VENUX

I TRIED, I REALLY TRIED WITH THIS. I don't know why, but writing for Vision is hard because he talks in this sophisticated, calm tone that I cannot replicate. So, this might not be Vision canon, but I tried. Hope you like it!

You feel it long before you actually see him—like an electric current surging through the stars, calling you forward in a whisper of cosmic force. The Power Stone, set within a bracer around your forearm, thrums in sync with your every heartbeat. Its energy keeps you strong and feeds you, for you are not entirely human—your lineage spans ancient cosmic bloodlines older than most civilizations. Your crimson eyes reflect the swirling galaxies you have seen, and your skin carries faint patterns of violet veins that pulse with the Stone’s power.

For centuries, you’ve traveled the furthest reaches of space, mastering the destructive and creative energies that the Power Stone offers. Many have fallen attempting to possess it, but you, shaped by the harsh realities of a thousand worlds, learned how to channel its might without burning your soul.

Tonight, it leads you to him—Vision. The synthetic being who wields the Mind Stone. You sense the resonance like a beacon in a vast, inky sky. With each step, the Stone’s purple glow lights your path until you find him standing near a quiet lake, moonlight dancing across the water’s surface. Vision hovers just inches above the ground, his head angled to the side, as though he, too, hears the call echoing in the night. When his gaze locks onto you, the Mind Stone in his forehead blazes bright, casting ripples of gold over the water.

Thanks for the ask! You weren't specific so I went with the jealousy trope but added comedic elements cause I felt like it. Hope you enjoy it :)

Hypothetically Speaking

Camp Half-Blood buzzed with summertime chaos. Sword clashes echoed, laughter drifted across fields, and campers joked beneath the gleaming sun. Yet two particular demigods were consumed by an entirely different form of chaos. Will Solace leaned against the old oak tree near the infirmary, eyes fixed intently on you as you sparred gracefully, wielding a celestial bronze sword, sweat glistening beautifully on your brow. Nico di Angelo stood next to him, arms folded, brows knitted in conflicted admiration.

“Do you ever think he’s too good-looking?” Will muttered, narrowing his eyes. "It's unfair."

Nico huffed, rolling his eyes. “You say that daily. If it bothers you so much, why do you stare at him like a lovesick satyr?”

“You’re one to talk!” Will scoffed. “Yesterday you walked into a tree because you were too busy looking at his shoulders.”

“Shut up,” Nico retorted quickly, cheeks flushing crimson. "At least I'm subtle."

“You were practically drooling,” Will teased, nudging Nico gently. “I had to heal your forehead, remember?”

Okay, but like you read my mind. For the longest time I wanted to write for Willy Wonka but felt some sort of way because it's a kids movie (at least with Edward Scissorhands there were mature themes, but Willy Wonka? That's like toddler level.) But I love his character so much, that I'll probably add mature themes in the future to continue writing for him.

Sweet Insults & Bitter Chocolate

You had never intended to cause trouble in Willy’s factory, but one accidental slip of the tongue led to perhaps the most ridiculous fight you'd ever had. It all started when you were sampling a new chocolate concoction in Willy’s private laboratory. Distracted by how particularly delicious the new flavor was, you’d nearly tripped over an Oompa Loompa named Milo, knocking the poor little guy's mixing bowl onto the pristine white floor. The vibrant blue candy mixture splattered everywhere, coating Milo’s white jumpsuit.

“Oh no!” you gasped, reaching out in panic. “Milo, seriously, you have to watch where you're standing!” Your voice came out sharper than intended, making Milo’s expression wilt instantly. Your guilt swelled, and just as you started to apologize, the unmistakable voice of Willy Wonka cut through the sugary tension.

“Wowie, someone woke up on the sour side of the candy cane forest today,” Willy remarked dryly, leaning against the doorway with an eyebrow quirked in sarcastic amusement.

You turned, feeling defensive. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean it like—”

“Oh yes, of course, because one should always blame the victim of an Oompa Loompa collision. Really top-notch thinking,” Willy responded, his tone dripping with condescension as his hand tightened over his candy filled cane.

You sighed in exasperation. “Come on, you're exaggerating.”

Thanks so much for the comment! I was debating on how to end it, but I couldn't let Bucky suffer...So the second part is filled with angst, fluff and everything in between :) Because this was already getting long, there are soo many time skips, but I think this is a good ending for this fic. I hope you enjoy it!

I Forgive You Pt. 2

The day you passed away was the day Bucky Barnes’s world collapsed. They rushed you into Wakanda’s medical wing, Shuri and her teams working feverishly, but there was no stopping the internal damage. Despite vibranium-infused treatments, advanced technology, and the dogged determination of the Wakandans, you quietly slipped away in the early hours after the battle. No cosmic power or high-tech intervention could resurrect what Thanos had destroyed.

When the moment came, Bucky was by your bedside, holding your hand in his. Your final breaths were shaky, pain etched across your features. Bucky spoke in frantic whispers, clinging to hope that you would hear him.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded, tears clinging to his lashes. “I—I need you here. I’m…I’m not strong enough alone.” Your eyes fluttered open one last time, just enough to focus on him. You squeezed his hand—a gesture that felt heartbreakingly weak. And then you were gone. Your chest fell still; your fingertips slipped from his grasp.

Bucky’s anguished cry echoed through the pristine Wakandan lab as medical monitors went silent. Shuri’s shoulders slumped, her gaze dropping. She quietly dismissed her assistants, understanding there was nothing more they could do for you. In that instant, any progress Bucky had made in escaping the Winter Soldier’s shadow shattered. He wasn’t just lost—he was broken.

As if your passing wasn’t catastrophic enough, the unthinkable happened: Thanos succeeded. The battle outside ended in an instant of cosmic horror. Half the universe dissolved into floating specks of ash.

Thanks for the ask! I changed your request slightly since I thought of ideas for a 'himbo' reader. In this fic, the reader is smart but acts dumb to stray people from looking into his murders. Kinda like Hannibal, but the reader knows if he acts clueless, people would overlook him. It isn't what you asked for, but I think it came out alright. Hope you enjoy!

The Unlikely Confluence

You hum softly to yourself, the quiet of the night pressing around you like a heavy blanket. The noises that do manage to break into your concentration—a cricket’s chirp, the low hoot of an owl—seem distant, as though you’ve chosen to exist in a dimension occupied solely by you and your current task. The flashlight between your teeth flickers, illuminating the dripping limestone walls. You pause and delicately shift it in your mouth to bite down on a less chewed groove. It’s easy to lose track of the right angle when you’re elbow-deep in mud and rock, but you can’t afford to drop your only source of light down here.

You’ve never been one to study complicated subjects or chase lofty degrees. People say you’re not that bright, and, in some ways, you agree. Patience has never been your strong suit either; you prefer the direct route in life. You don’t need fancy words to let you know how the world works. If anything, your unassuming nature has become a perfect cloak, allowing you to slip under the radar. And that small oversight on people’s part has kept you alive—and, more importantly, uncaught—for years.

Tonight, you’re making it look like yet another unseemly accident. There’s a labyrinthine network of caves beyond city limits—poorly marked and rarely frequented except by adventurous spelunkers who think they can handle nature’s darkest corners. It’s the ideal place to ensure a body won’t be found, at least not until time and moisture have had their way with it. The person you’re disposing of isn’t exactly a pillar of the community—like most of your targets, he wouldn’t have garnered pity if the world discovered his predilections. You’ve done the world a favor, or at least that’s how you justify it.

So, I was taken aback by this request, but not in a bad way. Like I never thought about this, but it also makes sense when connecting the dots. I didn't include much background info about the male reader, just Will finding him and when he discovers you're actually a werewolf. No explicit smut, but mentions of it. Hope you enjoy!

A Stray In Wolf Trap

Will should’ve known better than to pick up yet another stray dog. He had too many already, and the last thing he needed was to put more responsibilities upon himself when he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. Yet, on that chilly Virginia night, when his headlights swept across your dark, wolfish silhouette by the side of the road, he couldn’t just drive by. Something deep in his gut pulled him to stop, and if there was any place you belonged, he decided, it was in his home.

He coaxed you into the passenger seat with gentle words and a leftover half-eaten burger. You almost looked more wolf than dog, but Will dismissed that creeping thought. He tried to convince himself it was your thick coat, the slope of your muzzle. Maybe just a large husky mix that no one cared for. Either way, he promised to put up “found pet” notices. It was only a matter of days—or so he told himself—until someone claimed you.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks into a month. You settled into Will’s life seamlessly. You had your own space in a corner by the fireplace, though you were clever enough to saunter over and curl yourself at Will’s feet whenever you sensed tension coiling around him. It amazed him how soothing your presence was—and how quickly you learned his rhythms. On nights when Will tossed and turned, or fell asleep over cold files on the couch, he’d wake to find a blanket draped over him, your enormous head resting on your paws as if to watch him.

My original idea for this request had Bucky confessing his feelings for you out in the sunset along with flowers (the whole shebang), but I couldn't help myself. So, I added some angst (not serious nor heartbreaking as my last) where the reader doesn't think Bucky really 'likes' him like that but he does. Bucky is head over heels for you. I did change some things from the original ask, but I hope you enjoy!

But You're a Playboy

The clamor of Brooklyn streetcars rattled against the windows of your small apartment. You sat at the tiny kitchen table, swirling a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold, your thoughts drifting. Days moved a little slower this side of the East River—especially for someone like you. Maybe you got that restlessness from your older brother, Steve, who had half a dozen ailments to worry about, but twice as much protective energy when it came to you. The pair of you had grown up too fast in many ways, with barely enough to your names. But you’d managed to find pockets of warmth and excitement in your life—a warmth that went by the name of James 'Bucky' Barnes.

Bucky’s bright laughter floated into the apartment as he bounded up the wooden stairs. You glanced at the clock on the wall—half-past five. The closer it got to evening, the more the city’s noise seemed to calm, making everything else feel more intimate. You felt it now when Bucky entered, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the old couch as he caught sight of you in the kitchen. “Miss me?” he teased, his smile full of cockiness.

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the small grin tugging at your lips. “You were gone for all of two hours."

Bucky shrugged dramatically. “Never know what can happen in two hours, sweetheart.” He reached over your shoulder, snagging a piece of day-old bread off the counter and taking a hearty bite. The crumbs dusted his chin. “Coulda gone off to the dance hall, found myself a dame—” He paused, winking. “Or maybe I could’ve stuck around here with you.”

So, I didn't really know who Steve was, but a quick google search put me up to date. And from what I'm gathering, he's just a more sadistic (is that the word?) man compared to Hannibal. Like, don't get me wrong, Hannibal isn't innocent, but he doesn't indulge people's pain if it isn't necessary (everything he does serves a greater purpose) but for Steve he thrives off it. I'm intrigued by his character (not ashamed to admit it, he might become a regular if the movie's good.) I don't know if your request only wanted to feature these two characters, but I couldn't help myself to include a male reader. Hope you enjoy it still!

You didn’t expect this. Of all the places your macabre interests could lead you, you never thought you’d end up in a dimly lit dining room with two men whose reputations precede them in the darkest corners of rumor and legend. Yet here you are, stepping carefully across the polished floor—every tap of your heel against the marble echoing in your chest.

Hannibal Lecter stands beside a candlelit table as though hosting a dinner party for the most discerning of guests. He wears a tailored suit that hangs perfectly off his slim frame, his dark eyes never leaving you. His posture is regal, almost too poised, like a cat preparing to pounce. Across from him, leaning against a wall with an air of cool dismissal, is Steve Kemp. Where Lecter is refined, Kemp is rough around the edges—swagger in his stance, a slight smirk curving his lips. You can almost sense their energies clash in the room’s heavy air, or perhaps they harmonize, each man possessing that brand of charisma only monsters can wear so effortlessly.

It’s a meeting of twisted minds, a singularly dangerous gathering, and you…You’re the third seat at this table, the new confidant in their circle of secrets. They’ve invited you here because—like them—you walk the fine line between polite society and your appetite for its darker aspects. Maybe they want to see if you can keep up. Maybe they want to see if you’re worthy to indulge in their most prized pleasures.

Oh, this idea just gave me a bunch of other ideas. Like what if instead of will and the reader having feelings for one another, it was a combined effort from the murder husbands (after the doctor consumed will's thoughts and affections) that finally made you get into a relationship with both. Perhaps will has feelings for you (one sided) as he struggles to find a clutch to normality when his mental state deteriorates, and Hannibal exploits this—making will take action but also try to squeeze himself into that picture. And you, while spending time with hannibal and will, are conditioned to return their affections (like we saw hannibal do to will through touches and understanding.) Ahhh, the possibilities are endless.

You, Me and Him

Will Graham had never been the best at deciphering his own heart. That was the ironic truth of a man whose empathy allowed him to unravel the psyches of murderers. Yet when it came to you, the one person he viewed as a tether to normalcy, every feeling became painfully tangled. He needed you close—needed your steadiness, your uncomplicated presence—to keep his head above water when the horrors of his job threatened to devour him. But you were a friend, so clearly uninterested in him romantically (much less men in general, Will believed) that he kept his longing chained behind carefully guarded walls. For a long time, watching from the sidelines, enjoying your companionship in even the smallest measures, was enough.

When he stepped into Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s office for therapy, his conflicting emotions became one of many topics he reluctantly confided. At first, Will was hesitant to talk about you. He loathed the idea of Hannibal’s clinical eyes dissecting the one pure comfort in his life. But Hannibal had a way of drawing secrets out as though they were confessions whispered in the dark—gentle, unassuming, yet invasive all the same.

From their first sessions, Hannibal gleaned that Will’s focus on you had reached near-obsessive levels. Whenever your name came up, Will’s eyes lit with equal parts tenderness and desperation. The doctor took it all in. He listened, encouraged, dissected Will’s words with calm curiosity. Whenever Will voiced his fear that his longing for you could drive him off the edge, Hannibal consoled him: “It isn’t a crime to desire closeness, Will,” he would say, voice low and soothing. “If anything, a connection to someone good might ground you. Keep you from unraveling.”

Awww, thank you so much! I loved how the fic came out and am surprised to see others also liking it. I do have some ideas on how to make it more angsty but for now, I want to include the reader just sending letters to his boys and making them worried sick for his wellbeing. Enjoy!

Promise to Return Pt. 2

Time had a funny way of dragging on in the months after you left. Steve and Bucky both felt it—even when the sun was shining or the city was bustling, there was a hollowness that settled in the space you once filled. It started with little things: Bucky snapping at Steve for something trivial—like leaving the window open or tapping his foot constantly—and Steve responding in a sharp tone. Neither wanted to talk about why they were really frustrated; neither wanted to voice the truth that haunted them: You were gone, in harm’s way, and they could do nothing about it.

The day your first letter arrived, it felt like a jolt of electricity through the tired hush of the apartment. They tore it open together, nearly tripping over each other in their haste. The scrawl inside was messy, words cramped like you’d had to fit every sentence onto a tiny scrap of paper: