#It's that saying: you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain

[latetaektalk]

its sunday why am i budgeting

[dcrtmund09]

Aki Watzke claims to love this club while he's out there ruining it at the same time.

[david-watts]

it's a bit rich coming from me. so fucking useless that I haven't managed to do anything worse than leave words that appear on my arms when I get out of the shower and some cognitive decline in so many years of trying and threatening. but I genuinely believe it would be better for everyone involved if I weren't here

[primordialruin]

damn 😭 no matter how kind and good natured I make her, she still ends up as a villain

[backformores]

so apparently im a moa now

[darkdragon768]

This show is messed up but beautiful but eerie but gorgeous.

As everyone else is doing it now:

Gonna watch Over The Garden Wall!

[yanderewhxrewrites]

In all reality, Bakugo knew what he was doing was not good. A hero wouldn't do the things he did, but then again, he had never been a good hero to begin with. He'd realize that the moment he had stepped out of U.A. The world had all too quickly labeled him as rude and brash—a villain pretending to be a hero. As if he hadn't busted his ass off to save all of them pathetic people. They all saw his quirk—him—as something destructive. So why not give the people what they want?

What did that one dude say again?

Oh yeah—

You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

[alwaysshallow]

prompt: You’re a retired S-tier supervillain. After you retired, you married a B-tier hero. You are forced back onto the stage when an A-tier villain attempts to kill your spouse. Ghost x reader

A/N: i don't know if i hate this or i like, so. it's yours to decide lmfao. especially that's a tiiiiny part that i decided to wrote bc i was bored.

Everyone wants to live happily ever after.

Not exactly a quiet life, but not too loud either. A perfect balance, where you have all the things (or almost all of them) to be happy, fulfilled in life.

Life that wanted your mother for you, before it all went down. Before you turned evil, as she liked to say.

You try to tell yourself that you deserve every inch of it, but you still miss the thrill of the hunt, blood on your hands, the way you just ruled the city like you wanted. Unbothered.

When your husband doesn’t look, you take out your mask, hidden carefully behind all those unopened cartons from your wedding. He thinks you burned all of your past, and here you are. Hiding it like a precious possession, so carefully.

It took you long enough to earn it—you don’t think you quite deserve it, but it’s nice to be a wife that can greet her husband every time he comes home from work. Every time he mentions something about you joining him, but it could be quite a laugh, you say.

A retired villain turned superhero. You’d rather die than make it happen, but that’s what your husband doesn’t know.

Well, he doesn’t know a lot of things.

For example, he doesn’t know how conflicted you are. Unconsciously, you think that you sabotage all of those happy moments. Overthinking stuff, asking yourself if you’re really in a good place, if you made a right decision; if a man is worth giving up your career.

Your whole life, if you want to be petty enough. Your whole life changed because of him—hell, you even changed in some way. Less snarkier, more laid back, so you wouldn’t be degraded to trophy wife, burned out villain in front of his friends and family.

Make them proud, he said once, before a meeting with his friends. Meeting that turned to complete disaster, heading home way earlier than you were supposed to because superhero bullshit bored and annoyed you enough.

But you tried to put up with it. Convince yourself that it is your fate, not the villain route that you chose before.

Fate hits you right in the face, when you enter your apartment to see three significant changes.

Your husband is tied like a pig on the table. Tight.

The apartment looks like a tornado went through it.

And three—

“Took you long enough.”

Yeah. That’s three.

You almost want to laugh. A bandit-like balaclava could scare a lot of people, but not you—not when you know him inside out. Not when you basically competed with him your whole life before.

Yeah. Before. Before you met your husband, before you two got married, before you decided to retire. The taste of this decision is bitter on your tongue, just like the thought that you feel excited for the first time in months because there’s potential danger. Something breaking you out of the routine.

“Normal people do groceries around this hour.” You shrug casually, taking a few steps; the intention of untying your husband falters the moment Ghost blocks your way, amused. You raise your eyebrow. “Come on—”

“—What? Scared?”

“No. But he has probably nothing to do with your business,” you point out, harshly. He lets out a scoff.

“Said that he’s gonna call cops on me. Very unfriendly behavior from a superhero, won’t you agree?” He tilts his head with a theatrical manner.

“I’d do the same,” you murmur under your nose, taking out the material that Ghost gagged your husband with. Carefully, your hand lands on the ropes, until Simon stops you.

“We have better things to do,” he says, his voice low. “Gotta step out from that wife role for a moment, ‘m takin’ you. He’s gonna do fine.”

“You’re taking me?”

“I am, yeah. A problem?” He arches an eyebrow, his grip tight on your wrist. Attacking him is useless, especially when he knows how you want to do it; he’s quick to pin you down against the counter. His front is hot against your ass—he laughs, as he’s almost able to feel your humiliation. “Won’t do anythin’ right in front of your husband, don’t worry. Or, will I?” he looks down at you, expression mocking.

“I hate—”

“Mm. Yeah, won’t do me good.”

And then, you’re out.

[asteriass]

The progression of the “Villainess” trope

Y'know, thinking about it, it's very ironic how a trope made to subvert one's expectations & give more depth to 1 dimensional villains in cliche novels by "humanizing" them more & providing their side of the story, eventually became oversaturated with cartoony villains & flat MCs. Thus, completely failing in its goal to "subvert expectations" as it too turned into mind numbing cliche, becoming the exact opposite of what the troupe initially aimed to achieved.

I am talking about "Villainess" series.

I remember seeing a twitter post a while back saying how a lot of the villainess stuff the authors & studios are putting out nowadays lack any sort of nuance when it comes to its characters. And how a lot authors simply switch the roles of the cast (Like: OG MC -> villain | OG villain -> MC) & call it a day. And I 100% agree with that.

This troupe kinda ended up becoming the dictionary definition of the saying, "You either die as a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become a villain” lmao

What could've been an opportunity to write nuanced villains & morally ambiguous main characters, turned EXACTLY into the cliche it was pocking fun at.

In an attempt to reveal how the MCs of your typical cliche novels can also be in the wrong at times, flaws that the story & its (in-canon) fandom may purposefully ignore, the villainess stories ended up doing EXACT SAME thing EXECPT this time it's the "villains" doing it rather than the OG FL or OG ML of the “OG novel”. In an attempt to stop cliche villains from remaining cliche, while we did ended up getting slightly more nuance for the “OG villain” characters, in the process, the OG MCs turned exactly into those flat cliche villains.

Alot of villainess series poke fun at the troupes they themself use, but not in a satirical way.

So many villainess series poke fun at the OG novels for being problematic or stupid & the fandom of said novels basically ignoring its flaws & problems, only gushing over the OG FL. Which yea, is nice & all, but y'know... that's exactly what those villainess series do too. SO MANYY of them borderline have the FLs participating in literal slavery. & More often than not have a borderline colonizer ML. Not to mention the numerous which carry weird undertones of colorism, and many such other things. All the while, the fandom of these villainess series continue to ignore their glaring problems & flaws & instead just gush over the FL and ML.

And I'm not even saying this in a hating sort of way (well, aside from the series with issues of colorism, orientalism, etc). Moreover, this is all not to say that one can not enjoy such stories, because admittedly, there is indeed fun in just reading a simple and familiar story line. But this is all more me being intrigued by this trope’s almost ironic progression as companies rush their staff to produce something which they think will be able to ride the waves of the current trends, only for the vast majority to simply drown in a sea of mediocrity (with many even being canceled due to this)

[Though I mean, something as simple as villainess tropes won’t be the only one to go through this. Like a lot of Shakespearean works, a subversion of the classics & typical troupes back then, got turned into ones of those classics and by many are now considered cliche. And that's just scrapping the bottom of the barrel!]

[brucewaynehater101]

i want you to know that i scroll through your posts and interactions just to find all your fic recs and open new ao3 tabs.

your tim parenting Bruce au has destroyed me and I love it so much thank you for your service.

do you have any more particularly gut wrenching aus cooking up in your genius noggin?

Heeeey. How'd you know I had a new AU I haven't released yet?

But before we get into that, thank you for the compliments. Angst is my favorite flavor.

As far the AU, you know the saying, "You either die as a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain"?

I feel like that could fit Tim so well.

How I imagine the AU to start out would be Tim as Robin. He's in the batcave with Bruce as the man is showing him a particularly devastating case. Bruce, his mentor but not his father, turns to Tim with a grimmace.

"There's a reason we have a code, Tim."

They both glance at Jason's memorial and Bruce's hands start to shake.

"As much as we may want to give in to our desires and emotions, we can't stoop down to their level. There needs to be lines we won't cross, even for the greater good."

Azure eyes snap to arctic ones, begging for the younger to understand.

"We do this to protect others, even those who are twisted and foul. We aren't the judges or executioners."

Tim nods in agreement, and Bruce's shoulders lose a little of their tension. The older man pats the teen's shoulder in pride before his attention goes back to the murder case.

Tim, as Robin, had many interactions with Bruce that shaped who he was as a vigilante. How much force to apply when fighting, what lines to cross, and acceptable codes of conduct were taught to the kid in several instances. It didn't matter that Bruce himself had broken them or that, on very rare occasions, Dick also broke them. They were rules Tim was expected to follow, and they were reasonable lines. Of course, Tim did everything he could to meet those standards. He may have trained with Lady Shiva, and YJ may get into so whacky ordeals, but there's no excuse to go outside of those bounds.

It became difficult, though, when Jason beat Tim into the floor of Titan's Tower. When Jason, after hurting several family members, was welcomed back. It became a strain on Tim when Bruce enacted the 16th Birthday present fiasco or Tim found out about what the man had done to Dick (the bruise he left on Dick's face after Jason's passing). It was demanding to follow those rules when Damian came into the picture and when Dick handed him Robin.

When Tim found that painting of Bruce, when Dick and the JL turned their backs on him, when YJ wasn't there to support him, some part of Tim said "fuck it." Why should he follow standards he had to leash Bruce into obeying? The man wasn't even here anymore.

He still tried, but he gave less effort to it. He didn't want Bruce to find out when he returned after all.

But Tim? He never returned from that desert. As far as the Bats become aware after Tim sends them the data for Bruce and then blows up the bases, Tim died in the explosions he caused.

And the rest of the AU goes into Tim exploring how the guidelines Bruce gave him were bullshit, so he slowly starts to let more and more go until he has no moral bounds anymore. He's seen Bruce, Jason, Damian, Barbara, Alfred, and Dick all break one or more of these "rules" that were placed on Tim. So why should Tim go along with it?

What does it matter if he betrays, manipulates, tortures, and kills if it saves the most people? What does it matter if he commits suffering if he's helping people?

Until, one day, Bart and Kon are on the other side of the battlefield from Tim. While Bart is steadfast in defeating Tim (no matter how much it pains him), Kon is devastated that Tim never told him he was alive. He doesn't even care that Tim is a villain. If he had just asked, Kon would've joined him.

It's too late now. Bart needs Tim to stop, Tim can't let Kon join him, and Kon is torn between his duty and his friend.

So Tim does what he always does, he sacrifices himself. He allows them to take him into holding, executes his plan to murder all villains left, places restrictions on the JL (so they'll never hurt anyone the way they hurt Tim and abandoned his friends again), and then Tim disappears. Bart opposing Tim was the sign that Tim was in the wrong. He knows that. If he wasn't, Bart would've been on Tim's side no matter how morally grey he got.

Tim had crossed into the black.

He became what he always feared he might one day be.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Twin Flame - Chapter 40: "Is It Over Now?"

"Was it over then? And is it over now?"

Pairing: Sunshine!Reader x Grumpy!Bucky Barnes The Twin Flame Chapter List | The Grumpy x Sunshine Universe

"Hey, Bucky? Why don't you go in? One of us should be there when she wakes up."

Bucky nods, giving Sam a slight smile of gratitude, "Thanks."

Bucky can't really bring himself to care about anything else. His palms itch with the need to be with you.

That's his priority, not listening to some lawyer strategize about how to get General Ross off your back. 

His place isn't out there. His place is beside you. In the small, hospital room. In the uncomfortable, hard plastic chairs at your bedside.

His place is holding your hand, waiting for the moment that you can hold his back. 

His place is stroking the hair out of your battered face, whispering sweet nothings into your ear - even if he's not sure that you can hear him.

That's his place - and there's no where else he would rather be.

His eyes never leave you from the moment he walks into your hospital room. He settles into the plastic chair and prepares himself to stay there for as long as it takes, forever if he has to. 

His eyes trail your face. Down to the ever growing collection of scars, wounds, and injuries. Some fresh. Some from long ago. Each a tale of the hero you were forced to be. He can't help but wonder: would you have chosen it? Was there any part of you that wanted to be a hero?

There's a romantic notion of being a hero that is so intrinsically you. Leaving the world a better place. Saving countless lives. Protecting people that couldn't protect themselves. The selfless act of putting your life on the line so others didn't have to. He can't picture you ever turning a blind eye, not when people needed you. 

On the other hand, he can't picture you ever willingly signing up for this. For the side of heroism that people didn't see. Hurting others, even people who wouldn't hesitate to hurt you. Conflicts that chip away at morality. Losing your sense of self. Looking in the mirror and watching yourself turn into a person you don't recognize. It happened to the best of them.

You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become a villain - wasn't that the saying?

He's not even sure why he's asking himself this. They all knew you weren't given the choice. 

His eyes keep trailing down, bringing his focus back to your collection of hurt. 

Your hands lie flat against the thin sheets of your hospital bed. The one furthest from him with an IV sticking out of it. His hand reaches for yours. His fingers trail over your hand. It was so familiar to him, just like coming home. His fingers run over your palm, only to feel the new roughness from even more cuts and scrapes you collected tonight. 

Your hand is still cold. His own hand covers it, lending the warmth of his super soldier body heat in hopes of bringing you an ounce of comfort. He foolishly wishes that there was a way to lend you his rapid healing, his strength. He'd take your place in a heartbeat. He hopes you know that.

His eyes keep raking over you. The long, jagged scar up your wrist. It still sends a cold shiver up his spine. His gaze trails up, toward the newly restitched graze wound that he tended to in Riga.

There's a thin welt right above it. Another one across your clavicle. Like someone grabbed a piece of piping and was merciless.

The bruise on your cheekbone, the one you wore the night of your reunion and a story Bucky had not yet heard, is now almost imperceptible.

Life had put you through the wringer. That's his takeaway. There was no other way of putting it. Thinking about what you were put through tonight, anger simmers beneath his skin again. Life wasn't fair. Bucky knew that. He wasn't naive. So why did he feel like cursing life itself for being so unfair to you?

You, with a heart that believed that deep down people, that the world, were good.

You, with a warmth that melted seven decades of Bucky's icy walls in an instant.

You, who always saw the very best in him.

You, who deserved so much more.

Your breathing is shallow, soft, and still. It's the only sound in the room other than the steady beeping of your heart monitor. Tonight, he's thankful for both. He's thankful that it's rage brewing beneath his skin and not insurmountable grief. It could have so easily gone the other way. He'll never get the doctor's warning out of his head. Luck runs out. 

But not tonight. Tonight, he gets to be grateful that you will wake up. Tonight, he gets to sit at your side once more. Tonight, his twin flame continues to burn. 

He lowers his head, grazing his lips against the back of your hand, pressing the most gentle kiss he can muster. It's all he can do, except wait and silently will you to open your wide eyes to look at him once more.

He prays to whoever is listening. It would be the greatest gift. The last one he would ever ask for. For you to wake up. Wake up and look at him with those bright eyes one more time. He'll tell you the truth. He'll promise you forever. He'll promise to never leave again. He'll do it all if you would just open your eyes. 

He didn't know what the future held for you two, what life would look like once this was all said and done. But as long as you were still here, he'd find his way back to you. He swears it. You just need to wake up.

Wake up, he begs.

Wake up, he pleads.

Wake up.

A soft swallow of air catches Bucky's attention. Your eyelids twitch. That's his only warning sign.

It's his own warning sign before you violently thrash, coughing and sputtering for air. He reacts in an instant, flying up out of his seat. He reaches for your shoulders, trying to guide you back down before you pop any of your stitches, "It's okay. It's alright. It's just me. You're safe. It's over. You're - you're safe."

"James?" you croak, your chest heaving as you gasp for air.

"I'm here. I'm here."

Your breathing is ragged, shoulders rising and falling like a fresh dose of adrenaline courses through your veins, breathing like you'd been held under water this whole time. "You're here."

"You're awake," Bucky sighs in relief. For the first time since he saw you back in New York, a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You're really awake."

You look down at his hand, the one that rests on your hand like it's second nature to him. "You're here. You're okay."

He snorts, leave it to you to be worried about him while you were the one lying in hospital bed. "Speak for yourself."

"I live to fight another day," you chuckle, though it sounds more like a soft exhale than a real laugh. You look around the room, there's only Bucky here, sitting beside you. "What happened? Where is everyone? Sam-"

"Sam is okay," Bucky assures you, lacing his fingers with yours. "He's outside, talking to some lawyer."

That catches your attention. The gravity of the situation hits you like a ton of bricks. You're here. In a hospital. People know you're here in New York. They know what you did. You don't doubt that John would sell you out without a second thought. There's nothing that points to a happy ending for you. "A lawyer?"

"Long story. I'll let him explain. I just - I wanted to be here when you woke up. I didn't want you to be alone."

A smile breaks through your panic. He wanted to be there for you. He wanted to be here, sitting in a hard, plastic hospital chair, just to be by your side. "Thank you."

"I'll always be here for you. Always."

Though he brings you a sense of peace and calm in the raging storm, not even he can shut out all the worry and panic caused by the last 24 hours. So you ask again, "What happened?"

"Well," Bucky takes a long inhale, trying to figure out how best to summarize the chaos of the rest of the night. Or as the sun breaking through the horizon told him, the rest of the night before. "For all this talk about how valuable your blood is, you sure are willing to spill a whole lot of it."

You roll your eyes, a small huff of a chuckle leaving your lips, "I guess I should be more careful next time, wouldn't want to lose the one thing that makes me special."

Bucky's eyes snap to yours. Your hand suddenly feels heavy in his hand. "It's not your blood."

"Huh?"

"What makes you special - it's not your blood. It's not your powers. It's not any of that." His words are forceful, as though he's taken personal offense to what you said. 

Your head tilts slightly, "James?"

"Have I ever said I'm sorry?"

You're not sure if it's the fact that you've just woken up or if he's genuinely not making any sense, but you're not keeping up with what Bucky is trying to tell you. "What?"

"About that day. The day that Steve left."

Your lips press into a tight line. You're suddenly caught up and you know exactly what he means. You shake your head with furrowed brows. "You don't-"

"I need to say this. Please. I need to say it." All your words catch in your throat, leaving you to wordlessly nod once. "Because I heard everything. Sam left his comms on and I heard everything... I heard Sam screaming, the kinda scream that makes your blood cold, I heard Karli crying. And I heard you say goodbye." His voice breaks as he swallows in a shaky breath. Tears burn and well in his stormy eyes. "And I was standing there on the street, listening to you say goodbye and I realized that I never even said I'm sorry. There are so many things that I never said to you because I was scared, but none of it compared to how scared I was when I thought you were gone."

He holds your hand even tighter, but he never once breaks his intense gaze with you. "And I've done a lot of shitty things in my life, but that was one of the worst. And that day - God - that day, I think about that day all the time. You don't know how many times I wished I could take it back. How many times I wanted to call you back. I've done a lot of shitty things, a lot, but telling you that we were nothing, tell you to go away, dropping your hand when you needed me, turning my back on you... I would do anything to take it back." 

You could tell him that it didn't matter, that it didn't hurt, that it was okay, but that's not what he needs to hear right now. He needs you, he needs this, as much as you do. You reach out, wiping away the stray tear that pools in the outer corner of his eye, "I forgive you."

"I lied." He rests his hand on your hand. "And I'm so sorry that I lied. It was real, every second of it, every second of us. I felt it from the moment I saw you in Berlin."

"You remember that." It never occurred to you that the moment was important enough for him to remember. 

"It was real," he confesses, his voice a breathy, desperate whisper. "You didn't see anything that wasn't there. It was. It was real. And I will spend the rest of my life trying to show you that it was real. I swear it was."

"It was real?"

"Every second of it," he promises.

When your heart shatters, breaks into a million little pieces, one of two things happens. Hate slowly seeps in, filling each and every crevice until it’s the only thing holding it together. Or you learn to let the light back in. You were both still learning how to let the light back in. 

You softly inhale as he inches closer to you, you can almost feel his warmth seeping into you. And this time, he doesn't change his mind. He doesn't pull away. 

His head tilts of its own accord, nose grazing yours ever so slightly. He licks his lips as your eyes flutter shut. His lips ghost over yours, so softly you're not even sure that you didn't make it all up. 

But you know you couldn't have made it up. Because nothing has ever felt this way. Nothing has ever felt this right. You couldn't have possibly dreamed up this level of perfection. His lips meet yours, warm and sweetly. His vibranium hand skates up your neck, the cool metal sending shivers down your spine. It finds its home cupping your jaw, keeping you as close to him as possible. He kisses you over and over again, breaking apart for breath, only to pull you right back to him. 

It wasn’t at all what you thought it would be. You thought it would be like a powder keg, burning everything in sight, a passion that nothing could contain. You didn’t need that burning intensity. That spark would always be there, the flame would never extinguish. That's not what either of you needed right now. Right now, you needed calm, you needed a constant, you needed peace.

The kiss is soft, tender, it’s the most care anyone has ever treated you with. He strokes your cheek like he's making sure you're real, like this is real. Your hand leaves his, your fingers curling around the hair at the nape of his neck.

He hums in contentment. He doesn't care that the railing of your hospital bed is digging into his ribcage, nor that the way he bends toward you makes his spine ache. He doesn't notice any of it. How can he when this is the closest he's felt to whole in over seventy years? How can he notice anything else when the way your hands rake through his hair, tugging it ever so slightly, sends shivers jolting down his spine, when a simple touch makes him groan into your mouth?

"I'm so glad you're okay," he whispers against your lips, offering gentle pecks in between his words. "I can't believe you're here, you're okay."

"It got a little crazy back there," you whisper back. "I thought I was done for. Sharon had it- wait, Sharon! Sharon - she's the Powerbroker - And Karli!"

"We know," Bucky attempts to soothe you. "It's okay. Karli's okay. She made it out."

"You know? You know that Sharon's-" your voice trails off as a shudder wraps around your spine. She plunged a knife in your back, or rather, she used Karli to plunge a knife in your back. She had you. She had it all planned out. You almost lost everything. And if she was still running around New York, you could still lose everything. You'll never forget all those threats she made, to Sarah, to AJ and Cass, to Sam, to Bucky. 

"The Powerbroker," Bucky finishes for you. "Yeah, we sorta figured it out when your comms went down after she found you. Then, you went underground, it wasn't hard to put it all together. Karli filled us in on the rest."

"Karli told you?"

"She did. I haven't been told much, but it's over. It's okay now. You're safe. We're safe."

A long breath of relief escapes your lips. That's all you need to hear for you to slump back down into your hospital bed. Bucky smiles from the side of you, brushing the stray hairs out of your face. His fingers lace with yours again, and though you're not sure if it's the exhaustion or the pain medication, but you drift away with him tracing patterns on the back of your hand. 

When you wake again, Joaquin is there, listening intently to each one of Sam's whispered words. Joaquin nods again, a tense, worried look on his face. 

"Is everything okay?" you groggily ask, softly smiling when you feel the warmth and weight of Bucky's hand resting in yours. 

The moment he sees you awake, a bright smile pulls at the corner of Sam's mouth. Sure, Bucky told him that you woke and talked to him already, but this time Sam gets to see you for himself. You're awake. You're safe. "Yeah, nothing you need to worry about right now."

You nod, your eyes flickering over to Joaquin. "Hey, Joaquin."

He smiles, rounding over to the side of your bed. He gently grabs your other hand with a bright smile, "You know, I've got to tell you, I've never had one friend in my entire life scare me as much as you do."

You languidly shrug, "It's a gift."

Joaquin humorously snorts, "I'm so glad you're okay."

"All thanks to you guys for finding me. For a minute there, I thought I was a goner."

"Not funny," Sam grunts. 

"Wasn't trying to be," you softly admit. "I didn't think anyone would be able to find me down there. Wait, how did you guys find me anyway?"

Sam juts his chin over to Joaquin. "That was all Joaquin, actually."

You look over to him, quirking an eyebrow. "Joaquin?"

Joaquin's face immediately flushes, he anxiously rubs the back of his neck as he stammers through an explanation. "I mean, I wouldn't- I wouldn't say that. I just- I did what anyone else would've done. It was no big deal. No problem."

"Torres," Sam admonishes in a knowing tone, without another word, Sam's eyes widen at Joaquin and then flicker back at you. "Isn't there something that you're forgetting to mention?"

"Okay, I might've chipped you."

You chuckle, "What?"

"Well, not you," Joaquin elaborates, spinning the friendship bracelet that you made for him around his wrist over and over again, refusing to make eye contact with you. "Your friendship bracelet, the one you made for me, I sorta, maybe, chipped it."

"You chipped my friendship bracelet?"

"I know," Joaquin winces. "I know it sounds so terrible, but you were being so reckless when we were working together-"

"Joaquin," you try to interject.

Joaquin just continues rambling on, talking right over you, "And I was so scared, you know? I was so scared, I don't think I've ever been that scared, but I was so worried that you were going to get hurt or that you'd like go off on your own or- or -"

"Joaquin!" you exclaim, just loud enough to stop his words in their tracks.

He cringes, "Yeah?"

You offer a soft smile at him, patting his hand, "You're a good friend, Joaquin. You saved my life - twice now. Thank you."

"You - you don't hate me?"

"I couldn't hate you," you promise him. "Besides, Tony did the same thing too, you know? He had one on all of us. Mine was in my friendship bracelet. Thor would actually lose his all the time so Tony just started sneaking it into his food. Steve's was in the strap of his shield. Sam's was in his goggles."

"I'm still pissed about that, by the way," Sam grumbles.

"I guess great minds think alike."

Joaquin beams at the comparison to Tony. "You think I'm like Tony Stark?"

"I told you she wasn't gonna to be mad," Sam mutters.

"Any normal person-" Joaquin refutes, pausing when he hears the words leave his mouth. There was nothing normal about anyone in that room. "Never mind, I answered my own question."

Bucky snorts, "Exactly."

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?" Sam interjects. His eyes shift to Bucky and Joaquin, nudging his head toward the door. "Alone?"

Your eyebrows furrow as you nod, "Yeah."

As the two of them leave the room without another word, Sam takes Bucky's seat at your bedside. He takes your hand in his holding it tightly. "I have something to tell you. A whole lot actually."

"Okay?"

"But, first, I just wanted to say I'm glad you're okay. You scared the hell out of me - out of all of us."

"I tried to call for you guys, but she busted my comms and it-"

"I know, I know," Sam stops you. "Karli told everything. She told me you fought like hell."

"Is she alright?"

Sam shakes his head, lowering his voice, "We probably shouldn't talk about that here. I don't think anyone's listening, but just to be safe, after General Ross came to pay you a visit. As far as he knows, I left Karli down there for what she did to you."

You suck in a breath. "General Ross was here."

"That sorta brings me to my first point. He's not the only one that came to pay you a visit. There's this lawyer." The panic gripping you makes it impossible to do anything except to wait for him to continue. "He thinks we can get your life back, but we'd have to fight like hell. It won't be easy. We might even lose a few more times, but it'll be your life. Yours. For good, this time."

"What do you think?"

Sam takes a large gulp of air, uncomfortably shifting in his seat, "I think I would understand if you didn't want to fight anymore."

"What other choice do we have, Sam?"

"You could... die?"

You roll your eyes, sarcastically muttering, "Gee, thanks, Sam."

"I meant... maybe you didn't make it," he explains. "Maybe we tell them we didn't find you fast enough. Nick Fury died, too, now who the hell knows where he is? This could be it. This could be your legacy. Saving those people. Saving New York. Stopping the Power Broker and The Flag Smashers. You fought the good fight - up until your very last breath."

"You mean?" your words trail off. A hero's death. A hero's legacy. A chance to leave the world a better place than the one you entered. And your freedom. It was everything you could ask for. You can't lie, it's tempting. 

Sam nods once, "Exactly."

"I'd have to go back into hiding again?"

"For a while. Maybe even a long while," Sam concedes. "But - but then you'd be free. No more fighting for your freedom. No more Accords. No more running. You'd finally be free."

"And then?"

Sam shrugs, "You'd have to keep a low profile. A real low profile this time. Probably means I wouldn't be able to see you for a while, but-"

Your eyes snap up to him. "We wouldn't be able to see each other?"

"Probably not," Sam acquiesces. "Not until all this new Captain America stuff dies down-"

Suddenly, all the temptation is gone. You would gain everything while losing everything that ever mattered to you. You shake your head just once, immediately replying, "No."

"No?"

You shake your head frantically, over and over again. "No, no, no. No, I can't - then I'll fight - I'll keep fighting, Ross, the UN, I'll do it. I'll do whatever it takes."

Sam takes your hard, squeezing it tightly. As if to remind you that even he's not there with you, he's always with you. Always. "But I thought you didn't want to fight anymore?"

You smile at him, wiping the tears with your free hand, "I think I just remembered what I was fighting for."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." You nod. Despite, that weight being lifted off both his and your shoulders, there's a heaviness in Sam's face that has nothing to do with you fighting for your freedom. "Sam? What is it?"

"There's more," Sam solemnly tells you. 

"Karli?"

Sam silently shakes his head, "No. The Flag Smashers, the rest of them..."

Dread washes over you. On the outskirts of your attention, you hear your heart monitor spike, beeping faster and faster. "Sam?"

"They're dead," Sam finally says. "All of them except Karli. It's just the two of you now."

"What? I thought - you told me-" All your words end in a soft, broken exhale. You can't process it. After everything, you really wanted to believe that their story would be different. You never thought their story would end like that. "I thought they were going to be okay."

"I know. I know."

"How?" you whisper.

"On the way to the Raft. In the truck. They think it was a remote detonator."

"Do they know-"

"No, they don't know who did it. They have suspicions, but they don't know."

You're stunned silent. The words hit you hard. They're gone. The people you worked so hard to save. Those lives, they were gone. You couldn't save them. It was only you and Karli now. You want to ask how Karli is doing, how she took the death's of her friends, her own found family, but you can't be sure who's listening, and you're not sure you have the strength to hear the answer to that question. And you're sure that she's taking it about as well as you did when you realized your found family was gone too.

Sam squeezes your hand. "I'm sorry."

You sit in silence for a long while. You lost. Maybe not entirely, but you still lost.

There's something in the back of your head, a memory you can't place. Tony, Steve, and Natasha, sitting in the Avenger's Compound, in the common room. The memory doesn't hurt, not nearly as much as it used to. You don't know how, why, or even when, but there's a crack in your heart that feels mended. Not healed. Not fixed - but mended.

It frustrates you, that you can't place the memory. Tony whispering that he could never hate you. Natasha telling you that you changed her story. Steve reminding you that there's always someone looking out for you - even when you think there isn't. You spend days, sitting in the hospital bed, staring out to the New York skyline, trying to remember that moment, but it only comes back in flashes, only finds you in your dreams. It feels so real, yet so distant.

Days past in that hospital bed. Bucky barely leaving his self-appointed spot in the chair beside your bed. Sam splitting his time between the hospital, discussions with the lawyer that you still haven't met, and his new Captain America responsibilities. You don't allow him to feel guilty. You remind him that as his sidekick, you're supposed to encourage his heroism, not keep him tethered to your hospital bed. You're not sure what Joaquin is up to, all you know is that Sam promised to fill you in once you were out of the hospital.

You're almost a week into being bed ridden when your eyes flutter open to find Bucky watching you sleep in an otherwise empty room. You groggily groan, squinting at the bright daylight shining through the window. "Where'd everyone go?"

"Sam went to get your things, to get some food. The doctor said you should be okay to leave tomorrow," Bucky morosely explains. 

You chortle, quirking an eyebrow at him. "You don't sound too happy about that."

"No! No! That's not it - it's just -" He shakes his head. "No, it's not the right time to have this conversation."

It's easier to sit up on your own, though Bucky still insists on doing most of the work for you. As you shift upward, Bucky props pillows behind you. "What conversation?"

"The what happens next conversation."

"Oh."

"You'll be going back to Louisiana."

"And you'll be here in New York," you reply. 

"Stay with me," he abruptly offers. His words are frantic, desperate, like he fears the moment the bubble bursts and reality seeps in once more. "Then we don't have to say goodbye any more. You said it yourself, you love New York. We can - we can just.."

Bucky's words stop just as abruptly as they started. He doesn't know the ending any more than you do.

"You don't know the end to that sentence," you solemnly point out.

"No."

You reach out to stroke his cheek. "Neither do I."

"You're not staying, are you?"

You shake your head. "As much as I want to, I can't."

There were a lot of reasons why you couldn't stay. Even if there was a part of you that desperately wanted to. You needed to step into the daylight first. You needed to allow yourself to step into the daylight first. You couldn't put off mourning any more. You had to learn to say goodbye. To learn to live with things that you couldn't change. You needed to mourn. To pine for the people you'd lost. You needed to rebuild your own life with your own two hands. And while you didn't know what that life looked like quite yet, you knew you wanted it to be your life. You needed that. Your life. Standing on your own two feet. Even if it was just for a brief moment.

He softly exhales, "Why?

"Because I don't need you to save me," you whisper. Tears well in your eyes. It didn't matter how many times you had to say goodbye, the words never came any easier. They would never roll off your tongue - especially not where Bucky was involved. "I just need you. I need you more than anything and - and I'm - I'm not ready for that yet."

He shakes his head, schooling his expression the moment he sees tear pool in the outer corner of your eyes. He tenderly wipes them away, "I'm sorry, this wasn't the right time to talk about this. I didn't want to upset you. I don't know what to say. Please don't be upset."

You wipe away a stray tear just as another begins to slip down your cheek. "No, no, I'm sorry, I know I was the one that said -"

"It's alright. I understand." He takes your hand, squeezing it tightly. "And if it means anything, I think you're right."

"I am?"

"Yeah, you are," he admits with a heavy sigh. "I think we've both got some shit to sort out, loose ends and all that bullshit. I just - I really don't want to mess this up again."

"Me neither."

He slowly leans in. "I want to be yours. More than anything. And once you're mine, I'm never letting you go, never again." 

You smile up at him. "I can't wait."

"Look at us," he chuckles through his own tears. "Being emotionally mature."

You laugh along with him, "No one said being emotionally mature was this hard."

"What if we did something a little immature first?"

You chuckle, nodding along with him. "What did you have in mind?"

He leans down slowly, giving you several seconds to stop him before he presses his lips against yours.

Your breath hitches as he kisses you, pressing the sweetest, most longing kiss he can muster. As he pulls away, he whispers against your lips, "Just wanted to do that one more time."

"It’s really hard to say goodbye to you."

"Well, then don’t."

"James…" you sigh, cupping his cheek.

He kisses the palm of your hand, letting it go for the last time. "I’ll see you later. Okay?"

"I’ll see you later."

In another life, it would have been easier. In another life, Bucky would be by your side and remain by your side. 

But more importantly, you know that in this life, and what you hope in every life, Bucky will always find his way back to you. There weren't many certainties in life. You learned that the hard way, learned it over and over. You and Bucky would never be over. It wasn't over then. It wasn't over now. Bucky was your constant, your certainty. He was it. He was it for you

And if you had to let him go one last time, just one last time, you would hold your head high as you had time and time again. You would hold onto the faith that he was your certainty, your other half. Bound to each other in a way that no amount of time, distance, no season of life, nothing, nothing could change. 

Sam lightly knocks at the door, breaking your train of thought. He juts his thumb toward the hallway. "You okay? I just saw Bucky leave."

"I told him I needed time."

"Oh."

"I think that was the hardest thing I've ever had to do." A tear streams down your cheek. You wipe it away with a shaky hand. "Which says a lot considering I almost died like a week ago."

"It's not forever. It never is with the two of you. You two have a way of finding your way back to each other. Apparently, my threats mean nothing to Bucky."

"Thanks, Sam." You look over to your packed bags, the duffle bag that held your life for far too many months. You're ready for your life to begin again. You're ready for the next chapter. You're ready to go home. You're ready to have a home, a real home for once.

You hear the faint, familiar ping of your phone. Once twice. Over and over again. 14 times. 

Sam raises an eyebrow at you, "Jeez... someone's popular today."

You roll your eyes at him, looking around for your phone. "Could you pass me my phone?"

He does so without another sarcastic remark or quip. You're surprised to see who sent you all those messages. All 14 of them from one person.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," you nod. "I think everything is going to be okay."

Hope blooms in your heart as you read message after message, a reply for every one you sent to him all those months ago. 

"I'm okay. Thanks for asking."

"We're okay. I just don't know how to tell you that I miss you more than I should."

"I miss you, too."

"It's not weird."

"I hope you find what you're looking for."

"There is if you want there to be."

"I miss you. I'm sorry I didn't say that earlier."

"That sounds nice. I'd like to see it one day."

"I'm sorry. Apparently, I turn into an asshole when I get scared. Also, apparently, feelings scare the shit out of me."

"I'm not a trucker. Just a little idiotic sometimes."

"I get what you mean."

"I'm here. Anytime."

"We'll talk soon. I miss you."

"P.S. I keep a sunflower in the windowsill of my apartment. It reminds me of you."

You look up from your phone, tears shining in your eyes. You take a large gulp of air to tame your wildly beating heart. A peculiar feels overtakes you, basking over you like the daylight shining through the window, this pain, this grief, it wouldn't be for evermore. "Sam?"

He looks up at you with a slightly confused expression, "Yeah?"

"Let's go home."

The Twin Flame Chapter List AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

A.N.

And that's a wrap on The Twin Flame... Before I say anything else, I just want to say thank you to everyone that stuck with me this far. Originally, this story was supposed to be 10 chapters following the plot line of TFATWS. And it just grew... it grew into something that I'm really proud of. It was a daunting story and there were times that I thought I wasn't going to make it to the finish line, but you guys are just so amazing. Like incredible. I don't know how I got so lucky, but the readers I have are just the best. All of you. Silent readers. Regular commenters. Whether you leave kudos. Funny bookmark tags. The reblogs of crying gifs. I mean that. Every single one of you. I thank all of you.

Moving on before I get any more sappy. We're not technically done yet. (It's me, hello? You thought I was going to end this story like that?) I do have an epilogue that's coming up and some extras that I've got waiting for you. I'm actually really excited to show you guys what I had and what didn't make it in, because let me tell you, it was a lot. A LOT.

And finally, the Grumpy x Sunshine series...at least once a day I think about this series' ending. I'm not quite done yet. And I'm only telling you this because I always get asked. No, this isn't the end for our lovable trio. Surprisingly, I have a little bit more in store for them. It's definitely not a forever series, but I'll be here as long as you guys want me to be.

Thank you. All of you. 💛

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes@beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064

[sakuraaachan]

REQUESTED - Trapped In-between - Izuku M.

Could you do something along the lines of getting trapped in a small space like a glass box or a dark concrete room, literally anything after a villain used their quirk on us while fighting as heroes.

Requested by - Anon

I hope you enjoy! Thank you for requesting!

Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Word Count: 3896

Rating: NSFW | Smut | Confined Space | All charactered are depicted as 18+

Wanna submit a request? Click here

This is the full version of the story!

Ever since you were a child, you had an unwavering longing to be a hero. 

While many of your classmates played games and daydreamed about ordinary lives, you immersed yourself in stories of courageous individuals saving the day. Deep within you, you knew you were destined for something greater, something that would make a difference in the world.

To achieve your dream, you dedicated yourself to both your studies and physical training. You scored top grades in class, always pushing the limits of your capabilities. You hit the gym regularly, honing your strength and agility. Every spare moment was spent preparing yourself for the challenges that lay ahead.

However, your mother never shared your enthusiasm for this path you had chosen. She preferred a more conventional, established life for you—one filled with safety and the pursuit of "lady-like" duties. She worried about the dangers that awaited you and hoped that you would settle for a more traditional existence.

You knew very well of the dangers that came with being a hero, but never once did you expect to be put in a situation like this.

“Hey are you okay?”

You had just been fighting a villain alongside Deku. The man had quite the strange quirk, blowing up buildings left and right to create a distraction to escape. It seemed you and Deku would claim the victory of the fight, until everything simultaneously went wrong.

Buildings collided, and rubble fell, some of your suit ripped upon impact and your eyes burned from the tiny rocks falling on your face. But you were now laid on the ground, Deku’s weight crushing on top of you.

As the dust cleared, you covered your mouth and coughed. Waiting for all the noise to die down before you looked to see how fucked you were. Your legs were pushed up, knees on either side of Midoriya. It was then you realized the confined space you were stuck in. He was holding himself above you to avoid crushing you. 

As you looked around the area, avoiding direct eye contact with Izuku, you asked, "What happened?"

Izuku's voice carried urgency as he replied, "we’re trapped under some rubble from the explosion.”

You watched as Izuku strained under the weight, his back serving as a barrier between you both and the crushing force of the debris. His muscles flexed with the effort as he attempted to create more space.

He says, “I can’t lift the rock up all the way, so it seems like we’re gonna be stuck like this for a while.”

“Let me help,” you straighten yourself up a little and activate your quirk. As Izuku had said, it was quite heavy, but you used your quirk to lift the rock a little bit and stick it against another. You wouldn’t be able to get the two of you out of this predicament, but it gave enough room to get Izuku off of you.

"Thank you," Izuku said, moving from on top of you. He was still very close though, almost nose to nose with you.  "That makes a difference. We'll have to wait for more help to arrive, but at least this eases the pressure."

The area you were stuck in was quite cramped, you’d have to sit with your knees pulled up to your chest if Izuku hadn’t already curled into himself. It was dark, but you could still make out Izuku’s hero costume.

The silence was broken as you mustered the courage to speak, your voice hushed. "How long do you think we'll be stuck here?"

Izuku's minty breath brushed across your face as he chuckled softly. "Hopefully not very long. Someone's bound to notice we're missing eventually. They'll come to our rescue."

You nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. There was likely a rescue team working tirelessly outside, doing their best to locate and free you both. Yet, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered with worry, wondering what would happen if nobody found you, if help never arrived. The thought of running out of air and perishing in that confined space sent a shiver down your spine.

"Hey," Izuku spoke, his hand gently settling on your shoulder. The touch caused you to jump slightly, breaking the train of distressing thoughts.

You turned to face him, meeting his concerned gaze. His presence brought a sense of comfort, as it always did. His smile, his touch and the warmth in his eyes reassured you, temporarily pushing away the fear that had gripped you moments ago.

"It's going to be alright," Izuku said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "We're in this together, and help will come. We just have to hold on and stay strong."

You nod, sighing a little as you let your body relax. “What now?”

"For now, we wait," he replied, his voice steady. "We stay calm and conserve our energy. It might take a while, but help will come."

As you fiddled with the torn pocket of your suit, a feeling of frustration washed over you. Fixing it now would add another task to your ever-growing list of things to do.

Reaching into the small pouch of your tool belt, your fingers found the familiar shape of a tap light—a reliable tool you carried for emergencies just like this one. With a small click, you activated the light, hoping it would provide sufficient illumination.

Unfortunately, it seemed the batteries were running low, casting only a dim glow in the darkness. However, your eyes had gradually adjusted to the lack of light during your time in confinement, and the dimness was no longer as hindering as it initially had been.

A sense of awkwardness began to settle in. With limited options for activity, you drummed your fingers on the ground, trying to dispel the unease that crept up within you.

Your gaze wandered, briefly landing on Izuku. In the dim light, you couldn't help but appreciate his features—his earnest eyes, the determined set of his jaw, and the strength exuded by his presence. It wasn't the first time you had admired his handsome appearance, as you had developed feelings for him since the early days of your career in the field.

Thinking back, you remembered the times when Izuku had offered a helping hand, guiding you through your initial steps as a hero. His unwavering support and willingness to lend assistance had left a lasting impression on you, fostering a deep sense of admiration.

“Y/n.”

As Izuku's voice reaches your ears, it pulls you away from your thoughts, prompting you to look over at him expectantly. However, the realization dawns upon you that in the dimness of your surroundings, he likely can't see your face clearly. In response, you emit a noncommittal hum, signaling your attention.

“Are you injured anywhere?” He asks, attention drawn to the torn fabric of your costume.

You shake your head, a small smile forming on your lips. "I'm fine, Izuku," you assure him, attempting to lighten the mood. "Just a few more errands to run once we get out of here."

The attempt at humor brings a hint of levity to the confined space, relieving some of the tension that had settled between you. You glance down at your torn costume, reassuring yourself that it's only the fabric that's damaged, not your physical well-being.

“I’m glad.” He says with a warm smile. “I care about you deeply, you know.”

Izuku's words reverberate through your mind, momentarily causing your brain to pause. The warmth that spreads across your cheeks is undeniable as you scratch the back of your head, trying to find the right words to respond.

"I-I care about you too," you finally manage to say.

His warm smile widens, and you catch a glimpse of the whites of his teeth as he speaks. "You scared me a little when you charged at the villain like that. Please don't do anything reckless like that again. You're very important to me."

A sense of gratitude wells up within you as you lock eyes with Izuku, the dim light casting a gentle glow upon your faces. "I promise," you reply softly, "I'll be more careful. Your well-being is just as important to me, Izuku. We'll look out for each other."

As silence settles once again in the confined space, you become acutely aware of Izuku's unwavering gaze upon you. His eyes, fixed on your form, make you feel small yet captivated, as if he could see right through you. Every time you meet his eye, his smile radiates warmth, further intensifying the heat placed on your cheeks.

The close proximity between you and Izuku heightens the intensity of the moment. You can't help but feel a surge of apprehension as your heart races, fearful that he might hear the quickened rhythm of your pulse.

“Deku-”

“Yes?”

He responds too quickly, as if expecting you to call his name. The abruptness of his reply catches you off guard, causing your intended question to fade away on your tongue, and you feel yourself shiver. 

Izuku's gaze softens as he observes your reaction. He reaches out, his hand hovering in the space between you. “Y/n?”

“Sorry,” you stutter out. Fiddling with your fingers as you find the right way to state your question. “I um..” You could feel your confidence slipping with every ‘um’ deciding to void your question and ask an entirely new one.

“I uh, just want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Oh.” He says, “it’s no problem, like I said before, you mean alot to me.”

The gravity of his sentiment sinks in, causing your heart to skip a beat. Holy shit, you think to yourself, scolding your brain for briefly entertaining the idea of confessing your feelings in that vulnerable moment.

You silently thank your senses for reeling you back in, knowing that the timing may not be right for such a revelation. However, the question lingers in the back of your mind, the curiosity of what might happen if you were to express your emotions openly and honestly.

You were always one to go after what you wanted. And if Izuku were to deny you, he’d do it in the nicest way possible. With a surge of determination, you decide to seize the moment.Ignoring the insecurities that plagued you earlier, you lean forward, closing the gap between you and Izuku. Your lips gently meet his in a tender kiss.

Izuku's initial surprise causes a soft squeak to escape his lips, his body tensing momentarily. However, as you start to pull away, his hands instinctively cup the back of your head, pulling you back towards him, deepening the kiss.

His lips were warm, soft, like you had always imagined they were. It was like time stood still, as the excitement of his return to your kiss settled in your gut. As the kiss continues, the confined space feels less constricting, as if it expands to accommodate the shared emotions and desires.

Eventually, the need for air becomes apparent, and you break the kiss, gasping for breath. Your eyes meet Izuku's, both of you sharing a mix of surprise, excitement, and perhaps a touch of uncertainty.

The weight of your arms begins to strain from holding yourself up, but before you can adjust, Izuku's hands move with purpose. He pulls you into his lap, his arms encircling you with a sense of protectiveness and longing. Your lips meet again, the intensity of the kiss growing as you surrender to the depth of your connection.

His hands hold you by the waist, keeping you close every time you try to break away for air. He was suffocating you, and you absolutely loved it. 

Though you had initiated the kiss, it seemed Izuku was more eager than you. His tongue swipes at the seam of your lips, gaining a small gasp from you. As he pressed his tongue in your mouth, hands squeezing at the small fats of your sides, your hands found its way into his curly green hair. 

You reach down, hands feeling up on every curve of his abs, the want for his suit to come off burning within you. There was a zipper in the back of his suit, but as intoxicated by him as you were, you still knew it’d be unwise to fully undress him when anybody could lift this rock and catch you too.

The press would have a field day.

It still doesn’t settle right with you, making you let out a small whine as Izuku breaks away from your lips. “I know baby, I know,” he mutters, before taking a peck at your neck. “You can have all of me when we get out of here okay?”

As he squeezes your hip you press down on him, earring a groan from him as you meet his heavy hard erection. He’s quick to push you back down onto it, working for any friction that he can get.

He’s finally able to peel himself off of you, pushing you down onto the ground as he climbs over you. His chest heaves up and down as he catches his breath. “Are you sure you wanna do this? Here?”

You are also panting, your cleavage exposed by the zipper in the middle of your suit. His breath fans over your skin, sending chills down your body as you feverishly nod your head.

He kisses you again, more hungry than he was before. You could feel his hands creeping into your suit to fondle your breasts. You had never really worn a bra with your costume as it was already a tight fit, and practically had one built in already.

His lips break away from yours before trailing down to your breasts, his mouth accompanying the nipple his hand couldn’t tease. You gasp, the pleasure spiking you to sit up a little, reminding you of the painful concrete beneath you.

Izuku seemed to be rather busy, rotating from boob to boob while also giving your neck slight attention, he seemed to be ignoring the blazing feeling that was building up in your cunt. You wondered how he was even going to reach it. Unlike him, you wore a jumpsuit and your pants wouldn’t slide off easily.

But as fast as you pondered the question, Izuku answered it just as quickly, His hands finding one of the holes in your suit by your thigh, and tearing his way to your pussy.

“Deku!” You squeal. It would be much harder to explain the giant hole exposing your pussy when you were finally rescued, but Izuku didn’t seem to care.

“Izuku.” he corrects. “Just Izuku.”

As quickly as he tore your suit, your panties followed suit. The cold air that smacked your cunt was enough to make you clench around nothing and Izuku chuckles. Lifting one of your legs to  give him better access. 

You could hear your own wetness as he trailed his finger around your exposed area. You longed for him to touch you deeper, hoping he'd quit the slow adventuring and just dive in and touch you.

Finally, he pauses, his thump grazing over your clit. The roughness of his fingertips was enough to make you gasp. “There!” You squeak. “Please, more.”

His other fingers find home inside you as his thumb remains kissed to your clit. He rubs it while also pushing his other fingers in and out of you. With all the build of tension, you could feel every splash of your wetness, frustration almost reaching its peak.

It’s when Izuku presses his finger down that you shoot up and grab his shoulder, the amount of pleasure from the single poke is enough to make you orgasm. You slowly rest your nerves and lean back to lay back on the ground, but with the way Izuku continues his prodding and poking, you didn’t seem to get a break, your back continuously arching from the sudden spikes of pleasure.

“So sensitive,” he whispers. “Everytime I poke you just gush.”

He was going to drive you insane, constant muttering as he analyzed your every reaction. You needed more, finally falling down onto your back and taking a deep breath. With the abuse to your clit, and the way he hums every time you shutter, you wouldn’t last long like this. 

It was a little embarrassing how easily he’d make you cum just by prodding your clit alone. You’ve never been able to achieve that by yourself. 

“Izuku,” you cry out weaky. “I can’t- please.”

His eyes flicker up to you, just his eye contact alone makes you squeeze and he chuckles. “You must want me real bad hm?” He asks, “tell me what you want, baby.” 

“Touch me.” You utter.

“I am touching you.”

“Fuck!” You curse as he curls his finger slightly. “Please Izuku, you know what I mean.”

You can make out the grin on his face as he continues to tease. “I really don’t. Seems like no matter what I do you just get wetter and wetter, so I need you to be a little more specific.”

You hold yourself up by the elbow, meeting his direct eye. “Fuck me.” You demand.

“As you wish,” he slides his fingers out of you, shamelessly bringing them to his lips and licking your juices off. You could see some of your liquid siding down his finger from the small glare of its glisten. 

He pulls off you for a second, pulling his pants down as far he could, you watch as his cock flies free from its containment, red and rock hard, slapping against his chest. It was beautiful. 

It made you wish this was happening in different circumstances. You longed to get on your knees and take that beauty in your mouth. To tease him as he had done you earlier.

He almost struggles to line himself up, grunting as he taps your entrance with his tip. “Are you ready for me?”

“God yes.”

Nothing could prepare you for the stretch Izuku’s cock gives you as it slides it. Not only was it long, and thick, it was hot and you could feel everything. You choke on your moan as you gasp at the same time, the wind practically knocked out your lungs.

“Holy- fuck!” He cures, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “You’re squeezing the shit out of me. Can you relax a little baby? I’m gonna cum too fast if you keep this up.”

You tried to relax, labored breathing as you attempted to regain your composure, but you were just too full. “Too big, I can’t-” you say, squeezing his shoulders as you clenched your eyes shut.

“Okay. I’m gonna move now,” he says cautiously. Slowly pulling out before rolling into you. Both of you respond with a loud noise, the pleasure making you dig your nails into his skin. He didn’t seem to mind, having to clench his fists to keep himself from losing it.

“You okay?” He asks, still testing the waters with slow rolls of his hips.

“I’m fine,” you hiss. “Just move, please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, pulling back once again before pressing into you. The intense feeling makes you cry out again, and you wrap your arms around his neck pressing him further into the crook of your neck.

His mouth latches onto your skin as he thrusts again, finding a pace that gradually increased with speed as you both got used to the pleasure. He lowers himself on top of you, resting his weight onto his elbows so he could get closer to your face.

He kisses you, pressing multiple small pecks onto your lip as he continues to fuck you. You appreciated the passion, bringing your hands to crawl into his hair. He continues to fuck you, keeping your bodies close. The base of his cock rubs continuously on your clit, bringing out some delectable moans from you as it stacks along the pleasure inside you.

“I fucking love you,” he moans, his pace starting to get faster. His eyes were closed, mind now entirely focused on pleasuring you. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I-Izuku!” You try to speak but every word is met with a stutter. He’s too much, every thrust, every slide, every rub makes you pause mid sentence to moan. It doesn’t matter as Izuku isn’t listening, stuck in his own delusion of pleasure. 

“Mine, all mine.” He mutters. “None else can have this, nobody.” 

He sends you another thrust, causing you to repeat his name again and again. With every call of his name, he rewards you with a mind blowing thrust.

Your hands are now spread out on his back, scratching at his hero costume. You knew it wouldn’t budge, the durability stronger than your nails, but with each pounding thrust, you can feel the will to break the suit getting stronger. 

“More,” you beg. “Please, more, I need more of you.”

“I’m right here baby,” he sighs. “I’m all yours.”

You moan loudly at his words, hand cupping his face and bringing him in for a sweet kiss. You could feel your climax building, each push and roll of Izuku’s hips stacking up the feeling in your gut.

You weren’t going to last any longer. His cock was still burning hot, its heaviness felt with every harsh thrust. You broke your kiss to bury your face into his shoulder, intoxicating yourself with his smell.

“So close Zu, so close.” You begin to babble, losing your sense of mind. “Please make me cum, I’m gonna cum, god your gonna make me cum.”

“Fuck-” he trails he curse, taking one of his hands to abuse your clit again. “Cum baby, go ahead. Let it go.”

Your tongue would fly out of your mouth if this continued any longer, unable to control the sound of your moans as you feel everything crashing down. Your scream bounced off the walls of the rubble, your throat running dry from the duration of your scream as your orgasm ran through you.

Izuku kisses you, swallowing up the rest of your moan. He hadn’t finished yet, his hips still rolling. It was enough to make you squeeze around his, grunting from the overstimulation. 

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” He mutters. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

His thrust met his maximum speed as he continued to babble, and then he suddenly stilled. You could feel everything. As he pumps his cum inside of you. Every rope makes you twitch slightly. 

He gives you a few extra bonus thrusts, before pulling out of you and catching his limp dick in his hand. You laid still for a while, the uncomfortable feeling of him cum oozing out of you keeping you from moving.

He tucks himself into his pants before doing his best to help your situation, but there wasn’t much. Your jumpsuit was torn alongside your panties, you’d been marked up like crazy and you were leaking cum.

Izuku chuckles, apologizing for his eagerness before he’s able to lift you so lay on top of him. He kisses the top of your head, taking in the silence of your soft breathing.

“I love you.” He says. “I really mean it when I say it.”

“I love you too,” you say, exhausted. 

©LuvloveUni

[cavernsofdarkness]

𝕭 𝖆 𝖘 𝖙 𝖎 𝖑 𝖑 𝖊  "🇹‌ 🇭‌ 🇪‌  🇼‌ 🇴‌ 🇱‌ 🇫‌"  𝕯 𝖊 𝖑 𝖘 𝖆 𝖗 𝖙 𝖊

“They say you either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain ⁠— baby, I’m already my worst nightmare.”

Facts:

Bastille is widely regarded as the “King of the Afterlife” and one of Hardwire’s top fixers and solos. 

Before becoming a merc and going solo, Bastille was a corporate guard and enforcer for French security giant, Scion. 

Prior to his years in corporate, he spent his youth in the Navy SEALs.

He has dual French and US citizenship.

Notes:

- Intelligence in the graphic refers to netrunning (programming/hacking) ability, not mental/intellectual acuity. Here’s a breakdown of all the attributes.

- Template for the graphic can be found here.

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain. That’s how the saying goes. Take enough punches from the universe and eventually it becomes harder and harder to pop back up, to see the worth in fighting back, to stop yourself from turning around and delivering some punches of your own. Tim never wanted to become the villain— “Appendicitis,” Tim breathed in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?” —but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to burn the world to ashes when shit like this kept happening to him.

Author: @ms-trickster

[drksanctuary]

In honor of PJO Series Release please have this: Alabaster Torrington and the Titans: The Lightning Heist. Introduction. Audio and Text below

Basically PJaTO from Al's Perspective. Like all opinionated white boys he started a podcast. Lol.

In case you don't want to listen to it text below:

INTRODUCTION:

Listen, I didn’t want to be a Demi-god…I wanted to be a wizard. And no, don’t let the accent fool you, I was not waiting on post delivered by an invasive species of bird seeking to whisk me off to some castle to learn “how to magic” or whatever. I wanted to have, use and practice Magical arts. SO when I found out that I was a Demi-god…it was the best news of my life…hehe, very naive of me in retrospect. Demigod life tends to end in abrupt deaths at the hand of monsters and if not that you just slog through the mortal realm as a mostly

Illiterate, undereducated problem child that seems to attract trouble.

Was I a troubled kid? Well actually, I was a rather unremarkable kid…it’s when I became a teenager that I became trouble. 😈 Trouble is my middle name. What? No I know that doesn’t start with a C. My actual middle name is- you know, I’m getting side tracked. No, Claymore they can’t here you you’re a ghost. Well I’ll I’ll just edit it out in post. Y-…n- I can hear you and it’s distracting. Shh!

…

As I was saying, I was a troublesome teenager. One that would often say “heroes never die” a phrase that, now having given it a little more thought, I feel I need to qualify.

I would never imply that heroes have to be immortal, goodness knows that for some immortality removes you from reality to such a degree that heroic deeds are no longer a priority. I would also never imply that those that have lost their lives in battle are not heroes. I would never want to insult them in that way. I could…never…I- *sigh*

What I find rings more true now is an equally popular phrase. “You either die a hero. Or live long enough to see yourself become a villain”. And after all, that’s what’s this is. This is a story…of a villain.

[gojosbf]

not that this justifies it but I do think what happens to Gojo furthers the foil between him and Sukuna, Sukuna who stands alone gladly and thus cannot be exploited vs Gojo who actively reached out to not be alone ends up exploited and denied bodily autonomy by the ones who he cared for and who genuinely cares for him…. I don’t like what it says about who’s mentality might be better but it certainly says something (if that’s what gege intended at all, if he’s not just interested in beating a dead horse for views)

To me (and forgive me if i don't sound articulate enough yet i haven't processed much) it represents two different kind of loneliness of two of the most powerful beings. Sukuna is lonely in a way that no one will ever rely or ever have that trust on him, when he dies there will be no mourners left, it'd be celebration but atleast his body wouldn't be desecrated and used as a weapon. Gojo on the other hand, he's looked up at by his students, they rely on him, they believe in him and even the choice to be used after his death was his own, his death will be remembered and mourned and they'll never forget him, in course of losing everything that he's got he left behind a legacy of trust. He might be a weapon but he'll always be loved so much more than that and than he will ever know. I guess what I am trying to say is even if both sukuna and gojo were to meet the same end and even if gojo had it worse, gojo always be one who's loved. Maybe it's the price he had to pay for being good or as the quote says "You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain", that is one that says something about gojo and sukuna.