#change and tiptoeing outside of your comfort zones can be a good way to grow

[erythristicbones]

i think it's really fun having lil revelations about your creative process and others' processes, just lowkey fascinating! like i can't fathom trying to get how someone with a different approach even gets to those places, bc i can't make the same connections w/o going thru my process. but it's so interesting!!

like for example i just sat here and realized somethin about my OC/writing process that doesn't quite work like the majority of my close friends? i come up with the story looong before i come up with the characters. with the exception of my askblogs(which was like running a different creation program thru my brain for some reason), i just don't seem to come up with random unaffiliated/one-off characters. i don't often buy/trade for designs that will go into my original story worlds bc if i need a specific character to fit a niche in the story, then i just draw them myself cause ive already got an idea of what they should be like

and even revamping very old OCs of mine like ive been doing lately- i keep figuring out which story they can fit into before i rework what they look like! this isn't saying that either of those ways is the wrong way to make an OC, i just think it's really interesting to try and puzzle out. what is it about my brain that makes it work this way? why are my askblogs the huge exception where i DO come up with a random design and then just sit on it until a story comes to me? i want to study my own brain under a microscope bc i just always want to know why things behave the way they do

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Trust Fall

As bizarre as they seem, I really like the video inserts that Darby does from time to time. So I used one of them as kind of an inspiration for this.

Pairing: Darby Allin x OFC (reader)

Word count: 2,968

Content advisory: Nothing. Maybe not for people with a fear of heights.

Looking down at the rippling green waters from the edge of the railway bridge, you’re consumed with one thought: you do not want to jump.

“I don’t think I can do this,” you gasp, nearly choking on your words.

“I’ve done it a dozen times. You’ll be fine, I promise. It doesn’t even hurt as long as you make sure you don’t belly flop.”

Darby rubs the base of your back and smiles with a sort of kindness you’ve never seen from him. He leans in and gently bumps his body against yours, taking the opportunity to wrap his arm around you.

“I’d never get you to do anything if I thought you might get hurt. And you said you wanted to try it.”

Yes, you think, it’s true. Of all the crazy stunts you’d seen him do, the one that had fascinated you the most was being dropped off this bridge in a bag. He’d outright refused to let you do that, of course, but he’d said you could try the jump without the cloth coffin and you’d been so excited you’d hardly been able to contain yourself.

What the hell had you been thinking?

What you’d been thinking was that Darby’s almost insane appetite for danger and adventure was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. The one thing he didn’t seem to rush into was any kind of relationship with a woman. He’d been married and it hadn’t worked out. They were on good terms but the specter of failure still hung over him. He’d always been able to make things work in his life. But that was because he’d spent most of his life keeping a distance from other people.

The two of you had been tiptoeing around each other for months. The first time you met him, it was all you could do to keep your jaw from dropping because it was like someone had created the man you’d been searching for your entire life. And despite his reticence, he’d quickly warmed to you. His initial shyness couldn’t hide the curious, hopeful looks he would cast at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

Still, if the two of you were interested in each other, you’d managed to take a pretty circuitous route to get there. From soft looks and smiles while you both tried to maintain your cool, you’d managed to become friends. Good friends. Everyone else at AEW might think that there was something going on because the two of you were thick as thieves, but the truth is that you’d just become very close. He’d told you about the angst that arrived in the aftermath of his divorce. You’d told him about how you’d just stepped away from dating and relationships when your wrestling career started to take off. You weren’t patient enough to coddle men and reassure them that they were masculine enough even though you could kick their ass. It was tiresome.

So you and Darby had become close friends, talking music and film and road stories and all the while, there’d been this flirtatious tension between you. You touched more than friends should. You were more wrapped up in each other than friends should be. Neither of you seemed in the least interested in meeting anyone else and on the couple of occasions when someone had insisted you give things a try by going on a date with their friend, the two of you had ended up in a cafe giggling about the pointlessness of dating by the end of the night.

By this point, your attraction to him had morphed into a kind of threat, something that could damage the wonderful relationship you already had, so you did what you could to ignore it, sublimating the desire to feel his naked body against yours into a desire to do all sorts of crazy things you’d never had the confidence to do before. Like jumping off a train bridge into a lazy river under the burning heat of the summer sun.

You wondered if he’d be disappointed in you if you backed out. No, you think, he’d never rushed you into anything. If you wanted to bail, he’d just make a face like you were a silly goose but then take your hand and the two of you would walk back to his place and watch movies until you fell asleep. He’d probably even let you pick the movies.

But as you watch the sparkling waters below, as terrifying as it seems, there is a part of you that very much wants to jump. It’s been ages since you’ve dived into water like this, although you used to do it often enough when you were a kid. Darby does shit like this all the time and every time you watch him, in person or on video, your chest burns with envy. Oh to be able to do something that wild.

Sure, you’ve taken him for rides on your motorcycle and he’s gushed about the adrenaline rush it gives him. But when you’re riding, even though it doesn’t always seem that way to a passenger, you know how to be safe. Maybe to other people it seems like you’re taking a risk but you know better. This, you remind yourself, taking in the scent of iron and oil that radiates from the tracks around you, is taking a risk. This is doing something outside your comfort zone.

“I promise,” he assures you, “it’s not as far as you think it is. Divers do this all the time.”

“Divers know what they’re doing.”

“You know what you’re doing. Jump off feet first and let yourself hit the water the same way. Seriously, you have a better chance of being run down by the train than hurting yourself in the water.”

“What?” you nearly shriek, staring wild-eyed at him. “I thought you said the train hardly ever came!”

“Only once a day,” he grins. “Once late in the afternoon.”

“It’s past three. How late in the afternoon are we talking?”

“I’ve never really timed it.”

You turn back to the river below and you swear it’s gotten further away than it was.

“Hey,” he says softly, taking your hand in his, “if you don’t want to do it, don’t worry. It’s not something that normal people would do.”

“You think I’m normal?” you respond, slightly hurt.

“No. I think you’re exceptional. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t normal things that you’re afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid,” you insist. You look down once again and feel your stomach lurch. “Ok, I’m afraid. But I still feel like I want to try it.”

“You sure? Because it’s not like you can start and then change your mind.”

You rest your hand on the hot railing, relishing its solidity. It’s not going to kill you. You’re in no danger here. You’re an excellent swimmer and have nothing to fear from the water. The space between is a few seconds, nothing more. A few adrenaline charged seconds, the sort of thing that you’re always chasing. And it’s something you feel might bring you closer to Darby. He won’t be disappointed in you if you back out. But if you go ahead, he’ll be able to see something in you that he hasn’t before, possibly something that you haven’t seen yourself. Somehow the jump will peel a layer off you like the skin of an onion.

“I’m gonna do it,” you assert.

You throw one leg over the railing ,grimacing at the heat of the metal against your thighs.

“No no.” He grasps your arm to make sure you don’t go any farther. “Wear as little as possible. Any clothes are going to weigh you down.”

You’re not wearing a lot but what he’s saying makes a lot of sense. And it’s not like you’re averse to the idea of getting undressed in front of him.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” he jokes. “I’ll bring everything with me.”

You climb back onto the bridge and self-consciously start to peel off your clothing: your loose cotton shirt and the tank top underneath, your shorts and your sandals. You pause before deciding to remove your bra. The metal of its underwiring might not weigh you down but you can picture the impact forcing it up around your neck, or at least making you more uncomfortable.

Darby takes each item of clothing, averting his eyes even before you reveal your breasts. When you do, you can see his breathing grow heavier and more rapid. You’ve known almost since the beginning that he wants you the same as you want him. The question has always been whether or not you want each other enough to set aside the disheartening experiences you’ve had. Under no circumstances do you want to sacrifice what you’ve built. You just don’t know if there’s a way to keep it if you introduce that other element.

Once again, you climb ungracefully over the railing. You cling to it and stare at him, biting your lip as you feel the cool breeze wafting up from the river below. He sees the expression on your face and immediately grips your neck with one hand, his impossibly blue eyes locked on yours.

“You ok?”

“I don’t know,” you whimper.

“Still enough time for you to back out.”

“I don’t want to.”

And it’s true, you don’t. Whatever’s waiting for you at the end of your drop, you’re more eager to meet it than to cling to your own notions of safety.

“I’ll be down there. I can make it really fast so just swim until you see me. Everything will be ok, I promise.”

With that, he releases his grip and you turn to face your fate. Looking down makes you dizzy and so you stare up at the cloudless sky, right into the sun so that your vision is disrupted by colorless splotches. You close your eyes but the spots are still there. dancing inside your brain as you lean forward, sweaty hands sliding over the beam, flecks of paint and rust digging into your skin.

“You’ll be ok,” Darby murmurs from behind you. “Give me a head start?”

You nod without opening your eyes. This will be much easier if you can just convince yourself that the drop isn’t there, that you’re just going to let yourself go and you’ll be in the water immediately. But somehow, you can still tell. You can hear the distance. You can feel it in how the wind surrounds you. You are not near firm ground.

You turn and glance over your shoulder in time to see Darby retreating from the bridge and starting to scamper down the embankment like he’s being pursued by the devil. You know he won’t think poorly if you chicken out and just follow him but at the same time, you want this to happen. You feel like it’s going to change you, as silly as it seems.

The sun beats down on your face and you give yourself a few second to absorb the heat, to the point where all you want is to feel cool and clean. You surprise yourself by opening your eyes and although you can’t look down, you’re very aware of your position as you let go of the railing and hop forward just enough to allow yourself to clear the structure.

As soon as you’re falling, it’s like everything inside your body gets sucked up an out of you, like your soul is drifting away and you’re nothing but a petrified brain in a sack of skin plummeting. It’s only seconds but it feels like you’re dropping forever, the parts of yourself being pulled further apart at every inch.

When you hit the water, it’s like there’s an explosion around you and for a fraction of a second you think you’ve clipped a land mine. It’s just a huge roar and then immediately you’re underneath it, the sound gone, like you’ve suddenly gone deaf. The water is cold, colder than you’d imagined, cold enough that your heart stalls while it tries to adjust to everything you’ve just put it through.

Instinctively, you curl your legs up in case you’re closer to the bottom than you believed and then you just let yourself stay still until your body stops sinking. From there, you’re able to push yourself up with surprising ease, trying to keep a grip on your mind as it registers that your breath will not hold much longer. And even though you’re not as close to the bottom as you’d feared, it still seems to take you so long to push your way up to the surface, towards the sunlight that shimmers along the rippling water.

Your head breaks the surface and you immediately breathe in as deeply as you can, sputtering a little when some water gets in your throat. The air itself is an adventure you hadn’t planned on, burning in your chest. It takes you a moment to clear the water from your eyes and get your bearings but when you do, you see Darby moving along the side of the river, easily keeping pace with you and the current.

He waves and smiles when he sees that you’ve noticed him and then walks down into the water, up to his waist. You’re able to marshal control of your muscles and push yourself towards him. It’s not that you didn’t believe he’d be there for you but you’re still somehow pleasantly surprised to see him. You’re grinning as you get close and he grabs your arm to guide you to your feet.

“Follow me,” he tells you, holding both your hands and picking his way back through the mud as he guides you.

You’re a little embarrassed that you’re still gasping loudly but he doesn’t seem to notice it or find it odd.

“I… I don’t know…” you pant, your lungs aching with the effort.

“It’s ok. Give it a minute until you’re feeling better.”

He helps you into a small clearing in the foliage and removes his shirt, wiping the water off your face and softly wringing your hair. He still hangs on to your other hand but doesn’t look you in the eyes until he’s satisfied he’s dealt with the water as best he can.

The light bounces off the droplets of water clinging to your skin and his, which makes your vision grow starry. You give him a wan smile because you can tell your expression is a little off. He runs a calloused finger over your jaw, guiding your head so that you look back up at him.

“Are your ears ok?”

You giggle. “My ears?”

“You look a little dazed. Sometimes when you hit the water it can mess with your eardrums.”

“I thought you said I wouldn’t get hurt,” you tease.

“It’s nothing serious. Just one of those things you want to keep an eye on.”

He looks at you inquiringly and it’s a long moment before you realize he still expects you to answer his question.

“My ears are ok. They don’t hurt or anything.”

There’s an almost musical quality to the sounds of frogs and cicadas wafting through the woods, like you can hear notes in nature that you couldn’t before. Maybe your ears aren’t alright.

But it’s not just the sounds. It’s like you can see every ray of light piercing through the leaves, like the dirt and stones on the ground feel different than they did before. Even Darby seems different, like you’re seeing him in sharper focus, and you want to tell him but you can’t even figure out how to explain it, so you rest your hand on his arm, swirling your fingers lightly over his skin and smiling as you feel the fine hairs rise.

You can tell that he knows there’s something different from the way he looks back at you. He’s curious what’s going through your mind.

“I’m sorry if that sucked for you,” he says quietly. “It was a stupid stunt. I shouldn’t have pushed you into it.”

“You didn’t. And it didn’t suck. It was cool. Maybe not fun, really but… I liked it. I’m still liking it.”

With that, you give his arm a little tug and he obliges by moving closer. You’re still breathing deeply and rapidly, but it’s no longer just because of the jump.

“How do you feel?” He asks, his eyes focused on your lips.

You think about it for a moment but the answer is clear enough.

“Alive,” you whisper.

The two of you lean in until your lips just meet and you move them softly against each other, the dewy moisture and light pressure making your skin tingle. You take your time, allowing yourselves to savour each sensation, both of you perfectly in sync, never rushing the other, never pulling the other along. When you draw each other closer, it’s like that feeling of electricity that you get in your skin just before a thunderstorm breaks. Your tongues come together, exploring at the same leisurely pace, quiet sounds of pleasure emanating from both of you. He flicks the tip of his tongue along the roof of your mouth and you jump at the sensation, but you immediately pull him closer to you, running your nails ever so slowly down the back of his neck.

It’s very obvious that he’s excited and you are too, half drunk on the sounds and smells of the forest, your head still spinning like you haven’t stopped falling. But you have stopped falling. You’ve pulled yourself from the river and he’s gathered you into his arms and nothing has ever felt as real as the two of you savouring everything about it as you come together for the first time.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - “Risks and Consequences” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Crowley surprises Aziraphale with a surprise skating excursion on Christmas night during a suspicious snowstorm. (1436 words)

Read on AO3.

“You do enjoy shoving me headfirst out of my comfort zones. Don’t you, my dear?” Aziraphale asks, warily watching his husband strap a stiff black boot to his foot. 

“Poppycock,” Crowley grumbles, struggling to unknot long laces he accidentally macramed while attempting to navigate the rows of eyelets and hooks. “Consider this an adventure.”

“This is certifiable! You do know that?”

“How? You’re an angel! What on Earth could happen to you?”

“A great many things, I imagine,” Aziraphale replies. It’s a thin response. Crowley can tell Aziraphale has a thought, a vivid one, of something plausible. 

Something that has him concerned. 

Crowley stops messing with the skate and looks into Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale's gaze ducks and dodges, bouncing from his hands to his knees to other random things inside the confines of Crowley’s Bentley. But Aziraphale can’t avoid Crowley’s gaze, nor Crowley himself, for too long. “Sometimes, I feel as if, one of these days, I’m going to snap my fingers, and nothing will happen. Heaven will have found a way to make me mortal or …”

“Or abandoned you altogether?”

Aziraphale nods sadly. “Yes.”

“I get those thoughts, too, sometimes,” Crowley admits, going back to fixing his angel’s skate. “Too often, really. Which probably explains why you use your magic so rarely, and I use mine all the time.”

“You’re always double-checking."

“And you’d rather not know.”

“Losing my powers wouldn’t be the worst part. Inconvenient, yes, but not terrible. Abandoned by Heaven …” Aziraphale's words drift off, but their meaning lingers, clinging to Crowley's heart and building like the snow outside their windows.

Crowley winks at his husband, trying to get him to smile, to laugh, to roll his eyes and groan Oh Lord! “It’s not so bad ..."  

“... once you get used to it. So you keep telling me,” Aziraphale teases, gifting his husband with the tiniest of grins, gone all too swiftly. “Are you truly afraid of being abandoned by Hell?”

"Ngk ..." Crowley’s shoulders bounce a shrug back and forth as he thinks over his answer “... nah. Not really. They've already tried to exterminate me once, haven't they? It’s the consequences that come with it that would really suck: being mortal, having no powers, growing old …” Crowley’s eyes meet Aziraphale’s - melancholy blue eyes exposing those same fears, a subject his angel hasn’t felt comfortable bringing up before tonight. He still doesn’t seem comfortable with it, tight-lipped as an oyster. “But let’s not talk about that now,” Crowley suggests. “Tonight is for having ridiculous amounts of fun. Stirring up a little mayhem.”

“We’re going to get into trouble,” Aziraphale laments. “With the humans, I mean.”

“Nonsense. They'll never even know we were here."

“There are security cameras everywhere!”

“When was the last time you got caught doing anything on CCTV? It would be all over the Internet if you had! I'll fix it. You'll see.”

“By wasting another miracle? Or do you have a small army of rodents positioned on light poles, waiting to do your bidding?”

“Besides,” Crowley continues, overlooking the jab at what was one of his more masterfully executed, if not elaborate, schemes, “I’m not sure this is actually illegal. As long as we abide by all traffic laws and posted speed limits.”

“Where did you even get this idea?”

“From YouTube. The youths do it - barrel down frozen roads wearing bicycle helmets and hockey skates.”

"You're getting your evil ideas from children?" Aziraphale tuts. “Aren’t you supposed to be the bad influence? Not the other way around?”

“No shame in finding inspiration outside your own head.”

“Yes, well, I hope you skate better than you drive.”

“Oi! I am an excellent driver!”

“I know two rabbits and a squirrel who might disagree with you.”

“That wasn’t my fault! You’d think they’d know to get the Hell outta the way of a moving vehicle!”

“Speaking of which, we’re going to get hit by a car.”

“What car?” Crowley stops fiddling with Aziraphale’s skate to wipe down a fogged window and take a look around. Beneath the glow of the street lamps, he sees nothing but snow - a veil of flakes wafting down from the sky, pushed into swirls by the frigid wind. “No one’s out here! It’s three in the bloody morning after one of the worst storms London has had in years! You’d have to be insane to be outside!”

“My thoughts exactly,” Aziraphale mutters. “Bit early for a storm like this though, isn’t it?”

“Uh … maybe,” Crowley says, abruptly returning to his task. 

“London isn’t due for snow until January.”

“Is that so? Strange.”

Aziraphale's brow furrows as he watches his husband focus intensely on basically nothing. “Crowley …”

“Wot?”

“Are you responsible for this?”

"Wot would make you think that?"

"Crowley. Look at me."

Crowley's head slowly lifts, eyes aimed everywhere but Aziraphale's face. At one point, he even closes them, assuming that, behind his dark lenses, Aziraphale won't notice. 

But Aziraphale does notice. Even if Crowley were speaking to him from a completely different room, Aziraphale would notice.

Because, for a demon, Crowley happens to be an atrocious liar.

“It’s Christmas night!" Crowley pleads, unable to hold back any longer. "The perfect time for a lock-yourself-indoors-and-get-sloshed sort of snowstorm, a'right?"

“So why are we not inside getting sloshed then?”

“Because this is something I’ve wanted to do for a while! And I was gettin' tired of waiting for Mother Nature to accommodate. Plus, with climate change and global warming, nothing's guaranteed, is it?” Crowley moves on from Aziraphale's right foot and begins sliding his reluctant left foot into its skate. “Live a little!” 

“I aim to live a lot, which specifically requires avoiding activities such as this." Aziraphale pauses his complaining to watch Crowley work, beyond curious what was going on inside his husband's demonic mind when he hatched this plan. "So," he says, working through the mystery out loud, "you conjured up a snowstorm, froze the streets, are in the process of strapping these awful contraptions to my feet ... would you like to tell me why?”

"Do I have to?"

"It would be nice."

"I'm a demon. I'm not nice."

"Crowley ..."

“Alright! It's because I wanted us to be together like this." 

"Like what?"

Crowley sighs. "Like humans. And do the stupidly wonderful things humans do when they’re in love: take moonlit strolls, hold hands, kiss in the rain, all that sappy shite. Humans go skating at Christmas! It's, like, number three on their list of Yuletide activities. It's almost a requirement! Even if they can't stand steady in regular shoes, they go skating. And they cling to one another, and they laugh, and they kiss, and I … I didn't want to take the chance that if I waited, I might miss ..."

Nothing's guaranteed, Aziraphale thinks as he watches Crowley sink in on himself, head bowed over Aziraphale's feet, curling as if he wants to disappear. And Aziraphale begins to understand. 

Crowley has been a ball of anxious energy for as long as Aziraphale can remember. Aziraphale doesn't blame him. Crowley has been tiptoeing through minefields since the beginning - making innocent mistakes and paying huge prices for them. As supernatural entities, it's easy to get lulled into the false sense of security that nothing bad can happen to you. 

But that's not true. 

Not at all true.

Because even a demon and an angel with magical powers aren't anywhere near the top of the food chain.

Crowley destroying Ligur with Holy Water proved that.

So did his belief that Aziraphale had been extinguished by Hellfire.

The fact that he hadn't been didn't prove Crowley wrong.

Hellfire would most definitely annihilate his angel from the face of the planet.

Crowley and Aziraphale helped save Earth for humanity, but every day, the humans work harder and harder towards their own destruction.

Nothing's guaranteed. 

Not for anyone.

"If you don’t want to go skating, that’s fine. I know it’s risky. Probably the last way in the world you’d want to discorporate."

"I can think of worse ways," Aziraphale says with a chuckle.

"We can go back to your bookshop, make hot cocoa, listen to your gramophone or ... or something.”

“The biggest risk I’ve taken is sitting right here with me. And that’s worked out so far. For 6000 years, as a matter of fact. I don’t mind taking another one. Just … try not to let me fall.” 

“Just hold on tight.” Crowley scoots down the bench towards his husband and wraps his arms around him. “I promise I won’t let you fall.”

[thenightgazer]

Dreamcatcher

Being an agoraphobic is like a curse for you. But your healing starts here, and your man Vergil Sparda is glad to guide you.

A/N : it's SFW and include some fluffs, but if you're not comfortable with a bit of angst and mental issues theme, feel free to skip! 😊

You know the outside world is exquisite. The sun shines upon mother earth, giving life to all living beings. You love watching birds fly and sing among the trees. Sometimes rain would fall along with dazing thunders, but you love nature so much that you always appreciate everything it gives you. You can smell the intoxicating flowers at your little garden after the rain stopped, giving you a soothing sense.

You realize the world is beautiful. You're tempted to pick a flower from your garden by yourself. You  want to go outside like other people.

You just can't.

Although the world seems delightful to you, it's also your source of dreadful nightmares. You can't  even stand two seconds outside of your own house. You'd feel dizzy, followed by uncontrollable tremors and panic attacks. All of that would lead you to your deepest trauma. You'd scream, run back to your house, lock your door and take your medicine to help you relieve your mental pain.

It's frustrating to be an agoraphobic. The world, no matter how beautiful it is, is still too big for you. Too crowded. Too cruel.

But lately, your predicament seems to be a little lighter because of your beloved's presence.

From your kitchen window, you watch Vergil Sparda arrive from his latest job, making his way to your garden. The half devil knows you love smelling wet flowers after the rain. After a while of contemplating, he picks wet primroses and heads to front door.

Warmth fills your heart every time you think of how considerate he always is of your condition and needs.

"Welcome," you greet him from the kitchen. "I didn't expect you to come home this early."

Taking off his coat, Vergil makes his way to the kitchen, "The mission was easier than I thought it would be."

He gives you the primrose as you thank him, touching the petals and enjoy the smell of the flower.

Then you offer him dinner. You know he doesn't need food, but he’s always glad to consume everything you make for him. You don't have much to do aside doing your online jobs and house chores, so cooking and baking for Vergil are your favourite things to do to spend time.

You quietly smile when suddenly a memory of your first meeting with Vergil comes up. He was like a meteor, shining with blue fire that violently fell into your garden, waking you up from your slumber. When you saw a blue demon in your garden you were scared, not because of his appearance, but the helplessness you felt in that moment. You know how to defend yourself, in fact you know how to fight, but it means you must get out from your house, and that made you feel helpless.

"What's with the smile?" Vergil asks, noticing your curved mouth.

You chuckle, "Just recalling our first encounter."

"I see... I still regret destroying your garden."

"Well, you fixed it and planted those beautiful flowers in exchange of your abrupt arrival."

"The demon that attacked me back then was vicious scum."

"But you killed it after all."

He gives you a small grin as an answer. "How was your day?"

"You know... same day, same thing." You avoid his inevitable gaze by putting empty plates into sink.

It's still embarrasing to you, how mundane and boring your daily activities are compared to his adventurous job. You don't have much to tell about your life, while he can still tell you about something you don't have—work, friends and family.

You sense Vergil's hands wrapped around your waist as you're busy washing dishes. He places his chin over your left shoulder, giving you a bit of a tickling sensation. He always shows this kind of affection whenever you avoid him.

"Look what I made for you," he whispers to your ear.

"Hmmm...?"

You startle as Vergil swings a trinket in front of your face. Your eyes catch him holding a dreamcatcher necklace. You chuckle, drying your hand with a towel nearby the sink and turn over your body to him as he drapes the necklace around your neck.

"To cast away your nightmares," he says.

You quickly hug him. "Thank you, Vergil. I'll cherish this forever."

He gives you a warm smile as he returns your hug, caressing your back to give you a sense of comfort and security.

--- You rarely have a good dream. Mostly it was nightmares or static darkness. You don't remember the last time you experienced a joyful dream, and even if you remember, you know it won't do you any good at all.

It won't change the fact that a tragic civil war of your hometown a year ago doomed you and your family.

You still can picture everything in details, how your family was killed by those anarchists, the burning buildings, trees, flowers and grounds, even the piles of corpses and people's haunting screams for help. You were helpless, barely managed to save yourself. Your physical wounds are healed, but the trauma still lingers. The pain was too much for your brain and body to deal with. Sometimes the wounds are still screaming its tale, giving you infuriating psychosomatic symptoms.

Yet you can't blame anyone or anything for your unfortunate fate, so you started to blame yourself. You isolate yourself, hiding from the savage world with a hope that you could never get hurt again, despite you knowing there are still beautiful sides of this universe that you haven't experienced yet.

At least tonight you can exhale in relief, because nightmares didn't come to your dream. Your hands reaching to your side of the bed, hoping to find Vergil's firm body.

But you find nothing.

You rapidly open your eyes, alarmed with his disappearance. He usually stayed by your side until the morning, so this is unusual. You reach to the dreamcatcher he gave to you, searching for reassurance that you're neither dreaming nor dead. You spot his phone on the small desk beside your bed, so he must not have gone too far.

Where is he?

You get up and begin to search for Vergil. You're not a clingy or needy person, but your gut tells you that something is wrong. Your panic attack starts when you realize you can't find him anywhere. You look out from your window, perhaps he's in the garden. But you see no sign of him at all.

Should I wait for him?

You pick an automatic pistol under your bed and filling it with bullets. Even long before you meet Vergil, you always had the gun as protection. You are no stranger to criminals and demons. You know how to handle them. But it's a different story when you have to face them outside your house.

You wait in the living room until you hear a demonic growl outside the house. You're considering whether you should attack the demon of not, since it does nothing but growling and hissing. You don't want the demon to destroy your house, so you decide to wait for it to go away from the territory of your house. Your heart starts skipping hard when the demon walks closer to your garden, crushing the fence and stepping on your flowers. Anger rushes through your body, but you try to remain calm.

As long as I don't need to step outside, I'll be fine.

But what if the demon destroyes my house? Where could I find shelter?

Where could I find a hideout?

What if I could never find my way back home?

Casting your dilemma aside, you drag yourself to a door beside the kitchen that leads you to the backyard. You tiptoe through the dark, making your way to the garden and planning to attack the demon from behind. The demon appears to be a Hell Caina. It should be easy for you.

You point your gun straight to the head of the demon while it scatters your flowers all around, growing your anger again. Then you pull the trigger repeatedly until the demon meets its death and bursts into smoky dust.  

You release an exhale and lower your gun. Now I have to get inside!

You hurry yourself to run to the front door, but before you could reach the handle, your body is pushed roughly by an unseen force. You fly away from your house and landed harshly on the ground. You feel blood drop out from your head and nose as you shakily try to stand up, but your body barely manage to move. The midnight wind and coarse dirt embrace your skin, making it harder for you to balance yourself.

You look up to see what kind of creature had attacked you like that. It's a lizard-like demon with icy armor. Its claws are crackling, creating a disturbing sound to your ears. You search for your gun, but you no longer have it since it was thrown away somewhere when the ice demon attacked you. Your body begins to tremble as the temperature of your surroundings is dropping abruptly. The cold is slowly crawling over your body and freezing you.

Run! you scream to yourself, struggling to get up and try to avoid the pain over your body. You have to run! Now!

"Sparda..."

So it's after Vergil...?

The demon slowly approaches you. The closer it is with you, the colder the temperature gets. Your body begins to feel numb and you can already see the tips of your fingers turning blue. The cold creeps into your lungs, causing you to breathe hard.

Am I going to die here?

You know you must fight the cold and your fear of being trapped like this. But panic overwhelms you, forcing you to remember all the unpleasant memories of your family. The picture of their blood that covered your body flashes in your head as your own blood continues to freeze. The exact feeling of being helpless is repeated all over again right now. You hate it. You hate it when you know you're actually capable of fighting, but now that you're pushed away from your safest zone, the fear is too much for you to bear.

"Sparda...!!!" The demon loses its patience and releases another blizzard at you. But you keep your mouth shut. It's better to die rathen than giving them what they want. It doesn't matter one way or another, it would kill you eventually.

You smile ironically, thinking how messed up your life was. Is it too much to ask for a little happiness in your life? You know you can't just keep waiting for a miracle come upon you and you regret letting the fear consume you all this time.

I never did anything meaningful in my life and always made Vergil pamper my pathetic arse.

The thought of the son of Sparda gives you a spark of light. If only you knew that today you were going to die, you would have baked him his favourite blueberry cheesecake. You would have kissed him and hugged him harder. You would have made love to him more passionately than ever. You would have told him that you love him, that he's the light of your desolated world. That you don’t deserve him. That you don’t deserve his kindness.

You don't have to open your eyes to know that the demon is closer to you and ready to kill you any moment. Its growl is harder and sharper as its icy claws crackle, ready to tear your body apart.

Your hand struggles to reach the dreamcatcher that hangs around your neck. It's ironic since dreamcatchers were meant to cast nightmares away, but speaking of the devil, your nightmare comes to you. It's not the demon. It's not the death that awaits you. It's the feeling of being trapped and you not being able to see Vergil again.

"Vergh..."

You let out a teardrop that quickly freeze on your face. You used to dismiss the idea of a peaceful death, but now you seem to get it. As long as you think about Vergil in this final moment, you think you'll be okay.

I'm ready.

The demon shrieks in high pitch. You feel the ground shaking and crumbling, but confusion sets in your mind because you're still alive. A warm, heavy fabric falls over your body. Your survival instinct makes you quickly grip it tightly without even thinking what that thing might've been. You need warmth. You need to save yourself.

"Be gone, scum."

Ah.

You came!

Then you hear the sound of slashing sword and demon's scream.

The next thing you know is someone lifting you up and rushing inside your house. You can feel a strange heat warming your body. You open your eyes slightly and watch Vergil in his Sin Devil Trigger form, taking your fragile body inside his embrace. The blue fire from his body warms you. Your eyes move to inspect your body, and it turns out that the fabric you wrapped yourself with was Vergil's coat.

"I'm sorry..." he purrs in demonic voice. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

For a quite long moment, you both said nothing. You regain your full consciousness as you move your body closer to him. You feel your blood flowing within your body as your breath begins to get back to normal.

"Better?" he asks.

You nod and smile weakly, "Where were you?"

His long fingers caress your head carefully, "I was half asleep when I heard a pack of demon around here. I went to investigate and managed to banish some of them. Then I heard the sound of a gun... I knew it was you. They distracted me to get you. My sincerest apologies, my dear. I wasn't there when you need me the most..."

"You came to me. That matters a lot. If anything, it should be me that owes you an apology. I... I don't want to be a burden—"

"Now you stop there. You've never been a burden to me."

"I thought you left me," you murmur. "I thought you grew tired of my... condition. It's annoying to have someone who can barely leave the house, isn't it? That's why no one really stayed for me."

Vergil doesn't answer directly. Instead, he picks your dreamcatcher, "The first time I saw you, I knew there's a story behind your unusual behaviour. You didn't yell at me, merely saw me from the window. You accepted my apology without doubt, like you expected me to leave you alone. You even rejected my offer to fix your garden, but I insisted. You saw me only from the window, and it was surprising when you came out of the door, offering me a cup of tea. But you ran inside after you gave me the tea, like you were afraid of being outside. Took me days to realized that you have agoraphobia. I was  going to leave once your garden is finished, but I couldn’t."

"Why?"

"It's not pity that made me stay. It's you. You're a remarkable person. You survived and still growing stronger day by day. You're compassionate despite being alone and still dealing with your trauma. The least thing you could expect me to do is leaving you. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

You can't hold your grateful tears as you kiss his scaly demonic cheek. He reciprocates by switching his face to his human face and kiss your lips, since his demon mouth and fangs could hurt you.

You hug him tightly, leaning yourself to his chest, "I love you, Vergil."

"No," he kisses your ear. "I love you."

--- You don't know when you fall asleep on Vergil's lap, still at the same spot from the last night. He already returned to his human form, sleeping peacefully without letting you get out of his embrace. You let go of his hands slowly, but he quickly grabs your hand as if he's afraid of letting you go. His eyes are opened as he smiles at you.

"I should've moved us to bed, but I fell asleep," he brings you back between his arms.

"It's okay. Let's move then."

Vergil helps you to stand up as he rearranges his coat to wrap your around body properly. The coat is sure too oversized for you, but you don't mind at all. You stop walking when you spot the view of your wrecked garden, lamenting the dead plants all over the ground.

"We can plant it again," Vergil says while caressing your shoulder.

You nod and turn your head over to him, "Can you wait here?"

His brows twitch, "Where are you going?"

"I won't be long. Wait here."

You don't wait for him to say yes. You open the door, making little steps outside your house. You breathe slowly as you watch your surrounding. It's morning already but still dark. You walk through your garden and continue straight to the main road. This is the farthest distance you can go since a year of your isolation. You turn around to see Vergil's reaction. The hybrid waits for you in front of the door, giving you a steady grin, but you can see he's ready to fetch you if you start to lose yourself.

Now that you're no longer trembling again, you take more steps ahead. Your body seems to getting relax than ever, even though you’re still anxious of what could happen. You decide to come back to your house before you start to panic again and surprised that you don't even run in fear anymore. You walk like you used to be.

I forgot how easy it is to walk like this.

"You did very well," Vergil greets you.

"I wish I can go further."

"One step at a time can be a huge leap," he kisses your forehead. "Now you go back to sleep."

You know it's still a long way for you to completely overcome your fear and trauma. Those baby steps of yours are just the beginning of your healing. You ponder secretly, if only the demon never attacked  you, would you still have the bravery to step outside your safe zone? Would you finally realize that you're not alone, that you're loved? This is the first time your head is full of optimism. You can't wait to face the world again. To be really enjoy your garden without the fear of being trapped again. To enjoy the sunshine and see the stars again.

And with Vergil Sparda by your side, you know that you'll recover. Not now, not tomorrow, but eventually.

Maybe he was my dreamcatcher all along.

Masterlist | AO3

[mingtiddies]

3. things you said too quietly

member: wonwoo

genre: fluff

word count: 1514

warnings: none

The soft hum of Wonwoo’s heater rang through his room as background noise. They should most likely get that checked out, but it wasn’t anything of great concern to either of the room’s occupants. So they let it be.

He laid on his stomach, on his bed, the upper half of his body propped up by his forearms, eyes glued to the book that was set in front of him. He took a quick glance at his girlfriend; she also laid on the bed, but on her back. She held a picture book in her hands, gripping it tightly to prevent it from falling on her face. A grin spread on his lips as he watched how she frowned as a way to focus on what she was reading.

He loved days like these the most; where he could just stay home all day reading a book or two and enjoy his girlfriend’s company. Today’s day off wasn’t planned but him and his group members had been lucky enough to get it from their company. It was only when he heard her giggling at the book in her hands that he realized he had zoned out.

The grin hadn’t left his face and she averted her eyes to look up at her boyfriend, smiling as well. He leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead but before he even had the chance to get into her personal space, she rolled on her belly to be able to take a look at which page he was on. “Is your book interesting?” she asked. He hummed in response. “What about yours?”

She nodded and muttered under her breath, “It’s cute.” She went back to reading and looking at her book, going through the pages rather fast. A small oh escaped her, in surprise. “Look that’s us,” she said pointing to her book. The image depicted a couple, laying in bed and reading together. He smiled at her enthusiasm over the similarities and nodded, “Yeah it is us.”

Not understanding how the image related to the book, he frowned, “What is it about?” Her face perked up, as if he had asked her the best question ever and she started ranting about how the artist was trying to show that love laid in small things that people did for each other. She showed him a few examples, like “Reading a book together”, “Leaning in for a kiss” or “Cooking together”.

“It’s not in it but one thing I’d wanna do is take a bubble bath with you,” she said. She closed her book and rolled on her side to look at Wonwoo, who looked at her with a hint of surprise on his features, spotting that his specs were on the brink of falling off of his nose. She raised her hand, telling him not to move and pushed his specs up. He scrunched up his nose at the tickling sensation of someone else pushing up his glasses. “God you’re cute,” she breathed.

Once again, Wonwoo tried to take the chance to lean in and kiss his girlfriend, but once again, she moved before he even got the chance to. He took solace in the fact that she probably hadn’t noticed his attempts. Maybe he was terrible at giving signs that he desperately wanted to kiss her.

The poor boy fought a sigh and changed position, sitting with his back against his headboard. She asked him if he would read a few lines of his book to her, getting up from her own position and ready to move closer to him. When he accepted, he noted the way her eyes sparkled as she came closer to sit between his legs, with her back using his chest as a backrest.

He wrapped his arms around her to grab his book with both hands and rested his chin on her shoulder to get a better look at the book. “You’re warm,” he absentmindedly spoke. She chuckled at the response that she had ready for him. “At the risk of sounding cheesy, you make me warm.” He rolled his eyes and scoffed, “If you weren’t so close to me, I’d push you off my bed.”

“No,” she whined, dragging out the word, “That’s mean.” Hints of a grin broke onto his face, and just as he was about to kiss her cheek, the door to his room opened, revealing the oldest member, Seungcheol. “Vernon, Chan and I are heading out. And so are Shua, Jun and Myungho. So talk to the others for dinner,” he announced. He started closing the door, much to Wonwoo’s delight, but the older boy pushed it open again. “And get out of here kids, it’s 7 already. You’ve been cooped up all afternoon...” he grumbled.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes at his friend’s attempt of being a father figure, while his girlfriend chanted an annoyed yes dad under her breath. Seungcheol finally closed the door for good and the couple heard light commotion outside, most likely from the two groups that were going out for the evening. “We should go out there, shouldn’t we?” She reluctantly hummed.

She, too, liked being in the warmth of her boyfriend’s room. The entire afternoon had felt like being in a small but comfortable and home-like bubble, cut off from the outside world. Everywhere felt like home when she was with him, but his room had something special that heightened the feeling.

“At least we’ll eat,” she shrugged. She got up from the comfort of his arms, and grabbed his hand through his sweater paw to help him off his bed. She had barely had time to lean in when the door opened in a swift motion. “Time to eat lovebirds,” Jeonghan’s voice echoed in the hallway, yet the second oldest was nowhere to be seen.

It was her turn to roll her eyes, annoyed at the fact that she had been interrupted and she turned to walk to the door. Her boyfriend’s hand softly tugged on hers, keeping her from going any further. She turned back to him, expecting an explanation or anything. “I just wanted to kiss you...” he mumbled barely above a whisper.

She furrowed her brows from not having heard him and took a step forward, “Huh?” He sighed, unconsciously pushing his specs up. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you, the entire time we were reading, but you kept turning away and then Seungcheol hyung came in and now we’re gonna eat with the members,” he ranted, his cheeks gradually growing more pink from embarrassment.

“Aw, baby,” she cooed over her boyfriend’s frustration. She snaked her arms up his chest and around his shoulders. “I’m sorry... Next time we can spend your day off at my place, okay?” she suggested. She waited until he nodded in agreement before tiptoeing to his approximate height and pressing a first light kiss on his lips.

“Yah! Guys, I said it’s time to eat!” Ignoring Jeonghan’s voice, Wonwoo pressed his hands on her lower back and brought her as close to him as he could and with her arms still wrapped around his neck, they both leaned in for another kiss.

As soon as his lips brushed against her own, his hands moved to cup her cheeks while he slightly tilted his head to capture her lips better and deepen the kiss. She enjoyed the way her skin tickled the most at the warmth of his fingertips on her cheekbones, compared to the warmth his covered palms emitted. And she loved the neediness of Wonwoo’s lips desperately chasing hers and of his teeth nibbling at her bottom lip.

She hummed into the kiss with a heavy heart, knowing that if she didn’t stop him know, they would probably never leave his room. She slid her hands down his chest and gently pressed on it to push him away, separating their bodies first and still trying to prolong the kiss until the very last second. A soft whiny plaint slipped past his swollen pinkish lips when her lips finally detached from his.

He missed the warmth they provided and wished he could kiss her a third time, and maybe a fourth and a fifth time.

“We should really go out there,” she said, her breath still uneven. He acquiesced, letting go of her face, but knowing just as well that if they didn’t walk out of the room now, they would stay much longer and would also most likely get up to no good. “Yeah, let’s just go,” he agreed, taking her hand and leading her out of the room and into the kitchen area, where everyone sat.

Jeonghan glanced at them before rolling his eyes at how flushed both of their faces looked and telling them to help in choosing what they would eat tonight. They complied without a word and joined the other boys around the table. Wonwoo squeezed his girlfriend’s hand as a silent I love you and she looked up at him with a warm smile on her face as a response of her reciprocal love.

[englass]

Affirmation

Pairing: John Seed x Reader

Warning(s): Possessive behaviour, innopropriate thoughts/desires

Word Count: 2,150

- - -

The day is a stunning one, the sky a pure and unmarred blue, pastel soft and light in the slow transition from early to the late morning. There’s not a cloud in sight and the sun is radiant in that knowledge, claiming full ownership over the vast and endless sky as it washes the land in a swaddled warmth, beaming proudly from up high.

Holland Valley is bathed and praised in the golden light, it’s open and welcoming landscape taking on a new vibrancy that has it looking cleaner, touched in a way that religious folk would lay worshipful words and gazes upon. Blessed with a holy vision that demonstrates all of God’s glory and majesty in a single picture; a truly gorgeous day.

While most made use of the new and preening glow to the Valley others continued with their daily lives, a new skip and easiness in their otherwise busy and wary forms. You were much the same. Despite how much you would’ve loved to be outside, taking in the full breath of the big skied county, there was still stuff to be done.

In the modest garage that acted as a makeshift hanger for your beloved seaplane you stayed, the heat of the day invading the cool space as you tinkered away with an content smile and an absent mind. Elora was an old plane, probably about the same age as Carmina, the name of your good friend Nick Rye’s plane, and required quite a bit of TLC.

She was definitely getting on in her life, worn down through the many years she’d been in your family, but still flew with all the grace she had from when she was first built. Old in number, but not in soul. Still, you tried your best with what you had, your modest salary and the little extra you made from the one-off repairs you did for people, helping you enough to support yourself along with your ageing plane.

Standing up on the safely steps next to the wing of Elora you worked away on her, giving her a good polish while fixing anything that looked remotely out of place as you went. A radio was playing in the background, sitting innocuously on a workbench as old songs came through in merry tones. Indulgently, you started singing to the songs and parts you knew, humming and mumbling when you got a line wrong or didn’t know. It was a comfortable atmosphere you were lost in, focused solely on your plane and the joy it gave you.

So lost were you in the moment in fact that you failed to notice the familiar and well dressed man that leaned against the doors of your makeshift hanger, arms casually crossed across his chest as he watched you with an admiring focus. Truly, it would be a shame to interrupt you, seemingly enjoying yourself as much as you were, but your lack of attention had him itching. He’d need to rectify that.

Leaning over the wing of your plane, raising onto your tiptoes slightly as you reach across, you startle at an unexpected but light banging, a knock on metal sheeting. Looking up toward the sound you don’t even try or think to hold back a smile, a wide beam lighting up your face when you spot a man that you would class as a friend standing by your hanger door. It was always an experience when he was around. 

“Oh, hey there!” You chirp happily, “I didn’t expect to see you today. How are things? No problems with Affirmation I hope?”

While you and Nick had a friendly sort of competitiveness running between the two of you, each cheering for your own respective planes while still holding a fondness for the other, John Seed was not quite a part of that. He was especially nice with you, a teasing sort of fellow on occasion but still rather polite and respectful to you all the same, but when it came to Nick John could walk the line of nastiness rather well. All passive aggressive taunts with snide smiles and biting words.

Affirmation was a beautiful plane, no doubt about that, but it was hardly a fair comparison when put between two old and weather worn seaplanes. You‘re pretty sure John knew it too, and still does, but you had the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t get involved in such a thing unless he knew he was going to win. He seemed a little sly like that, only showing his hand once he knew the game was his, but talk is that he used to be lawyer before coming here so you shouldn’t be too surprised by that. Although, why he directs it all at Nick you’re not too sure. There must be history there you don’t know about.

John chuckles lowly at the question, subtly eyeing you from his place besides the hanger door. “No, thankfully she’s doing well. Still flies as smoothly as the day I first got her.”

“I’m glad to hear it; I know how much you love her.” You can’t help the softer shift your smile takes as you wipe your hands with a stained rag, looking up at him as you do so.

Having the infamous John Seed come to you, a hobbyist pilot and mechanic, looking for extra help regarding his prized plane was admittedly quite a pride-filled moment for you. Why he had chosen to come to you out of all the other capable pilots and qualified mechanics across the county to help him with her you weren’t too sure, but it had certainly stroked your ego. And filled your wallet; John had paid quite handsomely for your time, far too much in fact, but despite you rejecting the amount he wouldn’t have it. He could be quite persuasive.

Stepping down the safety steps you make your way to John, your smile never fading with your rag still in hand. “So, what can I help you with today, Mr. Seed?”

Oh there’s a lot of things you could help him with, John thinks blithely, watching the natural sway of your hips before crawling up your body to the kind twinkle in your eyes. You were too sweet for your own good, an innocent little thing that was always willing to help and sacrifice for those in need. Even when they didn’t deserve it.

John had witnessed you offering your mechanical skills to some of the congregation’s members, your workshop a neutral zone free from discrimination, and it had left him positively warm the first time he’d seen it. Your acceptance of them and, by extension, him was a welcome change from the near constant hostility and wariness of the local rabble. But, that also meant that he had heard the whispers of slander made against you, a relatively new inhabitant to the Valley.

Slander that John knew his presence alone would stoke.

Nick Rye had originally tried warning you away from John, their little rivalry bleeding an growing dislike onto both fronts, but you had stood firm on having a part in this little three-way. John had found it amusing at first – “birds of a feather should flock together”, you had said, looking between them with an cheesy smile, “we’re all pilots after all!” –, but now that amusement was long gone and had been replaced by a selfish want for more; he wanted out of that silly little triangle.

And if his continued presence would ensure that outcome then... well, he’ll be sure to pay you more frequent visits in the future. 

“Back to formalities are we now, my dear?” He says with a teasing grin. “And there was me thinking that we’d finally gotten past that stage in our relationship; I thought we were close.” Not close enough apparently, a part of him growls, hidden behind an exaggerated display of mock offence. 

Nervously you laugh, head bowing slightly as your eyes flicker away from him, rubbing the side of your neck self-consciously. Such an adorable picture you make.

“Right, ‘m sorry. I guess I’m just so use to being formal with people nowadays that it just slipped out.” Looking up at him from under lashes you give him a small, but guilty smile. “Sorry, John”

Good Lord, what do you do to me.

John runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it over as he gestures dismissively. “No need to apologise, dearest. I understand. You’ve been a busy woman lately,” a grin quickly blooms across his face, one too many teeth on display, as he leans closer with a teasing sparkle to his ocean eyes, “or should I say, deputy.”

You don’t quite hear the way John’s tongue drags over the title, accentuating every syllable, like a filthy secret that only he knows about and can’t help but gloat over. Instead you only groan painfully at the title, shaking your head lightly as your hands come up to cover your eyes, a flush of embarrassment painting your cheeks a pretty shade of red.

Your obliviousness is both equal parts adorable and infuriating.

“I’m not a deputy yet though, John. I’m still just an intern.”

“Well, from what I hear you won’t be that way for long.”

“I highly doubt that, John.” You say disbelievingly, “Besides, I’ve barely been here six months. There’s no way they’d promote me so soon.”

“It’d be criminal if they didn’t.” He huffs. “You’re a hard worker dear, you do a lot more for the county than your woeful colleagues do. You deserve some form of recognition for the work you put up with, a reward may-“

John’s eyes widen, trying hard not to give way to predatory grin just itching to get out. Yes, that could work. 

“How about I treat you to dinner?” He suddenly asks with a charming smile, catching you off guard. 

You blush shakily. “Oh, uhh, I mean... that’s very kind of you John, but really there’s no need!”

“Nonsense, it’ll be my treat. Think of it as a thank you for all you’ve done for me and the county so far.”

And ‘so far’ indeed; there was no way John was going to let you slip away. You were special, he was sure of it– convinced even. Someone just for him. If he could just land this dinner date with you then he’d be sure to prove himself, prove how perfect the two of you could be together. He just needed you to say one simple word...

Watching John and the hopeful gleam in his sky coloured eyes, plus the burning guilt you felt for even thinking of turning him down, you slowly nodded to his offer. It would be nice to get to know him a little better, maybe even learn a bit about the resident cult that everyone keeps warning and scolding you over. You’d always preferred seeing both sides of the story and forming an opinion from there, even if you’d never act on it once you had one. Conflict wasn’t your thing.

“Okay,” You say softly, chewing your lip. “Yes, sure, that’d be lovely. As long it’s not any trouble of course!”

“Dear, the pleasure is all mine.” There’s a thrill that works down John’s spine, his grin victorious. “How about tonight? I have some work I need to do first, but I could always pick you up if you’d prefer?”

“Oh, no no no,” you shake your head quickly, “that’s fine. I’ll just make my way around to yours. Is about six okay?”

“Perfect.” His grin turns a touch salacious before he schools it back into something tamer. Yes, six is perfectly fine for him. You’ll both get the entire evening to yourselves, no third parties, just the two of you. Oh, the potential mischief he could very well get into with you... such a delicious temptation, if not a reality in the making. “I’ll be expecting you then.”

Emboldened by your agreement John covers the last few steps between you with a new air of confidence, his gait slow but sure. Looking down at your curiously innocent eyes John can’t (doesn’t) stop himself from taking a little bit extra from the moment than he knows he rightfully should; the affection he’s grown for you over the last few months openly raising its head, along with his hand.

Testily his fingers brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear before trailing along the line your jaw, his gaze an electrical blue that thrums with a manic, if not poorly subdued, energy to it that is focused purely on you. Unbidden the small blush covering your cheeks deepens, his sudden forwardness toward you rather unexpected. And for a reason you can’t quite seem to place you’re not too sure whether to feel flattered at this sudden interest he has in you, or absolutely terrified by it.

[quxntumvandyne]

Neighbors (Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader)

 Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Masterlist

Words: 2k (unedited yayyyyyy sorry not sorry)

Warnings: none, eventual mentions of PSTD, anxiety, and nightmares

Requested: yes by the ever so lovely @highlady-ofthe-summercourt !!!!!

Summary: These powers had come not too long before Mr. Stark had found you and taken you in as a new part of the team. However, you didn’t know much at all and had nobody to confide in besides Wanda. You felt alone and like nobody understood you. Until you heard his screams in the middle of the night. You had the urge to help your new neighbor; but did he want your help?

A/N: this is my first multi-chapter story so there will be more! if you wanna be tagged, just hop in my asks and i’ll add you to the list. hope you like it!

“And who is he?” 

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

Ugh.

It was 7:00 am sharp on a Monday morning, with your first full day ahead of you at the Avengers complex. It had been two weeks since you got your powers and your entire life had turned right around. You didn’t know your own body anymore, you felt like a child. Trying to figure out your limits every day. Nothing felt the same, almost like you were watching it happen to someone else from afar.

You never asked for it. But nonetheless, here you were in your new room. Far from your old home.

Someone knocked on your door, and Wanda popped her head in.

Wanda was the first person to talk to you when you arrived, and you felt secure around her. She was the room across from you and pretty much the only one in the whole complex you had even spoken with yet besides Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers. She was a bit younger than you, so it felt like you had the little sister you always wanted.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Wanda says, opening the door a bit more.  “Would you like some breakfast? Vision can make you anything you’d like.”

She was already dressed, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, although she had bags under her eyes. Must’ve been up late. She had a grey tank top on and some black leggings, and just some ankle socks with a light sweater over top.

You sat up, rubbed your eyes and threw your legs out from under the bed. You could feel your hair sticking up and you had lines all over your arms from your shirt. Man, it felt like you’d slept for a month.

“Yes please, I am starving,” you replied, feeling your stomach rumble when you sat up.

“Well come on Y/L/N!” She slid down the hallway down past some other doors and was quickly out of sight.

You got out of bed and trudged out the door, still half asleep when you heard a grunt coming from the next door down. You stopped, curious as to who your next door neighbor was.

You weren’t terribly familiar with any of the other Avengers, but you recognized some. Vision was pretty hard to miss, you knew Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers obviously and Wanda, but others tended to blur together.

The grunting continued and became more aggressive. You weren’t affected by that as your curiosity won over. You quietly stepped near the cracked door and looked in with your stomach against the door.

The room was fairly empty, except some clothes on the floor, an alarm clock identical to yours and a man in a bed. He had his hair up in a bun and a white tank top on, the rest of his body covered by a single blanket. He looked sweaty and his bed was a mess.

Must be an active sleeper, you thought to yourself.

You continue to watch, growing a bit worrisome at his sudden movements, and he turned toward you quickly. The look of discomfort on his face was frightening and he snapped his eyes awake, directly on you. Your eyes widen and for a split second, everything froze. You then moved at the same time; he jumped out of bed and you darted back in your room. You hid behind your door, and he walked out into the hallway. He looked around, not seeing you or anybody else. He sighed, took his hair down to let it fall on his neck. He scratched his stomach and walked back into his room.

You were unaware of you holding your breath until he shut his door. The stunning image of his eyes and that look on his face had already been engraved in your memory for good. You shook your head, determined not to think about him anymore and slid out to head to the dining room.

 “Where’d you go Y/N?” Wanda asked, realizing she kinda left you behind.

“Oh, just still waking up. And this place is huge, so it takes me a minute to find things,” you said, awkwardly laughing. “Hi Vision, are you cooking anything yummy up?”

Vision looked up, wearing his “Robots Can Cook Too” apron and smiled at you. “Of course Y/N, anything, in particular, you would like on this Monday morning?”

“Maybe some eggs and toast? With a bit of butter,” you replied, already smelling the omelet he was making for Wanda.

“Sounds fantastic.” He went back to work, and you and Wanda made small talk until more people started arriving dressed and ready to start the day.

 One by one, everybody was eventually in the living room and had eaten breakfast until two people were left to come out. Mr. Rogers was one of them but you weren’t sure who the other was. Then you realized you were the only person not dressed and slipped out of the room to go put on some clothes and look a bit more presentable.

 When you got to your room, you heard voices in the next room down and curiosity won again. You tiptoed down to the room and listened carefully to the two voices talking on the other side; Mr. Rogers and somebody you didn’t know yet.

“We need somebody to talk to you about this, it’s been consistently happening for nights now Buck.” Buck? Who is Buck??

“Steve, it’s been happening for years. They’re just a bit more violent now, nothing I can’t handle.” This man’s voice was husky and deep, coming from the next door neighbor you assumed.

You peeked through the back of the door’s crack and saw Mr. Rogers, standing with his arms crossed looking at this all too new and now familiar face. You had yet to dress yet, still in your oversized ACDC shirt and Nike shorts underneath with black ankle socks on.

 Both of the men were at least 5 inches taller than you, Mr. Rogers seeming an inch or two taller than this other man. You could only see the left side of his body (your left) and then he moved slightly and you saw it. You must’ve been so distracted by his face the first time that you hadn’t even noticed that he was missing an arm, replaced by a metal one with a shining red star on the shoulder. His facial hair had been growing, but nothing more than stubble. His hair was parted all which ways, and he was still in his white tank top and black sweatpants with no socks. His eyes were probably the most distracting thing about him though.

They were a soft baby blue, with medium length eyelashes but something was different about them. Not only were they beautiful, but they seemed so exhausted. Like he’d been through hell and back twice but still had the energy to get out of bed. They were experienced. Knowing. You wondered what those eyes had seen and why they were so tired. He drew you in just by you looking at him.

Then he looked at you. Mr. Rogers noticed what he was looking at, so he turned around and walked toward you, knowing you’d been caught. He walked toward you, with the guilt rising in your chest for eavesdropping.

“Hey Y/N.” said Steve, as he shut the door. “What all did you hear while listening in?” He looked at you with his hands on his hips, waiting to hear what you had to say.

“Not much at all, I was just coming to change.” You replied, attempting to play it off.

He looked at you suspiciously but decided to drop it. “Well, alright. Go ahead and get dress, we’ll be starting soon.”

He walked away, already ready as well in his elbow length navy shirt and grey cargo pants with navy blue shoes. You sighed of relief and headed to your room to get ready for your first day, and what a day it had already been by 7:45 am.

 Everyone was dressed and ready in the living room on couches and chairs, even your mysterious neighbor who had his hair down and clean, a long sleeve black shirt on and grey joggers with black tennis shoes. You were dressed as well, in a white short sleeve shirt and some teal leggings with light grey shoes and your hair up in a ponytail.

Mr. Stark was going over the training we’d be doing as a team today, although much of the attention was on me and getting my powers ready for battle. Everybody seemed to have a different task for me and I would practice a bit with everyone. Even Peter, the youngest of the bunch. Even though he’s young, he still has a lot more experience than you, you thought.

 You looked around the room at everyone and zoned out, getting an idea of who was who while Mr. Stark introduced you to the group. There was a tall man standing next to Mr. Rogers who seemed to be good friends with him, Peter Parker who you knew from Mr. Stark telling you, Vision and Wanda, an older man who has braces around his legs and seemed to be in constant slight pain during the whole meeting, your neighbor, a woman with short blonde hair and a a serious stare, a man who seemed to be in his 40s with short black curly hair sitting next to the woman, and finally a man standing behind the couch, with a vest on and a sling of arrows on his back.

 Mr. Stark quickly listed names off to you as everyone waved or said hello, but when he got to your neighbor, you came back to the conversation and heard that his name was Bucky. Mr. Stark’s voice changed a bit when he had said his name, like something between the two of them, had happened in the past and it had not gone well.

“And that’s everyone! So, in about 10 minutes we’ll meet outside near the hangar and get ready for today’s training, starting with Little Miss Shapeshifter over here.”

You froze, immediately growing cold and uncomfortable. You were not exactly comfortable, to say the least with your powers yet, much less ready to reveal them to the whole group on your first day; but it seems like Mr. Stark had taken care of that for you already. Everyone’s eyes were on you, as you squeaked out a small hello and everyone left, you still as tense as a wooden board.

Mr. Stark saw your discomfort and sent everybody on their way, but stayed to chat with you.

You caught some stares and glances when everyone left but one specifically caught your eye. Bucky. He was staring at you, with a bit of confusion but mostly curiosity. You both seemed to be thinking the same thing, without either of you knowing it.

Who the hell are you?

But the real question was, did he want to know more about you?

Mr. Stark snapped you back to reality and Bucky was walking back to the hallway and soon out of sight when Mr. Stark began to speak. “Hey, I’m sorry about that. Things just slip out of my mouth without thinking but everybody would find out sooner or later today okay? My bad, Y/N.”

Mr. Stark rubbed your shoulder and walked off with Wanda coming to loosen you up, as she could see you were still tense.

“Hey, you okay?” Wanda said, wanting to make sure you were alright.

You dropped your shoulders and sighed, “Yeah I guess so. I don’t know, I guess I wanted to tell everyone myself about this weird thing that has happened to me. I’m still really uncomfortable in my own skin for now, but hopefully, all of you will help.”

Wanda gave you a small smile and a side hug when you thought you could maybe ask her something.

“Hey, Wanda?”

She looked at you and said, “What’s up?”

“Who is Bucky?”

.

.

.

SHHHHHH PLEASE BE NICE THIS IS MY FIRST MULTI-CHAPTER FIC SO YAYYYYYYY and if you wanna be tagged just jump in my asks!

Permanent Taglist: @magic-marvel @sunflowerannawrites @e-ms-world @minnie-marvel @0captain-marvel0 @peter-prkers @holland-haven @hedwigthelegend

[probably-writing-something-blog]

when the party’s over

I know.

I have a tendency go radio silent for days, weeks, months at a time.

I know this about myself. I am well aware of what I am doing.

I know I can curl in on myself and shut out the outside world. It is something I have learned to do because I believe I am safer. I got so tired of being hurt that I decided I needed a break. I can get in my head, sometimes. I am a sensitive person. I have been from the day I was born. I don't particularly love it. In some instances, it is good, in others, I couldn't take it anymore.

I thought curling in on myself and shutting out everyone else was right to do. I thought I had a friend with the paper I was writing on, the ink I was using. And while they are my friends, while these things do keep me company on many dark nights, they do not stop me from feeling lonely.

Sometimes I wonder if I was destined to be lonely. Sometimes I wonder if anyone has ever thought that writer should be synonymous with lonely.

Because writers are lonely, lonely people. And if they tell you otherwise, they are either lying or they have become content with the lonely.

We write about fictional characters all day, for Christ's sake. We have characters in our heads that feel so damn alive and present that it is hard to remind ourselves that they do not exist. They are screaming in our heads, but no one else can hear.

These characters are not friends. They are characters. They are not real. I thought I could find friends in the characters, but that was foolish. And I have learned that I cannot.

I wrote two months of my life away. That is how my mom describes it, at least. I wrote an entire book in the span of six weeks and started on the next in the last two. I stayed inside, and I wrote.

I went radio silent. I hardly talked to anyone in real life or online.

I curled in on myself. I shut the world out. I thought it was better that way.

Because senior year is here now. I am turning eighteen in five short months. I am going to college in a short eight. My life is about to change drastically.

And I think the me at the beginning of the summer knew that. But she didn't want to deal with it. I see why. Now, I see why she didn't want to deal with any of it.

It hurts. It is stressful. All of my friends around me are starting to see that we are going to be in very different places when we graduate. Some of us are even moving out of state. Regardless, we are all moving away.

So I don't know if it is this transition period that has made me conscious of what I did over the summer, or how the earlier years of my life have been, but I am so conscious.

That during those two months when I went radio silent and wrote a book, no one checked up on me. It was a miracle if I got a text from a friend once a week. A miracle if we could hold a conversation.

We are all busy. We have lives. I know this all too well.

But something about being alone and going radio silent and having no one notice...hurt. I'm not sure why.

I have gone silent before. I have curled in on myself before. Granted, I was in a much darker place then, but I have done this before. Thankfully, my mom noticed something was really wrong before I did something really dangerous. I was in an extremely dark place then.

I am not now. I am better now, I will say that over and over again because I am. I look back at that girl in sixth grade and my heart breaks. She was so broken. She was so ready to die. To have it all disappear. To have herself disappear.

I am not that girl anymore. I have grown and healed tremendously in the past six years. I am in a better place than she was.

But the loneliness is still there. The loneliness I have felt since I was first ever conscious of my feelings, is still there. It is all I have ever known.

I think that is why I can't hold onto things that are good for a very long time.

I am so desperate to cut people out of my life for no reason. I am so desperate to feel lonely again and I have no idea why.

All I can think is that I have grown comfortable in being lonely. I have made it my home. I have made friends with paper and ink and turned a blind eye toward real human interaction – when the latter is something I need much more. The former is important, don't get me wrong. I have been and always will be a writer. I need to write in order to survive. But I can't write if I am not healthy. And simple things, like interacting with people and having conversations, those will keep me healthy.

But it is not something I am used to.

So I go radio silent. I shut off my phone. I reply to people agonizingly late. I see the message and tell myself I will reply later. I tell myself I will make plans to have lunch with them and catch up, but I never do.

I have become comfortable with my lonely and now I don't know how to get around that. I don't know how to feel comfortable around people. I don't know how to have fun. I don't know how to be present in the moment. I spent so long of my life in a haze of zoning in and out, never truly being here in the moment. I spent five years that way.

And now I am learning that I don't know how to not feel like that.

I don't know how to not feel lonely.

And the one time I was, just a month ago, the one time I felt completely present and not at all alone – I was so uncomfortable. I could barely breathe. I was tiptoeing around my heart. I didn't know what was wrong, but I felt wrong.

I read something the other day that said, "If it is not uncomfortable, then you didn't change anything."

Because what we are used to – whether it is healthy or not – is natural to us. It is our normal. But if that is an unhealthy habit, then changing it to something healthy will feel uncomfortable. It will feel wrong when it is right because what we have been doing has been normal for us, despite the fact that it might be destroying us inside.

So I know now why that felt so uncomfortable. And now I know that it is okay. But I don't know how to move past it.

So this is my apology, I suppose. To myself and the friends that I have hurt.

To myself because she does not deserve to be tucked away in herself her whole life. She deserves to see the world. And she will. I am growing. And working on this. I promise not to hurt you anymore.

To my friends because I have been so angry – not angry, but definitely upset with all of you. For absolutely no reason. I am sorry if that translated in my words or actions in any way. It was never my intention to hurt any of you when you have done nothing to me in the first place.

I can get it my head sometimes. And I can think the world revolves around me. When it doesn't. Not everything is about me, despite what my anxiety will try telling me.

And you all have lives. I know the new wave of "check up on your friends" has been circling around and it is true. We should check up on our friends.

But friends are not mind readers. No one is. So I have no room to feel upset when no one checks up on me if I always put forward the front that I am okay, everything's fine, and I'm never bothered. Not everyone is able to see through that – friends or family or a therapist or anyone.

No one can read your mind.

Sure, some people can tell when something is really wrong. My mom is that way. But she is my mom. She sees me all the time and has seen me every day for the past seventeen years. She should be able to tell.

I am just learning to reach out more. To say if I want to hang out – or need to. To say if I am hurting. To be honest about it, even if I don't want to talk about it. Just to be honest and say it, instead of lying and pretending like I'm alright when I know I am not.

Because I have friends who care. I know you all care. I know you do.

I am just trying to get myself to believe that.

I can get in my head sometimes. And I can think no one cares about me or thinks about me. And I can think no one loves me. And I can think no one is really my friend. And I can think I don't belong here.

When I know it isn't true. Because I do have friends. I do have people who love me and care about me. I do belong here.

It is just hard to relearn these simple things, and many others, when it has been ingrained in my head that I don't have friends, I am alone, I will never belong.

You'd be surprised how much damage emotional and verbal and physical abuse can do to a nine-year old's mind.

I am still realizing it every single day. I am still seeing things I do and seeing the connection to the trauma. This is one of them.

I wrote a line the other day in a letter to myself that has stuck with me since I wrote it.

A life without love is not better.

And I know that.

I am just trying to get myself to believe it.

[themclbird]

Which kind of girl is more suitable for each boy in your opinion ?^^ (sorry for the english ,love your blog btw!)

So two thoughts came to my mind when reading this ask:1. I could tell you which in-game girl I think suits each boy best2. I could describe what sort of girl I imagine suits each boy bestI’ve decided to do the second option as it seems more fun. You can read my answers under the cut.

Nathaniel - A good listener is a must for most significant others, but is especially important for Nathaniel’s. He’s been through a lot in his life and having someone who knows when he just needs to have his thoughts heard is important. It’s also important for her to know when instead of just listening, comfort is required, but that is a skill that is more learnt while dating someone as opposed to before.Sometimes Nathaniel just needs to have peace and quiet while he reads a good book. His girlfriend should be someone who isn’t upset by the idea of spending time together doing different things. Each have their own lives and shouldn’t worry about dropping everything to be together. If she has a favourite pass time, then she should feel comfortable to take part in it while Nathaniel is in his own world.Somebody who is gentle, not only in her actions around people but also animals is a plus. However, she also shouldn’t be afraid to speak up about what’s on her mind and of any criticisms she may have. It’s one thing to not want to hurt someone, it’s another entirely to be tiptoeing around someone out of fear that you might mildly insult them. Nathaniel is more than capable of taking criticism when his actions aren’t perfect, his girlfriend should be able to voice them to him instead of bottling them inside.

Castiel - Following orders isn’t one of Castiel’s strong suits, and the girl who dates him should be aware of this. She shouldn’t be someone who is overly demanding, but instead should be someone who is willing to suggest things and then compromise if he disagrees. If the idea of having to compromise isn’t something that she’s open to, then dating someone like Castiel isn’t the best idea. Although he’s happy to go along with the plans of those he cares about, he also has his own ideas on what they should do and how it should be done. The person who dates him should be open to listening to what he has to say, and understands that he can be stubborn on his ideas at times.If she hates dogs, the relationship won’t even make it off the ground. They don’t have to be her favourite animal in the entire world, but it’s impossible to date someone who has a pet animal that you despise. Especially when it’s a dog as big as Demon. She’ll not only need to like dogs, but she’ll also need to be prepared for love from not just Castiel but his dog as well.Banter is a requirement. Castiel’s girlfriend needs to be someone who won’t take his comments to seriously and who can give back as good as she gets. Being able to see where the unspoken line between sarcastic comments and harmful insults is a skill that she either needs to have or develop over time with him. But so long as she keeps her poking fun as playful, nothing should go wrong.

Lysander - Someone as forgetful as Lysander should date someone who is more than understanding. Not necessarily someone who has a good memory (although it would be helpful) but rather just someone who won’t get mad at him every time he forgets or loses something. Someone who will happily help him trace back his steps to the last place he saw his notebook. She should not only be understanding of his forgetful nature but also all of his little quirks. Essentially, someone who won’t try and “fix him” but someone who will embrace who he is at his core.She should be somebody who understands the importance of quiet moments and when not to interrupt people who are lost in thought, while also knowing when to take Lysander out of his comfort zone. An equal balance between quiet and loud and knowing when to use which side of her personality.An interest in music is a must. Preferably she would like the same sort of music as he plays as it would make going to his concerts that much easier, but it’s not a requirement. However, even if she detests his preferred music genres, she should still be able to appreciate why he likes it. If she feels the need to constantly tell him she hates his music: she’s not the girl for him.

Armin - One word. Fun-loving. Well, it’s almost one word. Armin needs someone who is willing to have fun and is open to new experiences. His girlfriend should be somebody who is willing to go along with not only his plans, but also his brother’s.Being able to bounce off of his ideas and help them to grow into perfect pieces of potential situations, then they’re sure to have a good time together. Although she should also know when to stop, or pull in the reigns so that their combined ideas don’t get too crazy. There is, after all, a difference between harmless fun and putting yourself in a dangerous situation.Let’s not forget that she should be willing to spend hours upon hours inside within him, while also knowing when to remind him to go outside. Not to frustrate Armin, or convince him that it’s where he should be spending more of his time, but to ensure that he gets enough vitamin D to live. You can’t have a boyfriend if he’s dead from vitamin D deficiency.

Kentin - There’s a difference between loving who someone used to be, and thinking that who they used to be was better than who they are now. The first option is knowing how they had been and loving that part of them because it’s a part of who they were. While the second option is a way demeaning their partner and making them feel bad for changing. Kentin’s girlfriend should not only know the difference, but make sure that Kentin knows that she loves all of him: past, present, and future.Being willing to spend time outdoors with him is important. It doesn’t have to be her favourite place in the world, but she shouldn’t complain every time that he suggests it. However, if she’s willing to join him on his jogs then that’s an extra point in the “girlfriend material” tally.Not only being able to bake, but also being okay with baking alongside her boyfriend is important. Of course everyone wants to date someone who can create their favourite foods, but Kentin would want to date someone who can help him create them also. Not to mention that baking is 10x’s more fun when you’re doing it with someone that you love.