into your personal life, asking if you had a lover, or kids. You’d simply change the conversation as smoothly as possible. If you told him we’re single, he’d no doubt try and court you. Which made you nervous, he didn’t seem like someone who could take a rejection. 

You weren’t able to say, ‘why yes, I have a hubby of my own!’ because you never had proof. Without a ring, and the rest of your co-workers aware of your singlehood, you knew lying to him would have consequences.

Not to mention, he was your boss. He had power, and unless you wanted to end up homeless on the street, you had to keep a friendly facade with him. 

Luckily, he wasn’t around much. Except today your manager had meetings out of town, and he was the substitute. So, for now, you were stuck with him.

“Hey, you still know how to use that sewing machine in the back, right?” He asked you after you had finished assisting a customer near the large display window.

You nodded, curious about his question. In truth, being a tailor sounded much better than working for customer service. You had spent late nights slowly practicing the craft, on that ancient sewing machine in your basement. Maybe, you’d use that money the imp gave you to buy a new one.

“Well, Darlene just called in, which means I got no one as my seamstress. We’ve got a few pieces in need of mending, you think you can handle that?”

“Oh, sure! I can do that, no problem.”

It was then you heard the bell above the front entrance jingle slightly and the creak as the door opened, which caused you to turn sharply to greet the newcomer. Except.. there was no one there.

That was strange. There were other customers milling about, but you were standing in a position that made it impossible to miss anyone exiting the building. 

“Must be having strong winds or something.” Alan remarked, and you turned back to him. As you moved, you noticed the corner next to the doorway was more shaded than usual. As if a large black shadow had taken residence there. Perhaps an overhead light went out? You’d have to check on that later. 

“Anyway, I wanted to ask you something,” Alan started, a flirtatious smile on his lips as he lowered his voice, “I’ve got VIP access to a new club that just opened a few blocks down. I was thinking you and I could get some drinks and have a little fun, whatcha say?” 

You groaned internally. Not this again. How were you going to say no this time? 

“Well, I mean, um- you see the thing is…”

Your eyes went down to the ring on your digit, that little A shimmering in the light. Maybe, you could use this.

“… I’m already taken!” You exclaim, your hand shooting up to give Alan a front row seat at the prize on your person. 

“You are?” He asked incredulously.

“Mhm!” You nod your head vigorously. “As you can see, this is my wedding ring. I eloped not too long ago, hence why it’s not common knowledge.” 

Hopefully, he would buy your lie.

Alan stood there, his eyes flicking from you to the ring. Was he going to try and fight your claim? It seemed like he wanted to. Before you even gave him the chance to, you whipped towards the door being the counter to start mending.

You had only used the machine in the back a handful of times, but you were trying to become more familiar with it. Nodding, you quickly slipped into the back room. The hum of the old sewing machine greeted you like an old friend as you fired it up and began to mend the pieces in need of repair.

The rhythmic clacking of the needle against fabric filled the air as you lost yourself in the task at hand, the radio beside you playing soft old-timey melodies in the background. You continued this calm pace for a few hours, thankful to be away from Alan and the bustling state of the store.

Until a familiar static-laced voice broke through the music. 

“Hello, sir! My, what a hellish morning it is!” 

Your foot instantly moved off the pedal nestled under the table, the vibrations from the machine ceasing as it stilled. You strained your ears, is that who you thought it was?

“Oh, why hello there! How can I assist you today?” You heard the loud, boisterous voice of Alan as he welcomed the newcomer. Quickly, you left your seat, and peaked through the small crack in the doorway. 

Your breath quickened as your eyes landed on the tall, red demon. Alastor. How did he get in here? You didn’t hear the loud bell jingle at his entrance.

He sported his usual red coat, with his staff resting lazily in his grip as he stood before the demon. He had a large smile on his face, but his eyes spoke differently. He looked absolutely bored, disinterested in the man before him and his surroundings.

“I’m simply here to adjust some wear-and-tear on my suit,” he remarked, “as you can see, my sleeve has taken quite the nasty wound.”

He lifted up his arm, displaying a tiny piece of missing fabric from the cuff. It was a clean slice, as if someone had taken a knife and barely nicked it. Nasty wasn’t exactly how you’d describe it, more like itty bitty. 

“If I may..” Alan leaned in slightly, reaching out to inspect the tear. 

Alastor only pulled his arm back, rejecting the gesture with a subtle yet firm movement.

“I prefer to handle my own attire, thank you,” Alastor stated, his voice carrying a hint of disdain as he withdrew his sleeve from Alan’s reach. His smile widened further, as he stared at the demon. 

Your boss recoiled slightly, taken aback by Alastor’s abrupt refusal. “Oh, of course. My apologies,” he stammered, attempting to regain her composure, “but not to worry, sir! We’ve got fabrics that match and a seamstress to do the work. Let me go grab her for you, I'll be right back!”

You saw Alan turn in your direction, and you backed away from the door. Your heart raced as you realized you were going to actually be face to face with Alastor again. How would he react to your presence?

You shot into your seat, spinning around towards the machine. You stepped on the pedal, and the machine hummed to life once more. The door opened, and Alan poked his head in.

“Hey, there’s a customer who needs some assistance. Get out here.”

His head disappeared from view, leaving you alone once more. Exhaling a large breath to ease your nerves, you rose from your seat. Quickly, you walked over to the door and gripped the handle tightly. Another deep breath, and you pulled it open gingerly before taking a step outside. 

Your boss was back beside Alastor, who towered over the man. As you slowly entered the room, Alastor’s eyes moved to you. They lit up with interest, the smile seeming to shrink slightly. The crooked edges on his smile softened too, appearing more genuine as he regarded you.

“Ah, there you are, my dear! I was hoping to find you here.” Alastor called to you. He stepped right past Alan, completely ignoring his presence as he strode up to you. 

As he closed the distance, you became awfully aware of how fast your heart was beating inside your chest. That smell of lemons and licorice hit your nose as he stood before you, and it eased your nerves as you took a quick inhale of breath. 

He turned, allowing Alan to see both of your faces as he slowly reached out to take your hand. His thumb gently grazed against the gold band and it spun slightly. Your breath hitched at his touch.

“It is so nice to be able to visit my dear wife at her place of work,” Alastor started, his gaze shooting to Alan as he spoke, “and, to meet her lovely coworkers! A pleasure indeed.” 

Did he hear you telling Alan about your ring? He couldn’t have, but there seemed to be no other reason for him to bring up the whole marriage farce.

Alastor turned back to you, finger still softly caressing your hand as he turned his attention to his sleeve. 

“It appears I’ve gotten into another miscommunication with an overly confident adversary, similar to what I spoke to you about before. Would you care to assist me, my love?” 

Your eyes momentarily snapped to Alan, who had turned a paler shade as he watched Alastor’s actions. Now, he was finally seeing who your ‘husband’ was. It appeared to be quite a shocker for the demon.

Your gaze flicked back to Alastor, who stood next to you. That grin of his hiding whatever emotions he was feeling as he slowly released your grip, indicating for you to lead him away.

“Thank you for coming to visit, Alastor. I can stitch that up for you, you’ll just need to let me take it for a bit.” You smiled at him, doing your best to play the part with professionality. What, were you supposed to just start calling him pet names like ‘honey’ and ‘babe’?

“I think I'd prefer keeping it on.” Alastor said curtly, adjusting his collar.

He wanted to still be wearing it while you fixed it? That meant you couldn’t use the sewing machine, without risking injury to him. 

“… I suppose you can just follow me, then.” You replied, turning away as you beckoned him towards the back room. 

Alan didn’t follow the two of you, maybe Alastor’s comments threw him off. You hoped they did, you had enough of that guy for one day. 

You opened the dark gray door, pulling it wide so Alastor could follow behind. The back room was a cozy nook from the busy establishment, half of it transformed into a makeshift tailoring nook. A small step stool nestled among tall mirrors allowed a multi-angle look for customers getting a fitting.

Rolls of fabric lined orderly shelves nearby, accompanied by an array of sewing essentials. In the corner, a small table and chair housed the ancient sewing machine. You walked forward, before realizing 

“Oh, i’m sorry, I don’t have another chair. Let me go get one!” You pivoted to go find a spare, but Alastor only lifted his hand in a sweeping motion, brushing off your attempt.

“Not to worry, my dear! I’ve got it under control.”

He reached a hand forward, gripping the air like he was grabbing the top of the backrest of a chair. He tugged at the air, and a plume of green smoke wafted from his fingertips as he pulled a wooden chair from the smoke.

You stared, mesmerized as he dragged it next to your seat. He gingerly lowered himself, and plopped into the chair. That had to be powerful magic, for him to be able to produce such an object easily from thin air. Just like he did with the seasoning.

Quickly, you gathered the necessary essentials to begin fixing his garment. A couple of needles, some dark red thread, and multiple fabrics that you seemed the closest to his suit’s color. 

While you collected the items in a small bin, Alastor sat comfortably behind you. His nails clicking against his cane rhythmically as the music from the radio filled the room. 

He hummed softly along to the melody, obviously familiar with the tune playing. You had heard it before, a classic rendition of ‘Once In A While’ by Lennie Hayton. It was a softer tune, and an orchestral piece that allowed you to drift into a comfortable lull. 

As you carried the bin back to your seat, you nestled in beside him. There was a small distance between the two of you, your knees a few inches from grazing each other.

“May I?” You asked, holding out your hand to take his sleeve. You thought Alastor was going to react negatively to the gesture, like he did with Alan. Instead, he carefully reached out his arm, allowing you to pull his sleeve down to the surface of the table. 

You tried very hard not to touch his skin, as you adjusted the tear on his cuff to face you. Grabbing a few pieces of fabric, you began to hold them next to his sleeve, attempting to find the perfect match.

“So, what happened this time? Surely, not that snake demon from before.” You spoke, trying to spark conversation with your ‘husband’.

“Ha, I’m glad you do remember our last conversation! I was worried you'd forgotten as the days went by.” Alastor started, sinking deeper into his seat. He placed his cane against the table, 

‘Of course, I'd remember,’ you thought, ‘I can’t get you out of my head, no matter how I try.’

“I had found myself in a rather lively discussion with a particularly vexing imp. Tiny thing, but full of mischief and malice. Managed to get itself tangled in my grip during our little altercation.” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I must say, it put up quite the fight for something no larger than a rat. But fear not, I emerged victorious, albeit with a few battle scars.” 

Alastor gestured towards the tear on his sleeve, his eyes sparkling with amusement. You smiled at his words, a small chuckle coming from your throat as you pulled another piece of fabric to his cuff.

Finally, you found the color that matched his attire, and you carefully began cutting a large piece from the roll. 

“I’m going to have to hand sew your tear, is that okay?”

“Of course, my dear! Just try not to poke me, hm?” 

You nodded with a smile, before plucking the small needle from the table. 

With nimble fingers, you carefully align the edges of the fabric, pinching them together to ensure a snug fit. Holding the needle firmly between your thumb and forefinger, you begin to weave the thread in and out with practiced precision, creating neat, tiny stitches along the seam.

“I have been meaning to ask, how did the seasoning I gave you fare?” Alastor spoke, his eyes filled with intrigue as he waited for your response.

“Oh! It was fantastic!” You beamed, your mouth watering slightly as you recalled the wonderful dinner from that night. “They made Crawfish Étouffée, and it was very delicious.” 

“Ah! Yes, that dish was a staple back in New Orleans, when I was alive. Folks would gather all over to get a taste of my mother’s own twist on the delicacy. She was quite the cook, and her skill never faltered.” 

As you listened, you realized his voice softened quite more when he spoke of his mother. That static in his tone seemed to disperse as he mentioned her, and you caught a glimpse of his true voice behind that radio overlay. 

“Well, now that I've gotten a glimpse into such an art. I really am interested in trying your Jambalaya.” You spoke genuinely, your fingers still delicately lacing the thread across his sleeve. 

“I am pleased to hear that,” Alastor hummed, “I’ll have to bring you a sample the next time I'm in the area.”

Silence filled the room, other than the music that wafted from the radio’s speaker. You continued to adjust and stitch together his sleeve, very close to finishing the mending work. 

Even though there were no words spoken between the two of you, the silence was not awkward at all. The two of you simply sat comfortably in each other's presence.

Behind you, the slight crack in the door allowed you to hear the loud voice of Alan, as he spoke to another customer. Alastor’s ears twitched slightly as he heard the demon speaking, his body tensing momentarily.

“Has that wretch been bothering you often?” Alastor spoke after a moment, the static in his voice growing thicker as he spoke of Alan. His claws slightly dug into the table, a faint trail embedded in the wood.

“Well, he doesn't treat me like that succubus did. But, he does not drop the subject of us becoming romantically involved. It gets.. uncomfortable, I guess.”

You sighed as the words slipped from your tongue, a frown forming on your lips as you thought of his many attempts to swoon you. Alastor’s head tilted at your words, that smile cracked even wider as you continued to carefully slip the needle through the fabric. 

“Would you like me to ĐɆVØɄⱤ Ⱨł₴ ₴ØɄⱠ?” 

You jerked your head up at his words, surprise etched on your face as you turned to him. His voice had changed, the last bit of his sentence distorting into pure static, and you almost didn’t catch his words.

The room crackled with energy, causing your hair to practically stand on end. It was chilling, and you shivered subconsciously at the feeling. The room seemed to darken as Alastor stared at you, his pupils shrinking to resemble radio dials.

“Excuse me?” You questioned, your tone never faltering from its original octane. Which surprised you, since this powerful demon was looking at you with such murderous intent.

‘It’s not you he wants to murder.’ the voice in your head whispered. Which made your heart flutter, was Alastor wanting to kill for you? That was.. unconventionally sweet. 

Is that what he did to the succubus the other night when you weren’t looking? 

“If the little oaf can’t keep his words to himself, then there is no place for him to continue to sour your mood.” Alastor explained, his eyes taking their original form slowly as he spoke, and the distortion in his tone subsided.

The shadow festering around you slowly shrank away from your seat, illuminating the room once more. That cold feeling that gripped at your shoulders vanished. 

It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling that left you, even if it smelled of darkness and destruction. It felt almost.. comforting to you. Like the shadow was pulling you into a protective hug, the chill cooling your heated skin into a soothing embrace. 

You only shook your head, “He doesn’t need to die for something like that. And, he’s my boss. Without him, the store wouldn’t run as well.”

Alastor only huffed, leaning back into his seat. His claws left the table, and were instead enclosed into a fist, as he rested his chin atop of it. 

“At least the poor bloke ceased in his courting when he realized another had already taken that place.” He shrugged, his eyes glancing down to the gold ring on your hand.

You halted, the needle hanging in the air mid-stitch. How did he know about you and Alan’s conversation? More importantly, what were his feelings about you still wearing the piece of jewelry? 

“Oh, right. Yes, I’m sorry for still wearing it, I know it was just for that moment and it was stupid for me to think I could keep it-”

“Nonsense! Do not fret, my dear.” Alastor interjected, brushing off your worry. “Think of it as a small gift to rectify the situation you were forced into that night.” 

A gift? He wanted you to keep the ring? 

“You could even go as far as to perceive it as a good luck charm, ha-ha. Trouble seems to never escape you, and if this ring can even give you an ounce of protection, why not keep it on to ensure nothing like that night happens again?”

You smiled at him, your eyebrows raised as you listened to his words. A tiny ring, protecting you? You doubted it.

“Well, thank you, Alastor. It is really nice to know someone cares in that way.” 

Alastor hummed softly in response, his toothy grin softening into a lipped smile as he turned his attention back to the music playing softly. 

The thread tightened snuggly between the two fabrics as you finished the final stitch, your other hand reaching to the small scissors next to you. Carefully, you snipped the thread as close to the sleeve as possible, and you leaned back to take a look at your work.

It looked perfect, like the garment had never taken a hit in the first place. Alastor pulled his arm back slightly, turning it over to inspect it thoughtfully.

“I must say, you have such talent with a needle and thread! When you told me you worked as a door girl, I never expected knowledge of tailoring to be in your resume as well!” 

Your cheeks heated as his compliment, and you began to slowly stand from the seat. For a moment, you wished there was something else wrong with his coat that you could fit. If only to keep him here a little longer.

What a selfish thought. You silently reprimanded yourself for such thinking, Alastor had no doubt better things to do than sit here and chit chat with a powerless nobody like you.

Alastor also left his chair, and he adjusted his collar. He gripped his cane, straightening his posture as he turned to you. 

“It seems every time we’re together, our conversations are never dull. Thank you for assisting me, I’d love to continue our talks but it appears I have other business to attend to.” 

“Back at the hotel?” You asked, as you walked with him to the doorway.

Alastor stopped in his tracks, his eyes widened slightly at your words. He tilted his head at you. “Forgive me, my dear, but I do not remember telling you such a thing. Where did you hear that from?”

Fuck. He never had told you about his place of work, and you writhed slightly under his stare as you tried to come up with an explanation.

“Oh, it’s just an imp had come in this morning, buying a tuxedo for his daughter. He said she ran the Hazbin Hotel. He also said you worked at the hotel too.”

‘And he doesn’t seem to like you.’ you added silently.

Alastor’s grip around his cane tightened, and his smile widened as he thought for a moment. A small chuckle escaped his lips, it sounded dark.

“Are you sure it was an imp, my dear?” He asked slowly.

You nodded, recalling the conversation. “Yes, short with white hair and red skin. Sunglasses too, weirdly. He was quite nice, actually. He gave me some money for helping him, nobody has ever done that for me.” 

“Ha! What a kind soul he must be. Did he say anything else to you, by chance?”

You shook your head, “no, not really.”

“A surprise, really. That imp has a knack for using his charm to bend others to his whim. I'm sure that gesture of his was nothing more than to sweep you off your feet for his antics. I’d keep your distance from demons like him, if I were you.”

Was Alastor.. jealous? He couldn't be. But, it seemed like the feelings between the two were mutual with the way he spoke with disdain. 

The imp seemed like he had someone he cared deeply for, anyway. You were sure his gesture wasn’t anything more than kindness. Although, you didn’t think Alastor would believe you if you told him.

“But, as you previously mentioned, yes,” Alastor changed the conversation, for his sake it seemed, “I do reside at the hotel in exchange for my services. Redeeming sinners is no easy feat, it needs special hands to mold such a dream into reality.”

“Well, I'm sure you’re doing a great job.” You spoke, doing your best to voice your support for him.

Alastor smiled at you, before nodding in agreement. He pulled the door open, and stepped through the doorway. You followed him, stopping at the threshold as he turned back to you. 

He lowered himself slightly, a small curtsy in your direction. As he lifted himself, he leaned closer to you.

“Until we meet again, my wife.” He spoke loudly, most likely for the others in the vicinity to hear. His voice was like honey to your ears as that faint hiss of static dispersed from his tone when his lips settled on wife.

You really did like his voice, and hopefully, you’d hear what it really sounded like more often. His eyes settled on you for a moment longer, as if he wanted to say more. He didn’t, instead turning towards the register across the room.

Leaning against the doorway, you watched Alastor stroll to the cash register. Alan stood behind the counter, and he seemed to shrink slightly under the taller demon’s gaze.

The sharp edges of Alastor’s smile returned as he watched the demon quickly ready the digital display for check-out. His pupils dilating slightly, eyes narrowed as he waited.

You had watched him leave the store, watched him stroll down the street without a glance at anyone else. That mild boredom taking over his features, like it had when he had first arrived.

For the rest of your shift, as you sewed buttons back into place or trimmed stray threads that stuck out of garments, your thoughts continued to stray to events earlier in the day. To that imp, to the ring on your finger, to Alastor and those fluffy little ears on his head.

You were still deep in thought when you clocked out, your feet carrying you out the door as your path led you to the bus stop a few blocks down.

It was a small blue sign, with the symbol of a bus engraved into it. There was no one around, the empty streets quiet as you plopped onto the bench to wait.

Your hands reached into your bag, pulling out your phone from its pocket. You scrolled through your notifications, before clicking on a message from one of your friends.

You were so deep into the screen in front of you, that you didn’t hear the quiet footsteps approach the bench. You didn’t see the knife pointed directly at your face, or the masked man who’s gaze traveled down your form. 

“Hey, you!” A voice coated with malice addressed you.

Your head shot up, and you reeled back at the large knife right in front of your nose. Your heartbeat quickened as you scrambled off the bench, the man only keeping pace with you as you backed away.

“You seem like a nice young lady, and I’d hate to ruin that pretty face of yours. Just give me everything you’ve got, and we can go our separate ways.” 

“I don’t really have anything for you to take!” You said breathlessly, your hands shaking as you pulled miniscule items from your bag. He only ripped the entire thing from your grip, throwing it behind him. 

“What about money? Hand everything over, sweet cheeks.”

You grimaced, before pulling the stack of bills the imp had given you from your person. He ripped them from your grip, before stuffing the money down his pocket.

“That’s all I have, I promise! Please let me go.” You begged, your back hitting the wall of an abandoned building behind you.

You prayed for someone to come to your rescue. Alastor graced your mind, that he’d swoop in to save you once more to save you. He was right, trouble never seemed to leave you.

This time, you’d let him tear this guy apart.

“What about jewelry, huh? I see that ring on your finger, it must cost quite a pretty penny.” The thug sleazed.

Instinctively, you brought your hand to your chest, trying to shield the band from his stare. The demon only closed the distance between the two of you, his mask grazing against your chin as he abruptly yanked you forward.

“Don't fight me, you bitch! Just give it to me, don’t make this difficult.”

His rough hand encircled around your wrist. It was harsh against your skin, and you winced in pain.

“Let go of me! I’ve already given you enough, just leave me alone!” You screamed, hoping someone would come to your aid.

He raked his hand down your finger, the ring slowly moving down your digit as he tried to dislodge it.

It was a snug fit against your skin, and it took him a few moments for him to begin pulling it off your finger. Tears pricked at your eyes as adrenaline pumped through your veins, but you dared not to move with the knife slightly pressing into your side.

Another tug, and the ring grazed over your nail as it was pulled harshly. It wasn’t able to make it past before something strange happened. 

The ring ignited in a green flame, and the thug’s hand shot away as he yelled in pain. It licked at the tip of your finger, but you felt no heat from its touch. 

You barely had time to blink, or scream before the ring exploded. It burst into a large cloud of green smoke that engulfed your figure. Shielding you from your surroundings. Energy crackled in the air, paired with a chill that made your breath visible as you gasped.

It felt like someone had reached out and gripped at the collar of your top, and you felt a much gentler tug and you were pulled backwards.

The smoke seemed to vanish, and you were drenched into darkness. You felt your feet lift off the ground, as if you were floating.

The problem, you had no idea where you were. Your heart felt like it was going to burst as you squeezed your eyes shut. It felt like hours went by, but in truth, it was only a matter of a few seconds that darkness surrounded you.

Just as quickly as it started, it ended, and your closed eyelids were hit with a ray of light. There were voices surrounding you as your feet touched on solid ground, the floor softer this time, like carpet.

The chatter stopped abruptly as you settled in place, and for a moment you felt like curling into a ball and hiding from whatever scene you had been thrusted into.

“Ah, there you are!” A familiar voice exclaimed next to you, static dripping from their words. “I was wondering how long it would be until you showed up!” 

Wait a second, was that Alastor speaking? Was he responsible for whatever the hell just happened?

Your eyes slowly opened, revealing a large room covered in dark red wallpaper that cracked with age. Gold framed the edges, and lights mounted on the walls illuminated a few paintings that filled the empty space.

It looked like a lobby. Couches nestled in a corner around a small box tv. Next to that was a small bar, bottles of liquor stacked on shelves behind the counter. 

Your eyes trailed away, before they landed on a small group of demons in front of you. Your breath quickened in fear, as you quickly scanned over their figures. 

There was a woman in a red tuxedo, her mouth slightly parted in surprise. Long platinum-blonde hair tied into a neat ponytail as it traveled down her back. Beside her, a tall snake held a hand to his chest as he leaned back slightly, as if he was more afraid of you than you were of him. 

There were a few others too, but your mind was racing so fast you weren’t able to get a settle on their frames before you eyes were bouncing around for an exit.

It wasn’t until you felt someone’s arm snake around your elbow did you whip your head to the side, Alastor’s large smile greeting you as he laced his arm with yours in comfort, no doubt noticing the way your knees were about to buckle. 

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, my dear!” He exclaimed, as if your arrival was expected and totally-not-strange whatsoever. His eyes were soft, doing his best to calm you with his familiar presence. You opened your mouth to speak, even though you weren’t sure exactly what to say.

“Who the fuck is that?” The fuzzy, pink spider demon piped up from the shocked onlookers. A pair of hands on his hips as he regarded you with confusion. 

Your lips upturned into a faint smile, and you lifted your hand for a half-hearted wave.

“Um, hi..?” 

I hope you enjoyed part 2! Sorry for that cliff hanger 😭 i hate doing that but had to end it somewhere haha

and.. hold up yall…

for real?! i did not expect this my first month on this app, nor at all really 😍 what started as “just this one luci one-shot..” became so much more!

Thank you all for the support and love you’ve given me, lowkey itching to buy a computer just for writing (yes, all my fics have been written with sore thumbs haha)

HUGE thanks to @spoiled-slutt for being my beta reader and helping me brainstorm ideas for this part! They’ve been an amazing help, and you should definitely check out their works if they interest you! <3

have a great day, my swans! 🦢

—

taglist:

@the-tortured-poet @anonymousewrites @coleisyn @froggybich @chewbrry @watchinthestarz @mechanicalmari @luxmessorem @plapperlapapp @wonderlife974 @kottenox @cherry-cola-100 @the-shark-named-sharon @rae-pottah @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @corpsebridenightamare @pweewee @nijiru @ourfinalisation @anuttellaa @nonetheartist @bunnypeew @cryptidghostgirl @hxzbinwrites

[just-aake]

Who Would Sit at Your Grave the Longest?

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Who would ever mourn the life of a trained spy and assassin?

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, violence, mention of death, scenes from Marvel movies, multiple time skips

Words: 11,010

Red Room, Unknown — 2002

“If you passed away, who would sit at your grave the longest?”

It was a strange question, posed by one of the girls in the Red Room. The answers from the others are what one would expect – mom, dad, siblings, friends. 

People they remembered from their lives before. 

People who loved them.

With so many choices, it was difficult for some to decide who would fill that position.

Natasha, however, didn’t need any time to consider her answer.

She raises the gun in her hand and fires multiple shots at the practice target, each one hitting a fatal area. After the last bullet, she removes the empty magazine with practiced ease, reloads the gun, and aims at the target once again.

“Who would sit at her grave the longest?”

Her grip wavers slightly at the thought, but Natasha takes a short, steadying breath before steeling herself. 

Consecutive shots ring out in the room, hitting the target with perfect precision and demonstrating why she is one of the most feared assassins in the world.

For Natasha, the answer was clear.

“No one.” 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Abandoned Building, Budapest - 2003

With a tired sigh, Natasha leans her head against the wall of the abandoned building. She lifts her hand from her side, grimacing at the sight of blood covering her palm.

With a slight wince, she presses it against the wound again and glances at the person sitting across from her. 

His head hangs limply against his chest, his own hand pressing against a wound on his stomach. If not for his shallow breathing, Natasha would have thought he was already dead.

Taking a deep breath, she nudges him with her boot. “Hey, Barton, you still with me?”

He stirs slightly at her words, becoming more alert, and chuckles softly. “I knew you had a heart, Romanoff.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at his comment, turning her gaze to the distance, searching for any sign of backup from his organization. 

Clint Barton had been the first to see something different in her—something better—and had offered her a way out of her previous life. 

Now, the one person who might actually care about her existence was dying right in front of her.

A coughing fit seizes Clint at that moment, and a trickle of blood escapes his lips.

“If your people don’t arrive here soon—”

Before she could finish, the sound of an engine fills the air as a quinjet lands nearby, kicking up a whirl of dust. 

Spotting the SHIELD logo, Natasha quickly stands, grunting as she pulls Clint up and slings his arm over her shoulder, dragging him toward the plane.

“Over here!” she shouts to the disembarking crew.

The agents at the front eye her warily, cautiously raising their weapons until they recognize Barton and realize his condition. They quickly rushed to help, taking her place and carrying him onto the quinjet.

Natasha shuffles forward slowly, keeping a close eye on them to ensure they’re handling him carefully.

Suddenly, a hand brushes her side, startling her. Instinctively, she grips the wrist and yanks it away, only to find herself locking eyes with you, surprise evident on your face.

Her glare is sharp, a silent warning, but you furrow your brows and pull your hand free, undeterred by her reaction. 

“You’re injured too,” you point out, trying to examine the wound on her side.

“I’m fine,” Natasha grits out, swallowing hard against the pain. “You should be taking care of Agent Barton.” 

She tries to sidestep you, but her strength falters as the adrenaline starts to fade, and she stumbles. Bracing herself for a hard landing, she’s surprised when a pair of arms catches her before she can fall.

Leaning her head on your shoulder, Natasha takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself and shake off the wave of dizziness.

“He has enough people,” you say firmly, your voice resolute. “I can focus on taking care of you.”

With that, you adjust her gently in your arms and start guiding her toward the quinjet.

“Come on, you’re not dying today.”

You say it with such certainty and determination that Natasha can’t help but believe you.

As you walk, she glances at the side of your face, her curiosity piqued.

“How strange,” Natasha muses to herself, “to have found another person who seems to care about her existence.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Stark Mansion, Malibu - 2010

After pretending to be impressed by Stark’s demonstration of the Iron Man armored glove and its repulsor beam, Natasha quietly slips away as Miss Potts confronts him for his reckless behavior.

At the private bar, Natasha prepares more drinks, anticipating Tony’s inevitable request for another round.

“This is quite the birthday party,” a voice comments from behind.

Natasha turns her head to find you leaning casually on the opposite side of the bar countertop, giving her a friendly smile. 

Since her initial encounter with you after joining SHIELD, Natasha hasn’t had the opportunity to work with you again, only spotting you in passing until now. 

She raises a questioning brow at you, curious about your presence and wondering how she missed you being part of the team for this mission.

“It seems you’ve gained Mr. Stark’s trust pretty well,” you remark, referring to her little performance earlier.

Returning to her task, Natasha responds as she continues to pour the drinks. 

“It’s not hard. He’s a textbook narcissist.” 

A loud clatter erupts from the other room and interrupts the conversation, prompting both of you to look at the sound in alertness.  

Tony picks himself up from where he stumbled into the DJ booth, then throws his arms up in the air with a cheer, eliciting an excited response from the crowd.

Spotting how he leans heavily on the table for support, Natasha shakes her head and continues her observations.

“His condition is worsening, though. He’ll need something to take the edge off soon.”

From the corner of her eyes, Natasha notices your expression become contemplative as you tilt your head and observe her curiously. 

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” you reply with a small shake of your head. “It’s just nice of you to worry about your new friend.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at that. 

Tony Stark is just a potential candidate for the Avenger Initiative that she’s been assigned to assess. From what she’s seen, he cares less about being her friend than she does.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Natasha asserts, turning around with the tray of finished drinks.

You smoothly pluck a glass from the tray before Natasha can stop you and sip it nonchalantly, unbothered by her glare. Still, Natasha can’t help but smirk slightly, amused by your bold action. 

Setting the empty glass down, you glance at Tony, who is still playing to the crowd.

“No harm in building genuine friendships,” you comment before nodding at the billionaire. 

“Anyway, lucky for him, Fury agrees. He wants to meet with Mr. Stark soon,” you reveal.

Natasha’s brows knit together in confusion.

“Fury sent you just to tell me that?” 

You turn your gaze back to her, a small grin tugging at the corner of your lips as you push yourself off the counter. 

“Me coming here was more of a personal choice.”

Her eyes narrow in suspicion, still puzzled by your answer.

“Why would you do that?” 

With a light chuckle, you meet her gaze, a slight smirk playing on your lips. 

“Maybe I just wanted to see the legendary Black Widow in action,” you admit, your tone teasing, before turning to walk away.

For a moment, Natasha is left stunned, her mind racing to make sense of your reasoning. But as you disappear from view, a sudden sensation tightens in her chest. She quickly sets the tray down and moves around the counter, her instincts urging her to follow you. 

Just as she takes a step forward, a deafening crash reverberates through the building. 

Whirling toward the source of the noise, Natasha’s eyes widen as she spots Tony, now clad in his Iron Man armor, locked in a fierce struggle with one of his other mech suits.

Natasha groans, rolling her eyes as she braces herself to clean up yet another one of Stark’s infamous messes. 

She wonders how you could think this man could ever be among those she’d considered a friend.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Stark Tower, New York City - 2012

With the portal closed and the battle over, Natasha and the other newly assembled Avengers gather on the top floor of the Stark Tower to complete the final task of apprehending Loki.

“Alright, get him on his feet,” Tony says, gesturing at the defeated god sprawled on the floor. His Iron Man suit begins to disengage from his body as he walks away. 

“Oh, and by the way, feel free to clean up,” he remarks to the others, waving at the destroyed room left in the aftermath of the battle. 

Natasha rolls her eyes at his words before focusing on the piece of metal in her hands. She taps Loki’s scepter gently against her palm and asks, “So, who gets the magic wand?”

Standing near the shelves filled with various bottles of alcohol, Clint retrieves two glass cups and answers, “Strike team’s coming to secure it.”

As he finishes speaking, the strike team steps out of the elevator, carrying a large case. 

“We can take that,” an agent offers, heading towards her.

“By all means,” Natasha replies, handing it to them and walking toward Clint. Out of the corner of her eyes, she notices one of the agents examining the staff’s point with their hand. 

“Careful with that thing,” she warns.

Clint nods in agreement as he hands her a glass, “Unless you want your mind erased, and not the fun way.”

As they both turn around toward the bar, the cups are taken from their hands.

“And I’ll take these,” you declare, placing them on the counter. 

“Medical team is also here,” you announce with a smirk, placing your hands on your hips. “Which means the agent with blood dripping from their head should have a seat.”

Natasha and Clint exchange glances to see who you’re referring to.

“Looks like you’re going first,” Clint declares happily, patting Natasha on her shoulder and stepping around you–not before sneakily taking back his cup. 

When Natasha doesn’t move, you cross your arms and tilt your head at her with a raised brow. 

“Well, are you going to sit, or do I need to wait until you fall on me again?”

Natasha huffs in amusement at the reminder before taking a seat on the barstool, giving you space to come closer. 

Stepping forward, you place yourself between her legs and gently brush back her hair as you examine her forehead. 

“Doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches, so that’s good,” you comment.

Natasha clicks her tongue in mock disappointment. 

“No scar? That’s a shame.”

Your lips twitch upward slightly at her words, and Natasha grins proudly, knowing she almost made you smile. 

As you clean her wound, your hands move delicately across her skin, treating her with the utmost care.

Noticing your closeness, Natasha takes a moment to observe you, intrigued at how comfortable you are around her. She was so absorbed in watching you that she almost missed your next words. 

“You all make a good team.”

At the mention of the others, Natasha glances over at them across the room, talking and jostling each other in a friendly fashion. 

It’s admittedly an odd bunch that Fury managed to assemble: a demi-god, a super soldier, a billionaire tech genius, a scientist with an angry alter ego, and a couple of master assassins.

“Not what I imagined, but surprisingly, it turned out okay,” Natasha admits. 

After finishing the bandages, your hand drifts from her hair to gently cup her face, lifting it to meet your eyes. 

“You came together, trusted each other, and had each other’s backs—all within just a few days,” you say, your voice steady with conviction. “That’s more than just okay.”

You give her a soft smile, tilting your head lightly. 

“It’s actually pretty incredible…and so are you.”

Natasha’s eyes widen at your words, leaving her speechless.

A familiar warmth stirs in her chest, similar to the sensation she felt the last time she met you—a subtle yet undeniable pull towards you. 

The intensity of your gaze draws her in, making her feel connected to you in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Her fingers fidget in her lap as she considers bridging the small gap between you. She raises her hand hesitantly, about to reach out—

“Romanoff!” Tony calls, causing Natasha to withdraw her hand and turn her head, inadvertently making your hand fall from her face, much to her disappointment.

He and the others are gathered by the elevator, looking in her direction. Tony waves his hand in a hurried gesture.

“Hurry it up with the doctor-patient roleplay! The shawarma’s going to get cold.”

Natasha glares at him for the interruption before returning her attention to you. 

“Shawarma?” you ask with a questioning tilt of your head.

She shakes her head exasperatedly. 

“I don’t know. Tony wants to try it.”

You hum in understanding and take a step back. 

“Well, that bandage should be fine for now, but you’ll need a more thorough check-up when you return.”

Natasha leans forward slightly, a small smirk playing on her lips as she teases, “By you?”

You meet her smirk with an amused smile. “We’ll see.”

Accepting that she won’t get a definitive answer, Natasha nods and stands. As she’s about to pass by you, a thought crosses her mind, and she pauses beside you.

“What about you?” she asks.

You look up from where you’re packing your things. “What about me?”

Natasha huffs lightly at your evasiveness, ready to respond, but she hesitates. Her usual confidence falters, and uncertainty flickers in her eyes for a brief moment as they meet yours. 

After everything she’s been through, Natasha is still unsure whether she deserves to feel this way about someone—to want to not feel alone.

Noticing her hesitation, your expression softens, and you offer an understanding smile. With a gentle push on her back, you urge her forward.

“Go, you deserve to celebrate this win with your team,” you say, your voice calm and encouraging.

Before Natasha can reply, Tony calls out again. 

“The elevator’s going to leave without you, Romanoff,” he warns. 

You give her an encouraging nod, and with a light sigh, she makes her way to the elevator, where the others are already waiting inside.

Tony leans casually against the elevator doors, arms crossed and a teasing grin on his face. 

Before he can make a comment, Natasha gives him a shove, pushing him inside, and quickly presses the button. As the doors close, she catches one last glimpse of your little wave at her before you disappear from view.

Reflecting on your words, Natasha glances around at the people beside her. Surrounded by her new teammates, she begins to realize that maybe, she’s not so alone anymore, after all.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

National Mall, Washington, D.C. – 2014

Natasha lets go of the back of Steve’s neck, breaking the kiss, and turns around casually on the escalator. With their fake display of affection, Rumlow and the other SHIELD agents do not spare them a glance as they search the mall.

She steps off the escalator smoothly and glances slightly over her shoulder at the super soldier. 

“You still uncomfortable?”

Steve clears his throat lightly, trying to regain his composure. 

“It’s not exactly the word I would use.”

The two walk calmly until they reach the path leading to the underground parking garage. As they pass through the doors, Natasha notices Steve’s awkward silence and decides to tease him a little.

“Don’t tell me you’re still flustered from that kiss, Rogers?”

Steve sighs at her teasing, “No, I just wasn’t expecting–”

As they round a corner, Natasha and Steve abruptly come to a stop, finding themselves face-to-face with a SHIELD agent.

He eyes them suspiciously, his hand moving toward his walkie-talkie. 

Reacting swiftly, Steve tackles him before he can alert the others, and the two engage in a fierce fistfight.

Natasha steps forward to assist, but before she can reach them, someone grabs her from behind and throws her against a concrete column. She groans in surprise as pain radiates from the impact. 

Before she can recover, a body pins her against the wall, an arm pressing against her collarbone.

Natasha’s hands instinctively push against the pressure as she focuses on her attacker. Her eyes widen in surprise at who she sees.

“Since when are you a part of the strike team?” she grunts out.

You frown slightly and nod toward Steve. 

“Since Captain America took down most of their men, and they had to pull others from different teams,” you explain before giving her a questioning look. “You do know he’s wanted by SHIELD, right?”

“Yes,” Natasha grits out, raising her knee sharply, catching you off guard. 

The sudden pain in your side forces you to loosen your grip just enough for her to slip out. With a swift motion, Natasha twists her body, reversing your positions, and slams you against the wall, pinning you there.

“Do you know why SHIELD wants you to hunt him?” Natasha challenges.

Despite being pinned, your expression remains calm as you raise a brow at her.

“What happened to the Black Widow who followed every order—no questions asked?”

Natasha pauses, thinking about the anger and sense of loss she felt after Fury’s sudden death—one of the few who had become an important figure in her life. He was betrayed, and she was determined to find out who was behind it, even if it meant going against orders.

“I’m trying something new,” Natasha answers. 

To her surprise, a smile spreads across your face, and you remark proudly, “Good.”

It’s then Natasha notices you aren’t even trying to break free from your pinned position. Your hands hang limply at your sides, offering no resistance. 

Slowly, Natasha lowers her arm from your chest and takes a small step back, allowing you to lean against the wall on your own.

You make no move to attack her.

Before Natasha can question your intentions, the walkie-talkie at your side crackles to life with incoming communication.

“Anything in the lower levels?” Rumlow’s voice asks.

Your eyes drift down to the device at the request for an answer. As your hand reaches for the walkie-talkie, Steve, having just dealt with the other agent, rushes toward you. 

But Natasha quickly stops him, holding out her to block his path. She watches you calmly as you raise the walkie to your mouth, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time.

“Negative in the parking garage,” you respond.

Rumlow’s frustrated growl sounds through the speaker. “Expand the search area and sweep the floors again.”

“Understood.”

With that, you casually toss the walkie aside and raise your hands in surrender. When Natasha and Steve remain still, you give them a pointed look.

“Shouldn’t the two of you be looking for a way to escape?” you suggest, your tone laced with a hint of urgency.

Understanding your intentions, Steve gives you an appreciative nod and gently touches Natasha’s arm. 

“I’ll go find us a ride,” he says.

“Okay,” Natasha replies with a nod, watching as Steve heads off in search of a vehicle.

When she turns back to you, she notices a slight frown on your face as your arms cross over your chest.

“You two seem closer,” you observe.

Natasha chuckles softly, catching the hint of displeasure in your tone. 

“Aren’t you the one who told me to make friends?”

You huff in response, giving her a tiny glare before walking past her.

As you examine the unconscious agent on the ground, a thoughtful hum escapes you, clearly contemplating your next move.

Sensing your dilemma, Natasha steps beside you and offers, “You could always come with us.”

You shake your head and turn to her with a slight smirk. 

“Three’s a crowd,” you reply before taking a step closer, tilting your head curiously. “Did you really kiss him?”

Realizing you must have overheard her earlier comment, Natasha starts to explain.

“It was just a cover.”

She watches you carefully as you take another step closer, leaving only a small gap between your bodies. Feeling slightly distracted, Natasha swallows lightly and continues, unsure why she feels the need to explain herself further.

“Public displays of affection make people very…”

Natasha’s words trail off as you place your hands on her waist and lean in slightly with a tilt of your head.

“…uncomfortable,” she finishes softly, her eyes falling to your lips, which curve up slightly at her attention.

Her pulse quickens, and for a moment, the world around the two of you fades, leaving only the charged tension in the air between you. 

That familiar, tempting feeling stirs within her again.

She lifts her eyes to meet yours, noticing the amusement dancing in your gaze.

“Are you uncomfortable?” you whisper, the words softly caressing her lips.

Natasha finds herself leaning forward as she responds with a breathless sigh, “No.” 

Just as the space between you is about to disappear, you abruptly pull back, removing your hands from her hips and stepping away. 

“Good to know,” you say with a playful grin. You raise your hand to reveal a tiny taser disk between your fingers. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”

Still stunned by your sudden move, Natasha remains frozen, too shocked to react to the revelation of the item you swiped from her.

You chuckle at her silence, tilting your head playfully. 

“Catch me?” you request before activating the device and delivering an electric shock to yourself.

Recovering quickly, Natasha catches you as you slump forward, wrapping her arms around you and gently lowering you to the ground.

With a small huff of disbelief, Natasha cups your unconscious face, caressing your cheek with a fond touch.

You always know how to leave her speechless.

A truck pulls up beside her, and Steve leans out from the driver’s seat. “Ready to go?”

Natasha takes a moment to make sure you’re positioned comfortably before nodding and hopping into the passenger seat.

As they drive toward New Jersey, the silence eventually gives way to their earlier conversation.

“Really? Nobody special, though?” Natasha asks, glancing over at Steve.

Steve sighs, a touch of exasperation in his voice. 

“Believe it or not, it’s kind of hard to find someone with shared life experiences,” he replies, then gestures toward her. “And what about you? You keep urging me to go on dates, but it doesn’t seem like you’re taking any steps in your love life either.”

He nudges her arm encouragingly, adding, “That agent earlier seemed interested.”

Natasha smirks at his observation, her gaze drifting to the window as the trees blur past. After a pause, she answers, her voice thoughtful.

“I don’t know. People usually want something real,” she says, her eyes distant, as if she’s seeing something far beyond the road. She turns to Steve with a small, sad smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nothing about me is.”

Steve remains silent for a moment, processing her words.

“You know, you’ll never find out if someone can accept you until you let them see the real you,” he says gently, his tone firm yet understanding.

“Yeah…” Natasha whispers, almost to herself. 

Her thoughts wander to her secretive past, the parts of herself hidden from the world. If you knew who she really was, would you still trust her? Or would you leave her, like so many others had? 

Her entire life, people wanted her to be something for them—a killer, a spy, a tool. Everyone had their own agenda.

She turns back to Steve, a curious glint in her eyes. “Who do you want me to be?”

Steve meets her gaze, sincerity in his expression. “How about a friend?” he suggests, his words simple yet filled with meaning.

Natasha laughs, starting with disbelief but gradually softening into something more genuine.

Shaking her head, she imagines what her past self would think of her now—a person trying to be more open to others.

“Maybe I could manage that,” she decides, her tone lighter than ever before.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Avengers Tower, New York City – 2015

Laughter fills the common room of the Avengers Tower as everyone takes turns trying to lift Thor’s hammer. With one last grunt, Steve lets go and shakes his head in defeat, returning to his seat with a chuckle.

“Alright, be honest, it’s rigged,” Tony remarks to Thor. “The handle is imprinted. The one who is worthy is the one with Thor’s fingerprints, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Clint agrees with a laugh, clinking his bottle with Natasha’s. He sits on the floor, leaning against her seat, and takes another sip.

Natasha chuckles lightly and brings her bottle up for a drink, only to pull it away and see it’s empty. She looks at it in confusion, wondering when she had finished it.

A hand takes the empty bottle from her, and Natasha turns to see you sitting on the arm of her chair, giving her an amused smile.

“You finished it two attempts ago,” you reveal.

“Were you watching me the entire time?” Natasha asks with a playful smirk.

You return her expression with a slight smirk of your own and lean in closer, your hand sliding against the back of her chair.

“Well, it’s hard to pay attention to anyone else when you’re around,” you reply.

Before Natasha can respond, Tony claps his hands together, exclaiming, “Alright, who’s next? Romanoff? Hill?”

Maria shakes her head as she stands and heads to the bar. “I’m going to have to pass.”

Chuckling lightly, you stand also and give Natasha an encouraging touch on her shoulder.

“You have fun. I’m going to get us another round.” 

Natasha’s eyes follow you the entire time as you walk away. When she finally turns back around, she notices Steve giving her a pointed look. 

“What?” she questions, arching a brow.

“Come on, you and her. It’s obvious there’s something between you two,” Steve insists.

“Don’t bother, Cap. She’s not going to be convinced. I’ve tried,” Clint chimes in, earning a tiny kick from Natasha in reprimand.

“Ow, see what I mean.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“We flirt,” she defends with a shrug. “It’s what we’ve always done. Just some innocent fun.” 

Tony, overhearing the exchange, joins the conversation with a nod toward something behind her.

“Yeah, well, it’s not looking so innocent over there,” he remarks.

Natasha furrows her brows and turns to look at the bar. Her frown deepens at what she sees.

You and Maria are talking and laughing together, with the latter leaning a bit too close for Natasha’s comfort.

“Hey, take it from someone who knows. You don’t want to wait before it’s too late,” Steve advises.

Natasha considers his words as she watches the two of you, contemplating what she should do. 

You and she have grown and maintained this comfortable dynamic for years. Of course, there’s an undeniable attraction, but Natasha isn’t sure if taking things further would be worth the risk of losing what she already has with you.

However, when Maria leans forward to whisper something in your ear, Natasha suddenly finds herself rising from her chair and heading toward the bar.

Just as you duck down to grab something from the bottom shelves, Maria takes the opportunity to slip away, passing by Natasha with a pat on the shoulder and a whispered, “Good luck.”

Frowning in confusion, Natasha glances back to see Maria and Clint exchanging a high-five. Realizing she’s been set up, Natasha turns to retreat to her seat before you notice her.

But it’s too late.

“Oh, hey, I’m almost finished with the drinks,” you call out, straightening with a grin as you spot her.

With her escape route cut off, Natasha decides to sit at the counter, her earlier irritation melting away when she meets your gaze.

“You sure you’re not getting distracted over here?” Natasha teases, her tone playful.

You laugh lightly as you secure the top of the shaker, shaking it with practiced ease, your eyes never leaving hers.

“Only if you’re the distraction,” you tease back.

Natasha relaxes at the warmth of the familiar banter, putting her at ease as she watches you finish preparing the drinks and pour them into two glasses.

You slide one across the counter to her and nod curiously toward the gathered group.

“You didn’t want to try to lift the hammer?” you ask with a curious tilt of your head.

“Oh, no,” Natasha replies, shaking her head slightly as she raises her glass to her lips. “No, that’s not a question that I need answered.”

“Really?” you respond, leaning forward on the counter, bringing yourself closer to her. Your hand inches toward hers, brushing her fingers lightly and letting the touch linger. 

With a slight smirk, you raise a brow. “Then what is?”

That familiar feeling stirs in Natasha’s chest again as she holds your gaze—the temptation to close the distance between you two growing stronger.

Recalling Steve’s advice, Natasha swallows nervously and answers in a soft whisper, “Something probably only you can help me with.”

Intrigued, you gesture for her to continue, your attention entirely on her.

“There’s this thing—this feeling,” Natasha begins cautiously. “It appears during certain situations, like a pressure in my chest.” 

You furrow your brows in concern. “Does it hurt?”

Natasha chuckles lightly, her gaze dropping to the drink you made for her, swirling it gently. The small ripples are nothing compared to the pounding of her heart at that moment.

“Sometimes,” she admits, her eyes drifting to your hand beside hers. She’s tempted to intertwine them but ultimately decides against it.

“It feels like I’m standing on the edge,” Natasha explains, meeting your eyes again. “I know what’s waiting for me if I turn and walk away, but if I choose to fall…”

She releases a shaky breath. 

“…I don’t know what that future looks like, and that terrifies me.”

Your expression softens with understanding. You reach out, this time more deliberately, and your fingers find hers with gentle assurance.

Natasha clears her throat lightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she tries to mask the vulnerability of her confession.

“So what should I do?” she asks, her tone teasing, an attempt to deflect the seriousness of the moment.

You chuckle softly, recognizing her attempt to lighten the mood.

“I think—”

The sound of scratching metal against the floor interrupts the conversation as Natasha and everyone in the room turn to look at the dilapidated robot that has just dragged itself in front of them.

The moments after that are chaotic as she and the Avengers have to deal with Ultron’s threat to the world.

New Avengers Facility, Upstate New York

With Ultron defeated and most of the original members either retired or off on their own adventures, Natasha watches bittersweetly as Steve welcomes the new recruits to the Avengers. 

Footsteps approach and stop beside her, and Natasha doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

“The new team looks good,” you comment, your eyes scanning the mix of familiar and new faces before glancing at Natasha’s expression.

“Do you miss them?” you ask softly, understanding the emotions behind her eyes.

Natasha sighs, her gaze still fixed on the newcomers.

“Nothing lasts forever,” she replies, a touch of sadness in her voice but not surprised. She’s accustomed to things not staying a part of her life.

You hum thoughtfully, considering her words before declaring with quiet conviction, “Well, you won’t have to worry about that with me.”

Natasha turns to look at you with a curious tilt of her head.

You offer her a small, reassuring smile. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, your words laced with promise.

A soft smile spreads across Natasha’s face at your assurance, feeling the familiar warmth blossoming in her chest.

“You never answered my question,” she reminds you, referring to the conversation that was interrupted earlier.

Natasha waits, her nerves on edge as you consider your response. Finally, you meet her gaze with a soft expression, placing a gentle hand on her arm.

“You should do whatever feels right for you,” you say sincerely, giving her arm a comforting squeeze before turning to leave.

Natasha looks down, a slight shake of her head and a light huff of amusement escaping her as she recognizes your deflection.

“But if you want my opinion…” you add, pausing at the doorway, prompting Natasha to look back up at you.

Lingering at the threshold, you offer her a playful smirk. “… I’d say, based on my track record, I’ve caught you when you’ve fallen before.” You shrug lightly. “And it seems like everything has turned out fine since then.”

Your smile widens as you notice Natasha rendered speechless once again before you turn to leave the room.

Recovering quickly, Natasha strides after you with determination. She catches up to you this time, gently taking your hand and turning you around to face her.

Cupping your cheek, she leans in and kisses you, pouring all her emotions into the gesture.

Before she can even worry that she might have made a mistake, you wrap your arms around her, pulling her closer as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving fervently against hers.

The world around Natasha fades away, leaving only the two of you in that moment, and she knows she made the right decision.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Leipzig-Halle Airport, Leipzig – 2016

Natasha looks across the airport at the people she had come to call friends and then back at those standing beside her. As the two sides rush at each other and engage in battle, she can’t help but wonder how it came to this—how they all decided that fighting each other was the only option left. 

She’s not even sure if signing the accords was the right choice, but the one thing she does know is that staying together is supposed to be the most important thing. 

Just because they’re fighting now doesn’t mean Natasha cares any less about them. The thought lingers as the chaos of battle surrounds her. 

Clint flips her to the ground, and she reacts instinctively, bringing up her batons to block his bow from pinning her down. The two lock eyes, a familiar intensity passing between them.

“We’re still friends, right?” Natasha asks, her voice steady despite the conflict around them.

Clint smirks, the kind of smile that reassures her, even in the midst of battle. 

“Depends on how hard you hit me.”

Natasha grins back, then uses her legs to flip him off of her. She springs to her feet, ready to deliver a follow-up kick, when a sudden wave of red energy wraps around her leg, freezing her in place. 

Startled, she glances to the side, catching only a brief glimpse of Wanda before she’s hurled through the air. 

Natasha braces herself for the inevitable impact, but instead of hitting the metal wall of an airport car, she collides with a body in mid-air. 

A pair of arms wrap around her, cushioning the fall as they both tumble to the ground. They roll to a stop, with Natasha ending up on top. 

Dazed but unharmed, she pushes herself up, her breath coming in short gasps as she looks down to see who caught her.

“Hey,” Natasha greets softly, a small smile forming on her lips as she cups your face with her hands. “What are you doing here?”

You don’t return her smile, instead frowning at her with concern. 

“The Avengers are fighting each other, and you didn’t think to call me?” 

Natasha’s smile falters, and she shifts her gaze away, her voice soft with guilt. 

“I didn’t want you to have to choose a side.”

You release a knowing sigh. 

“You mean, you were afraid I wouldn’t agree with your choice,” you correct gently.

Natasha twists her lips at the truth in your words. 

Yes, she’s afraid. Her makeshift family is breaking apart before her eyes, and she’s desperate to protect the one other part of her life that matters. 

Why wouldn’t she try to shield you from this chaos?

Your hand covers hers, still resting on your cheek, drawing her attention back to you.

“I’ve told you, Nat. Do whatever it is you feel is right for you. I’ll support you no matter what.”

Natasha’s eyes soften, a wave of relief washing over her. She starts to lean in, but you stop her with a gentle press of your finger against her lips.

“However,” you add, your voice firm and disapproving, “not calling me and having me find out from Stark? That’s a different kind of trouble you’re in.” 

Natasha chuckles, taking your hand from her face and pressing a gentle kiss against your palm, a hint of playfulness entering her voice.

“Well, you still love me though, right?”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to maintain your stern expression, though it softens slightly.

“I don’t know. Ask me again after this,” you tease back at her. 

Before Natasha can respond, Tony’s voice crackles through the comms, interrupting the moment. 

“Uh, less flirting, you two. In case you forgot, there are multiple fights happening around you.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes, but the smile remains on her face as she helps you up, ready to rejoin the fray.

Leipzig Hospital Balcony

“You let them go, Nat,” Tony accuses, his voice sharp with disbelief.

Natasha doesn’t deny it. In the end, she chose to help Steve and Bucky because it was the right thing to do. If the fighting didn’t stop, it would only cause more pain for everyone involved.

“We played this wrong,” Natasha admits, her voice tinged with regret.

“We?” Tony scoffs, shaking his head in frustration. “You know, it must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, huh? It sticks in the DNA.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Natasha flinches inwardly, the hurt flickering across her face before she quickly masks it. 

His comment cuts deeper than she expected, reminding her of the ghosts of her past, the shadows she’s fought so hard to leave behind after all these years. 

But here, at this moment, those shadows seem to close in on her, dark and suffocating, reminding her of the person she used to be.

Her voice hardens, a cold edge creeping into her tone. “Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for one goddamn second?” 

Tony’s expression remains stony, but there’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes—regret, maybe, or disappointment. He doesn’t back down, though. 

“T’Challa told Ross what you did, so…they’re coming for you.” 

Natasha meets his gaze, her eyes steely, refusing to show any sign of fear. 

“I’m not the one that needs to watch their back,” she replies before turning to leave.

As she walks away, the weight of the confrontation settles in her chest, heavy and suffocating. 

She finds an empty hallway and leans against the wall, pressing her hands to her eyes, trying to push back the frustration and the sting of Tony’s words. Her breath comes in uneven gasps as she struggles to regain her composure.

A gentle hand touches her wrist, a gesture of comfort, but in her raw state, she instinctively swats it away. 

When she looks up, your expression is sad as your hands retreat to your sides. You clear your throat awkwardly, searching for the right words. 

“I can talk with Ross. Maybe change his mind or something.”

Natasha breaks away from your soft gaze, looking down and biting her lip to stop herself from saying the cutting remark on the tip of her tongue—that it would not make a difference, not with her past. 

She’s all too aware of the person she was, and no words could erase that history.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” you try to reassure her. 

Despite the same certainty and determination in your tone, Natasha can’t seem to find it in her to believe that to be true this time.

Glancing up, Natasha’s eyes fall on the bruises and scratches on your face, injuries you sustained because of her—because you chose to stand by her side. 

The sight only deepens the ache in her chest.

“Don’t,” Natasha mutters, her voice trembling. “Just leave.”

“Nat…” you begin, your voice soft, filled with concern.

But she closes her eyes tightly, shaking her head as if to block out the sound. “I said go! Leave me alone!” 

The harshness in her tone is laced with pain, and it cuts through the air like a knife. 

For a moment, there’s silence, thick and heavy, before you turn and walk away, leaving Natasha alone with her thoughts. 

The hallway echoes with the sound of your retreating footsteps.

Natasha sinks down to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, feeling the weight of her actions pressing down on her like never before.

She thought she could finally have a different life, that she could change, but nothing has changed. She still hurts the people around her.

So, Natasha does what she does best. She disappears.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Seventh Circle Prison, Russia – 2016

The whirl of the helicopter blades fills the air as Natasha flies away from the prison, the tension inside the cabin palpable among its three occupants.

“It means so much to me that you girls came back for me,” Alexei begins, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

Natasha, however, isn’t in the mood for such sentimentality. Her voice is sharp as she cuts him off, “No. No, you’re gonna tell us how to get to the Red Room.”

Alexei huffs, slightly taken aback by her tone.

“Whoa, look at you, huh? All business.”

“Trust me, this isn’t pleasure,” Natasha retorts, her eyes narrowing in irritation. She was not prepared to deal with her old family after just losing her new one. But the quicker she destroys the Red Room and saves the remaining Widows, the faster she can leave this part of her past behind.

Behind her, Alexei chuckles, though there’s a trace of bitterness in his laughter.

“Little Natasha, all indoctrinated into the Western agenda.”

Natasha’s gaze hardens as she turns to glare at him. 

“I chose to go west to become an Avenger. At least they treated me like family.”

“Really? Family?” Alexei’s tone drips with sarcasm. “Well, where are they now?”

From the corner of her eye, Natasha catches Yelena looking at her. A mix of emotions crosses Yelena’s face—curiosity, concern, and a brief flash of sadness—before she turns away, staring forward.

“Where is that family now?” Alexei repeats, his voice louder, more insistent.

Unable to face the question any longer, Natasha turns away, focusing on the landscape outside instead.

The ache of loss resurfaces within her, a painful reminder of the bonds she once believed were unbreakable, now torn apart so easily.

As the helicopter continues to slice through the air, the silence between them grows heavier, especially after Natasha discovers that Melina is still working for Dreykov, remotely operating somewhere outside of Saint Petersburg.

With Yelena now at the controls of the helicopter, Natasha takes a moment for herself. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small flip phone—the only possession she hadn’t discarded when she went on the run.

Opening it, she stares at the screen, at the message she’s been fixated on for weeks.

“I love you” 

It was the last thing you sent her after she had disappeared. 

Natasha swallows nervously before attempting once more to type a response. Her fingers move over the keys, spelling out the same words that appeared on the screen countless times before.

I’m sorry|

But once again, nothing else follows. Frustration wells up inside her as her fingers hesitate, struggling to find the right words.

Instead of clarity, a heavy weight presses down on her—guilt from your last moment together, regret over her actions, and fear of what the future holds for the two of you.

Before she can dwell on it further, the helicopter suddenly lurches, jostling everyone inside.

“Yelena?!” Natasha calls out, her voice filled with alarm.

The blonde-haired Widow nods calmly, her tone casual despite the situation. 

“Uh, yeah, the plane’s going down.” She flips a few switches, nodding in confirmation. “Told you we didn’t have enough fuel to get there.”

Groaning in frustration, Natasha quickly tucks the phone away, securing herself as she declares, “Everyone, brace yourselves.”

After a rough landing and leaving the wrecked helicopter behind, they finally arrive at Melina’s home.

The four of them sit awkwardly around the table, a scene eerily reminiscent of how it was many years ago.

Breaking the silence, Alexei exclaims joyfully, “Family! Back together again!”

Natasha rolls her eyes, dismissing his enthusiasm as she tries to stay focused on the mission.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen—”

“Natasha, don’t slouch,” Melina interrupts, her voice carrying a motherly tone.

Blinking in surprise, Natasha straightens slightly, though she couldn’t help but argue, “I’m not slouching.”

“Yes, yes you are,” Melina insists, her tone firm.

“I don’t slouch,” Natasha retorts, irritation creeping into her voice. 

“You’re going to get a back hunch,” Melina continues, unfazed by Natasha’s resistance.

Alexei nods in agreement, tapping her arm. “Listen to your mother.” 

“All right, enough! All of you,” Natasha snaps, trying to regain control of the situation and her emotions. Her voice is tinged with disbelief at their sudden concern—as if they hadn’t abandoned her and Yelena to the Red Room once their mission was over.

“I didn’t say anything. That’s not fair,” Yelena quips, her tone laced with dry humor.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha tries again, “Here’s what’s going to happen—”

“I don’t want any food,” Yelena complains as Melina places a spoonful onto her plate.

“Eat a little something, Yelena, for God’s sake,” Melina urges, her voice slipping back into the role of a concerned mother.

The constant interruptions and forced familial interactions finally push Natasha over the edge, and her frustration boils over.

“Enough! Stop, just stop pretending to care. Our family was never real,” Natasha snaps, her voice rising. “Nothing about us is real!”

Yelena’s breath catches in her throat at Natasha’s declaration.

“Don’t say that.” Yelena’s frown deepens as she continues, “Please don’t say that. It was real. It was real to me.” 

Natasha falters at Yelena’s response, regret immediately washing over her. She hadn’t meant to hurt her sister, but with everything that’s happened in the past weeks, she could no longer control her anger and frustration.

Swallowing hard, Natasha stays silent, her hands clenching in her lap to keep from reaching out to comfort Yelena.

Yelena shakes her head in disbelief, hastily wiping away a stray tear. “The best part of my life was fake,” she exhales deeply, her voice trembling with emotion, “and none of you told me.”

She turns to Natasha, her voice filled with hurt and heavy with accusation. “And you…you got out. Dreykov made sure no one could escape after that. Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Natasha holds Yelena’s gaze for a long, tense moment, the silence between them charged with unspoken pain. Finally, Natasha flinches away, guilt preventing her from finding the right words.

Melina reaches out, placing a comforting hand on Yelena’s shoulder. But Yelena quickly brushes it off, standing abruptly and turning to leave.

“Yelena…” Natasha calls after her, her voice heavy with regret.

Yelena ignores her, slamming the door behind her as she storms out.

“Uh…I’ll go talk to her,” Alexei offers, standing up to follow.

Natasha’s gaze falls, her eyes glaring at the table as the weight of guilt presses down on her chest, almost suffocating her. She suddenly stands, pushing her chair back with a harsh scrape, and quickly leaves the table, heading for the bathroom.

Once inside, she splashes cold water on her face, hoping to wash away the turmoil churning inside her.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, frustration is etched into every line of her face.

Why does it seem like the only thing she’s capable of is hurting those around her?

Natasha can’t even remember what made her believe that someone like her could have a different life—that she could change and be more than what she was trained to be.

Sighing deeply, Natasha leaves the bathroom and returns to the table, only to find that Melina has gone as well.

Unsurprised, Natasha finds herself alone once again. She closes her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. As she does, she recalls how she used to cope with the pain of loneliness, slowly beginning to rebuild the walls around her heart.

But then, a small commotion outside catches her attention.

Moving cautiously, Natasha heads toward the front of the house to investigate. As she reaches the door, she freezes, hearing a familiar voice that stops her in her tracks.

“I’m not here to cause any trouble. I’m just looking for someone.”

Natasha’s brow furrows in recognition, but she quickly shakes her head, dismissing the thought. It can’t be possible.

“The next town is five miles that way,” Melina’s voice responds, cold and unwelcoming.

Curiosity gets the better of her, and Natasha peeks out the door, stepping outside cautiously. Her eyes widen in surprise when they meet yours.

“Nat…” you say softly, taking a hesitant step closer. But before you can move further, Melina raises the gun in her hand, her eyes filled with a clear warning.

“Wait,” Natasha calls out, rushing forward. She places her hand on Melina’s, gently but firmly lowering the weapon. “She’s not a threat.” 

“Well, that’s a little offensive,” you remark with a slight glare, crossing your arms. 

Natasha gives you a look, silently conveying that she didn’t mean it that way, then turns back to Melina.

“Could you give us a moment?” Natasha asks. 

Melina hesitates briefly, her protective gaze lingering on Natasha, but eventually nods. With a wary glance in your direction, she retreats back into the house.

Once alone, Natasha turns to you, her expression conflicted with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“How did you find me?” 

“I got worried after the message you sent me,” you explain, pulling out your phone and showing her the screen.

On it is a jumbled message: “I’m sorrywjhsgf”

Natasha grimaces, realizing her fingers must have accidentally pressed some buttons during the helicopter’s turbulent descent. She mentally kicks herself for the unintended message.

“I didn’t mean to send that.”

At her words, your face falls as understanding dawns on you, the light in your eyes dimming. 

“Oh,” you mutter quietly, glancing down as you fidget with your phone before tucking it away. You shuffle in place unsurely before turning away with a shake of your head. 

“I should just go,” you say, disappointment clear in your voice. 

Realizing the misunderstanding she’s caused, Natasha quickly reaches out, catching your arm and turning you back to face her, her words spilling out in a rush.

“Wait, that’s not what I meant,” Natasha blurts out, her voice urgent as she steps closer. “I wanted to say more than just sorry,” she clarifies, hoping you’ll understand.

You pause, your gaze lingering where her hand rests on your arm. Slowly, you pull away, and her hand drops back to her side.

At your distancing action, Natasha’s heart pounds painfully in her chest as she realizes how much she’s risked by not reaching out sooner and letting her fears and insecurities get in the way of what truly matters.

She braces herself for the inevitable. 

But instead of leaving, you surprise her by simply crossing your arms and waiting, a silent gesture that tells her you’re willing to listen.

Natasha exhales, only now realizing she’d been holding her breath. The familiar way you look at her, unchanged from before, causes the walls she’d been building to crumble.

Taking a deep breath, she begins to speak.

“You have every right to be angry with me,” she says, her voice tinged with guilt. Natasha hesitates, searching for the right words to express the turmoil inside her, still struggling to find herself amidst all the chaos.

“There’s so much more I need to say,” she continues, her voice softening, almost pleading. “But the problem is that I haven’t figured it all out yet. What I do know, though—” she pauses, her eyes locking onto yours, searching for any hint of hope, “—is that I don’t want you to leave.”

When she finishes, your expression remains unreadable.

Natasha bites her lip, anxiety twisting in her stomach as she watches you contemplate her words. Being this vulnerable is unfamiliar territory for her, and it terrifies her more than she’s willing to admit. 

“Please don’t go,” she whispers, a final, desperate plea, hoping it’s enough to convey the depth of her true feelings.

You look up at the sky, exhaling softly as if weighing your options.

When your gaze finally meets hers again, a small, playful smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You gesture toward the house, the tension easing as a lighter tone returns to your voice.

“New friends?” you ask, the warmth in your tone bringing a small smile to Natasha’s face.

Natasha chuckles lightly, the pressure in her chest easing at your familiar banter.

“More like an old, broken family.”

You hum thoughtfully, your teasing grin softening into a more sympathetic expression.

“So, not much different,” you remark, referencing the fractured state of the Avengers.

Natasha sighs sadly, her smile fading at the reminder of her situation.

“What should I do?” she asks, her voice tinged with the uncertainty she’s been trying so hard to conceal. 

It feels as though no matter what she does, nothing ever changes. She pretends to have all the answers, but deep down, she knows the truth is far from that.

“Whatever you feel is right,” you respond without hesitation, your confidence in her unwavering.

Natasha scoffs softly, a flicker of disbelief crossing her features as she hesitates. Her eyes meet yours, searching for reassurance.

“And what makes you so sure I’ll make the right choice?” she asks, her voice revealing the doubt that lingers deep within her.

You take a moment to consider your response before stepping closer, gently cupping her face in your hands.

“Because after everything you’ve been through, you’ve still kept your heart,” you say with quiet conviction, your thumb gently brushing her cheek as you lean your forehead against hers.

“That’s how I know you’ll figure this out, too,” you add, your voice filled with certainty.

Your words settle over Natasha, bringing a sense of calm to her chaotic thoughts. For the first time in a long while, she feels a glimmer of hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, she can find her way through this mess and everything else, too.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Avenger Compound, Upstate New York – 2018

Natasha sits on the edge of the bed in her old room at the Avengers Compound, watching you as you methodically strap on your gear and check your weapons.

The room is dimly lit, shadows playing along the walls, and the tension from the past few hours hangs heavily in the air.

Her leg bounces with nervous energy, worry gnawing at her. She presses her palms together, fidgeting with her fingers, before dropping her gaze to the floor and releasing a soft, scared sigh.

But the fear isn’t for herself. 

“You can still go, you know,” Natasha mutters softly, her voice barely breaking the silence. 

You hum in acknowledgment, not pausing in your preparation, the sound of buckles and straps filling the room. 

“Do you want me to?” you ask over your shoulder, your tone casual, almost too casual for the weight of the question.

Natasha huffs, recognizing your familiar deflection, and shakes her head. 

With Bruce’s dire warning about the impending battle with Thanos and his army still echoing in her mind, she can’t help the fear that tightens her chest as she looks at the person who has chosen to stand by her side, time and time again. 

“I want you safe,” Natasha admits, her voice trembling with the honesty of her words. 

“Good, I feel the same about you,” you reply, turning to face her, your expression softening as you take in the sight of her.

“I’m serious. This isn’t like anything we’ve faced before,” Natasha warns, her eyes pleading with yours to understand. 

“Which means you’ll need all the help you can get,” you say, stepping closer until you’re standing right in front of her.

Natasha twists her lips, frustrated by the truth in your words. She looks away, trying to hide the turmoil in her eyes. 

But you won’t let her retreat. 

You gently catch her chin with your finger, guiding her face back to yours as you lean down to press a soft, lingering kiss against her lips.

Natasha’s eyes flutter shut as she returns the kiss, her hand instinctively finding the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if she can anchor herself in the warmth of your touch.

When you finally pull away, Natasha bites her lip lightly, trying to hold onto the warmth for just a moment longer.

You rest your forehead against hers, and she finally opens her eyes, meeting yours with a rare vulnerability she shows only to you.

“Are you scared?” you ask softly, your voice laced with the same fear gnawing at her. 

Natasha’s eyes roam across your face, memorizing every detail as if it might be the last time she sees you.

“Terrified,” she admits, her voice raw with emotion.

“Me too,” you say, a small, reassuring smile tugging at your lips as your thumb gently caresses her cheek. 

“Are you going to leave?” you ask, even though Natasha’s sure you already know the answer. 

The Avengers are her family. Imperfect and flawed, but they always strive to make the world a safer place—to do what’s right. She would never abandon them when they need her most.

“No,” she responds, her voice filled with determined resolve. 

You smile knowingly at her response, your gaze drifting around the room as a look of nostalgia washes over you. 

The soft, wistful look in your eyes tells Natasha that you’re recalling the memories of all the times the two of you spent together in this space. 

When you meet Natasha’s gaze again, a playful smile tugs at your lips.

“Do you still love me?” you ask teasingly.

Natasha huffs in mock offense, the corner of her lips twitching into a half-smile. You can’t help but chuckle at her reaction, raising a brow in amusement.

“Well?” you whisper, your voice low as you lean in closer, your breath warm against her skin, your hands resting gently on her shoulders.

Instead of answering, Natasha wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you in until you’re straddling her, your knees pressing into the bed on either side of her. 

The bed dips slightly under your combined weight, and Natasha holds you close, her hands firm yet gentle on your waist.

“I love you,” Natasha breathes out, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t want to lose you.” 

You cup her face in your hands, your eyes filled with love and adoration as you give her a reassuring smile. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reaffirm, your voice steady and full of the certainty she needs to hear. 

You lower yourself onto her, gently guiding her down to lie back against the bed, your lips meeting hers in a tender kiss. 

You had said it with such conviction that Natasha can’t help but believe you, just as she always has. 

But how could she have known that after this battle, for the first time ever, it wouldn’t be true?

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Vomir – 2023

They say that when someone is about to die, their life flashes before their eyes—a rapid montage of memories, achievements, failures, regrets, and the relationships that mattered most.

For Natasha, the idea of her life flashing before her eyes seems almost laughable. Her early years are a blur of pain, manipulation, and control—years she would rather forget than relive.

The truth is, her real life didn’t begin until much later.

If Natasha had to pinpoint the exact moment, it would be when she found herself face-to-face with the sharp point of an arrow—the moment she met the first person to see something in her worth saving when she had seen nothing in herself.

That was the moment she was given the chance to truly live.

Her mind floods with memories of the life she built after that fateful encounter—a life she had never imagined for herself, filled with friends, laughter, and moments of unexpected warmth.

She remembers the first time she allowed herself to trust again, to let people in despite the walls she had built around her heart. 

With all their quirks and flaws, the Avengers became the family she never knew she needed. They challenged her, frustrated her, and made her feel alive in ways she had never thought possible.

But it wasn’t always easy. Natasha recalls the arguments, the disagreements, and the moments when it seemed like they were tearing apart at the seams. 

However, no matter how far they drifted, they always found their way back to each other.

She learned to fight for them, to fight for herself, and to fight for something greater than her past.

And then there were those who reached out from her previous life, some seeking assistance, some seeking redemption. Even then, Natasha chose to rebuild those broken bonds of the past.

Yet, among all these memories, one person stands out more than any other. 

That person was there at every pivotal moment in her life—whether she was on the verge of giving up or standing tall in the face of adversity. Through the highs and lows, they were her constant, the one who saw her for who she truly was and loved her all the more for it.

In her final moments, Natasha’s mind doesn’t dwell on her victories or her failures.

Instead, she sees your face, the one constant in her life that brought her peace and happiness. 

Natasha remembers the way you looked at her, with eyes that held no judgment, only love. She recalls the way your touch calmed her, the way your presence made her feel safe in a world that had always been hostile.

As she falls, Natasha realizes that this connection is what matters most. It’s not the battles or the missions that define her, but the love she found in the most unexpected place. 

And as the darkness closes in, the last thing she sees is you, a symbol of everything she has fought for and everything she has come to cherish.

Her final breath is taken not in fear but in peace, knowing that she lived a life worth remembering—a life filled with love, friendship, and purpose.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Cemetery, Ohio — 2023

“If you passed away, who would sit at your grave the longest?”

Natasha had asked you that question once. 

At the time, you couldn’t come up with a definite answer, so you had turned the question back to her. 

You remember the way her lips curved into a small, wistful smile as she considered it, her eyes reflecting a depth of sadness you had only glimpsed before. 

“I don’t know,” she had replied, her voice soft but honest, as if she had long accepted that was her inevitable fate.

Natasha could not come up with an answer then, but you did.

“Who would sit at her grave the longest?”

You didn’t need any time to think about the answer. Many people could rightfully fill that role. 

To Melina and Alexei, she was their beloved daughter, the one who had been torn from them too soon, only to return with a strength and resolve that made them proud. 

To Yelena, she was her cherished sister—a mentor, a protector, the person who had sacrificed so much to ensure Yelena had a chance at a real life, free from the chains of the Red Room. 

To the Avengers, she was a valued teammate and friend, the glue that held them together through the darkest times. She was their moral compass, the one who always found a way to do what was right, even when the cost was high. 

To the world, she was a hero, a symbol of resilience and redemption. The Black Widow, who had fought for a better future, leaving a legacy that would inspire generations to come.

To you…she was everything.

Your fingers trace the delicate grooves of her engraved name, feeling the weight of every memory, every moment you had shared. 

You stood by her side through nearly all of it—the battles, the victories, the losses. You had seen her at her best and at her worst, through moments of triumph and times of doubt. 

You loved her fiercely, from strangers to friends to something so much more.

She was the woman who had shown you the strength of vulnerability, the power of redemption, and the courage to love despite the risks.

In the end, you were right about all those who would come to see her, to pay their respects to the woman who had become an important part of their lives. 

But they would all eventually leave, returning to their own lives, their own battles. They would remember her, yes, but they would move on.

But not you.

“So, who would sit at Natasha’s grave the longest?”

That answer was clear.

“You would. Now and forever.” 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: this one was really long so if you made it to the end in one go, kudos for you and thank you for taking the time to read it!

[ktkat99]

Update to this prompt I posted a little while ago. Scroll to the bottom for a link to the story.

Tim gets injured while not wearing his suit one night.

Bernard, who has never met Tim before, finds him and takes him home. He ends up losing his memory and Bernard decides to let him move in while he heals, unaware that he's really Red Robin.

Bruce and the rest of the family can't find Tim anywhere.

Days turn into weeks.

Weeks turn to months.

All without a trace.

Tim and Bernard are getting used to living together, and both the pros and cons of being roommates.

Tim will sometimes have nightmares or flashbacks, but he’s also started to heal.

His family ends up torn, with Jason, Dick, and Steph convinced he’s alive, while Bruce, Cass and Damian have all resigned themselves to believing that he died.

One night, Tim and Bernard take a nighttime walk to a convenience store and witness a robbery.

Tim stops the guy on instinct and has a flashback of fighting with Nightwing. He assumes he was a criminal and runs off before the clerk can thank him.

Something the clerk mentions to Officer Dick Greyson when he arrives to arrest the thief. The clerk hands over the surveillance footage, which ends up being proof that Tim survived.

Dick is overjoyed, but Steph and Jason point out that he isn't being held hostage. He's free and yet never contacted them.

Was he in hiding?

From them?

Or for his own protection from someone?

Or maybe the civilian he was with had done something to him?

Whatever the reason, they decide against telling the rest of the family until they can figure out what's going on.

They begin following Tim, keeping their distances.

Tim, meanwhile, after ‘remembering’ being a criminal, can't stop obsessing over his scars, and who he might have hurt to receive them. He keeps thinking about the convenience store clerk and Bernard, wracked with guilt about all the things he may have done.

Bernard stays by him the whole time, doing his best to calm him down.

Tim doesn't tell him what's on his mind out of fear of being kicked out, and Bernard assumes the event was too stressful for him and doesn't push him to talk.

Eventually, the two of them fall asleep together, and Tim promises to make up for his past crimes by protecting Bernard. Things gradually go back to normal with Bernard going to work and Tim, who has no valid id, staying home and taking care of the apartment.

Nightwing, Red Hood, and Spoiler take turns watching Tim and Bernard.

They still haven't told their family, but know they can't just follow Tim forever.

Before they can decide on their next move, though, Cass bumps into him while grocery shopping. She freezes and he doesn't recognize her, but Dick, Jason, and Steph have to come clean.

Cass is pissed, Bruce wants to bring Tim home immediately, and Damian points out that he might not even want to come home, and that they should leave him be.

They decide that, before they make their decision, they need to talk to Tim. Maybe he really did just decide to quit.

Tim, meanwhile, has been using his free time while Bernard is at work to help people who need it. He becomes somewhat of a neighborhood vigilante, believing that he needs to make up for his past crimes.

Most of the injuries he incurs are minor and easy to hide from Bernard, but one day he takes a knife to the arm.

Bernard freaks out and tries to give him stitches in their kitchen, but then has to convince Tim to let him take him to a hospital.

Tim, not wanting to be arrested for crimes he doesn't remember committing, therefore leaving Bernard alone, argues that he's fine.

It doesn't hurt that bad.

He'll heal.

Bernard gets frustrated and shows off his own scars, which he had worked hard to always keep hidden. He explains what happened to him, and how his family disowned him as a result of ending up in the cult, and that he promises he won't put Tim in a situation where he could be in danger.

He asks to know why Tim is so adamant against going to the hospital and Tim reluctantly admits what he's pieced together from his flashbacks.

Bernard is shocked to find out that he might have been sharing his apartment with a criminal, but reasons that that must be why Tim knows how to fight.

Deciding to focus on the problem at hand, Bernard convinces Tim to at least let him take him to Leslie’s place, as she doesn't ask questions.

Leslie proceeds to ask questions, prompting Bernard to be the one to answer them for Tim.

Leslie comes to the conclusion that Bernard is answering so that Tim doesn't say the wrong thing, and only grows more concerned when she tries to subtly give him openings to slip her a message or some sort of sign that he needs help and he doesn't.

She decides that, since he's acting like he's never met her, she'll play along.

Once Bernard and Tim leave, she calls Bruce and tells him what happened.

Bruce decides it's time to step in because something is clearly wrong with Tim.

Tim and Bernard head back home and have a long talk about everything Tim's been hiding and what he's been up to.

Bernard wonders if Tim might be wrong about his assumption that he was a criminal, but Tim remembers stalking Batman, fighting with Nightwing, Robin trying to kill him and a few other things.

Tim was a criminal, and he's certain of it.

At a loss of what else to do, Bernard convinces Tim to get takeout for dinner, since neither have eaten yet.

Tim agrees and they walk down to Tim's favorite place.

On the way there, Batman and Nightwing show up and order them into the Batmobile.

Tim manages to fight off Nightwing as Batman is driving and Nightwing isn't expecting Tim to fight him and escapes with Bernard.

Their suspicions all appear to be confirmed; the Batfam believe Tim is being controlled by Bernard, while Bernard and Tim believe he's a wanted criminal.

Tim decides he needs to leave, since he's obviously being hunted, but Bernard refuses to let him.

Not alone, at least.

Tim wants Bernard to stay safe, which means away from him, but Bernard is just as worried about Tim's safety. They argue, but ultimately both find an abandoned building to hide in together.

They decide to take turns sleeping and Tim falls asleep wondering what sort of crime he committed to warrant the Bats searching for him. He ends up dreaming of the night he found his father's body and wakes up believing that he killed him.

Bernard has nodded off at this point and Tim needs to clear his head so he heads up to the roof to process what he dreamed about.

The bats decide that, for their safety and his, Tim will need to be taken by force and they can figure out what's wrong with him once they have him back home.

They track them to the abandoned building and break in, but only find Bernard.

Bernard ends up getting captured quickly and taken to the batcave for questioning.

Tim, who witnessed the abduction but hadn't been quick enough in getting down from the roof to do anything, decides it's time to go on the offensive against the bats.

He has had enough flashbacks to piece together that Batman is Bruce.

He's tired.

Angry.

Frustrated.

He's been living for months without knowledge of who he used to be and having to deal with random flashbacks and trying to piece together what his life before looked like.

The bats taking Bernard is his last straw.

He decides to start by breaking into the manor and looking for Bernard there.

Bernard, meanwhile, is desperately trying to convince Bruce and the others that he has no idea where Tim is, that he didn't do anything to Tim, and that Tim has amnesia.

They don't believe him until Tim shows up and goes all-out trying to attack them and escape with Bernard, but Bernard is the one who manages to calm him down and convince him to listen to his family.

It takes a while, and a lot of proof, but Tim finally regains his memory.

He and Bernard officially start dating and move back in together.

They like to joke that Bernard had the craziest introduction to the family, despite being a civilian.

[simpinformonkies]

Hiiii I love your writing! May I request some MK and Wukong who are their normal selves until the reader gets threatened/hurt/captured/idk and they go absolutely ballistic

DUDE I FUCKING LOVE MK SO MUCH HE'S LIKE MY FAVORITE MAIN CHARACTER NEXT TO LLOYD GARMADON AND AANG... BABY....

I got you bro

WARNING: SEMI-GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF BLOOD AND VIOLENCE! THERE ARE ALSO SPOILERS FOR S4 SPECIAL! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

~~~

WUKONG

-First off, Wukong loves you so fucking much that it physically hurts him sometimes. Not in the 'oh im in pain', but more in the 'heart repeatedly struck by cupid's arrow'.

-Or maybe that just makes him a simp, idk

-Wukong definitely takes you nice but casual places- be it quiet but quality diners, a picnic in his hidden grotto, a field of flowers to relax in (read: a field that he uses so that he can nap on your legs and cuddle you while basking in the sun)- just the whole nine yards, really

-So imagine his indescribable rage when he finds you've been kidnapped, and later follows your scent (he has it memorized by this point, plus he scents you, its obvious that he can find you) to see you getting attacked by demons, your clothes ripped and fresh wounds that drip droplets of crimson to the beautiful flowers and green grass below, staining them red.

-And just like that, Wukong fucking lost it- he flew off the handle so hard that his mind blacked out, and he only 'came too' when the demons were half dead covered in their own blood, his hands and claws stained the very same crimson.

-As soon as Wukong came too, he's checking you over worriedly, careful not to aggravate your wounds further.

-He didn't even notice his glamours dropped until you said something, and before he could even attempt to slip them back on, you cup his cheek and tell him how beautiful he is, both with and without the glamours.

-You even smiled, "Your eyes really do gleam like rubies and gold, huh?"

-Wow, way to catch his heart again, damn.

-...Wukong stops wearing glamours around you, dropping them as soon as the two of you are alone, and he's always cuddling you in some way or form.

-He will not lose you again.

-He refuses too.

~~~

MK / QI XIAOTIAN

-First off, let's get it out of the way that MK is the most loving and sappy boyfriend ever, who is either rizzing you up or being controlled by his anxiety. It depends, really.

-He's always doing the most basic but sappy couple stuff, and despite how cheesy it all is, it's genuinely flattering.

-MK is also incredibly protective of you- he tries not to control you with his protective instincts, and let's you do as you please because you're his beloved, and you deserve to do as you please.

-You're both adults! It's fine! He can handle this!

-He cannot.

-It's post S4 when MK gets notified of a demon causing problems, and goes to take care of it when he sees who the demon has as a hostage.

-You. Chained up, with ripped clothes, deep cuts, and teary eyes.

-Oh, MK fucking loses it.

-He goes full monkey at the drop of a dime, and is scratching and punching the villain (the bastard) that dares hurt his beloved.

-MK is a merciful hero that loves to help!

-But even HE has a limit to his compassion and mercy.

-Once the villain is gone, MK picks you up and just... holds you in his arms, hissing and just staring people down if they come anywhere near you- his tail curled around your leg and puffed, eyes slit and ready to attack at any given moment.

-It takes nearly an hour to get through to him, but when you do, you're treated by Sandy as MK sobs in your lap about not protecting you well enough, while you simple pet his hair gently, careful not to tug or snag on his hair as you stroke it.

-MK... is a lot more protective of you from then on- but he doesn't force himself into your activities. More so watches than anything else.

-If it keeps you safe, he'll do whatever he needs too.

[sillygoofyqueer]

Ooh, for Shen Yuan’s looks I was thinking a black, blue and silver theme, to Bing-ge’s black, red and gold.

(You can’t tell me emperor Bing-ge, also the Huan Hua Palace master, doesn’t have at least some gold in his formal outfits).

If you look at crow feathers, they have a sort of blue sheen in the right lighting, so blue would be quite fitting!

I also like the idea of his hair being mostly elegant and classy, but with some cute little braids that include colored threads weaved in them, plus shiny bobbles and feathers hanging off the ends. The braids are from his crow family members. It’s a traditional grooming practice!

Anon I am MADLY in love with you. We're going to high five and hug and frolic in the fields together if I ever find out who you are. The idea of little braids being in otherwise elegant hair really fits with my perception of "mainly classy Shen Yuan until his bird instincts kick in (he's also a little gremlin before that)", because he obviously wants to keep his hair neat and presentable but he also has the natural instinct to let people braid his hair to show affection! (Definitely have to have a wholesome little scene where Shen Yuan shows Bing-ge how to braid his hair in the traditional fashion). I love the idea of shiny things being in his hair as well, through shiny beads and threads. BONUS POINTS if he has a shiny little thing that holds his hair up and counts as a little dagger (gifted by one of the others in the crow family as a precaution. Can also be traditional for those who come of a certain age!) On another note, thinking about Shen Yuan in half human form. He retains his wings and I like to think he has spatterings of feathers crawling up his spine and the back of his neck, around the edges of his cheeks maybe? He looks mainly human, but I'd find it cool if he still had those little patches of feathers (like when you see patches of scales on a dragon-shifter type character)

Oh, this is so fun. I've always loved a protective family, and I love Bing-ge being struck by the audacity of the crow family and also jealousy because nobody ever acts like this about him!! His wives do, he supposes, but that's for their own selfish reasons! They don't really care about him like the crow family cares for Shen Yuan. The crow family is only not attacking him because Shen Yuan has said that it's "not cool" to attack the emperor, or whatever. Corvids can mimic that stuff?? Oh my god, the ANTICS! Shen Yuan would totally use it to mess with people when he's bored, jumpscaring people and having fun with story time for the kids. He would also use it when stealing, so that he doesn't have to needlessly hurt anyone to get to the shiny thing he covets, the human side of him holding him back. I'd find it super funny that when the crows (cultivating or not) meet Bing-ge, a few start spurting out every curse they've ever heard from humans, and Shen Yuan has to explain that they're mimicking what they hear people say, they don't mean it! (probably-) {part five! Part one, part two, part three, part four, part six, part seven!!}

[librababe99]

Vigilante's Lullaby |Part One|

cw: Red Hood, Gender Neutral Reader, Angst, Mentions of violence, blood, injury, medical procedure, hurt no comfort, dark romance, hurt no comfort word count: 1.9K summary: In the shadows of Gotham’s underworld, you run a clinic that caters to those no one else dares to help. One night, Red Hood stumbles in, bloodied and defiant, refusing assistance despite his wounds. As you force him to stay, a strange, electrifying tension fills the air.

A/N: Hello! Just finished up the final edits to the first part of this new series. For the sake of dramatics I really liked the idea of leaving Jason's identity anonymous and sticking with his alias. Also as of now I'm wanting this to be a four part series but of course that can change! If you'd like to be tagged in the next part just let know <3 As always comments and feedback are greatly appreciated - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

(DC Masterlist) (Marvel Masterlist)

(Synopsis) (Part Two)

The clinic was a small, dimly lit space tucked away in the decaying heart of Gotham’s underbelly. The walls were cracked and worn, the faded paint peeling in corners no one bothered to care about anymore. Shadows lingered in every corner, as thick as the stench of sweat and antiseptic that clung to the air. It was late—well past the time most sane people would be out in Gotham. But sanity was a luxury in a city like this, and you’d long since learned to live without it.

You leaned over the trembling form of a thug, stitching up the gash in his side with quick, practiced movements. He wasn’t important—just some small-time crook who got into a fight he couldn’t win. It wasn’t your job to ask questions. You weren’t paid for that. People came to you because you never asked why, and you never judged. Criminal, vigilante, or something in between, it didn’t matter. In Gotham, everyone bled the same.

The thug winced, muttering a half-hearted complaint, and you hushed him quietly, focusing on the task at hand. It was routine—just another night in a city that never slept, where violence was a constant companion.

Then the door slammed open, hard enough to rattle the rusting hinges.

You looked up, instincts on edge, fingers stilling mid-stitch. A figure loomed in the doorway, casting a long shadow across the floor. The helmet gave him away immediately—Red Hood. His presence dominated the room, his chest heaving, blood dripping onto the worn floorboards.

"Out," his voice growled, distorted through the modulator in his helmet. It wasn’t directed at you.

The thug on the table scrambled up, clutching his side. He didn’t wait for a second warning. As soon as Red Hood stepped into the room, the thug fled into the night, disappearing into Gotham’s shadows.

The vigilante staggered forward, his movements heavy, labored. Blood soaked through his jacket, staining the dark fabric and leaving a trail of crimson in his wake. His breathing was harsh, his body barely holding itself together, but when you moved toward him, his gloved hand shot up.

“I don’t need your help,” he growled, even though his knees almost buckled from the effort of staying upright.

You stopped short, eyeing him carefully. His wounds were bad. Too bad. He wouldn’t last long in this state, not even in Gotham. But you’d seen his type before. The kind who thought they could muscle through the pain, through death itself, out of sheer willpower. Maybe he had cheated death once, but not tonight. Not like this.

“You’ll die if I don’t patch you up,” you said, voice calm but firm. You weren’t afraid of him. That was important. Red Hood’s entire persona thrived on fear. “Sit down. Now.”

His helmet turned slightly, as if sizing you up. There was tension in the way he held himself, every muscle coiled tight, ready for violence even though his body was betraying him. His fingers twitched like they were ready to reach for his gun. But you stood your ground.

“I’m not going to ask twice,” you added, eyes narrowing. “You won’t make it out of this room if you don’t let me help.”

For a long, painful moment, he didn’t move. The silence stretched, thick with tension. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he let his hand drop to his side. A begrudging acceptance. He stepped forward and sank into the chair, the weight of his injuries catching up to him.

You didn’t hesitate. Moving quickly, you grabbed your supplies and knelt beside him, carefully peeling back his jacket to expose the wound. The gash across his side was deep, and there were other cuts and bruises littering his body, evidence of a fight he barely survived.

As you worked, the room fell into a tense quiet, broken only by the sound of his labored breathing. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the mix of blood and sweat clinging to his skin. Your fingers brushed against his flesh, the contact sending an unexpected jolt through you. The air between you seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, thick with something unspoken.

He watched you from behind the mask, his eyes hidden but his presence palpable. You didn’t flinch, didn’t show any reaction to the violence he wore so plainly on his skin. You’d seen worse, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he unsettled you. Still, there was something in the way he sat so still now, the way his body surrendered to your touch, that made the space between you feel... electric.

“You don’t ask questions,” Red Hood said after a while, his voice low, almost conversational now. There was a hint of something behind his words, like he was testing you. “Everyone else does.”

“I’m not everyone else,” you replied simply, not looking up from his wounds as you stitched them closed with quick precision.

He made a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “No. I guess you’re not.”

Your hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary as you finished up, the tips of your fingers brushing against the edge of his skin. His body tensed slightly, and you could feel the air shift between you. There was a moment—brief, almost imperceptible—where Red Hood’s guard dropped. His gaze softened behind the mask, as if for just a second, he was letting you see past the armor. Past the walls he had built so high.

But then, just as quickly, it was gone.

Red Hood stood abruptly, wincing as he moved, pulling his jacket back into place. He didn’t say thank you—he wasn’t the type. He didn’t have to. The way his eyes lingered on you, just for a heartbeat longer than they should have, told you everything.

“Don’t expect me to come back,” he muttered as he made his way to the door.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to.

He disappeared into the night, and you stood in the quiet aftermath, staring at the blood he left behind on the floor. Something about that encounter stuck with you. It was more than just another wounded vigilante passing through your clinic. It felt like the start of something darker. Something deeper.

A week passed, and you tried not to think about him.

But Gotham had a way of bringing people back into your life whether you wanted them or not. The nights were long, the clinic busy as always, but a part of you found yourself glancing at the door more than you cared to admit. You told yourself it was just a matter of curiosity—nothing more.

Until he returned.

This time, Red Hood didn’t burst in with the same dramatic entrance. He slipped through the door quietly, his presence immediately recognizable despite the effort he seemed to make to go unnoticed. He was wounded again, though not as badly as before. His jacket was torn, blood staining his side, but his steps were more measured, less desperate.

You raised an eyebrow as he stepped into the light, crossing your arms over your chest. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

His lips twisted into something like a smirk, though there was no humor behind it. “Didn’t have a choice.”

Without waiting for your response, he sat down in the chair again, wincing as he moved. You took a deep breath, grabbing your supplies once more. This time, there was less urgency, but the tension between you had only grown in his absence. As you worked, the silence stretched again, but it wasn’t the same. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air.

“You live like this every night?” you asked after a while, breaking the quiet. “Bleeding all over the city?”

He chuckled, though it was dark and hollow. “It’s Gotham. Bleeding’s part of the job description.”

You glanced up at him, instinctively drawn to where his eyes should be beneath the mask, though you still couldn’t see them. The white lenses covering his eyes remained in place, a barrier between the two of you, preventing you from truly seeing the man beneath. But you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and unwavering, as if he were studying you just as closely.

There was always something about that mask—how it made him unreadable, cold, distant. Yet, in moments like this, when the tension in the room grew thick, you could feel the weight of emotions hidden behind it. The silence stretched on for a beat too long, the sound of your steady breathing filling the space as you tried to ignore the electric pull between you.

“And what job is that, exactly?” you asked, your tone carefully measured. You couldn’t let your curiosity get the better of you, but the question slipped out before you could stop it.

He hesitated for a brief moment, his head tilting slightly as if considering his answer, though the visor obscured any hint of where his gaze fell. "Righting wrongs. Settling scores," he finally said, his voice low and cold. "Call it whatever you want."

The cold finality in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t just talking about Gotham’s criminals. No, there was something more personal in his words. He was talking about himself—his own demons, his own darkness.You didn’t push further. It wasn’t your place, and you knew better than to pry into the shadows he carried. But it didn’t stop you from feeling the weight of it, the sheer force of the rage and pain he carried with him.

“I’ve seen plenty of people come through here with wounds like yours,” you said softly, focusing back on the gash you were stitching up, your hands steady despite the tension in the air. “They usually don’t last long. This city eats people alive.”

His head tilted slightly, and though you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt the intensity of his attention shift back to you. For a moment, the air felt heavier, thicker. His voice, when he finally spoke again, was low, rough. “I’m not most people.”

You couldn’t help the small, bitter smile that tugged at your lips. “No. I guess you’re not.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt charged, like standing on the edge of something dangerous. There was always something about him that made you feel that way, as though you were staring into an abyss and contemplating whether to jump. Maybe you were a danger to each other, a collision waiting to happen.

When you finished patching him up, your fingers lingered, the soft brush of your skin against his as you pulled the gauze into place. This time, he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, he remained still, the air between you crackling with something unspoken.You glanced up at him again, meeting the featureless gaze of his mask, your breath catching in your throat. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel them on you, feel the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Something was happening between you two—something inevitable, dangerous, and completely out of your control.

Without a word, he stood, pulling his jacket back over his bandaged torso. The movement was sudden, almost abrupt, as if he needed to break the moment before it went any further. He didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t offer any words of gratitude or reassurance.

But you knew he’d be back.

Even as he left, the heavy door of your clinic closing behind him, the presence of him lingered in the room—dark, dangerous, and unmistakably powerful. The pull between you both was undeniable, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was happening between you was far from over.

And it was only a matter of time before that tension snapped.

[featherdixon]

i look in people's windows

summary: daryl doesn’t feel comfortable at the welcome party, so he goes outside. but you feel something’s missing, and it’s not anything else but the person who is your home.

warning: alexandria!era, hurt/comfort, fluff.

words count: 914.

Everything had been a nightmare, and finally, you could rest.

Today had been the welcome party. Your wavy hair brushed against your bare shoulders, and you were wearing a red dress. The fireplace was lit, and so were the gazes of the people around you. It made you happy to be there, yet something was missing. It wasn't a thirst for blood, nor was it that your survival instinct was still awake. It was something else.

You left that home with a smile on your face, and when the breeze caressed your skin, you hugged yourself. After your gaze got lost in the clouds covering the sky, it landed on a kitten among the trees. Your chest felt like a small home for your heart as you remembered it looked just like a stray cat that used to hide in your yard.

You walked carefully to avoid scaring it and bent down, offering your fingers for it to sniff. Its whiskers tickled you, and you couldn't help but let out a soft laugh. You gently stroked its little head, feeling a warmth inside when it started to purr. Moments later, you heard twigs snapping under someone's footsteps. The black kitten ran away.

Oh, there it was—the person you were missing.

He hadn’t showered yet, and you were sure he hadn’t eaten either. He had his crossbow slung across his back, his gaze fixed on the window. His eyes were a doorway to a timeless pain.

“Hi, Daryl,” you greeted with a gentle smile, and he took a moment to look at you. You saw that he intended to leave, and before he could, you stood up to approach him.

“Don't you want to come in?” you asked innocently, but he didn’t even look at you. He just stood still and shook his head.

“Why not?”

People couldn’t change the air, but the whole atmosphere shifted when Daryl's eyes finally met yours. His eyes always reminded you of a sea reflecting thick clouds, and this time, they reflected an uncontrollable storm. You swallowed hard and remembered you didn’t need an umbrella.

“I ain't got no place in there." he replied, turning away as if the words genuinely hurt. You had seen wounds on his body that caused him less anguish than this.

“And where do you belong, then?" you wanted to know. When his eyes drifted toward the woods, you shook your head emphatically. "You're a person, Daryl."

He started walking away, and you followed, feeling your feet protest in your heels.

“Ain't one for playin' house." he said with a certain bitterness that made your chest burn.

“We’re just trying to get back to normal,” you laughed, as if that were the most normal thing in the world. He clicked his tongue and turned around.

“Thing is, that kinda stuff ain't never been normal for me. I ain't ever had a real home or people who...” He cut himself off, and your chest felt heavy. He’d never had a home or people who cared about him.

You closed your eyes for a moment and offered him a smile.

“Sorry for...” you tried to say, but he brushed it off.

Before he could walk away again, you placed your hand on his shoulder.

“You're part of the family, Daryl,” you said, your words filled with the beating of your heart. He didn’t believe it, so you ventured to brush aside the strands of his hair covering his eyes. “You don’t have to go inside that house; parties are pretty boring anyway... But you're still part of the family.”

You left a kiss on the corner of his mouth, catching him off guard.

“You don’t have to keep looking through people’s windows. Not anymore,” you whispered, very close to him, and his eyes fell on you. You sensed he was trying to find a place for himself among all his broken pieces.

“What if bein' alone's the only way I feel right?" your hand gently caressed his cheek.

“You can be alone as long as you don’t forget where you belong,” you replied, feeling your lips dry and your soul overflowing with emotion. “You belong to a family that wouldn’t be anything without you.”

You saw he was about to protest, and you beat him to it.

“We wouldn’t be anything without you, Daryl Dixon. Me, least of all." You confessed, knowing that if you were alive, it was because he found you.

It was when he rested his head on your shoulder, and you felt an overwhelming urge to cry. You pressed your lips together, trying to hold back, and your gentle arms wrapped around him. You hugged his broken heart and all the thoughts he had when he felt so far from being able to allow himself this happiness.

“You’ve finally found your family,” you whispered, feeling his arms wrap around your waist. Then, he pulled back, and you both stood there for a few seconds, looking at each other. Your heart was racing as he started to walk.

You followed him until you came across a couple playing with their kid at home. When the child wandered off, the couple shared a kiss. Daryl watched them, and before he could move on, you pulled him close. You kissed him softly, but with a special touch.

“You don’t have to look through people’s windows anymore,” you whispered, and he returned the kiss—soft and irresistibly emotional. “You have me right here.”

[andvys]

“i’m so sorry for everything i’ve said to you before.” / “you didn’t deserve that.” reader x eddie

i feel like eddie would definitely say things he didn’t mean because he was afraid of how reader made him feel.

I'll keep you safe E.M.

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, blood, scars from the bats, fluff, happy ending

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Word count: 1.4k

stranger things masterlist

-

The water feels cool against your skin, your feet are dangling in the water. It’s dark out but the moon brightens up everything around you. You hear the laughter of your friends as they sit around the fire, you excused yourself for a moment, needing a few minutes to yourself. 

You’re spending the week in a nice cabin by the lake, it belongs to Steve’s parents. It was his idea to come here, a little getaway is what you all needed after the fight against Vecna a few months back.

Three days have passed since you came here and it was nice until this morning. 

Eddie was acting weird around you all day, ever since you woke up in his arms earlier that day, he has been distant, avoiding eye contact and mumbling responses whenever you’d ask him something and it hurts. He was the one who pulled you into his arms in the first place, he was the one who refused to let you go after you fell asleep on the couch together during your movie night, you woke up around midnight and tried to get up and sneak out of the living room without waking him up but he put his arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest, 'please, don't go.' He whispered.

He was making things so difficult for you.

You care about him, just like you care about the others but with him, it’s just different. He means so much to you, he makes your heart flutter, he makes you smile, he makes you happy and god, you want him so bad but he clearly doesn’t feel the same. You always knew it but especially after today. 

He snapped at you when you tried to touch his hand after asking him if he’s okay, he slapped it away and told you to leave him alone, his face was red and his eyes looked dark and filled with anger, when he yelled, ‘stop getting on my damn nerves, girl! I can’t stand your bullshit sometimes!’ 

Your bullshit, he meant your kindness, your sweet smiles, your caring side that you especially have for him.

It wasn't the only thing he had said to you but it was what had hurt the most.

You looked shocked and terrified when he yelled at you, you were too busy processing his words and the anger that was directed at you to notice the guilt in his eyes after he had spoken those words. 

He pushed past you afterwards, he left you standing there with tears in your eyes. Steve was there, he saw it all. Your first instinct was to run away, feeling too ashamed that someone else had witnessed that scene but he didn’t let you, instead he pulled you into his arms and let you cry. 

He knows that feeling all too well, when people call you bullshit, when they ask you to leave them alone after they make you care. 

Your eyes well up with tears again as you think about him. 

You hear footsteps approaching, sighing, you wipe away the tear that rolled down your cheek. 

“I’m fine, Steve,” you mumble, “go back to the others.” 

When he sits down beside you and you smell his cologne, you realize that he is not Steve. He’s the man that you have been avoiding all day since this morning. 

You turn to look at him with a frown on your face. The anger in his eyes is long gone, his face doesn’t look tense anymore, he looks apologetic. 

Eddie stares at you, noticing the glassy eyes right away, the smile that hasn’t been there at all today, all because of him. He feels guilty and horrible for what he said to you, for what he did. 

He can’t stand himself for hurting the person that means the most to him. 

His feelings for you were always there, from the moment he first saw you, he has loved you. He never thought that you could ever feel the same though, to him, you are this perfect girl with a bright future, one where he doesn’t belong in but then you got closer and he saw the way you looked at him, the way you cared for him, the way you loved him. 

And then, you almost died for him, you took the scars that were meant for him, you were bleeding out on the cold ground, waiting for death to take you and when Eddie scooped you up into his arms, you still smiled at him because you knew that he would be okay, even if you wouldn’t be. 

You would give your life for him and it scares him, your love for him almost killed you and he hates it, he hates how far you would go to keep him safe. 

He doesn’t feel worthy of your love, he doesn’t feel like he deserves it in any way and he is also scared of his feelings for you, he has never loved anyone the way he loved you. He is scared of messing things up not realizing that he is already doing so. 

As he looks at you, his heart begins to hurt in his chest, how could he hurt you? 

You tear your eyes away from him, blinking a few times as though it will do anything to keep the tears away. You take a deep breath before you pull your feet out of the water and push yourself up but before you can even place your feet against the wood, Eddie places his hand on your arm, “please don’t go.” 

Your eyes flash with confusion as you look down at his hand before you look back into his eyes again, even in the darkness you can see the sadness in them, the regret. 

You should go, you know you should but you can’t, you can never walk away from him, so you sit back down and stare at him. 

He lets go of your arm but he places his hand on top of yours, squeezing your hand gently. 

“I’m so sorry for everything I’ve said to you before,” he whispers as he looks into the eyes of the girl that stole his heart, “you didn’t deserve that.”

Your quiet sniffles break his heart, he knows you try not to cry, that’s why you turned away from him just now. 

“It’s okay, Eddie,” you whisper, “you can go now.” 

His shoulders slump and his face falls, he fucked up, he knows he did. All because he's afraid of his own feelings. 

“No…” 

You wipe your tears before you turn back to him, “I’ll stay away from you, I’m sorry that I’ve been so–” 

“Stop,” Eddie sighs as he scoots closer to you, he reaches out to cup your cheeks, surprising you with his touch, “please just stop, I don’t want you to stay away from me.” 

“But you said–”

“I know, I was lying. Everything I said was bullshit, sweetheart,” he mumbles, shaking his head at himself, “I just– after this morning, I-I’m just so… scared.” 

“Of what?” 

“You.” 

Your brows knit together and you draw back, staring at him confused. 

“Me?” You whisper, “but why?” 

He smiles at you, for someone so attentive and observant, you sure are clueless when it comes to his feelings for you. He caresses your cheek, opening his mouth to speak but then he chooses to do something else. 

He kisses you. 

You whimper in surprise, staring at him wide eyed as he kisses you softly. It takes you a moment to respond to the kiss. Your heart is racing, your skin feels hot, your lips feel tingly already. 

Just as he is about to pull away from you, you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back. 

Eddie smiles against you, heart fluttering when he finally feels your lips moving against his. It feels so good, you feel perfect. He lets his hand slide down to your waist, grabbing you tightly, he pulls you on top of him. You tighten your arms around him and kiss him deeper until you are both out of breath. 

“I love you.” 

You open your eyes and look into his, you see nothing but honesty in them. Happy tears and a smile resting on his face. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he admits, he squeezes your waist, “you’re perfect and I’m just–”

“You’re perfect,” you whisper, interrupting him, “everything about you is perfect, Eddie.” 

His gaze softens. 

“I don’t deserve you, especially after this–”

“I love you too, Eddie. I love you more than anything,” you whisper as you press a kiss to his cheek, “I understand why you are so scared, I’m scared too.” 

“You don’t have to be,” he says, “you’re safe with me.” 

“You don’t have to be scared either, Eds, you are safe with me.” 

He knows, you have done everything to prove it to him.

He runs his fingers over the scars on your left arm as he pulls you in for another short but soft kiss. 

“I’m so sorry, I was so awful to you.” 

“It’s okay, you can make it up to me,” you whisper as you put your head on his shoulder. 

He smiles, putting his hand on the back of your head, he plays with your hair. His heart feels at ease again but the guilt is still deep inside of him. 

He will make it up to you. 

“I will, sweetheart. I promise.” 

[our-happygirl500-fan]

A few years ago, Nickelodeon did a video for World Turtle Day where they talked about some Turtle Facts on the different Turtle Species of the Rise Turtles

Narrator: Leonardo, the wise cracking hotshot, is a red eared slider

And something I found interesting about the video is that it talked about red eared sliders being territorial

Narrator: Red eared slider’s are peaceful & mostly harmless turtles but they can also be very territorial so don’t mess with their home or they might send you home

A lot of turtles are known for being territorial especially soft-shell turtles which are very territorial so I was kind of surprised that when talking about territorial turtles they specifically chose to mention red eared slider’s being territorial over any of the other species of turtles which made me wonder if that particular fact was chosen due to Leo’s characterisation.

Leo: Hey, nobody does that to my brother! Except my brother.

Leo: Back off, he's ours. Apparently.

Throughout Rise Leo has been shown to be extremely protective & defensive of his friends & family jumping to defend or protect them whenever someone tries to hurt them in any way which can be seen when Leo gets protective of Raph in the episode Shell in the Cell or when Leo immediately defends Frankenfoot from the Foot Clan the moment he learns that Raph considers Frankenfoot a friend in the episode Sparring partner.

Leo: Hey, future me would be real proud of you. I’m proud of you

Leo has also been shown to be someone who cares about family more than anything else & the second someone can be seen as a family member he gets attached & would do anything for them (even put his life on the line). Which can be seen by how the second he found out that Karai was a Hamato she became ‘Gram-Gram’ to him & he was willing to fight the Shredder for her or how attached he was to Casey Junior after only a day because he knew that his future self was important to Casey Junior.

Leo: But when I see what’s happening to you, and what’s happening to them... I realised it wasn’t about me.

It has been shown time & time again that Leo’s biggest motivator is arguably his families safety which can be seen in the movie where one of Leo’s biggest motivations when fighting the Krang is arguably his family being in danger & one of the biggest anger responses that Leo has ever really shown has been due to Raph getting hurt.

It could be argued that Leo’s protectiveness over his family could possibly partially stem from the fact that Red Eared Sliders are very territorial making Leo especially protective over what he possibly considers ‘his’. As Red Eared Sliders are traditionally territorial & protective over their homes, Leo might be protective over his friends & family as they are his ‘home’ to him.

Leo being protective & possibly territorial towards his family might also explain why Leo seems to hold grudges against former enemies such as Draxum & be reluctant to trust them as Leo’s instincts may still view the former enemies as threats to what he wants to protect.

Leo: You threw me off a roof!

Mikey: Isn’t this nice? When’s the last time we all got together like this huh?

Leo: The time Draxum dropped me off a building?

It might be possible that Leo’s grudge against Draxum isn’t actually motivated over Draxum’s actions against Leo but rather because there might be part of Leo that struggles not to see Draxum as a threat to the people he cares about.

I’m not sure whether or not a red eared sliders territorial nature was supposed to translate into Leo’s protective nature over his family intentionally but I thought it might be an interesting link to make between Leo & his turtle species.

The fact that Red Eared Sliders are known for being peaceful & mostly harmless except when their home is threatened might also be similar to how Leo seems to prefer to act laid back except for when his family needs protecting.

[fishsinsareacknowledged]

AWFULLY out of character but comforting Nikto maybe, idk i just want the man to be somewhat happy

Shhh shhh shh don't even apologize pookie bear. I rolled my eyes back at this. I mean what.

Nikto who gets overwhelmed during public events that he didn't even want to go to. Already pissy because his teammates forced him there and even more so because people keep looking at him. Making the man both self conscious and exhausted that he had to keep up with random strangers.

Nikto who gets home and the first thing he does is try to rip off the overly fancy suit that he was forced to wear. Finding irritability the second that it catches on something and he's forced to wear it a second longee than he needs to. Fabric ripping at the seams until you grab his hands. Stopping him from clawing at his own wrists and face in his haze.

Some blood already dripping down the side of his cheek the moment he removed the mask a while ago. The metal slicing his skin from haste, something that he didn't care about through all his madness yet acknowledgd. Oh but it was visible, bright red against pale skin.

Those ice blue eyes staring widely at you as you grabbed his face. The blacks of his blue eyes unnaturally small. Almost immediately outwardly calming down at the feeling of your cold hands against his warm cheeks. Its like trying to calm down a scared animal. It was something familiar to him. The cold. No more suffocating air inside a cramped room.

Having to ground him back to earth as you hold his hands, already covered in his own blood. Skin itchy from how others stare at him yet under your gaze. He was just him. Because he knew you knew him. He knew you.

"Apologies i- we were...oh", something in him finally coming back to you in the brief moment of peace. Realizing how he tore through a still soft scar on his cheek, making himself even more mangled. Something in him that should feel shame for it yet nothing but exhaustion and acceptance reeks from his form.

"Let me take care of you hm?", you whisper softly, trying to coax him back to reality as he feels your hand wipe away the blood. Soft fingertips against open flesh. The texture of skin making him wince from the pain as he reaches up to cup your hand. Stalling your touch on him and an instinct to pause pain all at the same.

"It doesn't hurt", he lies through his teeth, even as much as it wrongs him to lie to you. Finding it useless to care for a wound so small and yet. It would most likely leave another scar on his skin. Was he just making himself worse for you? Always looking and acting like a fucked up animal. He didn't want to and yet he was.

"Let me take care of it, Nikto", a simple call of his 'name' and he's sat. Letting you disinfect the wound through the awfully sterile alcohol. Barely even flinching as the disinfectant stings his cheek and wrists. Sure they weren't bleeding but small scratches could still cause infection.

"Raise your hands", a simple order. One he would heed to easily. Raising his arms for you to wrap with some gauze while he complains that it isn't even necessary, he doesn't even wear long sleeves shirts outside of deployment.

"Tilt your head for me?", and he follows. Because why wouldn't he when you ask so softly? Taking care of him like he deserved it. Trying to ignore the way blood rushes to his cheek and pours out even more.

"Darling, I can see you blushing, do you like getting pampered?", he would never admit it if it was anyone other than you. A visibly red hue on his usually pale skin.

"Da", and he doesn't care. Or at least that's what he says. His blush only deepening when you pinch his chin in your hands tilting his head to the side while he mentally tries so hard to avoid your gaze. Pupils drifting off to the side like a sad dog. Grimacing until you tell him to stop because you can't get the bandage on.

"Tired hm? Wanna talk about it?", you offer up once he's gained that blur in his eyes. No longer a prey trying to avoid being hunted. Just a bunny in its natural habitat. His pupils back to their natural size and more as he stares back up at you.

A unintelligible grunt exits through his throat, barely even moving. Finding himself slouched a few minutes ago in his panic. Hands absentmindedly trailing your sides as he sits you down on his lap on his insistence. And he's calm at least. Falling asleep once you take off the tight fitting jacket. Slumbering softly on the sofa and just pulling you closer with every hour. Lying down to make sure you didn't wake up with back problems.

[justauthoring]

eunhyeok x really affectionate reader?

a/n: yall i cannot stop thinking about both him and dohwa omggggg

pairing: eunhyeok x f!reader

"here."

the feeling of something warm falling around your shoulders is sudden but not unwanted.

instinctively, you feel your body easing, a sense of ease washing over you despite the confusion of who's sweater you were now wearing. you lean back, held tilted back as a shadow falls over you, peering past the edge of the hood that was also thrown over your head, and instantly, a smile falls on your face when you see who it is.

"eunhyeok!"

he meets your eyes, hands shoved in the pockets of his school uniform as he smirks down at you; "you looked cold." is all he says in explanation, and you feel your cheeks flush lightly at the knowing look on his face. "did you forget your sweater this morning again?"

letting out a pout, you shift, slowing your step so you're walking next to him instead of in front of him. without thought, you take his arm in yours, pressing yourself against his side as you lean into him. "i didn't mean to," you mumble, slightly embarrassed at having been caught and enjoying teasing him right back.

eunhyeok rolls his eyes, but still, there's a look of concern as he frowns down at you. "you were practically shaking," he explains, "if you forgot your coat, why didn't you take the bus at least?"

and the answer is simple. it'd be the first thing on your mind when you woke up. or rather, a feeling.

"i wanted to see you," you smile up at him.

his cheeks flush, turning his head away all while you stay clinging to his side, using his free hand to hide the blush on his cheeks. you see it all the same and just simply grin up at him, admiring just how absolutely beautiful eunhyeok truly is.

"how'd you know i wouldn't take the bus?"

you shrug; "just a feeling."

he blushes more, face burning red whilst you turn your gaze back ahead, letting out a quiet hum as you let your head rest against his arm, never missing a step.

-

"say 'ah'!"

you barely give eunhyeok a second to think.

before he knows it, food is suddenly shoved in front of his face and into his mouth and he doesn't have the time to think before he's automatically abiding by your wishes and taking a bite.

it isn't until you pull away, a bright grin on your face, chewing that he realizes you two are not alone and in fact, there's a whole group of people staring at him.

the shock on his friends faces' slowly disappears, quickly being replaced by grins and quiet snickers as they mock him silently, fully aware eunhyeok is watching them. he's thankful they're quiet enough that you don't hear, but as he glances over you, eunhyeok thinks you wouldn't even care if you did.

he wants to be upset that you'd embarrassed him in front of his friends but as he watches you, smiling to yourself, completely in your own world, casting small glances at him every so often to smile up at him - eunhyeok releases he isn't really all that upset.

and he certainly doesn't want you to stop.

so, the next time you extend some of your food towards him to try, he listens without fault and parts his lips to say; "ah."

and the gleam of excitement in your eyes is enough to make up for the laughter of his friends.

-

you're pouting up at him and eunhyeok is honestly not really sure why.

there's a mild expression of hurt in your eyes and he panics, wondering--had he done something? did he forget something? it's not your birthday or your anniversary and you've been fine with him all day until now so-

you make a small noise and eunhyeok blinks, glancing down at your hand stretched out towards him. your fingers are spread, palm held up towards him and you're frowning up at him, hand held straight out in front of you.

it clicks.

a small laugh leaves his lips and then he's reaching out in return, letting his hand slip into yours. he threads his fingers through yours and squeezes, nice and firm, using the advantage to tug you into his side.

you let out a noise of surprise but fall against him with ease.

"i'm still mad at you, by the way," you mumble against his chest, reaching out to grab his shirt with your free hand.

he hums in acknowledgement, knowing you don't really mean it as he continues walking down the hall, leading you back to class.

"how dare you forget to hold my hand."

"i know," he nods, humming slightly. "it won't happen again."

-

"lean down."

he looks confused, glancing down at you with a tilt of his head but you just shake your head at him, gesturing with your hand for him to lean towards you.

a brief moment later and he does as you ask, bending at the waist to lean towards you as you smile up at him.

without saying another word, you take a step forward, reaching forward to brush back his hair before pressing a kiss against the skin of his forehead. you let your lips linger for a moment, eyes falling shut before slowly pulling back, light pink dusted across your cheeks.

before you can pull away completely, though, eunhyeok is reaching forward, grabbing your wrist with his hand, halting you. you blink, dazed, worried maybe you'd made him uncomfortable before you register the blush on his own cheeks (deeper than yours) but also the wide grin on his lips.

he's still leant towards you, lips inches away from your own and hand still holding your wrist and keeping you in place as your lips part.

"let me give you one," he whispers, and you feel your knees wobble at how deep and husky his voice is.

slowly, you nod, too afraid your voice will shake if you try to speak.

his lips are soft and warm against your forehead, sending a tingle down your back, leaning into the kiss. he lingers for a moment as well, and you relish in the touch, eyes slowly blinking back open as he pulls back to glance down at you.

biting your lip, you grin up at him.

-

"i love you."

your voice starts off as a whisper, the two of you basking in the comfortable silence of just being with each other. you're in his bed, cuddled up on his bed, resting agianst his chest as you stare up at the ceiling. he'd been lazily scrolling through his phone and occassionaly your eyes would flicker over before you'd get lost in thought.

it's not the first time you've said it - eunhyeok was actually the first one to say it.

but you feel like it then. feel like saying it. not because you're scared he doesn't know or because you need the reassurance but rather because you like telling him.

you like showing your love for him.

shifting, you turn so you're on your stomach, facing him.

"i love you."

this time you're louder, not necessarily more confident but firm.

he's glancing over at you in surprise, lips parted but you just smile, bright-eyed and doey, head resting in the palms of your hands.

"i love you."

and he eases, nodding; "i love you too."

you tilt your head left and right, humming affectionately.

"i love you."

you say again. simple. to the point. but your voice bleeds with affection and every ounce of love you feel towards him.

his eyes soften, leaning back against the headboard of his bed and smirks.

"and i love you too."

[stoneagedevil]

They’ll Understand (Somethin’ Stupid pt. 2) | Alastor x f!Reader

Part 1: “Somethin’ Stupid”

TW/CW: Angel being Angel. Anxiety and fear. Allusions to murder.

🎙️

“Wear this little number? He won’t be able to resist ya!” Angel was keeping you captive in his room, currently raiding his closet in search for something you could wear to impress Alastor, and according to Angel, once you “reeled him in with your pretty face” and “rockin’ body” you’d be able to “bed him.” You weren’t necessarily pleased with his wording, your face turning as red as your dreamboat’s hair.

“Angel, while I appreciate the gesture, I’m not comfortable wearing a leather bikini.” You deadpanned. Your anxiety was nipping at your heels, and you felt the urge to run. From what? Most likely confessing. To where? You didn’t know. But you hated how it was bringing the skittish deer out of you, as it was truly embarrassing. Alastor and you often confided in each other on how your demonic forms had caused you numerous headaches, and you felt comforted that someone you admired so much also experienced the same things you did, just as he felt that way about you. But you didn’t run from things, as they typically ran from you. You stood from Angel’s bed and started pacing again in an attempt to quell the instinct to run.

“Even if he reciprocated, what am I meant to do with love? What happens after?” You tilted your head at Angel, and he dropped another inappropriate article of clothing in shock at your question.

“You mean you’ve neva seen those cheesy romance flix before?” Angel’s eyes widened. This was the saddest thing ever. Identifying these feelings was one thing, but the fact that you didn’t know how to act on them was so depressing to Angel. Just how emotionally constipated were you? Hadn’t you felt love before? What kind of life had you led that you didn’t know the feeling at all?

“I can’t say I really watched much TV. Just the same few movies I really enjoyed over and over again when I wanted to hear another’s voice. Definitely not romance films.” You contemplated. No, you couldn’t recall ever watching romance films. You weren’t particularly keen on watching much TV, and you only went to the movie theatre when something truly interested you. However, you would occasionally put on a movie in the background while doing chores such as laundry, as it filled the empty space; if it wasn’t a movie, it was music, and it most often was.

“Well sit your ass down then, because class is in session.” After unceremoniously pushing your shoulders down to make you sit on his bed once more, Angel immediately went to where he kept his romance movies, pulling out a handful and explaining each one to you, before making you watch the best scenes from each.

Initially, you were quite apprehensive. Angel the Love Doctor’s license was certainly questionable, especially with this prescription of mushy movies. But eventually, you resonated with a lot of the characters, specifically the ones who were troubled with their feelings, like that one “Edward Cullen” guy.

From your understanding, love was one of the most powerful emotions a person could feel. It drove these characters to do insane things that furthered the plot of the movie; things you’ve done because of your feelings for Alastor: like hurting people you felt threatened by. Through these scenes, you learned about jealousy, of so-called “butterflies,” how people apart hurt inside.

But love made them…happy. Happy. Content in domestic bliss. You felt a pull in your chest, realizing you couldn’t ever remember feeling that way. You hadn’t had anyone around you interested in the same things you were. You were always the outlier. Always the one picked last for things. It didn’t particularly bother you at the time; back when you were alive. You didn’t have much to care about. But now, you felt you had something good to die for, which made it that much more beautiful to live.

Your brows were furrowed in concentration, and you were so focused on the screen and the interactions between the lovers that Angel sat you in front of, you failed to notice a stream of tears coming from your eyes.

Angel quickly took notice, pausing the TV immediately. “Woah woah woah, why’re you crying babe?” He plucked a tissue from the box beside his bed and dabbed underneath your eyes. Fuck. He didn’t think he’d be making you feel bad.

“Crying?” You brought a hand up to your cheek, surprised to find it damp. You marveled at the way the films made you feel, how imagining Alastor and yourself in their shoes made you feel, staring at the teardrops on your fingertips. “I- I feel like I understand. Like a want has just become a need. It’s truly wonderful. Like a breath of fresh air.” You smiled softly, moving to look into Angel’s eyes.

“Sheesh dollface, you had me worried.” Angel rolled his eyes playfully, internally relieved that he hadn’t just made an overlord cry, but most of all, that he hadn’t made a friend cry. “So now that you kinda get it, what’re ya gonna do?” You brainstormed for a second at the question, as it didn’t take long to figure out what would make Alastor the happiest.

“Alastor is a musical man.” You stated, instantly becoming more analytical and focused on the best way to get your feelings across to Alastor. “He’d never shy away from listening to a good song…” You trailed off.

“…so? Are you thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin’?” Angel smiled smugly. He knew you sang to yourself during daily tasks, but you weren’t much of an extrovert, only making scenes when you had to establish your title as an overlord whenever demons seemed to forget. He imagined if you knew he could hear you singing in the shower next to his room, you’d be mortified. It was funny how you and Alastor could be so different, yet so alike, as Alastor was an extroverted entertainer.

“I’m thinking that in order to make him listen, and to make this special, I should sing for him. People always say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but Alastor is quite adept at cooking. He wouldn’t need me for that.” You smiled to yourself, thinking back to times when Alastor would have you taste test a dish. Perhaps food was the way to your heart too, specifically his cooking.

—

Charlie was currently helping Alastor come up with sure fire ways to make you his officially (in his head you already were). Her notepad was filled with things her and Alastor knew you liked, hoping to put the information to good use.

Charlie had become wildly animated, smile stretched from cheek to rosy cheek. “You should tell her with a grand gesture! With fireworks and flowers and confetti and chocolates and singing and-“ Alastor raised a hand to stop her barrage of outlandish ideas.

“Charlie, I’m afraid that’s a bit too much.” Alastor stubbed out her sparkling ideas like a cigarette. While he was known to be grand in his executions (literal executions as well), he wanted this to be more personal. More intimate. Part of it was that he was incredibly shy about his romantic feelings for you, though he’d never let on to it. You were an intimidating woman, it was one of the reasons he fell in love with you, so he preferred to do this in private where no one could see his facial expressions. In addition to that, he knew how introverted you were in comparison to him; an incredibly private person.

“Okay, what about dinner at a super fancy restaurant? And flowers. You have to give her flowers.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” He summoned a rose, which had begun to rapidly wilt and die soon after the stem had touched his fingertips. It irked him. Something he previously didn’t have a problem with now stood in between him and your heart.

“Oh…” Charlie’s head hit the table. How was she supposed to help Hell’s population problem if she couldn’t even help Alastor express his romantic feelings for you? This was so hard.

“Fret not my dear, your dinner idea was exceptional! However, I think I should be the one to make the dishes.” A candlelit dinner with your favorite food being brought to you by him? You’d already expressed how much you enjoyed his cooking every time he held a spoonful of food up to your face. Feeding you and hearing you sing his praises on another culinary success made him feel as though he were floating. With you by his side, he was sure he wouldn’t have to walk anywhere ever again.

“That’s a great idea! I bet that would really impress her! And I can be the one to put the flowers on the table so they don’t wilt!” She clasped her face in between her hands, almost as if she was trying to stop her smile from getting any wider.

Immediately after establishing their plans, Alastor and his wing-woman Charlie had begun to research the best recipes pertaining to your tastes.

This had to be absolutely perfect, Alastor thought.

—

Music. It was what you and Alastor had bonded most over. He showed you Jazz’s greatest artists, the pioneers of brassy sounds, and you adored his passion in the genre. You listened to what you liked, as simple as that sounds. Your tastes often surpassed any one genre, and you found yourself dipping your hooves into anything; even just to give it a chance.

If music had brought you so close to Alastor, surely it would bring you even closer. Once you left Angel’s room, you dove into your collections of vinyl and CDs you acquired over your time in Hell. The greatest hits pertaining to love flooded your room, and you listened intently to the lyrics. Looking down at the notepad in front of you, you began to write about the way Alastor made you feel. This had to be absolutely perfect, you thought.

—

A couple days passed, and as Alastor opened the door to his hotel room to step out and retrieve the suit he was having pressed, a note taped onto it caught his ruby sight. With an eyebrow raised, he skeptically plucked the note from his door and began to read it.

“Dearest Alastor,

I hope you’ll find the time to come to the ballroom located in the hotel at 6pm. I’ve made a gift for you, and I’m hoping you’ll accept.

From,

Y/N”

You sat writing many iterations of that damned letter. Was “With love” too much? “Forever yours” most certainly was, no matter how true it was. “Sincerely” was stupid. Maybe you should just keep it simple.

“From, Y/N.” Simple. Simply stupid. But you went with it anyway.

Alastor’s heart leaped up to his throat, he was sure if he opened his mouth, it would jump out and find its way towards you. He retreated back into his room, opening one of the drawers he dedicated to you. It was filled with notes containing songs you’ve written down for him, and songs he wrote down that you recommended verbally. The wilted rose he wished so desperately to give to you that was used as a demonstration to Charlie on why he couldn’t. Receipts from outings you two accompanied each other on, and his ticket from your trip to the movie theatre that was playing one of your favorite movies at the time. He truly tried his best to pay attention to the silver screen, but he mostly found himself enamored with the way the light from the screen lit up your face.

He gently placed his newest treasure in the drawer, excited to see what you had in store for the night. Though, on the other hand, he was a bit nervous and disappointed. He’d planned on picking up all of the ingredients for a dish that would knock your socks off, in addition to picking up his pressed suit. If you had something to give to him, he wouldn’t have time to cook this night. His heart and shadow were getting antsy, the latter outwardly showing his deepest desires which he adamantly detested. He’d catch his shadow practically making heart eyes at you, and Alastor found himself wishing he would wave his hands at it to make it diminish like cigarette smoke in the air.

No matter! Perhaps after whatever you had planned, he’d ask you to a dinner cooked and presented by him. Closing the drawer, he made his way out to the dry cleaners to ensure he wouldn’t forget his suit when the time came to woo you. However, what he did forget, was letting Charlie know of this change of plans, who had already helped in setting up a table for two with red roses and unlit candles in a candelabra sitting in the center; all set up in the very room you wished to deliver your gift.

—

You had spent quite some time writing your song dedicated to Alastor, and soon after its completion, you enlisted the help of your souls-turned-shadows to play instruments and do background vocals. There was no way in Hell you’d allow a demon to aid in this. You rehearsed a few times before deeming it a perfect performance that you were willing to give to Alastor. The time was now a little after 4, and you decided to get ready.

Your hair was curled, makeup to your liking, and you wore a black tea-length dress with an abundance of white tulle underneath the skirt to make it flare out more. The sweetheart neckline sported a small, white, satin bow in the center. You slipped on a shiny pair of black kitten heels, opting for more of a comfortable dress shoe - your nerves were sure to make you incredibly uncomfortable, so you attempted to counteract that a bit by making your physical self as comfortable yet stylish as it could be. As a finishing touch, you clasped a string of pearls around your neck. They were a gift from Alastor when he found out that it was your birthday. You told him you didn’t need anything, and that birthdays sort of lost their meanings when you lived for so long in Hell, but he wouldn’t hear any of it, adamantly telling you that your birth was something to be celebrated. If you had figured out your feelings for him by then, you’re sure you would have kissed him.

You turned to look into the mirror wondering if Alastor would think you looked nice. Nervously, you made your way to Angel’s room beside yours. Hesitantly you knocked, opening the door when a muffled “come in” prompted you to.

“What’s up toots? Hey! Don’t you clean up nice!” He exclaimed, getting up from his bed and taking your hand to spin you around, dress flaring out around you as you spun.

“You don’t think it’s too much? Or too little?” You looked into Angel’s mirror, your hands worrying over any perceived imperfection. Angel once more grabbed your hands to stop them from flying around.

“Girl, you look great, and I know he’ll think so too.” He quelled your nerves. Then you did something out of character, you hugged him. Initially taken aback, Angel’s arms tightened around you.

“Thank you Angel.”

—

Alastor arrived at 6 on the dot. Not always punctual, never late, and always on time. Although he did want to arrive at the ballroom earlier, he didn’t want to seem too eager, even though he most certainly was. His excitement rolled off of him in waves, making the demons he met along the way to pick up his suit even more uneasy than usual.

When he walked through the grand doors, he saw his little setup that he and Charlie planned to set up for the dinner date. He contemplated hiding the table, conjuring a portal to a shadow dimension and pushing the evidence of his feelings for you into the dark abyss, but before he could act on this, he heard the clicking of heels making their way across the stage portion of the ballroom.

You were a vision, and he considered pinching himself as he thought he was looking at an angel. He hadn’t mistakenly enrolled in the redemption program, did something good, and then made his way upstairs, did he? You stood in front of a silver microphone, your hands shakily grasping it to keep yourself steady. Alastor clumsily grasped the back of one of the chairs meant for the two of you, slowly lowering himself into the seat and never taking his eyes off of your form.

“My gift is a song I’ve written with you in mind.” You said simply, and although you outwardly looked as confident as you always did, internally you were sure you were dying a second time.

The sounds of a glockenspiel sounded throughout the room signifying the beginning of the song, followed by background vocals singing “Anyone.” You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and stepping closer to the mic before beginning your song.

“You can blame me,

Try to shame me,

And still I'll care for you,

You can run around,

Even put me down,

Still I'll be there for you,”

You knew he’d never do these things to you, but you wanted to tell him that no matter the hardships, you’d always be there for him. Alastor’s heart was beating faster than it ever had before, was this a love song? No…

“The world

May think I'm foolish,

They can't see you,

Like I can,

Oh but anyone,

Who knows what love is,

Will understand”

It’s amusing to think that not too long ago, you were someone who didn’t understand. But here you are now, singing that you couldn’t care less about what others would think if they knew the depths of your feelings for Alastor.

Speaking of the devil, these blasted eyes of his kept fogging up, making it difficult to see you. Nobody has ever done this sort of thing for him, and he was absolutely enamored with your voice and the lyrics you wrote about him. He gripped the chair that he was sitting in, afraid he’d float away and miss the rest of your carefully crafted performance. He’d never seen you with so much emotion on your face, these visual feelings you possessed highlighted by pink and red lights. He would’ve been grateful for the color choice, as it hid his bright red face, but he couldn’t find it in him to care, much less even notice the effect you had on him. All he could see and hear was you, and he wanted it to be that way forever.

“I just feel so sorry,

For the ones,

Who pity me,

'Cause they just don't know,

Oh they don't know what happiness and love can be,”

You opened your eyes to stare into Alastor’s as you delivered the next few lines.

“I know,

I know to ever let you go,

It's more,

Than I,

Could ever stand,

Oh but anyone,

Who knows what love is,

Will understand”

You thought about how Angel had helped you understand in his own strange way, and this verse was almost like a thank you note to him. The music began to lull as you sang the last few lines.

“Oh they'll understand,

If they try love they'll understand,

Oh try to understand”

The last line was for Alastor, and you almost prayed he would try and understand your feelings for him, and hopefully realize any feelings he had for you.

The song had finally finished, and if Alastor had a time machine he’d travel three minutes into the past in order to hear you sing again. Then he’d do it over and over and over again. Making your way down from the stage, Alastor shot up from his seat. He’d rehearsed how he’d proclaim his undying love for you, but now that you’d done it first, he was scrambling.

He panicked. He actually panicked. He ripped the red roses from the vase sat on table and held them out to you, the both of you watching in shock (Alastor mostly in horror) as the roses had the life sucked out from their stems and the vase tipped over causing water to spill onto the floor between you both. His smile tightened, eyes snapping shut as he debated teleporting far, far away from here; never to return. But his jumbled and anxiety ridden thoughts were cut short when he felt soft hands gently pry open his larger ones, taking the flowers. It was you, and you were smiling the biggest smile he’d ever seen you make, and it was directed at him.

You lifted the dead roses to your face and inhaled the remnants of their floral scent, and Alastor’s heart melted at the gesture.

“Your song was wonderful my dear. May I ask for an encore?” He said, shyly. Your cheeks turned rosy, and you bashfully looked away.

“You didn’t think it was ridiculous?” You asked hopefully, tightly clutching your dead bouquet.

“Ridiculous? It was nothing of the sort! For a moment I thought I was in Heaven and I was most-“

You tugged him down by the collar of his shirt and pressed an unsure kiss to his lips. His ears stood straight up, tail secretly wagging behind him, just as yours did. He melted into the affectionate gesture, moving his claws to cradle your neck and the small of your back in order to bring you closer. Pulling away, you lovingly gazed into each other's eyes.

“Y/N, your performance was absolutely astounding. I’d trade every vinyl in my collection for just a second more.” And that was the truth. He was sure no song would ever compare to the masterpiece you crafted for him. Because of him.

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to record it and have it pressed just for you. You wouldn’t happen to know a guy with recording equipment, would you?” You flirted.

“My darling, of course I do! He’s quite the catch too, though using the equipment comes with a price.” He smiled smugly, cheeks just as red as yours.

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“You’ll have to allow him to call you his girl, it’s just the rules my darling.” Internally, he was nervous you’d reject him. Why? You just wrote, composed, and performed an entire song for him. But it was you. Anyone would be lucky to have you, and he couldn’t believe quite yet that you returned the feelings he’d been trying to grapple with for some time.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a kiss mark (one he’d refuse to wipe off for some time). “I’d love nothing more.”

—

Later that night, Alastor and you had retired to your room. You sat at the end of your couch, his head resting in your lap as you told each other stories about what you had stupidly done in the name of your unknown love for each other.

“It’s funny, that table was in the ballroom because I planned on taking you on a dinner date tonight. Charlie lent a hand in planning it.” Alastor revealed.

You tilted your head at the fact that Alastor too had a “wingman” as Angel had put it. “Charlie? How funny, Angel helped me with some things too. He actually helped me realize my feelings for you.”

“Charlie helped me the same way. She said that you obviously fancied me.” He had a smug smile on his face, looking for your reaction.

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline at the allegation. “What? How? Was I truly that obvious?”

“Yes, well, a little birdy told me about a certain carpet incident with Mimzy, my darling.” That was his favorite story. He’d often imagine you glaring angrily at a clueless Mimzy, lifting a manicured claw and causing the poor blonde’s face to harshly meet the floor.

You turned your nose up indignantly. “Incident? I was merely helping her get a better look at the carpet she continuously complimented you on picking out.” You huffed, crossing your arms. Alastor laughed at your adorable behavior, loving the jealousy that came off you in waves at the mention of Mimzy.

“Don’t worry my love, no other woman could compare to you. Anyone who knows what love is could see I only have eyes for you.”

—♥️—

I hoped you all enjoyed that, and I really appreciate the love you all gave to part 1!

Taglist: @alastruist @martinys-world @ustulia

[mothiepixie]

How would any of them (including boysen) react to motti crying?

The sunshine character crying?! Great heavens!

Sans:

It's not often Motti cries so he would be pretty alarmed at first. Immediately ask if she's alright and what happened. Would sit to listen to her if Motti opened up, but more or less he would be making jokes in anyway he can to make her laugh; even if they were really bad that causes her to look at him incredulously. Anything to get Motti to smile because that's what looks best on her. 

Big Red:

He doesn't do emotions well at all. No one will ever catch him crying if he can help it and seeing Motti cry would put him in an awkward position and unsure how to handle it. Of course, he's really concerned but he can't ask in the right way that doesn't come off very apprehensive and irritable. Which would cause Motti to shut down and she would stop crying solely because she felt like a burden and embarrassed. Red would hate that and exclaim she can cry around him if she needs to. Awkward back patting ensues. 

Boysen:

His first instinct is to ask who did it and instantly calculating all the ways he could hurt that person, but he’ll approach steadily and calmly inquire what happened. If Motti admits it’s nothing serious and doesn’t want to talk about it, he will respect her wishes but that does not stop him from attempting to distract her. If Motti DOES explain what happened, he’s a very good listener, but that’s all it is. He doesn’t verbally comfort, but will grab the back of her head to pull her to his chest. 

Swap Sans:

He wouldn’t notice at first, not because he is inept, but he’s so used to immediately chatting away with her upon meeting. Swap’s rambles would dwindle when he hears the sniffling and instantly switches from rambunctious to attentive mode. He would ask Motti if she's in the headspace to verbalize her distress and that if she’s not, his chest is open for her to cry on. He doesn’t care if her tears or snot get on his shirt, he can always wash it later! Besides, it's a badge of honor for him. He comforted her to the best of his ability. Swap would also make her comfort meals and stay by Motti’s side until she’s her usual cheerful self. 

Farmer:

This skeleton can tell a mile away something is off and would not hesitate to investigate. He would find Motti in the kitchen and sniffling, but his sudden presence would startle her. She’ll try to wave off that it’s the onions and Farmer wouldn’t have the heart to point out there’s not a single onion on the cutting board. Leaning on the counter, Farmer shoots her a knowing look and it makes her crumble. Farmer will pull Motti into a hug and validate that it's okay for her to be exhausted and think the farming life is hard. He’ll more than likely shortcut them both to Creampuff and do some cuddle therapy. 

Reaper:

It’s not easy to make his Goddess cry, but he would be distraught and unsure how to comfort her. He’s used to people crying because Reaper was always the cause of it. So how can he comfort the Goddess of Mirth??? He fears what his touch can do to her and the only thing he can think of is dumping flowers petals on her head. It works though and he’s at ease once more when she laughs.

Dream:

Oh, he knows right away before Motti will even come to terms she’s about to cry. Dream will not hesitate to pull Motti in for a hug and blow raspberries on her neck until she’s laughing. He starts singing her with praise and words of affirmation to the point she’s a flustered mess. His natural energy will shift her onset emotions and he would distract Motti long enough that her whole day is turned around for the better. 

Passive Nightmare:

Just like Dream, Passive knows the bubbling of misery in Motti before she even acknowledges it. Comforting her always leaves him feeling apprehensive because he is afraid that the way Motti feels is a result of being around him. He fears he’s slowly poisoning her sunny disposition and causing his living embodiment of a sunflower to wilt. It’s hard for him to confront her on his own, but he would not hesitate for a single second if Motti willingly ran into his arms for it. Whatever is the cause of her pain, Passive will remind her how wonderful she is and how he couldn’t bear to be without her. 

Killer:

Wouldn’t hesitate to stab a bitch for Motti. Who made her cry? Who the fuck would make his lovely lady even shed tears that weren’t from pleasure??? Not inherently the best at comforting but he would romance the hell out of Motti until his obnoxiousness replaced her melancholy with annoyance. He likes when Motti fusses and pushes him away because he’s being cringy with his romantic soliloquy. 

Dust:

His very stoic presence causes Motti to be too nervous to cry. But he would pat her head and ruffle her hair. 

Horror:

He’s not the kindest when it comes to comforting, but he’ll regret any immediate change that causes Motti to turn her whole body from him. With ease, he’ll pick her up and throw her on his chest. He grumbles that he doesn’t know what she’s blubbering about or why she would even worry about trivial things. Horror uses his asshole remarks to trick Motti into forgetting what made her cry in the first place. He even continues to tease her about how stuffy she sounds. The weight of his arms alone feel like a weighted blanket and he would keep Motti pressed to his chest until her “fit” is over. 

[igotanidea]

Not trying: Dick Grayson x reader

She was not trying to get his attention.

And anyone who would even come as close as to suggest that, was being scoffed at, almost laughed at, and brushed off using the classic argument of her being too busy to deal with stupid gossip.

But people were not stupid.

And definitely not the GCPD detectives and officers, of which Y/N had the pleasure to be one.

There was no way to miss the days when she was dressing differently, trying to look pretty. Days that happened to be the ones when Dick was having an office duty and wasn’t on field.

Days when she was sad and internally calling herself off when it turned out he took an unexpected day off or something kept him outside the precinct.

Days when she was faking a smile just so he wouldn’t think she was weak or something.

She was not weak.

She was human.

And in this particular case, being human came with falling in love out of the blue with the guy that couldn't care less, because –spoiler alert!- you cannot possibly plan love.

So she was hurting and cursing that part of her that made her keep on trying over and over again.

Spending days at work, full of energy not trying to get his attention, and evenings in front of TV wishing and praying for this hope to just go away and never come back. It was simply heartbreaking to have it regrow every morning just to tear it away at the end of the day.

Like freaking Prometheus with his liver.

But there was one thing similar between them.

They both suffered because of love for humanity – or in her case – one particular human.

***

It was like that for months now, and finally, all those self-doubts and sadness took over her completely.

So at work, she was avoiding people. She closed herself in her office, deciding to put that teary attitude to use to do some cleaning and remove old files.

Clean space, clean head right?

And those tears that finally started falling down her cheeks were definitely going to be helpful with dusting.

She was crying at work.

How pathetic was that?

But it was okay. It was okay. It was okay.

But now that she'd finally let her tears out, she couldn't stop, as though it was a build-up of all the times she'd held the tears in and her body just wasn't having it anymore.

And since life has a tendency to play mean tricks on people, the moment when she looked like a panda with smudged mascara and red nose that would put Rudolph the Red-nosed reindeer to shame was the exact moment her office door opened with a loud thud and the Chief walked inside.

“Y/L/N. You good?” he muttered, torn between his boss-like attitude and sudden awkwardness upon seeing one of his best detectives in such a state.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m perfect. Why?”

“Um…” the man looked at her dirty, teary face that was speaking for itself. “No reason at all. At all.”

“Is there anything I can do for you,” she inquired as she grabbed some tissues and wiped the stains away – or so she thought – actually making it worse.

“We got a crime scene. You’re going.”

Little did she know, her boss was having second and third and even fourth thoughts about putting her into investigation in this state, but no one else was available. And – to add to his desperation – the first clues were pointing to the crime of vengeance which were her specialty.

“Great. I’m coming.” She instinctively grabbed her gun from the shelf, but before it ended in her holster the boss capably took it from her, shaking his head.

“No.”

“But-“

“Y/L/N this is an order. You are not to take it.”

“But how am I supposed to-?”

“You can take Grayson.”

“WHAT!?”

“In fact, you both will be assigned to this case. This boy needs to get his head out of his ass. Maybe you’ll be the one to teach him some humility.”

“Huh. Yeah…” she stuttered with the greatest amount of sarcasm in her head. Because the woman who was In love with a man was definitely not going to add to his ego, even if only subconsciously. 

***

“Y/N!” Dick grinned, which would probably be a little less weird if he was not standing in front of a dead body.

“Grayson,” she muttered, sticking hands in her pockets, putting on the most indifferent face expression possible.

“You look different” he looked at her with an insightful look.

“Now that’s quite an observation, detective.” She mocked back. Anyone would notice her make-up less state, bloodshot eyes, disheveled clothes,  and messy hair.

“Were you busy in that little office of yours?”

“The hell, Grayson?!” Y/N instinctively reached for the gun, but obviously did not find it and sighed in frustration. Screw her boss.

“Whoa! No need to get defensive. You just look a little – I don’t know – left high and dry?”

“I swear to God, if you don’t cut that bullshit, you’ll be the next one ending up in a body bag.”

“You wanna come at me, detective?” he smirked.

“Why am I being punished with working with you…” She grabbed the bridge of her nose, squeezing it, sensing the massive migraine coming.

“Cause you’re clearly the only one who can make me get my head out of my ass.”

“Nice. Chief told you that too?”

“Nah, I just bugged your office.”

“You do realize that’s illegal, right?”

“I’ve been authorized.”

“Oh yeah? By who?”

“By my human instincts and care for my friend.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it in a gesture that was supposed to be reassuring. “You’ve been sad lately and –” the brush of his hand on hers made her shiver and – despite everything she did not want to do – take a step back.

“Let’s focus on work shall we?” She moved to talk to the CSI and technicians to get details about the traces and the technicalities.

“Yeah, if that’s what you want.” He shrugged “But you are boring!”

She was not boring, merely trying to save herself from any more possible heartbreak – or worse – ridicule.

***

A few weeks later, with the investigation still on, they were both buried to their necks in paperwork, searching for dots and connections and any possible explanations and seemingly invisible tracks their culprit may have left.

And working together involved late nights spent together at the precinct, countless nights of Chinese takeout and getting closer, which was both a curse and a blessing.

Blessing because she learned a lot of little details about him. Like for example that he wasn’t just the son of a billionaire who was playing a cop. Like how he actually wanted to separate himself, make a name for himself and not be only known as “the adoptive alumni of Bruce Wayne.” Like underneath all that goofy act he was actually deeply caring and involved in his work, in helping people and making the city a safer place. Like his eyes were sparkling every time he mentioned his siblings or how his mouth twitched in restrained laughter when she said something that was sarcastically funny.

And a curse, because all those little details only made her fall for him harder. And even if she skipped on that not-trying-to-look-pretty act, because investigation took much more of her time and effort, the longing was still there.

“So, what is that big brain of yours telling you about this?” he asked, throwing her off her thought that at the moment had little to do with the crime.

“About what?” she muttered, trying to figure out what he was talking about for the last couple minutes before she spaced out.

“The newest evidence obviously!” Dick laughed, rummaging through his box of beef Chinese, putting his feet on the desk.

“Hey, watch out!” Her first reaction was rushing to save the documents from the inevitable sweet and sour sauce stains.

“Relax, Y/N. It’s not like I’m going to mess anything up here.” The chopsticks were thrown up with undeniable capability, swirled in the air and landed back in his hand without any damages done to the files. “See?”

“Show off.”

“And yet, this show off made you distracted, didn’t he,” Dick asked as he leaned forward, meeting her eyes.

Too close!

“For the record—” she started and then her eyes grew wide as a sudden realization hit her. A second later, she was throwing the papers away in a haste to get to something.

“Hey! Whoa! Y/N! What-?”

“Shut up, Grayson!”

“Shit, I really have to set you up with my brother Jason. He needs a girl in his life and you two will bound hard over the love of telling me to cut on the talking and-“

“I said shut up, Grayson!” a bunch of papers hit his face. She couldn’t even bring herself to care that the man she was in love with wanted to set her up with his brother. She just figured out the entire case. All hecause of a pair of chopsticks having been thrown into the air.

“What are you looking for?”

“Here!” she exclaimed happily pointing at some pictures from the crime scenes and an alleged instrument of crime.  “See? We were wrong all along! From the very beginning. This is why he never left any traces!”

“What are you talking about? I don’t-“

“Hush. You don’t need to understand a single thing. Just grab your gun and badge and follow me. Come on, pretty boy, we don’t have much time and I know exactly where we’ll get the perpetrator.”

Dick could only stand there in his feet rooted to the ground, watching Y/N figuring the whole case out, the wheels in her brains turning faster than a race car, face flushing from excitement, pupils dilating.

Pretty and smart, even with her hair in a messy bun and plain clothes on. Or maybe – especially because of that, since jeans and t-shirts could never suppress her natural beauty?

“Grayson! Come on! Don’t freeze on me!”

“Coming,” he replied as her voice slowly reached his ears. He realized there was no way he was going to let her go anywhere alone. Even if he couldn’t understand a single thing from her rambling and running around, the least he could do was to keep her safe.

***

“Are you absolutely sure about it?”

“Are you chickening out?”

“Your hands are shaking, Y/N.”

“That’s why you are the one with a gun.”

“And killer fighting skills.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

“That tone of sarcasm is completely unnecessary, you know. And after we are done please do remind me to introduce you to Jason—”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

“Don’t you know the answer to that by now?”

Y/N sighed deeply in frustration, fighting the urge to curse at him with the strongest cursing words known to humans. And maybe even inventing a few by herself.

“Seriously, Y/N, are you sure that-?”

“Hush!” she put a palm to his mouth, noticing some movement in front of the house they were currently observing from the camouflaged car. “See that? Told you I was fucking right!”

“There’s no need to brag, you know.” He muttered, his voice muffled due to her hand still on his face.

“Admit it.”

“Admit what?” He looked at her with an incredulous look.

“That I was right.”

“Well for the record, I was the one who made you come into a conclusion-“

“Un-fucking-believable.”

She swiftly left the car, abandoning her need to hear the praise from him to the benefit of catching the culprit that has been invading her waking and sleeping hours alike. She was not going to beg for attention, this time for real, sneaking to the house the criminal ring was clearly having some sort of meeting.

And then, there was the one. Looking like a regular person, even if he was exceptionally handsome, but rotten to the core.

“See? That’s the one who-. Dick?” Y/N turned around, but not spotting her partner anywhere. Fuck! Really?! He was leaving her now?! Of all the times and places?! Now?! Was he really so jealous and self-conceited to not help her finish their joint case?

And here she was, thinking she saw something special in him. Something hidden under the surface.

Stupid heart. After all this time they spent together, seemingly building something, she was right back to the beginning, when she was not trying.

And what was she supposed to do now?

Coming inside alone? Reckless.

Calling for freaking SWAT teams? Before they would get here, the meeting of criminals would be over.

Wait till it was over and chase the leader alone?

Listen to their plan and use it later on?

She was a detective with skills, but not a spy!

And she made that one rookie mistake when leaning too much upwards she was seen.

“Hey! There’s someone outside the window!”

“Oh great…” she muttered and only a quick duck saved her head from being hurt from all the glass shattering due to the bullet fired in her direction.

“Get her! She could be a cop!”

The four men broke from the table, grabber whatever weapons they possibly could and rushed right after her.

“Fuck!” She took off running because despite her agility, speed, and quick thinking she physically was no match to the tank-like men. “Fuck you, boss for taking away my gun permissions!” She hissed to herself, running away. “Fuck you Grayson for leaving me alone! I can’t believe I fell for you!”

“You fell for me?” a familiar teasing voice echoed somewhere from behind, but nowhere to be seen.

And it made her stop.

“Dick?” She turned around to search for him.

And it was another mistake.

An iron grip on her arm and sudden harsh yank back serving as a perfect example of her stupidity.

“I got our little bird.” One of the men laughed maliciously.

“Well, I am not exactly little,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. Her only chance was to tread carefully and hope that stupid fucking Grayson will figure out a way out of this mess. Stupid fucking hope that got her in said mess in the first place.

“Huh?” the goon frowned.

“I said-“

“Let the lady go.” Y/N’s words were cut off abruptly by something that seemed like Dick’s voice, but a little more… distorted?

The hell was going on here?

“I really do advise you to let the lady go.” The same voice said again.

“Oh yeah? And who’s asking me to do so? Show your face unless you are all talk.”

“Seeing me only comes once for certain people. And believe me when I say that most of those encounters end up bad when you cross paths with me.”

A man’s silhouette emerged from a few meters ahead, covered by the darkness of the night. At least at first. But as he moved closer, both Y/N and the goon froze, though either of them for a different reason.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“Nightwing,” the goon hissed, tightening the grip on Y/N.

“Hello to you both. Wonderful night we are having, aren’t we?”

“I could argue with that-“ Y/N rolled her eyes. She was definitely going to have bruises tomorrow. That was, if the most talkative of the city's vigilantes wouldn’t actually cause her to end up dead. 

“Congratulations Nightwing, you got me. But there are much more of us in-“

“In that little hiding spot that’s not even properly hidden? Not sorry to break it to you, but Robin and Red Hood are currently dealing with them.”

“Huh?”

“Not very smart, are you?”

“Hey!”

As the goon was getting distracted, Nightwing (?) sent Y/N a very familiar, discreet look and she nodded almost immediately, and suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle formed one clear picture.

“He’s right, you know. You are not very smart,” she picked up the tone immediately.

“Hey!”

“She is a cop,” Nightwing pointed out.

“She is?”

“Yeah, I am. And since I saw your face, I can absolutely guarantee you, I won’t stop until you are behind bars. Unless-“

“Unless obviously you surrender willingly. Maybe then she can strike a bargain for you?”

“That might actually be a possibility,” Y/N teased. “But I’m not sure. Do you think our fella here deserves to be treated lightly, Nightwing?”

“I’m not sure. Are you hurt, Y/N?”

“Can’t lie that my arm is getting a little sore here. If he keeps holding me like this we might also charge him with violation of physical integrity. That’s 3 to 5 years, I believe?”

“And in this case we’re dealing with assault on a public official. Quite an incriminating circumstance.”

“So what do you think, maximum penalty?”

“And the conspiring charges too.”

“And the murder involvement.”

“I say 15 if not more.”

“I’d say more.”

“You wanna bet?” Nightwing smirked.

“I had nothing to do with the murder!” The goon got a little overwhelmed by the quick-paced exchange of words, of which he couldn’t comprehend half of them, loosening the grip on Y/N. And she was quick to use it against him, finding her leverage in using four sensitive spots to knock the man down.

Half an hour later all four men involved were handcuffed and escorted to the police station. 

And after Y/N made her official oral deposition with a promise to submit a written report first thing in the morning, she was finally left alone for a moment of peace.

“Did you really use that Miss Agent trick?”

“It worked didn’t it?” she crossed arms on her chest, looking at Nightwing in a mocking way, without any sympathy at all.

“You know, most of the ladies I know would be at least a little grateful for me saving them.”

“Mhm. That would actually involve the saving part.”

“Let’s check. You are breathing. You are intact. Clearly neither your tongue nor your brain got damaged. Looks quite saved to me.”

“You left me!”  

“For five minutes! Not my fault you are so terrible at self-defense!”

“Not my fault you are terrible at being open with such secrets!”

“It was to protect you!”

“Dick…” she sighed heavily, daring to whisper his name.

“Y/N…” he responded, taking a few steps forward, taking her hand in the same gesture he did all those weeks ago when they started working this case together.

“I thought we were partners? At work” she added quickly

“You fell for me,” he asks, the left corner of his mouth traveling up.

“Oh, now you have a good memory?”

“Did you?”

“NO!”

“Really? No? That's your final answer. Or maybe it’s not,” he pulled her closer and wrapped arms around her waist, preventing her from running away again.

“Yes. I mean, no! I mean- damn it…”

“So, if I were to commit the act of violating the physical integrity of a public official...” he leaned forwards. “what would you say Y/N?”

“What happened to me meeting your brother?”

“I said you have to meet him. Never said why.”

“Oh? And why?” she smirked looking from above his arm to check if they were alone.

“To make him jealous, obviously.”

She chuckled softly, checking the surroundings once more, before slowly reaching to remove his mask and meeting those pretty blue eyes and familiar face.

“Hello there.”

“Hello to you too.”

Their lips were now inches away from each other.

“Which brother are we talking about? Red Hood? Heard he’s hot…”

“Do you ever shut up?” Dick grinned before leaning forward and finally capturing those lips he’s been dreaming about for weeks now.

And kissing her was effortless.

Like he was not trying at all.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

For the Hulk vs. Wolverine/Wolverine and the X-Men platonic yandere au, imagine a Reader who was either being spied on by Weapon X, or who somehow just kept following them from time to time, maybe foiling their plans (and trying to keep the poor traumatized *ssholes alive)... H*ck, maybe Reader was someone who was a potential candidate for the program...

Reader just ends up stuck with them somehow, keeps stopping them from dying or being killed off, and is at first hated or seen as weak... Except Reader still does them solids and favors without asking for anything in return or expecting anything, which leads to the growth of some... softer... feelings of the mutants for once. Because that little idiot who keeps being nice, even if they're hurt for it, is THEIR sweet little idiot or friend or pup or whatever. So they obviously should be allowed to stay...

It comes to a head when Reader actually tries to leave, be it move on to other things or somehwefe new, or abandon the group if they were part of the program, leading to mixed emotions and reactions...

🧡🦡Logan would want Reader to leave, h*ck, he's probably setting something up so they can leave amd slip away without anyone catching them. If he can, he'd leave with them... This helps activate his dad instincts, and whether he remembers this or not, he does remember Reader's scent, and that he sees them as someone to protect...

🦁🦷Sabretooth hates the idea of Reader leaving, having a soft spot for them and Logan, but would rather have them with him, make them stronger, get them to stay and not even think of leaving the program him! Would hunt them down and try try force them to stay, would even make them forget certai things if he could.

🎭💙Mystique, if she was still there at that point in time, would realize she wants Reader someone safe, where they can have a life, be innocent or at least free, and tries to help them, even if it's only in small ways. Would toss someone off a cliff for getting in Reader's way of escaping (so, the majority of everyone-)

❤🐼Deadpool would find the idea funny. Leave them? After everything? Quite the kidder, eh, kiddo? Well... that joke wasn't very funny, was it? He's against it, but treats it like a game. He won't stop Reader from trying... but he will chase them and give them a hard time, eventually dragging them back, because, look, hey, they're his buddy~! And buddies don't leave buddies behind! Reader put so much effort into them already, so why give in now?

⚡💛Maverick, if he is there at that point in time, wants what he thinks is best for Reader (his small memories/dad instincts popping up). He thinks they're safe wherever he is, so if he's with Weapon X, then Reader will join them, no matter how much of a tantrum them throw. He understands it's not... soft, being what they are or doing what they do, but he can keep them safe. The rest of the mutants? The people they all hint for a living? They can't. So it's best Reader gives in and joins them and makes it easier on themself, or they'll have to use discipline, and no one wants that...

🔪🗡Lady Deathstrike is probably fond of Reader, especially if they were kind to her or said she was beautiful or right about something. She doesn't care much if they stay or if they go, but she wants to know where they are, who they're with, and wants updates on everything they do. She's controlling, wanting a perfect version of them...

🩸🐙Omega Red would probably not care much either way. If he's soft for Reader, they were likely treating him like a person, someone who bleeds and can hurt and who needs care. Would agree Reader should stay with them, but wouldn't want to break them too much... If he thought they'd be killed, I will say he would let them go. Whatever chance guarantees their survival is what he chooses in the end...

🦡💛 If Laura/X-23 is around (depends on when this takes place), she'd be younger, so she views Reader as the closest she has to a sibling or friend. Wants them, because they're comforting and nice and sneak her treats, but doesn't understand yet that if they stayed or joined them, they'd be broken the way she and the others are... If Reader did leave, they left Laura a few gifts, mainly anything Reader had that Laura liked, so she'd have some form of comfort after Reader was gone...

No matter what, they're all somehow attached, whether they like it or not, and Reader attempting to leave them would likely crack the fragile peace they made... And if Reader did manage to escape... they're going to have to watch their back for a very long time...

(Imagine this if you want for X-Men Evolution! I'm just trying out this other X-Mem series and seeing if I like it! Enjoy this honey fresh from the comb!💛🧡🐝🍯🧪)