#Nothing In This World Can Tear Us Apart; Angel Dust

[actual-changeling]

"It would have been you."

It's raining.

Of course, it's raining.

A soft, constant drizzle leaving his hair a damp, curly mess that falls into his face and clings to his skin. Even though the cold is slowly seeping into his clothes, Crowley stops and turns around. Condensation is collecting on the inside of his shades where his breath drifts up, warm and too fast, and even if it hadn't been late at night, if the street hadn't been empty, he would have still taken them off.

Aziraphale is licking rain drops from his lips and blinking with dark, heavy lashes.

"What?"

His voice is rough, almost drowned out by the noise of rain hitting the pavement, collecting in small puddles around his feet.

"If it had been a choice, a real one, it would have been you."

The world did not end, questions were answered, apologies spoken, but their last conversation before everything went to shit is still a sharp splinter lodged in his chest, cutting him open more and more with every heartbeat. All of the fears he had left unsaid, the viscous doubt pooling in his lungs and weighing down his breaths—the truth might tip the scales and finally destroy him, and yet he cannot bring himself to stop Aziraphale from talking.

"It has always been you, Crowley. You must know that."

"I don't."

Bitterness laces his voice despite his best intentions, a drop of oil tainting an entire river, six thousand years of history, and it hurts because it's the truth, because they both wish it wasn't.

He doesn't know, couldn't know, because Aziraphale always needed him to stop them, to step back when they got too close. Every single time he had tried to push, gone too bloody fast, the angel had recoiled, scared for him, scared for the both of them. Crowley knows, and at the same time, he doesn't, because he still has hope and there is nothing more dangerous than allowing it to bloom; it's small, withered, brittle, on the verge of death and has been for centuries.

(It's still there, though. It keeps fighting, keeps trying. Keeps hoping.)

They're drenched to the bone, wet and pathetic, and there is nothing romantic about any of it when Aziraphale retraces his steps and closes the distance between them; there is, however, love.

There has always been love, whether they could admit it or not.

"I'm sorry. For- for everything, for making you think that I don't care about you."

"Angel, don't lie-"

"I'm not lying."

Crowley stares, frozen to the spot when Aziraphale presses cold, wet palms to his cheeks, his breath a ghost of warmth on his skin. This is too much, too close to 'our side', and if he didn't know better (does he know better? does he really?) he would think that he is about to—

"I'm not lying," he whispers, broken, truthful, "I love you. I won't leave you."

The rain stings in his eyes, masking the tears—hot and wistful—meeting Aziraphale's skin where it is touching his.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, angel."

His voice cracks and so does his heart, and he can feel the walls they have built together crumbling to dust under their feet. It's not real, it can't be real, and yet the truth is shimmering in storm-blue eyes he has been carrying with him since the moment he first put stars into the sky.

"It's you, always has been, always will be. If you let me."

Crowley kisses him as he falls apart, barely healed fractures reopening as his essence spills over and out, drowning him in please, please be real, please let us have this, please, God.

Just this once.

Aziraphale holds his face so incredibly gently, as if it's something worth keeping, something to protect, something he is afraid to lose. When the ground doesn't open up and swallow them whole, when the sky doesn't reach for them with greedy hands, he allows himself to seize Aziraphale's face in turn, cupping his jaw and kissing the rain drops off his lips, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, tasting his tears when they begin to fall.

"It's always been you. God, of course I will let you."

Sapphire blue eyes blink up at him, a smile pressed against his lips, a smile he can feel, a smile that is for him, them.

"Perhaps you could let me somewhere less, ah, sopping wet?"

"I was right, though. It's the rain that did it."

Aziraphale laughs, bright and happy, and infectious enough to make Crowley laugh too, and grabs his hand to pull him back towards the bookshop - back home.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Heya! I just found you and I knew that I immediately had to put in a request!! May I ask for Alastor x chubby reader?? With hurt and comfort?? Where a random demon makes her feel bad for being chubby and Alastor comforts her AND CONFESSES that he's in love with her 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ and then in true Alastor fashion he rips the demon apart for making reader feel bad PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

A/N of course!! this is good vibes. yes. 11/10 for the adorable scale. I've been writing so much angst,, the fluff request is so welcome. ALSO THIS GIF I FOUND FOR THE IMAGE OF THIS STORY IS SO CUTE WTF.

Sweet (Alastor x Chubby!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Hurt//comfort, tw for body image stuff/issues, gore but make it cute, uh... fluff. Sickeningly sweet fluff. Extra TW body image stuff. May or may not have channeled some of my ten years experience with eds into this one besties, sorry about that.

Word Count: 3,330

Master Lists:

Master Lists��

Hazbin Hotel Master List

The truth of it was: Y/n knew exactly how pretty she was. That didn't keep it from hurting when people made unprovoked, snide remarks about her weight. More than one thing can be true at the same time.

She was kind of used to it by now. People in the human world had been rude on occasion, she'd had doctors occasionally act discriminatorily towards her because of her weight, a shitty date or partner or two who told her to lose it, but it had been nothing in comparison to Hell. It was Hell after all, home to the worst of the worst. Y/n tried to toughen up, thicken her skin. After a life on earth and another fifteen years down below she couldn't help but feel like it shouldn't hurt anymore. It still always did.

This one had been particularly bad. Y/n had stepped out of the hotel, intent on meeting a friend for lunch. She'd gotten all dressed up for it too, in her favorite outfit with her makeup done all pretty. She hadn't just felt good stepping out, she'd known she was hot. There had been a spring in her step and a coy smile on her face as she lowered her heart shaped sunglasses from the top of her head.

Five minutes, four blocks. That's all it took.

"Jesus, who let you outside in that?" the man had laughed, "Cover that shit up, I'm gonna vomit."

Y/n had sent her friend a text, saying she wasn't feeling well. She had apologized and asked to reschedule. Y/n had gone home.

Angel Dust had tried to approach her as she had stormed into the lobby but, she had brushed him off, rushing to her room. Y/n hand't meant to be rude. She had every intention of finding him later to apologize, the tears had just been pressing hotly behind her eyes and she needed to be alone. She loved Angel, trusted him, through of him as a brother but god, she did not want to cry in front of him. Not right now anyways, not over something so... so... stupid.

Y/n slammed the door to her room harshly behind her as she entered it, throwing herself onto the bed and burying her face in the pillow. In the comfort of pinks and piles of stuffed animals, she sobbed.

It wasn't even the comment that was getting to her anymore, although it had been a particularly awful one. No, what was upsetting her now was how she'd let it get to her. She felt stupid and weak and more than anything in the world she just wanted to rip the clothes off her body along with her skin and disappear from the physical world.

Her shoulders shook harshly, the pillow now damp. She was sure her makeup was a mess but didn't care. It wasn't like anyone was going to see her anyways, not until tomorrow at least. Y/n was trying to get redeemed but she wasn't trying to get made fun of. If she could keep this to herself, she was going to.

It wasn't that she didn't trust the others in the hotel. Y/n actually trusted them more than about anyone she'd met in Hell up to this point. They were kind and caring, invested in themselves and one another even if they pretended they weren't. There was just the fear. There was always the fear, the internal need for perfection, to show no weakness.

Almost as if the universe was fucking with her, as if it could tell exactly what she didn't want, there was a knock at the door. Y/n groaned audibly into the pillow. Of course, just when she wanted to be left alone. The knock came again and she slowly sat up, still sniffling and hurriedly wiping her eyes.

"Uh, yeah." she called, trying her best to keep her voice from trembling and praying she didn't look too much of a mess even if it was probably just Charlie or Angel, "It's open. Sorry."

Y/n's eyes widened slightly in shock as Alastor opened the door. Out of everyone in the hotel, he was probably the person she knew the least. She made the effort of course. Despite knowing his status and his history, she tried to play nice and make friends. It was he who avoided her, not the other way around.

To be perfectly honest, Alastor made Y/n a bit nervous. It wasn't because of his reputation. They were in Hell for heaven's sake, everyone had one of those. No, it was the way her heart beat a little faster when he was in the room. It was the way that every time she looked at him, she secretly hoped she'd catch him looking at her too.

Alastor had never been in Y/n's room before. It was all satin and pink and lace. He couldn't help but think it suited her to a t. It was all perfect, she was perfect. Except here she was crying, just as Angel had said she might be.

What had happened was this: Alastor had over heard Angel saying something to Husk. They were at the bar, Angel was drinking as always, and saying he was worried about Y/n. Alastor had pressed and when Alastor pressed, he always got his way. Apparently Y/n had come back to the hotel mere minutes after having left to go get lunch with a friend. Angel said she had seemed really agitated, genuinely upset.

That had made Alastor angry. Not normal angry more delicate than that, more minute. It made him upset, he hurt for Y/n in her theoretical pain. He wasn't used to this whole feeling things thing. His body on autopilot, Alastor himself had been surprised when he found himself before her door, poised to knock.

Y/n watched him, her eyes glassy and her cheeks flushed. There were dark circles of mascara beneath her eyes that matched the stains on her pillow behind her and her pretty dress had a few wrinkles in it.

"Whatever is the matter, my dear?" Alastor asked, stepping fully in to the room.

"Oh, nothing." Y/n tried to brush him off, looking away towards the window as she pulled a stuffed animal into her lap.

It was her trembling lip that gave her away. Alastor let the door fall shut behind him. Y/n turned as she felt the bed dip beside her, her mouth slightly open.

"I would advise you not to lie to me."

He hadn't meant for it to sound like that. He saw the way Y/n stiffened instinctually at his words, at his tone. Alastor didn't know how to exist in a non threatening way, its how he'd lived his whole life in this world and the one before it. It was how he protected himself. He took a breath.

"What I mean," he slowly corrected himself, "is that you don't need to lie. I..."

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the way he was forcing himself to be honest. Honesty was, however, the only option. He saw the way Y/n's gaze was distant, her body tense. For the first time in his life, he wanted to help someone else. It was strange. Alastor submitted himself to the oddity of it all, the discomfort. It was his gift to her.

"I'm here to help."

"I..." Y/n trailed off, big wet tears pooling in her eyes, "It's nothing. I'm okay, really. It's stupid."

With a gentleness that surprised both of them, Alastor lifted a hand to her face, wiping a stray tear. He held it on the tip of his finger before his eyes, examining the way a jeweler would a diamond.

"If it's upsetting you this deeply, it's not stupid."

That was the last straw. Y/n, unable to hold herself back any longer, collapsed into his chest. Her body shook with sobs. Alastor held his arms out, unsure of what to do with them. It took him a second to comply with her unspoken request, wrapping them around her. He found himself rubbing small circles on her back, trying to soothe her.

There was a reason Alastor avoided Y/n and it was that the demoness made him feel things. Things he was unaccustomed to feeling, things that felt dangerous in their warmth and care. Bubbly little things that got caught in his chest and tied up his tongue. If he had thought about his actions, he wouldn't have come to her side but he hadn't and so, here he was. This was all unknown territory, he felt blind and alone in the dark. Alastor didn't like that.

They stayed like that for several minutes until Y/n was finally able to regain some control of her breathing. She calmed herself methodically, as if it was a ritual she was well practiced in. Alastor found himself wondering how many times she had felt like this, reacted to something in her life like this, and had no one there to hold her. He didn't like that thought. He couldn't decide what was worse, if no one ever had been there or if there was someone else who she wanted in times like this, someone other than him. Someone better, more well versed in the delicate intricacies of emotion.

She lifted herself from his chest, his arms falling from her back to his sides as she wiped the last few stray tears.

"I'm sorry." she half laughed, "I don't know what came over me... and I've ruined your suit."

Alastor looked down. There were indeed black stains from her running makeup on his jacket. Normally such a thing would irritate him to no end, anger him even. It was Y/n who had made them however and so, he didn't care. He turned back to her, shaking his head slightly.

"Nothing a wash can't fix. Now, why don't you tell me what happened?"

"It's stupid." Y/n shook her head, her eyes finding her hands in her lap.

She still held the stuffed animal there, a rabbit. She fiddled with it's ears absent mindedely, twisting them and rubbing them in a practiced manner.

"Y/n." Alastor gently warned and she sighed.

"It's just... something someone said to me. That's all."

Alastor's brow furrowed slightly at the notion.

"What did they say? Who was it?"

The words had fallen from him quicker than he had meant them to, more earnestly. He was grateful Y/n seemed to stuck in her own world to notice such a thing.

"Just some asshole making a comment about my weight. Saying that I shouldn't wear what I wear, saying the sight of me made them nauseous. The normal dickwad stuff. I should be used to it by now, I've been chubby all my life but... I don't know. It still just makes me want to disappear. To rip myself apart by the fistful, you know?"

Y/n looked up at Alastor when he didn't respond, her cheeks red with embaressment.

"I told you, it's du-"

"Who the fuck said it?" he asked through gritted teeth, trying his best to remain calm.

"Alastor, it's fine." Y/n sighed, "I don't know why you're getting so worked up about it. Like I said, I've heard it all before."

She made to turn back to the plushie in her lap but before she could, Alastor cupped her face gently in his hands.

"Al... what are you..."

"Y/n, you are stunning."

There he went again, not thinking. Y/n was dangerous, to be avoided. She paraded around in her sweet sundresses and angelic disposition, practically unfit to have been sent to Hell in the first place. She was the simple syrup in lemonade, she was the best mixed drink.

Her tongue ran gently over her lips, an innocent and thoughtless gesture on her part that sent his mind reeling as she mulled over his words. Her brow furrowed.

"Alastor, I-"

"You are the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on, living or dead."

There he went again, his tongue a million miles ahead of his brain. Y/n let out a light laugh, her head still in his hands.

"What?" Alastor asked, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks, "I mean it."

"I thought you hated me." Y/n confessed.

"Far from it, my sweet."

His voice was barley more than a whisper. Y/n looked away.

"You drive me to distraction."

Her presence was like some strange truth serum rushing through his veins, now he had started, he couldn't seem to stop.

"I've never... You're unlike anyone I've ever met. You shine in this dark place."

"Alastor, this is a lot." Y/n admitted after a moment.

"My apologies." he let go of her face, his heart sinking, "I did not intend to make you feel worse."

He should have known. Alastor, in his foolish frenzy, had forgotten himself, his legacy, his persona. How could someone as sweet as a sun ripened strawberry stolen straight from the bush feel anything towards him save fear?

"I'll go."

Alastor made to get up, had every intent to actually leave and give Y/n her space. At the felling of her small hand on his arm, he paused and turned back to her.

Y/n's face was bright red, she refused to meet his gaze. Her arm not holding him was wrapped tightly around her stuffed animal like a charm.

"No, please." she took a deep breath, meeting his eyes once again at last, "I... I think... you're rather... handsome... as well."

Her speech was halting, uncertain in its anxiety. His smile widened.

"You do now, do you?" he asked, lifting her head a little higher with a finger beneath her chin.

"Oh hush." she scolded him, "If anyone was going to lie out of the pair of us, I'm pretty sure it'd be you. I am trying to be redeemed, in case you've forgotten, and you probably just want my soul or some shit."

"How can I prove to you that the only way I want your soul is given willingly and out of contract?"

Y/n laughed again, a genuine joy.

"Pinky promise me."

She held up a hand and Alastor quickly locked pinkies with her.

"I meant every word I said. I've had... eyes for you for a while now. You are the rosy fingered dawn. You are... you're you. You are Y/n."

"I am Y/n, aren't I." she smiled cockily back.

It was a relief to see her return to her normal confident self.

"I meant everything I said too. I've... I've had eyes for you too, or whatever."

She looked away, her cheeks even brighter pink than before. Alastor let go of her pinky and, leaning forward, pressed a soft and tentative kiss to the top of their head. Y/n immediately snapped her head back to him. Before he could register what was happening, she had tackled him in a hug, throwing them both to the bed.

Looking down at him from her perch on his lap, she smiled brightly.

"Can I kiss you?"

The question took him by surprise. He had never kissed anyone before save the tender kiss on the cheek reserved for dear friends and close family. He hesitated in indecision, in uncertainty.

"You're allowed to say no." Y/n followed up, noticing his apparent discomfort, "I don't want to move things too fast for you."

Alastor shook his head, the truth of his own desire unexpected even to him.

"No. You can."

Y/n's smile widened as they dipped down, pecking him on the lips. His cheeks warmed as she straightened herself up again, her hands pressed flat against his chest.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that for."

She smelled sweet, she looked sweet, god, she probably even tasted sweet. His tongue darted out of his mouth across his lips jus ever so slightly, the flavor of her strawberry lipgloss fueling his infatuation.

"Do that again."

It didn't take long for Alastor to track down the demon in question that had sent Y/n spiraling that afternoon. After their promise had been made and she had agreed to the date he had proposed for the next day, she had spilled everything. Her head in his lap as he had run his fingers through her hair, she had complained liberally about the demon. Her complaints had, thankfully, included a full description of the man.

Once the hour was late and he was sure she was fast asleep along with everyone else in the hotel, Alastor had slipped out onto the streets. The demon was, of course, easy to locate. He was loud and distinctive. Alastor found him drunk in a bar harassing a woman. He watched, waiting patiently until the man left and when he did, Alastor followed him.

He cornered the demon, sending his shadows to torment the man. He was on his knees close to tears by the time Alastor finally decided to join in on the fun. He leered down at the demon, grinning from ear to ear.

"I heard you said something rather cruel today." he hummed.

"I didn't!" the man pleaded, "I swear!"

"Not even to a pretty little demon in heart shaped sunglasses?"

The man's eyes widened slightly in obvious recollection.

"I... fuck, I didn't know. I swear, I didn't know who she was. I didn't know she was with you!"

Alastor stretched in the darkness of the ally, his horns growing thorny and tall as he entered his true demon form. The man trembled in fear. It was pathetic, truly.

"It doesn't matter. You ruined her plans for the day and so, in return, I am going to ruin you."

With those final words, he pounced. The tongue of the man was the first thing to go, ripped with great force from his throat and tossed to the side.

Next were his ears, Alastor tore them from his head slowly. The man screamed, a choked and guttural sound through the blood in his throat. Alastor laughed shamelessly, his claws finding a home in the demon's stomach next.

He disemboweled the man with ease, careful to keep everything connected so he was still alive. Then, he went for the eyes, gouging them out in harsh slashing movements. Alastor straightened himself, looking down upon his mess of a creation.

"I would say that next time you will think before saying something like that again but, I think we both know there wont be a next time."

A strange sound left the demons throat, obviously a plea of mercy. Without a tongue, he could not articulate his wishes.

"What?" Alastor asked, putting a hand to his ear as he slowly returned to his normal appearance, "I am sorry but could you say that again? I couldn't quite make it out."

Another strangled, desperate sound left the man's throat. Alastor laughed.

"Well, I've given you a chance to beg for your life and you have chosen not to take it." he taunted, leaning back over the man, "I supposed that means you have opted for death. Very well."

In a single, swift movement he tore the man's throat from his neck. The demon twitched under him for a few seconds longer before at last stilling in death. Alastor examined his work for a moment before pulling himself to his feet. Without a glance back towards the body, he straightened his jacket and let his shadows take him from the ally.

Y/n was under his protection now. He had tried so long to avoid the call, the weakness, her charms pulling him in. At long last, he had succumbed and under his watch, no one was going to ever make her feel anything less than perfect ever again.

----

A/N This is the first time I have ever written something like this, I hope it was okay.

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 8

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, grief

Series Masterlist

a/n: Thank you endlessly to @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @write-and-buried for their advice and reassurance on this one. ❤

--

The first time it happened, it was by accident. 

Loath to leave your warmth; one hand fisted in the hair at the nape of your neck, the other one curled around your hip to guide your movements in your straddle on his lap. The afternoon sun spilled in through the windows, dust motes floating through the shafts of light as you rode him and when you came, you tipped your head back with a strained, breathless moan. 

His eyes fixated on the image of your angelically erotic pose, he emptied himself inside you, filling you up until there was nothing left to give. 

The next time was an accident too. 

Finally ready to harvest some of the vegetables you’d been nurturing for months, you grasped the first stalk and pulled, brushing off the dirt delicately when it came free from the ground. You handed it to him, unadulterated pride shown clear on his face and his smile beamed so big you caught a glimpse of his rarely seen dimple. 

Tears had already begun to water your vision, slipping free when you saw his smile and he stood to pull you up so he could wrap his arms around you in a tight, unrelenting hug. His thumbs and his mouth brushed away the hot trails on your cheeks and you feasted that night, both on your new found riches and each other.

Bellies full of fresh produce and celebrating your hard earned success, he fucked you on the living room floor, with your mouth open and pleading for him as your tailbone rubbed against the carpet with every thrust. His need more intense than usual, his groan was hoarse when he came faster than he could pull out; his eyesight fading black around the edges with a spill as endless as the praise he panted into your ear. 

When he was done he stayed put, a comforting, solid weight on top of you and his lips peppered kisses along your hairline, the bridge of your nose, the corner of your mouth - everywhere he could reach. 

The third time however, wasn’t.

The days too hot to do anything but swim, you hung onto his shoulders and pressed your soft lips against his own until he all but dragged you up to the bank of the river, covering you with his chilled, damp body. You begged him for it then, begged him to fill you up as you sobbed with fullness, your knees hitched high along his ribs. Your hands grasped the swell of his ass to push him in deeper, his own knees streaked in dirt after he gave you what you wanted and his spend was slick and hot where it leaked out, smearing on his stomach when you wound your legs around him to pull him down for a kiss. 

You each knew the consequences of what you were doing. Neither of you acknowledged it though - you kept going because it felt good and right and with so little in the world that felt like that, you took what you could. 

Summer months slipped by as you slowly explored the woods around you, checking the other cabins one by one. Untouched for years, they held caches of canned food and clothes, outdated sunscreen and furniture thick with dust. Moth bitten beach towels, an indoor herb garden turned greenhouse that had consumed half a kitchen. Rotted curtains, limp baseball hats, forgotten gardening gloves. A deflated inner tube that you brought back and filled up manually just to spend the day floating on the water. 

One held a stash of wine that was so vast it took three trips to haul all of the bottles back to your own cabin, and though you knew absolutely nothing about wine, you couldn’t stop the excited yelp that escaped from your mouth when you found it. 

Scavengers, you ignored the pictures on the walls as you raided room by room, taking whatever you liked. Making it through seven cabins in total, you covered miles of woods; your book collection doubled, every shed picked apart for useful tools and supplies. 

Careful not to uncover the cabins more than you needed lest the structures be seen by anyone else, so far, you hadn’t had to worry about that. Joel still kept the traps up and running, still checked them every single day and locked up every night, but the immediate threat of another human being was starting to feel like a distant memory. As if time had paused when you found this cabin, the outside world disappearing when you first stepped off the path. 

The weeks went by quickly in a hot, humid daze and every night ended the same: with you curled up next to him, your bodies sweating on top of the sheets. 

–

You’d kill for a fan. 

Not even asking for air conditioning because to be honest, you were never really a fan of artificially cooled air (too cold), you want a fan desperately. Just something to move the stagnant air around, to relieve the thick, damp press of humidity that coats your skin. It envelopes you, your shirt stuck to the small of your back and you pick at it, giving it a quick shake in an attempt to dry it out. 

Joel is just as sweaty – his cotton shirt clinging to his back, dark with sweat along his spine and under his arms and you watch as the fabric molds and shifts over his muscles as he strong-arms the cabin door open. Stepping through into the shadows, his hand is bathed in light as it reaches back for you and pulls you into the dark depths, your flashlight ready. 

“At least it’s a little less hot in here, I guess.” You kick a stack of faded, dust coated magazines on the floor and he sighs, setting his pack down. 

“Yea,” he agrees, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow. “I’m gonna live in the water when we get back. Sleep outside, half submerged.”

“Ooh, can I join you?” you ask, wiggling your eyebrows and he huffs a quiet laugh behind you as you make your way into the kitchen. 

The first place you check in every cabin, you pick apart the cabinets looking for food while he combs through the bathroom looking for first aid supplies and medicine. All finds to be stacked on the floor in the living room, the two of you make quick work of it, too hot to linger. 

Rummaging through the dresser in the main bedroom, you check the sizes of socks and underwear – something you’re always in short supply of – and when you find a silky scrap of fabric buried beneath them, you pause. A more delicate piece of clothing than you’ve seen in a long time, your roughened hands caress the slippery negligee when you lift it from the drawer. The fabric catches on the pads of your fingers, the sensation making you frown and hesitating just for a moment while looking in the direction of the door, you fold it gently and put it directly in your bag, tucking it away.

He calls out to you when he’s done, and after dividing up the pile, your packs are substantially heavier when you start your walk back. 

Leaning forward slightly under the weight, you feel sweat glide down the line of your neck and you wipe it away, grimacing. 

“Do you ever think about what people would find if they raided your house?” you ask. 

Every single time you enter a cabin, you think about it. You can’t remember what state you even left your place in: not your original one, nor your apartment in the QZ. You assume they have given the latter away to another person who needs it; the thought not bothering you at all. 

He huffs, shaking his head. “A messy house, I guess.” 

“Same,” you reply. 

The moss below your feet muffling your steps, you each sit in your own head for a moment before you continue. 

“Have you ever thought about going back? You know, to like, get stuff? Or to just…see it?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I mean, it would be nice to have some pictures I guess, but other than that…I don’t think I would want to.”

“So you’ve never tried it?” you ask, looking over at him.

“No,” he replies, his eyebrows raising. “Have you?”

You shake your head. “I’ve thought about it, but I don’t really have anything there.” Your thumbs hook in the straps of your backpack, your eyes staying down. “I feel like it would be too sad, you know? Like, in my mind, I feel like I would want to stay, thinking of it as my home and a place I would be safe, but I know that’s not true anymore. It would be…depressing.”

He nods, understanding. 

“Besides, I used to want to go back a lot more, but now I kinda…think of this as my new home. Everything I want is here.”

The confession slips out, the heat of the late afternoon muddling your thoughts and making you too tired to stop the words before you say them and as soon as you realize, you try to hide the vulnerability showing clear on your face by gesturing to the woods. 

It’s quiet for a moment, and you sneak a look over at him to find him looking back at you. Sunlight plays across his features, catching on the ends of his dark curls lifted in the humidity and the corner of his mouth tilts up.

“Yea,” he agrees. “Me too.”

Reaching for your hand to squeeze it, your palm sticks to his, tacky with sweat, but he still holds tight when you lace your fingers together. 

–

“Do you ever think about what people would find if they raided your house?”

His answer sounded indifferent at the time, but the thought bothered him more than he let on. It’s not so much the idea of his stuff being taken or rifled through because to be honest, he can’t even really remember what all was there. 

It’s the space being invaded by a stranger. Sarah’s room, in particular.

Someone rifling through her drawers, or sitting down on her bed. Someone taking the things he gave her - the idea of it constricts his chest, and he frowns, methodically checking the traps one at a time, wanting to get it over with before going for a swim. 

His dark curls stick to his forehead, his fingers pushing wearily through them with a scratch as he walks the perimeter of the cabin and her bedroom floats into his mind: the purple bedspread, the butterflies on the walls. The faded image is hazy around the edges and he’s not even sure he has it right, but the ache he feels is reminiscent of the one he felt briefly when you walked into the cabin the other day excited to show him something you pulled from the garden. 

Your smile and enthusiasm reminds him so much of her sometimes it hurts. 

The longer he stays here with you, the more it eats at him that he hasn’t told you about her yet. Never anything he wanted to share with anyone, he finds there is little that he doesn’t want to share with you now – save for this. 

Of this, he hasn’t spoken about in ten years. 

Of this, he still feels the weight of failure etched into his very bones. 

Of this, it still threatens to drown him some days in grief, if not for the way he’s buried it all down deep. 

Allowing himself to feel with you and slowly uncovering the pieces of himself that he had long since given up on, the burden of her memory weighs heavier on him every day that he’s here. It feels wrong that he hasn’t told you about her, as both a betrayal of her memory, but also of your trust. 

He tugs on a trap, making sure the ropes are snug in place and still thinking about you, his long buried grief and anger at someone rifling through Sarah’s room transfers to you and your things. The bookshelf next to your bed crammed with dog eared books, the plants along the windowsill in the kitchen, the stack of ten year old gossip magazines that you keep next to the couch for when you want to laugh at the trivial matters people used to care so much about. 

Your worn, cotton bedsheets decorated with delicate rosebuds. 

He wonders if your home looked anything like the spaces you’ve set up in the cabin. A cozy warmth radiating from your scattered belongings, some people might be bothered by them but he likes it. Similar to his own house once upon a time, it makes the space feel lived in; warm, inviting. 

The idea of someone finding this place and entering it, going through your things to take what they want – he knows it’s hypocritical to be upset about it, but a wave of rage pierces through his thoughts and he kneels, ignoring the call of the water to double check the trap in front of him. 

He clenches his jaw; Sarah’s bedspread and your plants lingering in his mind. 

–

“You okay?” you ask later that night, after glancing at his far away expression for the hundredth time. He’s been quiet since he got back, near silent during dinner and you can see the churning waters of his mind under the surface of his eyes. 

“Yea, I’m fine.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, and leaves it at that. 

He still seems distracted when he comes to bed, grabbing his book from the nightstand to sit propped against the headboard to read, and when you put your own book down and roll onto your side to close your eyes, he reaches to turn out the light and follows suit. He’s still for a while and then scoots closer, the warmth of his body felt from behind you as the bed dips slightly. His touch trails along the curve of your shoulder, following the length of your arm. There is no intention to it, nothing he’s initiating. A soothing, yet restless drag of his fingers along your skin and he’s wide awake, you can tell from the thrum of energy between your bodies in the dark. 

You open your eyes, rolling to face him and reaching to touch the curve of his cheek. 

“You okay?”

He takes in your face for a moment, his dark eyes drifting over your features. “I’ve been thinking about what you asked me earlier. About going back to see my old place.”

You shift, bending your arm to tuck it under your pillow. “You change your mind? You want to?”

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t want to go back because…” he stalls, letting out a breath. His jaw shifts subtly, and you wait, watching his face. 

“I had a daughter.”

The statement hangs suspended between the two of you, and not wanting to speak until you know for sure that he’s done, you stay silent.

“Her name was Sarah.” He frowns slightly when he says it out loud, like he’s in pain and his hand slips off your arm and down to rest in front of him on the bed. You follow it, placing your hand over his. “That’s who I would want a picture of.” 

“You don’t have any?”

He shakes his head slowly, his gaze unfocused. He smiles ruefully in the dark. “There was this one she kept in her room - I can still see it. The two of us, my hand over her eyes just jokin’ around and the smile on her face is –' His voice falters for a moment, and he stops, clearing his throat. The sheen of his wet eyes glimmers in the darkness. “She had a killer smile. You would’ve loved it.”

“I bet I would have,” you reply softly. 

His expression darkens, and your thumb sweeps across his skin. “I don’t think I could handle seeing her room, ya know?” 

His eyes meet yours, open and honest. “That thing you were saying earlier, about people going through your house? I know they’ve probably done it to mine and I don’t – I don’t think I could take seeing her stuff like that. Scattered, or destroyed. Rotted.”

A tear slips free, sliding through the creases lining the outside of his eye. “I wanna preserve the memory of her in that room. Sitting on her bed, listening to music or doing her homework…I don’t wanna see it empty.”

The sight of him crying makes your own vision blur, and you squeeze your hand in reassurance. 

“Of course,” you whisper. “God, of course you wouldn’t want to see that. I am so sorry I brought that up, Joel. I had no idea.”

“I don’t talk about her, so you wouldn’t know.” 

His words are quiet, yet definitive and ridden with guilt and he clears his throat, letting out a deep, shaky breath. You stroke his temple with your thumb, and he lets his eyes close, focusing on your touch. 

“How old was she, when she…” you don’t say the word, and he takes another breath, answering you.

“Fourteen.”

“How —,” you start, and then you stop yourself, giving him time to answer if he wants. He seems like he wants to, seems still agitated like there is something held inside that needs to come out and you wait, giving him time. 

“She died…the day of the outbreak. I tried to get her from the house when everything went to shit and she — she got hurt. I was carryin’ her, because she couldn’t walk and then…the soldiers that were going around in all the cities? I begged ‘em not to do it, but they shot anyway and I couldn’t –”

Another tear slips free, darkening his pillow case and he closes his eyes for a moment with a frown before opening them again. “I couldn’t do anything. Nothin’ but hold her and beg my brother to help me.” 

Realization hits you, your chest flooding with sorrow. “That’s the dream, isn’t it? When you call for Tommy.”

He nods, and you immediately reach for him, gathering him in your arms. 

He comes willingly, seeking out your embrace and the collar of your sleep shirt dampens against your skin as you stroke the crown of his hair. He’s a near silent crier, deep breaths taken in the crook of your neck as his wet eyelashes brush over your skin and he lets everything run out; his hands clutching you tightly. His arms tightening around you, you lay there and soothe him, saying nothing while your mind processes what he told you. 

You can’t imagine that type of pain. 

Not only to not only lose a child, but in that way. No wonder he was so closed off. 

The thing he loved the most - a kind of love you can’t even comprehend - violently taken from him the day the world ended and the path of the Joel Miller that came after sharpens, growing clearer in your mind. A brutal shell of a person, hardened by everything that’s happened. 

You’re still thinking about it when he lifts his head, apologizing for getting your shirt wet. 

“Hey,” you softly reprimand him, “don’t. You don’t — “ you start, and then his own words come to you. “You don’t gotta be tough here with me. I got you.”

He lifts the corner of his mouth at your impersonation of him, and you give him your own matching, small smile. 

“I mean it.” Your face slips into something more solemn, and you cup his whiskered cheek in your hand. He chases the warmth of it, leaning into your touch. “Listen to me. You didn’t do nothing, okay?”

He meets your gaze with an intensity of his own, and you keep going. 

“You said you didn’t do anything, and that’s not true, Joel. It’s not true.” He waits, and you continue in a hush. “You held her.”

His face softens, and another tear glides down his cheek. 

“You carried her and held her and even though you were scared — I can’t imagine how scared you were — you tried to protect her and then you held her. You couldn’t stop what happened and it’s not your fault, Joel. You did the best you could do.”

“It wasn’t good enough.”

Your own tears well up and slide free, your hand making sure his attention is on you. 

“It was, baby. It was.”

The endearment slips from your lips and he doesn’t question it, instead just looking at you for a moment before pushing forward to seek out your mouth with his own. You help him, pulling him in for a kiss as his plush, soft lips fit with yours, his mouth damp from his tears yet hungry for your taste and comfort.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tilting your mouth to deepen the kiss. “Tell me how to help.” Another kiss, another. “You want this? Want me?”

He nods, his nose brushing against yours and kisses you again, shifting to lay the weight of his body on top of yours. You make room for him between your thighs, your hands running down his back and the smooth, strong lines of it flex under your touch, a groan rumbling through his chest when you drag your nails lightly over his skin. 

“You’re so sweet. You taste so good,” he breathes into you between kisses, his hand reaching down to tug at the waist of your sleep shorts and you help him, pushing them down and off. Reaching between your bodies and slipping your hand under the band of his briefs, you find the hardening, warm heft of him and give him a firm couple of strokes. His hips chase your fist as he thickens in your palm and he rocks himself against you a couple times before lifting his own hips to shove them down. 

Unburdened, he gets hungrier, his hands helping yours as you tug at his shirt and then your own, the threadbare material of both tossed onto the floor. You want to feel every inch of him, pulling him down to you until he’s fit himself to your body, his skin feverishly flush against yours. His stiff cock fits along your slick seam, sliding through your folds when he rolls his hips against yours again, and again. 

“I want you,” you tell him, guiding his mouth to your own. “Let me make you feel good. I want to make you feel better.”

“You do, honey. You do.” Moving his lips to the edge of your mouth and then over the curve of your jaw, he licks along the hollow just under your ear before pressing a kiss there. “You always make me feel good. You make everything feel good.”

Your touch becomes almost frantic at his admission, the need to carve out a space for him inside your chest or merge your bodies into one or take his face into your hands and tell him until he understands just how much you would do anything for him. How much he means to you, how much you owe him. How much you want to protect him just as much as he protects you. 

He meets your urgency, his hands bracing themselves on the bed around your shoulders before he reaches down to line himself up, and you whine into his mouth when he notches himself against the dip of your entrance and slides in, filling you full. 

He breaks the kiss, his hips already starting a weighted rock. “Fuck, honey. Fuck.”

“Oh my God.” He usually gives you more time than this to get ready for him, usually uses his fingers and his tongue, and a tight fit, your jaw clenches as he makes room for himself, burying deep. “Joel.”

His mouth covers yours with a groan, drinking down the whimpers you let out with every push of his hips forward and you swallow every one of his, every grunt, every push of hot, humid air onto your tongue. His bicep strains under your knee when he hooks his arm under your leg to pull it up, first one and then the other, and he’s got you spread so wide underneath him between his deep thrusts and his solid body that you cry out for him, digging your nails into his hips for purchase. 

“You’re gonna make me come quick, honey. So quick –” he pants, his hips pounding into the cradle of your thighs. “And I don’t even care because you feel so fuckin’ good. So good.”

“Do it,” you encourage him, the words sliding into a moan. “I want it. I want you to come inside.”

“Yea?” he asks, his hand wrapping around your calve to tug your leg higher, resting it over his thick shoulder. Turning his head to the side, he presses a lingering kiss there, his breath washing over your skin and your mouth drops open at how deep he is. “You want it inside?”

“Please. Please,” you chant, helping him guide your other leg to rest on his shoulder and when he lets the weight of his body push you deeper into the mattress, you’re near bent in half, taking everything he needs to give. It’s a lot – too much, you’re going to feel it tomorrow – but you don’t care. 

“I’m gonna – I gotta do it harder, honey, because I’m –” he spits out the words, groaning midway through when he feels you start to clamp down around him. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight. So tight for me.”

“I’m gonna come, Joel,” you whine, the heat building between your hips flooding through your limbs and up through your breasts, where they press against his chest. Sweat glides between your bodies, and he moans louder at your admission, almost a growl of victory. “Make me come, I’m so close.”

The two of you move with single minded intensity; one of his hands fitting between your tailbone and the mattress to hit the angle just right, and your hips pushing up to meet his every punishing, weighted stroke down. 

He’s so thick, and filling, and heavy, your cunt so slick as he pushes in again, and again, and again, his mouth open in a pant above you with your knees almost at your shoulders and when you come with a sob, he buries himself deeper than he ever has with a weighted grind and does the same. 

The soft give of his belly jumps against yours, his throat stretched taut as he works in every last drop and when he finally relaxes over you, he’s gentle in his movements. His hands help your legs down – first one, then the other - and his mouth finds yours, giving you a kiss. Your legs find a home in a wind around his waist, your hold guiding him to lay on your chest and even though you could have killed for a fan earlier and still could, you keep him there. 

You nose along his sweat damp hairline, pressing a kiss on his slick temple and content, the two of you lay in silence; the only sound your shared, heavy breathing. 

His body melts on top of you, all taut agitation in his limbs gone as he pushes his arms underneath your back to hold you tight and you know he’s slipping into sleep by the way his breathing evens and slows under your palms. 

He’s still snug inside you, but you make no effort to move him. 

“Thank you for telling me about her,” you whisper to him, your fingers carding through his dark, unruly curls shot through with gray but you’re met with silence. 

Unburdened, he’s already fast asleep.

[password-door-lock]

“I don’t want to be away from you,” you sob, tensing under Saeran’s gentle touch as he reaches out to rub your arm. 

“You won’t be,” he assures you, voice thickening with emotion even as he does his best to maintain a calm tone. “Not really.” 

He pulls you close. You’re turned away from him, which is strange— normally, he’s the little spoon. That only makes you feel guilty, of course— Saeran came here to rescue you because you were lured into a trap, and now, here he is, chained to the wall, laying on the floor, and inexplicably comforting you. “Please think again,” you urge, trying to twist around and look at Saeran. “There has to be another way. I’ll come back for you, I promise. I’m— I’m not leaving you.” But even as you say it, you know exactly what his response is going to be. As devastated as you are, your judgment isn’t clouded enough to convince you that Saeran is going to change his mind. He's already made his decision, after all.

“You won’t have time,” Saeran reminds you. He plants a soft kiss behind your ear. “You and Saeyoung have to finish this. I’m less important.” It hurts your heart to think that he actually believes that— in your opinion, Saeran’s safety is more of a priority than the security of a thousand worlds or whatever justice might be done against a million exploitative agencies and a billion corrupt Prime Ministers. 

“I’m not leaving you,” you repeat, perhaps a bit petulantly. It feels wrong to just go along with what he’s telling you, regardless of the stakes. 

“No,” Saeran agrees, “Of course not. Your heart will always be with me. And mine will stay with you, too, hm? Even if I’m not here, you’ll always be able to hold onto my love deep inside. That’s my promise to you, my love. Whenever you need me, I’ll always be there.” 

You grab his hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze. You still refuse to believe that you’re actually leaving Saeran— of course, you’ll go along with his plan until you know for sure that Saeyoung is safe. You know that Vanderwood will probably need help getting Saeyoung out of here in his condition, and Saeran is absolutely correct that Rika’s plans will all fall through if she isn’t able to produce both twins. But that doesn’t mean that you have any serious intention of leaving Saeran in this place. Though you lack the information and the mental clarity to make any kind of concrete plan, you can be certain that this will not be the last day that you spend with him. “I love you,” you breathe. 

“Mmm,” Saeran hums. “I love you, too. I’ll always love you, my MC. My angel, my miracle. Even if our bodies won’t be together in the same place, and even if I never get to hear your voice again, I’ll stay with you all the time. Even if my existence ends… I’ll be by your side until the end of the world.” 

You sniffle. He’s wrong. He has to be wrong— you will do everything in your power to see to it that his existence does not end, that you and he stay physically together for as long as the universe will allow it. You refuse to let some selfish couple, a team of phony hackers, and a disgraced politician tear you and Saeran apart. But either way, you need him to know that you love him just as much as he loves you. “But even when the world ends, we’ll still be together in our hearts,” you promise, “I’ll keep holding onto you as long as I can, and then after that, as long as I exist, as long as I have thoughts in my head, I’ll be loving you. No matter what happens, no matter what those bastards take from us, they won’t ever be able to stop us from loving each other, you know? When the world ends and there’s nothing left but empty space, when we go back to the stars that we came from, the space dust that is me will still try its best to drift beside the space dust that is you. I mean it, Saeran. I’m not giving up on you.” You’re beginning to ramble a bit now, but hopefully you got your message across. 

“I don’t think the world is ending any time soon,” Saeran replies, “You’ll get to live a long life full of fun experiences— you won't be giving up on me if you let yourself have fun. I’ll be happy knowing you got to live on ordinary life, free from all the trouble that I've caused you. But I’ll look forward to living in the stars together, my love. You can tell me all about everything that happened since the last time that we met.”

“Saeran, baby,” you address him over your shoulder, “I will never, ever make you wait that long.” You refuse to allow the universe to separate you from this man.

He laughs, squeezes your hand and pulls you impossibly close. “I want to savor this moment with you. I’ll cherish it in my mind for as long as I can.” You can hear the tears in his voice, the passion with which he says those words. You can feel his love in the way he holds you, in the tender feeling of his skin against your own.

“We’ll make new memories,” you assure him, “Better ones, where we’re safe and free— even as space dust.” But as you said— you will never, ever make him wait that long. 

[tu-sugar-mami]

It has always been you #8

Part #7 here

Part #1 here

TW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, ANGST

Total words: around 2k, but only the half is here.

_________________________________________

When you were younger you owned an instant camera. It had been one of your birthday presents, and at the time you loved capturing a vast diversity of scenes. The low quality of the camera always made the images look different, foreign from whatever place you had tried to capture. The grain texture made the image look cold and lonely, usually so different from what you were trying to get from the scene. The photos did their job keeping the scenes frozen in time for you to revisit them as many times as you wanted, but the more you looked, the more they felt lacking, almost as if the soul had been ripped entirely from the essence of the scene in the picture.

That is exactly how it feels standing again in the middle of Donna's bedroom when you return to the Beneviento estate.

The pale light coming from the windows makes the dust particles in the air perfectly visible, and it's even quieter than before. There's a stillness that feels heavy, and the lack of noise unsettles you.

Chips warned you to not force yourself, and forbid you to leave the bed for at least a month, but even their genius wasn't match for your reckless nature. You couldn't stand waiting for your body to recover, not after reading the words Donna left for you, and with your cunning and charm you managed to bypass the security of their lab looking for a serum you both had researched before. It was a small vial, but powerful enough to boost you for a few hours, although there was a reason it was never used…

You weren't thinking of the consequences when you stabbed your arm with the syringe, but you didn't regret it as the liquid began to burn in your veins.

There wasn't a single sign of Donna, and you hoped she was somewhere nearby, but as you recalled the words on the letter, you resisted the urge to call out her name, opting instead for watching your step carefully.

You need to see her, you need to know she is okay. There's a bubbling fire inside you that threatens to tear apart the world in her search, the burn in your veins is still hot, and you quicken your pace.

Your heart still hurts from her detachment, and since she already knows about your feelings, you know the end is just around the corner. Her response to your feelings wasn't an outright rejection, but avoidance was also painful. You know that there's nothing else you can do but to try and see her one last time. You'll die happy if you see the angelic face of your beloved as the flame of your life slowly extinguishes, but for now, you need to make sure the threat she mentioned in her letter is over.

A little exploration around the house ends up in you finding dark red streaks on the walls, almost as if someone was leaning on them for support. The sight tickles something in your brain, and it's then that you remember the recurrent dream you had all that time ago. The memory of the blurry figure desperately running away strikes you and your eyes widen. Could it be? Could that dream have been a premonition of sorts? Was it Donna all along?

Seeing the blood trail on the walls makes your stomach churn. Your heart has already been racing thanks to the drug in your system, but its pace becomes even faster when you follow the dried blood the rest of the way until you spot the familiar figure laying still on the floor in the living room. The puddle around it it's concerning and in a blink you're running towards it.

Your knees barely register the force of the impact as you kneel harshly next to Donna, or more like next to her body. Angie is nowhere to be seen, but right now your priority is the Lady in front of you.

Some parts of her have begun to crumble, and her veil has lifted enough to let you see the emptiness in her eye, the dullness of it as she seems to stare at nothing. There's drying blood trailing across her face from her temple and a pair of scissors is carelessly thrown next to her with blood painting the blades.

"Donna…?" Your voice is cracked with incredulity at first, you try not to panic but the sight is too much. The blurriness in your gaze doesn't go away even after blinking your tears because more of them keep replacing the last ones. "Donna!" There's a ringing in your ears that muffles your yelling as you shake Donna by the shoulders, but to no avail as her limp body doesn't seem to react.

The scene in front of you looks like it's pulled from your worst nightmares, and the pounding of your heart against your chest makes it harder to concentrate on anything but the lifeless form of Donna's body, the love of your life gone in just a second.

"Donna please wake up! Please!" You shift her until her weight rests on your lap. Your arms hold her securely, and her head is tucked under your chin. You rock back and forth in an attempt to calm yourself, and the movement makes Donna's forehead bump against your neck, the clashing of her coldness against your own skin makes you shiver. The way her name leaves your lips in an agonizing shriek hurts your throat, but it doesn't matter.

Without stopping your back and forth rocking, your hand finds its way towards her face, gently tucking her dark strands away from her eye before kissing her unharmed temple. Another kiss, and another one after it, perhaps in hopes that they help you bring back your beloved.

You can read the rest of the chapter in Ao3

[pxppinmolly-archived]

[pxppinmolly-archived]

@stripesncigs @slxrpindust

Just got this gem from my brother’s girlfriend

[falcqns]

my little flower

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x mom!reader

summary: bucky’s daughter turns one.

warnings: angst, and fluff. probably canon errors but i don’t have the comics on hand sorryyyyy

a/n: just me expressing emotion through mr boobky boobernoobs. also the little letter the reader has written is what i have written for my daughters birthday. LASTLY i know i have a story for Henry Cavill and his daughters name is lavender and i was gonna change it but then it wouldn’t make sense so i just kept it yk. anyways, hope you enjoy.

Bucky glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

he was alternating between looking at the clock, his phone, and his sleeping daughter.

she turned one tomorrow, and he had no clue what to write. there were so many things he wanted to say, but he knew he had limited space on instagram captions to do so.

he wasn’t into instagram too much, but some how Sam and Wanda had convinced him to post for his daughters birthday. he had a few other pictures of you and her, and one or two of him on there already.

posting those seemed so easy for him. he took the picture, thought of a caption pre war Bucky would use, and hit post.

but when it came to his daughters birthday? the 106 year old was clueless.

he had asked you for advice, and you had just told him to remember what it felt the first time he held her, which was not helpful, because the first thing he felt was fear.

then, an overwhelming and crushing sense of love. like everything made sense. everything was clearer, because of the tiny little baby in his arms. he was terrified. more scared than he was when he was hanging on to that train for dear life, hoping he could just reach Steve’s hand. more scared than when he knew his memories of Steve and Rebecca and everyone in his past was fading due to Zola and Hydra.

a million times more scared than when he watched himself dust away in that beautiful Wakandan forest.

he was scared, but at the same time, he felt so safe. it was the same kind of safe he felt with you, but more intense. he knew that the little girl he was holding would never judge him for his past. all she would do is love him, love her Tătic.

Tătic. he had heard a Romanian child say it when he was seeking refuge in Bucharest, and he knew that’s what he wanted to be called. not dad, daddy, dada, papa, or any other versions of father. he wanted Tătic.

he felt safe, at home even, in Bucharest. yes, his apartment was rather shitty, but it was his. he had something materialistic and tangible that was fully his, after not having anything, not even his own body, to himself for over 50 years.

Bucky refocused his eyes on his phone, and decided to glance at what you had posted. he sighed as he realized that it was absolutely beautiful, and that nothing he could do would top it.

it was a video of all the firsts that Bucky had insisted on recording. he remembered sitting in his bed, in Bucharest, a few weeks after getting there. he had been thinking about Rebecca, and suddenly, a memory of her first steps came to him. he saw her little chubby body wobble before she took her first steps into their mother’s waiting arms. Bucky knew he couldn’t have been too old, but immediately started sobbing when he realized he’d never get to relive that moment. he didn’t stop sobbing for a good few hours. out of happiness, sadness, regret, he didn’t know. he had scrambled to grab a journal and wrote down every detail of that moment, before stuffing it in his go bag.

reliving it wasn’t something he’d ever thought about before, in 1945. there weren’t affordable video cameras, and there was no way to store them forever. so when Lavender came along, he insisted that every little first be recorded so he could relive it over and over again.

he watched as she took her first breath, rolled for the first time, crawled for the first time, said her first word (it was ‘plum’) and walked for the first time.

his eyes drifted down to the paragraph, and focused on reading the words.

‘lavender.

your name represents purity, silence, devotion, calmness, serenity, and grace. i gave you this name because i know you will represent all of those things. i named you after Lavender Brown from Harry Potter. Lavender was a beautiful, strong, and amazing character. she showered Ron with love, and adoration, which is all i have felt this past year of being your mama. you remind me of Lavender in so many ways. from the smiles i get to see in the morning, to the cuddles i get at night, to the way you, just this week, saw another child crying in daycare and went and offered your toy up without a second thought. you then hobbled away, and found a new toy. you never came to me to show you what you did, you never took another child’s toy now that yours was gone, you just did it. that is something Lavender did. Lavender gave everything to Ron without a second thought. she may not have been appreciated, but i will appreciate you and all of the little things that you do to help others, even at just a year old. you bring light and love to whoever is near you. you love with your whole being, which i adore. you’re only one, but you put your hands in the air and sing (babble, really) along to every single praise song, you dance, you sit quietly during prayer, and most importantly you love God with everything in your tiny little body. from the moment the nurses laid your even tinier body on my chest, it was just you, me, and your father. i had dreamed of that moment for years, but nothing compared to it. one year ago today, you were placed on my chest, a screaming red little bundle, and you instantly calmed down. i remember looking down at you and being so happy that i finally had my little girl. i remember thinking “God really sent me an angel in the form of a baby,” which is EXACTLY what he did. you are my sweet baby girl, and always will be. i will love and. adore you for the rest of my life. my sweetie pie, my Laffy Taffy, my love. my little flower, Lavender. happy birthday.’

how could he follow that?

he took another glance at the crib that sat at the end of the bed, and watched as his daughter sighed, and pushed her diapered butt up in the air before continuing to snooze.

he looked down at his phone, and decided to just follow his heart. let the words flow. it didn’t matter if it made sense, but he wanted the world to know just how much he loved her.

he took a deep breath, and began to type.

‘lavender rebecca barnes.

there are so many words that i could use to describe how wonderful, sweet, kind, adorable, and gracious you are, but even all of those could never fully express how much i love you, and how much you mean to me.

when your mom told me about you, i was terrified. i have done so many bad things in my life, why was God rewarding me with a tiny little human? i spent so many nights praying to God that i would never hurt you. that you would never see me as the world does. that you would never judge me for the things that i did.

but i didn’t have to worry. the second i saw your little face, all of those stresses and anxieties melted away. as i held you, i realized that you were mine. fully mine. having something of my own is something that i was deprived of for many years, and one day you will learn about that.

when i held you for the first time, i was petrified. you were tiny. the smallest, but most real thing i had ever held. you didn’t cry, you just gazed up at me. almost as if you knew i was your Tătic. that you knew i was your father.

your mother tells me that when babies are born, they don’t understand the grasp of ‘mother and father’, they more recognize who is a safe caregiver and who isn’t.

you, without a hesitation, recognized me as a safe caregiver, and have stood by that every one of these last 365 you have graced me, your mother, and everyone around you with your presence.

it has been a pleasure to watch you grow, and as much as it makes me sad knowing that one day you’ll know the truth about me, i know you won’t judge me. i know you will love me for me. the man who created you, who helped give you life.

you are such a special little girl, and i can only hope to show you just how special you are for the rest of my life.

i love you, lavender rebecca barnes.’

his thumb shook as it hovered over the post button, but he pressed it anyways. the screen brought up a loading symbol for less than a second, and then the post was there.

he shut off his phone, and placed it on the charger next to him, before getting up and walking to the crib.

he lifted her out, and laid her on his chest, before walking back to the bed and sitting down carefully. he gazed down at his daughter, a fact that still blew his mind, as she slept so soundly, even with the coolness of the metal arm probably seeping through the fabric of her white kitty cat onesie.

he glanced over at the clock, and didn’t stop the tear that rolled down his face when it hit 12:00.

“happy birthday, my little flower.”

[actual-changeling]

hiiiiii @nightgoodomens i read this post and then immediately started typing and this is the result. either sorry or you're welcome. or both. :)

-

Crowley's first instinct is to wrench his arm from Aziraphale's grasp, but his hold on him tightens ever so slightly as if sensing his intentions, so he stays put—for now.

Still, anger rises in his chest like a tidal wave, hot and desperate and tainted by nothing lasts forever and i forgive you. They haven't talked about it yet, and he refuses to when the outcome of that argument could very well mean extinction, not just for the two of them but for the world. He built walls in his mind, keeping out shimmering purple eyes and familiar lips, and stopped breathing so he could pretend Aziraphale didn't smell all wrong.

The reason stretching throughout their foundations turns into vines, forcing them apart stone by stone when he meets his gaze.

"How about we come up with a plan where you don't risk destruction, please?"

Crowley's smile is a mask of bitter disappointment; the slant of his mouth is sharp, almost cruel.

"What do you care?"

"Of course I care," Aziraphale shoots back immediately, his fingers digging into his arm forcefully enough that he can practically taste the bruises forming beneath them.

"You were more than happy to deliver me to heaven all tied up and with a bow on my head, Arseangel Aziraphale. You would have had to find someone to scrape my sorry fucking remains off their pristine floors five minutes later."

A tingling numbness spreads up to his shoulder, pins and needles reminding him that this corporation is starting to get tired of being restrained, but Crowley is too focused on the insulted rage distorting the angel's face. He steps closer, forcing him to look up at him, and he takes minute satisfaction in the heavy swallow running down his throat.

"They wouldn't-"

"Oh, they wouldn't, really? They have already done it once, and now they're planning on ending us all. None of them would know mercy if it hit them in their perfect bloody faces."

Uncaring for the increase in his volume, Crowley mockingly raises an eyebrow, challenging him to disagree, to defend heaven like he has done time and time again, to finally let go of him and let him stomp off to his destruction; this time, he is either going to win or go out on his own terms.

When Aziraphale doesn't respond, his lashes fluttering and his mouth opening and closing several times without expelling a single sound or breath, he channels six thousand years of suppressed frustration and angry humiliation and rips his arm out of his grasp.

"There is no 'we', Aziraphale. There is your side, there is earth, and then there's me."

He remembers the hundred times Aziraphale denied knowing him, called him a demon, his adversary, denounced their friendship and arrangement, and ground their partnership to dust under his heels like a dried-out bug on the verge of death.

Friends, we're not friends.

For a moment, Crowley wants to ask if any of it had been real, but he knows it was—that's why it hurts.

That's why he can't let it go.

The pain as the blood in his arm begins to flow unhindered again is nothing compared to the gaping wound scratching itself open in his chest, forcing him to swallow salted iron and sickly sweet love. He has been wearing his shades every single second they spent together after his return, but he takes them off now, biting back a taunting sneer, biting back tears.

Purple meets gold, the summer-sky blue is long gone, and it helps him deliver the last blow without flinching.

"Nothing lasts forever, right? Good luck with your armageddon."

Crowley does not wait to see the hurt spreading across his face and pretends he doesn't hear the punched-out gasp or the beginnings of a sob.

Instead, he slides his glasses back into place and walks away; the universe will finally grant him rest one way or another.

-

tag list under the cut (tell me if you want to be added/removed)

@ineffabledeathtoallmetatrons @ineffablymanic @violet-prism-creativelycreatively @wraithee @underlined-in-spirit @acheemient @queer4cryptids @aroaceblackhole @six-of-snakes @im-the-son-of-rage-and-lov3 @adverbian @oboextra @demonic-mnemonic @eybefioro

[atsuminthe]

— SYNOPSIS: many things in life are unexpected. being the soulmate of a world-class volleyball ace—who coincidentally is a married man with a child—is definitely one of them. and as unexpected as they are, things don’t always go according to plan.

— INCLUDES: NICOLAS ROMERO, rubens romero, romero’s unnamed (ex-)wife

— WORD COUNT: 2.3k

— WARNINGS: fem!reader (it’s in the masterpost but i’ll put it here as well), smut so minors dni, thigh riding, praise, portuguese pet names (my love, angel, ‘my heart’), mentions of alcohol, irregular eating patterns, stress-induced pain, implied emotional attachment/abandonment issues (for rubens)

— MASTERPOST

— NOTES: no beta as always, we die like men. i hope this is good bc i wrote it in like one go, rapid fire

— TAGLIST (OPEN): @gwiezdny--plomien ; @laineeey00 ; @itachiyama ; @my-reality-is-in-my-head ; @nakizumie ; @kirakirasaku ; @espressons ; @randomdaisygirlie ; @jojowantstocry ; @roanniee ;

04. TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS

    the apartment in santa teresa is spacious—a lot bigger than the one in ipanema, you note. it’s probably because, from what you’ve gathered over the months you’ve worked for the romeros, nicolas comes from a big family with lots of siblings. the apartment is cozy—it has the feeling of ‘home’ all around it, wherever you look—with honey yellow walls and big windows, with potted plants and framed paintings (vintage and obviously made by children alike), with fluffy towels and a checkered cloth on the kitchen table. rubens cheerfully lets go of your hand, turning around slightly to tell you and his father that he’s off exploring, and nicolas smiles, nodding towards him as a silent ‘don’t get into too much trouble’.

    with the child humming around the apartment as he opens doors and climbs chairs, you dust off the kitchen, surprised that it’s intact and in decent condition.

    “i come here from time to time,” nicolas clarifies, already seated on the old, squeaky couch. “to cool off, to contemplate, to get away from the steam at home. sometimes it’s just because i’m nostalgic.” he sighs, reclining in his seat. his fingers trace the red and white squares, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. “keeping this place tidy—or trying to—feels like honoring my parents.”

    you smile, looking through the cabinets as he explains. “it is tidy. you haven’t seen our place—mine, hinata’s and pedro’s, i mean. you’d be shocked. it looks like a pig pen.” he lets out a quiet chuckle, allowing you to explore in your own way. a thump in another room and a little ‘i’m fine!’ makes both of your heads snap in said direction, only to let out a laugh as rubens emerges from the living room, a little dusty, but with a worn out teddy bear in his arms.

    “papai, look what i found!” he beams, holding the bear in front of him. it looks old, tearing at the seams and one of its bead eyes is missing—but is certainly well-loved, if romero’s wide eyes and wobbly smile are anything to take after. he leans forward, motioning his son to come closer. he dusts off the stuffed animal, as softly as he can without tearing it apart completely. he lets out a quiet huff, taking a deep breath.

    “i never thought i’d see this old thing ever again.”

    rubens watches with big, round eyes as his father traces the fragile fabric. you sit down next to him, chin in your hands, as you inspect the bear together.

    “i could stitch him a little,” you suggest, smiling when the boy perks up. “and we can surely perform a little surgery for his eye. then we can wash him.” nicolas snorts, but doesn’t oppose the idea as he sets it on the table.

     “i used to sleep with this guy every night. he was the most ragtag thing i had, but i refused to let go of it,” he chuckles, reminiscing about his childhood. “until one of my younger siblings lost it while i was at school. where did you find it?”

    “it was under some knick knacks in one of the back rooms,” he answers, excited. “what will you do with it, papai?”

    nicolas hums, deep in thought, as he watches you look at the little boy. he makes grabby hands and you pick him up, holding him on your lap, your arms wrapped around his smaller form as he snuggles into your chest. “i think i’ll give it to someone very special.” rubens perks up again, a big smile on his lips—it’s contagious, the way nicolas smiles as well, showing his pearly whites and making your heart flutter. with a nod, he lets the teddy bear rest on the table. “i should go back. i’m surprised my phone hasn’t blown up by now.” his son pouts, clearly displeased with the turn of events as his father sits up, stretching his arms and back to ease the tension in his muscles—he gasps, offended, when he feels you tense and hiss a little.

    “papai! you’re hurting her!” he exclaims and nicolas whips his head in your direction, eyes full of worry.

    “ah—i’m sorry—”

    you giggle, holding rubens close to your chest. “don’t worry, it’s probably from the sudden movement and your dad’s muscles are still a little stiff. i’m fine,” you chirp, more to reassure rubens than anything. “we’ll see you soon.”

    the fond smile blooming on nicolas’ face makes your cheeks flush, butterflies swirling in your tummy as he leans down to, what you assume, give his son a bunny kiss—instead, you almost gasp when his nose touches yours in that manner. your lips curl into a wide smile, followed by a giggle, as you indulge in his antics. rubens whines that he wants a kiss as well, not relenting until both you and his father give in, loud smooching noises filling the empty apartment—the first happy memory of you three, ingrained into the honey yellow walls and red and white checkered tablecloth.

    “i’ll be back before you know it,” nicolas breathes against his son’s cheek. that’s a promise he intends to keep.

    it’s been two weeks since nicolas last passed by, busy with the divorce trial and the fight for custody. whenever rubens asks about him, you sigh, not really wanting to tell him what’s going on. so you make excuses, most of the time. they’re wobbly, at best, but they seem to satiate the child’s curiosity about his father’s whereabouts.

    after all, it doesn’t concern him, nor does it concern you.

    except during those late nights when you can feel the sting of alcohol down your throat—the heaviness on your chest that doesn’t let you breathe—the wrist cramps from writing or typing too much—the stomach aches from irregular eating—the pins and needles piercing your heart when the stress is too much for him. you wish you could do something to alleviate all the pain he’s going through.

    after tucking rubens to sleep in the old bedroom, the gentle glow of his star lamp illuminating his face, making him look like the little angel he is. he tries his hardest to behave—he realizes this is a delicate situation, so he’s doing his best to lessen the burden on your and his father’s shoulders. your fingers trace his little cheek, smiling when he nuzzles into your palm. you let him sleep, making your way to the kitchen to wash the dishes from dinner. rubens suggested that you cook together, which resulted in some very interesting sauce and filling combinations for the lasagna you initially planned. the remaining slice of lasagna, quite a big chunk, sits neatly on a plate on the counter. even if you know nicolas won’t come until him and his soon to be ex-wife are done with their trial, you still make sure to keep something for him—maybe he’s hungry. maybe he’ll swing by after you fall asleep and eat his portion.

    you sit down after the dishes are clean, crossing your arms over the table and letting your chin rest on them. it’s another quiet night in santa teresa, the wind chimes on the balcony gently swaying in the breeze as you look at the open door, wishing it was the front one, and nicolas would come through it. so you could let out the heavy feeling in your chest, so you could release the little whisper you’ve been repeating for the past few days—breathy moans of his name and ‘i love you’s whenever your fingers danced over your puffy clit, pussy aching for some sort of relief. you hum, closing your eyes—the humming slowly turns into you gently singing a tune you’ve heard recently on the radio while shopping for school supplies (rubens lost two of his pens and somehow ripped his backpack), tapping your fingers against the wood of the table.

    the night is cold.

    two warm arms wrap around you from behind, a chin gently resting on your shoulder. you know it’s him from his cologne—strong, masculine, yet somehow soft and welcoming—and the familiar tickle of his bearded cheek. you unconsciously snuggle back into him and his arms tighten their hold in your body. nicolas doesn’t say anything, nor do you. neither of you needs to. his forehead falls on your shoulder, replacing his chin, and you raise your hand to run your fingers through his soft hair.

    “i missed you.”

    his voice is raspy, scratchy even. it sounds strained. you turn around in his embrace, tapping his cheek so he can sit down in your place and you climb in his lap, silently hugging him to your chest as he sighs. his eyes are closed, relishing in the comfort you provide him with, and his heart clenches painfully in his chest at the thought of you feeling everything that’s troubled him for the past two weeks.

    “i missed you too.”

    yours is merely a whisper, fingers gently massaging his scalp. your heart thumps calmly against his cheek.

    “i’m sorry it hurts.”

    “it’s fine. i’m glad you’re here.”

    your hearts beat together, for each other.

    his lips press against your collarbone—it’s a sign of appreciation. a silent ‘thank you for everything you’ve done until now’. your hand cradles the back of his head, pressing it as close to your chest as possible. his arms never loosen their grip in your frame.

    it’s a tender moment. time doesn’t seem to flow, nor does it seem to stop. it slows down and accelerates, all at once.

    it comes down to a halt when your palms hold his face tilted upwards, your eyes warm and your lips parted.

    you don’t know who initiated the kiss, but you don’t seem to care as you melt against each other. it’s the one thing that’s been always missing—the puzzle piece you thought disappeared forever.

    it’s hot and dizzying, his tongue licking your lips before pushing slowly past them—he’s giving you time, the opportunity to pull back and pretend this never happened. instead, you press further into him, a silent moan escaping your parted lips. you adjust your position in his lap until his thigh slots between yours—you let out a breathless groan at the delicious friction as he flexes his muscles, hands still cupping his face as you bring him closer, closer, until there’s no space between you. your heartbeat is erratic, head swimming with pleasure as you gasp into his mouth.

    “fuck—nicolas—”

    “relax for me, anjo.”

    it’s a simple sentence, but the way he said it, his voice low and gravelly—a subtle display of dominance—makes you keen and curl into him, thighs beginning to tremble with arousal. he knows what you want. he’ll give it to you—you’ve waited long enough. his hands rest on your hips, holding you firmly and guiding you up so you can discard your shorts and panties to the floor, relishing in your quiet moan when your bare cunt makes contact with his thigh, staining his pants with your slick. he can’t help but groan at the sight and the sensation.

    “take it slow, amor.”

    the pet name makes your heart race and back arch slightly, breath coming out in puffs, as you continue grinding your hips on his leg. you moan wantonly each time your clit catches on the tense muscles of nicolas’ leg and it takes all of his willpower not to bend you over the table and make you scream his name—but he behaves. it’s late, both of you are probably tired enough as it is and rubens is finally sleeping peacefully, after days where he refused to unless he heard his father’s voice. so he lets you take all he can offer for now, his next kiss a promise of more in the future as he swallows your moans and gasps of pleasure. his fingers dig into the flesh of your ass and thighs as you rock your hips harder and faster—how he wishes it was his his cock you rode like that, not his thigh—smiling against your lips when he feels you tremble from the pleasure.

    “are you going to cum, coração?” all you let out is a broke whimper, clearly too out of it to form coherent sentences. “such a good little one. cum on my thigh, querida—let go for me.”

    his words only spur you on and in a matter of seconds your pussy clenches around nothing, gushing all over his thigh as your hips slowly stop their rocking motion. you’re shivering from the intense orgasm, clinging onto him for dear life, chest heaving with each breath. your brain is fuzzy, still clouded with a bit of lust, but when you look up at him he can see adoration swirling in your eyes.

    “i love you, nico—tell me you love me, too…”

    it’s hushed, as if you don’t want the world to hear your little confession, and he wonders if you mean it. then he remembers you just shamelessly rode his thigh—added with the clockwork texts asking him about his day, if he’s eaten or if he needs you to bring him anything, the attention you’ve put into caring not only for his son, but for him (and, somehow, for his soon-to-be ex-wife) as well—and he realizes that the tightness in his chest whenever he sees you might be the actual fire he’s been looking for all those years.

    if his relationship with his wife started like a firework—bound to die quickly, fizzling out like a pale flame—then yours resembled the slow burn of logs in a fireplace—warm, cozy, comfortable.

    meant to live. to thrive and survive, in spite of everything around you.

    with a gentle smile, his arms wrapping tightly around your body and pressing you to his chest, a soft kiss to your head and a content sigh, he whispers back, “i love you too, meu amor.”

    the fire continues to burn—slowly, gently, warming you both up in spite of the cold air of the night.

[heliads]

Over the Edge

Based on this request: “One shot of reader getting shot and hides from everybody including Wanda. She ignores it and continues to fight sword agents. At the end reader faint due to the injuries she has and Wanda take him and goes to the cabin where she cries.”

masterlist

You feel as if you’re standing on a precipice. One push, one shove, and you’ll be falling down, beyond the reach of anyone save a dark-winged angel.

You’ve always known that there will come a moment in time when your life will end. An injury, a sickness. A battle, maybe. You could sense that something would stop you from living life until the last- old age may be a guarantee to some, but to you, it was a privilege that you would never attain. No, you would die a moment too soon, a time before all others.

You had a certain affinity for seeing into the future. Your gift was frustratingly vague, always coming when you least wanted or expected it and never showing the final result. Your death was one of the first things you had ever seen. It was fitting, in a way: your birth of power was used to show how you would die. You would be alone, maybe. Whatever it was, it would be before you got the chance to grow old.

Ever since you’d gotten that first vision, witnessed the horrible sensation of something utterly wrong happening to snuff out your last breath, it was as if you’d been haunted by the promise of what would happen. You always checked behind you for someone watching your back, for an attacker or accident that could fulfill your vision. For a while, you were safe in the knowledge that your death wouldn’t be coming for a while as you had visions involving a future you, but you have no idea when those would run out, spelling the end for you.

The Avengers had come for you after the rumors spread. They always seemed to show up for cases like yours, cropping up like flies before the bodies can rot on a battlefield. This time, you’d predicted something too well: an attack on S.H.I.E.L.D. in the form of a HYDRA mole. You had seen the entire organization crumble as friend turned on friend, and no one had believed you.

Your family and friends had laughed. HYDRA? Shield? Girl, you’re stuck in fairy tales and ghost stories. Then it happened, the Triskelion falling flame to fiery explosions. Suddenly, your freak hallucinations weren’t quite so funny after all.

Representatives of the Avengers had shown up after that. No one knows about S.H.I.E.L.D. until after they come, that’s the way it always is. Yet you had known, and you would have to explain it all. You were sure that they would kill you for knowing, and that’s how your abrupt death would begin. However, you weren’t to be granted that reprieve of life just yet- when they offered a gun, it wasn’t a barrel pointed at you but a handle offered to you. A job, not a death sentence.

You took it. Of course you did. There is no way to politely turn down an organization with that much power, with that many members willing and able to dole out death like a greeting card. You had agreed, taking the job, and flowing along with the tide wherever it took you. No matter where you went, though, no matter how many prophecies you made, you always kept returning to the precipice. Somewhere, somehow, you would die. Did anything before that really matter?

The knowledge haunts you. It is hard to avoid. You might have saved yourself from certain death by taking up the Avengers’ offer, but by starting down that line of work, you might have damned yourself even more. Death threats and violent confrontations were a cup of coffee in the mornings with the Avengers, and by involving yourself with them, you increased the amount of times you could die. Sometimes, you wished you had never spoken those words allowed, never made the prophecy so they wouldn’t have found you.

Then you met Wanda Maximoff, and that was when you realized it might have all been worthwhile after all. She was like you- fleeing death, doing her best to do it on her own times. She practically sang with the tune of the dying, of her city and parents and brother. People tended to avoid you, afraid that you would see their end and they’d have to live with it just like you. Wanda, on the other hand, was not afraid. She’d seen enough death to know that you were no harbinger, just a Cassandra born to speak aloud. Why fear the speaker if you’ve seen enough of the stories?

The two of you stayed together. She woke up screaming on nights when the air was cold and the sights reminded her of all the damage she’d lived through. You didn’t want to speak for days at a time, when you’d had another vision and were horrified by what would come to be. No matter what happened to either of you, you’d always be by each other’s side.

It was good for a time. Maybe too good. Maybe you should have known then, that nothing in this world ever stays good for too long. You’d seen enough stories fracture to never place any trust in hope. Yet when you had that vision, seen the Infinity Stones brought together under Thanos’ watch, it had still torn you utterly apart.

You had told the Avengers, been the first call to muster the forces and prepare for war. It didn’t do much in the end. They still fought, bled, and died. Thanos snapped his fingers, and you were one of the first ones to go. Wanda had reached out to you just before you went. She was just a hair too far away. Her outstretched hand was too slow to reach you before you turned to ash and dust. In your last moments, you weren’t afraid at all. You had known it all along, hadn’t you? One last step off the precipice. You had seen it coming for years.

You had expected that to be it, that Thanos’ snap and your resulting death fulfilled your very first prophecy. However, your eyes still opened on the battlefield. From what they told you, it had been five years. You had spent a very long time in the dark, forced to behold hundreds and thousands of prophecies. Your mind felt like it could scream and tear itself apart from all that you had witnessed, yet you kept fighting as they asked. A wind up soldier, dealing out destruction wherever they pointed your weapons.

You knew that the fight wouldn’t end, even after Tony Stark sacrificed his life to save you all. The precipice would still loom. You had found Wanda in the fight, and she had finally wrapped her arms around you and pulled you close. Later, she would tell you that not being able to reach you in time had been one of her greatest regrets. It was one of the first times you had truly been separated in many years. She had never felt more alone as she died, even though it would bring you closer to the same home in the dark.

You had found her after the battle, after the funeral. You had told her in a trembling voice of all that you had seen, the countless prophecies and visions you had witnessed. If the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. knew about them, they would send you down to record everything until your mind ran dark with blood and you went mad. Some of the visions weren’t yours to tell, you knew that, but spies have rarely cared for the price of secrets. By now they would already know that you had seen too much, and already be on the move. You had seen people following you for the past couple of days. It had already begun.

You didn’t know what you thought Wanda would say. You weren’t the mind reader, and you had only seen bare glimpses of what she would do in the future: a rushing wall of red, loud sobs, a house in the mountains. Twin boys. You had no idea what any of it would mean, just that she would continue to live. That alone was enough for you.

Wanda had stayed silent for a minute. You were used to her silence, welcomed it as much as a hearty conversation. At last, she rose, taking your hand to guide you back to the road. We will have a home, she had said, and they shall not hurt us here. When you arrived at Westview, New Jersey, you at last understood. You had seen this very sign when you were dead, and you had seen the scarlet barrier before even as Wanda casts it now. The very scope of her powers is astonishing, but everything was proceeding as it had been foretold. There is nothing you can do to stop the tide of time from flowing, nothing to stop the precipice from drawing ever closer.

When you look around you again, you’re still in Westview. Technically, your feet haven’t moved an inch. But the town itself is different- walls are brighter, people are happier. If you look closely, you can tell that something is wrong. This isn’t the way people are supposed to move, like they’re being jerked around on strings. This isn’t the way time progresses, or the way everyone seems to look at you like they’re screaming for help. This is wrong, horribly so, but it’s so tempting to be safe for once that you can glance away and pretend not to see.

It’s just so good here. So nice. Wanda smiles at you, and you smile back. They cannot hurt you here, cannot reach you. There are no labs or interrogations or people begging for details on your visions. For once, you’re not living in the future, but the present. You haven’t made a prophecy since you came, and your head is blessedly yours. Wanda understands what it is like to be a prisoner of your own powers, and she’s given you a chance to live.

You can tell which people are being manipulated by Wanda’s magic, which people are given scripts and lines to rehearse. You are not among their numbers; Wanda wants you to be you, and that means that you two can have your perfect future. It’s not a prison, it’s a refuge, and that means that you won’t need protection from her.

For the first time, you have the chance to grow old. You have always loved Wanda, and it is so easy here. There are no wars, no guards, no soldiers. You pick wildflowers in the park and present them to her with a flourish, she makes the entire town look like your favorite sitcom so you can practically be living in your favorite reality. You are both fighters who have bled for too long, but for once, you are whole. It’s an opportunity you wouldn’t give up for the world.

When the sky begins to fall, you pretend you don’t see it. You’re silently begging with the future, pleading it not to come. It has never listened to you before, but you can’t help but hope it will stay its hand this once. You see Agnes become Agatha, see the twisting wires of purple magic infiltrate the red. You see S.W.O.R.D. arriving outside the town, and you turn away. Please, you ask, just this once. Let me live this once.

Your pleas are ignored. They send people through the barrier, then armored trucks and weapons. Suddenly, your picture perfect home is shot through with rot, your happy future crumbling away to ash. You try to find Wanda, but she is gone, locked away with Agatha. Everything comes true. The cycle will always turn. You cannot find your love, and you cannot live as you hope.

When it breaks down fully, you know what must happen. So does Wanda. She finds you before she takes down the barrier, holding you in her arms. You can feel her on your hands, breath hot against your cheek. You’ll never stop being on the run from the precipice, from the watchers who want your visions. At least you had this with her. It was worth it, all of it.

The fight begins as they always do. Guns rattle, people cry out in terror. You have seen this scene before in countless different ways and places. However, you’ve taken part in enough battles to know how to continue. Knock out a soldier, take his gun. Keep fighting. Wanda is by your side, lovers staying together once more.

You hear the gunshot from across the town square. Distantly, a voice in the back of your head cries out in relief. This is it, what you’ve seen all along. The bullet hits you a moment later, a piercing pain that seems to shake your very bones. Your hand presses to your stomach, and when you pull it back only a second afterwards, scarlet is already starting to dye your shirt red. You look up, searching for Wanda. She doesn’t know yet. No one does.

Clarity is falling upon you. This is it, at last. The precipice. You stand up, forcing yourself to keep moving. You have always been born to die. At least let your last moments be worth something. S.W.O.R.D. agents fall, but it’s not enough. Will it ever be enough? You don’t have a choice. Wanda is turning to you now, eyes widening as she at last sees the red smear on your side.

When your head hits the pavement, you realize that it’s finally over. The gun falls from your head, clatters to the pavement. Wanda lunges for you, but she arrives too late again. Why is it that she is always one step too far? You don’t have any more visions of yourself, just of her. You’ve always been looking at her. When you die, you have a smile on your face.

Death is not peaceful. It never is for you. Your eyes are forced open by invisible hands, and you watch once more as the future is laid bare for you. I’m dead, you want to shout, stop making me see any more. But the prophecies keep coming. You are the one who sees them, and so you must see the world through. That is how it works.

Wanda, however, is not willing to give you up so easily. You’re not sure what price she paid to put breath back into your lungs and keep your heart beating, but when you wake, you’re in a cabin in the woods. You’ve seen it before, you realize, when you died the first time. This means you’re still alive, and you’ve eluded the precipice once more.

Wanda is leaning over you, relief written in every line of her face. When she sees you look at her again, she starts to sob in earnest. “Don’t ever do that to me again. I can’t take your death.” It is a shame, then, when you know how it ends. For now, though, you manage to crack a smile. “I don’t much enjoy it either.”

Death still weighs upon you, heavy as an anvil. There will come a day when even Wanda’s magic won’t be enough to save you, when love falls through the gaps and you will finally be laid to rest. The precipice still looms, as it always will. But for now, you sit up and take Wanda’s hand. At least when you face that fight, you will have your lover by your side. You can look far enough into the future for that. For now, you can keep on fighting, even when the precipice seems inevitable. You’ve accepted your death, but you would live for her.

marvel tag list: @mycosmicparadise

wanda maximoff tag list: @mionemymind​, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​

[vincememes]

banana fish starters

WARNINGS: IMPLIED SA, VIOLENCE MENT, DRUGS MENT spoiler warning .    to make it less long, the rest is under a cut.

feel free to adjust pronouns / names as needed !

ASH LYNX

❛   even if i did know something, what good would it do?  ❜  

❛   even a stupid street punk like me knows that  ❜  

❛   i envy you … being able to jump like that.  ❜  

❛   what could be more relaxing than three days away from these guys?  ❜  

❛   i wish i could hate you. i need someone to hate.  ❜  

❛   someone is dead. not that you’d give a damn one way or the other.  ❜  

❛   treating him like you’re giving the pope a bath isn’t going to help.  ❜  

❛   aren’t there any decent parents in this world?  ❜  

❛   that guy always regarded me as a human being with a real heart, not some sort of tool.  ❜  

❛   this little act of charity, you’re going to regret this.  ❜  

❛   i tried to forget.  ❜  

❛   stay with me... i won’t ask "forever". just for now.  ❜  

❛   well, i already know you’re a sick man.  ❜  

❛   ready to lose your life over a pizza?  ❜  

❛   my name... has become the signal for a massacre.  ❜  

❛   what on earth... have i become?  ❜  

❛   what do you think i am...? i’m a murderer... okay?  ❜  

❛   i told you before. i kill people.  ❜

❛   they paid the price for their decisions— that’s all.  ❜  

❛   what the hell do you know?!  ❜  

❛   let‘s say i am ‘exceptional’. the problem is, i never, ever, my whole life wanted to be.  ❜  

❛   you said i am not like ordinary people.  ❜  

❛   there’ve been countless times in my life when i thought i’d be better off dead.  ❜  

❛   that nothing could be worse than what was happening to me right then.  ❜  

❛   at times like that...death looks sweet and peaceful, and unbearably enticing.  ❜  

❛   war is always good business for those in power.  ❜  

❛   sorry to destroy your youthful innocence.  ❜  

❛   you have any idea what those guys made us do?  ❜  

❛   don’t tell me you still believe the pen is mightier than the sword.  ❜  

❛   if you ask me, the white house can go screw itself.  ❜  

❛   i wonder if i’m dying somewhere.  ❜  

❛   i wasn’t expecting the law to protect me.  ❜  

❛   i’ve ignored it all my life... i sure as hell don’t plan on hiding behind it now.  ❜  

❛   just keep them away from me— please!  ❜

❛   this town’s my backyard, remember?  ❜  

❛   sunrise and sunset are about the only times this junkyard of a city looks good.  ❜  

❛   even if i said no, you wouldn’t go back anyway.  ❜  

❛   if you went home i’d probably worry if something happened to you.  ❜  

❛   so it’s better you’re right here, where i can keep an eye on you  ❜  

❛   some people never change.  ❜  

❛   vulture got together with the viper. you make a great pair.  ❜  

❛   why now after all this time— does it have to be you, of all people...?  ❜  

❛   i don’t stand a chance. i’m dust against him.  ❜  

❛   over my dead body. if anybody hurts you... it’ll be over my dead body—  ❜  

❛   i don’t care who it is. i am not letting anybody hurt you.  ❜  

❛   do i scare you?  ❜  

❛   dont give me your stupid advice.  ❜  

❛   i’m happy, goddammit!    ❜  

❛   i know there’s at least one person in this world who cares about me. who doesn’t want anything from me.  ❜  

❛   do you have any idea what that’s like? i never did... not once in my entire life—until now.  ❜  

❛   and that’s worth more to me than anything else.  ❜  

❛   go back home! don’t look at me!  ❜  

❛   i don’t want you seeing me like this!  ❜  

❛   my hands are dirty with other people's blood.  ❜  

❛   i don't even know how many people i've killed.  ❜  

❛   i'm bad news.  ❜  

❛   i wish i could’ve been like you.  ❜  

❛   it’s just that… i always picture the worst-case scenario, that’s all.  ❜  

❛   guess it’s because i’m a coward.  ❜  

❛   i just can’t relax. it’s turned into a habit.  ❜  

❛   i was so scared i couldn’t speak, i couldn’t cry, and i screamed in my head, but... nothing came out.   ❜

EIJI OKUMURA

❛   if i ever lose you too... i'll go crazy.  ❜  

❛   come back safely. i'll be waiting for you, forever.  ❜  

❛   if you feel responsible, the same goes for me.  ❜  

❛  my words might not mean anything now, but just remember one thing.  ❜  

❛   even if the world turns on you, i'll always be on your side.  ❜  

❛   humans can change their destiny.  ❜  

❛   if i'm going to die anyways, at least i'll die trying!  ❜  

❛   don't apologize. that's something for people like me to do.  ❜  

❛   i'd do anything for you.  ❜  

❛   i know we'll meet again, no matter how far apart we are.  ❜  

❛   you're the greatest friend i'll ever have.  ❜  

❛   you're not alone. i'm by your side. my soul is always with you.  ❜  

❛   you asked me over and over if you scared me. but i never feared you. not once.  ❜  

❛   i'm really glad i came here.  ❜  

❛   i met lots of people. and more than anything, i met you.  ❜  

❛   that’s when i decided. i would always believe in you, no matter what.  ❜  

❛   no matter what happened, he would always have at least one person...  ❜

❛   i am very worried because i haven’t seen you and i don’t know if you are okay.  ❜  

❛   but so what? we are friends. isn’t that enough? what else do we need?  ❜  

❛   actually, i always felt that you are hurt, much more than me - that your spirit is wounded.  ❜  

❛   i know you are much smarter than me, and bigger, and stronger - but even so.. i always wanted to protect you.  ❜  

❛   but what did i want to protect you from?  ❜  

❛    i think i wanted to protect you from your future.  ❜  

❛   because your fate was sweeping you away, like a flood.  ❜  

❛   but i’m not saying “goodbye” to you... because this isn’t goodbye.  ❜

❛   are you going off on your own again?  ❜

❛   somewhere far away.. without a word?  ❜

❛   i want to see you. i wish i was with you right now.  ❜ 

YUT-LUNG

❛   a bloody history is inevitable when you are the one ruling.  ❜  

❛   what's wrong? you hated him, right? guess what? so do i.  ❜  

❛   no need to glare. i won't eat you up.  ❜  

❛   there's nothing you can do to help.  ❜  

❛   and what can you do to help?  ❜  

❛   you really irritate me.  ❜  

❛   you make people want to protect you or make them want to tear you apart and crush you.  ❜  

❛   so, what to do with you now.  ❜  

❛   i heard you tried to escape again. you have some spunk.  ❜  

❛   we have hired him, his target is your friend.  ❜  

❛   i have other things for you to do for me.  ❜  

❛   we still have two more scorpions.  ❜  

❛   i am a monster, too.  ❜  

❛   i'm not hearing any good news.  ❜  

❛   you become all tame when you’re around them.  ❜  

❛   you’ve degraded from a lone lynx to a content pet cat.  ❜  

❛   depending on your answer, i may not forgive you.  ❜

OTHER CHARACTERS (shorter, max, sing, shunichi, etc.)

❛   his face when he laughed was cute, and childlike, and totally angelic.  ❜  

❛   it's my problem too! if you go alone, you'll just be killed.  ❜  

❛   you'll die for nothing!  ❜  

❛   i won't let you go alone.  ❜  

❛   i'm sorry, but believe me when i say this: i'll die before i let them lay a finger on you.  ❜  

❛   i can't anymore. set me free. i'm in so much pain.  ❜

 ❛   we need to stay apart so at least one of us survives  ❜   

❛   if the former boss gets hit then it's the duty of the new boss to make the drop.  ❜   

❛   if we don't fight back now, we'll forever be expendable tools. ❜  

❛   you asked me to look after them.  ❜  

❛   yes, honey.    ❜  

❛   that’s for you to decide for yourself..  ❜  

❛   what’s wrong? you can’t punch me from that far back.  ❜  

❛   this will be the last time i give you a word of advice.  ❜  

❛   time is an ironic thing. for us, it means to age. but for people like him, it means to grow.  ❜  

❛   i love all women. they're beautiful and strong. like life itself.  ❜  

❛   it would only be making another one of us. ❜  

❛   one more wretched being, unloved and unloving, whose only sustenance is hatred and nihilism.  ❜  

❛   don’t fight your memories, cuz you’re never going to win.  ❜  

❛   i guess home isn’t something you want to remember if you ran away from it.  ❜  

❛   in one second i knew he could read everything on my mind.  ❜  

❛   i wondered when this boy had started to watch out for his soul, then i knew how much he had suffered.  ❜  

❛   you are the most beautiful and the most dangerous, of all the beasts i have ever known.  ❜  

❛   rather than hate and be triumphant, you chose to love and be destroyed.  ❜  

❛   i staked my life on that choice. please try to accept it.  ❜  

❛   one who does not love cannot be loved, either.  ❜  

❛   you at the very least knows what it is to love.  ❜  

❛   how can you expect someone who suffered so much to have any respect for authority? ❜  

❛   fine line between offender and victim it’s hard to know where to draw it.  ❜  

❛   there’s something about you that i just can’t hate.  ❜  

❛   'cause you’re hurt your soul’s bleeding-even now.  ❜  

❛   you’re just like me that way.  ❜

[pxppinmolly-archived]

tag dump number 1/??

[youvegotrpmemes]

Mixed Fall Out Boy starters

“So fuck you, you can go cry me an ocean, and leave me be”

“You are what you love, not who loves you”

“Wherever I go, trouble seems to follow”

“How’d it get to be only me?”

“I will defend the faith going down swinging”

“I don’t believe a word you say but I can’t stop listening”

“I’m not gonna go home alone”

“I know I expect too much and not enough all at once”

“You know I only wanted fun and you got me all fucked up on love”

“You and me are the difference between real love and the love on TV”

“So let’s fade away together one dream at a time”

“I thought of angels choking on their halos”

“Anything you say can and will be held against you”

“If heaven’s grief brings hell’s rain, then I’d trade all of my tomorrows for just one yesterday”

“I know I’m bad news”

“Letting people down is my thing, baby, find yourself a new gig“

“I don’t have the right name or the right looks, but I have twice the heart”

“I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way”

“If I spilled my guts, the world would never look at you the same way”

“I’m here to give you all of my love so I can watch your face as I take it all away”

“I don’t know where you’re going but do you have room for one more troubled soul?”

“I don’t know where I’m going but I don’t think I’m coming home”

“This is the road to ruin and we're starting at the end“

“My heart is like a stallion, they love it more when it's broken“

“Maybe I bit off more than I could chew”

“And in the end, I'd do it all again”

“I think you're my best friend”

“Don’t you know that the kids aren’t alright?”

“All those people in those old photographs I've seen are dead“

“I am your worst nightmare”

“Don’t mind me, I’m just the son of a gun”

“I don’t feel a thing for you”

“I’m just a problem that doesn't want to be solved“

“I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you, but not as much as I do”

“I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me”

“You’re just the last of the real ones”

“I will protect you”

“Just tell me I am the only one, even if it’s not true”

“I'm done with having dreams, the thing that I believe“

“I just can't pretend, we were lovers first - confidants but never friends, were we ever friends?”

“I got nothing but dreams”

“I’m just young enough to still believe, but young enough not to know what to believe in”

“If I can live through this, I can do anything“

“They say we are what we are, but we don’t have to be”

“I’m bad behavior but I do it in the best way”

“Sometimes the only payoff for having any faith is when it’s tested again and again every day”

“I’m still comparing your past to my future”

“Some legends are told, some turn to dust or to gold”

“You will remember me for centuries”

“Just one mistake is all it will take”

“We’ll go down in history”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with me”

“I never meant for you to fix yourself”

“And I can't stop 'til the whole world knows my name“

“We love a lot, so we only lose a little”

“You can wear the crown but you’re no princess”

“We're going to die, it's just a matter of time”

“I'm either gone in an instant or here 'till the bitter end, I never know”

“You were the song stuck in my head”

“You can get what you want but it’s never enough”

“I can’t remember just how to forget the way that we danced”

“You ask me how I’m doing like you know how much better off I am”

“Be careful making wishes in the dark”

“Besides, in the meantime I’m just dreaming of tearing you apart”

“I've got the scars from tomorrow and I wish you could see that you're the antidote to everything except for me”

“My childhood spat back out the monster that you see”

“Say my name and his in the same breath, I dare you to say they taste the same”

“These friends, they don’t love you”

“I don’t care what you think as long as it’s about me”

“The best of us can find happiness in misery”

“I said I don’t care what you think”

[yandere-daydreams]

Pleaseee do anything to do with Izuku and his huge amounts of strength. Like we know hes powerful asf I just want to hear about how this man will get a bit impatient and he uses 1% of his power and you get blown across the room- you finally realize that Izuku is holding back, and he could snap your neck if he really wanted to.

He’s too strong for his own good, isn’t he? And it’d only get worse when he’s a Pro, with the skill set proper hero and none of the self-restraint, especially when it comes to keeping his Darling in line. His methods aren’t exactly encouraging, but if he’s lucky, you’ll be too busy nursing a dozen broken bones to act out.

Title: Strength.

TW: Graphic Violence, Mentions of Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Touching, and Delusional Mindsets.

~

In his defense, Izuku had never claimed to be a gentle lover.

He wasn’t violent, either, not when you first got together, not when he was still a stuttering, blushing mess who could barely hold your hand without having to hide his face in your shoulder or make up an excuse to let go a little too early. For weeks, every touch was tentative, every kiss preluded by a flurry of nervous questions. By the time he finally calmed down and swallowed his nerves, you’d begun to wonder how he managed to fight villains without asking if they were ‘alright’ every fight minutes. He’d been afraid of hurting you, back then… or, you guess he’d never really been afraid. He’d been aware that he could, and that’d made him anxious, it’d made him hesitant. But, hesitance was a thing that wore off, with experience, and Izuku was good at adjusting. He was adaptive, and you were too relieved your boyfriend could finally put his arm around your waist to notice just how tight his grip could be, from time to time.

That was your mistake, you guess. You should’ve been more attentive.

You should’ve started paying attention when he started leaving bruises.

But, it was too late to regret that now. Izuku wasn’t your boyfriend, anymore, he was your captor, and you weren’t his playful, fragile partner, you were his stubborn, breakable captive, with too much will of your own and not nearly enough love for him. He hadn’t really accepted it, not yet, but that didn’t matter. It hadn’t since the moment he came home, exhausted and irritated and touchy, and since you’d been as reluctant to let him near you as you always were. Every window was locked, the front door serving as the host to half a dozen different deadbolts, but running was second-nature, by now, as was doing anything and everything you could to keep his fingertips from digging into your sides, to keep that monster away from you, even you knew it’d be useless, in the end. 

But, there were things you could to do draw out the process, and that was why you were currently in a half-empty cabinet, your knees pulled into your chest and your back pressed against something hard and uneven and jagged. Hiding wasn’t preferable, but you only had so many options, and it was so, so much better than the alternative.

Izuku was never happy with your small shows of rebellion, but today, he seemed more disgruntled than he usually was. Even from across the apartment, you could hear him, his incoherent mumbling filling what little empty space there might’ve been, making it hard to think, making it hard to breathe, making it impossible not to wince when a door slammed or one of his steps was heavier than it should’ve been. You could hear him looking for you, but his search was half-hearted, at best, and he seemed to be caught between the urge to find you quickly, and the temptation to huff and mutter and stomp until you came out on your own, your head bowed and an apology already playing on your tongue. You didn’t know if he liked to feel strong, but you knew he loved it when you felt weak. Weak enough to let him act like your faultless, innocent, valiant hero, anyway.

“Baby,” He called out, finally choosing to be a little more proactive with his attempts to threaten you into submission. “C’mon, (Y/n), you know I didn’t mean to scare you. I was frustrated, I didn’t want to grab you, but you were trying to get away from me, and it’s been such a long day, and…” He trailed off, a heavy sigh following a moment of silence. “You know I’d never hurt you, right? Not unless you forced my hand. I spend all day fighting people who want me dead, I wouldn’t have a reason to make you hate me, too.”

He wouldn’t have a reason to. He doesn’t want to. Not he won’t, not he couldn’t, just that if he did, you’d be the one to blame. He could go one for hours, like that, trying to convince you that this was for your own good, that if there was a better solution, he’d stop at nothing to find it, but you were still the one being kept prisoner in your own home while he was free to do as he pleased, in the outside world. And, if you tried to reason with him, if you tried to explain that you could keep yourself safe from more than just domestic trivialities and boredom, it’d be his hand around your throat, and your lungs would be the ones left to scream. You couldn’t say he wanted to, but he certainly didn’t need to. He’d just rather listen to you gasping for air than speaking your mind, apparently.

“I know you can hear me, angel.” His voice was colder, now, more collected but no less hostile than it had been. You could hear his footsteps getting closer, growing louder as he moved onto the tiled floor of the kitchen. Reflexively, you curled into yourself, doing your best to limit what little sound your breathing created, but if he knew where you were hiding, he didn’t feel the need to put you out of your misery quickly, only going on in that smooth, empathetic tone he was so fond of. “There’s really no reason to be this stubborn. I love you, and you love me, and if you’d just see things from my perspective, you’d know why having someone warm and welcoming to come home to is so important to me.”

There was a slight pause. You stopped breathing completely as he took a step towards your chosen sanctuary.

“Or, maybe you wouldn’t,” He admitted. “You haven’t tried very hard to understand me, not since we moved in together.” Since he kidnapped you. Since you woke up, handcuffed to someone else’s bed while Izuku tried to explain why this was necessary. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you don’t love me at all, anymore.”

Another step. Something came to rest on the counter above you with a quiet thud.

“Honestly, I’m starting to think you’re too much of a brat to know what’s good for you.”

With that, he brought his fist down on the countertop, and you hardly had time to think before you were flinching back, elbow colliding with the cabinet wall and making the smallest, hollowest noise. So minor and so quiet that, for a moment, you thought Izuku might've missed it.

But, he hadn’t.

Izuku was always so observant, when it came to you.

In the space between one second and another, the cabinet door was thrown open, something hot and crushing latching on to your ankle, dragging you out of your hiding place and out onto the freezing, unforgiving floor, putting out on display for your oh-so-dedicated assailant. Izuku’s expression was neutral, devoid of everything but a narrowed gaze and thin, pursed lips, but his vice-grip was more than enough to express his anger, so tight, so oppressive, it felt like your bones might cave in underneath it, collapse into little more than dust and fragments and helplessness. It was awful. It was painful. Already, tears were building up in the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision, making the man above you into little more than a muddled image of tan skin dark eyes and ugly, ugly delusions.

And then, he squeezed.

His free hand came up, his palm pressing against your mouth and stifling your scream, but that did little to soften to blow, to stop something in your ankle from cracking as pressure turned into force, and force turned into fire, racing from your heel to your knee as you tried to kick, tried to writhe, tried to do anything that might lessen the pain. It was pointless. Izuku’s grip was stead-fast, keeping you grounded and forcing you to reach out, instead, your fingers soon tangled in his hair as you pulled at his scalp and pushed at his chest, an effort that only made you feel childish, that only made you feel weak. Yelling wasn’t an option, not when it was all you could do to bite your sobs into whimpers and bury your face in his shirt as you began to cry in earnest, pain and fear turning into something dark and desperate, even if his touch had never done anything to comfort you.

Still, Izuku tried. He didn’t pull you up, didn’t move to help you, but he wrapped an arm around your midriff as you lost the will to struggle and rubbed soft, delicate circles into your side, a gesture you didn’t doubt there’d be bruises for, tomorrow. “I’m sorry, I got carried away,” He started, the words whispered against the crook of your neck. “It’s just…”

There was a light, almost inaudible chuckle. 

You wondered if you’d be able to claw his eyes out before he broke your hands.

“Accidents happen, right?”

[cower-before-power]

Penny For Your Thoughts: Part 1

Summary: You’ve been harbouring feelings for your mighty squad captain for months. When you’re forced to share a bed during a mission, will you finally get the courage to tell him how you really feel?

Pairing: William Vangeance x GN Reader

TW: forced bed sharing (if that isn’t your thing)

PART TWO UP NOW HERE

A/N: I originally was writing this for a different fandom but abandoned it, when i found it again I thought why not use it for Black Clover? “There was only one bed” is one of my favourite tropes SO I WROTE IT. There will be part two when I get around to finishing it. Enjoy, sweet potatoes!

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Sleep is dancing far out of your grip tonight. 

It’s not surprising, considering the less than fortuitous circumstances you find yourself in. It’s cold, almost absurdly so, and the curtains are far too thin to obscure the waxy shine of the full moon. Your body is stiff, unable to relax, lest you accidentally touch the softly snoring man beside you. 

He just had to accompany you on this mission. It had to be a double bed. It had to be the only room left. It had to be just your luck. 

Of course, you couldn’t predict the only inn for miles being so crowded.  The staff couldn’t predict your bottled up feelings. He couldn’t possibly predict how tortuous it would be for you when he said sharing the room would be fine.  He was smart, perceptive- but you’d shrouded yourself painstakingly, and he’d never seen past the protective haze. 

You were always good at hiding. 

You roll slowly onto your side, eyes falling on his relaxed form as he slumbers peacefully beside you. The moonlight throws every feature of his face into sharp relief, and the beauty of him hits you like a punch to the gut. 

Did angels ever find their way down to earth? Because you were pretty sure you were laying beside one. Even with the scar covering half his face, he was pure art come to life.  Something so breathtaking it just couldn’t be of this world. 

And it wasn’t just his looks. His insides-heart, soul, mind- were just as dazzling. He wasn’t perfect of course (you still sometimes found it hard to believe he a actually a certified criminal), but he was atoning for his sins and he never stopped trying to be more, be better. He was kind, supportive, gentle, humble. 

He was everything you wanted.

You hadn’t had much of a relationship with him when you first joined his squad, but then again, he was mostly someone else back then. In the months since the elves left, he had opened himself up to his Knights a great deal more. He stopped wearing his mask around the base, started up random conversations with those below him, attempted to get to know you and your squadmates more personally. And to your surprise, the two of you got along very well.

Before you knew it, the two of you had struck up what could be called a friendship. You often would walk in the garden, talking about everything and nothing all at once.  He was more human when he was just William, not Patri in disguise or the stoic Captain Vangeance. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, something about his calm aura that allowed you to be more candid with him then you were with anyone else. He listened to your worries, your fears, you problems. He laughed with delight at your stories of childhood antics. He offered advice when you asked. He even shared bits of himself, little by little peeling back the layers until you could see the wonderful soul shining underneath. 

He had captured your heart without even knowing it. It was pain to stand beside him and not spill the truth, but some piece of him was better than nothing at all. If you weren’t so scared of losing him, of having him go back to just being your aloof Captain, you’d tell him how you felt. 

But fear was an iron cage, and you couldn’t escape it. 

“You should be sleeping.”

You gasp, nearly jumping out of your skin. He cracks one eye open, his lips tugging softly up into a sleepy smile. 

“I thought you were asleep!” You place a hand on your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. 

“I was,” he rolls on his side to face you. “But then the incredibly loud sound of you thinking woke me up.”

You blush furiously. If only he knew what you had been thinking of. “I’m sorry. I....just can’t sleep. It’s too bright and cold in here.” And I’m in love with you and sharing a bed is proving too much, your brain adds. 

He hums, squinting his eyes at the offending lunar orb outside the window. “Well, I can’t do anything about the moon. But...I can help with the cold? If that’s okay.”

There’s a faint blush on his cheeks, and you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. What he’s suggesting is wildly inappropriate. He is your captain, your superior. Surely warming up another is a duty saved for a life or death situation. And a  prolonged time so close to him might prove too painful once it was time to pull away. 

But you’re a glutton for punishment, and so you find yourself nodding at his offer. 

He pulls you to him gently, arms wrapping around you as you come to rest against him. Your legs automatically slot with his, his chin settling comfortably on the top of your head. His skin is warm, so impossibly warm, and you can’t help but burrow closer, eyes closed and heart pounding. 

It’s heaven and hell all at once. 

“Better?” He asks softly, and you simply nod, not trusting your voice to work. You lay in silence for a while, nothing but the sound of quiet breathing between you. His heartbeat thumps steadily beneath your ear. It’s a lovely sound, so full of vitality and a glorious reminder that he is alive. He’s alive and he’s here with you, and in the end, no matter how much it stings, that is really what matters. 

“You’re still thinking very loudly,” he breaks the silence, and you feel the words reverberate through his chest. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing. Not worth even a penny.”

“Don’t say that,” he says, and you can practically hear him frowning. “I value every single thought that comes out of your head. If something is bothering you, I’m here.”

How can you tell him? Tell him he’s the one making your thoughts so noisy, that he’s the reason you can’t sleep? It’s been eating at you so long, dying to break free, but you just....

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “You might not like what’s in my head.”

“Hey, look at me,” his voice is gentle but firm, and you pull away from his chest to meet his eyes. “You know you can always come to me with any problem, any thoughts, any thing that’s eating at you. I’ll always be here with an ear to listen and a shoulder to rest against, no matter what it is. You’re important to me.”

The sentiment sets butterflies fluttering in your chest, but you know he doesn’t mean it the way you want him to.  

“I know,” you drop your gaze away from his, unable to look any longer into the kind depths that are resting upon you. “I know. I mean, we are friends right? That’s what friends do.” The words choke you, constrict your throat and burn like yesterday’s stale cigarette smoke 

“Yes, we are friends,” he echoes, and a thick silence comes to rest over the room. It feels heavy, dense; an enormous pressure bearing down upon you. You suddenly feel like the room is closing in around you, everything feels hot and prickly and uncomfortable. There’s a volcano in your chest and it’s never been so near eruption. Everything you’ve ever wanted to say, every word you’ve ever wanted his ears to hear, is threatening burst from your mouth like a river finally free of the dam. 

Maybe it’s his closeness. Maybe it’s the way he looks in the wane moonlight. Maybe it’s the barely perceptible tremor in his voice as he spoke the word “friends”. But you’ve never been so close to bursting.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” it slips out before you can stop it, and you bite your tongue so hard it bleeds. 

“What?” He stiffens against you.

Your tongue tears itself away from your teeth. Everything is bubbling up so fast, your will to keep your heart in darkness is fracturing and you scramble to patch up the leaks. 

“I don’t-I mean- I,” you babble, pushing yourself away from him. It’s the wrong move- the look of confused hurt painted across his face crushes everything to dust and the spring finally bursts forth.

“I don’t want to be your friend, I want to be more!” you cry out, the weight of what you are doing hitting you square in the chest. “I want more and I can’t have it and it hurts, it hurts so bad but it would hurt worse to give you up. That’s what I was thinking earlier, thoughts not worth even a penny because they are stupid, useless, hopeless. Tonight has been one of the worst nights of my life, being so close to you but feeling like you are a million miles away.”

You’re sitting up beside him now, the space between you feeling like a vast ocean. His mouth hangs open slightly, violet eyes wide with shock as you continue your rant. 

“I know these feelings are inappropriate. I shouldn’t be thinking of my Captain this way. But I can’t help it. I wasn’t even thinking about love and then you-the real you, this you-stepped in front of me and just...just....just reached out and took it. You took my heart for your own and you didn’t even know it. I....I’m in love with you and it’s tearing me apart that you don’t feel the same!”

You finish, chest heaving, breath puffing like you have just run a race. You can’t even bear to look at him. Those soft violet eyes, the idea that they may be filled with pity and reproach at your words makes you sick to your stomach. You sit with your head hung, waiting for him to break your heart even further.

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Stay tuned for Part 2!